The Mantle of Darkness: Whill of Agora Book 7: Legends of Agora

by Ploof,Michael James

  Whill turned from them, steadied his breathing, and walked into the wide tunnel at the end of the chamber. His mind sight showed him the location of Eldarian, for when he looked, the power of the dark one blinded him and sent shooting pain through his head.

  “Ah!” he cried, holding his temples.

  “What be it?” Roakore asked.

  “Nothing, I’m fine. Eldarian’s lair is deep in the mountain. Stay alert, I doubt he will let us venture to his door without resistance.”

  Roakore tightened the grip on his axe, and Whill led them on once more.

  The tunnel wound up and to the left. Its onyx walls were black but shiny against the light of the brilliant sword. Bones littered the way, and Whill tried not to disturb them. There were no other passageways leading off from the tunnel, just those smooth black walls and the bones, and always it led them up, up, up.

  The mountain shook suddenly, and Whill stopped, listening. The rumble continued, followed by an explosion and the screeching female voice deep in the heart of the mountain.

  “Kellallea.”

  “She fights to hold him back,” Gretzen noted.

  “Then he is still imprisoned,” said Whill, glad that he hadn’t been too late.

  The tunnel opened to another chamber, but this one had no exits, only a deep dark pool of still water.

  “It seems that this is our path,” said Whill, pointing at the steady pool.

  “What, the water?” said Roakore, glancing at it warily.

  “Yes,” said Whill, searching it with mind sight. “There are lifeforms down there, but I can’t tell what they are. There is a passageway deep below the surface on the other side of a shelf. It leads up to a room on the other side of that wall.”

  “Bah. Then I says we go through the wall rather than into them dark waters.”

  “He is right,” said Zerafin. “How thick is the wall?”

  Whill looked again. “Ten feet at most.”

  “That there be quartz,” said Roakore, looking to Zorriaz. “I ain’t for knowin’ how hot yer dragon’s breath be runnin’, but I dare say ye could melt us a whole through it.”

  Zorriaz rose to the challenge and stepped forward. “It would be best if you all stand well behind me.”

  The group followed her suggestion and moved to the tunnel entrance. Zorriaz nodded and turned to face the wall of quartz. A deep rumbling began in her throat, and the white scales around her neck and jawline began to glow deep orange. She opened her maw with a roar, and flames erupted from it, hitting the wall and arcing up to lick at the high ceiling. The heat was incredible, and Whill and the others were forced back farther into the tunnel.

  The brilliant jet of flame continued at full force, and soon bright red globs of liquid stone could be seen dripping onto the floor. Zorriaz stopped suddenly, and inspected the affect her dragon’s breath had. Whill looked as well, and noted the progress. A circular hole had been burrowed five feet into the wall, which glowed bright red and dripped at her feet. She stepped back and redoubled her efforts.

  Five minutes later, her flames shot through the hole in the wall, and she stepped back panting. Black smoke bellowed from her nostrils in thick clouds.

  “Well done!” said Zerafin, looking through the hole.

  “I would not suggest walking through quite yet,” said Zorriaz before moving to the pool of water and dunking her head and neck up to the shoulders. The water hissed and boiled on contact, and she came up a few seconds later, long tongue licking the scales around her mouth.

  “Are you alright?” Whill asked.

  “I am,” she purred.

  He turned to the wide tunnel that had been burrowed and extended his hand. Summoning power from his father’s sword, he sent a spell of icy wind howling through the glowing hole. Soon the tunnel walls had cooled, and smoke filled the passage. When he was convinced that the way was safe, he discontinued his spell and stepped forward, feeling the stone cautiously.

  “It is cool to the touch. Come, let us continue.”

  Whill led the way through the tunnel and into the next room. This one too was littered with bones, but unlike the others, these were full skeletons, and they stood like the living, staring at him with glowing blue-green eyes.

