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

  The dragon-hawk’s feathers changed to match the stone and night sky above. Only the eyes were left to see clearly. The dragon-hawk listened.

  “I too have been the dark elves’ captive, I too would seek revenge! I can show you the world; I can lead you to more of our enemies. I know of an island of dragons—I can lead you home, whatever you wish. Let me be your rider and I promise you friendship and loyalty.”

  The guards watched on wordlessly, thinking Dirk insane. The dragon-hawk regarded the stars for a time and then knelt upon the stone wall, offering a boost to the first saddle rung. Dirk slowly climbed the broken wall to stand next to the dragon. There was a terrifying moment of anticipation as he put his boot up onto the dragon’s leg. Dirk climbed up to sit in the forward seat of the twin saddle. He took the reins and nodded down at the astonished guards as the dragon-hawk leapt and soared out into the night.

  Chapter 29

  King Zerafin

  Zerafin redirected the dragonsbreath of Zorriaz high as Whill raised a hand and squeezed the air, and the dragon’s mouth clamped shut. Fire instead raged out of its nose as it reared and its tail sent four elves flying.

  “Zorriaz, stop!” Avriel yelled and the dragon obeyed. The flames subsided and she walked toward Avriel. With the aid of the other healers, the two engulfed elves were tended to, healing blue energy surrounding their burnt bodies.

  Zorriaz bent her neck to meet Avriel’s gaze. The dragon smelled her hair and stared at her through large eyes. Avriel lifted a quivering hand as tears ran down her face.

  “Hello, Zorriaz. Be still, you are safe here,” Avriel crooned.

  “Are you mad?” Queen Araveal screamed at her daughter.

  “Zorriaz wanted to return. I simply helped her.”

  “You are out of control, Avriel!”

  “I am centuries old. I do not need mothering.”

  The queen stepped forward into her daughter’s space and Avriel could not hold her gaze. “I speak to you not as your mother but as Queen of Drindellia! There are laws of conduct for a reason. Do you think you are the first to wish to reverse death? It is forbidden.”

  Avriel bravely stepped forward to meet her mother’s glare. “You allowed such a thing in my transformation, Queen Araveal.”

  “And my punishment will be the relinquishing of my crown,” said the queen with a raised chin.

  Avriel jerked back as if slapped. “Mother, no,” she whispered.

  “It must be so. I have willingly broken the rule of resurrection and I shall be punished accordingly. If I as queen do not uphold my people’s laws, then I am not fit to rule. Such is the way of the elves of the sun. You, my dear daughter, shall also answer for what you have done. I do not know how you did it, but you did.”

  “I did it!” Whill suddenly blurted. Everyone in attendance turned to look at him. “I summoned the dragon soul, for it lingered still, unable to return to its vessel but also unable to move on. She is right, it wanted to return, but Eadon’s spell made it unable. I simply opened the door, if you will.”

  The queen looked from Whill to Avriel, then left and right to the elven healers. “Is that what happened here?” she asked.

  Heads slowly nodded agreement.

  “Very well. I have been mistaken,” she said to the group, and looked into her daughter’s eyes. “It appears as though Avriel is innocent,” she said, and lingered long in her gaze.

  A man who would lie for you truly loves you, said the queen in her mind, and Avriel smiled.

  Beware. It also means that he would lie to you for you.

  Avriel’s smile disappeared as her mother turned and left, with a quick glance at Whill.

  Whill watched from the balcony as Avriel combed her long hair. It had grown down to the small of her back these six months, and Whill liked the look. In her bright white gown of golden lace, she looked every part the princess of Elladrindellia.

  He moved from the balcony to stand behind her. Through the mirror he smiled.

  “What?” She blushed.

  “And thine eyes had not seen, nor had thine ears heard, until they beheld thee,” he said to her reflection.

  “A reciter of elven poetry?” She smiled brightly. “I had not thought you the type.”

  “I have read some, but rarely does life mimic such verse,” he said with a grin.

  Her room in the palace near the heart of the city faced the city’s gathering hill, the very hill upon which Whill had been attacked, and Avriel had killed her kin. A light breeze blew through the open balcony door, and upon it rode elven music.

