Whill of Agora woa-1

by Michael Ploof

  Whill did not understand Abram’s urgency. He was the one who had given it to him in the first place, after all. “Yes, after you left I held it for a long while, but I did nothing…I…I passed out.” He bowed his head in embarrassment at his own weakness.

  Abram spared him any explanation. He sat again on the bed and tried to explain. “The sword of your father has life once again, then. When you held it in your state of…despair, and anger, your energy poured into it. Not the energy of your body, but of your mind. This, you will learn, is a practice that the Elves of the Sun shun, but the Dark elves favor.”

  Whill could sense the gravity in Abram’s words. He began to understand how little control he had over his own powers, and the thought scared him.

  “It is not the use of the mind that they shun,” Abram continued. “It is the use of negative thoughts, and negative emotions, that they do not agree with. If one fills his sword with anger, hatred, and other negative emotions and energies, he soon will become consumed with these emotions. The elves know this, and that is why it is not practiced, though it can bring great power quickly. It can also destroy one’s soul and blacken the heart just as easily.”

  He was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. “Yes?”

  “It is I, Fior. The king requests breakfast with you an’ Whill in a half-hour’s time.”

  “We will be ready.”

  “I will return then.”

  Abram turned to Whill once again. “We will talk of this more later. Now we should bathe and dress. The king awaits us.”

  A half-hour later Fior returned and led Whill and Abram to the king’s quarters. Having been given quarters in the king’s guest wing, it was a short walk. The floors in this corridor were black marble, and the walls of the wide halls were adorned with many carvings. Great stone arches adorned the circular hall every ten feet. Years beyond reckoning had gone into the designs of this ancient lair, and for the first time since entering the king’s chambers Whill took in its great beauty.

  Fior led them to a large, open door and stepped to the side, gesturing for them to enter. The room beyond was massive, more than a thousand feet long and two hundred feet wide, with high cathedral ceilings adorned with gold and silver arches that wound around each other in a stunning display. The floors were white marble and the walls platinum, so highly polished that they reflected the room in a way that added to its grand appearance. More than three hundred large dwarf statues lined both sides of the room, standing over ten feet tall. These were the past kings of Dy-Kore, their exact likenesses carved into the stone with great precision.

  “This is the Chamber of the Kings.” Fior’s voice echoed from behind them. “Within each statue lies the king depicted.”

  “The most magnificent sight I have ever seen,” Whill said truthfully. He looked to his right at the first and largest statue of them all. The image that stared down at him was that of a bald, sturdy-looking dwarf with a long, braided beard. In his left hand was a massive axe, and in his right was the curving horn of a dragon. Below the statue sat a large black marble plaque. Its Dwarvish words, written in diamond dust, read

  Here lies Ky Dren, the Dragons Bane

  First king and founder of Ky Dren

  Warrior of the Gods

  Slayer of Five Dragons

  Savior of the Dwarves

  0-350

  Fior led them down the great chamber past dozens of similar statues, to where King Ky’Ell sat waiting upon his throne. To his right and left were two dwarves, dressed as Fior was. Four steps led to Ky’Ell’s throne, and upon that high perch sat a marvelous chair of gold. Ky’Ell was big by dwarf standards, and the elevated throne only intensified his size. His hair was grey, as was his long beard, which in his seated position fell below his feet. His eyes were blue and alert, watching keenly behind a wide nose. At first glance he seemed a stern and serious dwarf, even mean, but as Whill and Abram stopped before him, his eyebrows shot upward and a wide smile spread from under his thick beard.

  Abram slammed his right fist to his chest and bowed slightly. “Ky’Ell, my friend, it is good to see you once again.”

  The king returned the gesture and in a deep and powerful voice responded, “An’ you, Abram, dwarf friend. I am glad to see that the many rumors o’ yer death are false, fer such a loss to the world o’ men would be a grievous loss indeed.”

  Abram laughed. “If I had a gold coin for every rumor of my demise, I would be the envy of kings.”

  The king laughed, his great booming voice echoing throughout the chamber. As the laughter died away, Whill took the opportunity to greet him. He slammed his right fist to his chest in the sign of respect and bowed slightly. “It is an honor to meet the great king of Dy-Kore.”

