Whill of Agora woa-1

by Michael Ploof

  Rest now, my love, till we meet again

  Under the tree of the gods, I’ll see, my old friend

  Rest now, my friend, your work here is through

  Until my song is sung, when I shall be with you

  Wait for me, love, and watch over me

  Help me to remember what kind of person to be

  Life may bring pain, like a cold winter rain

  This sorrow will be mine till we meet again

  The song went on and was taken up by not only the companions but also by the two elves. It went for the customary seven verses, and ended with the throwing of many flowers into the great Pyre. Rhunis stepped forward with shimmering eyesand spoke for the dead.

  “Today we say farewell to the many good people who died defending those they loved. We say farewell to true heroes. In a time when that word is spoken too freely, we see firsthand its intended meaning all too clearly. The spirits that rise from the ashes this day are heroes by right and by deed. For none cowered before the nightmare that closed in on this fair village this day’s eve. None failed in their duty to kin and country; none ran when to do so would have saved them. No! They fought on, against all odds, and against the most terrible foe imaginable.”

  He walked the circle of the pyre as he spoke, looking every woman, man, and child in the eye. His voice was heard by all as the fire burned fiercely behind him.

  “So when someone asks you of the one you lost, you tell them they fought and died valiantly in the Battle of Sherna, and you speak those words with your head held high. For they lived life as we all do, but they died heroically, which is more than any man can ask. We all, every one of us, will die; that is inescapable. But will we be remembered-will we accomplish immortality through deed or through song? No, all of us will not. But did they, these spirits that fly free this day. Will they be remembered?”

  Rhunis circled faster as he spoke, his words becoming louder with each sentence. The shimmering eyes of men, women, and children stared back at him. The tears of each, Whill noticed, ran down faces bearing smiles. Together as one, on Rhunis’s last word, they answered, “Yes!”

  “Indeed yes!” Rhuis cried. “They will be remembered by those whom they saved; they will be remembered through song throughout the ages by all. So this day, weep for your losses, weep for fear of an uncertain future, but do not weep for the spirits before you. They have achieved the greatest of all seats in the afterworld. Smile for them now, and be proud!”

  The crowd of widows, men. and children broke into cheer. Tears fell and smiles gleamed, and an exhausted and tearful Rhunis took his leave. Whill, along with a tearful but smiling Abram and Roakore, followed suit, leaving the people to their mourning.

  They came upon Rhunis shortly after, outside his tent. He sat upon the ground, taking large gulps from a bottle of dark liquid. Whill patted him on the shoulder. “I feel for your loss.No doubt you knew many of the fallen soldiers as friends.”

  Rhunis looked up, raised his bottle to the heavens, and took yet another long swig. Wiping his mouth, he accepted condolences from Abram and Roakore as well and then got to his feet. Rhunis offered his bottle to the three, and they all in turn took a hearty drink. Rhunis composed himself and smiled. “As I said, they died well. Simple tears will fall.”

  Roakore took a second swig from the bottle and rounded on Rhunis. He slammed his fist into his chest and bowed slightly before the scarred knight. “Rhunis, Dragonslayer o’ Eldalon. It’s an honor to meet ye. I be Roakore, son o’ Ro’Din o’ the Ebony Mountains.”

  Rhunis, having dealt with the dwarves before, and aware of Roakore’s title, replied in earnest. He slammed his fist to his chest and bowed slightly. “Well met, Roakore, son of Ro’Din of the Ebony Mountains. I knew that my friends here traveled with a dwarf. But I knew not that they kept such esteemed company.” He offered his hand in the customary human greeting and the two shook hands.

  They were soon joined by the two elf siblings, Avriel and Zerafin. Abram, being acquainted with all, introduced everyone to each other. Shortly after, they all retired to Rhunis’s tent, giving the villagers their peace, and emptying many of Rhunis’s bottles of wine.

  The conversation went on for more than an hour, and various tales of adventure and folly were shared. Whill enjoyed the company of the others immensely, though he found himself staring at Avriel far too often. Roakore had relaxed around the elves, it seemed, and the talk turned eventually to the upcoming meeting in Kell-Torey.

