Whill of Agora woa-1 Page 31

  Rhunis’s eyes flashed. “Will you trust me on this and do as I ask?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The band had finished their latest song and told the energetic crowd they would be taking a break. More likely, Whill thought, they could tell what was coming and decided it wise to take their valuable instruments somewhere safe.

  Parpous watched Rhunis come toward him, and the man opposite him gave up his seat. Parpous stood and extended a hand to Rhunis. “Ah, Rhunis the Dragonslayer in my pub-what an event, eh, boys? It is an honor, friend.”

  Rhunis shook Parpous’s hand but did not smile or say anything. He simply let the air go stale.

  “Yes, well, then, please do have a seat.” Parpous motioned with his hand while his eyes scanned the companions. Rhunis sat, and Parpous went on. “What brings you, great Rhunis, to my pub-to my table, for that matter? What is the honor?”

  “Your pub? As I remember, this is and has been for many decades Harlod’s pub. Or have I been away so long?”

  Parpous gave a crooked, gold-toothed smile. “Indeed, my friend, you may have been away too long. I now own this here pub. Bought it from the old man not a month ago. He said he wanted to spend the rest of his days sailing the wide ocean. Said he’d had enough of the bar life.”

  Rhunis leaned closer. “That’s odd, because I’ve known the old man for many, many years, and I know that he despises the sea. No wonder, being that he spent three months on a slave ship after being taken from his murdered mother’s arms and brought here from the outer lands. I also know that he loved this place more than any other on earth. So answer me this, Parpous, why do you lie to my face, and why do your men tense their sword arms at the sound of the truth?”

  Parpous chuckled, and his cronies followed suit. The big man clapped his hands together. “Rhunis, my friend, you are a clever one, but I assure you, the old man gave over this bar to me and I am now the owner. And I intend on keeping it that way.” He leaned closer also and his smile faded. “What do you say to that, friend?”

  Rhunis breathed deep as he leaned his head back. “I say you let the old man loose from the basement, give him back his pub, and never bother him again.”

  Parpous flinched at the mention of the basement. “May I remind you that I have dealings with the king?”

  “And need I remind you that I do as well? Dealings with the king! You are talking to one of his commanders. And by the king I order you to do as I’ve said, or you will pay dearly.”

  Parpous’s nostrils flared. “Is that a threat?”

  “Not really, but how does this suit you?” Rhunis stood and planted his white knuckles on the table. “If you do not do as I say, I will cut your arm off and beat you with it!”

  Roakore chuckled. An instant later the room erupted. Parpous thrust a dagger at Rhunis, but before the blade connected Rhunis grabbed his arm and twisted it violently. Roakore took hold of the table with his powerful hands and sent it crashing into the seated entourage. Though Parpous hadonly shown up with twelve, it seemed that many of his men were in the bar as well. They attacked the companions from all sides, some with fists, others with a blade. Whether they were ignorant of a dwarf’s strength or simply stupid, they soon discovered the truth. Roakore sent man after man flying as he laid into them with his powerful punches. Those that attacked him did not soon get up, if they got up at all.

  The elves too made short work of those before them with their strange dance of kicks, dodges, and punches. Whill and Abram fought side by side and tried to keep up with the three. All the while Rhunis and Parpous exchanged blows until finally Rhunis bested the man and sent him crashing to the floor, his nose and jaw apparently broken. The crowd hardly noticed until a howl split the room and everyone stopped.

  Rhunis, true to his word, had chopped off Parpous’s arm with his sword, and was now beating the man mercilessly. Parpous’s men froze.

  “Call off your cronies or I’ll kill you where you lie!”

  Parpous spoke through broken teeth. “Do as he says!”

  Everyone watched as Rhunis raised the man off the floor and shoved the severed arm back into the socket. He motioned to Avriel. Parpous whimpered with pain. “Now listen closely friend,” Rhunis said. “You have a choice: keep this bar for your own and I shall feed your arm to the dogs, or you keep your arm and give the pub back to Harlod. Which will it be?”