  To Whill’s utter amazement, the king returned the gesture, a great honor from a king of dwarves. “’Tis I who am honored to finally meet the rightful king o’ Uthen-Arden. I’ve heard much of ye from Abram, Whill. He’s indeed done a good job of training ye. I hear tell from Roakore that ye slew three Draggard single-handed. Ye indeed are a great warrior o’ men, an’ ye’ll be a great king in yer time.”

  Whill was barely used to the idea of being a king, and hearing himself spoken of in such a way made him uncomfortable. “Thank you, good king.”

  After a moment of silence, which made Whill even more uncomfortable, Ky’Ell rose from his throne and descended the four steps. “Let us eat, then. Ye must be starved from yer journey.”

  With that he led Abram and Whill through a passage to the right of the throne and down a wide tunnel. They soon stepped into a huge dining room. The room was half the length of the Chamber of Kings, but like that chamber this room boasted highly polished floors of marble. Its walls were adorned with great banners and paintings of kings of old. Five massive chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and at the center of the right wall sat a giant fire place, more than twenty feet wide. At the center of the long room was a beautiful stone dining table, exquisitely crafted and adorned with various gems and precious stones. Its wooden chairs were no less beautiful, intricately carved as they were, with silver trim and blue satin cushions. The stone table could seat over five hundred, but Whill found that only four places had been set for breakfast at the end closest them.

  Whill assumed that the fourth chair meant that Fior would be joining them, but was happy to see Roakore enter the room behind them. The king sat and bade the three to do the same. Fior gave a small bow and exited the room as four dwarf maidens entered. Whill looked in wonder at the sight of the dwarf women. To his knowledge, no man had ever laid eyes upon a female dwarf, and they were mentioned rarely in any accounts of the dwarves he had ever read. Whill suddenly felt embarrassed by his gawking. The king noticed his reaction but only grinned. The women were not bearded, as many of the stories told, nor were they in any way ugly. They were shorter than the male dwarves, a foot shorter on average. They had thick, long, flowing hair put up with ribbons to prevent it from dragging on the floor. They wore long dresses and aprons over their plump figures. Merry cheeks accompanied warm smiles as they set the many dishes out before the diners. Whill thought to himself that at any moment one of them would fall over under the weight of their huge bosoms, and he fought off a chuckle.

  When the dishes were all set, the maidens bowed slightly and with wide smiles exited the room the way they had come.

  “Our women are built as sturdy as the mountains themselves,” noted the king. “You should know, Whill, that you are one of the very few outsiders who has ever laid eyes upon them. We love and guard our women as fiercely as we do our treasure, for they are the givers of life, the greatest gift bestowed upon us from the gods.”

  Whill regretted his earlier thoughts and wondered for a foolish moment if the king had read his mind. “I am honored once again, good king. They are indeed a treasure.”

  The king eyed Whill for a moment. “Fret not, young Whill, fer years I too have pondered the mystery o’ how they stay on their feet.”

&nbs
p; Whill flushed as he realized that his eyes had given him away. He began to stutter a response but the king interrupted. “But how I do love to investigate the many aspects o’that mystery!” His chuckle grew into all-out, barrel-bellied laughter. Abram and Roakore joined in and the room soon filled with the echoes of laughter, including Whill’s.

  As the laughter finally died down the king took a piece of roasted duck from one of the dishes and bit into it fiercely. “Eat up, friends, and tell me the tale o’ your meeting and the battle with the Draggard.”

  As they ate, Whill, Abram, and Roakore took turns telling the tale. The food was good and the wine sweet. Before them sat a feast of roasted duck, boiled goose eggs, strips of fried wild boar, ham, cakes, pastries, coffee, juices, goat’s and cow’s milk, and various fruits and bread. Whill found that he had a monstrous appetite, and knew that it was due to the healing of his leg. The king listened intently, complimenting Whill’s genius in using the diamonds as bait, and grunting approvingly at the ways the Draggard had been dispatched.

  When they had finished eating, Abram took out his pipe, as was his habit after a good meal, and so did Roakore and Ky’Ell. The king gestured to Whill with his pipe. “Do ye smoke, lad?”