  Whill was struck by the memory of another elven poem. He looked in the mirror as he began to recite it, and then recoiled with alarm.

  “I had thought her dead for so long,” said the Other. He reached a broken-nailed and bloody hand toward the surface of the mirror, and Whill jumped to grab Avriel. He pulled her from the mirror as the hand reached. Whill pulled her up and held her to him. Looking back at the mirror, he saw the Other was gone. Only his terrified reflection stared back at him.

  “Whill, what is it?”

  Whill scowled at his reflection and leaned closer, inspecting the mirror and the room within it. There in the reflection, leaning cross-armed against the balcony door, was the Other.

  “Powerful things, mirrors,” said the Other. “I am surprised one such as her would risk one.” He cocked his head at Whill. “Have you ever thought her to be vain?”

  “Whill, is it the Other?” Avriel asked quietly.

  He looked at her wide-eyed and nodded slowly. “Can you not hear him?”

  She shook her head and put her hand upon his shoulder. “What does he say?”

  The Other laughed. “Tell her I love her.”

  Whill picked up the carved chair that Avriel had sat on, and with a growl he smashed the mirror. Avriel backed from him and the flying glass.

  “It will not be that easy, my cowardly friend,” laughed the Other from the balcony.

  “You leave her alone, you sick, twisted son of a—”

  “Do not take our mother’s name in vain!” the Other screamed in a sudden rage that made Whill blink. “You ungrateful worm! I give us back Avriel, I bear the brunt of our torture, and this is what I get.” He walked toward Whill slowly, threateningly. “You forget, I am you. Remember that when you look at her. Remember that when you touch her,” he said, and was gone.

  Whill blinked and looked around the room, to the broken mirror and into Avriel’s eyes. “I…,” he began, but could not find the words. The way Avriel looked at him took his breath away. Sensing this, she quickly smiled and dared walk to him. He turned from her and her hands clung to empty air. He left her there and hurried out into the night.

  Whill walked through the congregation of elves, and though he tried to hide himself, a commotion began to commence around him. In short time he was so surrounded by gleaming elves that he could not press through the crowd easily. Whill thought to call upon Avriel so that he could fly far from there, but then he remembered she was an elf again. He began to panic. His breath came in short, frantic gasps and his chest tightened.

  “Let me pass!” he bellowed, and all talking ceased in a heartbeat. The dismayed elves parted before him as wood to an axe. Whill sighed, embarrassed, and offered apologies as he quickly walked through the crowd.

  “Bah!” came a voice. “Ain’t no king alive who’s got to be askin’ crowds to be movin’ for him, nor any need to apologize for expectin’ common sense!” Roakore roared as he split the crowds before him with his sheer presence. He scowled at the crowd as he met Whill.

  “I be guessin’ common sense ain’t so common round these parts,” he said to the elves. “Eh, laddie?” He slapped Whill on the back hard enough to make him stumble. Roakore put him in a one-armed headlock, pulling him down to the side as they parted the crowd.

  “C’mon, then. We got ourselves a right large beer tent set up already. The kegs be tapped and the spirits be flowin’.”

  Soon
they came to the dwarven tent. Some fifty dwarves cheered when their king and Whill walked in. Whill found a mug in his hand instantly and was cheering with raised glass before a word had been spoken. So many mugs clanged against his that when he went to drink, he found no ale left. Roakore hurried him along to a center table with fine, high-backed oak chairs. The king himself poured Whill a golden mug and together they had a proper cheer.

  “To the three kings and the three races!” a dwarf cheered, and all the dwarves guzzled.

  “To pissin’ on a dragon’s tail!” another put in. Laughter and drinking filled the tent.

  “To Whill o’ Agora!” yelled another, and again they drank.

  Whill wondered how long they could keep this up. He yelled over the crowd, standing taller than all. “To the good dwarves o’ Ro’Sar!” he cheered, and they drank to themselves.

  “To hoggin’ on damsels!” Philo yelled, and ended his cheer with a loud raucous burp. There was silence for a moment as dwarves looked at each other curiously.

