Whill screamed as he fell hundreds of feet to the blackened surface of Drindellia below. He instinctively shot his hands out toward the ground as it rushed up to crush him, and to his utter amazement, he stopped dead in his fall, mere feet from the ground. He floated there for a moment, marveling at what he had just done, when suddenly the cliff above him exploded in a rain of fire and fell toward him.
Whill tapped deeper into the seemingly endless well of power within the blade and shot himself forward through the air. He flew out over the plagued land and stole a glance behind him. Eadon was flying through the air toward him and gaining. Whill poured more power into his flight and ascended into the sky, shooting straight up. Eadon followed, laughing manically all the while.
They flew through the gray cloud cover and shot up into the clear sky. Drindellia’s sun had not yet set, and the brightness of it was at first blinding compared to the dreary world below the clouds. A blast of lightning hit Whill’s circular energy shield and smashed through it. Whill was jolted by the hit, and his entire body screamed in pain. His concentration did not waver, however, and he quickly healed himself of the wound and shot faster into the darkening sky.
Whill flew so high that the sky began to darken and stars twinkled to life above him. Eadon came on faster than before, bearing down on Whill with his sword leading. Whill changed direction and flew across the sky. He looked down upon the world in amazement as he saw the curve of it. Looking behind him, he knew that he could not keep the distance between himself and Eadon. The Dark Elf had the same amount of power within his blade, if not more, and he surely had more experience flying.
Whill changed course and began to descend once again. Eadon kept pace with him easily and even began to catch up.
“There is nowhere to run, nowhere to fly! Face your fate, boy!” Eadon screamed over the howling wind.
Zhola was distracted from his tracking of Dirk by two streaks of light, which shot through the gray clouds above him. He raised his head to regard the strange sight and knew it to be Whill and Eadon. They blew through the clouds with such speed as to bring with them a funnel of swirling cloud. Thunder rang out as the chasing form shot lightning at the fleeing one. Zhola knew then that Whill had tapped into the power of the blade and he was in dire trouble.
Whill was hit yet again by lightning, and this time his concentration wavered and he lost control of his flight. He managed to level out enough to not plow straight into the ground, but he still came in too fast. The world below him blurred by as he braced for impact. He hit the ground like a meteor, sending dirt and trees and stone alike flying hundreds of feet into the air. His shield saved him from the impact, but he was jarred so hard that he lost consciousness for a moment.
Eadon landed gracefully where Whill had hit and purposefully walked the few hundred yards toward him. Whill got to his feet and tapped into the blade once more to strengthen his shield. Eadon let out a scream of rage, and from his hand shot a twisted and writhing beam of dark energy three feet wide. The dark spell slammed into Whill’s shield and pierced it easily. It hit Whill in the chest, and he was helpless to defend himself. His first instinct was to strike back at Eadon, but he would not.
Do it! His mind screamed, and he almost complied. He realized quickly that his mind was being invaded. He fought the intrusion and tried again to bring up his shield—anything to stop the horrible pain that wracked his body and mind.
You cannot win this fight Whill of Agora, came Eadon’s voice in his mind. It resonated in his head in a deafening chorus of pain. Whill summoned more power from the blade, but it was useless against Eadon’s mental attack. No matter the energy at his disposal, Whill could not hope to counter Eadon’s attacks. He began to give in to the Dark Elf. He had to make it stop, the gruesome visions, the blinding pain.
“Stop! I will give you the power of Adimorda. Please make it stop!” he pleaded.
“Enough of your tricks, boy!” screamed Eadon. “Give me the power now!”
The pain intensified, and Whill felt as though he were on fire. His head felt as though it would explode with the pressure of the mental attack. He wanted only silence, peace, death, anything to make it stop. He had failed miserably. He had no hope of defeating the Dark Elf, and he gave in to defeat. He raised his free hand to Eadon’s extended hand. He would give Eadon the power, and he would know peace.
