With his mind sight, Whill watched as the auras of a hundred dragons rose from the island and began to fly their way.
“Longclaw has sent out his troops, battle may be unavoidable,” he told the others, yelling loudly against the wind.
“Bah!” Roakore bellowed, choking on the wind in the process and sputtering to catch his breath. He pulled the cloth from his neck and put it over his mouth before adding, more muffled this time, “Let them come!”
“We’ll kill them all!” Arrianna cried out.
Whill shook his head and gave a sigh. “Follow my lead. We are not here to slaughter.”
He called upon his knowledge of Orna Catorna, flipping through pages in his mind of the tomes that he had dedicated to crystal-clear memory. He found a powerful weather spell, one meant to control the wind, and sent a powerful gale out before them. The silver hawks and dragons glided upon the tail wind, quickly gaining speed. Whill caused the moisture to gather above him, and soon dark, fat clouds had formed overhead. Lightning crackled in the heavens as the clouds spread out and rolled forward with the gale, barreling toward the approaching dragons. When the rain finally broke, Whill lashed out with a freezing spell, turning the fat droplets into rock-hard hail, which tore through the air westward rather than falling to the ocean below.
The dragons roared as they approached, and soon a wall of fire was coming for Whill and the others. But the wind and frozen rain drove back the flames and the dragons as well, hitting them with torrential force and sending them flailing in all directions. Zorriaz and the other dragons continued to glide behind the storm with the silver hawks in tow.
Whill pushed the storm to the very shores of Drakkar, where many dragons could be seen along the lava stone. The frozen rain had become hail the size of apples, which riddled the beach and palm trees bending against the gale, some snapping from the torrent. The dragons bent their necks back away from the onslaught, but they did not give up ground.
The storm died away at Whill’s command, and he directed Zorriaz to land. He felt a shiver pass through her at the sight of her kin, who numbered in the thousands. They were perched about the rocks and mountain as far as the eye could see. Arrianna, who had been so eager to get to the island, was now silent. She, like her son Helzendar, looked horrified and awestruck. Whill noticed the dwarf boy rub the spot on his arm where the metal prosthetic began.
“Steady,” he told them all.
“Zalenlia!” came a booming voice like thunder. An arc of lightning lashed out from the mountainside and struck the stone before them, sending a jolt through them all.
Longclaw flew out over the side of the mountain and came to land right before them, heedless of the danger. He looked over the group, pausing for a moment on the dwarves to sneer, before settling his gaze on Whill. “I see that you have brought me a pet.”
“I am Whillhelm—”
“I know who you are!” Longclaw said with a deep growl. He slammed his mace-like tail on the ground, shattering stone with the heavy end, which was like a boulder wrapped in small blunt horns.
“Then you know that I am the king of Uthen-Arden!” said Whill with a thunder to match the dragon’s.
Longclaw grinned a toothy grin and laughed in his throat. “Not for long. For the winter is fast approaching.”
Whill tried to hide his surprise of the dragon’s knowledge. “Yes, it is. Would you like to live to see it?”
Again Longclaw laughed deeply, and a chorus of dragon voices joined in.
“Do not threaten me, mortal! I am a blessed of the Father of Dragons!”
“So was Reshikk,” said Whill.
Longclaw glanced from Whill to Zalenlia, fire burning in his eyes. “Reshikk the green was betrayed.”
“Reshikk would have led the dragons to slaughter,” said Zalenlia, moving past Whill to face Longclaw. “And you will as well if you do not heed my words.”
Longclaw looked around at the gathered dragons and sneered. Black smoke puffed out of his wide nostrils. “You fear the humans, elves, and dwarves? You are a coward. Not only have you betrayed your kind, but the Father of Dragons as well.”
“You would lead us to war. I betray nothing. I have been blessed with the power to heal, not to destroy. I would see our kind thrive. But not here, and not in Agora. Reshikk began a great migration, and I would continue his work. But I would not lead us to war in Agora.”
“No, you would bow before a human king and bring dwarves to our home!”
