The Slayarians - Book One by JM Barnes (the best electronic book reader .TXT) 📕

and powerful double bladed attack, arm as sword and right arm bearing sword, to Galen's sweeping, beheading swings and Graton’s piercing, impassable spear, the four were an unstoppable force. Sevele felt almost unneeded as the three warriors worked in so natural a manner and were victorious wherever they attacked. She was found needed a moment later though as she was the last defense between Darkon’s back and a skulking young Bealrotti. So short, the youngling should not have been able to wield a full sized sword but it did and did so well. Its speed was still hindered by the weapon’s weight and after only two feints Sevele punched a dagger through its skull.
Soon all of the jars were used up and most of the beasts were dead or dying. Only a few stragglers hovered between flames and tried to survive. They could not. The smoke spread swiftly and they suffocated. The party retreated to the hallway outside the chamber as they waited for the flames to die down.
All except Darkon watched from the doorway as the last of the foul creatures died. Clutching the sides of his head an image flashed in his mind. The noise that accompanied it brought him to his knees. Sevele knelt beside him to see if he was well but a booming voice that erupted from behind them all drowned her voice.
It said, “Alas, another race of creatures wiped from our world.”
Everyone spun about as a robed figure appeared just beyond the doorway. It was a human man of middle-aged appearance with a full dark beard and head of hair. His dark eyes showed nothing but an obvious curiosity and to all of them the man had the appearance of a friendly priest.
Graton spoke loudly to surpass the noise in the crackling and burning chamber. “What know you of the Bealrotti?”
“I know they were the last of their kind on this world. So hidden here in the catacombs of Ara’moor for centuries they lived at their most natural state, unhindered, until today.”
The man shook his head ruefully and took a step toward the room.
“Hold stranger, you didn’t mention your name or your reason for being so close to Bealrotti territories.” Galen recalled old teachings from ancient masters, always take proper measure.
At that the others steeled their grips on their weapons and stared hard at the stranger.
Smiling congenially the man spread his arms in a peaceful gesture and said, “I am called Merleptus. I am a mage of some knowledge. I have spent most of my latest years studying and recording the various peoples of our world. An hour ago I was in Ara’moor to glimpse the two races I have studied here in the past, the Bealrotti and the slowly declining Elves.”
Graton visibly winced at that. His people had been on the decline for many years. Withdrawing from their homelands and gathering in the larger more remote areas. From these places their mages and priests sought to find a way to leave this world for one more hospitable. More precisely a world where humans weren’t the dominant peoples. Humans had the annoying habit of killing anything that wasn’t like them and elves had been no exception to that. They were so successful at secreting their people away from their lands many other races thought of them as legends already. This human was a rare exception.
The mage continued, “Now it seems I was fated to witness the snuffing out of a species. May I ask, adventurers, why it is you have invoked such carnage?”
Confronted with these words guilt swept through the group. How could we have known they were the last, they wondered? Had we known would it have changed anything? None of them had any words though so they turned their attention to the burned chamber and watched as the last flames flickered away.
Galen put away his sword and began to search through the carnage. He instantly began to hack and cough as he tried to brave the smoke.
Sevele and the Griffon lord joined him as Darkon spoke to the mage. “If you’ve finished then Merleptus, we have a quest to complete. Or if you’ve a mind to aid us for a moment perhaps you could magically remove the smoke from the room.”
Then Darkon smiled. His instinct proved correct as with but a wave of the wizard’s hands and an unintelligible word an intense gust of air, originating from nowhere, blew through the large chamber. The smoke cleared, leaving through the doorway and the debris began moving back against the far walls. The four adventurers crouched down and kept their squinting eyes on Merleptus. Unsure if this was his aid or a precursor to an attack. Soon though the room was cleared, only ash trails smeared the floors arching toward the walls and only the heaviest of items resisted the wind. These were a score of intact corpses, the four companions and a single, long iron chest. Ten feet in length and two foot in height and width, it had been blackened by the flames but remained largely intact.
“Yes, of course. These foul creatures would never have been able to touch the blessed spear of Bailick. So would have placed it somewhere it could not have harmed anyone.” Graton rasped from an ash parched throat.
They surrounded the chest, seemingly forgetting Merleptus whom slowly approached them from the doorway. Sevele immediately checked the latched chest finding it not locked but partially melted shut. The latch was of a weak metal so it was a simple matter to pry it apart. As it opened a blue glow bathed the room in a haunting light. Galen stepped back as Graton lunged for the spear in excitement. Darkon looked on, hoping the elf remembered their plan.
Standing, Graton held the weapon out for all to see. “This is it Darkon, the spear of Bailick itself! Both our quests are complete. Let us leave these darkened hallways and return to Jvar.”
It was nearly seven feet in length and seemingly made from crystal. Glowing bright blue Graton uttered a single word and the light winked out. The etchings along its shaft were of elves and griffons, stars and moon. The blade was formed from silvery steel unmarred or nicked in any way, as if never used. Clearly of elven make none disagreed that its rightful place was with Graton. Darkon’s throat was dry already from the blown ashes and his earlier exertion but he could feel it tighten and constrict even more in nervous anticipation. Finally his past would be revealed.
As they prepared to exit the scorched chamber they turned to Merleptus. Quietly observing he stood, arms folded before him, and waited.
Darkon moved to the front of the group and gestured toward him saying, “What of you, Merleptus? What will you do now that no more Bealrotti live in these tunnels?”
Merleptus did not answer but withdrew a large glass decanter that was wide at the opening, from his robes. “I will now collect a sample of their kind as proof to any questioning person that they truly existed.”
They watched as the mage unceremoniously severed a hand from a young Bealrotti corpse. He plopped the hand into the decanter and replaced it in the sleeve of his voluminous robe.
“Now I will return to the surface and ask you to join me. After you’ve completed your own quests, of course.”
“Join you?” Darkon asked.
Smugly Merleptus turned, “Yes. You see, there is one other reason I come to these ancient halls. I sometimes require the aid of others in completing my studies and it just so happens I am in such a need now. Though I do sense your personal quests may cause the disbanding of your party I am sure the price I am willing to pay will gain everyone’s interest.” He began walking out the door and toward the tunnels beyond.
His words did their work though as the four newfound friends each exchanged glances. All of them, for their own reasons, found the thought of separating so soon discomforting. They had worked so well with one another after knowing each other for so short a time. The looks between Darkon and Sevele spoke of even more than that.
Seeming the least concerned by the mage’s words Graton said, “Mayhap you should linger a short while then for as yet I believe our fates are undecided.”
The others looked to him, then all nodded in agreement.
“Very well, Griffon lord.” Merleptus said bowing grandly, “I shall indeed linger. Perhaps we should appoint a time in which I shall seek you out. At that time I shall explain everything to you and give you the initial payment. I recognize you may need some time to rest and recuperate after a long day of slaughter.”
Darkon looked askance at his companions and they all nodded. He looked back to the mage and said, “Give us a month.”
Merleptus smiled broadly and bowed once more. Then with a wave of a suddenly appearing staff that glimmered with magic, the mysterious mage disappeared.


