The Warcrown Legacy

by Michael James Ploof

  All was quiet.

  And then.

  Whill, I don’t have much time!

  It was Kellallea, and the words she spoke to his mind were faint, but they were urgent.

  What do you want? he asked, not trusting the goddess.

  Eldarian is out of control. He has imprisoned me. He is seeking out others like you…with them…he means to destroy the wards surrounding the prison of the mantle…I have stolen Godsbane…and I have hidden it in W—

  Kellallea? Whill called with his mind. Hidden the sword where? Kellallea!

  No answer was forthcoming, and as the sun crested the horizon, illuminating the heavens and chasing away the stars, Whill was left to wonder.

  Chapter 4

  Dirk stared up at the new palace that Whill had rebuilt in but a day, and he shook his head in amusement. What must it be like to wield such power? he wondered. He also wondered, as he often did, if it was possible for him to suddenly awaken with the powers of the ancient humans. Orrian was young, barely a full-grown man, but that didn’t mean that all humans who awakened to Whill’s power had to be young. Dirk had always been jealous of the power of the elves and dwarves, and he had sought to even the scales. Krentz had helped him in that regard, with her wards and enchanted weapons, and he had known great power while he was a spirit beholden to the timber wolf trinket. With Whill’s power, Dirk would be unstoppable. He would rid the world of every human threat. He would make himself king of not only Uthen-Arden, but all of Agora, and the humans would thrive.

  “Good morning, Dirk,” said Whill, yanking Dirk from his daydreams.

  “Morning,” said Dirk, studying Whill closely. They hadn’t spoken since the battle, for Whill had been busy building his tower—a tower that he had locked the children up in, for fear of Eldarian.

  “Walk with me,” said Whill, leading Dirk to the stairwell that would bring them down to the next level of the city.

  Dirk followed in silence.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Orrian when I was in Del’Oradon?”

  Dirk had known this was coming, and he had prepared accordingly. “I feared what you might do to the lad. For I knew that he could not be brought near you, lest he absorb your godlike power. So, I tried to take him under my wing, tried to steer him in the right direction.”

  “You failed,” said Whill evenly.

  “Indeed,” said Dirk with a small laugh. But then he sobered. “I see now that I should have told you. I should have let you handle it.”

  Whill stopped at the bottom of the stairs on the fourth level landing and squared on Dirk.

  “Eldarian is seeking out others like me.”

  Dirk nodded gravely, expecting as much, for that is what he would do if he were Eldarian.

  “I want you to find them first,” said Whill, surprising Dirk.

  “You want me to find them?”

  “You did it once. Do it again.”

  “And if there are any to be found, what should I do with them?”

  Whill started walking again and turned down the stairs leading to the third level. “You must hide them, for if Eldarian gets ahold of them, they will all absorb the power of the mantle.”

  “Then surely they are too much of a risk to be allowed to live. Wouldn’t it be better to kill the poor bastards?”

  Whill glanced over at him with a furled brow. “You would say something like that, wouldn’t you, Dirk Blackthorn?”

  “Why, because it is practical? If the danger is so great, why not get rid of them?”

  “Because, that would be murder. They have done nothing wrong.”

  “Yet…” said Dirk.

  “Can I depend on you to do this or not?”

  Dirk gave a sigh, but he nodded. “Of course, I owe you a great debt.”

  “You owe me your life,” said Whill.

  Dirk was taken aback by Whill’s candor. “Indeed.”

  “Then save the lives of others. Find those with my power. Shelter them. Keep them safe.”

  “As you wish. But what happens when Eldarian comes after them?”

  “If they do not use their power, I do not think that he will be able to sense them. Imprison them if you must, have Krentz subdue them if need be, but do not let them use their power.”

  They took the stairs all the way to the bottom level of the city and left through the eastern gate. In the distance, the five portals shone in the sunlight.

  Dirk didn’t want to risk traveling through the spirit world and had gotten word to Krentz, through Chief and Aurora, that he was safe, and to meet him in Uthen-Arden. That had been a week ago, a week he had spent with Governor Shepard Smith, and he assumed that Krentz had gotten back home by now.

