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

  Lunara ran to the dwarves once the fighting had stopped. “Get the injured to the tree line and away from the smoke of the dead! Put them over there.” She pointed. “From left to right, dying to not.”

  The dwarves stopped in their victory song, even the badly injured, and just looked at her like she was a crazy elf. Holdagozz barked at them, “Do what the lady be sayin’, ye bunch o’ numbnuts, and right quick!”

  “Quicker than quick got ready!” Roakore added.

  The dwarves stopped in their victory song and found out the injured. They were sat next to the tree line, far from the smoldering trading post. A group went to collect heads to stake, and others set watch. Those who remained watched as Lunara went to work.

  The young elf healer knelt next to the first dwarf on the dying side. He had a severed draggard tail jutting out from under his chin. Lunara set her hand upon the dwarf and took in a shocked breath. “His body yet lives, but his soul has passed.”

  She moved on to the next dwarf. As she removed the bandages, blood spurted from his neck and the dwarf went into convulsions. He bled from the mouth as well as the throat. Lunara put a hand to his neck and chanted softly. Blue tendrils of healing emanated from her hand as the other gripped her staff, and the crystal set upon its top glowed brightly. The bleeding soon stopped as Lunara extended her consciousness to the dwarf’s life force. She coaxed bone, vein, and muscle back to form, and the skin to flawlessly meld. The astonished dwarf came to and stared at Lunara in awe. She moved on to the next in line.

  So it went, and those who could be were healed. Only the two were dying after all, and four more with broken bones or severe gashes from draggard tooth or claw, tail or spike. Fifty heads they collected in all, and those were set upon spikes which were placed in a wide circle around the fortress. Roakore climbed to the top of the pile of headless draggard bodies and raised his great axe. “I be reclaimin’ this here tradin’ post for the Mountains Ro’Sar!”

  The dwarves all cheered and chanted, “Ro’Sar!”

  Chapter 11

  Frostmore

  The night ended in a morning shower. Dirk paid it no mind, his dragon-scale cloak easily protecting him from the elements. He toyed with the timber-wolf figurine as he rested from his trek. He had been traveling west toward the mountains all night, and now he had happened upon a town.

  Had days been different, he could have walked into the bustling village virtually unnoticed and stolen a horse with ease, but these were dangerous times. War was upon the land, and the village was protected like a fortress. The forest had been cleared for nearly a mile to the north, and the lumber had been used to erect a high wall around the perimeter. Outside of the wall there were spikes jutting out in all directions. Watchtowers housing archers went around the wall, each a stone’s throw from the other.

  Dirk surveyed the village from on high and laughed to himself. It would take but one dragon to turn your wooden town into a blazing inferno of death, idiots, he thought.

  He determined that the town was already overpopulated with refugees from the surrounding land. It would be beyond capacity with injured and sick, not to mention orphans and widows. Food would be scarce, and with winter closing in the stores would be tightly rationed, but no doubt the rich would continue to eat well. Horses would be highly valued; since the draggard found them particularly delectable, their numbers in Agora had plummeted.

  The draggard were not the wild, frothing creatures that many believed. True, they were hideous in battle, but when not engaged in murder and carnage they were eerily civil. Dirk had watched them from afar on many occasions, trying to find something about them that he might use to his advantage. What he saw was a hive-like group of fairly intelligent animals. When he had asked Krentz about them, she had told him that every draggard was controlled by its queen mother or a dark elf handler. They gave orders, and they were carried out. The queen mothers shared a telepathic link with their offspring, and they could control their offspring from great distances.

  Dirk considered how difficult it would be to steal a horse from the village, and weighed it against the likelihood of finding one elsewhere. He had no coin on him, and though some of his rings and earrings would have brought a pretty price, he could not sell them. They were enchanted and thus priceless.

  Dirk was a master thief, burglar, assassin, and sneak, but taking a horse from this village was not something that could be done by stealth. It would take cunning. He studied the wolf figurine and thought of all he knew of such trinkets, which was little. He had heard of certain magic, considered a dark craft by most, that of capturing spirits and commanding them. He guessed that the wolf was a spirit that could shift in and out of the physical world with ease, as he had seen it do against his attacks. He also trusted that whoever controlled the figurine controlled the spirit.

