Whill of Agora: Epic Fantasy Bundle (Books 1-4): (Whill of Agora, A Quest of Kings, A Song of Swords, A Crown of War) (Legends of Agora)

by Michael James Ploof

  To the city of light, where the elven torch burns.

  May the ocean be kind, may the wind catch your sail

  May the stars guide true, and may your vessel not fail.

  As the light from the sun rises each day

  In my heart you will dwell, and forever stay.

  Though foe you may find, and fell they may be,

  You will vanquish each threat, you are kings of the sea.

  If darkness doth find you, and find you it may,

  Think of the clear light that shines night and day.

  I’ll wait for you here till your ship returns

  To the city of light, where the elven torch burns.

  The song ended as the ship left the cave and entered the open sea. Freston raised his head with watery eyes. “My father was a soldier for the royal navy. I was only ten when my mother and I sang that very song. I was forty when my wife sang it for my eldest son.” He gave the women a nod and smile as they walked by— some with children, some without. “Their ships never returned, my father’s nor my son’s.”

  He started for the building site. Whill followed, not quite knowing what to say. His mood had been greatly dampened by the sight of the leaving ship—and by the song. “This city has lost many men to the sea, be they fisherman or soldiers,” Freston said. “Dragons, pirates, storms, and the Draggard wars are a constant threat to all who venture over the great waters. Every month one or more ships do not return, and lately their number has doubled. There is a need for more and more soldiers to hold the eastern borders of Agora. Ships that used to be gone for only weeks are now on duty for months. There is hardly anyone in this city who has not known loss to the ocean. Yet, we love it still. And we will remain people of the blue waters until the day they overtake this land.”

  Whill looked at the old man as he spoke, and saw him as he had not before. Within his weathered face and pale blue eyes, he now saw a quiet sadness.

  “I never knew my father,” Whill said. “All I know of him is that he died when I was just an infant. I sympathize with your great loss and hope that no other befalls you.”

  “Tragedy is a storm we all must weather, my friend. To let it break you is the worst tragedy of all. Instead, we stand tall in defiance and wear a smile when all reason for smiling has left us. Let this great vessel of yours be a symbol of defiance of your own tragedy, and let us take joy in it.”

  Whill wondered if Abram had gotten his optimism from living in Fendale. He was never discouraged by anything—a virtue he had tried to instill in Whill at an early age, and for which he was now thankful. Without such an influence, he could have easily become a very different man.

  “Ah, here we are.” They had finally reached the building platform. Three men were busy at work on the frame of what would become Whill’s ship. Freston put two fingers to his mouth and gave a loud whistle. The men stopped what they were doing and greeted their father.

  “Come here, boys. I’d like you to meet a friend.” The men put down their tools and joined Whill and Freston on the walking platform. Whill extended a hand and shook with each of them in turn.

  “Aye, Kellis is the name. Nice to meet you,” said the first and biggest of the three men. He wore brown pants and boots with a white shirt cut off at the sleeves. His long brown hair was pulled into a tail to keep it away as he worked. A thick beard covered his jolly face, and his father’s eyes, as bright as his smile, peered at Whill above a proud nose.

  “Name’s Trellen,” said the second man. He was dressed like his brother with the exception of a black shirt. His hair was brown like Kellis’s, but it hung in curly clumps about his face. His smile was like his father’s also, though his face was clean-shaven.

  “Nice to meet you, Whill. I’m Leukas,” said the third and youngest man. He wore white pants that had been soiled with sawdust; his shirt was blue and long at the sleeves. His hair was long like his brothers’, but blond rather than brown, and it was pulled back like Kellis’s. He wore a thin, pointed beard on his chin and long thin sideburns. He was the best-looking of the three, with a well-defined jaw and sharp features.

  “So, boys, how goes it?” Freston asked, eyeing the frame of the ship.

  “It’s going as well as it can. We’re actually ahead of schedule,” said Trellen with a proud smile.

  Whill gazed with pride at the one-hundred-foot-long skeleton that would become his ship. He could hardly wait until the day they launched.

