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

  Aurora failed to hide her shock in hearing of the fate of Agora. Where was Azzeal, why had he abandoned her? She remembered her words to the elf; her promise that she would die rather than join Eadon. But what of her people?

  "It sounds as though there is no use for us. It sounds as though we have won," said Aurora trying to relay bored detachment. Zander's eyes told her that he was no fool.

  "There is much to do. The dwarf mountains will take years to route. The barbarians will be glad to return to northern Ky'Dren will they not? T'was once yours was it not. The horn of Eldalon as well; it shall fall upon your people to conquer and claim that as land."

  Zander moved like a stalking cat around the table to kneel at her feet. "I see your heart Aurora, it is good that you are bound by honor. But where does your guilt and loyalty lie? Your people were murdered by humans and dwarves. Tossed from Agora like animals and left to die on this frozen wasteland. The time for tears is past, now is time for justice."

  Aurora listened to the dark elf enchanted. His words weaved a beautiful tapestry of reclamation and conquest, a return of her people's honor and homelands. A tear found her cheek and she knew why Azzeal had left. Another spilled down her opposite cheek and she knew what he had seen. Aurora put her hands to the dark elf's shoulders and she grinned. "Let us begin."

  Chapter 40

  The Lady and the Wolf

  The explosion threw Dirk back into the catapult with so much force that he was knocked unconscious. Had the enchantments about his armor not absorbed the brunt of the blast, he would have been destroyed. What armor was left had been drained of power and was now no more than leather and metal.

  His ears hammered and he could hear nothing of the world. In a daze he blinked at the smoldering world and knew he must be dreaming. There, standing between himself and the seething hordes, was Krentz. In one hand she held her blade and from the other she blasted draggard with spells. Her tight, sleek armor reflected the dancing flames around them with its seamless sheen; it looked as though she wore black ice.

  He drifted in and out of dreams. In one he helplessly watched Krentz fight a dark elf. In another he watched as whirlwinds of smoke and ash flew up as a brilliant dragon with silver feathers landed and began ravishing monsters mercilessly. In his final dream Dirk watched the rift float by as if time had slowed. Beneath him Fyrfrost steadily beat his wings, and Krentz’s sweet voice hushed him back into deep dreamless sleep.

  He awoke in a field of tall golden wheat next to a thick forest. His armor was gone, and he wore nothing at all. Instantly he became alert to his surroundings. He crouched on all fours and peeked over the wheat to the dark forest. Sound came from within, a soft hummed song that was hauntingly familiar to him. He was drawn into the woods by the voice—by her voice.

  Dirk followed Krentz’s humming and came to a small clearing. There hanging from an oak tree were his underclothes. He pulled on his trousers and laced them up as he looked around at the apparent camp. He quickly realized the humming had stopped. He walked into the clearing, and through the trees on the other side came Krentz. The low morning sun shone through clouds, sending beams of light dancing through the clearing.

  “This is real?” Dirk asked hopefully as he walked slowly toward Krentz and she to him.

  “It is.” She smiled.

  “Before…that wasn’t a dream?” he asked, coming closer.

  “No.” She laughed and hugged her lover.

  Dirk took in the smell of her hair and knew it to be true. “But how?” he asked, backing his head and looking her over. “You defy the will of Eadon as we speak. How did you get out of the relic? Where are we?”

  She kissed him for a long, soft moment. “It is over, my love. We are free.”

  “But how?” he insisted.

  Krentz lowered her gaze and turned. She walked into the clearing and Dirk followed. Her right hand found her left arm and held it the way that she did when she had something she did not want to say. It was a nervous tic Dirk knew well. She led him to the middle of the clearing and turned to sit with him.

  “When I went into the spirit world with the wolf…something happened that broke my vow of fealty. I must obey it no longer. We are free.”

  “What happened?” asked Dirk, squeezing her hand and hoping it was anything but what he guessed.

  Krentz took a deep breath through her nose and smiled sympathetically. “I died.”

  Dirk swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair as if wanting to tear it out.

