The Warcrown Legacy

by Michael James Ploof

  Chapter 10

  “How do you feel?” Lyrian asked.

  Whill thought about the question as he stared out over the pond. A tall willow tree with purple flowers leaned over the water’s edge. In its reflection, scattered petals floated placidly.

  “I feel...I feel good.”

  “And the darkness?”

  “It is a whisper compared to what it used to be. But I can no longer feel Lunara. Neither her pain nor her power.”

  “And you say that this blade…it can kill a god?”

  Whill glanced at Lyrian, searching his eyes. Lyrian searched back.

  “Godsbane was forged by the Lord of Light,” said Whill. “With it, Eldarian defeated the Lord of Darkness and Death many eons ago.”

  The Morenka monk shook his head. “It is hard to comprehend, for I have never been a religious person. To think that the gods exist…”

  “What is a god?” said Whill. “Who are these beings who create worlds, only to destroy them? I have spoken to them, but they have never answered. Some say that I was sent by the gods, that I have their favor, but I do not feel connected to the gods, even when wielding their power. Even now, with the power of light burning within me, I know that what I can wield is but a fraction of the true power.”

  “And Eldarian? Does he wield the true power?”

  “No,” said Whill. “Eldarian is a shadow of the mantle, nothing more.”

  “Do you intend to kill him?”

  “He wants to end the world so that he might be a lord of the new one…yeah, I intend to kill him.”

  Lyrian nodded. He did not offer another way. He did not ask Whill if he thought there was another way. He simply nodded.

  “And Kellallea?”

  “She came to me, spoke to my mind.”

  Lyrian raised a brow. “What did she say?”

  “That Eldarian was out of control. That he was seeking other humans like me. She told me that she had hidden Godsbane from him, but she could not say where.”

  “Would not or could not?”

  “I feel like she was interrupted. The word she was trying to say began with a W. I have looked at many maps of Drindellia, and there are surprisingly few places that begin with W. Only two, to be exact. Wesserly Outpost, and Wayvern to the south.”

  “Yes,” said Lyrian, rubbing his chin in thought. “I know of both places. Wesserly Outpost is on Aerros Island. It is in ruins now, of course, but it once housed the largest crystal starscope in Drindellia. With it, our people were able to chart the stars with much more accuracy.”

  Whill looked up and smiled, for with his new power he could see the stars even now in the bright blue sky.

  “The other place, Wayvern, is in the south, as you say, on the largest of the Broken Islands. It was a paradise, Wayvern, with turquoise waters and white sandy beaches. One of the largest pyramids was there as well, though I do not know if it survived Eadon and his hordes. Do you intend to search these places?”

  “I do, but I am loath to leave Avriel and the children.”

  Lyrian nodded. “You are afraid.”

  “You aren’t going to give me a speech about how I should not worry about my loved ones, are you?”

  Lyrian studied him, and Whill realized that what he said could have been taken as a slight. “No, I was not about to give you a speech. I was going to offer my support and watch over them while you are gone.”

  “Oh…well thank you,” said Whill. “That would set my mind at ease a great deal.”

  “You are welcome,” Lyrian said with a smile that showed his perfect teeth.

  “By helping me, does that mean that you think I should seek out this blade? You think I should kill Eldarian?”

  “I think that you will do what you will do regardless of what I say about it.”

  “I’m curious, though,” said Whill. “What would you do if you were me?”

  “If I was you,” said Lyrian with a wry grin, “I would be you, therefore I would do what you would do.”

  “I didn’t know Morenka were smart asses,” said Whill with a laugh.

  “Oh yes, we cherish sarcasm, though it is said that sarcasm is anger’s little brother.”

  “Who says that?”

  Lyrian shrugged. “People.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that you’re pulling my leg?”

  Lyrian glanced at Whill’s leg, looking truly perplexed. “I have not touched your leg.”

  Whill guffawed. “It’s a saying.”

