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

  “This isn’t real.”

  The shadow on the wall grew bigger.

  “This isn’t real.”

  A hooded figure came into view in the hall.

  “This isn’t real.”

  The cell doors flew open and the figure slowly crossed the space between them. His foul breath played on Whill’s face and he turned from it. His torturer brought a dagger to bear upon Whill’s stomach, and with a grin he shoved it in to the hilt.

  Whill let out a cry of pain and shuddered. “This isn’t real!”

  Avriel steered Zorriaz the White to bear upon Whill. She had tried to contact him mentally but was met by a wall of silence. Something was wrong. Whill hovered high above the land at the center of the aerial battle with arms outstretched. He shuddered violently and arched his back to the heavens as if in great pain. He looked as though he was caught in the throes of a Zionar battle, but she knew better.

  As she circled him, trusting the dragon-hawk to fend off any attackers, she yelled his name into the wind. The power from her blade helped amplify her voice, but Whill did not respond. Instead he screamed in rage and threw his arms up toward the stars. From each of his wrists, barbed chains ripped out of his skin and shot outward five feet. Whill bowed his head and the chains fell to his side.

  Avriel flew to hover before him and called his name again. “Whill!”

  Slowly he raised his head and the bloodshot eyes of the Other fell upon her. The pain she saw in those eyes made hers tear in empathy. “I had thought you dead for so long…,” he said in a hushed whisper of reverie.

  Blood trickled down the chains as he reached a trembling hand to her face. Avriel smiled upon him sympathetically.

  “I love you, Avriel,” said the Other, barely containing his composure.

  “I love you as well, Whill.” She smiled and laid a soft hand upon his. “Come back to me,” she said gently, hoping that, like before, it would help Whill to regain control.

  Around them the battle raged. Spells and draquon alike flew at them, but none could penetrate the shield circle the Other had built around them. Tears of blood fell from Whill’s dirty face.

  “I have come back to you. It’s me, Avriel, it is Whill. The man you knew, not this cowardly imposter. And it is I who shall wreak vengeance upon our enemies.”

  A large fireball exploded against the Other’s shield in a shower of sparks. Debris sent a sun elf in bird form falling broken to the ground below. The Other released Avriel’s hand and with a wicked smile summoned the power of Adromida. Avriel watched on as the bloody chains began to glow until they were too bright to look at. The Other left the shield floating around Avriel and with chains spinning joined the aerial battle.

  The glowing chains cut through draggard bodies easily as the nearby elves gave Whill a wide berth. The Other sent butchered pieces of draquon raining down upon the legions below. A mounted dark elf screamed the name of Eadon and put every bit of stored energy it had into a spell meant for Whill. The writhing black tendril was intercepted by a glowing chain and absorbed instantly. The astonished dark elf reared its mount to retreat as the Other raised a hand and the dark elf shot to it until he was held firm in an iron grip.

  “I will destroy you all,” said the Other and sucked the very life out of the dark elf.

  With a satisfied shudder he discarded the dried husk that had been the dark elf. Then he set his eyes upon the scores of draquon flying toward the allied armies. He flew well ahead of the battles of land and air, and with arms raised to the sky, he conjured a swirling ball of energy. From Adromida he let the energy flow into a dense ball of swirling light until it hummed with tension. With a scream of rage he sent the energy ball flying to the center of the circle of rifts, nearly two miles away. Any draquon that got in the path of the missile were disintegrated as it flew the distance in seconds.

  The Other turned back toward the armies of his allies and with outstretched hands summoned a shield to encompass them all. Behind him the energy ball slammed into the ground and swallowed all sound. All heads turned to the spectacle as the Other’s spell flashed and then disappeared. Sound returned to the world and a groan louder than shifting mountain rumbled through the ground for miles. A circle of darkness appeared where the energy ball had vanished, and everything nearby was pulled into it. Draggard and dwargon alike fought each other to get away as the black hole drew more and more beasts and dark elves alike into it. The nearby crystal monoliths too were pulled in and crumbled violently as they mashed with everything else being sucked into the small, dense black hole.

