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

  Spells continued to rain down upon the shields of the fleet, but they held steady. Now high walls and castles could be seen on the island, where the water could not reach. The fleet barreled into the harbor, and he began to think that the elves meant to crash the coast. Here the rocks were few and the beaches stretching. Whill held firm the rail and waited for the collision. But it never came.

  An order was shouted from every ship, and as one they slowed until they had all packed into the harbor. A horn blew and the elves stormed the beaches, running and leaping along the many boats to reach the shore. Whill and his group were the first upon the beach, and soon Roakore and Avriel landed as well.

  Far inland there was a loud blast and a sudden silence. A strange sound echoed through the air for a long moment before a stone the size of a castle tower came shooting through the sky. It barreled down upon the center of the fleet, and many shouts of “Shields!” went up. Roakore lifted his hands to the sky and strain furled his brow as he pushed against it. Elven Ralliads too raised their hands to it and the stone began to slow. Whill stepped forward and lifted his right hand. The stone stopped dead and floated for a moment above them. The Ralliad nearby watched in awe and lowered their hands. Whill brought back his hand and the monolithic stone moved with it. He then heaved and it flew back the way it had come. None breathed as they waited and listened. The boom that erupted shook the ground beneath them and the elves cheered.

  “Roakore, my friend. I would offer my strength to you and your men,” Whill said, leaning in close to the king.

  “And we would be acceptin’,” he said with a grin.

  Whill called up what he had learned from the tome about multiple spell targets. He scanned over the regiment of dwarves as elves rushed by. They looked to their king as they bounced impatiently on their toes. Whill built the spell in his mind and shot out his right hand before him. Painless blue lightning cracked the air and a snaking arc hit each dwarf in turn. There were alarmed shouts and protests but then a sudden quiet as the dwarves perceived the incredible energy they had just been given. They looked wide-eyed at Whill and to their king; it was painful for them to stand still.

  “Charge!” Roakore bellowed, and the dwarves joined the elven charge up the beach and over the high bluff. Whill took to the sky and beheld the island. Sporadic clumps of forest speckled the mostly stone island. Tall, thick walls surrounded nearby castles and fortresses. Deeper inland he saw a huge dwarven force battling hundreds of draggard. Beyond them swirled the shadow rift. Whill was shocked when he looked to where the rift met the ground. Armies of draggard, dwargon, draquon, and unnamable beasts filed through. The lines of marching nightmares branched out like ant trails to the many harbors and their dark elf warships. Whill was horrified to think that this rift had been opened for a week or more. The seas would be swarmed by the fleets of dark-elf-led draggard armies. Whill had to close the portal.

  That rift, how can it be closed? Whill asked Zerafin with his mind.

  I do not know. This dark sorcery is beyond any of us. Eadon’s greatest threat is that he has no boundaries; there are no limits to what he will do or create. He is heedless of the gods and nature. There was disdain in Zerafin’s mental voice.

  Whill flew over the charging elves and dwarves and headed toward the army of Elgar dwarves that was making slow progress toward the nearest castle. They bent under shield and used the scant cover to advance against torrents of flying stone and spells. The frontline of the assault pressed stubbornly against a thick draggard mass. Whill landed among the frontline dwarves and blasted a group of draggard away from them. He unsheathed his sword and slammed his fist to his chest. The Elgar dwarves cocked their heads and relaxed their arms as Whill turned, raised the sword, and pointed it at the advancing hordes. He opened himself to the sword and released massive amounts of energy through Adromida. Blinding, pure white light lit the day as if it had been dark. Everyone was forced to turn their eyes from the light as the sword hummed with a power that made the nearby dwarves’ teeth chatter.

  Then suddenly it was over. The dwarves turned slowly to see what had happened, and they gasped when they beheld a sea of stone beasts. Whill turned and saluted them once again. “Let’s give ’em hell!” he shouted in Dwarvish, and the armies went berserk. They charged toward the castle in a rage as Whill flew on. Spells shot through the air and Whill dodged many. He reinforced his shield with the humming power of Adromida and the spells blew up on contact. He sent a massive fireball at the fortified door and the explosion shook the ground. The dwarves cheered and charged into the castle.

