Whill of Agora: Book 03 - A Song of Swords

by Michael Ploof

  The general clenched his jaw and squared his chin. “And you mean to tell me they slipped through the pass unnoticed?”

  “No, they did not go through the pass, they went over it. Any reports of that?”

  The general met Dirk’s eyes and looked upon him as he had not before. “Guard!”

  A soldier tore into the tent with his sword half drawn. “Sir!” he yelled upon entering, searching for trouble.

  “Search out the commander of the Third, Bloodrain. Bring him here immediately,” barked General Steely.

  He sat back down and stroked his short beard. In his eyes and on his face Dirk saw that the man was now concerned. From a drawer he pulled a pipe and leaf bag.

  “Do you smoke?” the general asked.

  “Opium on rare occasion, but not the leaf. It leaves my lungs heavy,” replied Dirk.

  When the general realized Dirk was not making a joke, he laughed. Dirk struck two of his rings together, and from one a small flame danced to life from the spark. He reached across the desk, offering to light the pipe. The general nearly went cross-eyed gazing at the magical flame as he bent and puffed the pipe to life.

  “That is a fine elven trinket you have,” the general admitted through a cloud of smoke, with a hint of jealousy at such a prize.

  Dirk nodded and blew out the fire from his ring. “It comes in handy.”

  Heavy footsteps approached outside, and soon the tent flaps opened wide and in strode a tall soldier. He looked to be about thirty, and Dirk could tell by the way he carried himself that he was comfortable in his armor. He was a lifetime soldier.

  “Sir!” he said smartly and saluted the general.

  “Commander Bloodrain, please repeat to me your report of the northern wall from last night,” said General Steely with a glance at Dirk.

  “One hour before sunrise from the northern tower watch, I received a report of a winged creature flying overhead.”

  “What direction was it flying?” the general asked.

  “Northwest, sir.”

  “Was it bird, dragon, draquon…?”

  “The lookout thinks it was a small dragon.”

  “How did a small dragon fly across the Ky’Dren Mountains without being seen by the dwarven lookouts? They are stationed every mile.”

  “Sir, the lookout said that he only saw the beast when it flew through the hovering smoke of the outpost campfires. Otherwise it was invisible.”

  “Was the man drunk?” General Steely asked.

  “No, sir, he is not the kind of man to drink while on duty,” said the commander with a darting glance at the whiskey glasses.

  “Wait outside, please,” ordered the general.

  When they were alone, Steely leaned once again toward Dirk, his pipe to lips. Dirk struck the rings once again and relit the pipe. The general smiled through teeth that clutched the pipe, admiring anew the fire ring.

  “There are two possibilities now, it seems,” the general surmised as he leaned back and blew smoke forth. “One, you saw the very same creature and have worked its existence into your story.” He eyed Dirk suddenly and sat up. “Or two, what you say is true. In any case, this winged creature must be investigated. The commander says it was flying northwest, which fits your story. Twenty miles northwest of here is the home of the duke of Bristle, cousin to the king and possibly your assassin’s first target.”

  “Then that is my destination,” said Dirk as he got up from his chair. “I could use a fresh horse, mine has been pushed to its limits, I am afraid.”

  The general nodded. “I will provide you with a horse. Come. If this creature was seen last night, we may already be too late.”

  Chapter 22

  Secrets

  The boat that Aurora had been gifted was a near replica of a barbarian fishing boat. The elves had accounted for her size when designing it; the stairs and archway to go below deck admitted her easily. Six long oars came out the sides, and these too had been crafted with barbarians in mind. The sails however were elven fin sails.

  All of her many gifts had been loaded, along with the smoked boar. She was pleased to find the boat had already been stocked with provisions. There were barrels of water below deck, along with wine and ale, bread, smoked fish, cheese, and a variety of vegetables and fruit. It seemed as though there were enough provisions to last months of travel. She did not need months; it would take the elven ship little more than a week to traverse the waters to Volnoss, having to make a wide berth of the dark elf occupied Island of Fendora.