  Whill touched the portal that would lead to Uthen-Arden and spoke a string of elven words. The portal erupted with a flash of light and hummed steadily. Through the swirling color, Dirk could make out the Agoran landscape beyond.

  “Take this,” said Whill, handing Dirk a small cloudy crystal. “Through it we can communicate. Keep me informed.”

  “I will. Thank you.” Dirk stepped up to the portal, but then glanced back. “Good luck, Whill. And if you see Orrian, give him a shot for me.”

  Whill smiled. “Happy hunting.”

  Dirk stepped through the portal, and in the next moment he stepped onto the green grass of Agora. He turned as the portal was closing. The shimmering image of Whill coalesced with the swirling light and abruptly winked out. But Dirk had seen the look on Whill’s face—he was afraid. But for who? Himself or Dirk?

  Dirk looked south and smiled to see the moon shining down on Del’Oradon. Being that Agora was thousands of miles west of Drindellia, it was still night here, just shortly after midnight if Dirk’s calculations were correct.

  “Fyrfrost! Come to me!”

  Light and mist swirled out of the figurine, and soon Fyrfrost was looming overhead. The dragon blew smoke out of its nose, looking for danger.

  Dirk climbed up onto his back and steered the dragon to Del’Oradon. Five minutes later, the call went up as they approached, and as they had been trained, the soldiers turned the dragon harpoons in his direction. He did not fear being shot at, however, for Fyrfrost was unique and had the feathers of a silver hawk. The dragon was recognizable to everyone in the city.

  He flew over the ramparts to the cheers of his men and steered Fyrfrost to Warcrown Castle. Krentz was waiting for him in the courtyard and rushed over to him as he dismounted and traded Fyrfrost for Chief. The wolf came to form as the two lovers came together in a passionate embrace, and a streaking Chief swirled around them.

  Mary Ellen rushed over and hugged them both. “You two need to be more careful. The guards are already talking,” she warned before kissing Dirk full on the mouth. “I’m glad that you are back and safe, husband.”

  “She has a good point,” said Krentz, backing away from him.

  “Come,” he bade them. “I have much to tell you.”

  They retired to the castle library, and Dirk poured himself a stiff shot of rum. He drank it and poured another before moving to one of the many reading chairs.

  Krentz and Mary Ellen joined him, and Dirk wondered if he should ask his human wife to leave, for what he was about to say was sensitive information. But they had all been open with each other up until now, and he figured there was no point in rocking the boat.

  “Whill has tasked me with finding others like him, others like Orrian,” he said.

  “Then there are others?” said Mary Ellen, looking terribly concerned.

  “There may be,” said Dirk.

  “I gather that he wants to keep them away from Eldarian,” said Krentz.

  Dirk nodded. “Your assumption is correct.”

  Mary Ellen sat back, quite out of her league in the conversation. She looked to Krentz.

  “Does he want them killed?” said Krentz.

  Mary Ellen gasped. “But why would he want such a thing?”

  “They are dangerous,” said
Dirk. “If Eldarian gets ahold of them, he will use them to destroy the wards that Whill has put around the mantle prison.”

  “The excitement never ends with you two, does it?” Mary Ellen clutched her chest, fanning herself.

  Dirk gave a mirthless laugh.

  “I will summon the Magister of Secrets,” said Krentz. “We must put him to the task immediately.”

  “Yes,” said Dirk, “and we must figure out how to hide those we find. That, I will leave to you.”

  Chapter 5

  Ragnar paced outside Roakore’s tent, and the two dwarven guards eyed him with suspicion.

  “What ye be wantin’, human?” said one.

  “I would like to speak with King Roakore.”

  “The king be sleepin’ off a right good drunk. Come back later.”

  “When he wakes, will you tell him that I wish to speak with him?” Ragnar asked.

  “He got right sloppy he did,” said the younger of the two guards. His older counterpart gave him the side-eyed scowl.

  “I heard that,” came the gruff voice of Roakore from inside the tent.

  The younger dwarf straightened, his jovial face dropping and turning a dark shade of red.

  “Uh, ye got a caller,” he said. “Er, Sire.”