  “Really? Who says that?”

  Whill shrugged. “People.”

  They shared a laugh, and at length Lyrian sighed and put a hand upon Whill’s shoulder.

  “If I were you, my friend, I would probably do the right thing.”

  Whill looked to him, realizing what a great compliment it was. “Thank you, Lyrian. You have been a good friend.”

  “Have I?” said the elf, sitting up a little straighter and smiling.

  “Yes, you have. Possessing this…this power,” said Whill, staring at his hands and seeing with mind sight the brilliant light emanating from them. “It is lonely. I feel…Well, I don’t mean to sound like I’m full of myself, but I often feel like I have no peers. But with you, with the Watcher, I feel as though I am not above someone. I mean, not that I put myself above people, but they hold me in such high esteem. Most of them anyway.”

  “Do you feel disconnected from Avriel as well? Do you feel disconnected from your children?”

  Whill felt a lump form in his throat. He nodded, unable to speak. Lyrian gave him time.

  “I am afraid for my children,” Whill admitted shakily. “If they someday awaken to my power, to the ancient power of the humans…I should have never attained the power of a god. That isn’t how it was supposed to happen. Now I cannot be around others with my gift, for this power cannot fall into the hands of so many; it would be anarchy.”

  “You fear the power of your own people?”

  “Don’t you? Look at what Eadon did. Look at what Zander did. Sometimes I think that we would all be better off with no magic at all. It’s like…it’s like a child with a magic relic. Nothing good will come of it, because the child has gained power without wisdom. Does that make sense?”

  “It does, and your sentiments have been shared by philosophers throughout time…and also Kellallea.”

  “Indeed,” said Whill. “Now I understand the first taking of power.”

  “As do I.”

  “Lyrian…” said Whill, not knowing if he should express what he was thinking.

  “You wonder if I think you should do the same thing as she?” Lyrian asked.

  “How did you know?”

  “Because I wonder it as well.”

  “And?”

  “And I do not know. Our power is said to have been given to us by the gods, but why? Why would they think that they had to protect their created races from one another? I believe it is because the gods are violent. I believe that perhaps it is they who are like the child with a magic relic, and even in their eternal lives, they have not gained wisdom, for how could they? They do not live as mortals do. They have never been challenged.”

  Whill looked to Lyrian, wondering if he meant for Whill to challenge the gods.

  Lyrian glanced at him and shook his head. “No, I do not think you should challenge the gods.”

  “Okay, now you are reading my mind,” said Whill.

  “I assume that others have told you about projecting thoughts?”

  “Really? I was doing that?”

  “No,” said Lyrian with a smirk. “I am just clever, that is all.”

  “I think I like the serious Lyrian more in times like these,” said Whill.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just…your power, and being beside you…I can feel it emanating from you, and it makes my heart soar. I believe that I have become…what is the word, giddy?”

  Whill laughed. “I suppose that is the word.”

  “And you,” said Lyrian. “How
can you even contain it? I look at you, and you seem to have changed little.”

  “I don’t know. I guess that I have always held my own power at arm’s length. I don’t want to lose myself. I don’t want to forget who I am.”

  “That is probably a good idea.”

  Chapter 11

  “What does the wind tell you, Magister?” Dirk asked as he sat beside the fire with Larson Donarron.

  The man eyed his whiskey with skepticism.

  “This is supposed to be Isladonian eighteen-year?” he said, sniffing the amber liquid as though it were foul.

  “I doubt it, but they have been through hell,” Dirk replied. “I don’t mind paying eighteen-year prices for last summer’s swill if it means helping our neighbors. Tell me, what information do you have for me?”

  The magister put the drink aside as though it contained a bug. He crossed his arms in the many folds of his crimson robes and leveled his knowing gaze on Dirk.

