A Crown Of War (Book 4)

by Michael Ploof

  He landed upon the crest of one of the large, gnarled stone formations sprouting from the earth. High above the world, he sat and began to meditate with the Sword of Power Given in his hands.

  “Kellallea, oh ancient one, whose roots reach the edges of Drindellia, hear my words,” he said to the wind. For a long time, nothing happened. But Whill was not deterred. Kellallea had said she became one with Keye, and as such, it stood to reason she would hear his call. He focused his will into the stone formation beneath him and spread his consciousness down deep into the roots of the world. He called to her with his mind and called upon his learned knowledge from the Book of Krundar to connect with Keye.

  You have come far, young one, Kellallea said in his mind. Whill breathed a sigh and smiled to himself.

  Ancient one, it gladdens my heart to hear your voice and know that you carry on, he said.

  He sensed her struggle, and, also, her animosity toward him. She had asked for help, and he had refused; he was not sure if she would help him now.

  What is it you seek? she finally asked.

  I am lost…I was brought here by a cunning foe, but I finally defeated him. I must return to Agora so I might lead the people against Eadon. Will you help me?

  Yes, I am aware. I have watched you since you and the others came through the rift, and I saw what you did, she said.

  The others? Then they are here as well, and trapped as I am?

  They search for the Gate of Arkron, as they assume you are doing, she confirmed.

  Will you help us?

  I offered my help, young one, but you refused reason. I’ve neither time nor strength to spare for one so young and foolish, she said as her voice trailed off, and the connection began to fade.

  Wait! Whill commanded her as he forced more of Adromida’s power into strengthening the connection.

  You would dare command me? You, who are to me as a newborn to an elder? I waited millenniums for the one who might transfer the power of the blade, one who might be wise enough to see beyond the lie of the prophecy. But alas, you will not listen to reason, and so you shall fail. Your only hope is to give to me the power of Adromida. Only then can this war be won, said Kellallea in a voice like an earthquake.

  I believe your tale, for it has been repeated by one of the elder Council of Elladrindellia. Eadon wishes for me to transfer the power to him. The prophecy is a lie, said Whill.

  You understand now your only chance is through me. You have come to reason?

  Yes, I have come to reason, and discovered many things.

  Then, you will give me the power so I might defeat Eadon and bring peace to our lands? she asked.

  No, Whill answered, I know your secret; all has become clear to me now.

  What do you think you know? she asked with a condescending sneer.

  You remain stronger than Eadon, and you seek a place among the gods, as he does. You feign weakness and bide your time. You allowed Eadon to put into motion his creation of the Sword of Power Given, so that one day it might be given to you, by me. With it, you will gain the power of a goddess, you who stripped the elves of the knowledge of Orna Catorna, you who have possessed the greatest power taken since the time of the taking of knowledge. You have allowed the destruction of Drindellia and the rise of Eadon, if only as a pretext to influence my hand. Eadon understands this, and he seeks ever to surpass your strength so he might attain the greatest power taken.

  A long pause followed, and Whill sensed Kellallea’s rage. She had been discovered, and her anger was great. There came a rumbling deep within the depths of the earth, and the stone formation on which Whill sat cross-legged began to sway. Above, storm clouds suddenly swirled to life menacingly black and wreathed in lightning. The wind picked up and would have sent him flying from the stone, had he not used Adromida to secure him within a globe of energy. A flash of lightning struck the stone where he sat, and Kellallea suddenly appeared there on the rock. Her hair blew in the torrential winds as she stared down upon Whill with eyes of fury. Lightning struck again, this time hitting the center of the large rock formation. The stone formation was hewn in two and crumbled violently down to the ground below. Whill remained unmoved, floating as he had sat.

  “You are clever, young one, perhaps too clever for your own good. Tell me, what is to stop me from destroying you here and now?” she bellowed with a voice like thunder.

  Whill regarded her with a steady gaze as the storm gathered in strength and surged menacingly around him. “I alone can wield Adromida; you need me,” he said.

