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

  As he watched her strong naked form dancing golden around the fires he pondered the situation. She had sworn fealty to Eadon, she could not be saved but by death.

  Chapter 14

  The Elven Guide

  “Bah! Eadon be the biggest bullshyter o’ them all.” Roakore proclaimed, silencing the dwarves who had been debating the dark elf’s power.

  “He ain’t all powerful, he ain’t no god. He be drawin’ breath, and therefore he can be dyin’.”

  They had been on the road for a week and all had been quiet. They passed many villages as they crossed the Thendor Plains, some in ruins, others not. Those that remained were scrambling to prepare for winter. What soldiers the company encountered did nothing to hinder their passage across the lands. This was a road used for centuries by the dwarves going to and fro between the Ro’Sar Mountains and Helgar. Blocking the way of Roakore’s company would mean certain death to the Uthen-Arden soldiers, and so they passed the dwarves every time without so much as a word. Roakore knew that they were being followed nonetheless, but it mattered not to the king. His boys were more than ready for a good fight.

  They traveled on long through the day and into the night and made camp in a field along the road. Earlier in the day a few of the dwarves had killed a buck, and they did not waste any time skinning the deer and getting a strong fire going. The watch was set and Roakore barked orders to his men. Soon the sun was down and a dinner was underway.

  Roakore joined Helzendar, Tarren, Lunara, Holdagozz, and the other dwarves by the fire. The always-animated Philo was in the midst of a tale of the reclamation of the Ro’Sar Mountains. They had all heard the story many times since the reclamation months ago, but none tired of it. Philo could not keep a seat while in the midst of his telling, and his animated face and constantly moving arms kept his audience enthralled.

  “An’ then Roakore blasted that hell-born dark elf clear out the mountainside. We charged out after the devil, an’ to our delight we found an ocean o’ draggard to use our blades on.”

  Tarren listened intently to the tale as he always did. He could almost see it in his mind’s eye, and he yearned for such adventure and glory. One day, he thought, one day I will rid the oceans of every last pirate scum there is, and such tales will be told of Tarren the great pirate-slayer.

  Helzendar waved a hand in front of Tarren’s face. “What ye thinkin’ on, eh?”

  “Huh?” said Tarren as he was brought back from his daydream. “Ah, nothing,” he replied dismissively.

  “Nothin’? Judging by the big shyte-eatin’ grin you was wearin’, I figured it be somethin’ more than nothin’.”

  Tarren only shrugged. “A girl, then?” Helzendar teased, shaking his head. “You humans get an eye for the girls early on, don’t ye?” He chuckled.

  “Naw, it ain’t about no stinkin’ girl,” Tarren protested.

  “All right, then, what, if not a girl?” Helzendar pressed.

  “Jeesh, you never give up, do you?”

  Helzendar gave Tarren a look of mock confusion. “Give up? What’s that?”

  They both chuckled. “If you have to know, I was daydreaming about…killin’ pirates. When I grow up I intend on hunting down every last piece o’ pirate scum on the seas.” Tarren searched Helzendar’s eyes for a hint of amusement at the idea. But Helzendar’s face became serious as he pondered the idea.

  “Hmm, Tarren the Pirate-Slayer, eh?”

  Tarren grimaced and awaited ridicule, but none came.

  “Ha! I can see that. Who better than you for the job, eh?”

  Tarren lit up as he realized Helzendar was serious. “Yeah, I been thinkin’ ’bout it a lot.” His eyes widened as an idea occurred to him. “You could come with me, Helz!”

  The dwarf scowled. “Me…on the open sea?” He shivered. “I don’t want nothin’ to do with the ocean. What with no land in sight, no rock, no stone—bah, ain’t no place for a dwarf, it ain’t.”

  Tarren sagged back down, crestfallen, and said no more of it. Philo had finished his tale to cheers for his king. Roakore might have told the dwarves to be quiet had he not been busy basking in his own glory.