  Suddenly the pulling stopped and again it was quiet, and then just as suddenly a deafening explosion ripped through the air as the black hole exploded and a shockwave tore across the land in every direction. Everything for miles was disintegrated as the shockwave and ensuing fireball obliterated any sign of the dark elves or their hellish creations. A mushroom-like cloud of fiery smoke and ash reached up until it flattened against the heavens as the shockwave and fireball rolled harmlessly over Whill’s shield and around the allied armies.

  Finally it was over, and a hot wind fell upon the faces of the allies as they stared at Whill in awe as he floated high above the desolation of his spell. The few dark elves who had managed to shield themselves from the blast wasted no time in fleeing. It was a while before anyone noticed that along with the dark-elf armies, the rifts had been destroyed as well.

  The day had been won, but now the elven and dwarven armies of Agora were trapped many thousands of miles away in Drindellia. Quickly the cheers of both elves and dwarves were replaced by a foreboding at the realization of their plight. They had no way home.

  THE END

  Whill of Agora

  Book 4

  A Crown of War

  Michael James Ploof

  Copyright © 2014 Michael James Ploof

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1497399017

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Paul Fiacco, the first wizard I ever met.

  Clarification:

  As stated in Whill of Agora: Book 1, elves name their blades the opposite of themselves. Hence, Zerafin’s blade is Nifarez. Other examples include: Aramonis−Sinomara, Avriel−Leirva, and Eadon−Nodae. In particular, some confusion has been expressed regarding the name of Adimorda’s blade, Adromida. Though obviously similar, it is not a typo or mistake.

  A Crown of War

  Do the bards sing of a hero’s fears?

  A hero’s scars?

  A hero’s tears?

  Chapter One

  I Have Seen Your Heart

  Aurora walked with Zander out of the tent and into the bitter wind. Fat snowflakes whirled in the afternoon light, and the clouds above glowed in stark contrast to the dark storm around the rift.

  “Your army waits,” said Zander, indicating the rift beyond the tents of the armies of the Seven Tribes.

  Aurora’s reply was lost as she gazed upon Azzeal. A thin fog surrounded him as the snow was singed by his energy shield. “You will die before you join Eadon?” The accusation in his voice ripped through her.

  “Decide now! Shall you die with your honor intact, or will you become yet another of Eadon’s puppets?” Azzeal screamed as he began to glow.

  “You offer me only death!” she cried.

  Zander stepped past her to face Azzeal. He regarded his sun elf cousin with disdain. “When you strike my enemy, my strength shall guide thy hand.”

  Aurora knew the words that he spoke, for Eadon had said such a thing as they sealed their deal with flesh.

  When you strike my enemy, my strength shall guide thy hand. The promise came to her again.

  The fourteen elves that had disguised themselves as spirit animals stepped forth out of the swirling snow to stand next to Azzeal.

  “You are clearly outnumbered, dark elf. Surrender, and we may find an excuse to let you yet breathe,” Azzeal snarled.

  Zander laughed in Azzeal’s face. “To the rift!�
�� he bellowed in Elvish.

  There was a sudden rumbling that shook the ground. Far beyond the army of the Seven, the rift crackled and buzzed with lightning. The winds picked up, and, soon, a blizzard surrounded the encampment. Before any of the elves could retaliate, Zander had turned to shadow and swirled to the ear of Aurora.

  “The Draggard horde pours forth, m’lady. What will it be? Do you mean to send your tribesmen to their deaths against us in the name of honor? Or, will you join our ranks and storm the beaches of Agora with a mighty army at your back?” Zander whispered.

  Azzeal awaited her reply with a hard-set chin.

  “Bring me to the front line so that I might calm my armies,” said Aurora.

  As she was whisked away by Zander’s spell, the face of Azzeal−the face of the betrayed−stared after her with tear-filled eyes.