  As the lines were thrown onto the dock and the boat began to pull away, a large flame-colored jungle bird flew over the ship. It circled twice and swooped down. Aurora was not surprised when the bird transformed as it landed, and soon Azzeal was grinning up at her.

  "If you do not mind the company I would see you to Volnoss. The waters are dangerous these days, especially when traveling near to Fendora Island."

  Aurora tried to hide her disappointment and suspicions. He knew something, she was sure of it. But why then would he let her live if he knew of her betrayal? She guarded herself from her thoughts and feelings and let a welcoming smile find her face.

  "It would be an honor to have you, Azzeal. But does not your duty to your king command that you remain at his side through this? I feel my plight is but a trifling thing to one such as you."

  "Quite on the contrary lady of the north. In these dark times allies are far from trifling things."

  "Very well then, welcome, and thank you."

  "My pleasure," he said with a bow."

  The boat left harbor without the use of the oars. The small elven crew consisted of water weavers who steered the ship north through their magic. Aurora had not slept in the jungle, and she felt the affects of the long day in her tired muscles. She left Azzeal, Kreshna, and the others and went below deck. In her cabin she found the dragonlance among her things.

  The weapon was smaller than she would have guessed it to be, no longer then her sword. She took it up and inspected it curiously. What material it was made of she could not tell. The shaft was rough and black like coal, with no pointed end. An assortment of gems the size of coins was the only thing to adorn the strange shaft. Aurora rubbed a thumb over one and suddenly the lance multiplied in length not once but twice with a reverberation of singing metal. The pointed end slammed through the wooden wall of her cabin and into the room beyond. Aurora was pleased. She thumbed the jewel once again and the lance retracted.

  She undressed and got into a bed that had been made with her great height in mind. As her boat was steadily guided north Aurora tried to sleep. She tried to prepare herself mentally for the coming battle, but the thought of Azzeal left room for nothing else. The elf's presence loomed over her, suffocating her mind, confusing her thoughts. Why was he here? What did he know?

  She lay there for hours unable to sleep. When she could take it no more she bolted out of bed and stormed out of her cabin tearing the sheets from the bed and wrapping them around her as she went. When she reached the stairs to the deck Azzeal was already coming down them. He reached the bottom and raised an eyebrow to Aurora. "Lady."

  "Shove your lady up your arse Azzeal. What do you know?"

  "I am not the one that need be answering for anything," said Azzeal. He looked up the stairs wearily and gestured to her quarters. "Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more private."

  "Private!" she fumed. "How can there be any privacy when you elves can read minds."

  "Hear stray thoughts." he corrected her.

  "One in the same!" she countered and turned annoyed to her quarters. Azzeal followed.

  When the door was closed Aurora sat upon her bed and watched with trembling hands as Azzeal waved his hands at the walls and murmured to himself in Elvish. If the elf had learned her secrets she knew that she would die. She was not afraid of death. She was afraid of dying as a liar, with no honor. She had lost that when she attempted to kill Abram.

  "You may yet regain your hono
r. It comes down to decisions," said Azzeal.

  Aurora looked to him startled. "I spoke to myself in my native tongue, yet you understand."

  "I do."

  "Then you know all." She resigned herself to her fate. Azzeal chuckled.

  "You need not fear my judgement, I mean you no harm."

  She was surprised by this and did little to hide it. She wondered if he knew the whole of it, perhaps he misunderstood, perhaps...

  "I know that you swore fealty to Eadon, I know that you attempted Abram's life."

  A tear itched its way down Aurora's face and was soon followed by many more. She broke down in sobs and fell to her knees; she felt her sheets pile around her legs but cared not. She was powerless to do anything but clutch at Azzeals leafed robes and cry. She cried like she had not since childhood, since the day her father plummeted to his death those years ago. She had disgraced her father's memory, he who had himself been the victim of a coward. She deserved nothing more than death.

  Azzeal bent to his knees and took her head in his hands. She reluctantly met his gaze through teary blurred vision. "You are right to feel disgrace upon yourself, but do not tarry there long. Soon it will tear you apart."

  "I deserve death," she lamented sobbing.

