There was a rustling of masters and elders as murmured discussion abounded.
“Is this a new ability?” asked Libratus.
“Well…yes, it is. I turned my mind-sight inward and enhanced the parts of my mind that control memory and learning.”
Libratus nodded to himself, looking disappointed. Many of the elves seemed to share his sentiment. “You do know that this type of meddling is shunned by the elves of the sun?” he asked.
“I am not an elf,” Whill reminded them. “I need to learn all that I can as quickly as possible if I am to face Eadon. Or do you all have a better plan?”
“These rules are set in place for a reason. Past abuses have dictated the necessity for such ways,” said Libratus.
Whill rose from his chair and addressed them all. “I am done discussing elven rules. Does anyone have anything to offer in the form of help? Or are we to sit around talking about what I should and should not do?”
Zerafin rose from his chair with a scowl. “You should show more respect for this court.”
“I have respect, my friend, but do the elves? Maybe Kellallea was right when she caused the elves to forget magic. What good has it done Agora? You have not shared your gifts with man nor dwarf; sickness still plagues the world. Life has not been made easier by your magic—it has become a nightmare. You are strangers to men and despised by most dwarves. Perhaps if you had shared your magic with Agora, we would now stand a better chance.”
He turned as if to leave but whipped back on them. “Perhaps I should not be the one being tested here. Tomorrow I will strike a blow to Eadon’s armies that he has never felt: tomorrow I wage war. If you would join me, then do so, but do not get in my way.”
Whill turned from them all, went through the sunlit entrance, and never looked back.
Outside of the building he was met by a huge crowd of elves who had come to see him. He stopped before the blocked path and sighed with frustration. Next to him the Other looked at the crowd of groveling elves with disgust.
“And here we always thought the elves so mysterious and special. They act like groveling swine.”
“Shut up,” Whill told him. To the crowd he spoke for all to hear. “Here I am!” His voice boomed over them as he stretched his arms out wide. “The one named in prophecy. The one foretold to rid the world of Eadon. I am Whill of Agora, I am legend. I am prophecy and death. Look at me now and look no more. If you would heed my legend, then heed my word.”
The city had grown dead quiet as Whill’s words echoed throughout, enhanced by the sword at his hip. Everyone waited for the word of Whill of Agora; the prophecy’s lore masters waited eagerly for his gospel. Maidens and males alike looked on in eager anticipation. Whill let them wait, let the tension build until he knew he had everyone’s complete attention.
“I am not a weapon, I am a man, and I will not help those who do not help themselves. Decide if you will flee or fight, and do it soon, for I grow weary of those who would see me save them.”
The crowd suddenly parted frantically as a white dragon landed before Whill. Upon its back sat Avriel. Whill cocked his head at the strange image of Avriel riding the dragon she had once possessed. He climbed the white dragon Zorriaz and Avriel smiled back at him before coaxing the dragon up. Zorriaz spread her magnificent wings and the crowd parted further. Her legs rippled with muscle as she leapt thirty feet into the air and began to slowly climb up and away from the temple. Looking back, Whill realized that many of the masters and elders had come out of the pyramid at some point in his speech and were now among the thousands who watched them sore over the city.
“I am going with you into the portal,” Avriel said over the wind and in his mind at the same time.
“The portal likely leads to the horrors of the hells. It makes no sense for the princess of the elves to do such a thing. You will remain with your people,” Whill argued without passion, as if that was simply the way it would be.
Avriel turned and gave him a furious look. “I will? You command me now?”
“No,” he said, staring back at her. “I speak as the king of Uthen-Arden. A war zone is no place for someone so important to her people.”
Zorriaz gave a screech and suddenly dove straight down. Whill was forced to cling to the saddle he and Avriel shared. The dragon leveled out and abruptly turned skyward as it beat its wings forward to land. Zorriaz came down on her hind feet and Avriel gave Whill a shove that sent him flailing from the saddle. He would have hit the ground hard had he not quickly slowed his fall. Avriel leapt from her dragon and came around the front to face Whill.
“So a battlefield is no place for women?”