  “My arm,” Parpous said, almost inaudibly.

  “What was that?”

  “My damned arm!”

  “Very well.” Rhunis turned to Avriel. “Heal it, my lady.”

  Avriel took hold of the bloody arm, paused to ensure that it was set right, and then closed her eyes. Blue tendrils of healing energy burst forth from her hands and wrapped themselves around the wound. After a moment it was over, and both Avriel and Rhunis let go of the man.

  Parpous eyed his arm with wonder, as did all in attendance. The crowd gasped and cursed in awe. Rhunis pointed at Parpous. “On your honor, if you have any left in you, and on that of your men, you must now swear to leave Harlod alone, to never bother him again as long as you live, nor any of us, for that matter. You will go about your days happy you did not die here tonight, and if you seek any form of revenge, you will pay with your souls.” He looked at Avriel. “Curse them with rotting disease should they break their oath.”

  Avriel suppressed a smile and raised her arms to the heavens. “Olda thenn hendo drelancer hilgo dor!”

  Palpous and his men all stared wide-eyed at Avriel. Rhunis broke the spell. “Now swear it on your lives!”

  “I swear, I swear!” Said the fearful men.

  “Now get out of here!” Rhunis ordered.

  As the men scurried for their lives, Roakore burst into laughter. “Heh! This man knows how to party! What pub we goin’ to next?”

  Just as Avriel and Zerafin had sensed, Harlod was found bound and gagged in the basement. Rhunis released him and brought the weakened man upstairs. His grey hair was caked with blood, his clothes tattered, and his body too thin. Rhunis called to the barmaid. “Fetch some hot tea, please. And heat up some stew.”

  Avriel was already tending to the old man. Blue tendrils of energy mended his many wounds and gave the old man the strength he would need. His eyes cleared and his grimace turned into an amazed smile. “Tell me I have died and gone to the heavens. An elf maiden here, in my pub!” His eyes fell upon the companions and Rhunis. “Rhunis, my old friend! Such company you keep. Elves, dwarves-tell me I am dreaming,”

  “No, my friend, this is no dream. How do you feel?”

  “Twenty years younger.” He looked around the trashed pub. “Now what in the blazes happened here?”

  Whill woke from a dreamless sleep, the morning breeze from the open balcony door caressing his cheek. The air was cool but welcome, for it soothed his slight headache. Tarren stood within the balcony archway, staring out onto the courtyard. Whill watched him for a few minutes and decided that the boy probably had been there for some time and would not move any time soon. Whill rose from bed and pulled on his pants. He tried to make a bit of noise as not to startle Tarren when he approached him.

  “Beautiful morning, it is not? Good day for sailing.”

  He hoped that Tarren had not folded himself into an inner shell of despair and self-pity. If his spirit had been broken, he would no longer laugh, no longer speak so jubilantly, would no longer see any good in the world. Whill had seen it before, in men and in women, and in children. But his fears were put to rest when Tarren looked up and nodded. He did not speak, he did not smile, but this small acknowledgment was enough to tell Whill that he would be alright. He would cry, he would lose himself to despair time and again, he would curse the heavens. But he would not let the cruelty of the world defeat him.

  Whill smiled to himself and put a hand upon Tarren’s shoulder. For a long time they watched from their perch as the courtyard bustled with activity. To the west were many soldiers, marching, sparring, and practicing archery. At la
st Tarren spoke.

  “I want to learn how to fight.”

  “And you will, Tarren. You are now officially part of the royal family of Eldalon, be it as it may, you will be taught a great many things. You will become both a scholar and a fighter. But all in good time.

  Tarren looked up into Whill’s eyes. “I want to start my training today.”

  Whill met his gaze. He understood, and he nodded.

  Whill honored Tarren’s wishes and let him begin his training. He then met Zerafin in the garden once more for his own training. He found the elf in the meditative pose he’d used the day before. Whill copied his pose and let himself fall into a state of relaxation. For more than fifteen minutes he meditated, awaiting Zerafin’s instruction.

  Open your eyes, Whill.