  Soon Roakore’s dwarves and the elves caught up and charged through the field of stone draggard, leaving them crumbling in their wake. Whill marveled at the array of spells that curved up and slammed into the draggard masses. The elves unleashed such a powerful assault that the dwarves were soon charging past the castle and into the main body of the dark-elf force.

  In the distance the rift swirled with lightning and blackened clouds. A horn blew and many more answered the call as the dwarven and elven armies clashed with the dark elves and their hellish creations before the shadow of the rift.

  Whill yelled to the elven healers to focus on the leading dwarf charge and they complied. The frontline dwarves plowed through the draggard and did not slow as the casters made up the sides of the phalanx, and rained down spells of fire and ice. The draggard were considered animals, and so the Zionars were free to use their gifts. They intruded the draggard minds and instilled numbing fear into their hearts. Many attempted to run, others clawed themselves to mutilation. Whill shivered when he saw what those like Ornarell could do.

  Zerafin led the elven charge upon his white horse, hewing draggard with his blazing sword and screaming “For Drindellia!” with every kill. Soon shouts of “For Ro’Sar!” and “For Elgar!” rang out as the dwarves too joined in. Roakore and Silverwind were a devastating pair against the draggard and specifically the dwargon. Silverwind’s talons easily pierced the thick, scaled hide of the draggard and crushed them like prey. Her razor-sharp beak sent heads rolling in the blink of an eye. Roakore rode her as if they were one. Those draggard that his axe did not reach, his stone bird did, and to devastating effect.

  Helzendar and Philo and his fifty dwarves overtook a castle and routed the occupants, and draggard and dwargon alike fell from the castle walls to the stone below. In the wake of the elves and dwarves, the castles were left smoldering.

  Whill flew high above the battlefield and studied the armies below. With his mind-sight he scanned the auras, looking for the dark elves. They had yet to show their faces.

  “What if this is a trap?” asked the Other, who was suddenly floating there next to him.

  Whill gave a start and cursed under his breath. “I don’t care anymore. If Eadon is here, so be it; if he is not, I will destroy his entire army.”

  “You? What have you done?” the Other asked. “You read a few tomes and you are a master? I would show you things beyond your wildest dreams.” He stared at Whill with a gleam in his eye. The darkness cast by the rift of the starlit sky on the other side made his sunken face the more haunting.

  Whill convulsed and suddenly was not controlling his movements. He fought for control but was met with a mental assault of pain and dark, blood and chains. Whill fought through the visions but could not keep his focus. Fear became his only thought, pain his only emotion.

  The Other flew Whill to land atop the hill that the armies had just taken. Below, a valley led to where the churning portal met the ground. Thousands of beasts and abominations had gathered to face them. Still there was no sign of dark elves.

  Avriel landed next to Whill and a bloody-mouthed Zorriaz stared keenly at the portal as if hypnotized.

  “They number in the tens of thousands; reinforcements join us from all sides of the island soon. Shall we hold our ground?” Avriel asked Whill and Zerafin, who came to stand next to Whill.

  Silverwind gave a squawk and landed next to th
e dragon. Roakore gave the beast an uneasy glance and then looked at Whill.

  “What’s that, lad? You be injured,” he asked, pointing at Whill’s face. Blood trickled from his nose and ears, eyes and mouth. His armor was suddenly dirty and dented; cuts and scrapes covered his exposed flesh.

  The Other did not answer but ignored them all. He strode to the highest point of the hill and opened his arms out wide. Whill fought within his mind for domination. He called to the blade and it answered, but as it answered him, the Other gained strength also. His fortress of pain intensified the more he fought, and he soon found himself writhing in mental agony. Whill was hit by the memory of the chains. He could feel the pain of the barbed chains being pulled through his arms from hand to shoulder, and there the spikes held them in place. Whill had hung from those chains for a month as rats slowly ate away at his feet. He screamed in agony but there was no one to hear but the Other, who smiled.

