Whill of Agora woa-1 Page 32

  The Shierdonians had such control over the great hawks because they had control over that which the hawks craved most, hawksbane. A purple flower that grows only in the northernmost regions of Shierdon, hawksbane is the favored treat of the great silver hawk. For that reason it had been made illegal many centuries past to export even the smallest amount of the plant to any other country. With an abundance of hawksbane, the Shierdonians had trained the birds to do a great many things. The most impressive by far was the ability of the master trainers and hawk knights to communicate with the birds through an intricate form of code tapped out on wooden blocks, the human with the knuckle, the birds its beak. A trainer needed hawksbane at his disposal to tame the beasts, but over time, once the bird learned the code and could virtually speak to its master, a great bond was forged, and the Hawk served out of love and loyalty rather than simply for the flower it so desired.

  Whill saw, as if out of thin air, and as silent as a mute’s cry, five Hawk Knights swoop down to the courtyard. He stared in awe at the legendary sight and was not at all disappointed. They had arrived virtually unseen because they had been as blue as the sky, hawk and rider. Four of the birds had landed on the grass and instantly changed to dark green, as did their riders. The other bird had landed on the cobblestone path, however, and had turned many shades of grey and brown. Being done with the mission, they now all in turn changed to their natural color, a most brilliant silver. Their feathers shone in the morning sun with the brilliance of a cloud’s lining. The great hawks folded their wings and settled to the ground as their riders dismounted.

  Most of the hundreds of Eldalonian soldiers lining the courtyard took up clapping and cheering, only to receive a stern look from their respective generals.

  Next in the entourage came a man on a brown steed, unmistakably adorned. This rider, at seventy-nine one of the oldest of his stature in the kingdoms, but riding like a man half his age, came King Ainamaf of Shierdon. Behind him followed his first general, three advisors, and fifty more soldiers.

  “What’s all the ruckus about, anyway?” came a familiar voice from the guest room door. Roakore strode towards Whill and Tarren with all seriousness. But as he reached the window and his eyes caught the shining hawks of Shierdon, his voice failed him.

  “King Ainamaf of Shierdon has arrived. The meeting will be this day at noon, as you know.”

  “Why, yes, yes, o’ course, but-it’s just, do ye reckon-ye think them birds would become gold in me people’s halls-an’ like that o’ a diamond? I’ve heard o’ them plenty from me people. They can change color, ye know-never seen it, but it’s true, ye know. They been known to take on the ways of water if needed.”

  Tarren was quick to concur. “Right, they can! They changed all kinds of colors they did, blue and green and grey and brown, it was amazing, and the knights too.” But Roakore seemed to not hear a word.

  “I tell ye what lad, an’ mark me words-before my days are through, I aim to get me one o’ them hawks.” He suddenly lifted Tarren off his feet and began flying him across the room in his strong hands. “Can you imagine it, boy? Aside from a hell o’ a lot more muscle, I’m ’bout the same size as one o’ them riders. Them beasts’d carry me, no worries. Roakore the Silver Eagle Rider is what they’d call me, among other things.” He flew Tarren in circles and finally landed him upon the floor once again.

  Whill smiled to hear Tarren laughing jubilantly, like he had before, like he would again. The lad can still find joy in this world, Whill thought. He will be alright after all. He would find despair in life, he would know grief again, but he had passed life’s cruelest of tests already, and he would be ready. He would survive.

  The meeting of the kings commenced as scheduled at noon. It began with formal greetings and a feast fit for, well, kings. Whill was introduced to King Ainamaf by King Mathus. Ainamaf looked younger than his years, which rumors said was due to his dabbling in dark magic, but Whill knew better than to believe such things. A firm hand he had also, the grip of a swordsman, and a certain look about him when he met your eye, as if he knew something that remained a mystery to you. Whill was lost for a moment as he tried to discover just what that mystery might be, and was met with a laugh from Ainamaf.

  “I have been told I have a knowing face, a…war-lock’s grin, if you will.” He shook Whill’s hand. “I find it is quite handy in knowing what I wish. There are a numbered few who can lie to my face.”