  The night went by quietly and the company was off once again before the sun. The next few days of travel took them on eastward and finally south to the borders of Elladrindellia. Roakore knew the moment he stepped onto elven land—one would be hard pressed not to notice the difference. The wind seemed to whisper as it blew gently through his hair. The trees became thicker, the grass greener, and while the rest of Agora’s flowers wilted with the onset of winter, here they did not. It seemed to Roakore like stepping into perpetual summer. He saw the same thoughts in the faces of his weary dwarves. They had no trust for the elves and less love. The dwarves showed no animosity toward Lunara out of respect for Roakore, but he knew their hearts. There was still much deep-rooted anger toward the elves, be they sun or dark. Their kin had been responsible for the creation of the draggard, and the dwarves cursed the day those creatures had ever landed upon Agora’s shores.

  Roakore took to the skies upon Silverwind and then down upon the strange and vibrant land. It showed not a sign of draggard mischief. Here within Elladrindellia, one could forget that the draggard even existed. Roakore grumbled to himself. He did not like the fact that while dwarves and men died daily against the draggard and dark-elf hordes, the elven lands were untainted.

  Roakore soon spotted an elf on horseback a few miles off, heading in the company’s direction. The dwarf king steered the silver hawk around and headed back. The elf was likely an escort come to greet them. Upon landing among his dwarves, Roakore was quickly greeted by an excited Tarren.

  “Helzendar said I could have the first ride over elven lands! Are ye headin’ out soon again, Roakore?” He could hardly hide his jubilation at a chance to see Elladrindellia as few if any humans ever had, from the back of a silver hawk.

  “Not now, lad,” Roakore said with a passing pat to Tarren’s head as he walked businesslike toward the company. “All right, lads, listen up! We got an elven ambassador headin’ this way. I ain’t givin’ no more warnin’ than this: don’t be startin’ no trouble while ye be here, ye got it? Else I will personally use your head to wipe a dragon’s arse.”

  Lunara giggled at that and Roakore shot her a look but a wink quickly followed. Soon the rider reached them upon the road. He was dressed in what appeared to Roakore to be leaves, and rode a white-and-brown horse. A bow was strapped over one shoulder, and a banner of brilliant feathers blew in the breeze. The banner, made of many multicolored feathers, depicted rolling hills and a sun that set the sky aflame. The elf had hair of gold pulled back in a long tail; many a dwarf looked on at the golden hair with secret admiration.

  The ambassador stopped his horse before the company and easily spotted Roakore beside the magnificent Silverwind. He greeted the dwarf king by slamming his fist to his chest and bowing in his saddle.

  “On behalf of my people and Queen Araveal, I welcome you, good king Roakore of the Mountains Ro’Sar, to Elladrindellia. I am your guide, Nafiel.”

  Roakore nodded and addressed the elf. “Well met, Nafiel. We been at it since dawn, so now be as good a time as any to be eatin’. Would ye dine with us?”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Nafiel bowed and dismounted.

  The dwarves were quick to set up Roakore’s tent, which had not been used as of yet, and set to stoking a good fire. A mug was filled and a seat set for Nafiel before he had said hello to three dwarves. The elf laughed merrily as he watched the dwarves work together as one. Tarren was on him in a heartbeat with introductions of himself and Helzendar and questions that came faster than could be answered. Nafiel greeted the lad and gave a bow to Lunara. She greeted him in kind and introduced Holdagozz.

  Shortly the food was set and the warm sun shone down upon the most unlikely of afternoon lunches. Now that the threat of the Thendor Plains was behind them, the dwarves allowed themselves more merrymaking and more ale. Roako
re turned back a dwarf who entered his tent with another small barrel of beer.

  “This ain’t no party, it be but a lunch. Tell the company we move out quicker than quick got ready!” Roakore yelled after him.

  Nafiel laughed as he always did. “They will be happy to reach Gallien. There a feast awaits your company, and drink from the southern vineyards of Estondar.”

  “Estondar, eh?” Roakore searched his memory. “I recall an Estondar white wine. A bit weak, but good elven wine all the same.”

