The Slayarians - Book One, JM Barnes [best books for 7th graders txt] 📗

Bailick. The thing appeared to see the throw and then looked at the human still in its grip, as if it was unsure whether to finish what it had begun or avoid the deadly weapon heading its way. Too late it dropped Ralac in a heap and tried to dodge, its non-mortal reflexes were very fast but still not fast enough. The spear struck just above its left ribcage and it howled in pain.
The light of the spear brightened and banished the darkness the creature wore like a robe, and its true shape was revealed. Short fur covered its muscled, nine foot frame and its small spiraling horns accentuated its eerily glowing eyes. A demon surely but what was most disconcerting to Graton was the way its form seemed super imposed over another, smaller and lesser demonic form. The larger form was transparent and seemed to be a spirit or illusion of some kind, but there was no denying his ability to defeat crafty Ralac. The smaller scaled creature was what truly took Graton’s spear in the vital organs and clearly might not survive the well aimed attack.
The battle between prince and usurper paused at that moment as angry howls shook the floor and foundation of the very palace. Both men braced themselves against nearby walls and stared at the demonic tantrum.
Its initial bellows were incoherent but it soon shifted to the human language of Gaul and said, “Satar, I have lost my tenuous hold on this world for my vessel has been slain! You must escape and resummon me!”
“Fool! I warned you to take a stronger form, but fear not, death means little to the son of Satarnafoon!” Again, laughter overtook Satar.
The greater image seemed to shatter and disappeared, while the reptilian demon with a wild dog’s head howled and fell upon its back. The spear was pushed straight up and Graton recalled it back to the helm.
Galen hurriedly put up his guard as Satar madly charged forward. Raining blow after blow upon Galen’s weakening parries, Satar suddenly seemed a man possessed. The laughter stopped and was replaced by a murderous glare. With every strike came a curse from the mad usurper and a heaving breath from the Prince of Mastalon. Neither man could gain much advantage but Satar was gaining all the leverage and still breathed freely as if he had not exerted himself in the least. Galen had already fought several battles that day and his arms were becoming like heavy stones. Satar, upon seeing this, took great satisfaction and pressed his attack even harder.
It was becoming quite obvious to the Griffon lord what this battle was leading to as he watched from beside Ralac’s fallen form.