  “Hear, hear!” said Roakore, and they all drank.

  Thankfully, the dwarven cheers subsided for a time and Whill was introduced to yet more of Roakore’s warriors. Philo slammed his fist to his chest and snorted to clear his throat. “Well met, Whill. I hear you got yourself a blade o’ power.” His eyes went to the sheathed blade. Whill reflexively turned it from the dwarf. Their eyes met and Philo took on a serious tone. “It ain’t the size o’ the sword o’ power, laddie, it be how you use it,” he said, straight-faced. Suddenly the dwarf burst into frantic laughter that was taken up by all.

  Roakore pushed Philo to the side. “Go on, ye maniac.” And Philo stumbled off in a fit of laughter.

  Whill watched, amused. As always, Roakore had lifted his spirits. Just being around the hearty, life-filled dwarves made him feel better. For a time he forgot about the Other, and everything else.

  The party raged on into the evening and soon nighttime was upon them. By the time Whill and Roakore exited the dwarven beer tent, the gathering hill was unrecognizable. Lights of every color floated around the hill, and elves dressed in elegant gowns danced all around them. Music filled the air as minstrels played. Elven children were among the large crowd of elves. Many had come to see the crowning of their new king. Fire pits raged and the smell of food filled the air. Fireworks the likes of which Whill had rarely seen exploded randomly throughout the city. A large, open-sided, leafed tent had been erected, or grown, Whill could not tell. Hundreds of stone tables and chairs had been pulled from the earth for any who wanted to eat comfortably.

  Tarren found Whill and bounced up and down, waving at him. Whill gestured him over with a smile.

  “Holy shyteballs, Whill! You see that tent go up? Wildest thing I ever seen, and the light show—oh, man, you should have seen ’em lettin’ them off!”

  Whill laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. “The elves seem to know how to throw a party.” “Lunara says you and Roakore need to be over there before Zerafin is crowned.” Tarren pointed west to a podium that had been erected at the edge of the hill overlooking the Thousand Falls.

  “When is his crowning?”

  Tarren shrugged “Beats me, but the queen and a few others are already over there.”

  “Have you seen Avriel?”

  “No, but I can’t wait. I haven’t seen her in a long time. I heard what you did, helping her back to her real body. How did you do that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Whill absently as he scanned the crowd for her. As he turned in his searching, he was startled to find Lunara suddenly in front of him, smiling brightly.

  “May I have this dance?” she asked with a small bow as the music turned soft with strings and flutes.

  “Uh, I…,” Whill stammered, and Tarren chuckled. “It would be my pleasure,” Whill finally said and offered her his arm. Together they made their way to where the dancers had gathered. Whill looked around quickly, trying to determine what dance the elves were moving to. Lunara laughed and took his hands in hers.

  “It is simple, follow my lead,” she said as she put his hand upon the small of her back and held his other straight out to the side. Twirling, they found their place in the crowd, and Whill was quick to catch on to the simple elven dance. The music picked up and Whill tried to keep time with Lunara as the dancers twirled round and round. The pair received many looks both curious and jealous from the elves.

  “How are you enjoying your visit?” she asked as they settled into an easy rhythm.

  “Ah, it has been interesting so far, to say the least. But I like it here. One can almost forget the worries of the world.”

  “Tarren seems to be enjoying himself.” She nodded to the boy. Whill saw Tarren dancing with an elven girl his age.

  “Indeed he does,” laughed Whill as Tarren smiled wide-eyed at him. “Thank you for taking care of him these last few months. If there is anything I can ever do for you, do not hesitate to ask.”

  “I imagine I could think of something,” said Lunara coyly, and Whill felt his cheeks get hot.

  “May I be cuttin’ in?” a slightly drunken voice piped up. They looked to see Holdagozz standing behind them.

  “Of course, good dwarf,” said Whill. He kissed Lunara’s hand and smiled. “Thanks again,” he offered, and she smiled back.

