At both ends of town pikes protruded from the ground, each with a human head atop it, man, woman, and child. Dirk turned from the sight in disgust. The hairs on the back of his neck shot up, and he realized he was being watched. The feeling came from behind him, between two burned-out but standing buildings. He made no move to give suspicion. He went about inspecting the town as usual. He called upon the jewels in his ears and listened through the rain. He heard nothing, and this did not bode well. If it were a beast or a draggard he would have heard its breathing.
Dirk listened while he walked toward the largest building; he listened for nearly ten minutes after he had slipped into the shadows between two buildings. Nothing stirred, but he felt the waiting. He felt the cold calculation and patience of a predator.
A dark elf, then, he thought, guessing that he had been tracked on the orders of Eadon. He needed to discover the location of his pursuer. From a pocket he withdrew a small speaking stone, a gift from Krentz. She had made most of his trinkets, and her creations were clever. Dirk whispered into the stone and threw it across town. It landed in a burned-out building and Dirk’s voice boomed out of the stone. “Turn around now and you may keep your life.”
A fireball ripped through the rain, leaving a trail of steam in its wake. Dirk knew then that indeed a dark elf pursued him, and it was weary. It was going for the quick kill, recklessly exposing its location in the process. It was a foolish mistake, and it did not make sense that Eadon would send a novice to dispose of Dirk. Instead he would send someone skilled in the arts. Eadon knew Dirk’s abilities. He would send a master. The dark elf was toying with him; he was trying to convince him that his pursuer was weary, that he was a novice. Dirk was dealing with an excellent predator. He respected his tactics, though he would not fall for them.
There was a growl suddenly from the forest; Dirk knew it to be that of a wolf or wild dog. If nothing else, it seemed he was facing a proficient Ralliad that could change into a wolf. He assumed that the elf knew where he was, and it was possible that he was cornered, as the fireball had come from the other end of town, and the growl came from the opposite direction. Dirk was at a big disadvantage strategically. Again a growl came, and Dirk saw a pair of ice-blue eyes a few feet from the end of the alley in the thicket.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” Dirk taunted and the eyes burned like blue flame. A huge brown timber wolf erupted from the brush and charged toward the alley. Dirk knew it was a trap; the wolf’s master must be in wait at the other end of the alley. Instead of falling into the trick, Dirk charged the wolf, or seemed to.
As the wolf crashed through the underbrush, Dirk twirled his grappling hook once and sent it flying up and out. With his free hand he threw two poisoned darts at the animal. The hook caught hold of the roof ledge of the partially standing building to his right. He pulled the line taught and leapt into the air. He angled himself with the line and at the same time pulled himself upward while running along the wall. The wolf leapt for him and grazed his boot.
Dirk went up and over the ledge. Unhooking his grappling hook with a twist of the wrist, he crept quickly along the roof, contemplating what he had seen. The darts he had thrown had been dead on, yet they’d missed. They had not been deflected; rather the brown-and-white wolf had become translucent and the darts had simply slipped through. It was as if the wolf was a ghost, or perhaps it was a dark elf after all. But no dark elf he had ever seen could make themselves as intangible as smoke. Perhaps Eadon could, but this was not Eadon’s style. If he wanted Dirk dead, he would simply kill him.
He snuck a look over the edge of the roof. There was nothing to see but a fireball coming straight at him. With no time to duck and no protection to be found within the burned-out building, Dirk leapt over the fireball and extended his grappling hook with a flick of the wrist. The enchanted rope grew until it caught hold of the ledge on the adjoining building. Dirk swung out and wide intending to land on the adjacent roof. Another fireball ripped through the night and exploded where the grappling hook had caught. At that moment the ghost wolf slammed into Dirk and together they went tumbling.
They landed and Dirk rolled once and came up with a slash of his iron dagger. Dirk’s suspicions of the wolf were proven right when the beast reared from the slash and growled. A bright red slash appeared upon its flank. The wolf’s form wavered and turned translucent, then quickly back again, and the wound was gone.
