Whill of Agora: Book 03 - A Song of Swords

by Michael Ploof

  The party raged on into the evening and soon nighttime was upon them. By the time Whill and Roakore exited the dwarven beer tent, the gathering hill was unrecognizable. Lights of every color floated around the hill, and elves dressed in elegant gowns danced all around them. Music filled the air as minstrels played. Elven children were among the large crowd of elves. Many had come to see the crowning of their new king. Fire pits raged and the smell of food filled the air. Fireworks the likes of which Whill had rarely seen exploded randomly throughout the city. A large, open-sided, leafed tent had been erected, or grown, Whill could not tell. Hundreds of stone tables and chairs had been pulled from the earth for any who wanted to eat comfortably.

  Tarren found Whill and bounced up and down, waving at him. Whill gestured him over with a smile.

  “Holy shyteballs, Whill! You see that tent go up? Wildest thing I ever seen, and the light show—oh, man, you should have seen ’em lettin’ them off!”

  Whill laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. “The elves seem to know how to throw a party.”

  “Lunara says you and Roakore need to be over there before Zerafin is crowned.” Tarren pointed west to a podium that had been erected at the edge of the hill overlooking the Thousand Falls.

  “When is his crowning?”

  Tarren shrugged “Beats me, but the queen and a few others are already over there.”

  “Have you seen Avriel?”

  “No, but I can’t wait. I haven’t seen her in a long time. I heard what you did, helping her back to her real body. How did you do that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Whill absently as he scanned the crowd for her. As he turned in his searching, he was startled to find Lunara suddenly in front of him, smiling brightly.

  “May I have this dance?” she asked with a small bow as the music turned soft with strings and flutes.

  “Uh, I…,” Whill stammered, and Tarren chuckled. “It would be my pleasure,” Whill finally said and offered her his arm. Together they made their way to where the dancers had gathered. Whill looked around quickly, trying to determine what dance the elves were moving to. Lunara laughed and took his hands in hers.

  “It is simple, follow my lead,” she said as she put his hand upon the small of her back and held his other straight out to the side. Twirling, they found their place in the crowd, and Whill was quick to catch on to the simple elven dance. The music picked up and Whill tried to keep time with Lunara as the dancers twirled round and round. The pair received many looks both curious and jealous from the elves.

  “How are you enjoying your visit?” she asked as they settled into an easy rhythm.

  “Ah, it has been interesting so far, to say the least. But I like it here. One can almost forget the worries of the world.”

  “Tarren seems to be enjoying himself.” She nodded to the boy. Whill saw Tarren dancing with an elven girl his age.

  “Indeed he does,” laughed Whill as Tarren smiled wide-eyed at him. “Thank you for taking care of him these last few months. If there is anything I can ever do for you, do not hesitate to ask.”

  “I imagine I could think of something,” said Lunara coyly, and Whill felt his cheeks get hot.

  “May I be cuttin’ in?” a slightly drunken voice piped up. They looked to see Holdagozz standing behind them.

  “Of course, good dwarf,” said Whill. He kissed Lunara’s hand and smiled. “Thanks again,” he offered, and she smiled back.

  Holdagozz took hold of her, and lifting her high spun round and round. Together they disappeared in laughter into the ocean of dancers. Whill had thought he and Lunara had gotten a lot of looks, but it was nothing compared to she and Holdagozz.

  Trumpets cut through the music and the dancing stopped as everyone looked to the raised podium where the queen now stood. Whill cursed to himself and found his way through the crowd to stand next to Roakore near the podium.

  A busy-looking elf interrupted their greeting and hustled them into place. “No, no, King Roakore, you are to stand here, and you—”

  “I be standin’ where ever the hells I be standin’, busybody.”

  The elf huffed and looked as though she might cry. “I apologize, good dwarf, but the queen has her plans and I do not wish to see them thwarted.”

  “Of course, I be sorry for me bad manners. Point me in the direction.”

  The elf sighed gratefully and led Whill and Roakore to the podium.

  Together they stood with a host of elves about the podium. Whill recognized a few, but most he did not. Cheers rose up as Zerafin and Avriel walked toward the podium to strong drums and rushing overtures. Together they climbed the podium and waved at the crowd, which erupted in cheers.

