Whill of Agora woa-1

by Michael Ploof

  Whill and Abram quickly helped free Roakore, who emerged unscathed. With a great tug he freed his axe and, laughing all the while, wiped the blood from his blade with his sleeve.

  “Ha! Thought he could get away didn’t he, stupid beast. Ye see me stones take him right outta the air?”

  “A great weapon indeed,” Abram concurred.

  Whill only nodded, his gaze wandering to the west.

  “What are ye thinkin’, lad?”

  “There, over the trees.” Whill pointed across the meadow.

  Abram and Roakore both squinted as they looked to the west. Abram noticed it first.

  “Smoke rises in the distance.”

  Roakore peered harder at the spot. “That’s the direction the Draquon was headed when he spotted us.”

  Whill nodded. “The beast was headed for Sherna.”

  They grabbed their packs and started west at a frantic pace. As the hours passed and they neared Sherna, the smoke could be seen much more clearly. They were at least five miles from the town, and at a lower elevation, but the smoke was easily visible. It was thick and black, rising high into the air, and even from the great distance Whill could tell that a great many large fires had caused it.

  Rhunis stood at the helm of the warship Thunder as it made its way steadily eastward. His face was stern, his brow bent, his scowl only intensified by the burn scar that covered a large portion of his face. He had been sent by King Mathus to find and aid Whill and Abram. Mathus had learned that upon the pair’s hasty leave from Fendale, they had been tailed by none other than Captain Cirrosa. Rhunis had found the wreckage of the Black Dragon three days after Whill and Abram’s departure, and to his amazement he had found it utterly destroyed. He knew well Abram’s prowess as a fighter, and he had experienced Whill’s firsthand, but the idea of the two of them taking down the Dragon with only a fishing vessel made no sense. Cirrosa had a crew of more than fifty, and the Dragon was a warship stolen from Uthen-Arden. They’d had help in the fight, no doubt, but Rhunis could think of no logical explanation. If one of the many Eldalonian warships had helped in the battle, they would have taken the wreckage to port, where they would have been treated like heroes for such a kill. No, it hadn’t been the Eldalon navy, but if not them, then who, or what?

  The king had known Whill and Abram’s destination-a small fishing town on the southeastern coast of Eldalon, named Sherna. That was now the warship Thunder’s destination. Soon Rhunis would catch up to Whill and Abram and find his answers. From there he was to bring them to Kell-Torey, where they were to meet with the king personally.

  Rhunis was jolted from his ruminations by the lookout, who yelled down from the crow’s nest.

  “Smoke ahead, smoke ahead!”

  Rhunis looked eastward and saw it also. They were but five miles from Sherna. He knew instinctively that the town was in trouble.

  The fires were visible through the trees as Whill, Abram, and Roakore sped through the woods toward Sherna. They had taken a route that would bring them out close to the beach, where they could get a good view of the town. As they reached the edge of the forest they could hear the unmistakable sounds of battle, metal striking metal, screams of both women and men, and the growls and snarls of Draggard.

  They reached the edge of the forest, and what they saw took Whill’s breath away. Almost the entire town was burning, as was the navy vessel which had been docked when they’d arrived. A few hundred feet from shore loomed a great black ship Whill did not recognize. A small army of Draggard infested the town, more than two hundred in number. He watched in horror as the beasts hacked away at an obviously dead man with glee, taking legs and arms and tearing huge chunks of meat from the bone with their hideous mouths. This was a scene from a nightmare brought to life in broad daylight, which somehow made it all worse. These were beasts of the dark, monsters of the night; to see them under the light of the sun sent a chill up Whill’s spine.

  A small band of villagers and Eldalonian soldiers had taken up defensive positions around the town hall, which being made entirely of stone, was not on fire. They were outnumbered four to one but they held fast their position in front of the large doors. Around them the Draggard stalked, toying with them, waiting, and laughing. The Draggard were known for their great cruelty; they would drag out a siege such as this for hours, basking in the horror of their victims.