Dirk dropped a smoke bomb that exploded with a deafening flash of blinding light. Behind him the wolf growled as he dove for the broken window of the crumbling stone structure. No fireball or wolf came at his back. The smoke bomb had created a thick fog which covered the entire town in shrouds of gray. From a pocket he retrieved the glasses that a sun elf had created to his specifications under pain of death. He knew that the dark elf could not see him with his mind-sight, due to the spells upon his dragonhide cloak. But the dark elf had other ways of tracking. Dark elves could follow the aura of one’s spiritual imprint, as clearly as a footprint in the sand. Dirk had of course remedied that problem with enchantments to his boots and attire. There were a multitude of tricks, however, and he assumed that the dark elf knew his location. The smoke had been more for the wolf, and it seemed to be working.
Dirk needed to even the odds and quick if he was to survive against the hunter and his pet. He had to take the wolf out of the equation. Quickly he took from a pouch a firestone and found the center of the room. He stood upon an old chair and scratched a symbol into the ceiling. Outside he could hear the low growl of the wolf as it stalked about, sniffing for a scent. He knew that the dark elf too was closing in. He finished the symbol and quickly made its twin upon the floor. It was a spell trap for snaring spirits, taught to him by Krentz. It would work, in theory; he did not know for sure, as he had never needed to use it before.
He finished the second symbol and put it between the wolf and himself. He heard a faint noise from the upstairs of the stone building and looked to the stairs back and to the right, but nothing stirred beyond the dark shadows of the passage. Dirk withdrew a dart, which, like the symbols, he had never used. This dart, like the six others of similar purpose, contained a silver tip and a poison of salted blessed water. He chucked the dart through the doorway as the spirit wolf stalked by; the dart hit the wolf in the neck. The wolf yelped and shook its head fiercely, it turned to spirit form and staggered back as the dart fell to the ground. Dirk readied another dart and his iron dagger as the wolf snarled and growled.
Behind him the wall exploded inward and he was forced to take a knee and shield himself with his enchanted cloak. A dark elf appeared through the destruction as if from out of the smoke and extended a hand toward Dirk. The assassin anticipated the attack and was ready as black tendrils of energy shot forth and were deflected by his enchanted cloak. Dirk twirled with the attack and came across quickly with his dagger. Behind him the wolf attacked, lunging at Dirk with hungry teeth and sharp claws gleaming. Dirk ignored the attack as his dagger was deflected by the dark elf’s energy shield.
The dark elf came across with a sword slash, which Dirk rolled away from. At his back the wolf crossed the threshold and entered the area of space affected by the symbols. The spirit animal hit the force field as heavily as it might a large window. It realized its prison and thrashed about wildly, snapping and snarling at its invisible walls.
Dirk noticed the elf’s slight surprise and predicted his next attack. As the dark elf brought up his hand to blast him with a spell, Dirk lunged forth with the speed of a viper. He knew that the only way to get through a strong energy shield was at its weakest point, which only occurred in the palm of the hand just before and just after a magical blast. The palm of the hand was the only place that the shield needed to be lifted, lest a practitioner release the spell within its own shield.
He plunged his mind-control dagger through the palm of the attacking dark elf as the spell began to emerge. The dark elf screamed in defiance, but before he could react, Dirk scre
amed, “Be still! You will not raise hand nor mind against me! You cannot, or you will die!”
The dark elf was silent but his face contorted with the pain of the struggle against the dagger’s influence. “You were sent by Eadon, correct?” Dirk asked.
“Y…yes,” the elf was forced to answer angrily.
“To kill me or take me captive.”
The elf’s face contorted as he fought the dagger. “To…kill.”
Dirk nodded. “How do you control the wolf?”
The dark elf fought hard against the dagger. Dirk asked again, and intensified the dagger’s force. “How do you control the wolf?”
The dark elf screamed against the wicked pain of the biting blade, fought against the mind intrusion, but the blade proved too powerful. His eyes rolled back and he shuddered with exertion.
“Tali…sman,” he uttered and looked at his pocket.
