“Find passage to the elven lands. Tell them who you are. They will protect you as well as possible,” he offered.
“I am too old for all of that. Besides, I am needed here.”
Whill began to argue, but Teera took his head in her hands as she had when he was little, when she wanted his full attention. “I believe in you Whill. I always have. Since the day my brother brought the son of King Aramonis home to me, I have believed you would one day grow to become a great man, and that man stands before me now. Abram would be so very proud of you, Whill, as am I.”
Whill broke down, and Teera held him as she so often had in his youth. Though he did not share her assessment of him, her opinion meant a lot to him. He got a hold of himself, and as she once had, Teera wiped his tears.
“You are the bravest man I have ever known, Whill. I am sorry your life had to be one of such peril. I think you were chosen for a reason. If there is anyone out there who can do it, you can,” she said with a loving smile.
“I love you, Aunt Teera,”
“I love you too, son.”
Whill left them standing at the door, waving their goodbyes, and never looked back.
Chapter Forty-two
The Only Way
Aurora, Zander, and Azzeal entered Felspire and made their way to Eadon’s audience chamber. The dark lord sat upon a throne of crystal which hummed and pulsed like the surrounding spire.
“It is with ill tidings that you come to me now,” said Eadon.
Zander bowed at his feet, Aurora followed his lead. “Veolindra has failed you my lord. We would have taken the Pass, but Whill of Agora showed up and destroyed our forces.”
Eadon didn’t seem bothered by the news. He looked to Aurora and she turned her gaze to the floor.
“You have both failed me,” he said, standing.
Eadon towered over them, and Aurora prayed that he would strike them down. He did not.
“The end draws near. You shall have a chance to redeem yourselves,” Eadon promised.
*
Whill left Sidnell, at peace for the first time in a long time; he had said his goodbyes, and he was ready. He flew toward the Thendor Plains from the northeast and mentally recited the elven tomes of Orna Catorna he had put to memory. He had not attempted any of the shifting spells, afraid he might not be able to turn back from whatever animal he changed into.
He came back to the Morenka tomes again and again, and, every time he did, the teachings of the peaceful monks resonated with him more. They spoke of acceptance of life, peace and harmony. The monks believed that by resisting the reality of one’s life, pain was created, and only through acceptance would the cycle be broken. They did not believe in war, for, if everyone thought as they did, war would not exist. Whill thought theirʼs a dangerous mindset. The very notion caused its share of wars, but the Morenka at least did not invade their neighbors and force their beliefs upon them. They were enemies to none, and friends to all. A true Morenka would share his water with an enemy, and forgive them while they drank. But Whill remained unable to embrace the way of the Morenka. To him, it would mean to stand down against Eadon, and that was something he just could not do. That is why you shall fail, a voice spoke in his mind, one that sounded quite similar to the Watcher.
The land sped by below him, and the sun rose behind. The darkness of the distant horizon turned from dark to lighter shades of blue. To his left, hues of pink and orange turned to blazing red and yellow, as the sunlight seemed to race him across the sky.
He flew all day, and, by nightfall, he passed over the border between Shierdon and Uthen-Arden. He flew at a slower pace than he had whilst traveling from Del’Oradon to the Ky’Dren Pass, slow enough that he did not have to expend so much of the sword’s power on the energy shield.
Whill did not remember the last time he had slept. With Adromida at his side, he did not need sleep; he was constantly refreshed, and stronger than ever. Flying took some getting used to, but as Abram used to say, “When you get it, you got it.” Though, Abram had been speaking on the topic of knife throwing at the time.
The hours and the miles raced by, and Whill thought of Avriel. If, by some grace of the gods, we get through this together, I am going to marry that woman, he promised himself. He wondered how the elves would react to such a thing, and inevitably his thoughts turned to children. Could humans and elves even have children? He was not sure. He could just imagine the hard time a half-human/half-elf would have getting along in the world. And, what problems would arise from having a half-elf as the heir to a human throne? He doubted the people would stand for such a union; they would cry of elven occupation and human sovereignty. Whill cared little about what the people would think, and the more he thought about it, the less he cared for the idea of being king. Royals were bred for their station from birth, and, though he might be an able warrior, an able warrior does not a great king make. He understood nothing of taxes, or trade, or the multitude of other things that a king had to deal with. Or does the king just appoint people to do all those things for him? He wondered. Probably not, if they want to remain in the know, and in power.
Whill was torn from his ponderings as he came upon the Thendor Plains. In the distance, like a lance jutting from the earth to pierce the heavens, stood Felspire, glowing with vibrant energy from within the earth and pulsing and throbbing in the darkness before the dawn. He drew steadily closer and began to hear the low hum of Eadon’s crystal creation. The dark elf was indeed intent on gaining the attention of the gods. Felspire was impossibly tall, splitting the sky with its peak and continuing on beyond the swirling clouds churning around it.
Was Kellallea right? Was Whill doomed to fail against one of such incredible power and unrestrained magic? What if Whill died in the fight? Would Eadon simply take the sword and find some other fool human to give the power of the weapon to him? If it was that easy for the dark elf, why hadn’t he already? He chose Whill for a reason, but he could not think of what the reason might be.
