Whill of Agora woa-1

by Michael Ploof

  Everyone took in what had been said. Whill suddenly saw the scope of their dilemma. The scale of battle would be huge, with Eadon having all the advantages. Eadon had successfully cut off the allies and would bring war to each of their lands, making a collective effort virtually impossible.

  Mathus gazed at the map as if in a trance. Finally he said, “Then what are we to do? We cannot send our troops to Isladon if invasion of our own lands is imminent.”

  Avriel rose. “That is just what Eadon hopes we will think. He hopes that now that we see the grand scheme, we will lose heart and hunker down in a defensive stand, one that will not hold. Perhaps his grip on Isladon is not so strong.”

  “I doubt that it is,” Mathus agreed. “Isladon has been under siege for not three weeks. They will not be taken so easily.”

  “Then we send a force to help Isladon, to take up the fight and try to gain back those lands. Roakore, I suggest sending word to Elgar Mountain to fortify their doors and ready their army, the greatest army ever to gather within those great halls. Together, Elladrindellia and the Elgar should take and secure the eastern shore of Uther-Arden. We will take Fendora Island and its Arden navy ships there.”

  “Aye!” said Roakore. “An’ the Ky’dren forces, along with the Eldalon army, will gather a great force at the Ky’dren Pass, as we’ve done many times before. Never before has an enemy taken the pass, not when dwarves and men stood side by side.”

  Mathus smiled wide. “Very true, friend. At the same time, I will unleash the Eldalon navy and send reinforcements to Eldon Island.”

  Avriel pointed to Elladrindellia. “From here we can send a force of at least two thousand by sea to aid in the battle for Isladon. We would send more, but we must secure our borders as well.”

  “Aye, and Ky’dren can send a land force of at least two thousand to meet with yer people in Isladon.”

  “I will send fifty warships, and a force of five thousand soldiers to Isladon,” Mathus said.

  Zerafin rose. “Then it is agreed. We have our plan. All of this must happen at the same time, and as soon as possible.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Preparations Begin

  That night the companions shared a dinner with the king, the last time they would all be together. It was decided that Tarren would remain in Eldalon and would begin the training he sought within the academy. Roakore was to leave the next day upon a naval vessel that would bring him to Sherna, and from there he would travel to Ky’Dren. It was determined that the road was too unsafe for Whill, Abram, and the elves to travel, so the discussion began on the safest way to get Whill to Elladrindellia.

  “I do not doubt that Travvikonis is watching the roads leading from Kell-Torey,” said Abram. “No doubt the Eagle Riders are keeping an unseen eye upon those roads.” The meal was done, and Abram’s ever-present after-dinner pipe hung lazily from his mouth. If he was worried about the events about to unfold, it was not evident. Roakore, on the other hand, appeared as tense as a bowstring.

  “Gimme a pint o’ Eldalonian brew, lass,” he said to one of the many servants clearing the table. “Now, as ye all be knowing, I got over two thousand dwarves o’ me own mountain within Ky’Dren. Tougher than stone they are, an’ eager as all hell to take back our mountain. I think that meself and me boys should lead the charge into the mountain. With my two thousand and the two thousand Ky’Dren, we should be able to rout the beasts from the tunnels.”

  “Hold, good dwarf!” said Mathus. “I admire your bravery, and that of your kin….”

  “But?” asked Roakore.

  “But we have discussed the liberation of Isladon. We cannot split our forces between the mountain and the battleground.”

  “Aye, but you have forgotten Whill’s vision. He saw a vast black army o’ Draggard emptying from within the mountain, a slaughter o’ the forces we be set to gather. Whatever our strategy be, it cannot be one that allows that vision to become reality.” He looked around the room. “Am I alone in me reckoning?”

  “That is true,” Avriel said, “but neither can we hope to rout the estimated one hundred thousand Draggard from within the mountain.”

  “Bah!” spat Roakore. “Speak fer yerself.”