“What is its name and what are its commands?”
“Chief, you hold the talisman, and summon, dismiss the same.”
Dirk nodded thanks to the dark elf and in one swift motion hewed off his head so clean that it slid off the neck slowly. He retracted his dagger and searched the dark elf’s effects. In a hidden pocket he found a small bone carving of a timber wolf, the talisman.
Dirk grabbed the dark elf’s severed head and turned to the trapped wolf. It had stopped fighting the spell trap and simply stared at him as it sat on its hind legs. It looked at the head of its former master and cocked its own to the side; it let out a small whimper and disappeared to the spirit world. Dirk regarded the smooth bone talisman for a moment and then put it in his pocket. From the door of the building he threw a dart that hit the dark elf’s body and exploded in flames. As Dirk left town, the building behind him went up in steadily intensifying flames. He set the head of the dark elf upon a pike that had been meant for the villagers. He took fifty paces and then threw a dart at the severed head. Dirk turned and continued on as behind him the dark elf head exploded on impact.
He kept to the road to make better time and ate what he could find off the trail. He knew how to be hungry, but he needed energy if he was going to make all haste to Kell-Torey. He knew himself to be just east of the Ky’Dren Pass. By morning he would reach the great pass, the only way into Eldalon by land. There within the gap in the mountains he would find the bustling trade city of the same name, and with any luck, he would find a faster way to Kell-Torey.
Chapter 9
Inner Vision
Whill awoke within his silken bed the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had in a long time. Hope had begun to replace the nagging dread that had been his constant companion of late. The memory of a dream came back to him suddenly. He laughed and quieted himself quickly. He didn’t know how he had slipped from it or it from his mind. It had been recent, just before he woke. It had been a dream of a memory. Whill closed his eyes as he reflected upon it. So clear was the memory that he felt a part of it.
Whill was but ten at the time. He and Abram had just left Sidnell, and the idea of being gone from Aunt Teera and the girls, warm baths and beds, had begun to gnaw at him.They followed the coast that rainy gray day, and young Whill was pulled from his homesickness by Abram.
“Are you hungry, lad?” he had asked.
Whill thought a moment. “No, sir, not yet.”
“Good,” Abram proclaimed and steered them off the road to cross a meadow of golden wheat, its beauty and vibrancy stolen by the dull day. “It is better to hunt when you are not hungry, lest you starve of misfortune.”
He stopped Whill’s horse and looked him in the eye. “Don’t ever be caught unprepared; life is always waiting to kick your arse. Life kills all of us, don’t forget. Every day lived means you were fighting, or someone else was fighting for you. Soon as you learn to fight, you learn to live.” Abram dismounted and bid Whill do the same. “Now, lad, you have been learning things of great importance in my stead. Teera says you are a genius among geniuses, so now begins your lesson in living. For a brain to work a man must eat, and for a man to eat he must hunt. Reliance on others for food and drink makes one a slave to fortune, it causes dependence which hinders freedom. Understand, lad?”
Whill nodded. He did understand, as children understand all too well the limitations of dependency, the frustration at their size and weakness and inability to exercise their own will.
“Good, then. Today we hunt.”
That had been the beginning of a decade of travel, adventure, danger, and learning.
Whill lay in his bed smiling at the memory, lost in the euphoria of nostalgia. They had hunted all day and into dusk when finally a big buck with an amazing rack of antlers crossed their path. Abram’s arrow had flown true, and Whill had his first lesson in skinning and butchering deer.
Whill recognized the pain at the edge of his mind, encroaching on the sensitive thoughts. His pain wanted to bring him along in a sorrowful remembrance of his lost friend. Whill felt himself slipping, tears beginning to form, but quickly he smiled at the intrusion.
“This is not your place. I do not need you. Go away now,” Whill said to his pain, and visualized his thought connections shifting down other paths.
“I am sorry” came a voice, and Whill jumped. “Avriel said that you were awake. I will go,” said Aurora and turned to leave.
“No, no, I was not talking to you, I was…never mind,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I was getting up anyway.”
