Whill of Agora
Book 9
The Warcrown Legacy
Michael James Ploof
Copyright © 2018 Traveling Bard publishing
All rights reserved
Table of Contents
Whill of Agora
The Warcrown Legacy
Table of Contents
Other Books
Map of Agora
Map of Drindellia
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Other Books
By
Michael James Ploof
(Legends of Agora Novels)
Whill of Agora
A Quest of Kings
A Song of Swords
A Crown of War
Kingdoms in Chaos
Champions of the Gods
The Mantle of Darkness
Dark Echoes of Light
The Warcrown Legacy
Talon
Sea Queen
Exodus
Blackthorn Rising
(Orion Rezner Chronicles)
Afterworld
(Epic Fallacy Novels)
Champions of the Dragon
Beyond the Wide Wall
The Legend of Drak’Noir
The Mother of Zuul
The Dragon Throne War
A Dream of Fire
Doomsday Sheriff
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Visit Michael’s Amazon Author page for links
Edited by Holly M. Kothe, https://espressoeditor.com/
Cover Art by Daniel Kamarudin
Map of Agora
Map of Drindellia
Chapter 1
Kellallea hung naked upon the saltire and stared up at the tempest that surged in the dark sky above the crystal tower, the highest in the Ruins of Arc’Wes. The moon seemed to be sailing through the sky beyond the clouds, though it never moved. The stakes that had been hammered through her hands and feet leeched her power, leaving her weak and unable to protect herself from the lightning that battered her. It struck from the churning clouds like electric snakes, slamming into her as her tortured screams echoed through the frozen land.
She barely registered the biting cold and the ripping wind. She hardly felt the slicing rain or the battering hail. Kellallea had retreated into her mind, and there she lived in her memories, reflecting on the thousands of years she had lived as a tree. Her roots had grown deep in the warm, moist earth, stretching through cracks in the stone, slowly pushing, slowly growing, always searching for water. Her leaves had taken in the sun of midday, bathing her in warmth and light and life. She breathed deeply of the world, and she gave it back yet more life.
“Kellallea, my dear, you’re cheating,” came Eldarian’s voice.
The slow tap, tap, tap of a staff on the crystal floor made the tower sing like a broken chime. Kellallea stared at the moon, for in her mind it was an autumn moon, and there was rain on the air. Her leaves were falling, she was growing tired.
It was almost time for the long sleep to begin.
Tell me where you have hidden Godsbane, and the pain will end. Eldarian’s voice in her mind tore her from her meditative sleep, and she opened her eyes to see him standing before her. He wore black armor that glowed green at the hinges. His eyes shone like precious gems, and his long hair blew in the tempest that surrounded them.
“Never…” she groaned.
“Beautiful, immortal Kellallea,” Eldarian lamented. “An elven goddess trapped in a physical body…one that can never DIE!”
Blue flames like dragon fire engulfed her. The terrible heat seared her hair and melted her skin, her muscle, and her bone. She wailed as her body was destroyed, her every nerve screaming. Yet her spirit could not be destroyed, for she was cursed with immortality. Cursed with the power of the gods.
The flames receded, leaving her astral form tacked to the saltire. Her physical form slowly grew from her glowing blue spirit, and she gasped for air as her lungs were made anew.
“You will never break me!” she screamed with her new mouth.
“Kellallea, my dear,” he said as he came around to face her. His brow was bent with worry, and his eyes shone with sorrow. “Why are you doing this to us? Why have you hidden Godsbane from me? Why do you cling to this world when a new one awaits?”
“This world still has some fight in it,” said Kellallea, chin held high as she hung naked, eyes defiant.
He shook his head in disappointment. “You know that this is the will of the gods.”
“Then to the hells with the gods! Let us fight them together.”
“You are being naïve again,” he said, and he then laughed as to himself as he walked slow circles around her. “I believe that perhaps you spent too much time as a tree. We cannot kill the gods. And why should we? They gave birth to this world; it is theirs to do with as they please. But you and I, my beloved Kellallea, you and I need not die with this world. You and I have risen higher than any elves before us.”
“And what have we done with our great power?” she asked venomously. “I allowed Eadon to conquer Drindellia for you! I did it all for you, to save you! But you cannot be saved, I see that now, and neither can I.”
“Saved?” said Eldarian with a sneer. “That is a word for mortals, a word for children and sinners who fear the wrath of the gods. But the gods answer to no one. WE, answer to no one.”
“Where is the elf who grew a flower in the palm of his hand to chase away my tears? Where is the elf who used to make the children laugh? Where is the—”
“He is dead! Just like the Kellallea that I once knew. Why do you cling to the past so? You wanted to free me? Well, now I am free, and you can be too. Let us usher in the new world. For there will yet be flowers, and the laughter of children will sound in the wind.”