“I will lead a migration to the homeland, Drindellia!”
The dragons growled with intrigue, and Longclaw’s eyes narrowed. “The humans and dwarves of Agora killed hundreds of our kind, or do you not retain the memories of your line? Have you forgotten your duty to your ancestors? Reshikk awoke from his long slumber and wept to learn what had become of our once proud race. The elves drove us from Drindellia. The humans and dwarves drove us from Agora. I would see us take back both lands.”
“If you lead your army to Agora, I will have no choice but to destroy you all,” said Whill.
The dragons stirred, many of them drawing closer to their leader. Roakore and the others moved to stand beside Whill, and Zalenlia bravely moved between them.
“I do not wish for war,” she said to her fellow dragons. “Where has it gotten us? Reshikk and the blessed moved against the people of Agora, and they were defeated. There are thousands of eggs in the chambers below. Would you see them destroyed, or would you see them hatch in the homeland, far from the threats of Agora? Drindellia is a vast land, even now healing from the ancient wars. It is there that our destiny lies. It is there that we might know peace and thrive.”
“Peace?” said Longclaw. “There will be no peace until our ancestors are avenged.”
Many of the dragons nodded agreement or blasted fire into the sky to show their allegiance to their master’s will, but many others seemed unsure.
“We are not a warring species,” said Zalenlia. “Contrary to what Longclaw and Reshikk before him would have you believe. The pains of old need not be our pains. And the wars of old need not be our wars. Agora holds nothing for us but war, death, and obliteration.”
“Enough of this!” Longclaw roared, blasting Zalenlia with lightning. But it did not touch her, for Whill produced a shimmering shield of energy around her and struck back at Longclaw with a blast of fire that hit him square in the chest and threw him fifty feet.
Whill strode forth bravely, even as the silver dragon struggled to get up. Another dragon leapt forward, meaning to devour Whill, but Roakore shot out a hand and took mental hold of the dragon. With a cry he sent the attacker flying back into his kin. Others attacked, and Whill put them down with spells of fire and ice. Dragons leapt into the air and circled, ready to attack at the command of their leader.
Longclaw stood to full height, his chest smoldering and charred from the blast. “Kill them all!” he said with a growl.
A hundred dragons descended on them, and Whill unleashed a cylindrical shield that enveloped himself and his friends. Fire and lightning rained down on the shield, causing webs of crackling energy to spark and crack. Whill held strong, but his strength wavered quickly. He had once again gained the power of the elves, and even that of the dwarves, and Zalenlia as well, but he had no blade of power from which to draw strength.
Gretzen came to stand beside him beneath the wide, circular energy shield. She laid a hand on his shoulder and closed her eyes, murmuring words that he didn’t understand.
“Call to your fallen ancestors,” she said, her eyes darting around beneath tightly closed lids. “Don’t you see them? They linger still. Those who have died fighting upon Drakkar. Call to them.”
Whill tapped into her strange power, one that he had been reluctant to use up until now. He saw the glowing forms of the spirits that she spoke of. His heart leapt, and he called to them as she had instructed.
The souls of the fallen men and woman of Agora answered his call and flowed into him. Whill j
olted as the power hit him suddenly. He cried out, both terrified and exhilarated, releasing the power in a wide arc in all directions. The shield exploded, hitting the dragons with a shockwave that broke wings, bones, scales, horns, and teeth.
Dragons fell from the sky by the hundreds, broken and bloody but alive.
Whill stood, panting, and glanced around at his group. They all stared at him with shocked expressions. Arrianna even fell to her knees in reverie, shaking and unable to speak.
“Is everyone alright?”
“We be fine,” said Roakore, grinning. “But them dragons be hurtin’, and that ain’t no lie.”
“My brothers…sisters,” said Zalenlia, moving away from Whill to walk among her injured kin. A chorus of mewling cries and angry growls of pain echoed across the island, but was soon drowned out by the golden dragon’s song.