  He made up his mind and moved from the edge of the woods, away from the village. Under the boughs of a cedar tree, amid the autumn foliage and fire-colored leaves, he extended his hand and summoned the timber-wolf spirit.

  “Come, Chief!”

  The wind stirred the leaves in a small cyclone around him, and from the figurine came the faintest of light. The light speck traveled away from Dirk, and just before hitting the ground it exploded into the form of the brown wolf. Dirk had killed its master, and now he wagered everything that it could not kill him. The wolf growled at him and snarled, its haunches bristling and teeth bared.

  Dirk held the trinket up and pointed at the wolf. “You are the spirit wolf Chief. I am Dirk. I have killed your master, and I now possess the figurine and therefore you. But I would not have you as a slave, but rather a companion. There is no reason that we should not both benefit from our situation.”

  The wolf only stared, growling.

  “You are the spirit of a hunter, as am I. And I promise good hunting and great adventure. What say you, Chief?”

  Chief stared for a time; he then became preoccupied with an itch on his rump. He gnawed for a moment, scratched his ear with a hind leg, then stood and shook vigorously. He then walked lazily to Dirk’s side, stopped at his heel, and looked forward. Dirk let his hand rest gently upon the timber wolf’s thick fur. Chief came up to his hip, and when in physical form, he projected a weight thrice that of a man. The wolf did not react to the touch and Dirk marveled at how real the spirit’s projected body felt.

  Dirk walked back toward the town and called to his newest weapon. “C’mon, Chief, we have ourselves a horse to steal.”

  Ten minutes later the town guard came alive and the warning horns blew as Dirk ran screaming from the tree line like he was on fire.

  “Open the gates! Open the gates!” he bellowed.

  Guards came to the wall and dozens of arrows were trained on him. He ran for his life and screamed again.

  “Open the gate! Open the gate!”

  Suddenly the three-hundred-pound timber wolf erupted from the brush at the tree line. Chief stopped and let out a howl that would consume nightmares for years. He then sprinted after Dirk, snapping his frothing jaws as he gained on him.

  “Open the bloody gates! Shoot it! Shoot it!” Dirk screamed.

  Guards scrambled and the gates opened, but not wide. The bowmen shot, but none hit the wolf, which was yet many hundred yards off. Dirk intentionally stumbled and the growing crowd at the wall cringed and gasped. They began rooting him on, and he smiled to himself.

  He got to his feet and acted shocked that the wolf had gained so much. Bows rang out again and this time arrows rained down on the wolf. The arrows passed through Chief as he shifted quickly. Any who noticed it did not share it with others.

  Dirk was thirty feet from the gate and the guards cheered him on with every step. He had begun to limp after he fell, adding to the drama and the entertainment and favor of the crowds. Ten feet away, cheers rang out and bows sang. He dove through the threshold and the gate slammed behind him. The men cheered as Chief, on cue, turned and ran back toward the woods, arrows following
. The townspeople rushed to Dirk’s side. He took his time getting up with help, and he held his bleeding arm, which he had cut.

  “From where do you hail, good sir? You bring death at your heels,” said a guard.

  Another pushed through the crowd, a burly, red-mustached man. “Where in the hells ye get a timber wolf on your trail? They ain’t of these parts, far from it!”

  “Can’t you see the man’s hurt?” yelled a woman and offered to mend his wounds.

  Outside the wall Chief howled eerily. Everyone froze and quieted instantly as the baying of the wolf lifted to the heavens and chilled bone. By then a crowd of hundreds had gathered, and whispers were spreading fast of the dark stranger and the wolf.

  Dirk panted hard as if spent. He began to speak but faltered. Everyone hushed to hear him.

  “Who I am and from where I hail is talk more suited to a good meal and wine. I have not the time for such pleasantries as of yet. Behold the wolf upon heels.”