  “You gentlemen mind a little help?” Whill asked, ready to get his hands dirty.

  “The more help the better,” answered Leukas.

  Kellis put a hand on Whill’s shoulder. “It’s good to see a man with money who is still eager to work.”

  Together the five of them went to work. Whill enjoyed the company of Freston’s sons and was eager to learn all he could about the building process. He asked many questions, which the men were happy to answer. He was impressed by their passion for building. Even Freston, who had been building all his life, still went at the project with great enthusiasm. As the sun set over the ocean, they called it a day and agreed to start again at first light.

  Whill left the dock feeling excited and energetic, eager to tell Abram all he had learned. But first he rode to one of the many blacksmiths in the city and bought a full set of armor for Abram. Since he had won his own beautiful armor on account of Abram, he felt it only fair that the man have his own. He paid the blacksmith and, with the armor in a large bag, headed for Ocean Mist. As he rode down the main street to their lodgings, he suddenly felt the eyes again. Trying to ignore it, he rode on looking straight ahead. He wasn’t as perceptive as Abram, but he could not shake the intense feeling of being watched. He abruptly stopped his horse and jerked his head to look behind him—but no one was there. Nor did he see anyone on the rooftops of the large, surrounding buildings. This part of the street was fairly empty but for the occasional horseman or guard. Indeed, no one looked at all threatening or took any apparent interest in him.

  Whill urged his horse into a quick trot and was happy to see Tarren waiting by the Ocean Mist door. He dismounted and handed the reins to the boy.

  “Hello, Master Whill!”

  “Good day, Tarren.” He surveyed the surrounding street. Still he found nothing to justify his paranoia.

  “I heard that you defeated Knight Rhunis at the tournament. I wish I could have seen it,” Tarren said with great jubilation as he acted out a mock swordfight. “Do you think you could teach me some moves?”

  Whill looked at him with amusement. “Do you hope to be a knight yourself one day?”

  Tarren nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes. I can’t wait until I’m of age for the tryouts.”

  “Well, if your father says it’s alright, then I would be happy to.”

  Whill didn’t think that the boy could exhibit more joy than he already had, but at this response, he managed to. “That will be great! Do I get my own sword?”

  “Slow down, my young friend. Let’s start with your father’s permission and then we’ll work out the details.” He gave Tarren a gold coin. “Take good care of that horse for me. We’ve been through a lot together. And see to it that this bag of goods finds its way to my room.” Tarren looked at the coin with wide eyes and thanked him.

  Once inside, Whill spotted Abram sitting at their usual table near the bar, facing the door—he had a thing for facing the door. Whill took the opposite seat.

  “How did the day treat you, Whill?”

  He eagerly told him about the ship and what they had accomplished. Soon the serving girl from the other morning came to the table.

  “Ready to order?” She aimed a particular smile at Whill.

  “Beef stew for me—with fresh bread—and another bottle of mead, please,” said Abram.

  “I’ll have the same, Miss—”

  The girl stared at Whill as if transfixed. “Oh, sorry, my name is Brillia.”

  “Brillia. That’s a beautiful name. Mine’s Whill.”

>   “I know.” She blushed. “I mean, everyone has heard of your fight with Rhunis. My father told me all about it. He’s been bragging that the best fighter in Eldalon is staying at Ocean Mist. Well, I’ll be back shortly with your food.” Abram gave him a withering look. Whill waited until she had disappeared through the kitchen door before he spoke. “Do you think it’s bad that so many know of our whereabouts? Because of the gold, I mean?”

  “Yes, I do.” Abram seemed tense. Whill could tell something was on his mind.

  “Freston brought it to my attention that we should be careful of thieves.”

  Abram looked annoyed. “Of course we should be careful. I’m surprised no one has yet tried to rob us. You go about throwing your gold around like it’s candy and you wonder if we might get a little attention from the no-good scoundrels that walk these very streets. I haven’t raised you to be naive.”

