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)

by Michael James Ploof

  “Where are you going?” Whill asked, getting up.

  “I need to think!” said Roakore and slammed the door behind him.

  Whill could only look after his friend with concern in his heart.

  Chapter 34

  Homeland

  Aurora instructed the elves to the harbor of the capital city of stone named Grethen Dar. As they neared the harbor Aurora first realized that these were not mere fisherman that escorted her, judging by the armor they soon donned and the weapons they carried. Azzeal informed her that indeed these were his druids, each a master of one or more school of Orna Catorna.

  "They are fourteen in number, each able to transform into one of seven of your people's tribal animals."

  "One of seven of my people's... They will think that I command the spirits of the seven?" Aurora began to shake her head. "No, I cannot make such a claim, it is not right."

  "It will gain their favor quickly," said Azzeal. "And it is true is it not? Surely one with the tribes at heart has the favor of the spirits?"

  "You are right," she decided. "You have thought this through haven't you?"

  "I have tried." said Azzeal as the boat docked.

  There was not a soul to be found in the harbor. The boat was tied off promptly and Aurora touched her native homeland for the first time in a long time. It was good to be home. But something felt wrong about the place. The rift loomed in the distance beyond the snow covered hill that led to Grethen Dar. The sense of evil was nearly palpable. It came as a strange scent upon the wind, a feeling of foreboding that left her cold in her furs and elven cloak.

  Azzeal and his druids took to land and before Aurora's eyes they changed into the spirit animals of her people. Two there were each, bear, eagle, hawk, snow cat, fox, dragon, and finally her own tribe's timber wolf. The elves in animal form regarded Aurora with quiet anticipation. She looked upon them with joy in her heart.

  "Stay nearby," she informed them. "I will call out the chief of the seven and when I give word, come forth."

  The elves took to the forest at the foot of the hillside two by two and disappeared within. Azzeal remained at her side as he promised he would. They began up the hill but did not veer towards the city. Instead they traveled to the snowy field on the other side of the city to the south.

  An hour later they reached the high bluff that marked the very fields upon which her father had fallen. Aurora stood upon the plains and took in the crisp air; it was a good day to die. Her sword was sheathed; upon her back she wore her shield. She looked to the dragonlance and to Azzeal.

  "It is time," she said to him. "Lend your magic to my voice."

  Azzeal nodded and raised a hand before her. Aurora spoke the words that she had waited to say for years.

  "Icethorn!" her voice boomed with Azzeal's enchantment. It echoed over the hills like rolling thunder. "I challenge you chieftain of the seven! Come and answer the challenge of Aurora Snowfell!"

  Her resolve was strengthened by the sound of her own booming voice. A horn answered her challenge. It rang out in a long deep keening that was heard for miles. The horn announced to all that there had been a challenge. Another, deeper horn bellowed forth, this one in answer to the challenge. Aurora's heart leapt in anticipation of the coming battle.

  From the direction of the rift opposite the city and harbor there came the thunderous pounding of horses. Then too the sound came from the city. Soon a ruckus approached them from all sides as barbarians both mounted and on foot migrated to the field to bear witness to the challenge. Whispers of elf and Aurora Snowfell began to circle them as the hour passed and hundreds arrived. She assumed the fourteen elves to be watching from the woods, for no cries had yet announced their discovery.

  "Aurora!" her mother ran to her from the crowd. She looked to have aged greatly in Aurora's absence. Her mother reached her and threw herself at her with open arms. Aurora embraced her tearful mother and felt the strength still left in her old bones.

  "Oh my brave daughter what have you done!" she asked through her tears.

  "I shall have my revenge. Mother, it is alright, we will talk after I kill Icethorn," said Aurora gently pushing her away.

  All heads turned as the screeching roar of a dragon echoed from the city. Aurora knew the cry of that dragon well; ever did it play in her dreams. It was the cry of Icethorn's dragon Czarra

  "Be safely away mother," said Aurora as she gently pushed her and brought her shield to bear.

  "I love you Aurora," cried her mother as she was pulled along by two men.