  "You are dead. When you have sworn fealty to Eadon, that was the moment of your death. Now you are free to choose. You can still do the right thing. The only reason I have not killed you myself is because I made a promise once to one of your people, and I have seen your heart."

  "How can I be saved?" she asked hanging on his every word."

  "It will not be easy, as the right path often proves. But it is possible."

  Aurora shuddered a few steadying breaths and tried to get ahold of herself. She felt cleansed of the pent up guilt, but the purging had sapped her strength. Azzeal helped her to lie in bed and covered her with her sheet and a thick quilt.

  "What promise did you make?" she asked.

  Azzeal smiled and sat in the chair next to the bed. "Talon Windwalker." he said and laughed at the face she made. "I assume you know your history then. It was more than two hundred years ago. He once saved my life. When I offered mine in return he told me instead to help one of his kin if ever I was to find one in need. And I have."

  "Thank you." Aurora smiled.

  Azzeal stroked her hair away from her face with a smile. "Rest now Aurora. Let dreams trouble you not. Be at peace."

  Chapter 23

  Visitors from Ro’Sar

  The next day Whill awoke to Avriel’s soft voice in his mind. Word has come that Roakore and his dwarves have arrived.

  He shot out of bed and dressed quickly. Together he and Avriel flew from the Thousand Falls and headed to the northern coast of Elladrindellia less than ten miles away. Soon they spotted Roakore’s company traveling the road to Cerushia from the coast.

  They were spotted quickly and alarmed calls of “Dragon!” rose up from the dwarves as Whill and Avriel flew overhead. Avriel landed a few hundred yards ahead of them. Roakore’s booming voice could be heard yelling at his dwarves.

  “Hold, ye dolts, the dragon be an elf friend!”

  Arguments broke out as Roakore tried to explain. Whill dismounted and headed toward the company. “Best you stay here for the moment, Avriel. The dwarves will take some convincing, I imagine.”

  Indeed. I doubt many of them will accept the explanation, or care. To them a dragon is a dragon. It will be easier if I leave.

  Before Whill could argue, Avriel leapt from the ground and took flight. Whill watched after her, worried. She was quiet as of late. He knew it had to do with her possible transformation and the fate of her dragon body.

  Turning from her, Whill saw Tarren running toward him down the cobblestone road that led to the coast.

  “Whill!” Tarren yelled joyfully.

  Whill smiled brightly and jogged to the boy.

  “Whill!” Tarren called again, waving his hands. He reached Whill and slammed into him with a hug.

  “Tarren, well met!” Whill laughed as Tarren wiped tears with his sleeve and beamed up at him.

  “Well met indeed!” Tarren laughed. “I thought I would never see you again!”

  “As did I. But alas, we meet again.” He held Tarren at arm’s length and looked him over. “You’ve grown.”

  “Yeah?” Tarren beamed. “I been trainin’ with the dwarves. Look at this!” He flexed a bicep. Whill squeezed his arm and gave the boy an impressed look.

  “They put some muscle on you, eh?”

  “You’re right, they have, they are a tough lot!” said Tarren. He pulled Whill with him eagerly. “C’mon, you gotta meet my friend Helzendar, he’s Roakore’s kid.”

  Tarren led Whill to the dwarves and Roakore gave Whill a bear hug, lifting him off the ground. “It is about time you arrived!” Whill teased when Roakore finally put him down. “How was your journey?”

  “Bah!” Roakore spat. “It was a right bloody one. Ran into a draggard hive we did, and set fifty heads to pike! They had made their stinking nest in an old trading outpost.”

  “Was anyone injured?” Whill asked, looking past Roakore with concern for the dwarves.

  “Those who got hurt were lucky enough to have Lunara around. Those who were killed…well, they be in the halls o’ the gods now, and their mugs be full.”

  “Lunara?” Whill asked.

  “Ah, yes, where be me manners?” He turned to his dwarves. “These be some o’ me finest fighters. Warriors all, they be.”

