"You may yet regain your honor. It comes down to decisions," said Azzeal.
Aurora looked to him startled. "I spoke to myself in my native tongue, yet you understand."
"I do."
"Then you know all." She resigned herself to her fate. Azzeal chuckled.
"You need not fear my judgement, I mean you no harm."
She was surprised by this and did little to hide it. She wondered if he knew the whole of it, perhaps he misunderstood, perhaps...
"I know that you swore fealty to Eadon, I know that you attempted Abram's life."
A tear itched its way down Aurora's face and was soon followed by many more. She broke down in sobs and fell to her knees; she felt her sheets pile around her legs but cared not. She was powerless to do anything but clutch at Azzeals leafed robes and cry. She cried like she had not since childhood, since the day her father plummeted to his death those years ago. She had disgraced her father's memory, he who had himself been the victim of a coward. She deserved nothing more than death.
Azzeal bent to his knees and took her head in his hands. She reluctantly met his gaze through teary blurred vision. "You are right to feel disgrace upon yourself, but do not tarry there long. Soon it will tear you apart."
"I deserve death," she lamented sobbing.
"You are dead. When you have sworn fealty to Eadon, that was the moment of your death. Now you are free to choose. You can still do the right thing. The only reason I have not killed you myself is because I made a promise once to one of your people, and I have seen your heart."
"How can I be saved?" she asked hanging on his every word."
"It will not be easy, as the right path often proves. But it is possible."
Aurora shuddered a few steadying breaths and tried to get ahold of herself. She felt cleansed of the pent up guilt, but the purging had sapped her strength. Azzeal helped her to lie in bed and covered her with her sheet and a thick quilt.
"What promise did you make?" she asked.
Azzeal smiled and sat in the chair next to the bed. "Talon Windwalker." he said and laughed at the face she made. "I assume you know your history then. It was more than two hundred years ago. He once saved my life. When I offered mine in return he told me instead to help one of his kin if ever I was to find one in need. And I have."
"Thank you." Aurora smiled.
Azzeal stroked her hair away from her face with a smile. "Rest now Aurora. Let dreams trouble you not. Be at peace."
Chapter 23
Visitors from Ro’Sar
The next day Whill awoke to Avriel’s soft voice in his mind. Word has come that Roakore and his dwarves have arrived.
He shot out of bed and dressed quickly. Together he and Avriel flew from the Thousand Falls and headed to the northern coast of Elladrindellia less than ten miles away. Soon they spotted Roakore’s company traveling the road to Cerushia from the coast.
They were spotted quickly and alarmed calls of “Dragon!” rose up from the dwarves as Whill and Avriel flew overhead. Avriel landed a few hundred yards ahead of them. Roakore’s booming voice could be heard yelling at his dwarves.
“Hold, ye dolts, the dragon be an elf friend!”
Arguments broke out as Roakore tried to explain. Whill dismounted and headed toward the company. “Best you stay here for the moment, Avriel. The dwarves will take some convincing, I imagine.”
Indeed. I doubt many of them will accept the explanation, or care. To them a dragon is a dragon. It will be easier if I leave.
Before Whill could argue, Avriel leapt from the ground and took flight. Whill watched after her, worried. She was quiet as of late. He knew it had to do with her possible transformation and the fate of her dragon body.
Turning from her, Whill saw Tarren running toward him down the cobblestone road that led to the coast.
“Whill!” Tarren yelled joyfully.
Whill smiled brightly and jogged to the boy.
“Whill!” Tarren called again, waving his hands. He reached Whill and slammed into him with a hug.
“Tarren, well met!” Whill laughed as Tarren wiped tears with his sleeve and beamed up at him.
“Well met indeed!” Tarren laughed. “I thought I would never see you again!”
“As did I. But alas, we meet again.” He held Tarren at arm’s length and looked him over. “You’ve grown.”
“Yeah?” Tarren beamed. “I been trainin’ with the dwarves. Look at this!” He flexed a bicep. Whill squeezed his arm and gave the boy an impressed look.
“They put some muscle on you, eh?”