  Just then Chief called to the night with his eerie cry and a snarl that echoed from all directions. To the chorus of the timber wolf’s cry, Dirk spun a tale for the enthralled villagers.

  “’Twas but the night last that we were attacked by this demon wolf. I know not from whence it came, for it fell upon my company like a ghost from a dream. Blood and cries of anguish were left in its murderous wake, and I, tasked as was my group to guard the gold of Lord Whittnar, was the only survivor. I ran west to this village, which I knew of from past travels, and lo, the wolf dined on my fellows while I have made it here alive.”

  Chief howled again and must have come closer to the village, as the sound of arrows could be heard at the wall. The crowd looked on, enthralled. Even the guards who had seemed suspicious were now convinced, it seemed.

  “I mean to kill the wolf and have revenge in the name of my lord,” Dirk said. “I will have vengeance. I will rid your village of this threat that I have brought on my heels. A share of my dead lord’s gold to the man who lends me his best horse, so that I might vanquish this foe from on high!”

  The crowd stirred and looked around for any who would offer up his steed. Many men volunteered, and soon the crowd was in an uproar of men wanting a piece of the prize.

  Dirk raised his hands for the crowd to quiet. “No simple steed will face this wolf without faltering. This steed must be strong and brave; it must have known battle and be fast as the wind.”

  “Surely you speak of Frostmore!” a man’s voice called out, and the crowd parted until Dirk saw the speaker and the horse he spoke of. The man walked to him and presented the tall, strong horse.

  “Frostmore will see you swiftly to glory, but can you kill such a beast as this wolf? I would not see my best horse fall along with you.”

  Dirk spread his fingers in front of him and his many rings glimmered in the nearby light. “If we fall to the beast, all that I carry is yours—surely generous payment for such a steed.”

  The man nodded. “It is a deal; go with the grace of the gods, warrior.”

  Dirk nodded his thanks and shook the man’s hand. He then mounted Frostmore and was led to the gates. He unsheathed his sword and raised it to the sky as the clouds parted to reveal the moon, and a howl rose up yet again.

  “The wolf waits for you, stranger!” yelled a guard from the wall.

  “Don’t do it, brave sir!” shrieked a maiden.

  “I must!” Dirk declared.

  As the gates opened someone yelled from the crowd, “What is the name of such a fearless warrior?”

  Dirk turned from the gate and eyed the crowd. “I am…” He smirked to himself. “I am Whill of Agora!”

  The crowd gasped and Dirk charged out toward the wolf. The gates closed and men and women alike crowded to the top of the wall to see the battle. Dirk urged the horse into a fast charge, and Chief charged likewise. The villagers held their breath as three hundred yards away Dirk and the wolf continued their collision course. A woman fainted and men cheered as tension over the inevitable violence mounted.

  Chief leapt high into the air with a snarl and Dirk struck with his blade. The sword sailed through Chief’s form as the spirit wolf became translucent. The crowd cheered and Dirk sped on away from the wolf and the town. Chief landed and spun around to chase Dirk into the woods and beyond. The villagers looked after them for a long time, but the two were never seen again.

  Shortly thereafter, but far away, Dirk laughed to himself and dismissed Chief to the spirit world, then pocketed the trinket once more. He spurred his new mount on westward toward the Ky’Dren Pass.

  Chapter 12

  The Test of the Masters

  Whill was surprised to find it afternoon when he left the Watcher’s house of dreams. There Avriel was sitting in the sun waiting for him. She sat on all fours with her head to the sky, sunning herself in the bright rays that shone down from a cloudless sky. For fall it was very warm, like a northern summer it still seemed here in the elven lands. Avriel turned to Whill and smiled as he walked to her. He laid a hand upon the shimmering white scales of her shoulder.

  “I am sorry that I ignored your call earlier, I needed to be alone.”

  It is of no concern; we all need time now and again. You have enough beings demanding of you, I do not wish to be another. I wish only to be at your side.

  “You are a good friend, Avriel,” Whill said and hugged the base of her neck. “Thank you.”