  Whill looked at Abram with burning eyes. “Don’t treat me like a child.”

  “I’m not treating you like—”

  “Yes, you are! And what of you, Abram? If anything, I was taking your lead in my generosity. Of course it’s crossed my mind that we are in danger of thieves, but if they have half a brain they know the gold is locked up. And if they do try to take it from us I wish them luck, for they will bleed before they get their greedy hands on a single coin. It is I who beat Rhunis in that tournament—I, a man, not a child—and it was I who saved your hide from those wolves. But that means nothing to you. You eagerly sign me up to fight one of best knights in Eldalon, but you think me too weak to handle my own past.”

  Whill had not been this angry in a long time, and never at Abram. He knew he was overreacting but he couldn’t stop. It was as if a dam had broken, releasing years of animosity towards Abram about the secrets he would not reveal.

  “What if you had been killed by those wolves, or that damned black bear last year?” he went on. “Or any of the many battles you fought when I was just a child? Where would I be then? If you were dead, there would be no one to tell me what only you know.” He breathed heavily but felt relieved to have his feelings out in the open.

  Abram was solemn. “I’m sorry. You are a man to me by every measure, and I am thankful to you for saving my life. Shortly you will know all you wish, as I have told you. You’re right, my death would have robbed you of all of your answers. But if I had not been able to finish your training, you would not be prepared to know them. I have not spent these long years teaching you in order to prepare you for a life of normality or peace. You could be a Knight of Eldalon—or of any kingdom, for that matter—with your knowledge and skill. But that is not your path. Your destiny lies elsewhere.”

  Whill felt terrible for what he had said. Abram had saved his life countless times. He had dedicated nineteen years to Whill’s well-being and had treated him as a son. He began to apologize but could not find his voice. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked away, ashamed.

  “I know, Whill. And I’m sorry for having to put you through all this. But soon we will sail, and soon you will know.”

  Brillia returned with the steaming food. It smelled delicious but Whill had lost his appetite. He ate little of the stew and bread, and left the table saying that he was tired from the day’s work. As he lay on his soft bed and watched the moon flirt with the passing clouds, he realized that he indeed was very tired. Sleep soon found him—as did dreams of his long-dead parents. They stood upon a tall hill, waving happily. But he could not reach them; no matter how he tried, he could not find the top of the hill. The faster he climbed, the taller it got… until a mountain stood before him.

  Chapter 7

  Farewell to the City of Light

  The sun shone in upon Whill’s face. The sky was clear blue and the morning air, sweet. A small bird sat at the windowsill peering curiously at Whill, quickly jerking its head to get different angles of him. He sat up as the bird flew away and noticed Abram sitting at the small table, looking at what appeared to be a map.

  “Good morning,” he said as Whill climbed out of bed and hurriedly got dressed.

  “Damn! I’m supposed to meet the brothers at first light.”

  “Relax, I sent word with that boy Tarren that you would be late. I want to show you something.” He gestured to the opposite seat and rotated the map for Whill to see.

  “I told you I had small business yesterday. Well, I met with King Mathus and Lord Rogus. The king is very eager to meet with us when we are finished in the mountains.”

  “Why?”

  Abram took a deep breath as if troubled. “It seems that King Addakon of Uthen-Arden has declared war against Isladon. As we speak, war wages upon its borders. No word has come from King Fenious of Isladon. The Arden navy has blocked off the entire coast, and Mathus fears that Drindale will soon fall.”

  Whill sat back in his chair in disbelief. “So Mathus wants to know if we intend to fight?”

  “That he does.”

  “And you told him yes, I assume.”

  “No, I told him our answer will come after we visit Dy’Kore.”

  Whill thought for a moment about the severity of a war within Agora. There had not been strife among the kingdoms for more than five hundred years.

  “What of the Draggard within the Ebony Mountains?” Whill asked.

  “It is as I have warned the kings for years; King Addakon has made them his allies. It was obvious when Addakon did nothing to help Isladon in vanquishing that retched scourge from the mountains. But the kings would not listen. They did not want to believe the ugly truth. Now it is apparent.”