  At the base of the storming rift, the barbarian armies prepared for the imminent attack. Aurora stood before her legions and raised her arms to the sky. With Zander’s help, her voice rang out loud and clear.

  “Hold!” she said with authority.

  The thousands of barbarians stirred, and many complaints found her ears. Behind her, the hulking form of a dwargon came through the rift. Alarms and calls to arms rose up above the tumult as a host of Draggard and dark elves followed.

  Aurora could not believe that the beasts were now her allies, but once again the power of Eadon coursed through her. Her decision had been made, and it had been rewarded.

  “The dark elves and their hordes are our allies!” she told her people.

  “Allies?!” a barbarian cried, and many angered voices rose up.

  “These beasts have been a scourge upon our lands for decades!” yelled another.

  Aurora yelled over them. “It is true, we have had our differences. But a deal has been stuck. They would have ravaged Volnoss, leaving none alive, had it not been for me. With the dark elves as allies, we shall know the glory of the past. We will retake our homelands of old, and once again we shall know honor!”

  “There is no honor in this!” yelled Winterwind, Chief of Eagle Tribe. “These beasts are an abomination!”

  “You would rather we die defending this frozen rock?” asked Aurora.

  “I will fight before I join with the dark elves,” Winterwind proclaimed.

  “Do you challenge my authority as Chieftain of the Seven?” Aurora asked. Behind her hundreds of Draggard had filed out of the rift and fanned out wide. Many dark elves came to stand by her and Zander.

  Winterwind answered her with a war cry and charged across the frozen ground. Aurora met the charge with a cry of her own and sped to meet him. Eadon’s words played in her mind as Winterwind raised his massive war hammer and came on fast.

  “When you strike my enemy, my strength shall guide thy hand.”

  The dark elf’s power coursed through her, lending her speed and power. She thumbed a gem upon the Dragonlance of Ashai, and the blade extended to ten feet with a shriek. The tip shot forth in a blur of enchanted steel and impaled Winterwind through the neck. His body convulsed as Aurora heaved him high at the end of her lance and threw him through the air to land at the feet of the dark elves.

  With three sharp clicks her lance retracted into the shaft. Aurora stalked toward the barbarian line and eyed each chief in turn. “I ask one more time: who here would challenge my authority?”

  “I would!” A voice rang out, and the barbarians parted for the speaker. Aurora recognized the voice, and her heart broke as Azzeal and his elves, now in their true form, walked toward her.

  Aurora shook her head and trained the lance on Azzeal’s chest, her thumb hovering above a gem. The elf paid the threat no mind and was soon standing before her. He offered her a sympathetic smile. Zander came to stand beside her. She could sense the other dark elves at her back.

  “You can still do the right thing,” Azzeal begged her.

  “Kill him,” said Zander in her ear.

  “Be gone from here, sun elf. There is not but death for you now,” Aurora bade him with a whisper. “You offer me only death,” she reminded him.

  “I offer you honorable death: freedom of your soul!” Azzeal erupted. Behind him, the fourteen druids unsheathed their curved blades in unison; the drawn swords of the dark elves at Aurora’s back rang out in answer.

  A tear found Aurora’s cheek as Azzeal’s voice came to her. I have seen into your heart Aurora Snowfell; you are a good person. You cannot do this.

  Zander stared at her from the right. The dark elf had taken a step back. “Defy thy master’s will, and you shall share his enemies’ fate. The barbarian warriors will be slaughtered, the women will be ravaged by Draggard, and your children will be their food.”

  Eadon’s words echoed in her mind. When you strike my enemy, my strength shall guide thy hand.

  Coward at your back, the voice whispered from her dreams.

  “Choose,” said Azzeal.