  Avriel took the spot next to Whill with but a smile as the queen stepped forward to speak. The music fell to the background and the queen addressed her people.

  “This night we celebrate the crowning of our new king, and with his crowning, the end of an age. For five hundred long years we have lived here, refugees of Drindellia, our homeland. But the dark elves have found us, and once again our peace is threatened; once again war has come to our lands. For five hundred years we have remained hidden, and we have restored our once-great power. I am here today to say that we hide no longer. Once and for all this battle will be ended, and I implore you all to do what you can to see the dark elves defeated.”

  Queen Araveal took up the crown of the lost king of Drindellia and Zerafin took a knee.

  “Zerafin, my son, I offer you the crown of your father, and with it the mantle of king. Do you accept the crown, and all of the responsibilities and duties that come with it?”

  “I do,” said Zerafin with a raised chin.

  “Very well,” said the queen with watery eyes as she lowered the crown to sit upon his head. “Rise, Zerafin, first king of Elladrindellia!”

  Zerafin stood and walked forward to stand before his people. The elves cheered their new king. Many teary-eyed minutes passed as applause rose up above the city of Cerushia. When finally the cheers died down, Zerafin addressed the elves.

  “Long has my mother served our people. She has seen us safely from our lost homeland to the new land. She has procured us a new home, Elladrindellia, and by her guidance we have thrived these last five centuries in peace. I am thankful to have had her as a queen through such trying times.”

  Applause for Queen Araveal rose up and she took a long bow. Zerafin waited for the applause to die down. “Now war is upon us once again. Our fallen brother means to spread the same darkness as he did in Drindellia. He seeks to rule all of Agora. And I, like my father before me, shall die trying to stop him if need be. I, along with the brave men of Agora and the hearty dwarves of Ro’Sar, Helgar, and Ky’Dren, choose to fight!”

  Cheers rose up with the king’s every word, and Whill was reminded once again that he was not alone in this. They had all suffered under Eadon, and they all had no choice but to fight or die.

  “I ask you now, elves of the sun, are you with me?”

  The crowd erupted in cheers and proclamations of loyalty. Whill found himself one of the beaming crowd as he too cheered. Before them Zerafin stood in armor of gold. His cape blew steadily to the left as a breeze picked up and seemed to grow with the mood. To Whill, Zerafin looked like a god, and if any should wield such a blade as Adromida, Whill thought, it was he.

  Looking out over the crowd of thousands of elves, Whill felt the spark of hope. He imagined the thousands of unseen elves throughout Elladrindellia, the legions of dwarves within the three mountain kingdoms, and the armies of his fellow men. He imagined them as one army, and a surge of electrifying hope coursed through him. He had to unite the races.

  Whill knew then that it was not his duty to kill Eadon, it was merely his duty to try. If he could successfully bring the wrath of humans, dwarves, and elves down upon Eadon, he could give them a fighting chance.

  Zerafin turned and motioned to Whill and Roakore. They joined him upon the high perch. He took one of their
hands in each of his and raised them to the sky.

  “Together we shall know victory! Together we shall make our claim!”

  Chapter 30

  The Dragonlance of Ashai

  Guided by Azzeal, Aurora's boat was steered wide of Fendora Island. The days at sea went by slowly as her anticipation grew to unbearable levels. Aurora did not like the vast never ending ocean. There was nowhere to go and little to do. She spent the time on deck practicing with the mighty dragonlance or sparring with the elves. Her nights were spent with Azzeal in her quarters. She and the elf often discussed the implications of her vow to Eadon.

  "The fact that you can no longer feel his power within you means little." said Azzeal, to her dismay. She hoped beyond reason that she was somehow free of the curse of her promise, but Azzeal assured her that she was not.

  "But you can still defeat the chief and lead your people."

  Aurora was confused by it all, spells, curses, magic. She did not like it. Better that you saw your enemy for what they were; better to fight with but a blade. She considered magic a coward's weapon.

  "As we speak I conspire against Eadon's will, yet I am not pained as I was in Del' Oradon. Doesn't that speak to the possibility that the curse is lifted?"