  “It is not your fault, it is not a bad thing, it was the only way,” she told him urgently, but he was not convinced.

  “How were you revived?” he asked, touching her warm flesh.

  She turned her head to the side and moved away from him to stand. Turning to face him, she wore the same shy look she had the first time they had laid together.

  “I wasn’t,” she said, rubbing her arm. He rose to come to her but she stepped back and held out a halting hand.

  “Don’t. I must show you.”

  Dirk nodded slowly and stood opposite her. Before his eyes she became translucent and turned to silver-gray smoke. Astonished, Dirk watched as the smoke snaked its way around him, causing him to turn with it. She took form once again before him but remained translucent.

  “You are…?” Dirk struggled to speak past his sorrow. “You are a ghost? I have killed you?” he said with the heavy weight of guilt. He reached for her but his hand moved through her as if through air. The hairs on his arm stood up and he looked upon her painfully.

  “You have freed me,” she argued as she materialized and took his hands in hers. “Only through death could I be free of the curse. You have given me that, and I have come back to you.” She gave him a smile he did not share.

  “But your body…where…?”

  “I do not know. When I went into the spirit world, my body…it changed. Now I am like the wolf. I am of the spirit world.”

  Dirk’s tears threatened to fall and she pulled him onto a kiss. “I was prepared to die for you. This was the only way. Now we can be together. Now we are free.”

  “Krentz, I never meant for this—”

  “There was no other way,” she insisted.

  “There is always another way. I meant to trap you within the relic until I had sought out help.”

  “Help from whom?”

  “Whill. He is in possession of the ancient blade. I had hoped—”

  “Even if he could help, would he? You betrayed his trust, and I am a dark elf. No help would have come from him. No help will come from anyone, you know that.”

  Dirk sighed and sat again upon the grass. He looked around curiously at the forest. “Where are we? What day is it?” he asked.

  “Don’t you recognize it? This is Eldon Island. You have slept a day and a night. You needed it—what have you been doing to yourself? You had nearly enough adrenaline and dragonroot in your system to kill you, and you have barely eaten.” She lectured him as she always had.

  She was back, they were together, and they were free. The realization hit Dirk like a brick and he smiled. He suddenly rushed forward to kiss Krentz and she met him with equal urgency. They clung to each other in the afternoon sun as the pressure of the last few weeks finally lifted like the weight of a mountain. They were not only free of Eadon, they were free from worry.

  They talked for hours and Dirk ate. Roasted cronies, wild onions, roots, and nuts were their dinner, and it was the most delicious food he had ever eaten.

  Dirk told Krentz about his race to Kell-Torey from the portal in Uthen-Arden nearly a week before. And she told him her tale. How she had been gifted great power by her father, power that he did not give often or to many. How she had tried to sneak away, had tried to run. But the more she moved against her father, even in thought, the more she was pained. She could not even move to kill herself, or be killed. She tried to explain that she had not chosen to kill the royals of Eldalon, that it had been impossible to disobey. Dirk
knew she was pleading her innocence to herself as much to him.

  “The children, the families…I can still see their faces, I can still hear their surprise. I was the harbinger of death to the innocent…I—”

  “Stop,” said Dirk with a hand to her shoulder. “You did nothing. You were used, you were merely a weapon. Is the sword capable of murder?” He lifted her chin and released it roughly. “Remember the code that you taught me? You have not broken it.”

  “I killed an entire family!” She suddenly erupted into tears.

  Dirk held her and rocked her gently. The wind picked up and the smell of thunderstorm rain filled the air. He looked around at the blowing trees and suddenly to Krentz, making the connection.

  “Shh, do not punish yourself. You know that you are innocent in this. If you have guilt, only then are your tears justified.” He made her look at him. “Did you want to do it?”

  “No!” she cried, giving him a stabbing look.

  “Did you enjoy it?” he pressed.

  “No!” she yelled again, now angry. Lightning flashed in the distance and a crackling boom of thunder soon followed.