“You’re right, they have, they are a tough lot!” said Tarren. He pulled Whill with him eagerly. “C’mon, you gotta meet my friend Helzendar, he’s Roakore’s kid.”
Tarren led Whill to the dwarves and Roakore gave Whill a bear hug, lifting him off the ground. “It is about time you arrived!” Whill teased when Roakore finally put him down. “How was your journey?”
“Bah!” Roakore spat. “It was a right bloody one. Ran into a draggard hive we did, and set fifty heads to pike! They had made their stinking nest in an old trading outpost.”
“Was anyone injured?” Whill asked, looking past Roakore with concern for the dwarves.
“Those who got hurt were lucky enough to have Lunara around. Those who were killed…well, they be in the halls o’ the gods now, and their mugs be full.”
“Lunara?” Whill asked.
“Ah, yes, where be me manners?” He turned to his dwarves. “These be some o’ me finest fighters. Warriors all, they be.”
“Well met,” said Whill in Dwarvish and slammed his fist to his chest, a great gesture of respect from one of such a name as he. “It is good to see the dwarves of Ro’Sar returned to their home and in good spirits. I am honored to meet you all.”
As one the Ro’Sar dwarves slammed fist to chest and bowed.
“Aye.” Roakore turned Whill to the right with a hand to his shoulder. “This be me boy Helzendar, one o’ me strongest and bravest.”
“Hello, Helzendar,” said Whill and offered the dwarf boy a hand. Helzendar squeezed Whill’s hand in a crushing grip that could have been a full grown man’s.
Lunara and Holdagozz came forward to stand beside Roakore. “Ah! And this be General Holdagozz, one o’ the toughest dwarves you be meetin’. And this elven beauty be Lunara, as good a healer as yer likely to be findin’, and she be not much older than yerself.”
Whill gave Holdagozz the same dwarven sign of respect as the others. He could not help but notice the broad-shouldered dwarf’s thick knotted muscles, like tree roots winding around his exposed arms. It looked as though the dwarf had not an ounce of fat on his body.
“Lunara. That is a beautiful name,” said Whill as he took her hand and gave a small bow.
Lunara smiled with a blush and took a quick inhale. “Thank you. It is good to finally meet you, Whill of Agora,” she said. She took back her hand as if she had been given a great gift and clutched it to her chest.
Roakore coughed and Whill realized that he and Lunara had just been staring at each other, smiling stupidly, and all eyes were on him. “Well, then, well met!” he said cheerily to them all. “Come, I welcome you all to Cerushia!” He wrapped one arm around Tarren and the other around Roakore, and they headed to the elven city. Behind them the dwarves broke out in one more traveling song that took them into the city.
O’er rivers wide and prairies plain
Far from shining jewel and silver vein
The road has led we nigh astray
Our feet they march all through the day.
O frothing mug and grandest feast
Be just reward for we at least
O’er rivers wide and prairies plain
Far from shining jewel and silver vein.
Roakore’s company sang them all the way into the heart of Cerushia. There at the city square, a great clearing filled with the tallest flowers and multicolored leaves awaited a gathering of thousands, and Zerafin. The d
umbfounded company was led by Nafiel to the grand gathering. From the elevated city square most of the city could be seen, and the sun reflecting off of the massive ridge that was the Thousand Falls was astonishing. The dwarves were awed one and all. They followed a stone walkway that led to a large circle of stone. Upon the stone stood Zerafin; his mother, Queen Araveal; many of the elders; and the seven masters. A dwarven-lore master there was also, furiously scribbling as he bore witness to the meeting.
“King Roakore of the Mountains Ro’Sar!” Zerafin announced. “My friend,” he said more personally as Roakore greeted him with a bear hug that sent the elves into joyful laughter.
Zerafin raised Roakore’s arm to the crowd and proclaimed, “From this day forth I proclaim an allegiance with the Ro’Sar dwarves, to be recognized by all of my kin. Together we liberated the human kingdom of Isladon, together we took part in the reclamation of the mountains Ro’Sar!” Zerafin took Whill’s hand also and raised it to the heavens. “And together we shall liberate all of Agora!”