She sang, and to Whill the sound was so beautiful and so pure that it brought a tear to his eye. He reached out as well with his healing power, joining hers and spreading it out in a wide arc across the smoldering mountainside.
“What in the hells ye be doin’?” Roakore’s wife cried, pulling at her hair.
Bones cracked, teeth grew, and scales were mended. The blood of the dragons ceased to flow, and one by one they rose from the earth. When they had all been healed of their wounds, they stood before Zalenlia wordlessly.
Longclaw was among them, and he looked to his healed body, unbelieving of what he saw. He looked to Zalenlia even as those around him watched to see what he might do. All eyes followed him as he strode forth proudly and stopped before the gold dragon.
Whill waited, ready to unleash the killing blow. “You have been defeated!” he told them all, watching Longclaw all the while. “With her great power, Zalenlia has decided to restore you to health. Kneel before your merciful queen. Swear fealty to her now and forever!”
Zalenlia curved her long neck back to regard him with reluctance. He offered her a reassuring nod.
One by one the dragons began to kneel, spreading their wings out along the ground and bowing heads. Only Longclaw remained.
“The Father of Dragons will see you burn,” he said with hate-filled scorn.
“Kneel before your queen!” Whill warned.
Longclaw ignored him, shimmering eyes holding Zalenlia in their haunting gaze. “Go ahead then, have your pet human kill me. Coward!”
“I do not wish for you to die,” said Zalenlia, looking pained.
“Do it!” he cried, bathing her in flame that did her no harm.
“Please, there is another way.”
“There is but one way, that of the Father of Dragons.” Longclaw looked to his kin for support, but they remained kowtowed before their queen. “You are all cowards.”
He looked one last time to Zalenlia angrily before leaping from the ground and taking to the sky.
“He should be taken care of,” Whill warned her.
“Let him go,” she said.
“To hells with that!” said Roakore, running to Silverwind with his wife following eagerly. “I ain’t having that beast loose in the world.”
Zalenlia did nothing to stop the silver hawks as Roakore, Arrianna, and Helzendar took off. Whill watched them fly after Longclaw and looked to the other dragons, who remained as they had been.
“Please rise,” Zalenlia told them all.
The dragons stood tall before her, necks long and eyes reverent.
“I see a great future for our kind. One in which we are free from the troubles of the past. The Father of Dragons has blessed me, yet he has not seen fit to strip me of my blessing. I believe that this is his will. I believe that he has sent me to lead you to the homeland. Will you follow me east? Will you join me in the great migration?”
The dragons roared and shot flames high into the sky.
“We will follow you to the ends of the earth, my queen,” said a tall white.
Chapter 24
Branding the Nobles
Dirk and Krentz rode high above the treetops upon Fyrfrost. They hadn’t summoned him from the spirit world in nearly a week, and he was eager to fly with them once more. Soft white clouds hid their advance as they flew toward the first target, the home of the wealthy Harrington family. The long hall was situated on a wide hilltop, overlooking the hundreds of acres of their fiefdom.
Krentz and Dirk had no intentions of killing anyone if it could be avoided, and therefore landed a few hundred yards from the hall and dismissed Fyrfrost to the spirit world. When the dragon was gone, Dirk summoned Chief. The wolf came to form, happily wagging his tail as he sniffed at the night.
“Hey boy. See that keep over there?”
Chief happily panted.
“We’re going to need your help getting in.”
A small bark.
“Don’t kill anyone, alright boy?”
Chief gave a small bark and spun in a circle.
Under the cover of the passing clouds, which blocked out the moon, they hurried along stealthily toward the hill. Farms dotted the land, situated among the sprawling fields of corn, wheat, and barley. Orchards there were as well, lining the eastern edge of the property before it gave way to the thick forest. There were no lights on in any of the houses at this hour, and the only visible humans were those few sentries standing atop the battlements of the wall surrounding the hall.
