A Crown Of War (Book 4) Read online

  Whill of Agora

  Book 4

  A Crown of War

  Michael James Ploof

  Table of Contents

  Other Books by Michael James Ploof

  Dedication

  Clarification:

  Chapter One

  I Have Seen Your Heart

  Chapter Two

  A Prison for the Mind

  Chapter Three

  Spirit-Elf

  Chapter Four

  The Coming Storm

  Chapter Five

  Taming the Dogs

  Chapter Six

  Infinite Consciousness

  Chapter Seven

  Winterstar

  Chapter Eight

  Wolves at the Door

  Chapter Nine

  Kellallea’s Offer

  Chapter Ten

  Veolindra

  Chapter Eleven

  General Mick Reeves

  Chapter Twelve

  The Fall of Cerushia

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Lost Gate of Arkron

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Way Out

  Chapter Fifteen

  Trouble on the Road

  Chapter Sixteen

  Open Waters

  Chapter Seventeen

  Revelations

  Chapter Eighteen

  Warcrown

  Chapter Nineteen

  Say My Name

  Chapter Twenty

  To the Ky’Dren Pass

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Two Brothers and the Elven Blade

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Elven Stones and Dwarf Kings

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Dark Places

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Adimorda’s Vision

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The Eastern Door

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The Way of the Peaceful Monk

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Taken

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The Fate of a Friend

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The Pass

  Chapter Thirty

  Captives

  Chapter Thirty-one

  We Go to War

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Sea of Shields

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Deeds of Legend

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Prisoners

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The Lich Lord

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Reunion

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Judgment

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Ancient One

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  The Western Door

  Chapter Forty

  Green Wood

  Chapter Forty-one

  Teera

  Chapter Forty-two

  The Only Way

  Chapter Forty-three

  Felspire

  Chapter Forty-four

  The Reckoning

  Chapter Forty-five

  The Taking

  Chapter Forty-six

  A New World

  Chapter Forty-seven

  The End of a Long Road

  The End

  Sample Chapter

  The Windwalker Archive

  Click to buy!

  Copyright © 2014 Michael James Ploof

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1497399017

  Other Books by Michael James Ploof

  The Windwalker Archive

  Book 1

  Talon

  Whill of Agora

  A Quest of Kings

  A Song of Swords

  A Crown of War

  The Sock Gnome Chronicles

  Billy Coatbutton and the Wheel of Destiny

  Billy Coatbutton and the Ring of Sockchild

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Paul Fiacco, the first wizard I ever met.

  Clarification:

  As stated in Whill of Agora: Book 1, elves name their blades the opposite of themselves. Hence, Zerafin’s blade is Nifarez. Other examples include: Aramonis−Sinomara, Avriel−Leirva, and Eadon−Nodae. In particular, some confusion has been expressed regarding the name of Adimorda’s blade, Adromida. Though obviously similar, it is not a typo or mistake.

  A Crown of War

  Do the bards sing of a hero’s fears?

  A hero’s scars?

  A hero’s tears?

  Chapter One

  I Have Seen Your Heart

  Aurora walked with Zander out of the tent and into the bitter wind. Fat snowflakes whirled in the afternoon light, and the clouds above glowed in stark contrast to the dark storm around the rift.

  “Your army waits,” said Zander, indicating the rift beyond the tents of the armies of the Seven Tribes.

  Aurora’s reply was lost as she gazed upon Azzeal. A thin fog surrounded him as the snow was singed by his energy shield. “You will die before you join Eadon?” The accusation in his voice ripped through her.

  “Decide now! Shall you die with your honor intact, or will you become yet another of Eadon’s puppets?” Azzeal screamed as he began to glow.

  “You offer me only death!” she cried.

  Zander stepped past her to face Azzeal. He regarded his sun elf cousin with disdain. “When you strike my enemy, my strength shall guide thy hand.”

  Aurora knew the words that he spoke, for Eadon had said such a thing as they sealed their deal with flesh.

  When you strike my enemy, my strength shall guide thy hand. The promise came to her again.

  The fourteen elves that had disguised themselves as spirit animals stepped forth out of the swirling snow to stand next to Azzeal.

  “You are clearly outnumbered, dark elf. Surrender, and we may find an excuse to let you yet breathe,” Azzeal snarled.

  Zander laughed in Azzeal’s face. “To the rift!” he bellowed in Elvish.

  There was a sudden rumbling that shook the ground. Far beyond the army of the Seven, the rift crackled and buzzed with lightning. The winds picked up, and, soon, a blizzard surrounded the encampment. Before any of the elves could retaliate, Zander had turned to shadow and swirled to the ear of Aurora.

  “The Draggard horde pours forth, m’lady. What will it be? Do you mean to send your tribesmen to their deaths against us in the name of honor? Or, will you join our ranks and storm the beaches of Agora with a mighty army at your back?” Zander whispered.

  Azzeal awaited her reply with a hard-set chin.

  “Bring me to the front line so that I might calm my armies,” said Aurora.