  “There are rumors of a young man in Isladon. But they are only thirdhand accounts at best. There is also another rumor, of a young woman in Shoreshell with one arm. People say that she had the power of the dwarves. But she recently disappeared. The same night, her father was killed by elven magic.”

  “How do they know it was elven magic?” said Dirk.

  Larson shrugged. “He was impaled on a glowing sword, and his burning body was thrown into the ocean like it weighed no more than a feather. Sounds like elf magic to me.”

  Orrian, Dirk thought. “What did the attacker look like?”

  “Some accounts say that he was tall, wreathed in shadow. Others say that there were two of them. Still others say that he was a young human with black eyes, and he cried during the entire attack. Who is to say what is true? Humans cannot be trusted to recount useful information during times of stress.”

  “It must have been Orrian,” said Dirk. “That means that Eldarian has at least two of them now.”

  “Yes, and what is to stop Eldarian from taking those that you find?”

  “There is a secure room below the castle.”

  “You mean a prison?”

  “Call it what you want. These humans are dangerous. I see no way to keep them from Eldarian aside from killing them.”

  “And having this…room below the castle,” said Larson. “If Eldarian does come after them, you will be putting the city in danger.”

  “I agree,” said Dirk. “But it has already been fortified with Krentz’s wards. Tell me more about this young man in Isladon.”

  “They say that he singlehandedly defeated the undead and killed many draggard as well. Some even say that he killed a dark elf. But even the residents of Pearlton—what is left of them anyway—say that he is like a ghost, haunting the woods around the city and keeping evil at bay.”

  “Well, it’s our only lead,” said Dirk. “We’ve got to check it out. With any luck, we can get to him before Eldarian does…”

  Dirk and Krentz left shortly after the meeting. The flight took Fyrfrost the better part of a day, and by the time they landed in Pearlton, the sun had set. Despite having been ravaged by war, the city was bright and the citizens were rebuilding. The royal family had been completely wiped out during the wars, and in their absence many powerful lords and military leaders had stepped up and tried to take control of the kingdom, shattered as it was. But the Isladonian military had taken control in the end, for the people were tired of fighting.

  Now the kingdom was under the rule of High Commander Marsden Jarrex. Dirk had met with the high commander a few times a month, and the two had built a strong relationship. In him, Dirk saw a competent leader, fierce warrior, and passionate patriot. He truly wanted what was best for his people, and he thought it best for them that he should rule.

  Dirk did not disagree, for the man was well liked; indeed, he was a legend to the people of Isladon. What the two men did not agree on was what Marsden’s title and position should be. The commander thought that the royal tradition should continue, and that he should be made king. But Dirk was urging a government by the people, like Whill had created in Uthen-Arden. His reasoning was strategic of course. Dirk already controlled the most powerful country in Agora, and he would one day inherit Eldalon, he was sure of that. Which left only Shierdon to the north, and Isladon to the west. And if there was a king in Isladon, it would be that much harder for Dirk to take it over from a ruling family.

  Jarrex would bend to Dirk’s will eventually, for without Uthen-Arden’s trade, Isladon would starve. Of course, eventually the country would become self-sufficient once more, but Dirk intended on taking control long before that happened.

  “They have made great strides since last we were here,” said Krentz as Dirk dismissed Fyrfrost and called forth Chief.

  “Yes, it is good to see.”

  Dirk noted that many new buildings had gone up in the three weeks since last they visited, and the battlements around the city had been repaired—thanks to the dwarven smiths and their innate ability to move and manipulate stone. The elves had helped as well, as they had throughout Agora. And so large fields of wheat, corn, and grain surrounded the city to the north, far away from the salty air. The harbor had been repaired as well, and already a new fishing fleet was working the waters.

  Dirk and Krentz were easily recognized at the gate, and a city guard led them to the thick but stout tower to the south, overlooking the bay. High Commander Jarrex was in his study and welcomed them in immediately.

  “Ah, Dirk and Krentz,” he said when the guard informed him of their arrival. “It is good to see you. Please, come in, come in.”