  Above the town hall, twelve Draquon circled like a pack of vultures. Whill watched horrified as one descended and plucked a man from the ranks. It soared into the air once again with the man in its great claws, and the rest of the Draquon were upon the man in an instant, tearing him to pieces and letting his limbs fall down upon the men below.

  Roakore had seen enough. He grabbed his stone bird and his great axe and ran out from the trees before Abram could stop him.

  “So much for a plan of attack,” Abram said as he rushed out after the dwarf.

  Whill took both his own sword and his father’s and joined his friends in their apparent suicide run. The knowledge that these monsters had killed his parents, and now likely had killed Tarren too, filled him with primal rage. He caught up to Abram as Roakore broke into a battle cry that caught the attention of the nearby Draggard.

  The beach was now one hundred feet directly behind them as they charged up the grassy slope, heading for the town hall. Before them a host of Draggard rushed to intercept the three warriors. Roakore let fly his stone bird, which sped to the nearest Draggard so fast it was but a blur. The beast didn’t know what hit it as its head was taken clean off its shoulders by the strong chain that connected the two stones. The weapon did not slow. At Roakore’s mental command, it turned left and slammed into another Draggard’s knees, no doubt shattering both.

  Four of the beasts bore down on Roakore, who bore down on them in turn as Whill and Abram rushed to catch up. At twenty feet behind, however, they could only watch as the first Draggard engaged Roakore-or rather tasted his axe.

  The sturdy dwarf easily knocked aside the Draggard’s spear to the left as he began a quick spin, and coming around he sunk his axe deep into the monster’s side, nearly chopping it in half. He spun again and used the momentum to pull the axe free, only to connect with another Draggard’s head. Through it all he never slowed, even as two Draggard came at him with axe. He met them with great force, barreling into both as they raised their axes simultaneously. Both the beasts fell backwards as he charged on, leaving them for Whill and Abram.

  Whill came down hard on the Draggard to the left as it scrambled to get up, stabbing through the beast’s back with both swords, each finding a lung. Abram similarly dispatched his opponent and they were off again, following the mighty dwarf warrior.

  Rhunis’s greatest fears were realized when he spotted the black ship, a Draggard ship, anchored near Sherna’s port. The captain instructed the men to ready the twenty catapults, though the other ship had not fired upon them and appeared to be deserted. Rhunis could see that the town was ablaze, and small battles were playing out along the beach and within. The people needed help. He advised the captain to keep the catapults at the ready and told his men to make for the town with all haste.

  Whill and Abram caught up to Roakore as he paused to summon his stone bird once again. Though they had not yet caught the attention of the main force, many Draggard had taken notice of the three warriors, and many came. Whill engaged one as it barreled in, brandishing a nasty-looking spear. The beast stabbed for Whill’s belly, but Whill was too quick; he knocked the spear harmlessly aside with his own sword and stabbed the beast through the neck with his father’s. He spun to meet the next monster, ducking a spear meant for his head, and came around with his sword into the shin of his attacker. As he twisted he brought Sinomara around and drove it through the eye of the bent beast.

  Abram pulled his sword from a dead Draggard and engaged another as Roakore’s stone bird whirled past. The dwarf taunted three approaching Draggard, who met those taunts with snarling maws and raised spears.
The beasts bore down on the warriors, but were met with greater force as the stone bird came across low and fast, sweeping the monsters’ legs out from under them. Roakore smashed one of the prone Draggard’s heads with his great axe, while Whill and Abram simultaneously split the heads of the other two.

  Roakore guided the stone bird to the left to slam into the head of another Draggard thirty feet away. The creature went down with a thud and moved no more, its head thoroughly crushed. A spear flew by, barely missing Whill, followed by another and another. The three warriors found themselves deflecting spear after spear as the Draggard that had witnessed the fighting took a more practical approach.

  “There are too many!” Abram yelled as he deflected another spear.

  “Bah! We got ’em right were we want ’em!” roared Roakore as he ducked a spear.

  They were now being attacked by more than a dozen Draggard, who threw spear after spear and had the warriors backing defensively.

  “We must regroup!” cried Whill as a brave Draggard jumped at the three, its spear leading the way. Abram blocked the spear and Roakore met the beast as it landed, greeting it with an axe blow to the groin. Whill quickly chopped the head off the beast as it bent over in agony.