  As she was whisked away by Zander’s spell, the face of Azzeal−the face of the betrayed−stared after her with tear-filled eyes.

  At the base of the storming rift, the barbarian armies prepared for the imminent attack. Aurora stood before her legions and raised her arms to the sky. With Zander’s help, her voice rang out loud and clear.

  “Hold!” she said with authority.

  The thousands of barbarians stirred, and many complaints found her ears. Behind her, the hulking form of a dwargon came through the rift. Alarms and calls to arms rose up above the tumult as a host of Draggard and dark elves followed.

  Aurora could not believe that the beasts were now her allies, but once again the power of Eadon coursed through her. Her decision had been made, and it had been rewarded.

  “The dark elves and their hordes are our allies!” she told her people.

  “Allies?!” a barbarian cried, and many angered voices rose up.

  “These beasts have been a scourge upon our lands for decades!” yelled another.

  Aurora yelled over them. “It is true, we have had ou
r differences. But a deal has been stuck. They would have ravaged Volnoss, leaving none alive, had it not been for me. With the dark elves as allies, we shall know the glory of the past. We will retake our homelands of old, and once again we shall know honor!”

  “There is no honor in this!” yelled Winterwind, Chief of Eagle Tribe. “These beasts are an abomination!”

  “You would rather we die defending this frozen rock?” asked Aurora.

  “I will fight before I join with the dark elves,” Winterwind proclaimed.

  “Do you challenge my authority as Chieftain of the Seven?” Aurora asked. Behind her hundreds of Draggard had filed out of the rift and fanned out wide. Many dark elves came to stand by her and Zander.

  Winterwind answered her with a war cry and charged across the frozen ground. Aurora met the charge with a cry of her own and sped to meet him. Eadon’s words played in her mind as Winterwind raised his massive war hammer and came on fast.

  “When you strike my enemy, my strength shall guide thy hand.”

  The dark elf’s power coursed through her, lending her speed and power. She thumbed a gem upon the Dragonlance of Ashai, and the blade extended to ten feet with a shriek. The tip shot forth in a blur of enchanted steel and impaled Winterwind through the neck. His body convulsed as Aurora heaved him high at the end of her lance and threw him through the air to land at the feet of the dark elves.

  With three sharp clicks her lance retracted into the shaft. Aurora stalked toward the barbarian line and eyed each chief in turn. “I ask one more time: who here would challenge my authority?”

  “I would!” A voice rang out, and the barbarians parted for the speaker. Aurora recognized the voice, and her heart broke as Azzeal and his elves, now in their true form, walked toward her.

  Aurora shook her head and trained the lance on Azzeal’s chest, her thumb hovering above a gem. The elf paid the threat no mind and was soon standing before her. He offered her a sympathetic smile. Zander came to stand beside her. She could sense the other dark elves at her back.

  “You can still do the right thing,” Azzeal begged her.

  “Kill him,” said Zander in her ear.

  “Be gone from here, sun elf. There is not but death for you now,” Aurora bade him with a whisper. “You offer me only death,” she reminded him.

  “I offer you honorable death: freedom of your soul!” Azzeal erupted. Behind him, the fourteen druids unsheathed their curved blades in unison; the drawn swords of the dark elves at Aurora’s back rang out in answer.

  A tear found Aurora’s cheek as Azzeal’s voice came to her. I have seen into your heart Aurora Snowfell; you are a good person. You cannot do this.

  Zander stared at her from the right. The dark elf had taken a step back. “Defy thy master’s will, and you shall share his enemies’ fate. The barbarian warriors will be slaughtered, the women will be ravaged by Draggard, and your children will be their food.”

  Eadon’s words echoed in her mind. When you strike my enemy, my strength shall guide thy hand.

  Coward at your back, the voice whispered from her dreams.

  “Choose,” said Azzeal.

  As the single tear fell from her face, Aurora made her choice. Power coursed through her body and into the Dragonlance of Ashai as it shot forth into the energy shield and sank in Azzeal’s chest. Chaos erupted as Zander and his dark elves engaged the Elves of the Sun. Time slowed for Aurora as Azzeal’s dying gaze locked her in a stare. Spells erupted around them, and the clamor of blades rang out; Azzeal’s blade fell to the frozen earth as his power was leached from him by the Dragonlance. His face became taut and his eyes bulged as his strangled voice uttered words that would haunt her forever. “I have seen…your…heart.”

  “Be still!” A voice boomed, and the world became silent.

  Everyone froze. Aurora turned to gaze upon the portal. There, floating at its center, was Eadon. In an instant, he was before her.

  “You have chosen well my Lady of the North,” said Eadon with a lingering grin. He turned to the Elves of the Sun and extended a hand. They cried out and withered to ash. Their essence was pulled forth into Eadon’s clenched fist and absorbed. Aurora retracted her Dragonlance, horrified at what she had done. Azzeal fell dead to the ground. The barbarians watched silently as Eadon stalked the line taking a measure of the armies. Their shoulders, once proud and strong, now hung down as they cowered before the dark elf’s power.