  “One thing we can count on,” Zerafin said, “is that the battle will take place at the foot of the mountain. Whill has seen it. Also, it makes strategic sense for Addakon and Eadon to make it so. Therefore we must devise a way to storm the beaches east of the mountain, perhaps Sentary. We should group up there within that coast town and make the march to Drindale, where I do not doubt the mass of Arden forces are stationed.”

  Abram blew a smoke-ring and nodded. “But the problem still remains: how to avoid the imminent slaughter that will come from the very mountain we march on?”

  Roakore slammed the table, startling Whill. “I got it! Haha, we’ll blast the main entrance outta the tunnel! The eastern door is the route they will likely be takin-there ain’t another one for fifteen miles north er south. They’ll have to make a roundabout trip to get to the battle that’ll take ’em hours. All we’ll need is ’bout two thousand pounds o’ blastin’ powder. The eastern door has a huge overhang above it, a slab o’ rock big as one o’ these castle towers. If we can drop that on ’em, they won’t be fer comin’ out too soon.”

  Whill spoke up excitedly. “Yes, and if Eadon and Addakon have been waiting to unleash the Draggard during the battle, they will not have bolstered the Arden forces stationed at the foot of the mountain. They will be weaker than we may have thought.”

  “Or,” Avriel said, and waited a moment for the excitement to pass. “Or they have prepared for such a thing and have built other exit tunnels.”

  “Bah!” Roakore spat once again. “I seen the tunnel I speak o’, me lady. That pass is tunneled through a mile and a half o’ thick stone. It took me ancestors two years to build that tunnel.”

  “Yes, good dwarf, but the Draggard have had twenty years.”

  “Aye, but they ain’t dwarves, is they, good elf?”

  “It is no matter,” Mathus said. “They would have had to plan the creation of another exit tunnel years ago to have it done, and you are correct, Roakore, they are not dwarves. The Draggard are animals and nothing more. They could not accomplish such a task.”

  “No, they could not,” Zerafin agreed. “But a very powerful Dark elf could create such a tunnel in a short amount of time.”

  Roakore scoffed at that. “Yer saying that elves are better diggers then me kin, that such a task is but a small thing to accomplish?”

  “No, no, that is not it at all. I speak only the truth. The Dark elves have power beyond reckoning, and they have no morals to stop them from attaining their power. To them, all is there for them to take. Nothing is safe, nothing is sacred. Imagine if you will a Dark elf with no respect for any other living thing. His only purpose in life is to gain power beyond comprehension. Now imagine that he has a vessel to store that gained power, and a hundred years to collect it. He has the power to melt the very stone you speak of with only a thought, and the resources to see it through. I do not boast of the Dark elves’ power, Roakore. I only speak the truth so we may all realize what we face.”

  Roakore looked as though he would speak but then lowered his head, eyes fixed up his calloused hands.

  “But if they have not built another tunnel, then Roakore’s plan would work, would it not?” Whill asked.

  Avriel smiled at him. “It would.”

  “So are we to assume that they have not built a second tunnel?” asked Abram.

  Rhunis began to pace around the table. “Whether or not they have built a second tunnel, we are set to storm the beaches in what, one week?” King Mathus nodded. “Then we must go with Roakore’s plan. If we are wrong, then we are back where we were at the beginning. So we will leave it to Roakore and his men to destroy the tunnel. We will engage the Arden forces at the foot of the mountain and do our best to push them back to their borders. If any of the Isladon
forces remain there, they will welcome our arrival and bolster our numbers.

  “I have sent five different spies to infiltrate Isladon and learn what they may. They shall return within three days. Until then we must go with what we know of the situation and prepare our troops.”

  “True enough,” said Mathus. “Then let us put the gears of war in motion, and may the gods smile upon us.”

  The following morning Whill and Tarren met Roakore at the docks, where a warship awaited the dwarf for departure to Sherna.