  “Then stop this childish behavior! Or do you mean to ravish the world?” he asked, gesturing to the storm growing around them.

  She looked up and blinked as if just noticing the massing darkness. Her hand flew to her mouth in shock and her eyes went wide as she saw what she had caused.

  “Your father’s gifts were great,” said Dirk, watching the dark clouds above slow as she calmed herself. “And your guilt is great also. You cannot live with a storm raging inside you. Shed your tears and bury it, and never look back.”

  “You are right,” she said, sniffling and combing back her hair with her fingers. She laughed as she pulled herself together and stood, needing to walk. Dirk followed her to the field he had awakened in. The dark clouds had blown past and the clear sky whispered of twilight. Fyrfrost suddenly appeared, morphing from the color of the blue sky above. He furiously beat his wings to slow down and landed. He ruffled his feathers and dropped a doe at Dirk’s feet.

  “I take it you have met Fyrfrost,” said Dirk.

  “I have,” she purred as the dragon-hawk offered his head for her to stroke. “He told me the name you gave him. He said you freed him from dark-elf twins.”

  “He told you?” Dirk mused. “He never talked to me.”

  “His thoughts, you fool man.” She laughed. “I have met and spoken to Chief as well.”

  “What?” Dirk exclaimed. “Chief speaks? I don’t believe it.”

  She laughed again. “He does.”

  “And what does a spirit wolf have to say?”

  “He says that you are a great hunter, even though you are small.” She grinned.

  “Small?”

  “Yes. It seems that he is from the barbarian island of Volnoss. There they grow to nine feet sometimes.”

  “Yes, I have met one recently,” said Dirk, thinking of Aurora Snowfell with a smile.

  They returned to camp and summoned the timber wolf to guard for the night. From Fyrfrost’s saddle they gathered blankets and made their bed beneath the stars. Long into the night they talked and laughed.

  It had been a long time since they lived so many peaceful years on Eldon Island. Dirk had spent many long years in search of Krentz, lonely years in which he had obsessively tracked any clue of her. In the end he had quite stumbled upon her in Del-Oradon.

  Dirk held her close and listened to her soft breathing upon his chest. Finally he could rest.

  Chapter 41

  Strangers in a Strange Land

  Whill flew through the rift to Drindellia and came out in the midst of a nightmare. The armies of draggard, draquon, and dwargon that marched toward the portal were innumerable. The landscape was littered with crystal monoliths that rose up into the sky, threatening to reach the heavens themselves. Out of the bases of the crystal towers dark hordes poured. With his mind-sight Whill was able to make out the life-forms within, and he was shocked to see the towers teeming with life.

  Miles away and in every direction around him there were other rifts. Whill’s dread grew as he counted eight others beside the one he had come through. The elves could only see six with Queen Araveal’s looking glass, which meant that three of the rifts could not be seen from the air.

  “The other rifts are within the mountains of the dwarves,” said the Other, floating next to him.

  Whill was too absorbed in the magnitude of the implications of what he said to be annoyed with his split personality. The dwarf mountains were being invaded; all of Agora was being invaded, on a scale that had never been seen.

  “This horde will destroy the worlds of men, dwarves, and elves,” said the Other cryptically as he floated around Whill, staring him down. “Give me control and we shall destroy them all.”

  Whill was tempted to give in, to let his other side take responsibility. But he did not trust the Other, which was to say that he did not trust himself. He knew that the more he let the Other lead, the more powerful that side of him would become. Whill was reminded of the fact that Eadon likely had tortured him only to create the Other, the side of Whill that would blindly strike, giving the dark elf lord what he wanted.

  “No!” he said firmly. “You are not welcome here.”

  The Other’s face twitched and his bloodshot eyes bore into Whill’s. Below, the armies of draggard advancing through the rift were suddenly blown back by a multitude of massive explosions as the elves of the sun and the dwarves of both Ro’Sar and Helgar stormed through.

  “Not welcome? In my own body?” the Other hissed. “You ungrateful cowa—”

  “You were created for this very purpose, don’t you see? You are a pawn in Eadon’s game and nothing more!” screamed Whill.

