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

smooth stones that upon seeing, Gemini laughed at.
“He will already be within the city walls and soon well connected among any rebel factions or thieves guilds.” Gemini announced.
“How can you be sure?” Darkon asked.
“It has been our way for some time, ever since I told him wizards could scry upon unwary persons. This way if we were being scryed upon we would still have an unexpected factor we could rely on.” Gemini replied smiling as he prepared himself to cast the spells that would disguise the remaining four men.
As the illusion took shape their skin became dirty and their clothes tattered and bedraggled. Their weapons were gone from their sides and their feet were bare and battered. Darkon was the only one among them who could actually see through the illusion because of the mindflow. To him, a faint outline of a different image covered him and his friends. He often had to ask Gemini if the spell remained during the long walk to Mastalon.
As the city came into view on the darkening horizon Galen explained where the entrance they would take was. No guardsman worth his weight in gold would allow such a misbegotten group to enter the city, so a hopefully still secret entrance would be their access. Darkon surveyed the formations of the buildings he could see. Tall stone towers overlooked a seven foot wall surrounding the squared city. Many buildings spilled over beyond the wall’s protection becoming more squalid and in poor repair this far out from the center of the city. A portcullis was at the northern and southern points on the wall and they lay closed and uninviting. The city was not very large and it was clear from here that they had begun to pile buildings atop one another, some higher even than the palace that rested in the center of Mastalon.
When they reached the first of many copses of trees that were spread here and there upon the plains around the city Galen led them inside. As they looked to the south facing Mastalon they could see from within the copse a shape of a doorway formed by the wild growth.
Galen waved them forward and said, “My people are not without magic, as you will see. Everyone must now join hands or touch one another’s shoulders as I invoke the gateway’s magical command.”
They did so tentatively, finding it hard to believe the often untrusting prince would so readily and easily use such magic. Gemini and Graton both knew the often unpredictable nature of such gateways and kept in mind spells that could possibly save them and their comrades from harm.
Galen spoke the words, “Tiviss sentorum Galen Ect Mastalon!”
Their vision momentarily blurred and the world seemed to move around them. The site, in which they once stood, was suddenly replaced by another. They were suddenly knee deep in the muck and stench of Mastalon’s sewers.
One and all gasped for breath, all except Galen who laughed aloud and said, “Satar cannot keep out the rats, my friends! No king ever could!