  "No final words mother, I shall live to see this night."

  Czarra came into view over the city and flew quickly to the field to circle high above. Icethorn came down swiftly and flew low over Aurora and Azzeal and the crowd. The dragon roared as they passed and even the toughest of the barbarians were forced to cover their ears. Czarra landed before Aurora with a great flapping of wings that kicked up a bitter-cold whirlwind of ice and snow.

  The crowd of barbarians had reached the thousands, and Aurora realized that they must have already been gathered within the city, likely due to the looming threat of the rift that crackled with lightning far to the south. The seven tribes stretched out around the field in a circle giving the two fighters a wide berth. The biting wind coupled with the overcast sky gave the day a dreary feel, but Aurora felt not the cold. She felt only her rage; she saw only her enemy.

  Icethorn sat high upon his saddle at the base of his dragon's neck. Czarra the black glared at Aurora as if she were food and took four quick steps that brought the beast to within feet of her. Aurora found her courage and held her ground. Icethorn would not allow the dragon to attack her without a formal acceptance of the challenge, it would be considered cowardly. For the same reason Aurora stayed her fingers from pressing the gem that would extract the lance and likely kill Czarra. Icethorn pulled back his mount as he stared at Azzeal. The leaf-clad elf stood defiantly before him.

  "What is this?" Icethorn asked the crowd as his mount was turned in a circle. "My ears decieve and mine eyes lie! Did I not hear challenge given strong? Why do I see no warrior before me.?

  "I stand before you blind coward. Aurora Snowfell, daughter of Wolfbane Snowfell of the Timberwolf Tribe. I claim my bloodright as my father's daughter. I challenge thee."

  Icethorn gave a hearty laugh and his heavy knotted black locks whipped his bare back. He wore seven heavy plates of armor strapped to his body with thick knotted braids of leather. Above heavy boots upon each shin were two plates of armor, the left was adorned with the standard of bear tribe, the right bore the howling face of the timber wolf. The plate armor upon his thighs depicted the fox and snow cat tribes. Upon his shoulders were large pauldrons engraved with the hawk and eagle. Dragon tribe was left for his thick chestplate of steel. His fur cloak of many tails blew in the wind. He regarded Aurora with wicked eyes set close behind a braided beard. The warpaint upon his face matched the black of his dragon; its sharp lines highlighted his fierce features.

  "Your bloodright as daughter!" Icethorn laughed and many of the gathered barbarians joined in. "Daughters have no bloodright to challenge their father's killer," said Icethorn.

  "Nor do you have the right of claim as chief of the seven. When you took control of the tribes, you broke all bonds of rights and law. I challenge you Icethorn to the death. I have the spirits of the seven with me, and I will not be denied."

  On cue startled proclamations began to ring out and in many places the barbarians began to part. Icethorn looked angrily to see what the cause was. Soon a pair of bears emerged into the circle, followed by timberwolves and two huge foxes. To everyone's astonishment two great eagles and hawks swooped down to land behind Aurora. Out came the snow cats and finally and to everyone's awe, a pair of shimmering dragons landed before dragon tribe.

  The crowd broke into frenzy. Women pulled at their hair, elders fell to the ground before the animals. The tribes fell in worship of their respective spirit animals. The elv
es had played their part perfectly. Aurora thumbed the ruby and the lance extended once.

  She took four purposeful steps towards Icethorn and brought her shield to bear. The chieftain laughed and waved her away.

  "You are food for my pet daughter Snowfell. Czarra she is yours," he said stepping aside. The black dragon lurched forth and spat a thin line of fire. Aurora quickly brought up her shield and cocked back the dragonlance of Ashai. Her arm was bathed in dragonfire as it thrust forth and the pointed end shot through the air from the main shaft and impaled the dragon through the head.

  The crowd gasped as Czarra lurched back from the blow and reeled to the side scattering fox tribe. Aurora screamed through the pain of her burns and charged the faltering dragon. It fell and pawed drunkenly at the lance buried in its head. Aurora leapt upon its fore leg and with a war cry buried her longsword under its jaw. Czarra gave a strangled roar and spasmed; then he moved no more. Aurora swooned from the pain and pulled her blade free. She ignored her charred wounds and turned to Icethorn and let out a roar of her own.