  "Not necessarily." Azeal cautioned. "Spells of this sort tend to depend greatly upon the resolution of the swearer of the pledge. The less your promise is held in your heart, the less affected you may be."

  Aurora thought she understood. The promise had never been close to her heart. She was passionate about securing her people's fate, and she had been faced with the alternative of death. The future of the barbarians was all she was worried about. She would surely die in the coming days or weeks, she had accepted that now. But she was determined to die honorably, and for her people.

  Azzeal told her the legend of the Dragonlance of Ashai. It had been created by its namesake many centuries before. The story of the dragonlance was one of loss and sorrow, despair and regret. Ashai was an elf that had been a master krundar and gnenja.

  "We elves had been expanding throughout Elladrindellia for a century. Ashai and his large family had migrated to the southern most tip of our new country. There they began what is now known as the city of Elwrenden. But there at the rocky coast, nestled among the many large caves beneath the cliff, slept a dragon. The industrious elves eventually woke the beast that had slumbered for centuries there within the deep recesses of the coastal cliff."

  "The day the dragon awoke, the ground heaved and a deep growl echoed forth from the earth. Ashai was there at the seashore below the cliff, and he alone saw the dragon arise from its slumber. It is said that a one-hundred foot cliff was torn asunder as the silver dragon emerged from it as if it were an egg. The waters boiled and raged, animals fled from the coast in droves, and for miles around the cry of Kryshra pierced the air." said Azzeal with a hand through the air. Aurora listened enthralled by the tale.

  "Ashai was badly injured by the blast that marked the dragon's rebirth. Burnt and bloody he watched helplessly as the great silver dragon spread his impossibly large wings and took to the skies in the direction of his village. It wasn't until the next morning that he was spotted by elves returned from fishing. Among them was one skilled in healing, and he was made well again. Together they ventured wide the destroyed and smoking cliff and made all haste toward Elwrenden. They found the village in ruin.”

  “Anguished, Ashai frantically searched the smoldering waste that had been his home. Inside he found the charred remains of his family. They like so many others had died seeking shelter from the rampaging dragon. Time passed and the village was rebuilt, and eventually the story of Kryshra the Silver passed into history. But Ashai never forgot, he never let go. The elf poured himself into his studies for decades, single-mindedly focused on one thing, revenge. He became a master gnenja, ralliad, and pzionar. Ashai's father-in-law and master metalsmith Krel D'orren made for him a dragonlance with which to avenge his daughter. Into the cold enchanted iron was poured strength and great magic."

  Azzeal stroked the rough surface of the coal-black dragonlance with a far-away stare.

  "Seventy-five years passed and Ashai became strong, but no word came of the great silver dragon. Ashai gathered all the wealth he had amassed since the cursed day and offered his fortune for any information about the dragon. The years passed and the reward that had so excited the human fisherman and merchants slipped into legend. Then one day word came to Ashai of a sighting out to sea. Ashai set sail immediately and after weeks at sea he caught the trail of Kryshra."

  "Did he find the dragon?" Aurora could not help but blurt out.

  Azzeal smiled at her shaking his head. "Yes, upon an island nearly five-hundred miles to the west of Agora. He found the dragon, and he faced it there upon the rocky beach. He killed the beast, and was never seen again. The dragon was found with this lance through its heart, and no sign of Ashai."

  Aurora looked to the dragonlance with renewed awe. "What happened to him?" asked Aurora.

  Azzeal shrugged, "likely he was disintegrated by dragon fire.

  Aurora thought of the story of the dragonlance often the remainder of the voyage. The lance had been crafted with vengeance in mind. With it, she would have hers. After nearly a week at sea they came upon Volnoss from the west.

  Immediately Aurora knew that trouble awaited them. A storm had gathered above the island, and far off on the horizon dancing lightning hinted at a great disturbance. Aurora looked from the spectacle to Azzeal's knowing eyes.

  "What is it?" Aurora asked.

  "It is a rift, a portal not unlike the once we traversed once." said Azzeal.

  "Where does it lead?"

  "You know where."

  "Drindellia." Aurora whispered as she looked once again. She could feel Azzeal staring at her still; she imagined his mind searching hers.