The men remained oblivious as Dirk led the way up the hill. He crept among the shadows, watching the closest pair of men as they stood with their backs to them, droning small talk. He nodded to Krentz before leaping and catching the ledge of the wall. He flexed his body, steadying himself with his feet, and prepared to spring over the top. Krentz needed no such handhold, and leapt up over the wall easily. Dirk grinned to himself and sprang over the top as well, amused to see that Krentz had already taken the men out. They lay at her feet, unconscious.
He shook his head at her, grinning. She winked and pointed east, where another sentry was slowly walking the wall toward them. Dirk took a dart from inside his jacket and threw it swiftly. The sentry was fifty yards away, and so Dirk tossed the projectile high, causing it to fly in an arc. The dart hit the man in the back of the neck. He swatted at his neck, as one who has been surprised by a bee sting, before crumpling to the floor a moment later.
Together they dropped to the inside of the fortifications, landing in the shadow of the great hall. Chief came with them like a wisp, floating at Dirk’s right.
“Alright, boy. I need you to sneak in there in spirit form and count the guards for me.”
Without hesitation, the wisp shot through the wall of the keep and disappeared.
Quietly, Dirk and Krentz followed and stopped outside the keep door. A moment later, Chief returned and took form.
“How many, boy?”
Chief was smart enough not to make a sound, and instead, pawed at his head once, twice, three times.
“Anyone on the other side of this door?”
Chief spun a circle and pawed once.
Dirk tried the door and found it unlocked. He eased in, with Krentz following close behind, and came into a low-lit room. A man, who looked to have been dozing, leapt to his feet and began to protest. Dirk quickly grabbed the man, covering his mouth as he whirled him around and stabbed him with the tip of a poisoned dart. He let the guard down slowly before making his way past the many hanging curtains and into the main hall.
A fire burned low inside a stone circle big enough to house a bonfire. Tables were situated all throughout the hall, which ended with a raised platform and two large wooden thrones. The silver crest of House Harrington—a stag rearing back threateningly with a crown of horns—hung on the wall behind the thrones.
“Where are the others?” Dirk whispered to Chief.
The wolf looked to the stairwell and gave a low growl.
Krentz indicated for Dirk to follow and led him to a staircase to the right of the thrones. Up they went stealthily, ready to silence the guards stationed at the top of the s
tairwell. Three flights of stairs brought Dirk and Krentz to the landing, and they wasted no time darting the two men they found stationed there and catching them before they could fall.
“Where are the lord and lady?” Dirk asked Chief.
The wolf shot down the hall and stopped before a large wooden door.
They hurried to follow, and Dirk tried the door. Finding it unlocked, he put a finger to his lips and slowly turned the iron knob. Inside, he caught the soft sound of steady breathing; both the lord and lady were fast asleep.
As they had planned, they each went to a different side of the bed, Dirk on the lord’s, and Krentz on the lady’s. As one they quickly covered the mouths of the two and pressed daggers to their throats as Chief leapt up onto the bed and growled low in his throat.
Lord Harrington awoke with a start and almost thrashed, but soon felt the cold steel against his neck and went limp. The lady awoke much more gracefully, simply becoming rigid beneath Krentz and staring up at her, wide-eyed.
“You will listen closely if you want to live,” said Dirk. “Do you want to live?”
Lord Harrington glanced over at Krentz and the knife to his wife’s throat, and then at the glowing form of Chief with terrified eyes. He nodded.
“Please look at me when I am speaking to you,” said Dirk, not unkindly. When the lord complied, Dirk smiled. “There, that is better. Now, I am going to remove my hand, and if you make a sound, my friend here will slit your lady’s throat. Blink if you understand.”
The lord eagerly blinked and nodded his head.
Dirk removed his hand and quickly put the leather-wrapped hilt of one of his daggers in the lord’s mouth so that he was holding it as a dog might a stick. Harrington began to breath erratically, and terror filled his eyes.
“I hear that you lords are fond of branding your vassals. I personally love the idea, though some think that it is barbaric. In fact, I like it so much that I have decided to brand you.”
The Mantle of Darkness: Whill of Agora Book 7: Legends of Agora Page 11