  The Other bellowed into the stormy heavens before the rift, and the ancient elven words echoed across the island for miles. He unsheathed the blade Adromida and stabbed it to the heavens. Lightning exploded from it and parted the dark clouds above. Through the hole in the clouds sunlight poured and seemed to swirl around the blade. Again the Other bellowed in ancient Elvish, and the clouds above exploded and rain and fist-sized hail began to fall upon the draggard armies in and around the portal. The Other ended the long spell with a low guttural growl and everyone watched in awe as the very rain caught on fire, and the hail became streaking purple fireballs. The purple fire-rain fell upon the armies and burned through scale and hide, bone and tooth. The shrieks and screams of thousands of dying beasts filled the air and added to the chaotic tumult. The rift swirled and the wind blew the deadly fireballs across the land swiftly. Soon the entire valley below was aflame with dancing purple fire.

  Trapped within his mind, Whill fought the memories and the crushing fear but to no avail. It was not until Avriel’s hand upon his shoulder caused the Other to lose his concentration in her eyes. The spell ceased and Whill was suddenly able to mentally wrestle the Other for control of his body. He fell to a knee and panted as he stared out over the destruction the Other had wrought.

  Cheers rang out as elves and dwarves alike celebrated the destruction of the armies. Rain soon put out the purple flames and smoldering bodies littering the valley for miles. Through the rift the draggard armies stopped marching and it became quiet.

  Avriel, with her hand still upon Whill’s shoulder, turned him to face her. Gone were the Other’s scars and blood. She smiled at him with concern. “Are you all right? I could not contact you, there was a shadow…was it—”

  “It is all right, I am fine.” He suddenly noticed the entirety of the elven and dwarven armies watching him. “Let us bring the fight to them! To the rift!” he yelled above Avriel, and then gave her a long, fierce kiss that sent the dwarves into louder cheers.

  The armies charged over the smoldering remains of the draggard armies down into the valley. Through the rift, all that could be seen were stars in a clear black sky. The wind near the rift blew at high speeds and made advancement hard. Dirt and debris flew around the mouth of the rift and the armies soon came to a halt before it. Whill walked a few steps closer and turned back to his friends.

  Without a word, Whill summoned the courage and flew from the ground up and into the rift.

  Chapter 39

  Chieftain of the Seven

  None stood to challenge Aurora that day, and soon word had spread throughout all of Volnoss. Aurora Snowfell, the Chieftain of the Seven, had defeated Icethorn, and now called all warriors to the rift.

  A camp had been made close to the rift that night, and by morning the warriors of the seven tribes began to file onto the Gretchnar Hills, where the mysterious portal had appeared only days ago. Any that had gone through the rift had not come back out, but that did not stop brave barbarian warriors from going through also.

  Aurora met with the chiefs of the seven tribes and learned that the rift had appeared but nothing had yet come through. She told them to rouse their armies and have them there immediately. The chiefs complied and soon the vast stretching camps of the seven armies grew around the portal.

  She looked out over her vast army on the fifth day and felt such pride that she was overwhelmed by tears. She was the chieftain of the seven, she had avenged her father, and she would lead her people to glory. Aurora was confident now that she was free of Eadon's curse.

  Azzeal came to stand beside her as she surveyed her army from on high. Her tent had been set up on the highest bluff overlooking the rift. Through the portal could be seen bright stars against a background of dark. The stars shifted nearly unnoticed within the rift, whose crown of storm cloud and lightning never ceased to rage.

  "Soon they will come forth from the rift, and you will be tested," said Azzeal at her side.

  Aurora looked down at him and scowled. "I answer not to Eadon."

  She expected Azzeal to once again argue the point, but he did not. Aurora had gotten to know the elf well enough to know that something was amiss. He had a look in his eyes she had not seen him wear. He seemed distance, as if a great burden weighed upon his mind.

  "What is it?" she finally asked when he would not meet her gaze.