  “Well met,” said Whill in Dwarvish and slammed his fist to his chest, a great gesture of respect from one of such a name as he. “It is good to see the dwarves of Ro’Sar returned to their home and in good spirits. I am honored to meet you all.”

  As one the Ro’Sar dwarves slammed fist to chest and bowed.

  “Aye.” Roakore turned Whill to the right with a hand to his shoulder. “This be me boy Helzendar, one o’ me strongest and bravest.”

  “Hello, Helzendar,” said Whill and offered the dwarf boy a hand. Helzendar squeezed Whill’s hand in a crushing grip that could have been a full grown man’s.

  Lunara and Holdagozz came forward to stand beside Roakore. “Ah! And this be General Holdagozz, one o’ the toughest dwarves you be meetin’. And this elven beauty be Lunara, as good a healer as yer likely to be findin’, and she be not much older than yerself.”

  Whill gave Holdagozz the same dwarven sign of respect as the others. He could not help but notice the broad-shouldered dwarf’s thick knotted muscles, like tree roots winding around his exposed arms. It looked as though the dwarf had not an ounce of fat on his body.

  “Lunara. That is a beautiful name,” said Whill as he took her hand and gave a small bow.

  Lunara smiled with a blush and took a quick inhale. “Thank you. It is good to finally meet you, Whill of Agora,” she said. She took back her hand as if she had been given a great gift and clutched it to her chest.

  Roakore coughed and Whill realized that he and Lunara had just been staring at each other, smiling stupidly, and all eyes were on him. “Well, then, well met!” he said cheerily to them all. “Come, I welcome you all to Cerushia!” He wrapped one arm around Tarren and the other around Roakore, and they headed to the elven city. Behind them the dwarves broke out in one more traveling song that took them into the city.

  O’er rivers wide and prairies plain

  Far from shining jewel and silver vein

  The road has led we nigh astray

  Our feet they march all through the day.

  O frothing mug and grandest feast

  Be just reward for we at least

  O’er rivers wide and prairies plain

  Far from shining jewel and silver vein.

  Roakore’s company sang them all the way into the heart of Cerushia. There at the city square, a great clearing filled with the tallest flowers and multicolored leaves awaited a gathering of thousands, and Zerafin. The dumbfounded company was led by Nafiel to the grand
gathering. From the elevated city square most of the city could be seen, and the sun reflecting off of the massive ridge that was the Thousand Falls was astonishing. The dwarves were awed one and all. They followed a stone walkway that led to a large circle of stone. Upon the stone stood Zerafin; his mother, Queen Araveal; many of the elders; and the seven masters. A dwarven-lore master there was also, furiously scribbling as he bore witness to the meeting.

  “King Roakore of the Mountains Ro’Sar!” Zerafin announced. “My friend,” he said more personally as Roakore greeted him with a bear hug that sent the elves into joyful laughter.

  Zerafin raised Roakore’s arm to the crowd and proclaimed, “From this day forth I proclaim an allegiance with the Ro’Sar dwarves, to be recognized by all of my kin. Together we liberated the human kingdom of Isladon, together we took part in the reclamation of the mountains Ro’Sar!” Zerafin took Whill’s hand also and raised it to the heavens. “And together we shall liberate all of Agora!”

  The crowd cheered for Whill, for Roakore, and for their Drindellian prince who would soon be king. Whill was happier than he had been in a long time. Again he felt that old brotherhood he had once known. Abram and Rhunis were there too, in Whill’s heart and mind. He saw the smiling face of his oldest friend. Ah, Abram, you old dog, I wish you were here, he said to himself as a conflicted tear found his cheek.

  Chapter 24

  Blood and a Black Rose

  General Steely provided Dirk with a fresh horse and chose four of his best men to accompany them to Bristle. Dirk laughed to himself, thinking forty men would not help them against Krentz, let alone four. Krentz had sworn fealty to her father, Eadon, and Dirk could only imagine the power he had bestowed upon her.

  They rode into Bristle shortly after noon. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be going on in the village, nothing to indicate that an assassin upon a winged creature had been here. General Steely led the group to the small castle set atop a wide hill, the home of the duke of Bristle.