Whill of Agora: Book 03 - A Song of Swords Read online

  Whill of Agora

  Book 3

  A Song of Swords

  Michael James Ploof

  Copyright © 2013 Michael James Ploof

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1492214981

  Other Books by Michael James Ploof

  Legends of Agora Series

  Whill of Agora

  A Quest of Kings

  The Sock Gnome Chronicles

  Billy Coatbutton and the Wheel of Destiny

  Billy Coatbutton and the Ring of Sockchild

  This book is dedicated to you, the reader.

  Thank you for following Whill this far.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Elladrindellia at Long Last

  Chapter 2

  Black Rum and Pipe Smoke

  Chapter 3

  The Crystal Palace

  Chapter 4

  Training Begins

  Chapter 5

  A Dark Road

  Chapter 6

  The Cost of Fealty

  Chapter 7

  The First King of Elladrindellia

  Chapter 8

  Chief

  Chapter 9

  Inner Vision

  Chapter 10

  The Road to Elladrindellia

  Chapter 11

  Frostmore

  Chapter 12

  The Test of the Masters

  Chapter 13

  The Hunter and the Hunted

  Chapter 14

  The Elven Guide

  Chapter 15

  Bandits on the Road

  Chapter 16

  The Dragonlance of Ashai

  Chapter 17

  The Other

  Chapter 18

  Heldensvargen

  Chapter 19

  Dwarves at Sea

  Chapter 20

  The Greatest Enemy is Thy Self

  Chapter 21

  Through the Ky’Dren Pass

  Chapter 22

  Secrets

  Chapter 23

  Visitors from Ro’Sar

  Chapter 24

  Blood and a Black Rose

  Chapter 25

  Treason

  Chapter 26

  Carlsborough

  Chapter 27

  Zorriaz the White

  Chapter 28

  The Assassin

  Chapter 29

  King Zerafin

  Chapter 30

  The Dragonlance of Ashai

  Chapter 31

  A Favor to Ask

  Chapter 32

  The Looking Glass of Araveal

  Chapter 33

  The Book O’ Ky’Dren

  Chapter 34

  Homeland

  Chapter 35

  Meeting of the Masters

  Chapter 36

  Whill Rising

  Chapter 37

  Kell-Torey Siege

  Chapter 38

  Fendora

  Chapter 39

  Chieftain of the Seven

  Chapter 40

  The Lady and the Wolf

  Chapter 41

  Strangers in a Strange Land

  THE END

  Chapter 1

  Elladrindellia at Long Last

  Whill walked out of the gathering place with the whole of the elven assembly following him. Outside, along with the crowd, Aurora and Azzeal waited. Avriel had flown up and over the twisted vine walls of the living half-dome. She now landed not far to Whill’s right.

  His voice had been enhanced by the power of the sword Adromida, and his words had been heard by all within the city, and all came. Droves of elves young and old came rushing toward the gathering place at the city’s center. Whill climbed atop Avriel and stood upon his saddle. He raised his arms to the crowd to be seen.

  “It is he…”

  “It is Whill of Agora.”

  “We are saved!”

  “The prophecy has come true!”

  The crowd erupted in a clamor of proclamations and announcements of divine glory. Whill stood proud atop Avriel’s back, awed at how much like humans they seemed.

  “What should I say?” he asked Avriel.

  “Little,” she answered. “Your legend speaks for you; do not tarnish their fancy with too many words.

  Whill nodded his agreement, glad to have her at his side at such a time. He smiled at Aurora, who beamed back like the rest of them, though she towered head and shoulders above any elf, aside from one which had shown up in bear form.

  “It is true, then?” asked a female elf with hair the color of dark moss. “You have found the sword of the great seer Adimorda, you have come to learn our ways, and you are…the savior?”

  Whill gulped in answer and Kellallea’s words played in his head: “The prophecy is a lie; you are just a cog in a wheel of Eadon’s design.”

  Whill panicked. Had they heard his thoughts? Was he projecting? Even now, just thinking about it made his paranoia worse. His head spun and his vision swam and he wavered upon his saddle. From on high he surveyed the crowd. Some looked on expectantly, others sobbed. Many bowed or fell to their knees, others jumped and cheered and kissed those around them. Few wore faces of skepticism; of the few that did, one was the face of Azzeal.

  “Remember the garden, Whill.” Avriel’s voice swooped down and caught him before he passed out. To distract from Whill’s state, Avriel breathed a great shooting jet of fire from her maw. Then her mind spoke to all who would listen, and her growls accentuated her words.

  “It is true, as I am the daughter of Araveal, daughter of Verelus, given forfeit life anew within the body of a white dragon. I am Avriel, and he—he is the chosen one. Whill of Agora, named by Adimorda in his most far-reaching prophecy. Whill of Agora, wielder of the great power of the blade of Adimorda—the blade which no elf may wield,” she reminded any who might forget.