  The flap blew open, and a sleepy-eyed Roakore emerged in nothing but trousers. His scarred chest was hairy and chiseled, and his arms were as thick as elm branches.

  “Who’s that? Ragnar? What ye be wantin’?”

  “A word, Sire, that is all.”

  Roakore eyed him with groggy suspicion, then he grumbled and gestured Ragnar inside. The tent could have slept twelve; it had a screened-off sleeping area, a sitting area, and unsurprising to Ragnar, a large bar against the wall. Armor hung on a frame along with Roakore’s mammoth axe, dozens of hatchets, daggers, and the legendary stone bird.

  “What ye want?” said Roakore, scratching his backside and moving over to the bar. “We be leavin’ shortly for Velk’Har, and I ain’t got no time to dillydally.”

  “Then I will get to the point,” said Ragnar. He noticed that he was fumbling with his helm, and smartly tucked it under his arm. “I would like to accompany you and help to take back the mountain.”

  Roakore had just taken a shot of whiskey, and he spit it out suddenly. “Come with us? Why would ye care ‘bout seein’ the mountain taken back?”

  “Sire—”

  “I ain’t yer sire. Call me King Roakore.”

  “King Roakore, I have a vested interest in seeing the mountain taken back. I…I owe it to my ancestors.”

  Roakore fumed. His nostrils flared, and Ragnar thought the king might just punch him in the face.

  “This again, eh?” said Roakore. “Now ye listen, and ye listen good. Yer people ain’t part dwarf, ye hear?”

  “But I have the power of the dwarves, I have the power of the blessed.”

  “Enough!” Roakore bellowed.

  “Please, just hear me out.”

  “Go on!” Roakore yelled. “Get yerself out o’ here. Ye be a captain o’ Rhuniston, right? Well, go and captain for yer own people.”

  “You are my people.”

  Roakore stalked over to Ragnar slowly and stared up at the man with murder in his eyes. “Now ye listen. I ain’t for knowin’ where ye got yer powers, and I ain’t for carin’. Now get yer arse—”

  “Roakore? Who ye be talkin’ to?” came a voice from behind the curtain.

  Queen Arrianna emerged wearing a robe tied around her large bosom, and she looked Ragnar over. “Ah, the human who thinks he be a dwarf. Now yer yellin’ be makin’ sense.”

  “He’s just leavin’,” said Roakore.

  “No, I think he should stay.”

  “What?” Roakore turned to regard her with confusion.

  “Let him tell ye his story. Ye can’t keep avoidin’ this.”

  Roakore was taken aback. “Avoidin’…I ain’t avoidin’ nothin’. The lad be crazy is all.”

  “I’m not crazy, good king. Please, let me explain.”

  “Tell us yer story,” said Arrianna. “But do it quickly. Roakore is grumpy when all he be havin’ for breakfast be whiskey.” She took the glass from her husband’s hand and, to his shock, replaced it with an apple.

  “Well, it all began long ago, in the shadow of the Elgar Mountains…” Ragnar began.

  When Ragnar finished telling the tale of the dwarven princess who fell in love with his ancestor, Arrianna was wiping her eyes, and Roakore was standing motionless by the bar, staring at the wall.

  “So that be what happened to the lost princess o’ Helgar,” said the dwarf king.

  “You believe me?” said Ragnar with growing hope.

  “Aye,” said Roakore, head bowed. “I believed it even when I didn’t believe it. There’ve been rumors ‘bout half-dwarf hill men west o’ the Helgar Mountains for a long time now. But I thought if it were true that they was half dwarf…I thought it must o’ been rape what mixed our races.”

  “They loved each other,” said Arrianna, her eyes wet and bright. “She died o’ a broken heart.”

  “So says one man,” said Roakore with a stubborn hint of suspicion.

  “I swear on the gods that it is true,” said Ragnar. “As well as I know anyway. But I doubt my grandfathers lied to their sons. We ain’t that kind of people.”

  “He be blessed with the power to move stone,” said Arrianna. “And look at the lad; he looks more like a dwarf than any man I ever done seen. He just be taller.”