  “You know nothing of my creation; you are too weak to see. Without me you would have died in that dungeon,” the Other snarled, his eyes and nose now bleeding profusely.

  “If you want to help, get out of my way,” Whill warned, unsheathing the ancient blade.

  Roakore flew through the rift with Avriel and the armies of his allies behind him. He gave a war cry that was matched by the piercing cry of Silverwind as they came out on the other side. Roakore’s gusto temporarily faltered as he laid eyes upon the largest gathering of creatures he had ever seen. He knew that indeed the rift led to Drindellia, where it seemed Eadon had been brewing an invading army. Strange crystal megaliths speckled the barren valley and glowed in the night. The king noticed the other rifts and rage burned within him.

  Ahead Whill was floating in midair, the ancient blade in his right hand. Below, a barrage of spells and fireballs flew through the rift and hit the advancing draggard forces with devastating effect. Through the rift the allied armies charged. Roakore spurred Silverwind into a dive and joined into the fray. His hawk came down fast upon two draggard and with crushing claws lifted them into the air to fall down upon their kin. Roakore guided his stone bird off to the side of Silverwind, braining the seething draggard as they flew past.

  A horn blew from somewhere within the legions and was answered by many more. From the hovering crystal monoliths came scores of winged draquon, and upon the backs of the largest were dark elf riders. Roakore veered left and flew over the elven forces.

  “Hundreds o’ draquon come from the east! To the air, elves, to arms!”

  Avriel joined him and circled the Elladrindellian forces. She bellowed a call to arms in Elvish and dozens of Ralliad masters shifted into birds of prey and took to the air. Roakore and Avriel led the group of nearly fifty Ralliad shifters straight at the draquon forces. From below, spells shot into the sky from dozens of dark-elf casters. From behind the flying Ralliad group, counterspells blasted forth to intercept. Roakore squeezed the saddle horn and prepared for evasive maneuvers when the counterspells erupted in an explosion and shower of green and blue sparks. Below the flying elves the dark-elf spells hit the wall of combined energy of the sun-elf counterspells
and were absorbed by the wide shield.

  The first of the draquon reached the group and Roakore sang a dwarven war chant as he hacked at the passing beast. His axe tore the underbelly of one beast and sent it spinning out of control. Another came at him from the right, but Silverwind quickly banked and caught it in her crushing claws.

  All around them the Ralliad elves engaged the charging beasts, and though the shape-shifting masters could make short work of the draquon, the beasts kept coming in droves. The Ralliad masters were able to cast in their animal forms, and where a talon or beak might not kill a draquon every time, their spells could. Broken draquon bodies and elf bodies’ alike fell from the aerial battlefields and crashed upon the warring groups below.

  Whill fought the Other for control but quickly found himself losing. Pain and depression, guilt and sorrow plagued his mind in a nefarious orchestra. And while the Other had six months of torturous memories at his disposal, Whill did not know how to attack his own ego. To him pleasure was pain and sorrow joy, and therefore Whill could only try and ward off the mental attack.

  He screamed in rage and dove through the air at his doppelganger. Adromida streaked through the air, leaving a streak of blue light in its wake. The glowing blue sword was met by likewise glowing red chains. The chains wrapped themselves around the ancient blade several times, and with a maniacal grin the Other yanked the sword from his grasp.

  Whill blacked out and found himself once again within the dungeons of Del’Oradon Castle. Burning chains held his arms high as his toes barely scraped against the floor below. The right side of his face was swollen and throbbing, his right eye useless or missing, he could not tell. He looked around at the familiar cell; the dank smell of the slimy walls reminded him of a sewer. The barred door before him offered nothing of the world but the distant cries and sobs of his fellow prisoners. His own maddening cries echoed in his memory as they had so often done within these subterranean chambers. Whill shivered with fear and pain as he watched shadows dance beyond the bars. Distant torchlight caused the phantom dark-elf torturer to loom upon the tunnel wall, and Whill heard himself whimper.