CHAPTER 6
TWISTED ACCOUNTS


Two men argued elsewhere in the catacombs of Ara’moor. One was an elf, nearly six feet tall and of near perfect features he represented the most noble and arrogant of the elven folk. Called Cann-Dar by his people he was from the most elevated of families. Rarely outside of the cities did he hire others to do his lower labors so it was common that he traveled alone. Today he found himself at the finality of a quest he had been pursuing for years. It just so happened that his luck had seemingly dissolved at the finding of the spot he now stood before.
Standing right on top of his goal, which was buried six feet below the floor of the rough hewn chamber he was in, was a most foul tempered dwarf. Most dwarves to Cann-Dar were foul and distasteful creatures, not worth considering. Yet when one was so in your way you could not avoid him one must deal with the ugly creatures, one way or another.
Slaytor was unhappy. A treasure left by his father’s father left him with a map to this very spot. He was about to start digging when blast it if an elf of most irritating demeanor did not just appear and demand he leave the treasure to him! Elves to him were the most annoying and stupid of races. The dwarf’s four foot frame was as wide as a tree. His long curly hair laid roustabout on his head as if he’d just awoken from a five year sleep. Huge callused hands held a mighty dwarven war axe, well nicked from battle. Slaytor knew he should be done with this elf before he lost his temper and hurt him.
“Elf, I’ll tell you one time, and by the earth one time alone, be gone now or I might lose my temper.” The Dwarf accentuated this statement by smacking the haft of his axe in one meaty palm.
Cann-Dar smiled derisively and retorted, “Dwarf of horridstenchia, land of the foulest dwarves, I demand you leave from my presence at once! Lest I loose mighty magic upon you’re stony brow.”
He was sure dwarf’s feared magic, especially elven magic. Of course only a haughty elf would believe something as foolish as that.
Still, Slaytor felt that he should be able to reason with the