  Representatives from each of the ruling kingdoms of Agora were in attendance, aside from the war-stricken Isladon. With the feast and pleasantries over, King Mathus bid each in attendance to follow him to the meeting hall, a short distance from the dining room. The meeting hall was grand in scale and adorned with nothing but high ceilings and bare stone walls, so as not to distract anyone. At its center was a grand circular oak table, able to seat more than fifty. Mathus’ servants seated the many in attendance and then left the room immediately, closing behind them the great wooden doors.

  King Mathus stood before his audience and spoke, his voice echoing loudly in the great room. “First I must thank you all for attending. I know the road was long, the notice short. I know you all have been introduced, but for the records, let me name one and all out who are here today. I myself, King Mathus of Eldalon. My most trusted advisor and general, Rhunis the Dragonslayer. King Ainamaf of Shierdon and his three advisors, General Sudden, the Fireblade, and the scholars Hellious and Bernoran. The Prince Zerafin and Princess Avriel of Elladrindellia. Roakore, soon-to-be king of the Ebony Mountains. Abram, former general, knight, and personal friend of the late king of Uthen-Arden.”

  Mathus looked at Whill for a moment, sharing the knowledge that this was the first official declaration of Whill’s position. “And I give you Whill of Agora, son of the late king of Uthen-Arden, and rightful king of the Arden empire.”

  Ainamaf eyed Whill as his advisors whispered at his side, He only raised an eyebrow and smiled that knowing smile.

  Mathus spoke once again. “Now that we have all been introduced, I expect you all have taken notice of the absence of the kings of both Shierdon and Uthen-Arden, which is why we are here today. As you also know, war has broken out between these two nations. This meeting has been called to decide what, if any, action we shall take in this matter. “King Ainamaf, we have all had time to discuss what we know about this war. Would you please tell us what words have reached the north?”

  Ainamaf looked up at the ceiling and thought for a moment. “There are many rumors, of course. Word from Arden is that Isladon is in league with the Draggard, that King Addakon is at this moment fighting to ensure the freedom of all the good peoples of Agora. Strangely enough, there is no word from Isladon either to defend or deny this rumor. But the faint argument among the people is that Addakon is the one in league with the Draggard, and has begun his campaign to overtake this continent.”

  Whill was disturbed briefly by Ainamaf’s complacency, his matter-of-fact speech. He could have been talking about the weather.

  “Abram,” King Mathus said, “would you please tell us what you believe to be the truth is in this matter?”

  Abram rose to his feet and nodded to King Mathus. “My idea of the truth is this: Addakon is indeed in league with the Draggard. He made the first strike against all nations of this continent in his siege of the Ebony Mountains, and now he has invaded Isladon. I believe if he is not stopped now, or at least met with strong resistance, he will succeed in his conquest.”

  “What proof do you have of these accusations, Abram?” Ainamaf asked.

  “Only a fair knowledge of Addakon’s personality. And the fact that upon journeying here, my party was attacked by a horde of Draggard led by a Dark elf. And that Whill, son of Aramonis, has been on the run with me for twenty years because Addakon killed his father. And that twenty years ago the Ebony Mountains were overrun by Draggard, who still grow in numbers within the great dwarf halls.”

  Ainamaf sat as if waiting for more, his face emotionle
ss. “A horde of Draggard led by an elf, you say?” Abram only nodded. Ainamaf chuckled. “I, for one, have never seen a Dark elf. As far as I know they are a strange tale told by a strange people. The fact that the elves led the horde of Draggard only suggests to me that you may wish to be more cautious in the company you keep. And as for young Whill here-well, how many stories are there of a fallen king, or betrayal for the sake of power? Addakon very well may have killed his brother for the throne, but that does not indicate that he wants domination of Agora.”

  “I was there, good sir,” Abram said. “I was there when Addakon betrayed his brother, and I saw with my own eyes the Draggard army at his command.”

  “Is that so? I had not heard of this before. Let me ask you this, Abram. If, as you say, Addakon has command of the Draggard, why would he not station them in the dwarf mountains within his own Kingdom?” He looked at Roakore. “Perhaps he saw the Ebony Mountains a weaker target.”

  Roakore said nothing, but his nostrils flared and he shifted in his chair.

  Ainamaf let the slightest smirk find his face. “Perhaps the reason the Draggard took the Ebony Mountains is because they are within Isladon, and the attack was ordered by the King of Isladon.”