The crowd cheered for Whill, for Roakore, and for their Drindellian prince who would soon be king. Whill was happier than he had been in a long time. Again he felt that old brotherhood he had once known. Abram and Rhunis were there too, in Whill’s heart and mind. He saw the smiling face of his oldest friend. Ah, Abram, you old dog, I wish you were here, he said to himself as a conflicted tear found his cheek.
Chapter 24
Blood and a Black Rose
General Steely provided Dirk with a fresh horse and chose four of his best men to accompany them to Bristle. Dirk laughed to himself, thinking forty men would not help them against Krentz, let alone four. Krentz had sworn fealty to her father, Eadon, and Dirk could only imagine the power he had bestowed upon her.
They rode into Bristle shortly after noon. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be going on in the village, nothing to indicate that an assassin upon a winged creature had been here. General Steely led the group to the small castle set atop a wide hill, the home of the duke of Bristle.
Before the large wood-and-iron door they dismounted and the general knocked. No one came to answer. After a long pause the general knocked again. Dirk knew it was useless, the place was too quiet. No guards walked the ramparts, and no sound came from within. Dirk knew they stood before a tomb.
He threw his grappling hook over the wall and pulled it until it caught. “Hey!” yelled the general as Dirk began expertly scaling the wall. He slipped over the top, quietly landing in a crouch. Listening, motionless, he wound the elven rope and returned the hook to its place along his belt. Below he could still hear the banging of General Steely, and his calls to anyone inside.
Dirk wasted no time in entering the castle. From the roof he came down a short set of stairs that led to a long hall. Doors lined both sides of the hallway and Dirk went to the first on his left. He pushed the door open slowly and saw no movement within. A large four-poster bed sat at the opposite wall near the wide windows. Two lumps in the bed caught his attention.
Dirk walked to the bed and hesitated before throwing back the sheets. He feared what he knew he would find: the bodies of Krentz’s victims. Seeing the bodies would make Krentz’s crimes real, her fall complete. Dirk knew her as a dark elf who shunned her people’s evil ways; she had always been quick to laugh and good at heart. Though she could be a fierce warrior if forced to fight, she could also be gentle, kind, and caring. Once Dirk saw the bodies of her victims, all of that would change.
He took a deep breath and threw back the blankets. An animalistic mewling left his throat as Dirk laid eyes on the two dead bodies. He barely registered the crash and groaning splinter of wood as the general and his men began slamming something large into the front door below.
Dirk stared at the seemingly sleeping faces of a mother and her daughter. The girl, no more than six years old, clung to her mother as they slept. Likely she had been scared by the storm and had crawled into bed with her mother in the dark of night. Their peaceful faces showed no sign of terror; they had been killed in their sleep. The lack of blood and the small puncture wounds in their bedclothes, just below the breastbone, told Dirk they had died instantly with a thin dagger through the heart. With trembling hand he reached for the single long-stemmed black rose that had been placed in the child’s small hand.
Dirk jumped as the door was smashed open below, the boom of impact reverberating through the entire building. Boots hurried throughout the castle as doors were slammed open and rooms were searched.
“In here! By the gods, they are all dead!” yelled a man down the hall.
Other such proclamations echoed throughout the castle and fell upon Dirk’s ears like lashes of a whip. A chill ran through his body as he took up the rose and stood, unable to tear his eyes from the dead.
“The duke is dead, and all of the servants,” the general said from behind him. Then Steely saw the mother and child. “By the gods, his wife and even…little Annabelle. What kind of monster would do this? What kind of demon would take the life of a mother and child?”
The general’s words tore through Dirk as he looked down upon Krentz’s victims. Rage welled within him with Steely’s every curse. He wanted to strangle the man just to shut him up. This wasn’t her; it was not the Krentz he knew. It made him sick to think he had been prepared to do the very same thing. If she had not sworn fealty to her father, Dirk would have held the killing blade. Had it been easier for her because she was a dark elf? Was it truly in her blood? When the moment came, would Dirk have been able to do it? Krentz had been able to, and quite efficiently. His urge to save her swelled as his anxiety grew.