  "The dark elves come for your people, they come to destroy your homeland." said Azzeal and turned her to look at him with a strong hand. "You can rally your kin against this invasion, it is your destiny."

  "You knew about the portal, you have come to see that I do not side with Eadon." said Aurora and Azzeal nodded.

  "This is the way to your redemption. Help us destroy the portal and your honor will be restored."

  Chapter 31

  A Favor to Ask

  With the arrival of Roakore and Tarren, and the transformation of Avriel, Whill no longer sought solitude. He moved from his Thousand Falls cavern and took up with the dwarves. The rugged dwarves did not put up with crowds around their doors and were not shy about shooing gawkers. Whill was able to go to and fro much easier with the thick-muscled dwarves clearing the way.

  Lunara too stayed with the dwarves. She and Tarren had grown quite close, and Whill had the feeling that they would remain that way if either of them had a say in the matter. Whill watched her watching Tarren, and in her face he saw motherly love. He understood then why Abram had left him with Teera for the better part of ten years. It was for this reason that he sought to be alone with Lunara.

  Her room within the dwarven quarter was to the left of the main chamber and down yet two more tunnels. The elves had melded stone and crystal to create a large dwarf-like mountain abode. From the outside it was a large pyramid, but inside were stone tunnels, chambers, and halls. It had been fabricated after the Ro’Sar Mountains.

  Whill knocked on her thick wooden door and she answered as if she had known he was there.

  “Hello, I was…may I come in?” he asked.

  Lunara nodded with a smile and opened the door farther, gesturing him in. After he passed, he noticed her slight hesitation at the door as she seemed to ponder whether or not to close it. She closed the door and turned to greet Whill.

  “What brings you to my room?” she asked with the faintest of devilish grins. Her eyes were drawn to his sword, as were everyone’s. Whill remembered Roakore saying that she was his age, and he thought he could tell. There was a light in her ey
es that he had not seen in many of the elves, the look of curious adolescent excitement that many humans shed by their fourteenth year. Whill felt a kinship to her because of it.

  “I have come to ask a favor, one of the utmost importance,” he said, wringing his damp hands.

  “Well, then.” She beamed. “This calls for tea! Please have a seat.” She led him to the small low table upon which sat a white teapot with swirling golden inlay. They each took a seat on soft cushions and Whill watched silently as she prepared the tea.

  From a similar covered dish she scooped crushed tea leaves with an ornate silver spoon. Into the pot she dropped three spoonfuls of tea and returned the spoon and dish lid with delicate, practiced movements. She smiled at Whill from across the table.

  “I have made great progress this last year in what would you call…water weaving? Watch.” She set a red crystal upon the table and whispered to it. The crystal hummed and suddenly sprouted a high flame. “Deklen en!” she proclaimed dramatically and laughed at Whill’s surprised smile. The flame shrank to half its size and burned steadily.

  Lunara blew her silver hair out of her face and extended her right hand palm down toward a water basin. She turned her hand up, and out of the basin rose a slowly churning serpent of water. The water grew out a foot and broke apart from the basin. She guided the water serpent toward the table, and once there gave Whill a quick pensive grin and began waving her hand slowly back and forth. The water serpent began to move in a circle over the flame. Fire licked water as the small water serpent formed a circle, seemingly swallowing its own tail. It continued to churn and circle the flame like a wheel of water until it began to bubble and boil. With barely contained excitement for her work, Lunara directed the water into the teapot without so much as a splash. With a wide smile she covered the teapot and lifted it by the handle. With her other hand she took a small strainer that matched the set and poured Whill a cup of tea over the sifter. She tipped the teapot back until only a drop hung from the spout. She carefully moved to pour for herself, making sure the drop found her cup. Once her cup was half full, she stopped and laid the teapot on its tray. She looked up at Whill with anticipation and turned her cup around so that the handle did a full cycle. Then she looked at Whill’s cup. Thinking she meant him to mimic her and hoping he was not ruining some tea ceremony ritual, he turned his cup as she had hers. Lunara gave a smile and a small laugh and raised her cup with Whill and drank. She closed her eyes as if savoring the flavor. Whill thought he saw her lips make words as she returned her cup to its saucer. Whill did the same.