Whill of Agora: Book 02 - A Quest of Kings

by Michael Ploof

  Again, her answer came after many strong beats of her powerful wings. Whill stared blankly at her left wing as it passed over the sun repeatedly. In that light, her wing was translucent, but it did not seem thin and weak. It was thick and strong and radiated the light as if from within.

  If she is right, and if you aid in Eadon becoming a god, then the world is doomed. She finally answered.

  Whill pondered the grave situation and came to no conclusions. This was but another problem in the nightmare that had become his life as of late. He finally had the blade of legend, and he had the girl—well sort of—and it seemed that Roakore would follow him gladly into the mouth of a dragon, laughing all the while. But now he was left with his old friend, nagging doubt. He could not shake the feeling of imminent doom.

  What if he killed himself the first time he made contact with the sword? What if it somehow took him over? Was the blade sentient, aware? Would he become a mad dictator as had Eadon? The big problem Whill had with Kellallea’s tale was that it made sense. Adimorda very well could have seen himself in the future as an all-powerful conqueror, and he could have created the sword not to defeat Eadon, who he would become, but to strengthen him. Whill had to find out whether or not anyone knew it to be true.

  Precisely, said Avriel in his mind.

  He was not startled by her, for he had known she was there. He had been letting her linger in his mind and observe his thoughts, as she had him. He had been startled when they had first shared each other’s thoughts openly. There were many thoughts to listen to, but soon Whill realized that just like his mind, hers, too, was possessed of many different thoughts. But seeing her thoughts from his perspective allowed him to see how those many thoughts were simply a vortex of interwoven thought strings webbing out and within, and at the center of the thoughts was a blinding spec of awareness. Avriel had called it the watcher, the true self, the soul; it had a multitude of names in all cultures.

  Dirk knew that the time had come, but he had not had a chance to privately attempt to contact Eadon. He looked around at the others, annoyed. He had to redeem himself to Eadon somehow. He had failed in his original mission of killing Abram, and Eadon had needed to do that himself.

  He had believed the luminescent Elf’s words. The tale was one of masterful deceit and unparalleled genius. Dirk had almost laughed when he had heard the Elf say that Eadon was Adimorda—it was brilliant. He respected Eadon for his cunning, and he feared the Elf. He soon realized that nothing could be gotten over on the Elf. He was an ancient relic of a lost civilization, the destroyer of Drindellia. Eadon was a force of nature, and against him, all would be as leaves in a hurricane.

  Dirk set his resolve and attempted to clear him mind. He snuffed out his annoying flicker of guilt, thought only of Krentz, and pulled his hood over his head as if from the wind. Within the cloak he bore the gem to his lips and whispered, “Whill has the blade. He has not used it, and we fly to the dragon island.”

  He calculated the reverse of the effect they had encountered of the sun shifting in the sky and added, “We arrive with the rising of the sun.”

  He fought the paranoia that possibly one of the dragons or the Elf had heard him and threw it from his mind. When there was no response, he pocketed the gem and upon clearing his mind once more, he came back to the wind. The first thing he saw was the face of the white Elf-dragon, Avriel. Her nostrils flared, her teeth were shown, and her huge, slanted eyes burned through his resolve, and all was revealed to her.

  She let out a roar and attacked, flying over Zhola and snapping at the assassin. Dirk was forced to fall over Zhola’s back and catch hold of the dragon’s massive hind leg. He caught hold of a leg he could not wrap his arms across and was scraped upon the face by the scales.

  Zhola let out a roar and angled away from Avriel. “What is the meaning of this attack?” he demanded with a booming voice.

  “The assassin is a spy! He has given us to the enemy!” Avriel yelled back as she came in once again to strike.

  Zhola roared and curved his head down toward his leg to devour Dirk. The assassin reacted fast, and from its sheath, he took Krone, his greatest of possessions. The dagger was the secret to his success; it was by it that he had attained so many powerful trinkets from those more powerful than himself. Krone had been a gift from Krentz, made by her people to inflict a spell of controlling the mind. With it, Dirk could force all but the most strong-minded to do his bidding. He plunged the dagger in between the dragon’s scales with all his strength, and Zhola let out a howl of rage.