  With a cry of warning to the others, he rushed the skeletons, which filled the large chamber. He cut through the closest and cracked the skull of another as Roakore and then Raene went barreling past him, shields leading the way. Gretzen, Lunara, and Zerafin followed, cutting down the undead with staff and sword. Ragnar came to stand beside Whill and fought at his back as Zorriaz crashed through the tunnel and leapt high into the air, skimming the ceiling before crashing down with a crunch of bone at the center of the chamber. She bathed the skeletons in flame and sent her long tail sweeping through the crowd.

  Five minutes later, the companions stood panting among a pile of charred and broken bones.

  “Is anyone injured?” he asked.

  “One o’ the bastards got me leg,” said Raene, but it be noth—”

  Before she could finish, Zalenlia let out a bright, pure note that echoed through the chamber and warmed their hearts. When she was done, Raene stood gawking wide-eyed at her healed wound. She quickly regained her composure, however, and scowled at the dragon.

  “Bah, but it was only a scratch.”

  Zalenlia gave a half sigh/half growl and nodded.

  The mountain shook once again, and a deep, terrible, grating voice boomed in the elven tongue. A female voice replied, screaming and pleading.

  HURRY! Came Kellallea’s voice in Whill’s mind.

  “She is losing control,” he told the others. Whill rushed to the other side of the chamber and hurried down yet another tunnel.

  The passageway finally ended, and Whill skidded to a stop and stared in awe. Far away, Kellallea stood before a glowing orb the same blueish-green as the flames burning all over the vast chamber. Beyond the orb, on a throne adorned with the skulls of the dead, Eldarian sat. The elf was an imposing figure. Even sitting, he appeared to be more than twenty feet tall. He looked to be preparing a spell, for his hands were held out before him, and swirling orbs of power floated only inches from his palms.

  Noticing Whill, Kellallea screamed even as she held the prison intact. “Now is the time. Hurry!”

  Whill rushed into the chamber and spoke a spell that caused his sword to burst with flame. The others followed close at his heels, ready to follow him into the very hells if need be.

  Kellallea’s eyes lit up when she saw him coming. She stopped pouring energy into the shield suddenly, falling to her knees before the glowing orb that was the prison. Eldarian rose from the throne and gave a roar that shook stones loose from the ceiling and rumbled through the mountain. The glowing, curved walls of the prison dissolved, and Eldarian was free.

  Chapter 41

  The Mantle of Darkness

  Kellallea brought her two swords to bear on Eldarian, and from them came pulsating white light that surrounded him and bound him in glowing chains. Whill charged past Kellallea and raced up the steps leading to the high throne. Eldarian thrashed against the bindings and grew before Whill’s eyes as the flames rose all around them. The same blue-green light shone in the Dark Lord’s mad eyes.

  Whill pulled back his sword to strike the leg of the giant god-being. As the sword came down, Whill braced himself against the rush of power that he was about to absorb. Eldarian shot out a hand and swatted Whill away like a pesky fly with the hilt of his mammoth sword, sending him spinning end over end into the cavern wall to fall amongst a pile of bones.

  Ragnar was there in an instant to help him up. Whill shook himself out of his daze and looked to Eldarian. It seemed that the elf knew his mind and had avoided touching him.

  “Did it work?” asked Ragnar. “Do you have his power?”

  Whill meant to answer no, but a deafening cry filled the chamber, and Eldarian grew once more, stretching the chains that bound him. He stomped down the steps to
the throne, trying to get to the goddess. Kellallea visibly strained, but then her face became determined, and she redoubled her efforts and sent a pulse of power through the spell that squeezed his body tighter and stopped him in his tracks.

  Suddenly, Gretzen was there, standing before the tall throne. Her staff glowed bright green as she held it out before her, chanting Vald words at the top of her lungs. Whill watched, mystified, as a glowing green spell left the end of her staff and wrapped itself around Eldarian like a serpent.

  But Eldarian was far from beaten. He stomped one gargantuan foot, and the bones that littered the chamber leapt up from the floor. To Whill’s horror and amazement, they began merging and melding into incomprehensible formations. Human and elf leg bones attached themselves to giant dragon bones, lumbering across the chamber toward Gretzen and Kellallea. Ribcages, spines, and skulls piled up to create towering monstrosities. The skull of a dragon melded with seven spines, which then attached to numerous legs and arms. The fingers of dozens of combined hands scurried like spiders, and spines with only heads slithered across the chamber like snakes, scraping against the stone as they hurried to attack the two women.

