Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Joseph Turkot
been speaking softly in their ugly language, gazing in a trance at the sky. Ulpo instinctually reached for his short sword, but to his despair it was gone; luckily, his limbing axe was still in place under his shirt. He had quickly drawn it, and still feeling dizzy he jumped straight up from the ground and rushed to the nearest creature, slicing off its head. The congregation began to hiss, turning from their trance to see what had happened; each of the strange things let out a painful shrieking noise. Several of them had charged at Ulpo, but most panicked and scattered. Ulpo did not waste a second, felling two more creatures—killing the first with a neck slice, and hurling his axe from two yards away at the eyes of the second.
No blood spilled that Ulpo could see, and he had been too startled to retrieve his axe. Using the moment of triumph to his advantage, he escaped into the black maze of the Endless Forest.
“Remtall!” shouted Ulpo again, giving away his position in the pathless forest. Remtall would have a torch still, he thought; his had disappeared along with his sword when he’d been kidnapped. Ulpo’s vision was much better than Remtall’s in the dark, a genetic privilege of his cave dwelling race, but the Endless Forest seemed to be a different sort of darkness—it seemed to Ulpo that each pine he passed sprouted from a lightless void, a saturated thickness of air that somehow rose up from the soil.
He began to lose hope, trudging on through the night, and he wondered whether or not he’d made the right decision in coming with Remtall. Perhaps he’d been wrong; perhaps King Terion had known all along what was best for his people. Perhaps he should have known better than to come to Aaurlind with no ranger or guide—to come with only the sparse knowledge of a drunken gnome. As Ulpo’s faith began to waver, he wandered erratically. Without realizing, he started to march in long circles, making no ground, only growing weary with despair. Suddenly, after another call of desperation, Ulpo inhaled deeply of a sweet aroma, wafting slowly through the empty woods. It was somehow familiar, but he couldn’t place it; was it a smell from his past? His mind hadn’t cleared, it seemed, since his mysterious slumber, but he recalled smelling the fragrance before, as if in a dream.
“ Kimp! Kimp! Kimp! ”
“Huh?” Ulpo looked up from the ground where he’d been focusing to avoid roots.
“ Kimp! Kimp! Kimp! ”
“Who’s there?” Ulpo said in alarm. Though his limbs felt heavy, he quickly picked up a stick from the ground, having no other weapons to defend himself. There came the flash of two oval slits in the distance, but they flickered off as quickly as they had appeared. Ulpo looked behind him, saw nothing. He looked to his left and right, straining for anything, to make out anyone, to behold the eyes once more. Nothing appeared. He closed his eyes, and let the aroma spread through him—it is so pleasant I could fall asleep right here, he thought. The befuddled dwarf opened his eyes one last time before passing into slumber once more, and all around him were giant yellow orbs, dancing against the black.
III: A HAUNTING IN RISLIND
The sun rose early. Pink rays poked lazily through clouds that wrung a crown of low-lying mountains. The tree-blanketed peaks stretched out to form a wide circle visible only to passing birds. Few knew of the gem possessed within: a meadow nestled at the heart of the mountainous rim, a most comfortable village of peace and refuge—Rislind. The secluded Rislinders had remained nearly untouched by the corruption that fell upon Arkenshyr after the Five Country War. For many years its residents lived hidden, shielded from the horrors of the slave trade that ravaged the West Continent. Both the south country of Arkenshyr, and the north country of Hemlin, had fallen to the tyrannical corruption of the once honorable and revered Grelion Rakewinter. The equanimous folk of
No blood spilled that Ulpo could see, and he had been too startled to retrieve his axe. Using the moment of triumph to his advantage, he escaped into the black maze of the Endless Forest.
“Remtall!” shouted Ulpo again, giving away his position in the pathless forest. Remtall would have a torch still, he thought; his had disappeared along with his sword when he’d been kidnapped. Ulpo’s vision was much better than Remtall’s in the dark, a genetic privilege of his cave dwelling race, but the Endless Forest seemed to be a different sort of darkness—it seemed to Ulpo that each pine he passed sprouted from a lightless void, a saturated thickness of air that somehow rose up from the soil.
He began to lose hope, trudging on through the night, and he wondered whether or not he’d made the right decision in coming with Remtall. Perhaps he’d been wrong; perhaps King Terion had known all along what was best for his people. Perhaps he should have known better than to come to Aaurlind with no ranger or guide—to come with only the sparse knowledge of a drunken gnome. As Ulpo’s faith began to waver, he wandered erratically. Without realizing, he started to march in long circles, making no ground, only growing weary with despair. Suddenly, after another call of desperation, Ulpo inhaled deeply of a sweet aroma, wafting slowly through the empty woods. It was somehow familiar, but he couldn’t place it; was it a smell from his past? His mind hadn’t cleared, it seemed, since his mysterious slumber, but he recalled smelling the fragrance before, as if in a dream.
“ Kimp! Kimp! Kimp! ”
“Huh?” Ulpo looked up from the ground where he’d been focusing to avoid roots.
“ Kimp! Kimp! Kimp! ”
“Who’s there?” Ulpo said in alarm. Though his limbs felt heavy, he quickly picked up a stick from the ground, having no other weapons to defend himself. There came the flash of two oval slits in the distance, but they flickered off as quickly as they had appeared. Ulpo looked behind him, saw nothing. He looked to his left and right, straining for anything, to make out anyone, to behold the eyes once more. Nothing appeared. He closed his eyes, and let the aroma spread through him—it is so pleasant I could fall asleep right here, he thought. The befuddled dwarf opened his eyes one last time before passing into slumber once more, and all around him were giant yellow orbs, dancing against the black.
III: A HAUNTING IN RISLIND
The sun rose early. Pink rays poked lazily through clouds that wrung a crown of low-lying mountains. The tree-blanketed peaks stretched out to form a wide circle visible only to passing birds. Few knew of the gem possessed within: a meadow nestled at the heart of the mountainous rim, a most comfortable village of peace and refuge—Rislind. The secluded Rislinders had remained nearly untouched by the corruption that fell upon Arkenshyr after the Five Country War. For many years its residents lived hidden, shielded from the horrors of the slave trade that ravaged the West Continent. Both the south country of Arkenshyr, and the north country of Hemlin, had fallen to the tyrannical corruption of the once honorable and revered Grelion Rakewinter. The equanimous folk of
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