“No, if this world is to die, then I shall die with it.”
Eldarian bowed his head, shaking it in disappointment. “You leave me no choice. If you say that I will never break you, then I believe you. For you have known wondrous pain in your centuries. But I can break your precious elves, and your precious humans. I can break them, and I will.”
Chapter 2
Zerafin stood before the mirror as the tailor put the final touches on his ceremonial lorenka. The many-layered robes were radiant white with golden hems to match the crown upon his head. Azzeal beamed at him, and Whill smiled as well. Roakore was already half corked, and in a right jolly mood.
“You look like the happiest king in the world,” Azzeal noted.
“I am, my friend. I am. My only regret is that I did not marry Ninarra sooner.”
“I have not known her long,” said Whill. “But I believe that she will make a good queen. The people seem to like her.”
<
br /> “Here, here!” Roakore cheered. “She be a right pretty lass to boot.”
“Thank you.”
“The people love her,” said Azzeal, becoming quite animated. “For the love affair between Zerafin and Ninarra is legendary. Many were disappointed when a wedding never happened. But now, they shall have their queen.”
“Indeed, they shall.” Zerafin attached his sword, and with one last glance at the mirror, he turned on his heel and let out a pent-up breath.
“You’re nervous,” Whill mused.
Zerafin laughed. “So were you when you married my sister.”
“Yes, but I am not a thousand-year-old elf who has seen everything.”
“I have seen a lot, but I have never been married,” said Zerafin.
He thought of the human woman he had once loved. She whom he had been forced to allow to die of natural causes due to the demands of the elder council, they who preached non-intervention, even for their prince’s beloved human.
He felt his mood growing dark, and so he let the memory of his lost love fly from his mind.
“Bah, I been married twenty-seven…twenty-eight times?” said Roakore as he tried to remember. “Bah, who can keep track? It ain’t nothin’ to fret over anyhow.”
“Are you ready, Sire?” asked an elf through the curtain.
“Tell them I’ll be there in five minutes,” said Zerafin, and he turned to Roakore. “Got another drink?”
Ten minutes later, he stood upon the dais at the front of New Cerushia’s temple of light. Nearly the entire city of elves had come to see their king wed. Dwarves and humans there were as well. A symphony of elven minstrels played a joyous song, and Zerafin’s heart leapt when Ninarra appeared at the end of the long aisle. She wore a lorenka as well, white with silver trim that radiated like a star in the clear black night.
Elf maidens swooned as they watched on with jealousy and imagined what it must be like to be wed to the esteemed elven king. Ninarra walked down the aisle, her footsteps light and in time with the music that filled the air like a flurry of butterflies. Happy faces and teary eyes greeted her, and even Roakore wiped at a pesky itch in the corner of his eye.
Zerafin thought of his mother as his bride walked down the aisle, and he wished that she could see him now. Pride swelled in his heart, which threatened to burst with a joy he had not known in centuries.
Ninarra walked the five steps up to the dais and joined Zerafin to stand before the elven monk, Lyrian Vosk. He smiled upon them both before spreading his arms wide and addressing the crowd.
“Friends, allies, humans, dwarves, and fellow elves. Let your hearts rejoice, for today our brave and steadfast king shall be wed.”
“It be about time!” Roakore yelled.
The crowd laughed, and Lyrian waited happily. At length he raised his arms once more. “It is with great joy that I bring these two wonderful elves before you today beneath the sun of our homeland. Our road has been long, and our toil has been great. But now we have begun to harvest the fruits of our labor. Let the union between Zerafin and Ninarra symbolize a new elven era, one full of love and peace and everlasting happiness for those who seek it.”
Zerafin stared into Ninarra’s sparkling eyes, and his heart threatened to burst once more. He had never given much thought to children, not with the constant threat of the dark elves ever looming. But now he found himself excited by the prospect.
Lyrian turned and smiled upon Zerafin and Ninarra. “Please clasp hands.”
They did so, taking each other’s right hand in a gesture reminiscent of the human hand shake, before doing the same with their left hands. Lyrian produced a long, wide piece of silk and began wrapping their hands together.
“Zerafin, King of New Cerushia, do you take this elf to be your wife, now and forever?”
“I do.”
“Do you vow to honor and respect her, now and forever?”
“I do.”
Lyrian smiled wide and turned to the future queen of New Cerushia. “Ninarra, do you take this elf to be your husband, now and forever?”
“I do,” she said with a smile.
“Do you vow to honor and respect him, now and forever?”
“I do.”
The monk untied their hands and raised his own skyward. “I now pronounce you husband and wife, King and Queen of New Cerushia!”
Zerafin and Ninarra clasped hands once again and stared into each other’s loving eyes.