  “And she.” A white claw like a sword pointed at Aurora, who froze on the spot as all turned to regard her. “This beauty of the north is Aurora Snowfell. She is of our company and named elf-friend. Many others of our company will join here soon, King Roakore of the Mountains Ro’Sar among them. We have had a grand adventure, and the tales shall be told. But for now our Whill must rest and make preparation—”

  “Please, Lady Avriel! We would hear the One speak, if but a word,” begged a female elf and many murmured in agreement.

  The crowd hushed and waited in perfect silence for Whill to speak. Avriel crooked her neck around to look at him. Her eyes searched his but she offered no guidance. Whill cleared his throat, and to him the sound echoed in the silent anticipation.

  “I am Whill of Agora,” he shouted.

  “The blade!” yelled a male elf. “We would lay eyes upon the blade of legend!”

  Whill unsheathed his sword and raised it high. From it blinding light poured forth and outshone the light of day.

  “I have found the blade Adromida! With it I shall vanquish the enemy, and once again bring peace to Agora!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers as he sheathed the blade of legend. Avriel wasted no time. She leapt from the ground and flew off with Whill, the cheers and shouts of the crowd following them to the outskirts of the city.

  “To where do we fly?” Whill asked over the wind.

  “I would see my brother,” Avriel replied. “You did well back there.”

  He scoffed at that. “I wasn’t prepared to be worshipped like a god. I expected elves to act less…”

  “Human?” she offered.

  “I suppose,” said Whill.

  They circled the house of healing in which Zerafin and Avriel’s bodies lay. Whill sensed overwhelming trepidatio
n from Avriel; he guessed that she did not want to see her soulless body. He gave her time and together they circled until the dragon took a deep long breath and ascended to the balcony overlooking one of the Thousand Falls’ channels.

  From the cliffs beyond the water poured into rivers which flowed calmly through the city and surrounding land. Everywhere about the land were arched footbridges of vine and stone. Mist from the falls bathed the land with life-giving vapor. Trees grew to new heights here, unlike anything to be found within Agora. Even the native flora and fauna grew larger within the city’s borders.The house of healing was a wide (and at the moment roofless) dome; from living vines hung silk curtains, now open. Around the sick beds stood a half a dozen elves, hands locked and voices humming. The healers were dressed in brilliant white robes, and upon their heads sat what looked to be gemmed crowns that glowed softly. Their deep voices chanted in unison for the sick. As Whill and Avriel approached, they broke the circle and stepped aside. Many bowed to the two, offering their condolences.

  Whill stroked the head of Avriel’s comatose elven body which lay next to Zerafin’s tortured form. Many elves tended to them, some working to keep Avriel’s body alive, others holding Zerafin’s rotting curse from consuming his body. The Elf prince was not lucid but suffered feverish sleep and often thrashed in his throws of agony.

  An elf approached with four hand maidens in tow, by the look of her he guessed that she was the Queen of Elladrindellia. She wore long flowing robes of sunrise orange and a simple silver crown upon her head. Whill stood and looked to Avriel for guidance, she however did not see him, like the others she was watching as her mother strode into the house. She walked right up to Whill with a wide smile and took his hands in hers.

  “Whill, it is good to see you again.”

  “Queen Araveal, I am pleased to meet you, though I do not remember the first time.” Whill replied.

  “It was long ago, you were young. On behalf of all elves of Elladrindellia I welcome you to the elven lands, that which your ancestor gifted us with centuries ago,” said the Queen.

  She looked to the sword and then to her children’s sleeping forms. Whill looked to them also and cringed to see how the rot ate away at Zerafin’s skin.

  “I can help, with the sword…”

  “You are not strong enough to attempt to counter Eadon’s spell.” Queen Araveal argued.

  “Then I can lend the power of Adromida to one who can,” he begged, hating to see Zerafin suffer so.

  “Perhaps, once the spell is deciphered. It is a powerful and complex spell. Our greatest spell crafters have yet to fully understand it. Any interference now could mean the death of my son. It cannot be attempted as of yet.”

  Whill new her to be right, he could not hope to unravel Eadon's spell. He resigned himself to the hope that the spell crafters would soon figure it out. They sat in silence near to the running river with Avriel in dragon form close by.

  After a time Whill turned to the queen and was about to ask the question that had been on his mind for some time. But before he could ask she spoke.

  "You would ask why we did not keep you here as an infant, to be raised with knowledge of your lineage."

  Whill waited for the explanation. He could see the worry on the queen's face as she gazed upon her children's sleeping forms.

  "It was decided by Abram and I that you would be safer if you were kept secret. This is the first place that Eadon would think to look, and we were not sure of spies in our midst. Therefore you were taken far away, and few were privy to the knowledge of your whereabouts. But know that I have always watched over you from afar."

  Whill smiled back at her though he did not quite agree with the long ago decision. Kellallea came to mind, and her claims that the prophecy was a lie. He still did not know what to think of it.

  “When we took the gate to Drindellia, and spoke to the ancient Kellallea, she told me that the prophecy was a lie."