  “That is one of the reasons I followed you from Fendale,” said Rhunis as he popped yet another cork. “Initially King Mathus of Eldalon ordered me to follow the two of you, after finding out you were being trailed by Captain Cirossa. Upon finding you, I was to see that you made safe passage to Kell-Torey. Whoever you are, Whill, King Mathus sees it prudent that you make that meeting.”

  All in the room besides Rhunis shared knowing glances. But Rhunis was no fool.

  “Well then, out with it. Who are you, Whill of Agora?”

  Whill looked at Abram, but he only offered Whill a shrug. Whill hated these formalities, but knew they were necessary. He stood and faced Rhunis. “I am Whill, son of Aramonis, rightful king of the Uthen-Arden empire.”

  Rhunis looked at Whill dumbfounded, his mouth opened wide. He looked at Abram and then the others. He seemed to ponder for a moment, and then went down on one knee before Whill. “It is an honor, and a great joy, to meet you, King Whill. Your mother was the beloved princess of Eldalon, loved by all, and your father was one of the greatest kings of his time. You have my blade, and my undying loyalty.”

  Whill looked down at the kneeling knight. He felt uncomfortable and a bit silly, but he knew that Rhunis was serious, and knew also that his title was indeed an impressive one. He motioned for Rhunis to rise. “Please stand, Rhunis. Though I appreciate the gesture, I do not know if I will ever get used to it. And I am not yet king, anyway.”

  Rhunis returned to his seat and refilled everyone’s glasses. “To Whill, rightful king of Uthen-Arden-may he take back the throne which is his by right, and bring peace to Arden!”

  “Hear, hear!” cried Roakore.

  “Hear, hear!” cried Abram. And they all clanged glasses and took hearty drinks.

  Abram and Roakore lit their pipes as a short silence followed. Whill looked to Avriel, who smiled approvingly. Rhunis shook his head in wonder.

  “I never would have imagined that the child of Celestra had survived. This is indeed great news.” His brow furrowed. “But how?”

  “That story would be better told by Abram,” Whill said.

  Abram told Rhunis the entire story, with Avriel adding to it when it turned to Elladrindellia. To Whill’s amazement, he learned that she had helped in his healing as an infant. But what astounded Rhunis was the fact that the Draggard had been the attackers, and that Addakon, Whill’s uncle, had seen to it.

  “I have never liked Addakon, though I have met him only twice,” Rhunis said. “There was always something off about that one, nothing like your father, Whill, nothing at all. Your father was a great man: he helped his people, he was just and honest. But Addakon-something about the man made me uneasy. I can’t quite place it. He always had an air about him of superiority and greatness, a condescending smile…oh, how I hate that smile. Nothing like your father, I say.”

  Roakore spoke up for the first time in a while. “Aye, nothing at all, I too once met yer father, and later yer uncle. Ye are yer father’s son, Whill, an’ not o’ yer uncle’s make.”

  Zerafin, to whom Whill had not yet spoken beyond a simple greeting, addressed him. “I met the both of them when they came to be trained many years ago, and I can say that we all felt the difference between them. The older and very wise of our people even urged our mother not to let Addakon be trained. She knew his heart, do not doubt, but she had made a pact with the late king of Arden those many years before. She could not break her vow, and both twins were trained in the ways of Orna Catorna.”

&nbs
p; His face was stern, and his eyes looked beyond the tent and seemed to focus rather on the past, to those many years ago when the twin princes of Uthen-Arden had come to be trained. Then his gaze turned to Whill with a scrutiny no less intense than his sister’s. Finally he smiled. “Good be it that one such as Whill has upon his shoulders such a task, good too that I and my sister should see to the first of his teachers.”

  Then there came a slight tap upon Rhunis’s tent, and then another. Rhunis raised a hand for silence and asked, “Who goes there?”

  An Eldalonian soldier entered. Seeing the great company Rhunis was entertaining, he bowed low repeatedly and said sheepishly, “General Rhunis, sir, I apologize for the interruption. But there is pressing business within the town still.”