Whill’s shaking hand had almost met Eadon’s when suddenly the Dark Elf was engulfed by the huge jaws of the red dragon Zhola. Instantly the pain subsided, and the mental attack stopped as Zhola shook his head violently and threw the Dark Elf to the ground. He bathed Eadon in fire and stomped one giant, clawed foot into the ground, burying Eadon.
“Go now!” he roared at Whill, and Whill wasted no time in heeding the dragon’s words. He leapt from the ground and took flight once again, speeding toward the portal cave. Behind him, Whill heard a painful cry from Zhola and then a loud explosion. He did not look back—he did not have to—he knew that Zhola had been destroyed.
Whill flew into the cave as quickly as possible and brought his sword to bear as he shot through it. With the blade of Adimorda, he cut through the side of the portal and released a huge amount of energy into the strike. The portal exploded in a shower of light and sparks and closed, trapping Eadon in Drindellia.
Whill was shot forward by the blast and was slammed into the opposite wall of the cavern. His shield prevented any injury; without it, Whill knew he would have been crushed.
The volcano still shook violently, and the cavern was quickly falling apart. Huge slabs of stone rained down all around him, and lava had begun to pour down the stairs. There was no way he was going to walk out of the volcano. As everything fell apart around him, Whill desperately summoned a massive amount of power from the blade, and when it was too much to bear, he released the energy up toward the ceiling.
The blast ripped through the stone, sending it exploding out of the surface. Lava quickly rushed in from all directions to fill the massive hole Whill had created in the volcano. He strengthened his shield against the lava and shot out of the hole into the night sky. Once out, Whill looked down in terror and awe at the destruction he had caused. The volcano had erupted violently, and lava poured forth upon the surrounding island and into the ocean. Steam and ash and rolling black smoke filled the sky and had shot as high as the clouds.
Whill flew fast, moving toward Agora and away from the destruction. He soon came upon his friends and cried with joy to see that they had all survived the blast that he had caused. Roakore looked at him wide-eyed as he flew past. Avriel gave out a loud roar and touched his mind with hers. When they reached the shores of Isladon and landed, Roakore dismounted and ran to Whill in a fit of laughter.
“Ye can fly now? If I hadn’t seen it with me own eyes, I would never be believin’ it.” He hugged his friend and squeezed him hard, patting him on the back.
“What of Eadon?” asked Azzeal hopefully.
“I led him through the portal and on to Drindellia. I would have been killed had it not been for Zhola. He came at the last moment and distracted Eadon long enough for me to escape back through the portal and destroy it.”
“Good, then Eadon be trapped far away,” said Roakore jubilantly.
“Yes,” Whill concurred. “For the time being anyway.”
“You did well, Whill. I had feared…But you are returned to us now,” said Avriel. She bent to him, and Whill hugged her thick neck, and tears welled and fell from his eyes. The rush of the battle had worn off, and Whill felt terrible. As soon as he had sheathed the sword, he had begun to shake uncontrollably.
“There is no time to rest,” warned Azzeal. “We must make for the safety of Elladrindellia with all haste. We know not what means Eadon has to travel back here from Drindellia.”
“Let us go first to me mountain. There we will find rest and food, and the ale will pour endlessly. You could help me to translate the book o’ Ky’dren,” said Roakore enthusiastically. “And don’
t be forgettin’ about Tarren.”
Whill nodded. “I have not forgotten about the lad, and your offer sounds wonderful. But I must travel to the Elves. There is much I must learn and not enough time to learn it. Besides, I do not think that it would go over well, bringing Avriel to Ro’Sar in her current form.”
Roakore hummed his agreement as he looked to the white dragon. “Indeed, that would not be goin over to well.”He gave a long sigh. “Very well, I will return home and let me people know what has happened. And then me and Tarren will meet you in Elladrindellia.”
Whill nodded. “The city of Cerushia is our destination.”
“Cerushia it is then,” said Roakore. “We will be along before the month is out.” He slammed his fist to his chest and bowed slightly, and Whill returned the gesture. He then extended his hand, and Whill took it.