  Whill looked around but saw no one, only the lush, empty garden. Zerafin was gone.

  All living things are made of energy, from the frog to the squirrel, from the flower to you and I. Today your training is to pinpoint my location.

  “How do I…?” But Zerafin did not answer. Five minutes came and went. “How do I…?” he said louder.

  You start by keeping quiet. I am addressing you through your mind. If you wish, I can hear you as well. Simply think what you wish to say, and focus on me…project.

  Whill closed his eyes and thought of Zerafin. How do I…?

  Much better. To find me you must first decipher the beings around you. Close your eyes and focus on the energy that flows within and around yourself. See with your mind.

  Whill did as he was told and imagined that he could see the energy around him. For more than ten minutes he could decipher no more than the blackness beyond his eyelids. Then he saw something.

  I see swirling light, Zerafin. It has no color I can place, but rather it is all colors, swirling into itself all around me.

  Good, Whill, very good. What you see is your own life force. In essence, it is you. Now focus your attention outside of your own life energy. Look beyond it. But do so slowly, and do not be startled.

  Whill focused on his own life energy and then slowly peered past it, through the clouds of swirling light to the world beyond. He gasped as the energy of the garden hit him all at once. An ocean of swirling colors and light met his mental gaze and blinded him. In the confusion he opened his eyes.

  I warned you not to be startled, Whill. But take heart in knowing that all elves open their eyes at first sight. This we call Aquilla Tel. You have done that which takes many elves hours to achieve. Do you require a break?

  Whill shook his head and closed his eyes once more. No.

  Very well. See your own life energy again, and once more go beyond it. See what is before you, the life energy of the garden.

  All around him was light, light in the form of life energy. He saw plants and flowers, trees and insects, all with their own distinct auras. At first it seemed like a blinding ocean of color, with no distinct shapes or features. But the longer he viewed the garden in this manner, the more clearly it all became. Unlike normal sight, mental sight had far fewer boundaries. Nothing was solid; rather, all things appeared to be translucent light. This being so, Whill could see beyond the large akella plant before him, and the rose bush beyond that. Then he gasped as he saw Zerafin, seated in the meditative position about twenty yards away. His aura was bright white at the center and gradually turned to yellow and then orange as it dissipated.

  I see you.

  “Very good,” said Zerafin aloud, as he rose and came toward Whill. “Now come back and see with your eyes. Mental viewing takes more energy than you think, especially from one such as yourself.”

  Whill reluctantly pulled back with his mind and found blackness once more. He slowly blinked and rubbed his forehead as he became dizzy. “Yes, I guess it does. I am a bit worn out, and have a slight headache.”

  “As well you might. I would suggest you get some rest, but there is another lesson I want to teach today. Here, this will help.”

  Zerafin lifted his hand. Within his palm, a small ball of pale blue light formed as if from mist. He pulled back his hand slightly and then pushed the ball forward. It floated quickly through the air and hit Whill in the chest. Instantly Whill was revitalized. His headache vanished, and all weakness left his body.

  “That was amazing. But…didn’t it weaken you? Giving me your own energy?”

  Zerafin shook his head and raised his hand, pointing out the ring on his index finger. It was silver with a small blue gem the size of a cranberry at the center.

  “The energy came from this.”

  Whill reached out and touched the ring. “You can store energy in things other than your swords?”

  “Of course we can. The energy from our swords is stored in the gems within them. Long ago we discovered that gems like this one could be used to store energy. When a sword is made for an elf warrior, a gemstone much larger than this one is stored within the hilt of the weapon. The stone within can hold an untold amount of energy, and so almost anything can be a host for the energy stones-swords, knives, axes, rings, bracelets, and so on. In fact, many elf warriors have gemstones imbedded within their own flesh, in case they are stripped of their weapons.”

  “Have you done this?”

  “Do I look like a fool?”

  Of course, Whill thought. A warrior would be a fool not to do such a thing. “So…where is yours?”

