Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) by Joseph Turkot Page B

more time to waste! The Rod is there—I must get it as soon as possible if I am to avenge my son!”
    “You’ve come for the Rod of the Gorge?” laughed Behlas, and he chuckled heartily long after Remtall’s boast.
    “What is so funny about that?” an angered Remtall replied, rushing back toward the spirit. “You may have saved our lives, but I’ll grant you your death if it pleases you so— never insult my son.”
    “Remtall, don’t!” Ulpo warned, but Remtall had lost his temper; he ran full speed to throttle Behlas where he stood. The gnome cocked his fist as he ran, and realizing he still had his dagger, withdrew it from his side and readied to stab the glowing man. As quickly as he’d approached the ghostly specter, Behlas stepped aside, extended his foot and tripped Remtall. He spilled to the ground in a wail of agony.
    “I’m sorry, friend, but your rage consumes you—It would seem you partake of too much ale,” returned Behlas.
    “He is truly out of his mind—you can’t hold him accountable for his actions when he’s out of liquor,” Ulpo apologized for his friend’s wildness.
    “I’m—I’m sorry…” moaned Remtall from the earth, rubbing his elbow where he’d smashed into the soil, barely missing a jutting tree trunk.
    “It’s quite alright. I understand—if drink still worked on me, I might be in your fiendish state too, gnomen friend—my gloom is such,” replied Behlas. “I’ll come. Perhaps your deaths will bring some amusement to this tired old spirit. Or who knows, maybe you’ll get the Rod from him!” Behlas laughed again at the idea.
    “He can light the way for us, Remtall,” Ulpo said, hopeful his friend would allow it.
    “I suppose. Well then, take us to the entrance of the mines, and then be gone if it pleases you so. Just know we tread not to our deaths, but to the weapon that will destroy Vesleathren and his vile minionZesm,” said Remtall.
    “Vesleathren?” retorted the spirit. “Zesm?”
    “Yes. It is those two whom I will destroy with the Rod,” resounded Remtall’s small frame.
    “I don’t believe—what have I missed?”
    Behlas knew nothing of the recent war: the return of Vesleathren, the Feral Army, and the transformation of Zesm to a great power of evil. Remtall and Ulpo quickly filled the eager spirit in on all events since the fall of Grelion’s slave trade. They told of the Battle at Dinbell, relaying every detail about the war, all to the great bewilderment and disbelief of Behlas. Finally, a stunned Behlas quietly contemplated all he’d heard, standing in silence. He peered to the canopy of pines, staring off into space, mesmerized by everything he’d missed during his time as Parasink’s zombie. In looking at the ceiling of pines, he saw the starand noted that its size had almost doubled since last he’d looked. Forgetting the star once again, he turned his gaze downward on his short companions.
    “I am changed by this news—I had no idea such things were stirring, or that Flaer Swordhand was still alive…”
    “Did you know him?”
    “Yes, very well—and it is his Vapoury that can possibly give me my final death,” replied Behlas. “Where is he now?”
    “We will take you to him, once you help us get the Rod,” Remtall shot back.
    “It is so then. I will put everything I have into this, and I hope for my own sake that you two do not fail your errand.”
    “Enough chatter. Lead us on. I am eager to kill your Lord Parasink,” Remtall boiled.
    “Good. Follow me this way, and I will tell you everything I know of Palailia,” said Behlas in great seriousness; there was hope in his voice. The glowing half-man half-spirit, appearing no older than a middle-aged human, led his new companions into the black of the Endless Forest—his aura of pearl white brightened. Ulpo and Remtall trailed him by the light of his skin.
     

VII: ARRIVAL
     
    The engines of the spaceship whistled rhythmically as its hull began to glow white-red.