“May the gods see you to your mountain, King Roakore.”
“Aye, and yours to the Elf lands, King Whill,” Roakore said with a smile. He pulled Whill in for a small hug. He held him at arm’s length and smiled. “I be glad you be returned to us lad,.”
“Thanks for everything, Roakore. Thanks for coming for me. I will look for you in the sky.”
Roakore mounted Silverwind, and the two flew off to the northeast, back to Ro’Sar. Whill watched them sail high into the clouds and disappear. After some time, he turned to Aurora.
“What are your plans? Do you wish still to remain with us?”
Aurora stood and nodded. “I do, that is…” She looked to Azzeal and Avriel hesitantly. “That is, if the Elves would have me in their lands. I know not their rules on foreigners.”
“We would have you, fair warrior of the north,” said Azzeal, and Aurora’s face was one of delight. She breathed in through her nose and straightened, smiling.
“Then I would aid you further in your quest. For your enemy is mine, and your victory as such.”
“Very well then, let us be off.” said Whill.
Dirk shifted in and out of consciousness. He had fallen nearly fifty feet and had broken his legs. His shoulder had been broken by the Dwarf’s stone bird, and his arm was useless. How he had averted the attention of the dragon, he did not know. For as Zhola had circled overhead, Dirk had accepted his fate. But now, suddenly, he was alone. Though he knew that he would surely die here, he would rather it was by his own hand than the jaws of a dragon.
He propped himself up on his good arm until he was in a sitting position. He looked around at the darkened and twisted forest. How long would it take for some nightmare of the twisted forest to find him and eat him?
He took a dart from its small sheath and stabbed himself in the arm. His eyes rolled back as the strong pain-numbing liquid went to work. He sat there for a long while before reaching for a dagger. He thought of Krentz, and tears found his eyes. It was true it seemed. He would die because he had tried to free his love. Regret that he could not help her after all filled his heart, and he sobbed. He did not care that he would die; he cared only that she would be left in that dark place.
Perhaps Eadon would go good on his word since Dirk had told him of Whill’s location; perhaps not. He would never know.
He said aloud, “I love you, Krentz.” Then he took a steadying breath and lifted the dagger to plunge it into his heart. He thrust the dagger, but it was suddenly stopped by an iron grip.
“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” asked Eadon. “I am afraid I still have many uses for you, my assassin. Perhaps you can kill yourself another time.”
Dirk let out a tired sigh as Eadon began to heal his injuries. “Son of a bitch.”
“I will take that as a thank you,” said Eadon.
Dirk just scowled at the hated Dark Elf.
***
Whill and his friends followed the southern coast of Uthen-Arden, stopping only at night for a few hours to sleep and hunt. Once the group was well past the city of Del-Oradon, they breathed a little easier. Aurora rode with Whill atop of Avriel and thanked the barbarian gods for her good fortune. She had left her homeland of Volnoss in an attempt to save her people from the coming war, and it seemed she had found the one who could help her. The sneaky assassin was now out of the picture and along with him, the knowledge of what she had done.
She remembered how the Elf-dragon had heard Dirk’s thoughts. Therefore, she attempted to only think in her native tongue and hoped that would help in keeping her secret from Avriel. She had gained the trust of the group, had proved herself an able ally. She would strike a treaty with Whill, the rightful king of Uthen-Arden, and she would lead her people in victory against the Draggard and the Dark Elves. She needed only to solidify her friendship with Whill and, indeed, Roakore as well. Then she would return to her homeland and challenge the chief of the Timber Wolf clan.
After many days of travel, they came to the borders of Elladrindellia and flew on to the city of Cerushia. Whill had never seen the Elf land, not even on foot. Below him, the land looked much like any other. It had forests and lakes and rivers running through it. Prairies and meadows abounded, along with villages and towns and sprawling cities. It was all these things, but so much more.
