Read Online Darkin: A Journey East by Joseph A. Turkot - Free Book Online
Authors: Joseph A. Turkot
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position.
“Krem!” shouted Erguile suddenly. “You tricky bastard, where have you gone?”
“That will be a good way to anger him, and get your head thrashed again,” reproached Adacon, stopping at the sound of Erguile’s shout.
“Serves the little bastard right, to let us alone and not wait up,” said Erguile. Then, from far down the third corridor came a hooting sound, loud and seemingly from some kind of musical instrument. “That would be him now,” Adacon and Erguile hurried down the corridor from which the sound had come.
They hurried down the long hall, taking in the odd decorations that were just as wondrous as the rest of the palace. The walls were lined with mysterious trinkets, gadgets, and other artifacts fastened to shiny mounts, all of which neither Adacon nor Erguile could recognize. Some were the color of bone, and looked to be strange animal skeletons. Others were shiny and metallic, and whirred at their passing. At last they came to a small room with generous sofas and a large glowing hearth at its center. Little Krem sat in his purple robe, puffing on something that smelled extremely sweet. Erguile plopped down on the sofa across from Krem, followed quickly by Adacon.
“You had better serve me a fixing of that, old man,” said Erguile.
“You’ve got some tongue, lad, but the rudeness I’ll take as a trait for the better, as it shall come in handy when we deal with Feral Trolls. Here, I have not forgotten you both,” Krem said, and then handed them their own pipes stocked with sweet smelling shreds of dried fruits and leaves.
“Thanks old man,” cried Erguile, igniting the mix and starting to puff.
“You can keep those pipes—and these,” Krem said, and he threw from his side two satchels, each made of leather. “I’ve put some dried meat and flasks of water in them already.”
“Thanks Krem, it’s much appreciated. These will be a great help,” Adacon thanked him.
“Indeed,” Krem agreed, puffing contentedly on his pipe as the nearby fire kept them from the growing cold. “Now, before I begin to talk, I am sure you both have questions you want to ask.” Erguile almost jumped in his seat, and immediately asked the first question.
“I have more than a few nagging my mind, but this before all the others: is it true, as Adacon told me, that a Lord Grelion is the all powerful and only lord of this land?”
“Indeed he is, Erguile. And it’s a sad truth, for that man has grown evil in all ways imaginable,” Krem sullenly replied.
“I’ve a question that I wanted to ask you since yesterday, Krem—it rather pertains to you, actually. Who, or what, is Molto? I’ve twice looked upon that name on your door in confusion—and the Spirited Winds that the sign speaks of,” Adacon asked, puffing pensively on his pipe. Erguile was distracted, deep in thought, quietly coming to terms with the truth about Grelion.
“Ah, an observant one you are, friend. Molto—that name is legendary from ocean to ocean, by those who remember the Elder Ages anyhow. It is said that he was the last of the great Vapours. It is my understanding that he lived in this very home before I came here, and perhaps even many years before that. The Spirited Winds, as you saw on my door, happens to be the name of a spell , one that when Vapoury was commonplace struck fear into the hearts of evil men, trolls and elves alike. In a great battle of the Elder Age, Molto waylaid a terrible evil as it descended from the North, single handedly stopping its advance. It was his powerful spell, the Spirited Winds, that defeated the evil Crawl Plaque, as they were called. His Vapoury alone restored an age of peace in Darkin,” told Krem.
“Did you say elves? Elves of the forest? You mean to say they’re not fable?” Adacon eagerly replied.
“Hah, elves are perhaps edging on the border of fable in this age, but I can assure you they have lived on Darkin for at least as long as humans have—I suspect much
“Krem!” shouted Erguile suddenly. “You tricky bastard, where have you gone?”
“That will be a good way to anger him, and get your head thrashed again,” reproached Adacon, stopping at the sound of Erguile’s shout.
“Serves the little bastard right, to let us alone and not wait up,” said Erguile. Then, from far down the third corridor came a hooting sound, loud and seemingly from some kind of musical instrument. “That would be him now,” Adacon and Erguile hurried down the corridor from which the sound had come.
They hurried down the long hall, taking in the odd decorations that were just as wondrous as the rest of the palace. The walls were lined with mysterious trinkets, gadgets, and other artifacts fastened to shiny mounts, all of which neither Adacon nor Erguile could recognize. Some were the color of bone, and looked to be strange animal skeletons. Others were shiny and metallic, and whirred at their passing. At last they came to a small room with generous sofas and a large glowing hearth at its center. Little Krem sat in his purple robe, puffing on something that smelled extremely sweet. Erguile plopped down on the sofa across from Krem, followed quickly by Adacon.
“You had better serve me a fixing of that, old man,” said Erguile.
“You’ve got some tongue, lad, but the rudeness I’ll take as a trait for the better, as it shall come in handy when we deal with Feral Trolls. Here, I have not forgotten you both,” Krem said, and then handed them their own pipes stocked with sweet smelling shreds of dried fruits and leaves.
“Thanks old man,” cried Erguile, igniting the mix and starting to puff.
“You can keep those pipes—and these,” Krem said, and he threw from his side two satchels, each made of leather. “I’ve put some dried meat and flasks of water in them already.”
“Thanks Krem, it’s much appreciated. These will be a great help,” Adacon thanked him.
“Indeed,” Krem agreed, puffing contentedly on his pipe as the nearby fire kept them from the growing cold. “Now, before I begin to talk, I am sure you both have questions you want to ask.” Erguile almost jumped in his seat, and immediately asked the first question.
“I have more than a few nagging my mind, but this before all the others: is it true, as Adacon told me, that a Lord Grelion is the all powerful and only lord of this land?”
“Indeed he is, Erguile. And it’s a sad truth, for that man has grown evil in all ways imaginable,” Krem sullenly replied.
“I’ve a question that I wanted to ask you since yesterday, Krem—it rather pertains to you, actually. Who, or what, is Molto? I’ve twice looked upon that name on your door in confusion—and the Spirited Winds that the sign speaks of,” Adacon asked, puffing pensively on his pipe. Erguile was distracted, deep in thought, quietly coming to terms with the truth about Grelion.
“Ah, an observant one you are, friend. Molto—that name is legendary from ocean to ocean, by those who remember the Elder Ages anyhow. It is said that he was the last of the great Vapours. It is my understanding that he lived in this very home before I came here, and perhaps even many years before that. The Spirited Winds, as you saw on my door, happens to be the name of a spell , one that when Vapoury was commonplace struck fear into the hearts of evil men, trolls and elves alike. In a great battle of the Elder Age, Molto waylaid a terrible evil as it descended from the North, single handedly stopping its advance. It was his powerful spell, the Spirited Winds, that defeated the evil Crawl Plaque, as they were called. His Vapoury alone restored an age of peace in Darkin,” told Krem.
“Did you say elves? Elves of the forest? You mean to say they’re not fable?” Adacon eagerly replied.
“Hah, elves are perhaps edging on the border of fable in this age, but I can assure you they have lived on Darkin for at least as long as humans have—I suspect much
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