  “Stand tall barbarians of Volnoss!” he cried. “Chieftain Snowfell has secured your place in the New Agora.”

  Behind him, the rift churned and lightning lashed out from all sides. The Draggard army had reached the thousands. Overhead, scores of draquon circled, swirling like a gathering whirlwind, and sending phantom shadows swimming across the frozen landscape. The ground shook with the heavy steps of lumbering dwargon as they approached with dark elf riders saddled on their hunched backs.

  “Kneel before me now, and prove your allegiance!” Eadon bellowed. The barbarians began to comply, and soon only a handful of brave souls remained standing. Eadon studied the two dozen barbarian warriors, men and women alike, and his gaze fell to Aurora. She straightened under that stare, her heart hammering all the while.

  Eadon reached toward the standing barbarians, and they were pulled to him by an unseen force.

  “Chieftain Snowfell, what do you suggest we do with these…traitors?” he asked.

  Aurora considered them as she walked the line. One of the women spat in her face, but quickly regretted it. She was lifted by Eadon’s mental grip, and tossed high into the churning mass of draquon. Soon her blood and torn body were raining down upon the crowd.

  “The tribes of Volnoss have no place for those that would not help us thrive. If you are not our allies, you are our enemies,” said Aurora. “Zander!”

  “Chieftain?” he smiled.

  “Dispose of them.”

  “As you wish,” he said and turned to the group. He arched his back and tensed as his many gems and crystals began to glow. He threw out his right hand and blue lightning snaked forth and engulfed them all. After half a minute of thrashing and screaming, the barbarians lay dead and smoldering.

  Aurora watched her kin die and felt nothing. Whatever goodness Azzeal had seen in her had died with him. Her choice had been made; there was no turning back now. She would lead her barbarians and the hideous hordes of Draggard in an attack on Agora, and reclaim the ancient lands and the mountains of the north.

  Eadon followed her gaze to the crumpled form of Azzeal. He walked to the elf and turned the body over with his boot. With an outstretched hand over the corpse, Eadon began to chant in a hissing language unknown to her. Azzeal’s body lurched and convulsed and rose into the air. A lightning bolt crashed through the snowstorm and slammed into the body. A strangled cry issued forth from Azzeal, and Eadon grinned at Aurora.

  “Rise, Azzeal of Drindellia. I yet have use for you,” said Eadon as Azzeal descended to the ground and stood weakly. His eyes were milky white. Aurora recognized nothing of the elf she had known in them.

  “The undead elf will lead you to the southern coast; there you will find the waters frozen to the Shierdon shores. Near Orenden, you shall join forces with the armies of Shierdon, and reclaim your lands.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Aurora with a bow.

  Eadon turned with a jerk, alert to something. Aurora recognized surprise in his face. He leapt from the ground and flew like an arrow toward the rift, but before he could reach it, there was a deafening explosion and the rift winked out of existence.

  Chapter Two

  A Prison for the Mind

  The Other peered out over the ash-covered land and shuddered as the power of Adromida coursed through him. He sheathed the ancient blade and turned to his army. He had done what Whill would not; he had destroyed the entire Draggard force. The elves and dwarves stared at the destruction, dumbfounded. The horde that once stretched for miles was gone, as were the monolithic crystals, and, mor
e importantly, the rifts.

  The dwarves burst into cheers, and the elves quickly joined in the celebration. But, soon the cheering subsided and the reality of the situation set in, and they found themselves trapped somewhere in Drindellia. They knew that thousands of miles away and across the sea, the dark elf armies wreaked havoc.

  “Ye did it, lad, you destroyed ’em all,” said Roakore, as he came to stand next to Whill.

  “It is good to see you again, Roakore.”

  Roakore eyed him oddly and noticed the cuts and scars, the bloody nose and eyes.

  “Yer hurt a bit, lad,” he said, looking uncharacteristically concerned.

  The Other shrugged. “From the blast. It shall pass.”

  Avriel and Zerafin approached and gazed out over the destruction. Avriel noticed the Other but said nothing. If Zerafin recognized a change in Whill, he did well to hide it.

  “The rifts have been destroyed; we are trapped here,” said Zerafin.

  Roakore beheld the smoldering battlefield as if for the first time. He had been so caught up in the victory he missed the ramifications of the rifts being destroyed. .

  “We be trapped?” he yelled, looking around frantically. "And thousands o’ miles away?”

  Roakore grabbed the Other by the armor and gave him a shake. “Open it back up. The rifts, they be leading to the Dwarf Mountains, I tell ye. We gots to be gettin’ home!”

  The Other swung his arms up, loosening himself from the distraught dwarf.

  “Calm yourself! We will find a way,” he said.

  “Across the sea be the only way. Ye plan on buildin’ us a magic boat?” Roakore huffed.

  “Upon the castle grounds of Del’Oradon is a tomb. Within lies one of Arkron’s lost gates, which leads here,” said the Other.

  Roakore squared on him once again. “And this be a chunk o’ land how big? Nearly five times the size o’ Agora!”