  Abram held out his hands. “I suspect you have more to say on the subject. By all means, go ahead.”

  “To be blunt, sir, all of your so-called facts have no merit. Was this meeting called so that we may all assume the facts, that we may take the advice of a long-retired ex-personal guard who happened to become so only weeks before his king was slain? Should we be up in arms because Dark elves whom no one has ever seen are running amuck in Agora?

  “I have a few ideas of the truth myself, if I may. The elves of Elladrindellia arrived here and took refuge. Then came the Draggard, whom the elves themselves admit to having created. The Draggard have inhabited the Ebony Mountains for twenty long years and Isladon has done nothing. Addakon has taken the first step in eradicating this unholy scourge, and we debate sides? Gentlemen, this is painfully simple. The elves brought the Draggard to this land; the elves control the Draggard, you said it yourself, Abram. The elves, it appears, are in league with Isladon and the Draggard.”

  Neither Zerafin nor Avriel said a word. Whill felt his blood boil, but Abram did not look surprised. Roakore, however, snapped. He rose to his feet and slammed his fist upon the table. “Lunacy! Ridiculous! Dragonshit!”

  Ainamaf did not rise, but his voice did, drowning out that of the furious dwarf. “Is that so, good dwarf, is that so? You, of all in attendance here, I would think, would listen to reason. You! Who have lost everything because of what the elves created, because of what they brought to your doors. The halls of your fathers stink with the putrid stench of dwarf corpses and Draggard slime! Yet you defend the elves. It is unbelievable, an outrage. May I ask you, Roakore, do your people know of your alliances, your allegiance?”

  Roakore’s voice was calm now. “What me people know, Ainamaf, is that I am a dwarf who knows right from wrong, good from evil, and truth from lies. And you, my friend, have the eyes of a liar.”

  Ainamaf glared back, ever with a smile. “Is that so?”

  “Aye.”

  Ainamaf waved his advisors away. “Leave us.”

  With a confused look but no words, they did as they were told. Once the doors had closed, Zerafin spoke. “I must give them my condolences for the death of King Ainamaf.”

  Whill suddenly understood.

  Ainamaf rose to his feet. “If I am killed here today, you will have waged war with Isladon, good King Mathus. You wouldn’t want that, now would you? And as for you, Zerafin, I should have killed you upon the temple steps of Orkalendor.”

  “Travvikonis. I am glad to see you still live, so that I may do as I should have done long ago.”

  Travvikonis only smiled. “Addakon has but one order: forgo this futile effort and surrender at once, to me, now! For if you do not, you shall all die, your cities shall burn and your kingdoms shall crumble. There is no hope. Give up and spare many lives.”

  King Mathus stood. “This is our response to your king, the betrayer. We will do as we have always done: we will fight till the death, and we will do it smiling. You my friend and your sad little band of reptiles have come to the wrong country. Now leave my halls before-”

  “Before what?”

  Rhunis rose beside his king. “Before your limp lifeless body is wheeled out of this city in a manure wagon.”

  Travvikonis’s wicked guttural laugh turned into a snarl. He jerked his right hand forward, letting loose a red glowing sphere of flame. Rhunis whirled out of the way as the fireball hit the wall with a bang and shower of sparks. As he came around Rhunis had already produced a dagger and let it fly across the room. The dagger was passed by another ball of fire. Then the dagger and the fireball stopped inches short of their targets. Travvikonis had mentally stalled the dagger, and Zerafin had stopped the fireball. Everyone in the room waited.

  “Do you wish to wage war on Isladon, Mathus?” said Travvikonis with a smirk.

  King Mathus looked at Zerafin, whose outstretched hand held the fireball in place. The fireball disappeared with a poof, and the dagger fell to the table with a clank.

  Zerafin turned to Travvikonis. “Leave this castle now!”

  “Then I have your answers. I look forward to seeing you again, on the battlefield.” With that, he left the room.

  The great doors shut and everyone inside said not a word for a long time. Finally Mathus broke the spell. “Rhunis. See to it that Dark elf posing as Ainamaf and all his people leave these castle walls. I want all of them accounted for.”