“Where is the next royal in line?” Dirk suddenly yelled, grabbing General Steely by the edges of his breastplate and shaking him. Steely scowled at the intrusion but his face lost all anger when he saw Dirk’s haunted eyes.
“Where?” Dirk demanded.
The general seemed to remember his high station and shoved Dirk away hard. “You are not running off alone ahead of me and my men. This is a matter for the Eldalonian army. You are in possession of knowledge that must be contained and dealt with by the king’s men.”
General Steely took three deliberate steps toward Dirk and looked him dead in the eye. “Until this entire affair is over, you are my prisone—”
From nowhere Dirk produced Krone and jabbed it into the general’s hand. “Silence!” he commanded in a hushed whisper as blood dripped and the general froze.
“Sir.” A voice approached from down the hall.
“Tell them to leave us,” Dirk hissed.
“Leave us!” General Steely was forced to blurt out, though Dirk could tell the general was trying to fight the effects of the torturous dagger. Its real strength was in its euphoric effects should the victim stop resisting; good behavior was rewarded instantly, while bad behavior was punished painfully. To the approaching soldier, the general simply sounded gruff.
“Now tell me where the next in King Mathus’ line can be found,” Dirk ordered.
With a grimace and shaking with effort, General Steely hissed, “Southwest a day’s march, McKellian’s Cross, Lord Grendial…”
“And what would the closest target be beyond that one?”
Steely ground his teeth and after a silent scream that left his eyes bloodshot, he broke. “North to the Twin Lakes, Castle Carlsborough…Kessleton is the name.” He cringed.
General Steely glared at Dirk with murder in his eyes. To force such vital information out of such a devoted soldier was akin to death. Dirk knew that he had made an enemy for life. But the general would have to get in line.
“You will not yell out when I take back the blade. You will wait here until you have counted one thousand heartbeats, and you will never speak of me again. You have no memory of me. Say it.”
“I have no memory of you,” droned the general.
“No memory of who?” asked Dirk.
“No memory of you.”
“Who am I?” Dirk finished.
“I don’t know.” The teetering general drooled.
Dirk retracted the dagger and walked out of the room, back to the stair and onto the roof. From there he took in a quick lay of the land. He looked southwest beyond the horizon to where he knew the closer village McKellian’s Cross lay, likely Krentz’s next stop. Then his eyes traveled north to where he knew Twin Lakes to be. Krentz would take the targets at Castle Carlsborough after McKellian’s Cross.
Dirk ran along the wall and leapt. Catching his grappling hook on a gargoyle, he swung down smoothly, guiding his descent with his left hand. He landed and dislodged the hook with a whispered word. The rope followed him, winding itself back up into the mechanism as he walked. By the time he had reached his horse, the rope was again on his belt.
He sped away from the soldiers and their questioning yells at his back. From a strap he took a dart and jabbed it into the horse’s neck. The next dart was for him. The adrenaline hit them both and they flew off northwest. Dirk intended to get there before Krentz did. He rode on into the night and his mind was haunted with images of what Krentz was now doing to the family at McKellian’s Cross.
The general would still be on the trail of the assassin, but they would follow the trail south to her next kill. And Dirk would be waiting for her in the north. He had to put an end to her spree, no matter the cost.
Chapter 25
Treason
Music took to the skies as harp and fiddle, flute and reed rang out, marking the beginning of the festivities. Whill had been too preoccupied with his studies and that twisted figment of his imagination to know that a grand celebration had been planned. He soon learned that Zerafin’s crowning would be that night.
The queen motioned to a nearby elf and he quickly came forward. “See to it that the dwarves are shown to their special quarters and their every need is met.”
The elf bowed. “Yes, my queen.”
As the dwarves were being guided away by the queen’s help, a blast of lightning erupted from somewhere in the crowd. All in the blink of an eye screams and crackling thunder tore through the jolly gathering. The lightning snaked its way toward Whill as a blade came at him from behind. Two more assassins blasted fire and black spells at him.
Whill of Agora: Epic Fantasy Bundle (Books 1-4): (Whill of Agora, A Quest of Kings, A Song of Swords, A Crown of War) (Legends of Agora) Page 90