“Bah, kiss her already, or I will!” Roakore yelled.
The crowd burst into merry laughter. Smiling, Zerafin and Ninarra sealed their vows with a kiss.
Chapter 3
The dwarves gathered before Whill in the fields south of Rhuniston, more than thirty thousand strong. Roakore stood at the head of the group along with Helzendar and Du’Krell, each with a hand upon the shoulder of the dwarf beside them, creating a chain that stretched all the way to the back of the massive army. Roakore nodded to Whill; they were ready.
Whill placed a hand upon Roakore’s head and closed his eyes. The noonday sun beat down on the field of green, and Whill felt its power invigorating him. He gathered the energy of the sun, the energy of light, and focused on the spell.
Protect their minds from the intrusive thoughts of others, he said to himself. Protect their minds…
Even with his eyes closed, Whill could see the brilliant glow. He focused his power, that of light, and sent it through Roakore and into the dwarven army, shielding their minds with his wards. The glow became brighter, and Whill knew that any who looked upon it would be blinded by the light. He had warned the dwarves not to break contact, to be still despite the surging power, and to welcome it. The brave dwarves complied, one and all, and soon Whill was retracting his hand.
He opened his eyes and let out a slow breath, reeling in his power and allowing a moment for it to calm.
“That it?” said Roakore, looking around as though wondering if indeed the ward was working.
“That’s it,” said Whill. “That should shield you all from the power of the albinos.”
“Thank ye, Whill. I wish ye could be comin’ with us. But ye got yer own battles to be fightin’.” Roakore slammed his first to his chest and bowed, and Whill returned the gesture.
“Go with my blessing, and may you rout the creatures from your mountain home.”
Roakore offered him a hopeful smile and turned to his dwarves. “Alright, me dwarves. Let’s show them bastard albinos who be the lords o’ the mountain!”
The dwarves cheered. They shook with excitement, their eyes wild and deranged. They banged heads and helmets, punched each other in the face, and laughed all the while. Helzendar began singing the war song of Ky’Dren, and soon the entire army had joined in. Their voices shook the earth, rumbling over the fields and into the forests beyond, sending flocks of birds erupting from the canopies and joining the chorus with their high-pitched whistles and warning chirrups.
Whill watched his friend as he mounted Silverwing, and together with the hawk riders, Helzendar, and the other kings, he took to the air and headed south. “Be safe, my friend,” he said in a final blessing.
Avriel walked up beside him and took his arm. She rested her head on his shoulder. “He’ll be alright,” she said, once again knowing his thoughts.
“I hope so.”
He offered the dwarves one last silent prayer and turned back to Rhuniston, setting his sights on the newly constructed Warcrown Tower that shimmered in the sun like a crystal. He had poured massive amounts of power into the wards surrounding not only the building, but his children as well. Powered by the sun, they would repel the worst that Eldarian could throw at them. Still, Whill wondered if it was enough. He knew that he had to seek out Eldarian, had to kill him. But he was loath to leave the children. He believed of course that Avriel and the elves would do everything in their power to keep Abe and Arra safe while he was gone, but still he worried.
His dark mood soon passed, however. For ever sinc
e absorbing the power of Godsbane, the darkness could only remain in his heart and in his mind fleetingly. Indeed, Whill had often found himself overjoyed and full of light, hope, and life since absorbing the power, and it was a nice change from the darkness that he had wrestled with as of late.
He lay in bed that night with Avriel, the children sleeping between them. Sleep no longer eluded him, but neither did he need it. As he watched his children sleeping, Arra with her thumb in her mouth and Abe snuggled up to his mother, he tried to imagine what they would be like when they grew up. Already they had so much personality. Abe was short tempered and impatient, especially when he was hungry or tired, while Arra was content to watch the world around her and was always smiling and laughing at the littlest things. But Abe was strong and determined, and he was already trying to walk, though his chubby little legs couldn’t yet balance his weight. Arra hadn’t yet tried to walk, but when she crawled she did so quickly, and was so happy to be doing it that she laughed all the while.
Whill reflected on the last few years, amazed at how far he had come and how different he now was. He was a husband and a father now. He had been a warrior, a king, a savior; his life had been a grand adventure since the Winter’s End Celebration those years ago, and he laughed to himself to think that all he wanted now was a normal, dull life.
Dawn was creeping in from the east, and Whill rose carefully, so as not to disturb the children, and walked out to the balcony that wrapped around the tower. To the east, the first rays of light were beginning to illuminate the dark horizon. He closed his eyes, taking in the light, the warmth, the power.
Whill!
Startled, he stepped back from the ledge. He whirled around, rushing to the bed chamber to check on the children.
The Warcrown Legacy Page 1