“Avriel, I didn’t say—”
“A princess of the elves should sit home and look pretty for her people and be gushed over all day?”
He laughed. “Now you are just making things up.”
She shoved him. “But my brother the king, he should risk his life in battle? Is he not more important to his people? You are a king, yet you fight.”
Avriel pushed until Whill’s smile was gone. She shoved him again but he caught her wrists. Avriel pulled back but he held her firm. She tried to speak and he kissed her. Her protest became a whining moan as she pulled herself forward and their embrace sent them to the moss-covered stone below.
Zorriaz snorted as if annoyed, and when it was apparent the two would not part soon, she leapt and flew off. Avriel and Whill’s kiss began slowly as they savored the moment they had both dreamt of. Soon it turned urgent and frantic as they both were driven mad with passion for one another. They rolled upon the moss between the raging falls and laughed between kisses. Avriel pushed Whill down and with a wry grin raised her hands. The vines along the rocky falls nearby climbed up and over them, forming a dome that let only small light inside.
Chapter 36
Whill Rising
Later that night Whill ate dinner with the dwarves at the large table in the main hall of the mock mountain. Some fifty dwarves there were, along with Avriel, Lunara, and Tarren. The feast was had and pipes were lit, and soon talk turned to the possibility of portals within the dwarven kingdoms.
“How in the hells did the portal get inside me mountain twenty years ago? That’s what I be wonderin’,” said Roakore.
“Maybe the dark elves disguised themselves as dwarves or something,” Tarren offered through a mouthful of food.
“It is possible,” said Lunara. “No matter how they did it, it was done. Now the possibility exists that there may be more in the other mountain kingdoms.”
Roakore nodded. “That’s what I be thinkin’. I had me dwarves search every inch o’ Ro’Sar, but no sign o’ a portal was found. Word was sent for the other kings to do the same. When we left Ro’Sar, no word had come back by falcon.”
“All I know for sure is that the longer we wait, the more time Eadon has to prepare. I am done waiting,” said Whill.
“Hear, hear!” cheered Philo and drank down his beer. It seemed that the dwarf used any excuse to drink down a beer. He cheered just about everything anyone said.
Whill nudged Tarren and motioned for him to follow. The boy followed Whill to his room. Whill turned within the threshold and was about to speak when Tarren did.
“I know,” said the lad. “Lunara will be watchin’ over me while you are off fighting.”
“Are you happy with the arrangement?” Whill asked.
Tarren scrunched up his face as if Whill were crazy. “Well, no, I would rather you didn’t have to risk your life for everyone. But I don’t mind bein’ with Lunara. She is a good person.”
“Indeed.”
“Do you think you can stop him?” asked Tarren quietly.
Whill did not want to lie to the boy. “No,” he answered truthfully, and Tarren bowed his head.
“But you have the sword of power. Can’t you kill him with it?”
Whill shook his head. “It is complicated. The sword may actually be Eadon’s, and if that is true, I cannot kill him with it.
Elves cannot be killed by their own sword.”
Tarren looked confused. “Can’t you use the power in it to kill him?”
“I don’t know,” said Whill. “But one thing I do know is that I can use the sword against his armies, and I intend to. I will crush them all.”
Tarren smiled up at him. He seemed convinced that Whill could do what he said. Tarren had to believe that Whill would be all right. It had worked before.
“Between Lunara and that Holdagozz dwarf, you will be safe,” he said.
Tarren shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
Whill smiled and picked him up in a bear hug. “One day life will be normal again, Tarren.”
The boy laughed, returning the hug. “No, it won’t.”
Whill put him down and Tarren looked up at him with a grin. “I am the ward of Whill of Agora, my best friend is the son of a dwarf king, and I have an elven godmother. Life will never be normal again,” he said with a brave smile.
Whill could not help but laugh.
He did not sleep that night. He did not need to. The sword and the anticipation of what he might find on Fendora gave him all he needed to stay wide awake.