With a smile Aurora sat back on a thick vine chair, a mischievous smile creeping across her face as the vines of the seat shifted to the shape of her form. Whill swung his legs over the side of the bed and realized he wore no clothes beneath the silken sheets.
Aurora raised an eyebrow and her smile spread. “Thinking of staying in bed?” she purred.
“Uh, no! I mean—no,” he stammered. He faked a yawn and stretched, attempting to recover. “But I am famished.” He stood clutching the sheets and looked around for his clothes. He found the leg of the pants he had worn sticking out from beneath Aurora’s bottom. She smirked at his wondering eyes.
“So am I…?” she teased and combed through her hair with long fingers. Her long, thick locks fell across her bosom and shoulder, brushing against her flesh. She wore still the furs she had worn within the arena, though they had not the dirt and blood of battle upon them.
Whill smiled weakly and went to his wardrobe. Many sets of clothes had been supplied to him. He chose loose-fitting pants and shuffled to get them on under the sheets. A breeze informed him that his sheet had fallen. A slight hum came from behind him and he felt his cheeks get hot. He tied off the pants and was pleased with their feel; they were light and airy and felt as if they were not there. He chose a similar shirt of white with light green patterns of snaking vines throughout. He found also that the sandals were very comfortable, like standing on moss.
Whill turned and raised his arms for Aurora, turning to show her the fit.
“You look like no less than a king,” Aurora sang.
Whill scowled and rubbed his stomach. A hunger pang reminded him he had to eat. “Shall we find breakfast?”
Aurora gave a small laugh. “That will not be easy; it seems you have some admirers.”
Whill walked to the balcony and the leaf curtains slid back slowly. Loud cheers emanated from below, startling him. A crowd of hundreds of elves had gathered and were cheering his name. As he walked out onto the balcony, many of the gathering crowd fell to their knees and bowed to the ground. It reminded him of the mob that had surrounded the house of healing in Sherna, after he had healed the infant.
Aurora came to stand by his side. “They worship you like a god-king.”
Whill sighed. “I wish they wouldn’t.”
Aurora appeared perplexed. “What man would not appreciate such adoration?” She seemed to search his eyes for the reason.
“A man who does not feel he deserves it,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. He looked out over the se
a of smiling and cheering elves and his heart dropped. They saw him as their long-awaited savior, but Whill didn’t feel like a savior. He felt like a fraud.
“But you are deserving of such adoration,” Aurora said. “You have faced Eadon and lived to tell about it. Your deeds were known to me long before I met you. They are whispered in every village in every kingdom. You alone wield the greatest power given.”
Whill was unmoved by her words. He turned from the balcony and mentally called to Avriel. Aurora put a hand to Whill’s shoulder and he turned to face her.
“I have not known you long, Whill of Agora, but what I have seen has convinced me that you are a man of honor, strength, and courage.”
Whill tried to turn from her, not wanting to hear more of his grandeur, but she held him firm. “Listen to me,” she insisted. “You may not like the role you have to fill, few do, but—”
Whill tore away from her grip. “I can’t do it, don’t you see! I am not trying to be humble and I am far from righteous. This task is beyond me, the prophecy is a lie…”
“That may be, yes. The prophecy may be a lie. But you still possess the blade Adromida, and you are still the rightful king of Uthen-Arden. Do not waste your time complaining that you are wanted. There are far worse fates. Would you rather be wanted by none?”
“Yes!” Whill screamed and felt his rage boil to dangerous levels. He had to leave; he had to be far from her and his cursed followers. Without another word he unsheathed Adromida and flew from the balcony, nearly colliding with Avriel as she glided to meet him. He flew out over the city toward the Thousand Falls.
Whill! She called, but he did not respond. He needed to be alone.
Whill flew to the falls and landed between two of the rushing waterfalls as they spilled into the river below. He misjudged his landing and fell stumbling to the rocks and into the water beyond. He dragged himself up onto an outcropping of rock like a wet dog, cursing all the while.
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 76