  “I shall find your dwarves something strong enough, good king.”

  The company renewed their journey long into the afternoon with Nafiel as their guide. They had traveled nearly to the Thallien River and soon veered north to the elven village of Gallien. The small city of crystal-capped pyramids was nestled at the Thallien River’s northern inlet. The delta and coast were speckled with elven fishing boats with their telltale fin-like sails.

  Gallien’s pyramids glowed and pulsed softly in the waning daylight. The pyramids, like those in Cerushia and every other elven city and village, were built to reflect the stars above. Here there were seven, and together they mirrored the constellation Gallien, which, like the village, was named after the ancient elf king.

  Roakore landed and dismounted Silverwind as they reached the village. Elves had gathered in droves to see the dwarven company. They smiled and waved as the group slowly made their way to the heart of the village.

  Tarren marveled, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the elven people and structures. Beside him Helzendar looked around with a curious expression.

  “Amazin’, ain’t it?” Tarren asked. But Helzendar only shrugged.

  Nafiel turned in his saddle and addressed the group with wide arms. “Welcome, good dwarves, to Gallian. Here you will find lodging suitable for such esteemed guests, and food and ale to replenish your tired bodies.”

  “Tired, eh? Who be tired?” Philo yelled. Nafiel only laughed and led them on to their lodging.

  Gallien, like most elven villages, was made from living vines, stone, and trees. Vines wound together to create walkways and bridges where the water split the land. The woven vines grew together to create domed abodes and buildings. Many of the dwarves had never seen nor even heard of such strange architecture, and did nothing to hide their speculation about the structures’ strength. Nafiel assured them to the contrary, giving examples of the structures’ surviving oceanic storms and even tornadoes, but the dwarves seemed unimpressed.

  Soon they reached the vine domes that would house the dwarves for the night. The horses were led to stable, and the dwarves wasted no time tapping their ale barrels. Lunara greeted many of her people with Tarren in tow. The boy introduced himself in Elvish before Lunara had a chance, gaining many smiles from the elves.

  Elves had begun to crowd around the travelers, murmuring to each other as they eyed the dwarves with a mix of delight and apprehension. Likewise, the dwarves eyed the strange-looking elves, but with much less delight. Roakore noted this but shrugged it off. They would warm up to the elves soon enough. He hoped that Nafiel would make good on his promise of strong spirits.

  Even as Roakore thought it, there came thin crystal glasses which were passed all around until everyone had one. Bottles also traded hands until all had filled their glasses. The dwarves looked at their too-small glasses and the yellow-white bubbly liquid therein.

  “To friendships made anew and bonds forged between the races,” said Nafiel. Roakore coaxed his men to cheers with a bellowed “Hoo-rah!” And drink rose skyward. The dwarves responded with a booming retort and slammed back their drinks one and all, while the elves sipped from theirs. Roakore soon learned why the elves only sipped from their glasses. The elven liquor was so tart that the dwarves all puckered their faces with slanting eyes as the afterburn of the strong spirits made them feel as if flames shot from their mouths and noses.

  “Ahh!” came Tarren’s scream, followed by Helzendar’s hearty chuckle as the boy ran around in wide circles, holding his throat. Somehow it seemed the young lad had gotten a glass and quietly joined in on the cheers. Tarren blindly ran screaming and slammed into the dwarven supply cart that held a number of barrels of ale. He frantically pulled back on the spout of an already-tapped keg and lapped up the pouring beer as a dog would water. The dwarves erupted in belly-shaking laugher at the spectacle. Bottles began to float among the group again, and this time some dwarves didn’t bother using the crystal glasses.

  Lunara took the panting boy by the shoulder with a scowl. “Come, we will find you some water. I will not be healing you of your stupidity.”

  “Ugh-huh,” Tarren could only moan sickly.