  Kellallea’s anger grew, and she pulled back an arm as if to smite him then and there. Whill set his jaw and looked back at her defiantly. “Destroy me, and you have gained nothing.”

  The murder in her eyes slowly subsided, and the storm along with it. Whill blinked, and he was standing among the rubble of the fallen stone. Kellallea stood before him calmly, her glowing beauty had returned and gone was her rage.

  “Eadon cannot be allowed to attain the Sword of Power Given,” she said calmly.

  “Instead, you should attain the power?” Whill asked. “You should ascend to the heavens and become like a god? You, who allowed your people and homeland to be defiled as a means to your power-hungry ends, would you make a better god?”

  “Eadon would bring an end to all things.” she said.

  “You are no different.”

  Kellallea looked to Whill as she had not before. Her disdain melted away and her smile became warm. “The weight of the entire world sits upon your shoulders, yet how brave you are.” He was aware she could destroy him with a thought, even with the sword of power in his possession. She was the oldest living thing in the world. She had seen the rise and fall of mountains, and, to her, the life of entire forests was but a season. She had pondered the mysteries of the universe for thousands of elven lifetimes; she was patient, and she was cunning. His only saving grace was that the Sword of Power Given needed to be given freely; it was the only reason he remained alive.

  Through the contact of her hand to his cheek, Whill began to feel pleasure flood through his body, as her smile widened and her gaze locked him in place. He shuddered in ecstasy as bliss coursed through him. She leaned in to whisper in his ear, and her voice was like music, and her breath was the warmth of a spring breeze. She smelled of flowers after a spring rain. Whill arched uncontrollably, as a million prickles of pleasure danced down his spine and weakened his legs.

  “You need bear your burden no longer, Whill of Agora. Give to me freely the Power of Adromida, and, together, we shall put an end to Eadon’s reign of darkness. Together, we shall liberate Agora and build Drindellia anew. You need only say the words, and it will be so.”

  Whill lost himself in her eyes. Before his mind’s eye, the beautiful new world she promised was rich with life and bursting with beauty, a place where war was a distant legend, sickness and disease a myth. Together, they would guard their world kingdom against evil, she, from her heavenly throne, and he, from his earthly. Together, the three races of man, dwarf, and elf would thrive. A new age of enlightenment would be born of their union and would live eternal. The beautiful new world she promised brought tears of joy to his eyes. She released him, and the pleasure subsided as did the vision, leaving him yearning for but a glimpse of what he had envisioned.

  Kellallea stood before him with her intoxicating smile. Beyond her eyes, Whill sensed a knowledge unsurpassed by all but the gods, and he was humbled. Confused, he tried to remember why he had refused her, why he had fought the inevitable. Why didn’t he just give her the power of Adromida? It could all end now if he only said the words…

  “You need only say the words, and you shall deal the fatal blow against the dark one, you shall become legend. Your name will be spoken in celebration for time immeasurable.”

  Whill realized why he hesitated. It had been there at the back of his mind the whole time, wavering but somehow staying alit like a candle of reason against the winds of her persuasion.


  “You allowed the rise of Eadon, and the destruction of your people,” he said.

  “It is a small price to pay for the world that we can create. Sacrifices must be made.”

  “No,” said Whill. “You are no different than Eadon. You would leave a trail of destruction in the wake of your pursuit of power.”

  “I did not allow the rise of Eadon, or the destruction of Drindellia,” she said with sorrow in her voice. “His crimes are the crimes of many. I once stripped the elves of their knowledge and power, because we almost destroyed ourselves over it. What began as a great enlightenment and enrichment of elven life, soon became its greatest danger. And for an age, there was peace in Drindellia. But the ancient knowledge and the pursuit of power began to grow once again within the hearts of my kin. The memory of magic held strong throughout the ages, and soon one came to me that had rediscovered the old ways. I thought to kill him, but something stayed my hand; now I know my mercy was a mistake. For now history has repeated itself once again, and my people have suffered at the hands of those that would seek infinite power.”