  “Stop dragon!” Dirk bellowed. “You will attack me not and avoid the white dragon.”

  Dirk knew how the blade bit; Zhola would feel an engulfing, hot pain and be compelled to comply to be released of it. It worked, and Zhola’s head reeled back. He roared in protest but was losing the fight for control of his mind and body.

  Dirk quickly tethered himself to the dagger with his elven rope, and calling upon his enchanted boots, he leapt from the leg and grabbed the nearest spike. He pulled himself onto Zhola’s back, and his instincts scream a warning. No sooner had he snapped his head back and arched his body than Aurora’s huge sword swept over his chin. Dirk went with the motion, rather than against, and did a backflip over the dragon’s back and grabbed hold of a passing spike near the tail.

  Before the barbarian attacked, Dirk leapt from his spot and bellowed, “Up, dragon!”

  Zhola suddenly veered straight up with pounding wings, and Aurora was thrown from his back and fell fast, barely grabbing the end of Zhola’s tail. Zhola fought the effects of the dagger and suddenly began to shudder and convulse. The beating of the wings turned into flailing, and the snapping dragon spewed fire as it began to fall like a comet. Aurora held on strong as she found herself looking down upon the falling dragon and the rushing ground.

  Dirk held on to a spike between Zhola’s shoulders and chanted the Dark Elf spell causing the dagger to use more of its power. Zhola snapped at the air but could not reach the assassin; the dagger hit him hard with pain and persuasion. He leveled out once more, and Dirk found his balance.

  In came Avriel from the left, slamming into the bigger dragon in an attempt to dislodge Dirk. Whill’s eyes met Dirk’s, and there was a festering rage there that made even Dirk’s skin crawl.

  “Fly lower!” Dirk commanded Zhola, and the dragon complied.

  Aurora was stubbornly climbing along Zhola’s spear-length spikes, steadily coming closer to Dirk. He threw four consecutive darts at her, and she was forced to duck back. The darts were deflected by her sword, and Dirk threw one more. This dart hit Aurora’s sword and exploded with a flash. The explosion could not have killed anyone, but it was loud and bright and packed enough punch to throw a man across a room. Aurora was blasted from Zhola’s back and tumbled through the air. As Dirk had expected, Whill and the white dragon shot quickly to save her, as did Azzeal.

  “Now, Zhola, all speed! Get me to that cave before them.”

  “Catch her!” Whill hollored as Avriel banked hard left and went into a spiraling descent that sped them toward Aurora. She had turned in her fall and looked over her shoulder at them, terrified. She screamed something incoherent and began to flail. Avriel swooped down and carefully caught Aurora in her claws and pulled up in time to avoid becoming a pile of bones upon the blackened land.

  Silverwind gave a cry and came in with her talons aimed at Dirk’s head. He leapt to the right and swung underneath Zhola and around to the other side. The Silverhawk flew past, and Dirk noticed she was missing a rider. He swung around and landed once again upon the dragon’s back, and he was ready for the Dwarf. Roakore’s ax came across with a whoosh as the wind howled against the Dwarf’s curses. Dirk avoided the blow and stabbed forward with his short sword. Roakore came across again with the heavy ax, with surprising speed, and blocked the sword.

  Dirk danced away gracefully upon the red scales and weaved between the spikes. Roakore followed, hopping his hand from one spike to the
other swiftly. Dirk threw a dart, and Roakore deflected it holding his ax in one hand. Again Dirk leapt from the dragon’s back and, this time, came around behind Roakore. He kicked the Dwarf hard, but it was a glancing blow that Roakore rolled with.

  Dirk then engaged Roakore head on, his short sword and dagger singing in the gale in blurring motion. Roakore could not keep up with such speed and was put on his toes, barely avoiding the blows. He had Dirk right where he wanted him. Roakore laughed as he hopped back from an attack and his stone bird slammed into Dirk’s shoulder. Dirk was hit with such force that he was thrown from Zhola’s back along with his line and dagger.

  “Yeh didn’t see that one comin’, did ye, sneaky pants? Bwahaha!” Roakore sang after the falling assassin.

  From Avriel’s back, Whill and Aurora watched as Dirk fell from Zhola and disappeared into the dark and twisted forest below.