  The chieftain regarded her with burning hatred. He unsheathed a seven-foot long sword with sawed edges, and also a great one-handed battleaxe. Icethorn clanged the blades together and pumped his legs into a charge. Aurora answered the call and sped leaping from the dragon towards her enemy. They came together with a clash of metal. Icethorn was the bigger of the two by far, but Aurora came down upon him from on high. She shield-bashed the giant barbarian as he swung up with his axe and sent it wide; the collision left them both standing on solid footing. With matching growls they met with swords high above their heads. In came the axe from the side; out wide again went the shield. Aurora struck with sword low and Icethorn drove her blade into the dirt. He swung his axe to distract from his intentions as he slipped inside her reach. Aurora knew his mind and twirled away behind the guard of her shield. Icethorn came on banging axe and then sword heavily against her shield. She struck from behind it straight out and drew first blood as she sliced his leg above the plate armor. Axe and sword came together in a blow that sent her tumbling across the grass. A sword landed upon her shield as she rolled and blocked. Icethorn hooked the shield with the curved blade of his axe and tore it from Aurora's grasp. The sword came down again and she was forced to block with her own. Towering above her Icethorn brought his axe down from the side. She brought her sword down across herself and jabbed it into the ground to block. The axe hewn it in two and was turned in its flight. Aurora was hit hard in the head by the deflected axe and rolled blindly to her side. She got up quickly but stumbled as the world spun and her vision blurred. Icethorn kicked her in the chest and she landed hard on her back. She rolled over onto her abandoned dragonlance shaft.

  Behind her, heavy footsteps followed by victorious laughter stalked towards her. She could just picture Icethorn raising his sword high over his head. She fumbled and clutched the dragonlance shaft and tucked it under her burnt arm so that it stuck out behind her. Through her blurred vision she saw a shadow loom and a sword raised high.

  There was a coward at her back.

  Aurora touched a gem upon the shaft and the lance doubled in size as a pointed end shot forth and hit with a thud. Aurora's vision had begun to clear, the world stopped spinning. The shadow before her dropped its sword behind it and reached for the shadow of the protruding dragonlance.

  Aurora stumbled to her feet and the sights and sounds of the world came rushing back to her. Icethorn was raging like a bull as he slowly extracted the dragonlance from his chest. The man's eyes bulged and his mouth frothed with blood, but he kept pulling the lance through. Aurora took up Icethorn’s axe and walked to stand before the impaled barbarian. She set a heavy foot on the shaft where it met the ground at a slant and Icethorn howled. He clawed at the thick dragonlance that had made a hole in his chest the size of a fist and cursed Aurora.

  "You maggot with your elf magic, die, die, die squealing like your fa--"

  The battle axe cut through his neck and sent the head flying in a spray of blood. The body remained frozen in place, propped up by the lance. Aurora took the head of the former chieftain and held it high.

  "I am the chief of the seven. If any challenge my claim, come forth now!" she yelled and tossed the head of Icethorn. The elves, as spirit animals, stalked forth to create a ring around Aurora, the dragons, hawks, and eagles took to the sky and circled above her. The barbarians of the seven tribes began to chant the name of their new chief of the seven. The name Aurora Snowfell echoed over the snow covered hills, through the city and forest beyond. It even reached the ear of the lone dark elf that stood at the base of the storming rift.

  Chapter 35

  Meeting of the Masters

  Roakore was nowhere to be found when Whill left his room that morning. He was greeted by the dwarves and especially by Lunara, but nothing was asked of him about Roakore, and Whill did not ask. Dwarves didn’t get into other people’s business, and for that Whill was grateful.

  He left the mock mountain and made his way to the pyramid in which he was to meet with the masters. It had been a week since he had been given the books, and today he was expected to answer their quizzing. He smiled to himself as he went over books at random, seeing them perfectly in his mind. He could just imagine the looks he would get when he answered their questions.