  Hoping not to offend him, Whill answered truthfully, “No, thank you. I never acquired a taste for it myself, but I do enjoy the smell of another’s.”

  “Very well.” The king puffed and blew a large smoke-ring into the air, and quickly sent another smaller one through the middle.

  “Now for business.” He sat up in his chair. “What of the invitation I have received from Kell-Torrey?” He asked Abram.

  “King Mathus of Eldalon has summoned all kings of Agora to a secret meeting to be held within his castle in Kell-Torey, also the elf queen of Elladrindellia. He has not, however, invited King Addakon of Uthen-Arden.” He paused and glanced at Whill. “In his place Mathus has asked that Whill attend, being the rightful king.”

  King Ky’Ell scowled. “The elf queen? I’ll be damned if I enter the company of an elf.”

  Abram feared that the mention of Queen Araveal would now hamper the true message of the meeting. Abram went on cautiously. “Please, Ky’Ell, hear me out.” Ky’Ell nodded and puffed on his pipe. “Addakon of Uthen-Arden has invaded Isladon. There has been no word from King Fenious for weeks. King Mathus has decided to hold this meeting under my council. He believes, as do I, that King Addakon intends to take over all of Agora, including the mountains of the dwarves.”

  Ky’Ell choked on his smoke. “Bah! The snake can try, but he’ll not find it an easy task. He is flanked on both sides by dwarf mountains.”

  Abram continued. “That is not all. When Whill’s parents were killed, I was there. So was Addakon. It was he who saw to it.”

  Ky’Ell nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes, ye told me the tale.”

  “What I failed to tell you was that the ambush was performed by a host of Draggard.”

  The king was dumbfounded. “Twenty years ago?”

  Abram nodded. “Yes. It is my strong belief that Addakon has made allies with the beasts. I can only begin to guess to what extent, but if he has waited this long to act on his desires, I can only assume that he has been amassing a Draggard army. Worse yet, he could be in alliance with the Dark elf of legend, Eadon.”

  Ky’Ell spat on the floor at the mention of Eadon, the Dark elf who had crossed dragon and elf and brought the Draggard into existence. “Then the elves of Elladrindellia are in on it also, the scum! Brought the dragon half-breeds here to take our treasures, eh?”

  “No!” Abram interrupted. “If you value me as a friend and know me to be a man of truth, listen to my words! The elves of Elladrindellia have more hatred for the Draggard than even the dwarves do. They are not in league with the Dark elves. Their people were slaughtered and driven from Drindellia those hundreds of years ago by the Draggard.”

  “Bah! A lie built to hide their true intent! I’d wager they aim to take over Agora themselves, an’ enslave us all with the help o’ the Draggard scum. Yer deluded, Abram. Ye believe a lie!”

  Whill shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The tension in the air had become suffocating since the mention of the elves. He feared that Ky’Ell would erupt with rage. Roakore watched the exchange too, but his face showed that he was on the side of the king.

  Abram put his hands aside his head in frustration. “If you will not listen to me, then listen to logic. If the elves of Elladrindellia are what you say, then why have they waited over five hundred years to strike? Wouldn’t they rather have amassed their army long ago and crushed Agora from all sides? Would they show up claiming to be refugees, only to wait hundreds of years before attacking?”

  Calmer now, the king pondered for a moment. “I know that ye believe in what ye say, an’ if yer correct, Agora will have a valuable ally in the elves o’ Elladrindellia. But think for a moment. What if yer wrong, an’ the king has invited a spy in the form o’ the elf queen to the meeting? Then all is folly, an’ the enemy will know our every move.”

  “Well met, Ky’Ell. But I would wager my life that the queen and her people are good, and do indeed hate the Draggard as fiercely as yourself.”

  The king leaned forward and puffed his pipe. “On what grounds would ye make such a wager?”

  Abram looked at Whill. “On the grounds that if the elves were indeed in league with Addakon, they never would have let Whill live. But in fact they saved his life!”