  “You seek infinite power,” said Whill.

  “I seek infinite peace!” she yelled, her brow bent with indignant anger. “Eadon must be stopped.”

  “Why did you not raise a hand against him when the Dark Elf Wars began?”

  “I have not existed these thousands of years as you understand it. I took the form of a tree those many ages ago. I slept, and I grew. I became like the mountain and the forest. I became one with the spirit of all things, and I knew peace. I was mildly aware of the struggles of my kin, but knew not the full extent of their plight until I was awakened, until I was attacked by Eadon. He came to me as I slept and attempted to steal from me all the power that I possessed. The battle nearly killed us both. What it did to the land is my deepest regret. He is my equal; I cannot defeat him without the power of Adromida.”

  Whill wasn’t sure what to believe. He knew he could not defeat Eadon on his own, yet he did not trust Kellallea. He alone could wield Adromida, and he alone possessed the ability to transfer its power. He realized she had likely been the reason Eadon had made it so no elf could wield the blade.

  “Will you help me? Surely, together, we can defeat Eadon, and then this business of the blade can be dealt with,” said Whill.

  “I offered my help young Whill, and my offer remains, with but a word this can all be over,” she reminded him.

  “I do not trust you enough to turn over a power such as this on faith! You tried to manipulate me with your words and visions. I will not hand over the power of Adromida. Kill me if you like, but neither of you shall possess it if you do.”

  Kellallea regarded him with slow smoldering fury hid well behind patient eyes. “What is it you would ask of me?” she asked.

  “Help me to the last Gate of Arkron.”

  Chapter Ten

  Veolindra

  As the sun broke over the horizon illuminating the dull clouds hanging overhead, the barbarians broke camp, and, within the hour, they marched southwest once again. They followed in the footsteps of the Draggard down the once heavily used trade road. The beasts left the road behind them trampled and muddy, making the going slow and laborious for the wagon train. Soon, Aurora instructed Zander to order the Draggard to fall back behind the seven armies; better to break through the snow themselves than navigate the mud pits the Draggard left in their wake. The early winter weather was in a transition period when fat snow fell but quickly melted, leaving everything wet and slushy.

  The barbarians stiffened and the horses whined nervously as the Draggard passed to take up the rear. The dwargon lumbered past by the hundreds, their heavy three-toed feet leaving wide puddles in the road. The beasts passed without incident, though they snarled and bit at the air if a barbarian stared too intently.

  Beorin of Bear Tribe road up next to Aurora then, glaring at Zander as he took his place beside his chieftain. “This weather is shyte, and this mud is for the dogs,” he spat.

  “Unlike the dark elves, we cannot control the weather. Focus on what we can change, Bear Chief,” said Aurora.

  “Ah, but you are right,” Beorin replied. She felt him staring sidelong at her, measuring. “You have impressed me, Chieftain,” he said finally, and turned his hard gaze to the road. His eyes told of deep consideration, as if his words escaped him. His beard came together as he puckered his lips, his lack of teeth bringing his bottom lip up and out. His gray eyes sparked with resolution.

  “Yes, I see clearly now our destiny.”

  “Save your arse kissing for one who gives a shyte, Beorin,” said Aurora.

  “You have me wrong, m’lady. I came only to tell you of my wishes should I die in battle. I ask to be raised by the dark elf. If I can be of further use dead, then I accept.”

  Aurora jerked her head to the side and took a newfound measure of the man. His eyes showed his sincerity. She was impressed and disturbed by his resolve.

  “You do not know what you are saying,” she told him.

  “I speak with my heart of hearts, Aurora,” said Beorin, and fell back, leaving her to her thoughts.