  The dwarves tapped their barrels, and frothing mugs were passed to the elves. Cheers were made and the mood became light. The dwarves took up their instruments and began to sing songs of old. The elven spirits had put them in a right jolly mood and together their deep booming voices and melodic chants gained the attention of all nearby elves. Dwarven drums brought to mind mining picks and falling hammers and the deep heart of dwarven mountains. Hatchets clanged in rhythm and pots were struck; even barrels of ale were used as the music grew steadily louder. Philo began a melody upon his miitar, bending the strings and plucking out a busy progression. Wind pipes moaned and fiddles danced as the elves too joined in and blended perfectly with the melody. Beautiful elven voices rose up to join the dwarves’ booming ones, and dancing began all around the company as more and more elves poured in to get a glimpse of the king of Ro’Sar and his hearty dwarves. Elven flutes and whistles, fiddles and horns joined in the merrymaking, and together the dwarves and elves sang to the heavens.

  As the first song ended, Roakore stood high atop the supply cart and with outstretched hands began the old dwarven song, “The Beauty o’ the Gods.” His dwarves came in and the elves joined too, and soon a version of the song never heard in all the lands rose up and rang out for miles.

  The rivers they be pretty, and the lasses they be too.

  The mountains set me heart to singin’, and me love, so do you.

  There be one thing that stands above, high atop the rest

  And no, it ain’t a cold-filled pint, nor fair bouncing breast.

  It be a thing o’ eternal beauty, it be fire in me soul.

  I’ll search it to the mountain’s heart, till me hands be dead and cold.

  It be the shining in me eyes, it be the heart at me core.

  Gold and silver and gem and jewel, and it be so much more.

  The beauty o’ the gods, lo

  The beauty o’ the gods.

  The demons tried to hide it away

  The beauty o’ the gods.

  The beauty o’ the gods, lo!

  The beauty o’ the gods.

  I’ll search it out till dyin’ day.

  The beauty o’ the gods.

  The crowd joined in after a few choruses and the song went the length of three. Holdagozz bowed to Lunara, who laughed as she too sang for the entire world to hear. She bowed slightly as she beamed at her friend. The night had become intoxicating—the instruments and harmony, so many voices singing as one. Holdagozz bellowed laughter as he spun Lunara round and round, twirling through the streets of dancing elves. The dwarven dance had quickly been taken up by the clever elves, and now hundreds laughed and sang and danced. Smoke from dwarven and elven pipes floated higher with the song. Ale flowed freely from dwarven barrels, and the elven spirits made many rounds.

  Chapter 15

  Bandits on the Road

  Long into the night Dirk rode. He did not rest until an hour before dawn. As soon as the sun broke the horizon, he began again on a steady pace. Before him the Ky’Dren Mountains grew with each of the horse’s steps.

  During the night he had come to a crossroads and taken the pass road. The road to the Ky’Dren Pass was much wider than the last, and it was kept up much better as well. This was a major trade route, and it was kept in good shape for the wagons. Though trade had
slowed, and there were many more road bandits about these days, heavy traffic could still be found.

  He soon came to the remains of a burned-out fire and the telltale signs of a camp. Dirk studied the ground for a few minutes and determined the party to have been few. A cart, two horses, and no more than five men, he estimated from the tracks upon the soft earth. By the depth of the cart tracks he knew that they carried a heavy load. He doubted that they were farmers, as the Ky’Dren Pass was the better part of a day away, and no one would be hauling food that far with a starving countryside in every direction. Likely they were a group of bandits, robbing the countryside to amass enough money to live out the winter to come. Either way, Dirk needed to catch up to them. He needed to eat, and though he could hunt, or better yet have Chief catch him live game, he had no time for all that.

  He urged Frostmore on faster as noon approached and his stomach growled. Within the hour he came upon the wagon and horses. He saw them many miles off from on high, at the crest of a ridge that opened into a wide valley of forest and stream. He suspected that well-armed lookouts traveled behind and before the wagon. He had not seen but he had heard through his enchanted earrings the faint but distinct sound of horse’s hooves. The sound grew fainter as it traveled away from him: he had been seen. Likely the trailing lookout was off to report Dirk’s approach to his comrades.