  As the single tear fell from her face, Aurora made her choice. Power coursed through her body and into the Dragonlance of Ashai as it shot forth into the energy shield and sank in Azzeal’s chest. Chaos erupted as Zander and his dark elves engaged the Elves of the Sun. Time slowed for Aurora as Azzeal’s dying gaze locked her in a stare. Spells erupted around them, and the clamor of blades rang out; Azzeal’s blade fell to the frozen earth as his power was leached from him by the Dragonlance. His face became taut and his eyes bulged as his strangled voice uttered words that would haunt her forever. “I have seen…your…heart.”

  “Be still!” A voice boomed, and the world became silent.

  Everyone froze. Aurora turned to gaze upon the portal. There, floating at its center, was Eadon. In an instant, he was before her.

  “You have chosen well my Lady of the North,” said Eadon with a lingering grin. He turned to the Elves of the Sun and extended a hand. They cried out and withered to ash. Their essence was pulled forth into Eadon’s clenched fist and absorbed. Aurora retracted her Dragonlance, horrified at what she had done. Azzeal fell dead to the ground. The barbarians watched silently as Eadon stalked the line taking a measure of the armies. Their shoulders, once proud and strong, now hung down as they cowered before the dark elf’s power.

  “Stand tall barbarians of Volnoss!” he cried. “Chieftain Snowfell has secured your place in the New Agora.”

  Behind him, the rift churned and lightning lashed out from all sides. The Draggard army had reached the thousands. Overhead, scores of draquon circled, swirling like a gathering whirlwind, and sending phantom shadows swimming across the frozen landscape. The ground shook with the heavy steps of lumbering dwargon as they approached with dark elf riders saddled on their hunched backs.

  “Kneel before me now, and prove your allegiance!” Eadon bellowed. The barbarians began to comply, and soon only a handful of brave souls remained standing. Eadon studied the two dozen barbarian warriors, men and women alike, and his gaze fell to Aurora. She straightened under that stare, her heart hammering all the while.

  Eadon reached toward the standing barbarians, and they were pulled to him by an unseen force.

  “Chieftain Snowfell, what do you suggest we do with these…traitors?” he asked.

  Aurora considered them as she walked the line. One of the women spat in her face, but quickly regretted it. She was lifted by Eadon’s mental grip, and tossed high into the churning mass of draquon. Soon her blood and torn body were raining down upon the crowd.

  “The tribes of Volnoss have no place for those that would not help us thrive. If you are not our allies, you are our enemies,” said Aurora. “Zander!”

  “Chieftain?” he smiled.

  “Dispose of them.”

  “As you wish,” he said and turned to the group. He arched his back and tensed as his many gems and crystals began to glow. He threw out his right hand and blue lightning snaked forth and engulfed them all. After half a minute of thrashing and screaming, the barbarians lay dead and smoldering.

  Au
rora watched her kin die and felt nothing. Whatever goodness Azzeal had seen in her had died with him. Her choice had been made; there was no turning back now. She would lead her barbarians and the hideous hordes of Draggard in an attack on Agora, and reclaim the ancient lands and the mountains of the north.

  Eadon followed her gaze to the crumpled form of Azzeal. He walked to the elf and turned the body over with his boot. With an outstretched hand over the corpse, Eadon began to chant in a hissing language unknown to her. Azzeal’s body lurched and convulsed and rose into the air. A lightning bolt crashed through the snowstorm and slammed into the body. A strangled cry issued forth from Azzeal, and Eadon grinned at Aurora.

  “Rise, Azzeal of Drindellia. I yet have use for you,” said Eadon as Azzeal descended to the ground and stood weakly. His eyes were milky white. Aurora recognized nothing of the elf she had known in them.

  “The undead elf will lead you to the southern coast; there you will find the waters frozen to the Shierdon shores. Near Orenden, you shall join forces with the armies of Shierdon, and reclaim your lands.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Aurora with a bow.

  Eadon turned with a jerk, alert to something. Aurora recognized surprise in his face. He leapt from the ground and flew like an arrow toward the rift, but before he could reach it, there was a deafening explosion and the rift winked out of existence.

  Chapter Two

  A Prison for the Mind