  Leave him to the dark forest, came Azzeal’s voice in their minds. They flew on and followed Zhola, Azzeal, and Silverwind toward the cave.

  Roakore turned his attention to Zhola. He believed the dragon to have been in league with the dirty assassin—he hadn’t attempted to kill the man, and Roakore had seen how Zhola had tried to shake Aurora. He clawed his way to the middle of the dragon’s shoulders and lifted his ax in a great strike.

  The ax sunk deep into Zhola’s muscled left shoulder, and he gave out a groan of pain.

  “Die, ye gods-damned fire demon!” Roakore bellowed as he retracted the blade and struck again.

  Zhola banked hard left due to the blow, and Roakore held on for dear life. Zhola had only been flying fifty feet from the ground, and he now descended and landed quickly. Roakore wasted no time and climbed Zhola’s neck. With one hand, he held fast a spike as he braced his feet on others. He raised his great ax with a roar and was flung through the air with a snap of Zhola’s neck.

  Roakore tumbled many times and slid to a halt. He was on his feet in a flash. Zhola reigned down flame in Roakore’s direction and furiously stomped toward him. Roakore could only run straight at the dragon and keep under the wall of fire.

  In came the stone bird to slam into Zhola’s head, cracking scales. Roakore slammed his ax into Zhola’s ankle hard enough to make it sink deep. The dragon defensively dropped his entire weight down on Roakore’s head.

  “Stop it!” Whill screamed at them both and leapt from Avriel as she landed. He rushed before Zhola and looked in horror at the ground under his belly.

  “Get off him!” he yelled.

  Black smoke rolled out of Zhola’s nostrils, and he bent to regard Whill. “I was attacked. He is mine to kill.”

  “Get off of him,” Whill growled.

  Zhola got dangerously close to Whill and snarled, “I have done my part; I am done with you all. Go to your fate, Whill of Agora; I hunt the assassin.”

  He turned from them and took to the sky, revealing a hole in the ground. Whill rushed to the edge and peered inside. There, nearly six feet down in a circular indent in the ground, was a dazed Dwarf.

  “Come quickly, Roakore; we must go.”

  He lent a hand and pulled the Dwarf form the hole.

  “The dragon was under the control of Dirk, you know; he was not our enemy.”

  “Bah,” said Roakore as he dusted himself off. “He is a dragon, and they be mine enemies.” He looked to Avriel, who had heard him, and blushed. He straightened defiantly. “You ain’t no dragon, Avriel; you be an Elf. It ain’t your fault what was done to you.”

  Soon they arrived at the cave. Aurora and Whill dismounted as did Roakore. Azzeal changed from bird to Elf form. Whill said the word, and the portal blazed to life. It hummed deeply and awaited its passengers. Everyone braced for whatever might come out from the other side. The dragons did not burst forth, nor did Eadon and his legions. They watched and waited for many minutes, but still nothing came.

  “Dirk somehow spoke to Eadon. He knows where we went, and he very well may be waiting,” Whill told the others.

  “Bah, let ’em come. We got the Elf blade now, so let ’em come,” Roakore piped in as he danced on the balls of his feet.

  “I will go first,” said Aurora, eager to prove herself further still. “If anything lurks beyond the portal, I will report it.”

  “Bah! I ain’t havin’ no woman goin’ into danger afore I be! Step aside, lass.”

  Roakore stormed toward the portal and walked right through. Aurora cursed the Dwarf king and said to Whill, “Can’t you keep him on a leash?” She then rushed after the fearless Dwarf.

  Azzeal, Whill, Silverwind, and Avriel waited for a long while. Finally Roakore hopped through the portal with a grin. “The way be quiet.”

  Through the portal they went, and indeed, the chamber beyond was quiet. They made their way back up to the surface without incident. But there at the mouth of the cave awaited an army. They all came to a grinding halt at the mouth of the cave. There, upon the scorched earth beyond the volcano’s mouth, stood Eadon, and next to him stood his Dragon-Hawk. He wore his cloak of Silverhawk feathers, and in his right hand, he held Nodae, his blade, the sword of power taken.