  Rhunis got to his feet. “Of course.” He nodded to the surrounding group. “If you will excuse me, then.”

  Abram stood. “I think I’ll join you. I am sure the good people could use as much help as possible.”

  Roakore wiped wine from his mouth with his long beard. “Aye. I think I’ll make meself useful, too.”

  “I’ll be along shortly,” Whill said, and the three departed.

  Zerafin held up the wine bottle, gesturing to Whill. “No, thanks, I’ve had enough,” Whill said.

  Zerafin smiled as he poured himself and Avriel a small amount. “What is on your mind, Whill? You wonder how it is that we came upon you, yes?”

  “You read my mind.”

  Zerafin chuckled. “Not quite. It is simply a logical deduction. We would not enter your mind without your permission-unless you were in grave danger, of course. As Avriel did when you so weakened yourself healing the boy.”

  Whill had known deep down that it had not all been a dream. Nonetheless, hearing it spoken of so plainly was a comforting confirmation. Zerafin scratched his hairless chin and asked nonchalantly, “Did you realize that you would have died if Avriel had not intervened? You gave Tarren so much that you left none for yourself.”

  Avriel simply shrugged shyly. Whill thought for a fleeting moment he saw her blush. Zerafin chuckled once again. “My sister has always been modest.” He smiled at her. They held their gaze for only a few seconds, but Whill had the feeling he was missing part of the conversation. Avriel raised an eyebrow at her brother and turned her angelic gaze to Whill.

  “To answer your question of how we came upon you.” She took a sip of wine. “We left Elladrindellia shortly after the incident with Tarren. Though we were instructed to find you, we also have a meeting to attend in Kell-Torey.”

  “We were able to find you rather easily because of the bond that my sister shares with you,” Zerafin explained. “Since she was one of your healers in your infancy, she has always had a bond to you.”

  Whill looked at Avriel with more wonder and admiration than ever, though his new feelings were accompanied by something else, a notion that his growing feelings for her were that of a silly young mortal. Avriel returned the gaze with a smile. Zerafin went on.

  “It is hard for a human to understand such things, I know, but in time you will learn to understand such bonds, and to use them. You will no doubt share such a bond with Tarren, though he will be oblivious to it. You will be able to decipher where he is, for instance, and what he is doing. Also, though neither I nor my sister has experienced it…”

  He paused and looked at Avriel. She continued her brother’s thought. “You may share a similar bond with those you killed, since you took their life energy for your own,” she explained. Seeing Whill’s startled look, she added, “Do not worry, we can teach you to ignore them. It is not known, though it is rumored, that the Dark elves are haunted by those they have taken from. Some can sever the bond or learn to ignore it. Others…”

  Zerafin spoke up. “Others are driven mad by the voices and find silence by their own blade.”

  Whill pondered that statement for a moment, appalled by the prospect. Avriel continued. “Do not fret at that, Whill, we will teach you to be rid of them. We need to now set our sights on Kell-Torey, where a most important meeting awaits us all, and from there Elladrindellia, where you will be trained like your fathers before you.”

  Whill breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, taking in all he had heard. He had one pressing question he could not ignore. “How long will the training take?”

  Zerafin furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Our mother has made a pact that states you shall be trained for the mandatory year. Is your haste so great that you would see this time as a burden?”

  Whill sensed that he had angered Zerafin, and perhaps Avriel. He held out his hands, palms up. “No, no, I mean no disrespect. And I am grateful for all that the elves offer.”

  “But?”

  “But war rages now within Isladon, the Draggard multiply as we speak within the Ebony Mountains, and Addakon becomes more powerful by the second.”

  Zerafin gave a hearty laugh, which earned him a scowl from Avriel. “So you wish to forsake the training of the elves so that you might end the war within Isladon, destroy the Draggard, and defeat your uncle Addakon, not to mention the true evil behind all this, Eadon. All this you will accomplish on your own? To do these things you need not our help?”

  Avriel spoke before Whill could. “Save your condescension for one more worthy, brother. You know what he means.”