  Azzeal jerked as if he had been roused from a trance. He met her eyes searching, and finally looked away.

  "I am master of many schools of Orna Catorna. Others I have studied and have some skill in."

  Aurora looked to him waiting, she began to feel as though she did not want to hear what came next, so heavy was the weight of his words.

  "I have had a vision of the near future." he said with uncharacteristic intensity.

  "Soon the rift will empty, and your debt shall be due," he explained.

  "I die, is that it?" she asked with a raised chin. "So be it, my people will fight on in my stead. The dark elves shall not have Volnoss. I will die defying Eadon."

  Azzeal shook his head gently with her every word. "Will you?" he asked, clearly angered by her words.

  Aurora turned on him with anger of her own. "Yes! My life is forfeit; I have done what I came here to do. If my pledge of fealty remains then I shall die defying it.”

  "Even at the expense of your tribes?" Azzeal asked.

  "What do you know?" she asked, tired of his riddles.

  Azzeal would not meet her eyes. His haunted gaze looked beyond the army and rift below.

  "I have never had much interest in the art of Aklenar. It is a difficult and dangerous practice. Many elves with the gift have gone mad trying to decipher the future. For once it is seen..." he looked to her and smiled weakly. "Remember this, if you side with Eadon, you will wish you had died instead."

  Azzeal turned and was gone in a shower of falling feathers. Aurora heard his words again in her mind. What had he seen that had shaken him so? What would she do? Was she truly prepared to die and leave the fate of her people to the gods?

  "Many ghosts haunt you this night," said a voice.

  Aurora whipped her head and scoured the tent. From the large open window she could see the entire room. It held little place to hide. She wondered if she had imagined the voice when it came again.

  "My master told me that you were a rare specimen, 'a beauty of the north to match the fire burning strong within her', he had said."

  The ground at the center of the tent bulged and grew. Grass and dirt fell away leaving a dark figure standing before her. Aurora reached for her sword but an unseen force held it firm.

  "That won't be necessary," said the figure.

  Although it was an hour before sunset and even with the many candles alit in the tent, a shadow played around the figure leaving him cloaked in darkness. The voice was none she recognized.

  "I am Zander, it is an honor to finally meet you... general." said Zander.

  "General? If I am a general of yours release my sword arm."

  Zander nodded curtly and Aurora felt the
grip let up. As soon as she was free she unsheathed her blade and had it at the phantom's throat in a heartbeat.

  "Who sent you?"

  "You know who sent me."

  "Why did you call me your general?"

  "Because you are my general."

  "Enough of the games!"

  Zander turned to black smoke which swirled around Aurora and flew to a chair at her large table. He solidified sitting back easy with one leg over the other. The shadow had left him. Aurora stared across the room at a devilishly handsome dark elf with swirling dark red tattoos of intricate patterns and arching symbols. She shuddered with realization.

  "Eadon," she whispered.

  "My master, and yours as well," Zander smirked and his long pointed eyebrows lifted lightly his black bangs.

  Zander indicated the chair opposite himself with a gloves finger set with a long curved metal talon. His arm and body alike were bound with twisted leather and black shining metal; over his shoulder and draped about him was a cloak of living shadow. A sapphire the size of a fist was set at the center of his chest, it pulsed faintly casting a light red aura about him. Aurora took the seat; she felt very small before the dark elf. Her vow of fealty to Eadon played out maddeningly in the back of her mind. She wanted to flee, flip the table and run, run far from here.

  "So soon you have forgotten your vow?" Zander asked with a small scowl. "Do not tell Zander Miak that you stand conflicted."

  Aurora could not speak, her head swam sickeningly. Her vow to Eadon blended with that cursed voice relentlessly singing "coward at your back".

  Zander moved to speak low across the table as if conspiring. "Our master has the entire country in a choke hold. All of the rifts save this one have poured forth his magnificent armies. Mighty Eldalon has fallen, the Dwarf Mountains have been compromised, and as we speak Cerushia falls. What is it that you ponder?"