  Upon Whill’s belt, the blade Adromida jolted, and the light within the diamond at the hilt danced and pulsed. It hummed steadily as it came to such a close proximity to its opposite. Eadon outstretched his left hand and bade Whill. “Resistance is futile, Whill. Fulfill your destiny, and take up the blade Adromida.”

  Behind him stood twenty armored Draquon; each one carried a trident. Beyond them waited the dragons of Drakkar.

  “We should retreat back through the portal,” said Aurora with trepidation in her voice. “This foe is beyond us.”

  “No,” said Whill confidently, and he walked forward toward Eadon.

  “Whill!” growled Avriel. “You are not ready for this.”

  Whill stopped and turned to face her with watery eyes. “Will I ever be?” To the others he warned, “Be ready to fly.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Convergence

  With a hand upon the sheath of Adimorda, Whill planted his feet and faced Eadon. A grin spread across the Dark Elf’s face, and his eyes glowed with fiery light.

  Whill dared not strike Eadon, lest the story of Kellallea be true; neither did he think that he had the skill to beat Eadon, no matter the great power within Adimorda. He needed to buy them time to escape. He did not let his fear and doubt show upon his face.

  “I have found the blade. It is over; concede defeat and I will spare your life.”

  Eadon’s laughter shook the ground beneath them, and his smile of victory only widened. Whill could hear the hum of power emanating from Nodae. To his army, Eadon commanded, “Kill them all!”

  Hundreds of dragons took to the sky, and many others charged across the ground. The Draquon gave ear-piercing cries of bloodlust and charged as well. Eadon remained where he was, the wind of his charging army blowing his long, white hair forward.

  The sun began to rise beyond the volcano as Whill faced the oncoming army. “Azzeal! Shield them, and see them away safely.”

  Whill then reached for Adromida as the charging horde closed to within a few hundred yards. Dragons and Draquon alike swooped down upon them from on high. Whill’s hand closed around the hilt of the ancient sword of legend. In that moment, Whill accepted his destiny and gave into the great, slumbering power of the blade.

  Power coursed through his body and threatened to consume him with its blinding force. He fought to command control over the sword’s power, and it yielded to him at once. He opened his eyes and watched as the charging army advanced, moving impossibly slow. Time blurred, and Whill found himself floating five feet from the ground, holding the sword high above his head with both hands. From him shone bright blue light, which radiated outward in electrified tendrils and pure energy. The lightning melded with Azzeal’s conjured energy shield and strengthened it tenfold.

  Whill screamed against the torrent of pulsing power and plunged Adimorda into the volcano’s
surface. There was a deafening boom and an explosion of power, which was quickly swallowed by the glowing wound upon the ground. Whill pumped incredible amounts of energy down into the huge well of lava below.

  The ground began to quake as time returned to normal, and the advancing army slowed as one before the great power. The ground shook so violently that everything with wings fled to the sky. The volcano exploded with such force that Whill’s companions were shot into the sky at breakneck speeds. Azzeal’s shield wavered but held against the ocean of lava that surrounded them.

  Dragons and Draquon alike were disintegrated in midair, and the rest were blown far and wide as the volcano spewed forth its molten destruction. Whill stood within his energy shield scowling at Eadon, who did the same. The Dark Elf advanced so quickly that Whill had no time to react. Eadon slammed into Whill’s shield with so much force that Whill was thrown back into the mouth of the cavern.

  Eadon was upon him in an instant. Whill parried Eadon’s blows; he fought only defensively, not daring to strike the Dark Elf. Whill formulated a plan quickly in his mind. If he could get Eadon through the portal, there might be a chance of escape. The cavern was quickly falling apart all around them as the volcano violently continued to spew its contents. Whill attempted to stall Eadon.

  “What do you promise in return if I give you the power of Adromida?” he screamed over the thunderous commotion of the exploding volcano. Eadon let up on his attack and regarded Whill with a wide smile.

  “You shall be my second; you will have all that you ever wished. You will be king of all of Agora, answerable only to me. I will return Avriel to her true form, and your friends will be left in peace,” Eadon answered.

  Whill reached up with his hand and mentally pulled the ceiling down upon the head of the Dark Elf. Wasting no time, he turned and ran faster than he ever had. Through the cavern and down the stairs he flew. Behind him, there was a great explosion and the scream of Eadon.