  The conversation made her think of Azzeal. She had seen little of the lich, but more than she could stand. His milky white eyes made her skin crawl; they saw nothing and everything it seemed, and she always felt them staring at her, past her, into her very soul. She thought of the elf she had known for such a short time, how he had fought to free her and the others from the arena in Uthen-Arden, and how he had tried to save her. She knew he was inside, somewhere behind the crooked stance and downward stare. She had turned out to be a coward after all, unable to die doing the right thing. Instead, she had done something unimaginable. The memory of impaling Azzeal with the Dragonlance of Ashai came to her again. His eyes locked hers in place, and rather than outrage or shock, they conveyed sympathy. What if she had gone against Eadon, and ordered her armies against the Draggard?

  Zander moved to ride beside her once more, his head craned back as he spied Beorin. “Hard to find one so dedicated, even among my kind. He is possessed of something beyond honor. Keep an eye on that one…he will be quite useful.”

  “Honor? Your kind cares for such a thing?” Aurora asked.

  “You may think us monsters, but who claims such things? Humans? Dwarves? What have they to say of your people? As your people’s names have been tarnished by fallacy, so too have the dark elves,” said Zander, his voice carrying spiteful anger. “We did not start the War of Drindellia, ’twas the intolerance of the Elves of the Sun that drove us to defend ourselves. I was born without the gift of magic. Eadon used his power to give many of us the gift of Orna Catorna. But the sun elves did not approve. They came after us. They waged war. Yes, we know honor, but our shared enemies do not.”

  Aurora sensed a deep seeded anger within him, one born of oppression and injustice. She understood. Long her own people harbored such racial pains. But she did not trust the dark elf, and therefore his every word remained suspect.

  “You do not believe me,” said Zander.

  “I believe those I trust, and you have yet to gain mine,” said Aurora.

  Zander laughed, his handsome smile doing more to disarm her than his words.

  “I doubt many can lay claim to such a feat,” said Zander.

  “What feat?”

  “Gaining your trust.”

  Aurora threw him a look.

  They rode on in silence. It was near noon now she guessed. The thick, hazy cloud cover gave no clear indication of the sun’s position. Many hundred yards ahead, the lich Azzeal steered them ever south. Aurora hoped soon they would be rid of the undead elf. She grew weary of his presence. He often stopped and looked back upon the armies; she imagined those milky white eyes staring through her even over such distance.

  “You were not born with magic?” she asked Zander.

  “No.”

  “And you were taught by Eadon?”

  “He awakened dor
mant parts of my brain,” Zander explained.

  “Why did the Elves of the Sun find offense?” she asked.

  “Are you familiar with the relationship between the practitioners and the Enta?”

  “I have been told the Enta offer their power to the gifted ones. Theirs is a symbiotic union.”

  “Union,” Zander scoffed. “It is slavery. The Elves of the Sun know the gift can be shared, and they are threatened. Eadon freed us from our bondage. He empowered us to be more than energy slaves, constantly being leached of our inner strength.”

  Aurora reminded herself to be weary of the dark elf, but she found herself believing him. An idea came to her then.

  “If elves not born with the gift can be taught… can humans be taught also?”

  Zander did not hide his pleasure. “Yes, you could be taught the ways of the Orna Catorna. The sun elves know this as well, yet they do not help any but themselves. In five hundred years, how much has their magic helped your people?” he asked.

  Aurora did not have to search long for the answer. The elves remained strangers to the barbarians of Volnoss. From what she had gleaned from her time with the other races, they were strangers to all of Agora.

  “Would you teach me?” she asked. Though she hated asking the dark elf for anything, she was tempted by the idea of wielding magic.

  “I can awaken your mind, but the art does not come quickly. I have studied the arts for hundreds of years, and I have only mastered three of the schools.”

  “Could I live so long?” she asked.

  “With the power to be gained through the practice, you might be Chieftain of the Seven for a thousand years.”

  Aurora’s heart leapt at the prospect. She imagined the grand empire she might build with the power of the elves. She would have many daughters, the empresses of the Seven. The barbarians would grow strong once again, and never would they be defeated.