  “Aye there!” Roakore called to them. Tarren ran up and gave him a hug. “Alright, alright, then, lad.” He patted the boy’s back. “Ye work hard in yer studies o’ the blade, boy. If ye learn fast enough, there may be a Draggard left for ye to kill. An’ take care o’ Whill,” he added with a wink.

  Tarren laughed. “I will, Roakore. Good luck getting your mountain back, too.”

  “Bah! Luck’ll have nothin to do with it, lad.”

  Whill shook his hand. “It has been a pleasure fighting alongside you, friend.”

  “And with you. An’ if this war is anything like them elves think it’ll be there’ll be much more fighting to take pleasure in, me boy.”

  “I wish I could be there with you when you retake the mountain. It will be a glorious day.”

  “Aye, That it will, lad, that it will.” And with that, Roakore turned and walked the ramp to the ship.

  The following days the castle was alive with activity in preparation for the battle. Hundreds of warships had arrived in great numbers and could be seen on the horizon. Whill wondered if Freston was among them, He had sent word to Whill that the ship was complete and would be delivered personally by him and his sons. When the great armada shipped out for war, Whill, Abram, and the elves would leave with it on Whill’s ship. They would sail south with the armada until they reached the coast of Isladon. From there they would break off from the pack and continue south, one hundred miles clear of the coast of Uthen-Arden, and head east and finally north to the shores of Elladrindellia.

  Recruitment had already begun for more soldiers into the Eldalon army. Property and gold were promised to any man who agreed to serve four years. This, Whill knew, was a precautionary and perhaps necessary measure taken by the king. Thousands signed up within the first day alone. Rumors had begun to spread like wildfire about the coming war-fragmented tales, mostly ill-informed. But the king and his council knew well enough the dangers of the misinformed masses, and so, one week after Roakore had set sail for Sherna, and two days after word had come that the dwarf armies were already moving out, the king made public the truth of the situation.

  Whill stood with Abram at the gates of the castle, where it had been announced that the king himself would be speaking at high noon. Thousands crowded the streets, sat upon rooftops, and hung out of nearby windows to hear. A podium had been erected near the entrance, and all fell silent as King Mathus ascended the steps. Standing five feet above the heads of his people, with the spring sun shining down upon him and a quiet breeze crawling in from the ocean, he addressed the crowd.

  “My good people of Eldalon, it is with stubbornly open eyes and a quickened heart that I have pondered the gravity of what I say to you now. Not a day of peaceful sleep have I seen in the last week, and I expect not to know one for some weeks to come. As you all know, or have heard through whispered rumors, King Addakon of Uthen-Arden has waged war upon Isladon. Perhaps not officially, but through his actions he has done so. Word has come from our neighbors in Isladon, over many miles and by the blood of many brave men, of the fate of the kingdom. My friends, the king of Isladon has been killed in battle.”

  A gasp swept through the crowd. People cursed Addakon and Uthen-Arden, fists pumped the air, and men spat upon the ground.

  “That is not the worst of it. It seems that King Ainamaf has declared allegiance with Uthen-Arden. I have heard it from his own lips.”

  Abram turned to Whill and whispered, “He is wise to not mention that Ainamaf is also dead or imprisoned, and is being impersonated by a Dark elf.”

  “You think so?” Whill asked dryly.

  “With the drums of war waging to the south-with a centuries-old ally being invaded on false grounds and twisted reasoning-with a king who, so out of character, has made allegiance with a tyrant-what, my good people, are we to do?”

  Already the crowd was yelling words of war. King Mathus let his voice ring out once again, with more passion than before.

  “The terrible truth of it is that we have become cornered. We are the only human kingdom left within Agora that stands between certain destruction and liberation! I hereby declare and rectify that which already has come to pass. As in the days of old, when barbarians thought to overtake this land, and before that when the kingdoms were young and Eldalon fought countless enemies to become the beacon of freedom and prosperity that it is now-I have renewed our alliance with not only the dwarves of Ky’Dren, but all dwarf kingdoms of Agora. Like us, they have been swept up in this mad pursuit of power by King Addakon and the Dark elves of Drindellia.”