  The king scowled as he eyed Abram, then Whill, but did not speak. Abram went on. “When I took Whill from that bloody field, he was barely alive, as was I. I brought him to Elladrindellia and the queen herself healed our wounds. She knew who he was, yet she helped. So I ask you, good king of Dy-Kore, why would an ally to Addakon let live his rival to the throne?”

  Ky’Ell leaned back in his chair. Even Roakore seemed stumped. Whill watched with anticipation as the silence thickened. Abram, however, crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, his pipe hanging from his mouth. He seemed to know he had won. Finally the king spoke.

  “Ye present a good argument, Abram, one which I cannot dispute. But know that I remain wary.” He puffed on his pipe, but finding it spent, he put it down gruffly and began packing it again. “Enough o’ this bickering. Let us assume fer now that what ye say be true. What does King Mathus propose?”

  “That is the purpose of the meeting. He would like to present the facts of Addakon and the Draggard to all, and hear what each has to say. But one thing I do know: he believes that unity alone will ensure our victory in the coming war.”

  Ky’Ell did not look convinced. “I understand that Uthen-Arden be the largest kingdom o’ men, an’ that they boast the largest army o’ all. But it don’t outnumber the combined armies o’ the others, and a disadvantage to Uthen-Arden to be flanked from all sides by the surrounding kingdoms. Surely it will be an easy defeat. I doubt also that the soldiers o’ Uthen-Arden will have much heart fer battle under a ruler such as Addakon. It is well known that he is hated by most of his people.”

  “You are correct in your assessment of the situation, but you lack understanding.” He looked at Roakore. “I believe that when the Draggard took over your mountain twenty years ago, it was under the command of Addakon.” Roakore tensed as Abram let the statement set in. “I also believe that the purpose of the attack was to set up a base for the Draggard army. It is my theory that within the great halls of your fathers lies a Draggard queen. For these twenty long years, I suspect, the Draggard army has been steadily growing, hidden within the mountain, waiting to be unleashed.”

  Roakore was speechless but his rage was apparent. The King looked at Abram, wide-eyed. “How many, do ye guess?”

  Abram sighed and leaned forward. “It is said that a queen can lay more than twenty eggs a day, and those eggs can lay dormant for years. I would guess we are looking at an army of over one hundred thousand.”

  Whill could hardly comprehend such an estimation. He tried to envision
an army so vast, and his body involuntarily shuddered at the prospect.

  Roakore stood, red-faced. “I said it long ago, we should’ve taken back the mountain immediately!” He pointed at Ky’Ell with a shaking hand. “Ye have damned me father to hell! Why have ye made us wait? Just so the children o’ the fallen mountain could partake in the reclaiming o’ it! Are ye not now shamed in yer folly, in yer cowardice?”

  King Ky’Ell sprang to his feet, his own rage twisting his face into a snarl. His voice boomed throughout the room. “Do not forget who ye speak to, Roakore o’ the Ebony Mountains! I’ll not be called a coward in me own halls. If ye were any other dwarf, I would kill ye where ye stand! But the gods have another plan for ye, son of the fallen mountain. Do not anger me again!”

  From Roakore’s twisted face came tears of frustration. He bent his head low and weakly hit his fist to his chest. Through clenched teeth, he said, “I am sorry, great king o’ Dy-Kore, me tongue was led by me rage. Ye have been nothing but good to me people.”

  He slumped back into his chair and peered at the king. His face was no longer filled with anger; rather he looked like a dwarf without hope. His despair was so great that it eased even the king’s rage. Ky’Ell spoke again, more softly this time.

  “Ye will have yer chance, son o’ Ro’Din. Sooner than ye think. But know this: I’ve waited to help ye take back the mountain fer many reasons. Yer correct, I do feel it’s the right o’ the eldest sons o’ the fallen mountain to fight fer it. Second, I intended on fightin’ alongside ye in them halls, but I am old an’ at the end o’ me days. I wanted to see that all was in order here, an’ that the son o’ me choosing was o’ the right age to succeed meself, fer I knew I might not return alive. Call it a selfish ol’ dwarf’s vision o’ glory in the eyes o’ the gods an’ ye’d be correct. Though, seems now that I’ll be needed here, if indeed the greatest war to ever be waged in Agora looms.”