  “Aye,” said Roakore. “Fine, fine. If ye be wantin’ to help take back the mountain, then ye be welcome to come with us.”

  “Thank you, King Roakore.” Ragnar beamed at him. “I will serve our people well.”

  “What did he say?” Raene asked Ragnar a short time later as he was walking back to her tent.

  He hid the truth and kept a steely façade, not saying a word.

  “Was it that bad?” she asked, cringing.

  Ragnar couldn’t help himself. His eyes teared, and a wide smile suddenly took over his face. “He listened to my story, and he believed me. He believed me, Raene! And he said that I could join the dwarves in the fight to take back the mountain.”

  Raene let out a surprised cry and wrapped her arms around Ragnar and kissed him on the cheek. Ragnar was taken aback, and he felt heat redden his ears. Raene looked around, horrified, and abruptly pushed him away.

  “That be swell then, ain’t it,” she said, trying to regain her composure.

  Ragnar couldn’t help but grin, despite the curious dwarves around giving them the stink-eye.

  “It be swell alright,” he said, looking right at the eavesdropping dwarves. “Now, let’s take us back a mountain!”

  Chapter 6

  Azzeal found Zerafin waiting for him at the top of one of the defense towers outside of New Cerushia, looking north. Beside him, Zorriaz stood perched upon the crystal ramparts.

  “You wanted to see me?” said Azzeal. He spoke softly, not wanting to startle his meditative king.

  Zerafin had indeed been in deep pondering, for he jerked with surprise, if ever so slightly. “Ah, yes. Thank you for coming, Azzeal. Please, join me.”

  Azzeal strode forth and stood beside his friend. “What are we looking at?”

  “Our kingdom,” said Zerafin, eyes gazing far and wide. “I need your help in securing it.”

  “Anything for you, of course.”

  “I need you to go with Zorriaz and seek out the dragons. You must speak with Zalenlia the Gold. Tell her what has happened. Tell her everything. The dragons need to know.”

  “And after I tell her?”

  “Ask for her assistance in ridding Drindellia of the drekkon. This land is now the home of the humans, dwarves, and dragons as well, and we should fight for it together.”

  “I will do what I can,” said Azzeal. “But…well, Zalenlia is a peaceful soul. I doubt that she will want another war.”

  Zerafin turned to him
. There was a fire in his eyes. “Whether she wants a war or not, the drekkon will eventually bring one to her. Better now to smash the egg, rather than wait for the beast inside to grow. The dragons hate the draggard as much or more than the dwarves. You don’t have to convince the queen, so much as you must convince the dragons. She is peaceful, yes, but she is also not a tyrant. She will listen to the wishes of her kind.”

  Azzeal offered Zerafin a bow and began to mount Zorriaz, but then he stopped and turned. “Zerafin?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you sure this is the only way? If peace can be attained, shouldn’t we—”

  “I will make no peace with Eadon’s creations,” said Zerafin. “Ride swiftly, Azzeal. And do not return until you have a terror of dragons with you.”

  Azzeal bowed again, and sorrow filled his heart. “As you wish, my king. As you wish.”

  “What do you think Zalenlia will say?” Azzeal asked Zorriaz as they flew west.

  “I don’t know her well,” said the dragon. “But as you say, she is peaceful. She is a healer. She will not want to make war.”

  “Do you see another way?” he asked.

  She was silent for a long while. “I do not know,” she said at length. “The wounds that Eadon inflicted on your kind run deep, and I fear that Zerafin will never forgive.”

  “It is a hard situation,” said Azzeal. “The drekkon are not natural creatures to this world, it is true, but they are people…well, thinking and feeling beings anyway.”

  “You have compassion for them?” Zorriaz mused.

  “I try to have compassion for all things.”

  They flew for a time in silence, and Azzeal asked—rather than steered—Zorriaz to go west suddenly, saying that he wanted to say goodbye to Raene and Ragnar before they left.

  Not wanting to rile the dwarves, Zorriaz landed a few hundred yards away from the long, snaking procession moving south toward the Velk’Har Mountains. Azzeal leapt into the air, sprouting his long golden wings, and flew over to the group. He soon found Raene and Ragnar and landed as they rushed over to him.