  Without a word Rhunis exited the room. Then Roakore spoke up. “Damnit, ye two!” he bellowed at the elves. “Couldn’t you have used yer damned magic to see through his disguise?”

  “No, good dwarf, we could not,” said Avriel. “It was a very powerful spell. It seems Travvikonis transformed his entire body-not only his outward appearance, but his aura as well, for when I looked upon him with my mind’s eye, he appeared to be Ainamaf.”

  Roakore responded with only a “Bah!”

  Abram spoke up, addressing the entire room. “One other thing disturbs me.”

  “Ha! Only one?” said Roakore.

  Abram ignored him. “Travvikonis did not attempt to kill Whill, though he knew who he was. Surely he would be greatly rewarded for such a deed. Unless…”

  Zerafin finished the thought. “Unless he knew that Eadon would not approve.”

  “Surely Addakon wants me dead?” Whill asked.

  “Surely,” Avriel agreed.

  “Aye,” said Roakore. “But Eadon may have different plans for ye than does his friend Addakon.”

  “Precisely,” said Abram.

  “Then soon Eadon will know where I am.”

  “This is true,” Zerafin said.

  “All the more reason to get you to Elladrindellia where you will be safe, and your training can commence,” said Avriel.

  “She is right Whill,” said Abram. “There is too much at stake here. I suggest we leave for the elf kingdom as soon as possible. You are no help to Agora dead.”

  Whill looked to everyone in the room in turn. “But I am no help to Agora if I hide either. I-we-have been on the run my whole life.”

  “Whill.” Avriel’s voice was firm. “This is but one of many battles that shall befall this land in the coming months, perhaps years. The best way you can help now is to travel with us to Elladrindellia, learn the ways of the elves, and find the sword.”

  “It is good counsel you keep, Whill,” Mathus said. “You would be wise to heed their words.”

  Whill knew they were right, but his vision of battle from the previous night showed all too clearly in his mind. He wanted to be there, to help in some way. But he realized the truth in their words. He would most help by following the elves to their land and training as his father had done before him.

  “Though it is not what my heart tells me, I
see the wisdom in your advice and will heed your council.”

  “Very well,” Zerafin said.

  “Indeed it is the wisest choice,” agreed Mathus. “Now we have a choice before us. The truth of Ainamaf’s fate changes the issue at hand greatly.”

  He went to the wall behind him. Upon it sat a single lever made of metal. The king pushed the lever down and a great many clanks and gears could be heard within the table. What had appeared to be a solid table was not so, for suddenly a square piece lifted from the middle only a few inches before it began to turn 180 degrees. The piece finished its rotation to reveal a huge map of Agora, elaborately detailed. The piece then lowered back in place.

  Mathus opened a hidden compartment before his seat and began extracting small models of horseman and soldiers, which looked like a child’s army toys. He placed a set of red figures within the borders of Elladrindellia, of the dwarf kingdoms (aside from the Ebony Mountains), and of Eldalon and Isladon. He placed a set of black figures atop the Ebony Mountains, within the Uthen-Arden borders, alongside the red forces within Isladon, and within Shierdon. He then addressed the room.

  “As bleak as the battle before us seemed before, it appears that it is worse than we had thought.” He pointed at the black forces in Shierdon. “It appears we have lost an ally and gained an enemy. For as we speak, the lies that will lead Shierdon to wage war on my kingdom are already being spun, I assume. Eadon has successfully separated us from our allies. Zerafin, you are akin to Eadon; you said you have known him a great many years. What, in your opinion, will be his battle plan?”

  Zerafin pondered the map before him a moment. “It seems that Eadon is one step ahead of us. Long he has had to plan this attack, and so far it is going exactly as he had hoped. I suspect that Shierdon will indeed wage war on Eldalon, by sea and through the Ky’Dren Pass. Eadon will send forces from Arden to bolster the force that will come through the pass. By sea he will attack the many coast towns within your country, cutting off trade and supplies. At the same time he will send a force to attack the Elladrindellia borders, once again by land and by sea. Also the Elgar mountain kingdom of the dwarves will become a target, though Eadon will assume the dwarves will dig in and defend. He will most likely attempt an invasion like the one you saw, Roakore, within your mountain. He will send in a host of Draggard. Not enough to take the mountain, I suspect, but enough to keep them busy for a long while.”