  Roakore gave a war cry, and together with Raene, Zerafin, and Lunara, rushed into the chamber to defend Gretzen.

  You must make contact with him or all is lost. Hurry! Came Kellallea’s voice in Whill’s mind.

  “Defend Gretzen!” he told Ragnar before bringing his father’s sword to bear, summoning all the power stored therein, and rushing into the fray.

  Zorriaz bathed the attacking bone monstrosities with dragon’s breath as Zalenlia sang her song of healing, mending the injuries of the companions even as they were dealt. The healing was needed, for hundreds of skeletal nightmares descended upon the fighters, stabbing, slashing, and stomping the elves and dwarves.

  Whill cleared a path to Eldarian with an enormous energy push and screamed the Lord of Death’s name as he shot a spell at his chest. Whill’s incantation did no noticeable damage, and Eldarian did not counter with a spell of his own. Growling, Whill charged across the cavern and leapt high into the air, pulling back his sword for a killing strike as he descended upon the chained and thrashing elf’s head.

  Eldarian batted him away again, breaking Whill’s ribs and sending him crashing into a stalactite, which snapped and fell to the floor, covering Whill in rubble.

  Whill shot out of the pile and floated ten feet above the ground. He felt his ribs snap back into place due to Zalenlia’s healing, and he pointed a glowing sword at Eldarian. “Fight me, you coward!” he screamed.

  Eldarian raised his arms, heaving against the glowing chains and Gretzen’s binding spell. The mountain began to shake as he roared, sending stones crashing to the floor. Roakore, Raene, and Ragnar wasted no time in utilizing the projectiles, and took mental control of them, sending them spinning around the chamber to crush the skeletal beings.

  With a great summoning of inner strength, Whill shot himself across the chamber once more, but this time, he avoided the swatting hand and stabbed his sword into Eldarian’s neck, which was wider than the oldest of oaks.

  Eldarian growled and grabbed Whill in one giant hand.

  Whill cried out as every nerve in his body screamed with pain, but then he absorbed the power like he had done with Roakore, Avriel, Gretzen, and Zalenlia. Wave after wave of energy coursed through him, and Eldarian cried out in rage. The Dark Lord threw him to the ground, denting the floor with Whill’s body. But Whill felt no pain. The secrets of death and darkness filled his mind, and he suddenly felt the thousands of deaths of creatures all over the world as they happened, one after another. He felt their life force rush into him, only to be stripped away by as many births. Whill wanted that energy for himself, wanted to take it all.

  Eldarian grew until he towered fifty feet above a dazed and disoriented Whill. He lashed out with a writhing black ball of energy that hit Kellallea and exploded on contact, severing her energy chains. Eldarian then focused on Gretzen, and from his other hand came another writhing spell. The old witch brought up her free hand in defense, but there was nothing that she could do against such incredible power.

  The spell exploded in her face, and when the dust settled, she was gone.

  “NO!” Whill bellowed. He focused his newfound power into a fireball that quickly grew in his palm. He unleashed it with a cry of rage and it shot across the room like a meteor, hitting Eldarian in the chest and blasting out of his back.

  Eldarian reeled, falling back on the steps to the throne, suddenly returning to his true size.

  Whill wasted no time and closed the distance in an instant. He stabbed at the dark lord’s neck, but the blow was parried by Eldarian’s glowing sword. Eldarian leapt to his feet and shot out a hand and another writhing black spell. Whill met the strike with a glowing spell of his own, and as the two forces collided, a shockwave washed through the room that sent everyone on their backs.

  Eldarian’s pointed crown began to hum and glow as they stood locked in battle. Whill felt a surge of power building within the Dark Lord, one that if unleashed, would surely destroy the mountain and everything in it. It was the power that had been contained for thousands of years, and now begged to be released. He felt the same desire burning within him, the desire to see the world burn, to vanquish the light and bring about peace and darkness to the universe. He fought the urge, thinking of Avriel and his children.