He thought of everything he had learned about Eadon, and Adimorda, the elf he had once been. Avriel and Zerafin said Adimorda was the most powerful seer of his age, looking farther into the future and with more accuracy than anyone else. Once it was learned that the two were one and the same, Whill had dismissed the stories of Adimorda as fictitious lies, an elaborate hoax created to ensure the creation of the Sword of Power Given. Perhaps Eadon had seen himself attain both blades as the prophecy stated. If indeed he was the most powerful seer who ever lived, how was Whill to change the future that he had witnessed? Could one truly change the future? Eadon needed to convince Whill to hand over the power of Adromida and fulfill his destiny, but how? Whill was determined not to; he would gladly die first. Perhaps he could simply empty the blade of all of its power and strike Felspire with such a blast that it came tumbling down upon the gathered armies at its base. Kellallea offered him a way out, a way to be free of his burden, once and for all. But Whill could not hand over such power, would not. He did not trust Kellallea or her motives. She had allowed for the rise of Eadon and the destruction of Drindellia for the sake of becoming a god herself.
Whill pondered another notion; what if he attained the Sword of Power Taken? Unlike Adromida, the other sword could be taken. He possessed no desire to become godlike, but it would be better than Eadon attaining such a high station. And, what of the gods? If indeed they existed, would they allow a rise to power by one of such evil heart as Eadon? Whill laughed at the very notion. He had no reason to believe the gods were real, and, if they were, they seemed not to care about the plight of the good peoples of Agora. Where had the elven gods been when Eadon destroyed their homeland? Where had the dwarven gods been when Roakore’s mountain was invaded and his people slaughtered? Where were the human gods now? Whill gave no stock to the thought of divine intervention. The gods either did not care, or did not exist. It was up to him to stop the future Eadon witnessed those eons ago. He would have to take from Eadon all of his power
. It was the only way.
Chapter Forty-three
Felspire
As Whill approached Felspire, he realized the grandeur of the army Eadon had summoned to him. Like a dark stain upon the snow-covered earth, the army spread around the base of Felspire in a wide circle. Thousands of draquon swarmed the towering spire, circling with the churning of the storm clouds about its crown. To the south, the elven armies approached, undoubtedly led by Zerafin. Their numbers were greater than Whill had expected, thousands more than had come with them through the portal to Del’Oradon. He was also surprised to see an army of Elgar dwarves to the west. For them to have made it to Felspire, they would have had to begin their march at least a week ago. He was heartened to think they had set out immediately after Eadon’s proclamation. To the east, he saw the gathered armies of the Ky’Dren dwarves: Ky’Ell had kept his word.
His allies numbered in the tens of thousands, but Eadon’s armies were many times more. Whill knew the fate of them all, indeed, the fate of all of Agora, lay in his hands.
He was terrified.
Never before had he cursed his fate more than he did at that moment. Never before had so many stood by his side.
Never before had he felt so alone.
*
Dirk, Krentz, and Raene spied Felspire and the Draggard armies from the high ridge of jutting stone, under the cover of Krentz’s concealment spell. The ridge was high enough for Dirk to view the many armies advancing upon Felspire, and the huge Draggard force at the base. He had thought perhaps a chance for victory remained, albeit a slim chance. Now, he was not so sure. Eadon’s forces outnumbered the allied races three to one, and, when he gazed upon the looming spire before him, he knew nothing but despair. Eadon’s power was beyond all comprehension; surely greater than the power Whill’s lone sword held.
They had been scouting the battlefield for two days, and had watched with growing foreboding as the dark armies gathered from all directions. Dirk and Krentz had argued in private about the futility of fighting on the side of Whill and his allies. He believed Whill would fail. Eadon had set this all in motion eons ago; he could not be stopped. She argued they had to try.
“To what end?” Dirk had asked the night before. “What is to be gained by risking our lives for those who would not even welcome us to their side?”
“Must it always be about gain with you?” asked Krentz. “Look what he has done to me!” she said with open arms.
Dirk took her raised hands and held them in his. “He is beyond our power, beyond anyone’s. Eadon will succeed in his plot. We have helped where we could. We should be far from here,”
“And where would we go?” she pressed. “If he attains the two blades, there will be nowhere to hide in Agora.”
“Then we should leave. Your people have discovered other lands across the seas, you said so yourself.”
“We have not the means or the direction to do so. Would you so quickly abandon your own people?”
“I have no people,” Dirk reminded her.
“Then, go if you like. But I intend on doing what I can. I will see my father pay for his sins.”
“Krentz…” he said, reaching for her as she turned from him. His hand went through her arm and she stalked off.
“I can command you back here with the trinket!” he yelled after her.
Krentz stopped and whirled around on him, shocked. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Wouldn’t I?” he teased.
She crossed her arms and offered him a cocked brow and a distasteful look. He approached her, offering hands of truce.
“I believe Eadon means to become Whill, and I think he will succeed. Whill has the power of Adromida, but he is far from a master of anything but impulse,” he explained.