Whill left Avriel and the rest of them and quietly snuck out of the elf-made cave. He unsheathed Adromida and with a thought he willed himself up and into the sky. He flew steadily to the falls and landed upon one of the many outcroppings of rock that split the raging waters. The moon was a looming mass in the clear night sky. Only a few long clouds passed slowly, like whales in an ocean of stars. Moonbeams like rays of light piercing though water fell across the land and illuminated the already glowing city.
Whill dug into the memory of the tome of Gnenja and began practicing one of the many sword-fighting forms. The Koresnian method was first. Focusing on balance and defense, it was a valuable way to protect against attack, though in a tight spot it would not be useful, as it demanded space to move in. For an hour Whill went through the curving blocks and brilliant feints it offered. He could not believe how good it felt to work with the sword; it seemed to meld to his body so that he did not so much wield it as dance with it. Together he and the blade twirled and struck like a viper, only to leap seven feet landing in a crouch with a sidelong slash.
Far below, someone in the city noticed Whill there upon the falls silhouetted in the giant setting moon. Word spread quickly and elves came in droves. Soon the entire riverside was packed with elves mimicking Whill’s forms. Anyone of the Gnenja discipline and even farmers and elves of the market came to watch Whill. But there, high above it all, Whill did not notice. He saw only the form, knew only his body and the blade. Across from him the Other had materialized, but Whill ignored him. The Other mimicked his every move flawlessly though he held no sword.
Long into the night Whill performed the forms. He put the Other out of his mind and began yet another form. This, the Derzarrian, focused upon nothing but offense. It was a powerful form of heavy strikes and sweeping slashes. The blade became a blur of singing death in his hand.
Morning came with the sun and the first of the beams hit Whill there high upon the falls. Below, upon the banks of the river where the sun had yet to shine, the elves looked up at their savior of legend, brilliant as the sunrise, and many believed.
Whill executed the forms flawlessly, twirling, spinning and leaping with a grace few humans could match. His body had been made whole again by the blade and the elven care. He was once again in his prime. He could hold impossible positions due to his strength and newfound skill. He could linger in a leap or come down like lightning if he chose.
After the sun had been in the sky for many hours, Whill finished the last routine, brought the blade to his face, and breathed deeply. He knew he had yet to understand fully the wealth of power within the blade. In truth he had barely scratched the surface of what he knew to be possible with it. He felt as though the sword could move mountains without noticing a depletion of power, and it scared him.
Whill sheathed his blade and found what seemed to be the entire city staring at him from below. Whill ran and leapt from the stone out and over the river. He fell slowly and traveled quickly across the water. He came down next to the dwarven living quarters and found them all outside, armor-clad and in formation. Elves there were too, and Whill marveled that half the city had armored and prepared overnight. Before him stood an army of elves, and he recognized all of the schools of magic represented there. All of the masters were present, as well as many of the elders. There were droves of druids in animal form, from bear to wolf and great cat. Zerafin split the crowd on horseback and rode to face Whill. He wore full elven plate armor of silver with gemmed buckles and straps, with large shoulder plates that glowed from behind the cracks with a blue brilliant light. Zerafin looked like a true elven king of legend, as had never been seen upon the shores of Agora.
“The elders, and the masters, and the elves of Cerushia have decided,” said the king for all to hear. “You are worthy of legend, Whill of Agora, and we will fight alongside you to the ends of the earth if need be. For we shall be victorious in this fight, or we will die trying!” The elves and even the dwarves cheered agreement.
“It is good to know that I am not alone in this,” Whill told the crowd. “I thank you.”
“It has been decided that we will strike Fendora together, today,” Zerafin announced.
Whill looked across the ocean of stoic elven faces. “I intended to infiltrate Fendora alone.”
“There is no need for infiltration. We are attacking and taking the rock. It was lost to our cause long ago. It is now a desolate breeding ground for draggard and a dark-elf naval base, and it must be taken. It shall be the first of many offenses. We have already sent word to the dwarves of Helgar.” Zerafin gestured to Roakore.