  "Yes I know." said the queen. "Avriel and I have spoken about it."

  Whill was surprised by her calm demeanor in the face of such a possibility. "Do you believe it?"

  She answered without hesitation. "I don't know. It would explain many things. What do you believe?"

  Whill let out a sigh. "I know that Kellallea believed it."

  She repeated the question. "What do you believe?"

  "I do not know, but my heart tells me that it is true. I am nothing but a pawn in Eadon's grand scheme, just another cog in the wheel. I know that I will never be ready to face him. He is ancient and I am young, and...I am afraid."

  "As you should be… you bare a great burden, but you need not bare it alone.”

  "Why did Eadon make war in the first place?" asked Whill.

  Araveal looked past the clouds to that faraway time so long ago. "He created the Draggard. In his time Eadon was a brilliant... there is no word in your tongue, to us it is a science word, call it life builder. He created things of beauty beyond words, flowers of such radiance and life, the sweetest fruit trees. He melded plant with plant and tree with tree. His work was a thing of renown and praise."

  "But then he began to meld animal with animal. At first it was allowed, for he bred stronger and faster horses, larger bulls and beautiful felines. Then he unveiled his most abominable creation, he crossed dragon and elf, and created a draggard queen. It is said that the first of her litter were sired by him, and she gave him seven daughters. They in turn gave birth to the draggard as we know them now."

  Whill was disgusted by the thought of the draggard being Eadon's children and grandchildren. He gained a new respect for the dark elf's insanity.

  "My husband the king sent a regime of fifty soldiers to destroy the creatures and take Eadon into custody to answer for his crimes against nature."

  Whill looked to the queen whom had quieted, she looked older that she had a moment ago.

  "And he killed them all?" Whill guessed, the queen’s nod prove him correct.

  "Yes, and then he killed the next group and another after that. By then news of the warring had reached far and wide and a movement began within Drindellia that eventually proved fatal to our people. You see Eadon appealed with a silver tongue and pleading heart to those of us that had no magic. He told them that he was a victim as they were. That he was being attacked for being different from us as they were."

  "Were they convinced?" asked Whill.

  "You have met him, what do you think?"

  Whill saw her point. She went on. "He promised them the one thing that they could not attain, he promised them power. He did something that no one had ever been able to do. He gave the non-magical, magic, as humans call it. They became his dark elves. We could not stop him then, and we may not be able to stop him now. We are less in number by far, but we have you."

  Whill shook his head and looked into her dark pools of endless watching. "No. You also have the people of Agora, and you have the mighty Dwarves. I believe that if the prophecy is a lie, then I can at least be the one to bring you all together. Perhaps then we can defeat the dark elves, together.""Perhaps," she agreed.

  Aurora was out of sorts in the strange elf city. She had not seen Azzeal since they arrived and Whill had been off doing whatever it was that kings did. She did not miss the attention of the white dragon- elf Avriel.

  It was not until she finally gave in to the offer for something they called Lahakara that she felt comfortable there. What Lahakara turned out to be was what humans might call a bath house, but with many strong hands and flower scented oils. She was gently stripped of her battle marked and torn clothes and bathed in steaming water that smelled of forest and spring flowers. She was washed by the elf maidens from head to toe with soap and cloth, and then her hair was washed twice. The hot water did wonders for her aching body, it had been hell riding that dragon for days, and her arse had the bruises to show for it. She soaked for nearly an hour before being led out of the water and wrapped in soft towels.Through a stone archway and into the nex
t room she was led. There soft music played from a flute player siting on the window sill. Beyond him through a large window was a view of the city and Thousand Falls beyond.

  She was led to the center of the room where her towels were discarded and her maidens stepped aside for a tall red haired elf woman with sharp features. She wore a folded silk robe of purple with flowing wide sleeves. In her hand she held a smooth staff of black wood set with a large fiery opal at the top. The elf women smiled at Aurora as she looked up at her. She looked over her tall and muscled form with obvious admiration.

  "Hello, I am Kreshna, if you would allow me I can mend your wounds and ease any pain you may have."

  Aurora offered the elf her hand. The knuckles had been scraped bare by draggard faces and were crusted over with scabs. Kreshna indicated to a raised silk-covered bed upon which she could lay. She lay on her back and offered up her large hand. Kreshna's hands were half the size. The elf laid them over the wounds and closed eyes and smiled. A soft blue glow arose from the contact and Aurora's hand tingled. When the hands were lifted she beheld her skin renewed. In this way Kreshna healed her many wounds. Her job done, Kreshna bowed and took her leave and was replaced by twin male elves that put their strong hands to work rubbing out every ache and kink in her large muscles. Aurora napped at she was worked on. She was beginning to like the elves a great deal.

  The queen took her leave after a time and Whill remained with the siblings. He gazed upon Avriel’s body, beautiful still but missing the life force that had possessed it. The body was a shell, Whill realized then. The body mattered not; it was but a tool to house the spirit, and the body’s animal needs and wants were just that.