^ ^ ^

Darkon retreated several steps under the furious assault from the two demons while Gemini prepared a more suitable spell. The Demonslayer was fully prepared to fight the demons, his sword had sprouted barbs and his every muscle was vibrating with anticipation for the kill. Even then he knew against both of the monsters he had little chance. Several claw marks already had him bleeding on his arms, legs and torso but the wounds were more superficial than deadly. Using his sword to keep the demons at bay, he never stopped thinking of ways to defeat his foe. He began to sag and limp, trying to appear tired hoping one would lunge carelessly toward him. It worked well for one of them flapped its leathery wings and used its added momentum to charge.
Feigning fear, Darkon bent one knee and accepted the charge. At the last moment he then stood and swept his blade arm across in a wide arc over the demons exposed midsection. Gore splattered him and the demon fell forward and buried him under its bulky weight. It still lived but it knew it had only a moment or two before it was sent screaming back to the Abyss so it savagely clawed at the human underneath it.
Darkon avoided many of the blind swipes but could not escape total harm. He was about to call to Gemini for aid when a great boom interrupted that thought. Pieces of the other demon rained down around him and the dying one that crushed him had gone still. He took a deep breath and gagged on the vile fumes that leaked from the demon on his chest. Still under the spell of demon hate he took another breath, did not gag, and heaved upward with his powerful muscles. Slowly the demon slid sideways to the ground. Breathing outward with relief he slowly stood and allowed the entrails and gore of the slain demon to slide off him, dripping noisily as it splashed upon the floor. He struggled not to choke as he breathed inward again.
Where the other creature had been standing was the splattered focal point of the explosion that killed it. All that remained of the thing were both its legs from the knee down. They still stood, squirting black ooze. Darkon stared at the sight in awe as Tam joined him from an empty cell.
“You would make a fine Demonslayer, my friend.” Darkon commented.
The elven mage smiled and said, “Yes, but there are so many other things that need slaying!”
Both men grinned and exchanged a strong warrior’s handclasp that was followed by the elven clasp of victory. Before today, Geminilanthis had never met a human who knew the clasp. It had been used forever by the fey folk and even the dwarves but humans were never taught the clasp since they weren’t considered to be worthy of such an honor. Gemini decided though not to mention these facts since he had never known a Demonslayer. Perhaps they were not like normal humans, perhaps they were indeed worthy of elven respect.
Moments later Darkon fished the cell keys from the scattered demon remains. Tam Geminilanthis led him to the cell where he found the royal family earlier. The cell was the largest among those on this level of the dungeon but was not by any means large itself. It was dark, foul smelling and littered with broken and burned items, unidentifiable by first glance. Huddling against the shadowed back wall of the cell were three dirt caked, quivering forms. One was a tall older man and cradled protectively in his embrace were two petite, filth covered women. The man’s eyes told tales of terror and torture but Darkon recognized the fiery glint of rage he had come to know well in another. This must surely be Galen’s proud father.
“Great king of Genossia, I am Darkon and my comrade is Gemini. We have come in your son’s name to free you and take you to him!” Darkon stood unmoving and expressionless before the now open cell door, unsure how to reassure the frightened family.
It wasn’t until Gemini, seeing the hesitation and mistrust of the royal family, actually entered the cell and bowed before the man and women. Quietly he whispered soothing words that Darkon could not hear, and then he seemed to question the smallest, which answered him in a short manner. Tam then backed out of the cell and motioned Darkon to back away from the area a few feet further. Slowly, never taking their eyes off Darkon, they crept out from their vile prison. The king stepped out first, hoping to take the brunt of whatever trap awaited his beloved wife and daughter for himself. No trap came though and after a tense moment of silence the three, traumatized folk finally seemed to relax and then tentatively walked toward Gemini.
“Come, my lord, I will take you to your son when you have left this place behind.” Gemini held a leading arm toward the dungeon exit tunnel. From the doorway came sounds of people in alarm and even battle, the old guard was distracting Satar’s main forces while the prince attacked from within. The men had done their job well even without Bele’ to command them.
As the king left Gemini behind a few paces the elf whispered to Darkon that a tunnel led directly from this dungeon to Satar’s chambers where Galen must be fighting even now. Darkon took his meaning but couldn’t help his confusion over the Mastalons’ reaction to him.
Gemini stopped then and said, “Covered in demon gore and garbed as a savage warrior you make for a frightening visage, my friend. They thought you served Satar or were death himself come to claim them. Understand, Darkon, they have seen much during their time spent here.” Gemini then directed his gaze to the floor, letting Darkon follow it. “Those are the remains of several men who tried to save them but instead were burned alive before they’re eyes and at they’re very feet.”
Gemini exited the dungeon and followed the Mastalon’s above ground. Darkon stared for a short while at the six bodies that had once been men of courage and honor and he took from the sight strength in his conviction to remain true as a Demonslayer. He may not recall all of his childhood, but he would, little by little. He would remember the tales of heroism and legends of his people and he knew that in reverence to those memories he would never allow such horrors as this to be inflicted upon anyone he could protect. He knew as well that a big part of protecting others from these horrors was bringing his people back to their righteous path. That was what he knew must be his ultimate purpose and once Genossia was set aright he would seek out Krosten and do whatever was in his power and influence to do just that.
By all he held true, every evil thing that crossed his path would pay for what was done to his sweet Sevele. Heading for the tunnel in the rafters Darkon smiled a determined grin and hauled his weight into the tunnel above. He could not help but hope there was still a stray demon that needed to be destroyed by his flow created weapon.


CHAPTER 24
ALONE IN THE DARK


Slaytor merely shrugged and continued walking when Kirstana asked him for the tenth time how they were supposed to find her fellow Demonslayer. The dwarf understood her concern but he figured Krosten knew what he was doing when he sent three young Demonslayers and only a temperamental dwarf to guide them to an unknown destination.
“Girl,” He hollered, “I don’t know how! I just know we will find him. You gotta have faith.” He then pointed in her face with a stubby digit, “You’re the priestess, girl, you know that already!”
Ashamed, Kirstana looked at the ground. He was right, she should have more faith. She knew there were spells she could plead with her goddess for that would help them but she knew she had not attained the enlightenment necessary for a spell of that power. How could she, a girl raised in wild lands and never taught the true rites and rituals of her goddess, accomplish what Krosten so easily had? In fact, she remembered, it was only by happenstance that she had even learned of Aeleostrimine, goddess of nature and change.
When she was twelve