  Holdagozz took hold of her, and lifting her high spun round and round. Together they disappeared in laughter into the ocean of dancers. Whill had thought he and Lunara had gotten a lot of looks, but it was nothing compared to she and Holdagozz.

  Trumpets cut through the music and the dancing stopped as everyone looked to the raised podium where the queen now stood. Whill cursed to himself and found his way through the crowd to stand next to Roakore near the podium.

  A busy-looking elf interrupted their greeting and hustled them into place. “No, no, King Roakore, you are to stand here, and you—”

  “I be standin’ where ever the hells I be standin’, busybody.”

  The elf huffed and looked as though she might cry. “I apologize, good dwarf, but the queen has her plans and I do not wish to see them thwarted.”

  “Of course, I be sorry for me bad manners. Point me in the direction.”

  The elf sighed gratefully and led Whill and Roakore to the podium.

  Together they stood with a host of elves about the podium. Whill recognized a few, but most he did not. Cheers rose up as Zerafin and Avriel walked toward the podium to strong drums and rushing overtures. Together they climbed the podium and waved at the crowd, which erupted in cheers.

  Avriel took the spot next to Whill with but a smile as the queen stepped forward to speak. The music fell to the background and the queen addressed her people.

  “This night we celebrate the crowning of our new king, and with his crowning, the end of an age. For five hundred long years we have lived here, refugees of Drindellia, our homeland. But the dark elves have found us, and once again our peace is threatened; once again war has come to our lands. For five hundred years we have remained hidden, and we have restored our once-great power. I am here today to say that we hide no longer. Once and for all this battle will be ended, and I implore you all to do what you can to see the dark elves defeated.”

  Queen Araveal took up the crown of the lost king of Drindellia and Zerafin took a knee.

  “Zerafin, my son, I offer you the crown of your father, and with it the mantle of king. Do you accept the crown, and all of the responsibilities and duties that come with it?”

  “I do,” said Zerafin with a raised chin.

  “Very well,” said the queen with watery eyes as she lowered the crown to sit upon his head. “Rise, Zerafin, first king of Elladrindellia!”

  Zerafin stood and walked forward to stand before his people. The elves cheered their new king. Many teary-eyed minutes passed as applause rose up above the city of Cerushia. When finally the cheers died down, Zerafin addressed the elves.

  “Long has my mother served our people. She has
seen us safely from our lost homeland to the new land. She has procured us a new home, Elladrindellia, and by her guidance we have thrived these last five centuries in peace. I am thankful to have had her as a queen through such trying times.”

  Applause for Queen Araveal rose up and she took a long bow. Zerafin waited for the applause to die down. “Now war is upon us once again. Our fallen brother means to spread the same darkness as he did in Drindellia. He seeks to rule all of Agora. And I, like my father before me, shall die trying to stop him if need be. I, along with the brave men of Agora and the hearty dwarves of Ro’Sar, Helgar, and Ky’Dren, choose to fight!”

  Cheers rose up with the king’s every word, and Whill was reminded once again that he was not alone in this. They had all suffered under Eadon, and they all had no choice but to fight or die.

  “I ask you now, elves of the sun, are you with me?”

  The crowd erupted in cheers and proclamations of loyalty. Whill found himself one of the beaming crowd as he too cheered. Before them Zerafin stood in armor of gold. His cape blew steadily to the left as a breeze picked up and seemed to grow with the mood. To Whill, Zerafin looked like a god, and if any should wield such a blade as Adromida, Whill thought, it was he.

  Looking out over the crowd of thousands of elves, Whill felt the spark of hope. He imagined the thousands of unseen elves throughout Elladrindellia, the legions of dwarves within the three mountain kingdoms, and the armies of his fellow men. He imagined them as one army, and a surge of electrifying hope coursed through him. He had to unite the races.

  Whill knew then that it was not his duty to kill Eadon, it was merely his duty to try. If he could successfully bring the wrath of humans, dwarves, and elves down upon Eadon, he could give them a fighting chance.

  Zerafin turned and motioned to Whill and Roakore. They joined him upon the high perch. He took one of their hands in each of his and raised them to the sky.

  “Together we shall know victory! Together we shall make our claim!”