  Entering the pyramid, he found the masters seated as they had been before. But this time there were neither test items nor queen. Zerafin, however, was present. Present also were many of the elders he had seen before. Although he felt prepared for the task ahead, he still found himself nervous.

  Whill strode forward into the meeting hall and stopped before the gathering. Crossing his arms, he bowed slightly and waited. The elves rose as one and returned the bow. The king remained standing while the others sat. Something in his eye reminded Whill that Zerafin did not approve of his and Roakore’s running off into a portal.

  “Now that we are all here, we may begin,” he said dryly. “When last we met, you performed tests from each master. The masters would like to give their rating of your skill levels and ask what you have learned from the tomes.”

  “Am I allowed to sit whilst I answer?”

  Zerafin blinked at him and stared; before he could respond, Angril of the Krundar arose.

  “Make yourself a chair,” he said, gesturing to the stone beneath Whill.

  Whill looked at the stone and then at Angril. “You make a chair. The tests were last week, remember? I am the rightful King of Uthen-Arden, the kingdom that gave you this land. All I ask for is a godsdamned chair.”

  Whill could not believe the words that had come out of his mouth. He sounded just like the Other—his pained inflections, the sneer; he could almost hear the blood in his mouth. He looked wide-eyed at the elf master as everyone stared at him, some showing their thoughts and some not.

  “Please,” Whill muttered and looked at the ground. He tried not to think of the Other. The ground shifted below him and he turned to watch a smooth, curving chair grow out of the stone. He turned back to the Krundar master, who only bowed and took his own seat.

  “Thank you,” said Whill as he sat, not meeting Zerafin’s eyes.

  “The first of the masters, please. You have the hall,” said the king, taking a seat.

  Master Libratus of Arnarro stood and directed his attention to Whill. The blue tendrils upon his robe seemed to swirl around the sleeves of his lokata. “You, my friend, have baffled my understanding of the learning process. As I am sure many of my fellow masters will attest, you have abilities that no elf under one hundred years of age has. It may even be a new form of Orna Catorna that you are using, something yet unseen until now. While we must learn everything about the part of the body we are healing, you have not. While we must understand how the body heals itself, you do not. Yet you can.” He waved a hand absently at the air. “My final evaluation is that I do not know. To me it seems a testament to the prophecy.”

  The elves stirr
ed, both believers and nonbelievers of the prophecy. “I will speak no more of it.” Libratus waved them away. “Did you read much of the art of healing?” he asked Whill.

  “Yes, I found it quite interesting. I have always had an attraction to the art. I consider the power to heal the greatest of all gifts.”

  “Indeed.” Libratus smiled with a raised chin. “And how far did you get?”

  “I read the entire tome,” Whill said with pride.

  Libratus nodded slowly. “I see. Very well. What is the center bone of the human hand called?”

  “In elven or Agoran speech?” Whill asked.

  “Elven,” Libratus replied, sounding intrigued.

  “It is called the astellarden.”

  “And what is the tendon that runs above it from knuckle to wrist?” Libratus pressed.

  “Minnetus,” answered Whill.

  Libratus looked to the ceiling in thought. “Quarts of blood in the elven body?”

  “Five.”

  “Which god strand is responsible for the body’s healing?”

  “Number twenty-seven.”

  “How do healing stones work?”

  “A frequency is given to the smoothed crystal that the body of the wounded responds to. This frequency is determined early in elven culture and shared with few. Usually healing stones are carried by those they are meant to heal. There are others as well, however, such as Krenolian rubies and Shadrol emeralds, which can be used on anything with the guidance of the wielder,” Whill answered with a smile.

  “Page seven hundred nine, paragraph six, third word in the first sentence,” said Libratus with a scowl.

  Whill grinned. “Blood.”

  Defeated, Libratus laughed to himself and clasped his hands before his chin. “Are we to assume that you can recite all of the tomes so?”

  “Yes, I can see them all clearly,” Whill confirmed.