CHAPTER 19
MASTALON


Ralac had scaled the old walls of Mastalon during the mid-afternoon, right under the shadow of the southeastern tower and the very noses of the four guards who stood watch at the topmost level. Often looking over the horizon or within the city itself they never once peered down the tower’s length. He entered just below the top level where several guards played dice and drank spirits while they awaited their turn at watch. The assassin easily slipped by the men, clinging to the shadowed corners of the two chambers on the level. The second chamber held three sleeping guards and by the smell of sweat and vomit he knew they were sleeping off a night of drinking. He quickly pieced together some of their armor, finding some of it would actually fit his slender frame.
As he dressed one of the men rolled over and asked him, “Is it my turn at watch?”
Ralac froze then and thinking quickly he deepened his voice and answered, “Not yet, go back to sleep.”
The man did just that, luckily for him since Ralac’s hand had made its way to a very keen bladed dagger prepared to put the man to sleep forever.
Soon the stealthy assassin had made his way through the ranks of Satar’s men down to the ground level of the tower. He was glad he still had several days’ growth on his face because his boyish looks would surely have given him away among these ill kept, ill mannered soldiers. It was obvious to him by the time he reached the city streets that these replacement guards were not organized or disciplined in the least. Ralac found it incredible that these men could overthrow a village let alone this well defensible place. Remembering the medallion he had taken from one of Satar's mages a month ago he placed it around his neck and under his borrowed chest plate. He was sure it would prove useful sometime since he noticed none of the guards or soldiers bore anything like it. When he was well within the city walls he ducked into an alley and discarded the smelly, stolen armor. Now that he was inside he could become more acquainted with the citizens and geography of Mastalon.
The city, though chaotic looking from outside the walls, was actually built in a precise manner. The roads leading toward the palace all rose upwards so any invaders would always be on the less advantageous lower ground. The roads that encircled the city all lay even and flat with each road higher up than the last in a succession of tiers. All the homes and businesses were solid and well kept timber buildings, marking the responsible and industrious nature of Mastalon’s citizens. Ralac marveled at the heights some of the buildings reached, wondering how they didn’t topple under their own weight. The woodworker’s building raised three stories high with several separate guilds working inside. Nearby, the masons building raised only two levels but sprawled outward due to the three warehouses it utilized. Clearly this was not a deprived city. Plenty of work seemed available and it seemed most citizens took advantage of that fact. In fact not a single beggar or vagrant sat in the alleys or dusty roads at all and he was beginning to wonder if any darker trades even existed here.
It wasn’t long though before he realized that not only weren’t there any beggars, there were no children, no errand running wives, nor even strolling elders. In fact the streets were bare except for workers going back and forth from different shops completing their duties. Here was the mystery, Ralac thought. He had hoped to find dissent among the people but now he understood that Satar had hidden the people. He decided to find a tavern and made his way toward where the buildings weren’t so high and trash often littered the streets. Even here he found no signs of conflict and no signs of tragedy. Even the walls, that were visible from the poorer section, were unmarred by siege rams or fire. Obviously Satar had taken the throne not through combat but by somehow subverting the royal family and their loyal followers. Somehow Satar must have replaced the guards with his own mercenAres.
Ralac understood that hirelings and mercenAres were only as good as their pay and their pay didn’t seem to be so good. Rebellion may not be necessary it seemed for if Satar could take the throne through deception, then so could someone else. He’d been taught that any rulers reign could only be as long as a dagger’s blade and today he knew his teachings had been true.
Spotting a sign lettered, “The Roasted Boar”, upon a dark stained wooden building, Ralac stepped inside. Eyes adjusting to the dark bar room he was surprised to see the place bustling with activity. Folk lined the bar and all nine tables were being used. Serving wenches scurried back and forth serving up steaming plates and frothing mugs. Moving to the bar Ralac ordered a mug of ale and surveyed the other patrons. Not a single armored or uniformed man was among them yet plenty of capable and strong men heartily told tales and boasted. Every patron seemed a true citizen of Mastalon and he could see tension and tentativeness in their eyes. Also he soon realized that many of the young to middle-aged men had something in common. It wasn’t easily spotted at first and any casual observers would never have noticed. At the right hand wrist of each man was a small black tattoo of a blade. Ralac believed he’d found Mastalon’s original guards and soldiers but needed proof or an affirmation of some sort.
Unfortunately his affirmation would be harder to come by now that four burly men towered over him and asked, “What are you looking at little man? Who are you?”
Ralac immediately understood how he had gained their attentions and doubted anything he said would convince them he wasn’t one of Satar's ears.
“Good day, sirs.” He then bowed grandly before them and set them off balance. “I am from a far away land seeking work where I can find it. My name is Brolin.” He lied.
The men looked skeptical and loomed threateningly over the short, leather clad, one eyed young man. Their apparent leader was another foot and more taller than Ralac and was covered in corded muscle. His face was bearded and a permanent scowl ruined any chance he may have had at being handsome.
He looked Ralac up and down and asked, “What is it you do, little one eye?”
His comrades chuckled at that and balled their fists at their sides.
Ralac took it all in stride and replied, “I am a hunter of sorts, the kind that hunts down escaped prisoners or lost loved ones or maybe even missing princes.”
All four loyal guardsmen’s jaws nearly hit the floor at that and their leader said, “You would so proudly announce you work for Satar?”
Smiling congenially Ralac answered, “Who is Satar? I was referring to the missing prince Galen!”
The second man, more Ralac's build but still tall, said, “We know whom you speak of but whose side are you on, one eye?”
“I and some others are actually friends of Galen’s and we have come to take down the usurper, Satar!” Ralac answered, loudly enough for several onlookers to hear though. This caused a buzz to erupt in the bar, which soon became a clamoring crowd that demanded answers from the unassuming young man. The gathered guardsmen and there kin gathered around asking questions and demanding answers.
Smiling towards his would be attackers Ralac raised his arms to signal silence in the place, hoping they did so before passing mercenary guardsmen investigated the din. Soon they did quiet down and they listened to his tale. When he was finished four robed figures who had been hanging at the back of the crowd stepped up to him and demanded he allow