  Zerafin only smiled. “When you have practiced mind-sight a bit more, you will be able to find it yourself. For now I would like you to try something else.” He looked around the garden for a moment as if seeking something he had lost. “Ah, this will do.” He picked up a rock that was about the size of a child’s fist and set it between him and Whill.

  “You have exhibited a vast amount of abilities and powers that most elves do not begin to acquire until they have practiced the ways of Orna Catorna for years, sometimes decades,” Zerafin said. “Now I would like you to try something else that I do not doubt you have the ability to do. I want you to move this stone without touching it.”

  Whill awaited further instruction but none came. He shook his head. “But how do I…?”

  “How did you heal Tarren? How did you heal the infant? Tell me, how did you use the energy within your father’s blade?”

  Whill thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I just…wanted things to happen. I wanted Tarren to be alive, I wanted the child to live, I…I wanted the Draggard to die.”

  “Well, then, there you have it. You must want to move the rock.”

  Whill focused on the rock and envisioned it moving. Nothing happened. He asked it to lift. Nothing happened. He tried to rock it back and forth. Nothing, Zerafin only gave him a blank stare and lowered his gaze to the stone.

  For more than twenty minutes Whill tried to move the stone, but to no avail. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, he gave up. “I can’t do it. I-”

  “Stop right there, before you say something foolish and ridiculous. You can do anything you believe you can. That is not some inspirational babble meant to give you confidence, it is the absolute truth. You, me, we-all beings possess the ability to do incredible things, but not many have the belief that allows it to happen. You humans are taught at a very young age by your elders the so-called laws of nature. All you have learned is what they have been able to do or not do. The possibilities are never practiced because a wall of doubt lies before your imagination. But what does it take for a possibility to become a reality? It takes one person doing it-and then, then, my friend, it is a law. It is real.”

  Zerafin focused on the stone and instantly it rose into the air. It hovered above their heads, less than four feet off the ground, then slowly floated above Whill.

  “Look at me, Whill.” As Whill did so, the rock fell and hit him on top of the head.

  “Ow!” Whill protested as he rubbed the bump.

  Zerafin laughed. “Now you know it is possible, else your head would not hurt.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
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  The Meeting of the Kings

  The following day the sound of trumpets assaulted the morning tranquility of the courtyard. Whill arose to discover what the noise was about. From his window he could see that someone had just arrived, someone of great importance.

  “Tarren, come quickly, you must see this!”

  The lad hurried to the window. “Is it the king of Shierdon? Has he arrived for the meeting?”

  “I believe so.”

  A small army of soldiers entered the castle gates, marching in a line five abreast and ten deep. They wore full armor, silver with a flowing purple cape that stopped at the knee. At each man’s side hung a great sword, with a purple-fabric-laced hilt and a purple gem set at the base. At the head of the troop walked two soldiers carrying the flag of Shierdon. The flag was also purple with a silver hawk at the center. The hawk, Whill remembered, was a beloved pet of the Shierdonians. They had taken the creatures as pets and hunting companions over six hundred years before. The hawks were used to send correspondence in times of war and peace. They could deliver a message in one quarter the time a horseman could; they could silently find prey miles away, and catch a fish twice its size at their master’s command. The great hawks could go unseen in the daytime as well as at night, for their feathers changed color to match their surroundings, much like a chameleon. They were named silver hawks because of all the colors, silver was the one they donned naturally when not trying to hide. One of Shierdon’s greatest strengths was its command of these great birds, which had been bred to reach the size of ponies, with wingspans of over ten feet.

  The people of Shierdon had even trained a great number of these birds to carry the smallest of men, who were called the Hawk Knights of Shierdon. They were an elite army of specially trained soldiers, small but very strong and fiercely quick. In combat they carried a crossbow and a pair of long, thin daggers. Their armor was thick leather, three layers thick, with mail between each. Every inch of the knight’s armor was adorned with hawk feathers, and in this way the rider would change color along with his hawk, if the hawk permitted it. The knights were sometimes called the ghost assassins because of their ability to drop down on their enemies unnoticed and strike them dead in an instant. They could infiltrate enemy camps without so much as a sound. In battle they could rain hell from above.