  Together they flew to Zerafin’s quarters within one of the outer pyramids that made up the city’s constellation. Located opposite the Thousand Falls, the pyramid lay near the edge of a jungle. One of the three sides of the pyramid was covered entirely with vine, all the way up to its crystal dome. High above the tangled trees grew their leaves wide and thick, their trunks green and slick. The canopy above left the jungle dark, but Whill could sense the many creatures within.

  Before Whill reached the door of leaf, it parted and Zerafin strode out. He was in good form, his skin having fully recovered from the puss-filled rot that had infected him of late. He was as broad of shoulder as ever, and looked no worse for wear.

  The elf king wore only a loose-fitting kind of robe the elves called a lokata. A sash tied at the waist kept its long sides from unfolding, and a high drooping collar arched from his neck to shoulder. The sleeves were short but deep and hung long at his sides as he approached Whill and Avriel with outstretched arms.

  “My friend, it is good to see you well,” said Whill as they shared a brotherly hug.

  “And you, Whill.” Zerafin turned from Whill, and as Avriel bent her large head to him, Zerafin stroked her snout and head. “Sister,” he said, and a moment passed as they shared a private moment of thought speech. Then Zerafin looked at the two with a wide triumphant smile. “Well, then, here we all are in one piece. The quest was a successful one, though I deeply regret hearing of the loss of Abram and Rhunis. I wish I could have been there within the arena. I am sorry, Whill.”

  “It is no fault of yours, Zerafin…or should I call you king now?”

  “No, no.” Zerafin laughed. “I do not officially receive the crown until tonight at dusk. Even then you shall still know me as Zerafin Eldenfen.”

  “You are accepting the crown, brother; does it mean that you have…”

  Zerafin looked at his sister stoically. “I have accepted that our people need a king, and Agora needs an elven king, for if we fail, I shall be the last. But by the gods I will be the first of many.”

  Whill was filled with admiration for Zerafin’s bravery, for voluntarily taking up a mantle which Whill himself dreaded. Zerafin was a born leader, and had gained loyalty not due to his lineage or through intimidation, but through bravery and deed. Whill was glad to have Zerafin on his side. Soon he would be joined also by Roakore, and if Zerafin’s proclamations reflected his intent, they would soon march to war.

  There would be little time for training, Whill realized; it seemed he might have to accept the elves’ selfless offer of knowledge in the arts.
If he was to be of any help in the coming battle, much less the savior, he needed any help he could get.

  We are being summoned, said Avriel to their minds. We must return once more to the Summer Star.

  “What is it about?” Whill asked.

  “It is my doing,” said Zerafin. “Many of the masters have been gathered. They wish to know the extent of your abilities thus far. It is quite a mystery as to how you have done the things you have without a minute spent training.”

  “It is a mystery to me as well,” Whill admitted.

  “Then let us find out,” said Zerafin.

  Avriel carried Whill and her brother easily upon her back, and together they flew to the pyramid. Inside waited seven elves, each a master of the arts and the head of their school of knowledge. The queen was there as well, and, to Whill’s surprise, the Watcher.

  The inside of the pyramid was open space with a floor of sand. Directly across from the leafed curtains the masters sat upon the only seats within the open room, behind a long table set atop a landing. There were many items at the center of the room upon the sand, including a large bowl of water, a fire burning high from a large lamp, and a boulder half Whill’s size.

  Whill eyed the items curiously as he made his way with Zerafin to stand before the seated elves. Zerafin then took a seat at the long table with the others. The queen offered Whill a smile and began.

  “Thank you for joining us, Whill. We have asked you here today to determine your abilities. As you know, elves train for decades, centuries even, to master the ways of Orna Catorna. For reasons unknown, you are able to do things that only students of the craft can do, though you yourself have not studied it. Would you object to a series of tests, much like those taken by initiates?”

  “No, I do not mind, but I believe I may have figured out part of the mystery,” said Whill. “I have found that in times of need, I can perform spells that have been used against me.”