  Whill was stupefied. “But how can Addakon persuade his soldiers to fight their own kind—and alongside those demonic beasts?”

  “Addakon is of strong mind and he can make his will that of others. His army is nothing but a group of mindless pawns.”

  “And what of the people of Uthen-Arden? They must object to this outrage.”

  “The people know not of his alliance with the Draggard. He has told them that Fenious is the one who has befriended the fell beasts, and he has turned them against the elves as well. He tells his people that the elves are indeed the masters of the Draggard, and that they are plotting to take all of Agora for their own. I fear that Elladrindellia will be Addakon’s next target.”

  Whill sat shocked. “This is ridiculous! King Addakon has treated his people terribly since he has been in power. Never in the history of Arden has there been a more brutal king. How can they believe his lies and follow so blindly?”

  “Do not forget, Whill, Addakon would have been carefully planning all this for many years. And though he has treated his people badly, they will follow his lead if presented with a common enemy—especially one as terrible as the Draggard.”

  Whill’s mind raced as he tried to comprehend what he had heard. He stood up and slammed his fist down on the table. “We must do something! There is no time to wait for the ship to be finished. Let us go now to the mountains and be done with it! We must tell Mathus that we will fight.”

  Abram smiled. “I’d hoped you would say as much.”

  With that, Whill and Abram grabbed their things and hurriedly packed their bags. They left Ocean Mist and made their way to the bank on Whill’s horse. Once inside, they converted all but one bag of gold to diamonds. Upon finishing the transaction, they quickly rode to the docks and found Freston.

  “We must leave Fendale at once, my friend,” Abram told him.

  “What’s wrong? Is there trouble?”

  “Yes, of the worst kind.” He quickly explained what he knew of the Isladon siege.

  Freston did not seem shocked. “I knew Addakon was no good. Ever since his brother died, things haven’t been right in Arden.”

  “We wish to leave today—as soon as possible,” Abram said. “Do you know of anyone who will sell us a vessel?”

  “Of course. I will.” He pointed to a small ship docked forty feet away. “I have three of them, as you know, but there is no need to buy it.
If you must go, go now and take Old Charlotte. She’s not much to look at but she’s sturdy, and fast.”

  Whill stepped forward. “Will you take care of my horse until we return?”

  “Like she were my own. And your ship as well, lad. It’s a shame you won’t see her come to life.”

  Whill nodded. “I was looking forward to sailing her soon, but that will have to wait.”

  Freston led them to a large wooden building built into the back of the cave. It was a store for sailors to get last-minute supplies. Whill ordered dried meats, cheese, bread, and a barrel of water. Next to the water he noticed barrels of wine, mead, and... “Dragon’s Brew”. He read the bold red letters, laughing to himself, and said, “I’ll take a small barrel of old Barlemew’s as well.”

  He overpaid and carried the meat while a young boy wheeled the rest of the things to the boat. Together, Whill and Abram loaded the vessel and said their farewells to Freston and his sons.

  “Are you ready to sail, my boy?”

  “That I am, sir. That I am.”

  Together they opened the sail and quickly caught wind. Whill took in the familiar smell of the ocean water. With the wind in his hair and the wheel in hand, he steered them westward. Their path would bring them completely around the western coast of Eldalon, roughly a thousand miles, to the port town of Sherna.

  Whill regretted having to leave Fendale; he loved its people and the city itself. But at least now he would find out his past, the secret of which was locked away somewhere in the dark recesses of the Ky’Dren Mountains.

  They sailed steady the entire day until the sun began to set behind the vast blue ocean. It appeared to be bigger than usual, soft orange behind the clouds.

  “Ah, sunset upon the ocean,” Abram mused as the sun’s rays shot up from behind the clouds in brilliant hues. “Never will man mimic such beauty.”

  With the stars came a chill that rode on the wind as the night air pushed the ship steadily along. Whill shivered with the drop in temperature. Abram went below and retrieved his long, hooded brown robe.