  The crowd hushed slightly at the mention of the Dark elves.

  “Yes, my friends, the legends are true. The Dark elves wish to do to all of Agora that which they did to the good elves of Drindellia. For years they have been attacking our shores, using the Draggard abominations as their puppets. And now it seems they have a new puppet, seduced with the promise of great power: King Addakon. It was he, along with the Dark elves and their Draggard horde, that invaded the Ebony Mountains twenty years ago. And it is he who now with that same horde, and an army of misguided soldiers, has waged war upon Isladon. And he has all the while named Isladon in league with the Draggard.”

  The people were speechless in the face of so many revelations. The king allowed a moment for it all to sink in. In the faces of those nearby Whill saw many reactions-anger, fear, sorrow-but no doubt.

  “I regret now dearly our inaction those years ago when the Ebony Mountains were invaded. I will bring this regret to the grave, I assure you. What kind of neighbors are we if we stand idly by while our neighbors-human, dwarf, or elf-are slaughtered by the thousands, their homes taken, their lives destroyed, their freedom stripped? What kind of neighbors, indeed. With these thoughts in mind, I have taken the following actions: I have renewed our allegiances with the dwarves, elves, and any human in Agora who believes and acts for our cause. But I leave the final choice to you, the people, for I cannot and should not make such decisions for you.

  “So what shall it be? Shall we do nothing, hope that we can ride out this storm of tyranny in the comfort of our homes and daily lives? Shall we wish, like children, that the monsters will just go away? Should we simply give in to Addakon without a fight, and save much blood from being spilled? “Or shall we stand united with the great dwarven armies, and the powerful armies of Elladrindellia? Shall we speak as one united voice against the powers of darkness that have made nest upon our doorstep?” The crowd erupted with cheers and applause. “Shall we fight against all odds, against all hope, against all reason, outnumbered by monsters and murderous Dark elves and surrounded by enemies? Shall we do what we have always done when faced with such decisions-shall we wage war against those who would see us dead, and strike the first blow rather than wait to be mounted?”

  The crowd erupted once again in an ocean of fists, with swords, knives, pitchforks, and clubs held high.

  Whill and Abram walked the streets alone. The excitement was palpable. Songs of Eldalon rang out, and all talk was of the king’s proclamation.

  “You would do well to watch closely and learn the ways of your grandfather, King Mathus,” Abram said to Whill. “I have met many a man of great power in my years, but none have had the natural mind for what is right and just like King Mathus. Aside from your father, of course.”

  “Yes, King Mathus is a great public speaker. And you are correct, it is his passion that gives his words power. Not to mention he says that which is most cl
osely in the hearts of his audience.”

  Abram chuckled slightly. “That, my friend, is the one thing I have noticed has been passed down most noticeably from Mathus’s blood into yours.”

  Whill stopped mid-stride. “Am I vain to have the same sentiment?”

  “No, sir! It is not vanity to recognize that you have a talent for leading men. It is only vanity to lead men to their deaths for your own gain, and not their own. That, thankfully, is something you did not inherit from your uncle.”

  “I know exactly what the elders and the monks will say, sister,” said Zerafin as he gently polished his blade, Nifarez, with a swab of cotton. “They will say what they have always said and what needs saying: peace is the way of the free mind; harmony is the very essence that unites all life.”

  “But what they do not consider is that the Draggard are not natural manifestations of the earth. Nor do the Dark elves abide by or hold sacred any of nature’s laws.” Avriel was buttoning Tarren into his newly issued uniform. “I know and support your position in the matter, brother. Was it not I who produced such an argument with the Elders not a year ago? But I suppose you are simply honing your argument for soldiers, and will address it to the Elders hence.”

  Zerafin sheathed his finely polished blade. “I think they will agree with me.”