There was more green and more gold, more light and more moon. The trees were giants, and the flowers sprang from a dream. There were vines thick as tree trunks and ferns as tall as a horse. Waterfalls abounded for a stretch of land for most of a day, and Avriel made Whill and Aurora nearly sick, flying up in her aerial acrobatics. In her defense, she said that she had only been following Azzeal, and he flew as a dancer in the sky.
They met no resistance as they flew into the heart of the city. Avriel flew them to the same assembly in which Zerafin had been granted his strengthened sword. The council of elders was there, and the vine-covered meeting place was full of Elves. Avriel landed near the stair to the elevated speaking podium.
Whill dismounted and silently walked up the stairs and stopped at the vine podium. He looked out over the crowd of hundreds of whispering Elves. He took up the sword of Adimorda and raised it to the sky.
“I am Whill of Agora! I have found the sword Adromida!”
The End
Copyright © 2013 Michael James Ploof
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1492214981
This book is dedicated to you, the reader.
Thank you for following Whill this far.
A Song of Swords
Chapter 1
Elladrindellia at Long Last
Whill walked out of the gathering place with the whole of the elven assembly following him. Outside, along with the crowd, Aurora and Azzeal waited. Avriel had flown up and over the twisted vine walls of the living half-dome. She now landed not far to Whill’s right.
His voice had been enhanced by the power of the sword Adromida, and his words had been heard by all within the city, and all came. Droves of elves young and old came rushing toward the gathering place at the city’s center. Whill climbed atop Avriel and stood upon his saddle. He raised his arms to the crowd to be seen.
“It is he…”
“It is Whill of Agora.”
“We are saved!”
“The prophecy has come true!”
The crowd erupted in a clamor of proclamations and announcements of divine glory. Whill stood proud atop Avriel’s back, awed at how much like humans they seemed.
“What should I say?” he asked Avriel.
“Little,” she answered. “Your legend speaks for you; do not tarnish their fancy with too many words.
Whill nodded his agreement, glad to have her at his side at such a time. He smiled at Aurora, who beamed back like the rest of them, though she towered head and shoulders above any elf, aside from one which had shown up in bear form.
“It is true, then?” asked a female elf with hair the color of dark moss. “You have found the sword of the great seer Adimorda, you have come to learn our ways, and you are…the savior?”
Whill gulped in answer and Kellallea’s words played in
his head: “The prophecy is a lie; you are just a cog in a wheel of Eadon’s design.”
Whill panicked. Had they heard his thoughts? Was he projecting? Even now, just thinking about it made his paranoia worse. His head spun and his vision swam and he wavered upon his saddle. From on high he surveyed the crowd. Some looked on expectantly, others sobbed. Many bowed or fell to their knees, others jumped and cheered and kissed those around them. Few wore faces of skepticism; of the few that did, one was the face of Azzeal.
“Remember the garden, Whill.” Avriel’s voice swooped down and caught him before he passed out. To distract from Whill’s state, Avriel breathed a great shooting jet of fire from her maw. Then her mind spoke to all who would listen, and her growls accentuated her words.
“It is true, as I am the daughter of Araveal, daughter of Verelus, given forfeit life anew within the body of a white dragon. I am Avriel, and he—he is the chosen one. Whill of Agora, named by Adimorda in his most far-reaching prophecy. Whill of Agora, wielder of the great power of the blade of Adimorda—the blade which no elf may wield,” she reminded any who might forget.
“And she.” A white claw like a sword pointed at Aurora, who froze on the spot as all turned to regard her. “This beauty of the north is Aurora Snowfell. She is of our company and named elf-friend. Many others of our company will join here soon, King Roakore of the Mountains Ro’Sar among them. We have had a grand adventure, and the tales shall be told. But for now our Whill must rest and make preparation—”
“Please, Lady Avriel! We would hear the One speak, if but a word,” begged a female elf and many murmured in agreement.
The crowd hushed and waited in perfect silence for Whill to speak. Avriel crooked her neck around to look at him. Her eyes searched his but she offered no guidance. Whill cleared his throat, and to him the sound echoed in the silent anticipation.
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) Page 69