  THERE IS NO LIFE, ONLY DEATH.

  Eldarian’s voice echoed maddeningly in Whill’s mind.

  ALL THINGS END IN DEATH. IT IS THE ONLY TRUTH, THE ONLY CONSTANT.

  “NO!”

  Whill remembered Avriel’s loving eyes. The smiles upon his twins’ faces. He remembered Abram, and the love that the man had shown him from such an early age.

  Eldarian countered with images of struggle, feelings of depression, sounds of war and death, torture and pain.

  “Love,” said Whill, and the maddening sights, sounds, and feelings disappeared like flame beneath water. “Even you have love. And she stands before you now.”

  Eldarian scowled, but the clarity of light had suddenly cast away the churning darkness in his eyes. His face lost all malice, and he looked to Kellallea.

  “My beloved,” he said in a voice that had been his in life.

  When Whill felt Eldarian’s power wane, he forced back the spell colliding with his own and lashed out with an incantation of light that encased Eldarian and drove him to his knees.

  The crown glowed bright before him, pulsing and humming with godly power. Whill needed only to reach out and take it, and it would be over. The world would be safe, his family would be safe.

  Whill reached out a shaking hand toward the crown upon the Dark Lord’s head, ready to take up the mantle once and for all.

  “I love you, Avriel,” he said as he resigned himself to his fate and moved to take it.

  A lithe hand snatched it up just before he touched it. Shocked, Whill looked up, and into the teary eyes of Lunara.

  “No!” he cried and tried to mentally pull the crown from her trembling hands.

  But it was too late. Lunara raised the crown and put it atop her head, closing her eyes.

  An explosion of power sent Whill on his back as Lunara took into herself the wild power of darkness. Her silver hair glowed and danced wildly as she rose into the air, arching her back and crying to the heavens. Her voice was drowned out by the cry of a thousand demons, and a beam of pulsating darkness shot from her mouth and blasted through the ceiling.

  “Lunara!” said Whill, and he tried again to mentally pull the crown away from her. But it was no use. No matter how much energy he gave to the effort, the crown did not budge.

  Black tendrils of power spilled out of the crown and poured into her, and she began to glow with the same hellish light that had filled Eldarian’s eyes.

  “Gods of creation!” Kellallea called out. “I summon thee! Help me to restore the prison that has held the power of the d
ark one at bay! Let the pact be made anew!”

  “No!” Whill rushed toward Lunara as she floated high above the rubble.

  “You are free, Whill of Agora,” she said with a smile as the power consumed her and the mantle of darkness became hers.

  “Lunara!”

  Whill summoned what energy he could and struck out with a spell aimed at the crown, but it bounced harmlessly off the swirling energy around Lunara.

  “I love you,” said Lunara as her eyes began to glow with blue-green light.

  A deafening explosion tore through the chamber like thunder, and Whill was suddenly blind. In his daze, Whill heard voices chanting something in a language he did not understand. He fought to regain his sight, and through the haze he saw the outline of glowing figures that looked to be made of pure light. He heard the gruff voice of a dwarf, the melodic voice of an elf, and the familiar voice of a man. Kellallea’s words blended with that of the others, and just as suddenly as it had begun, the strange ritual was over.

  Whill awoke on the stone floor, wondering for a moment where he was. Then he remembered the battle. He glanced around and, seeing that the others were just rousing from the floor as well, turned toward the throne.

  “Lunara!”

  He shot to his feet and looked to where she had been.

  “No, no, no, no.”

  Lunara sat upon the throne, surrounded by skulls. Upon her head the crown glowed, and between she and Whill, a glowing orb of energy hummed with the power of the gods.

  Whill rushed to it and banged on the orb of glowing light. “Lunara!”

  “She cannot hear you.”

  Whill whirled around and found Kellallea standing behind him. “This was not part of the plan!” he roared.

  “No, it seems that Lunara had plans of her own.”

  “Where is Eldarian?” he asked, wanting to hurt her like she had hurt him.

  “He is safe, as is your family. Let’s keep it that way.”

  Whill wanted to kill her, but he bottled his anger in light of the threat.