  Zerafin looked to Avriel with fire in his eyes, but slowly that fire was replaced by a smile. Ever so slowly it grew, until Zerafin was beaming. He spoke, but his gaze did not leave his younger sibling. “Of course. I had forgotten how hasty humans can be, sister. I meant no offense.”

  Whill sensed a silent battle between the two. “I did not mean to offend you, Zerafin, son of Verelas. Nor do I mean to offend the elves. I am hasty, I admit. I have much on my mind, much to do.” He slumped back in his chair, seemingly exhausted, his hand upon his brow. “You must understand that I have just learned who I am. Just a few days ago, I was only Whill, a ranger of Agora, going where I would, enjoying the life of a wanderer. Now I am the rightful ruler of a kingdom to which I have seldom ventured and care little about. I am to defeat a mighty king in league with the most powerful Dark elf in history. And as we speak his crusade begins, now, when I am so weak I almost killed myself healing a child.”

  Avriel looked to Zerafin with a raised brow once again. Her brother flashed her a look and addressed Whill. “I am the one who should apologize. I may have forgotten the position you have been put in. But understand, you cannot and will not do this on your own. You will need friends, and friendship we offer.”

  Zerafin offered Whill his hand, and Whill took it. Zerafin met his gaze with a serious face. “Whill of Uthen-Arden, son of Aramonis, son of Celestra, descendant of the great king who took the elves in when we needed friendship most: I offer you my own friendship, undying, unending, until time spreads thine ashes.”

  Whill squeezed the elf’s hand. “And I offer you mine. I thank you, Zerafin, son of Verelas, prince of Elladrindellia.”

  Avriel stood also. Time seemed to slow as Whill looked into her blue eyes. She too offered her hand and spoke words of promise: ever so softly, ever so beautifully, did they escape her lips.

  “I offer to you, Whill of Uthen-Arden, my undying, unending, and boundless friendship, so that we may together, all of us, find peace.”

  Whill thought for a moment that he would not find his words. Her voice and her gaze had had more effect on him than the wine. After a moment he composed himself mentally and responded, “And I mine, Avriel, lady of Elladrindellia, daughter of the great Verelas. And I mine, until the day I die.”

  Zerafin broke the silence that followed. “Then it is settled. We shall travel to Kell-Torey and then on to Elladrindellia.”

  After Whill had exited the tent to help within the town, Zerafin turned to his sister and studied her for a moment. Avriel sighed.

  “What, brother?”

  “What indeed? This is not a game, nor a childhood fantasy, Avriel.”

 
She was taken aback. “What lunacy has befallen your tongue, Zerafin?”

  “I remember an elf child who would lend an ear for hours to any storyteller recalling the prophecy of Whill of Agora.”

  Avriel laughed quickly. “What of it?”

  Zerafin leveled his gaze on her. “You studied the prophecy for years, every piece of every scroll that mentioned him. Your life’s work has been for this man, this human.”

  “But he is the one! I have merely been preparing.”

  Zerafin raised an eyebrow. “You have been in love with his legend since you were a child. How does the real person seem to you? Is he everything you wished?”

  Avriel scoffed at her brother’s teasing and then puckered her lips to one side in thought. “It is very strange, don’t you think, to meet one so often spoken of as he?”

  “Yes, sister, indeed it is.”

  “The oddest thing is…he is exactly what I had envisioned.”

  Zerafin scowled and sighed. “This could be disastrous. I fear your feelings could-could-”

  “Could what, brother? It has been written, it will come to pass. He is Whill of Agora, the one we have waited a millennium for. Whether I love the idea of him is of no concern. It is not the same as loving the person.”

  Zerafin could only shrug. “We shall see.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Common Road

  The remainder of the day was spent salvaging what they could from the destroyed town. Riders were sent out to the nearest towns, and to Kell-Torey. Though no one thought another attack likely, they would all breath a little easier when reinforcements arrived. Whill spent most of the day with Tarren, who asked a million questions about the dwarf city, which Whill was happy to answer. When the stars finally took to the night sky, Whill was more than glad to see them. He, Roakore, and Abram had been up since leaving the mountains. All fell into a much-needed sleep.