“Aye, laddie!” Roakore grunted. “I been in touch with the king o’ Helgar. It seems the elves gifted the dwarf with a speaking stone a while ago. I don’t know why he trusted the thing, bein’ as suspicious as any dwarf about the elves. But I spoke to him while you were doin’ your dance on the falls. It took an hour and many questions from both o’ us before we believed it was each other, but it turned out to be a trustworthy trinket. I told the king we meant to take the island, and he agreed to it. It be in the interest o’ the Helgar dwarves to take the island outpost. Already they fight to keep the eastern edge o’ Uthen-Arden clear between mountain and sea. They fight for the beach even now.”
“Yes, we will rendezvous with the dwarves upon the western coast, and from there we will wipe out the enemy,” Zerafin said.
Whill wanted to scream with excitement. Finally something was happening! If he could get elves and dwarves to fight together for Fendora, he could do anything.
“To Fendora!” Whill screamed, pumping his fist.
“To Fendora!” the crowd bellowed.
Chapter 37
Kell-Torey Siege
It took the dragon-hawk a little less than two days to reach Kell-Torey. The beast did not stop for rest; if it needed any, Dirk assumed that it did so while gliding upon warm currents. Neither did it hunt. Dirk called the dragon-hawk Fyrfrost when he got tired of calling him dragon, and the name stuck.
When Kell-Torey came into view, Dirk sat up, alert, and gasped at what he saw. A dark storm hung over the city and a strange tear like a knife wound cut from the heavens to the earth. The rift wore lightning like a wreath, and within, stars could be seen dancing in darkened space. From the rift poured armies of draggard and massive dwargon, and draquon flew from the portal in droves. The city was under siege, and it was not going well for the Eldalonians.
Coming in from the north over the nearby lake, Dirk could make out massive siege weapons. Rams and catapults rolled out of the rift and already missiles were being hurled at the outer wall of the city. Three of Kell-Torey’s outer walls had already been breached, and smoke billowed from three rings of the city.
“To the castle, Fyrfrost!”
The beast flew under the cove
r of its ever-changing wings, over the smoldering outskirts of the city. Many draquon circled the city, diving down at leisure and plucking scurrying people from the streets at will. They easily dodged the spears and harpoons, though Dirk noticed that a few soldiers had been successful at netting one of the beasts. As he flew silently overhead, he watched as they hacked and chopped at it in a rage.
Over rooftops and high walls the dragon-hawk came to the sealed castle grounds. Dirk steered Fyrfrost to a high tower and steadied the beast to circle.
“Look for me in the windows,” Dirk told his mount and leapt to the tower. He threw his grappling hook and caught a small windowsill at the center of the tower. He swung and landed upon the tower’s winding outer stairs. With a flick of Dirk’s wrist the hook fell and wound quickly into his belt. He caught it and clipped it secure. In a crouch he surveyed the castle grounds from on high. Through his hood, night was like day, and he saw that nothing moved upon the rooftops or high walls. The courtyard below was busy with shuffling soldiers, but up here nothing stirred.
Dirk took from his pocket the timber-wolf trinket. He studied it for a moment, debating whether or not he should summon the spirit. He found himself scared that Chief might not return after the blow he had taken while still in physical form.
“Chief,” he finally whispered, and held out the carving.
He grinned when the mist appeared and spiraled from the trinket. Arching up like a snake, the smoke shimmered and circled Dirk as it grew. Dirk felt Chief graze his back and turned to find the spirit wolf staring at him from only feet away.
“Before you get upset, hear me out,” said Dirk holding up his hands defensively. Chief showed his teeth and his displeasure. “If I hurt you I am sorry, it was an accident. I thought you would have…gone ghost when the pillar fell. I meant you no harm.”
Chief stared at Dirk for a long time and finally wagged his tail and took in their location. Dirk smiled and chanced a stroke of the wolf’s back. “We have no time for stealth. It looks as though we are too late. Bigger things are going on here besides the assassination of a king. The entire city is under siege. There is some kind of rift in the valley below, no doubt leading to Drindellia and Eadon’s legions. We go to find the king. Let no one stand in our way, human or dark elf.”
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 99