  “High Commander,” said Krentz with a nod of respect.

  Marsden took her hand and kissed it before firmly shaking Dirk’s.

  “Hello Marsden,” said Dirk.

  “Can I offer you a drink?”

  “Whatever you’re drinking will do for me,” said Dirk.

  “Just water,” said Krentz.

  Marsden cocked a brow at her request and glanced to her stomach knowingly. Dirk knew why; Krentz always requested wine, for she enjoyed immensely the Isladonian white, and for her to order water was quite out of character. But Marsden said nothing of it, and instead poured the drinks and led them to the balcony overlooking the bay.

  “So, what brings you to Pearlton?” he asked. But then his face brightened. “Oh, where are my manners? You are now a married man. Congratulations. I wish that I could have attended, but my demands are such that I could not. How is Queen Mary Ellen?”

  “She is good, thank you,” said Dirk. “And I understand why you couldn’t make it. None to worry, I know what it is like trying to rule a kingdom in shambles.”

  “Well, cheers to you both,” said Marsden, and he clanked glasses with Dirk.

  “Thank you,” said Dirk. He could see Krentz shifting in her chair uneasily, and he did not doubt that Marsden saw it as well. The man was very perceptive. “High Commander, I have come to Isladon not as the governor of Uthen-Arden, but as the right hand of Whill of Agora.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, and I will get to the point, for there is precious little time to waste. Whill has tasked me with seeking out others like him, others with the ancient power of man.”

  “There are others like Whill?” said Marsden, and Dirk watched him closely.

  “I had hoped that you were already aware of this, for they say that such a man haunts the forests around your city. Surely if the rumors are true, you would have heard about him.”

  “Indeed, it seems that I would have heard of such a mysterious hero.” The man laughed jubilantly and shook his head. “But alas, I have heard of no one like the man you speak of. But tell me, what does Whill want with these people? Does he intend to train them in the ancient human arts? Or does he fear them?”

  Odd thing to ask, Krentz said telepathically. Shouldn’t he be more concerned with these rumors than Whill’s intentions?

  I was thinking the same thing, said Dirk.
>
  “Are you sure that you know nothing about this man?” said Krentz.

  “If such a man existed, trust me, I would know,” said Marsden, his face steely and his eyes steady.

  “You asked what Whill’s intentions are,” said Dirk. “And I will tell you that he wants only to keep these gifted humans safe. Krentz and I intend to search the city and surrounding area for this man, and if indeed he exists, we will find him. But valuable time will be lost in the search. If you think that you are protecting someone, trust me, you are not. Only Whill can protect those poor souls from what hunts them.”

  A small bead of sweat formed in the high commander’s widow’s peak, though the air was mild and a cool breeze was coming in from the coast. He said nothing immediately, but pondered and drank the rest of his rum.

  “I like to think that we all know each other well,” Marsden said at length. “I feel even that we are genuine friends. But now you accuse me of lying to your face, and about something as important as this. I must say, Dirk, that I am taken aback.”

  He knows something, said Krentz.

  “I do not mean to offend,” said Dirk.

  “Well, it is offensive,” said Marsden with sudden anger. “I am a soldier of Isladon, good sir. And my word is my bond.”

  “I apologize. You must understand my concern,” said Dirk.

  Marsden nodded gravely. “I do. But know that I would never keep something like this from you. If indeed there are others like Whill, then they need to be kept safe. But I am not all-knowing. There very well could be someone like the man you have described haunting the woods. For if they have the power of the elves, then surely they could hide themselves from the prying eyes of non-magical humans. Please, search the city, search the forests and farms. If such a person exists, then it is worth investigating further.”

  “Thank you, Marsden. I believe that we will do just that.”

  Dirk and Krentz left the man staring into his glass and headed out of the building and into the foggy night.

  “He’s lying,” said Krentz as they left the tower and began their search of the city.