  More than a dozen Draggard slowly advanced, throwing spears and snarling, drool falling from their hideously sharp-toothed mouths. The town hall was still more than two hundred yards away. Hundreds of Draggard stood between the warriors and those trapped within. The warriors were pushed back steadily, doing all they could do to hold off the spear-throwers. They had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Every building around them was ablaze, and the woods held no options. The attacking Draggard had signaled to their kin, and now dozens of the monsters came rushing at the three, including several flying Draquon.

  “We need a plan!” Whill shouted, frantically deflecting the steady assault of spears.

  “Block me fer a sec, boys!” Roakore yelled. It sounded to Whill as if the dwarf either had a good idea brewing, or he was indeed crazy. Nonetheless, Whill and Abram stepped closer to Roakore’s sides as he closed his eyes and began to chant so fast that Whill could hardly decipher the words. The Draggard pressed on, more than twenty now. Some threw spears, others jabbed with gleeful laughter. Whill and Abram were reaching the end of their abilities. Death crouched ever closer with each passing second.

  Suddenly Roakore’s stone bird whirled before them, spinning in midair right before the chanting dwarf. Around and around it went in a blur of motion. Roakore moved his right hand in circles before him, tight circles at first but steadily widening the arch. In contrast the stone bird began to spin around and around in wider circles. Faster and faster Roakore’s hand moved, and faster did the weapon spin, until Whill and Abram no longer needed to block any missiles, for none could get through the spinning shield that the flying bird had become.

  Whill and Abram looked at each other wide-eyed as Roakore continued his chant. Soon the Draggard gave up on the spears and took a more straightforward approach. Two of the beasts leapt into the path of the weapon as it buzzed before the three warriors. With great howls they came, and with great screeches they were chopped to pieces, their bodies unrecognizable as they landed in bloody pieces all around the ground.

  The other Draggard backed away in horror and awe. Even Whill and Abram flinched and gaped at the spectacle.

  “I can’t hold it much longer!” Roakore warned as he staggered back, continuing his frantic chant.

  “Be ready to rush ’em, Whill!” cried Abram.

  Whill, sensing that this indeed was the end, looked at Abram and raised his two swords. “It has been an honor, Abram.”

  Abram shook his head, bringing up his own sword with fire in his watering eyes. “And it will be an honor to fight beside you for years to come!”

  Whill had to grin. Abram would insist on being optimistic, even in the face of obvious defeat.

  Roakore let out a final frantic chant and with a heavy sigh fell to the sand. The Draggard had pushed them all the way back to the beach.

  Rhunis and his two hundred soldiers rowed frantically towards the beach. As they neared the dock he could finally make out the three fighters. They were being driven towards the water by a host of seething Draggard. At once Rhunis recognized Abram and Whill, though not the third fighter, a dwarf.

  “Whill and Abram need our swords, men! Shall we stain them with Draggard blood?”

  Every man cheered as the ships reached the beach and the soldiers scrambled to reach the three outnumbered warriors.

  Roakore and his stone bird collapsed with a thud. Whill and Abram now faced more than twenty bloodthirsty Draggard. But the monsters did not advance. Instead they backed off a step as one, doubt seeming to suddenly haunt their grotesque features. Then, in the silence after Roakore and his weapon fell, Whill heard it. From the beach behind them came their salvation in the form of hundreds of screaming Eldalonian soldiers, led by Rhunis the Dragonslayer.

  As the Draggard backed up and finally broke into an all-out run, Abram and Whill joined in the charge. Swords held high they grinned at each other, and together they overtook and took down the closest beast.

  The soldiers poured onto the beach and were soon killing and trampling the fleeing monsters. On they charged full-tilt towards the town hall, where the remaining Draggard and a dozen Draquon waited. But behind those Draggard stood fifty men who, at the sight of the oncoming rush of Eldalon soldiers, made a charge of their own. Soon the Draggard, found themselves in the middle of two fierce forces: the villagers of Sherna, who fought to protect their women and children with every ounce of their being; and the soldiers of Eldalon, who had sworn above all else to fight to the death against all enemies of Eldalon.