“Then, we must warn him,” Krentz insisted.
Dirk knew he would not win this one, and they were both likely doomed. She insisted they get in the middle of a dogfight, one in which the dogs wielded ancient blades of incredible power. Dirk’s instincts screamed at him to flee this battlefield. There was only death and destruction to come. But, he could not leave his Krentz.
*
The Sun Elves of Elladrindellia filed toward Felspire and fanned out east and west. The river of energy below raged violently. Its hum caused the stones upon bare patches of windblown earth to dance and vibrate. Eadon had tapped into the power of the ley lines, and the air hung thick with its power. The sun elves would not take from the flowing power, but they would accept what was offered. They opened their hands to the magic-rich air and absorbed the pulsing energy around them. The Krundar utilized the power within the earth, and caused mammoth creatures of stone to rise up. Druids flung sparkling seeds from their pouches that sprang roots in mid-air, and, fueled by water weavers, took root and grew into writhing plant creatures with long, reaching vines. Others conjured creatures of living flame, and swirling pools of water. Druids turned to bears, panthers, wolves, eagles, hawks, and even small dragons. The Zionars among them began to target the minds of their victims, and, then, upon finding the minds of the dark elf Zionars protecting the feeble-minded Draggard, they began to size each other up, planning attacks and counter-attacks, building their defenses, and preparing mental retreats. The Aklenar Seers walked among the elves, touching foreheads and reading futures: they gave warning where they saw ill fate. The Seers were often generals as well, as they were best able to predict the outcome of military maneuvers. They were mentally linked to their subordinates, and could warn or instruct more efficiently. The network of thought strings was also protected by many Zionar. The master healers cast their many enchantments upon the others, and created connections to those that they were responsible for healing.
Zerafin looked to the sky beyond Felspire, to the northeast. He had seen a quick reflection many miles off. He looked with his mind sight and saw the unmistakable energy signature of the blade, Adromida. It streaked across the sky like a comet, surging toward Felspire. The dark elves would see it as well.
“Prepare yourselves!” he commanded his army.
The stone creatures slammed the ground before them causing it to rumble and shake; they pounded their chests and punched their palms. The plant creatures twisted their vines in tight and crouched like cats ready to leap after their pray. The conjured fireballs and globes of swirling water grew in size, and energy shields erupted with a crackling report around their conjurers.
*
Ky’Ell looked across the barren plains of jutting rock and crystal, beyond the spire. There, to the west, he saw the dwarven armies of the Elgar spread out north and south. The red banners flapped angrily amid the ocean of pointed halberds. The Elgar Dwarves had come to his call. He had sent runners immediately after learning of the rift. He guessed that they too had been invaded, but, regardless, it had been agreed upon by the dwarf kings, in light of the taking of the Ro’Sar Mountains twenty years before.
He looked to the sky as something caught his eye. A streak of fire was flying toward Felspire at great speeds. He saw the elves begin to prepare for battle to the south, and informed his dwarves to do the same. Whill had arrived.
Chapter Forty-four
The Reckoning
Whill came in low to the ground from the northeast, over snow covered ridges and long stretches of prairie. He did nothing to hide his approach, but came in so fast that flames began to rage against his energy shield. He poured the power of Adromida into those flames and was soon hurtling toward Felspire.
He had no words for Eadon; the time for words was over. Now was the time of reckoning. Whill would hit them with everything he had.
The power coursing through Felspire surged, causing the brilliant shaft to glare brightly in a multitude of colors. Whill let loose his pent up energy upon the gathered Draggard hordes at the base of the spire. From his outstretched left hand, fire rained down on the Draggard, and in his wake was left nothing but ash as his flames turned to a concentrated beam that decimated all it fell upon.
As Whill came in for another pass, he scoured the impossibly large spire before him. Felspire boasted hundreds of ridges and crystal balconies, but Whill did not see Eadon upon any of them. He knew the dark elf was there somewhere, watching, waiting.
Spells erupted from both the sun elves and the dark elves. They streaked across the sky in a multitude of brilliant colors, some colliding, others being absorbed by shields, and some hit their mark. Explosions shook the ground as the armies collided, and Whill knew many good elves and dwarves would die that day.
Whill passed the Draggard and dark elf armies once again and rained death and destruction down upon them. Felspire surged with power, and a brilliant beam of light shot from the base and slammed into Whill’s energy shield. Adromida countered the power with its own, but the blast sent Whill hurtling to the ground, unconscious.
He woke, bewildered, and found himself surrounded by thousands of Draggard and dark elves. Eadon approached from Felspire with a victorious grin upon his face. Whill rose and stepped out of the crater his crash landing had created. He unsheathed Adromida and held the sword before him.
Eadon stopped fifteen feet before him, and tossed three glimmering diamonds to the scorched earth. Whill flinched back, thinking it an attack, but the three diamonds hit the ground and flashed with quick light. There, between him and Eadon, floated Roakore, Avriel, and Tarren. They were surrounded by a pulsing force field that held them aloft, bound by invisible chains. Eadon walked to stand beside Tarren, who slowly spun in place within the spell cage.
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 135