  The Draggard had nowhere left to go. They were cornered, and like any cornered beast, they fought. Swords sliced and spears stabbed, and the blood of both men and Draggard alike fell to the dirt. Whill had never experienced anything like it in his life. He no longer depended on his mind to guide him but functioned on instinct and reflex alone, blocking, ducking, and killing all that stood before him. He knew no fear, only rage, and through his body that rage was transferred to his dual swords and into any unlucky beast that found his blades.

  Soon Whill found himself fighting alongside Abram and Rhunis. More than 160 Draggard awaited them, hissing and growling, their spears red with human blood. But the men did not relent, did not back down. All around them was pure chaos. The Draggard fought viciously, spears, tails, and teeth. They stabbed, chopped, and bit their opponents; to the right of Whill a man was impaled and raised high, only to be taken swiftly by a Draquon. The men were hard pressed against the vicious monsters but they did not waver, did not relent.

  The fighting went on for what seemed to Whill an eternity. To the left of him Abram fought valiantly, as did Rhunis to his right. Together they plowed through the Draggard forces. Abram took a spear to the shoulder, but if he felt any pain it did not show, for rather than crying out in pain he chopped hard at the attacker, cutting deep into its neck.

  Whill had abandoned his own sword and now had only his father’s. Years of pain and sorrow flowed through him and into the sword he now held, the sword that had cut him from his mother’s womb, Sinomara, the sword that had saved his life once before. He thought of his mother and father with every slash, saw Tarren’s dying form with every stab, and the injustice of it sent Whill into a rage. He now fought for the memory of his parents, for the life of Tarren, and for those helpless women and children huddled within the town hall.

  Roakore opened his eyes and at first did not know where he was. He lay for a moment upon the beach, blinking at the blue sky above. All around him were great fires, and in the distance were the sounds of battle.

  Battle! The dwarf jumped to his feet as he became aware of his surroundings. He turned and saw a great battle playing out more than a hundred yards away. The last thing he remembered was falling to the ground as a host of Draggard had pressed on. Now i
t seemed help had arrived, for near to the town hall was an army of hundreds of Eldalonian soldiers, fighting hard against the Draggard.

  “They’ll not have all the fun,” Roakore muttered, and with that he began his own charge up the beach, his great axe in hand, and a great smile upon his face.

  Abram watched as Whill went at the Draggard with wild abandon. The sword of his father slashing, chopping, and hacking the Draggard with ease-too much ease. He watched in awe as Whill not only blocked but chopped a huge, thick spear in half, and in one fluid motion severed the legs of its wielder. Before any of the beasts nearby could react, Whill was upon them, hacking and slicing, Draggard heads and limbs alike flew away before the wild man.

  Abram had taught Whill for ten years in preparation for a moment such as this. But never had he expected what he now saw. Whill took down all that stood before him, graceful in his dance of death, meeting aggression with all-out devastation. Though Abram was proud when he looked upon Whill, he was also frightened, for he knew what powers Whill was using, even if Whill himself did not. The thought was more than unsettling to the old warrior.

  The men of Sherna fought for all they held dear, and the soldiers of Eldalon fought for king and country, all till the bitter end. The numbers were all but even, and that should have meant a bloody victory for the Draggard. But the creatures fought no ordinary foe this day, no mere men. When a man of Sherna received a mortal wound he fought on, blood flowing freely from his grinning lips, and when an Eldalonian soldier thought he could fight no more he cut through yet another monster. The ground was red with both human and Draggard blood as the sun began its descent from its midday perch.

  The men of Sherna would not relinquish control of the town halls steps, even as they fell one after another. The Draquon swooped down time and time again, plucking hardy men from the ranks and devouring them quickly. Still they fought, even managed to take down one of the flying beasts. Finally Whill, Abram, and Rhunis met the men of Sherna as they fought through to the steps. At the apparent command of the Draquon, the Draggard came around the charging force and regrouped, leaving the entirety of the human force between themselves and the town hall.