Whill of Agora
Book 7
The Mantle of Darkness
Michael James Ploof
Copyright © 2016 Traveling Bard publishing
All rights reserved
Cover art by Daniel Kamarudin (Durrrrian)
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Table of Contents
Other Books
By
Michael James Ploof
Whill of Agora Series
The Windwalker Archive Trilogy
Blackthorn Series
The Orion Rezner Chronicles
(Urban Fantasy)
Map of Agora
Chapter 1
Eldarian’s Prison
Kellallea stood before the black mountain, having chosen to make the journey on foot. She hadn’t been here since Eldarian defeated the Dark Lord, and a shiver ran through her spine at the memories, still so clear after so many eons.
The journey was a long and tedious one, but Kellallea thought that she owed Eldarian that much at least. Like a powerless mortal she struggled up the steep wall leading to the doorway, which hummed and crackled with power far ahead. All the while the memories played out before her; Eldarian’s magnificent battle with the Dark Lord, her beloved taking up the dark crown and assuming the mantle, his final words: “I will love you forever.”
They had saved the world, and in the end the gods had punished them both. In her fury she took the gifts that the gods had bestowed upon their people and she made herself into a tree. There she slept and waited, knowing that one day she would have a chance for revenge on the gods. It had taken her many years to plot her plan, for in her depression she had slumbered long, waking some thousands of years after the loss of her beloved. When Mallakell came to her that long ago day, a plan of action formed in her mind.
A vision came to her in a dream, one of Eadon rising up and driving the elves from the homeland. She saw the battles for Agora, and the rise of Whillhelm Warcrown.
Everything had worked in her favor so far, and soon Whill would come and free her beloved.
Her hands and feet were bloody from the jagged rocks, but she continued on, refusing to use her godly power to heal herself or take away the pain. One last effort brought her up onto the ridge, where the translucent door hummed low. Now was the time for her power, and she unleashed a great blast that destroyed the mountain doorway in a shower of sparks. A rumbling began deep in the mountain, and the guardians of the prison were unleashed.
Beside her the stone exploded upward through the large shelf upon which she stood. A stone behemoth erupted from the rubble and turned fiery eyes upon Kellallea.
“What have you done?” came the booming voice of a dwarf god.
Kellallea looked upon the behemoth with contempt. “Azrokea, come, face me. Smite me and cast me down the mountainside. Free my beloved from his prison.”
The behemoth raged and charged across the ridge. Kellallea gathered her power in her right hand and pulled it back, summoning water. In her left she summoned biting cold. She unleashed the water, covering the advancing stone monster, and at once unleashed the freezing cold. A big stone fist came down, but she held her ground. Suddenly, the fist froze, and so too did the water that had gathered in the cracks and crevasses of the stone guardian. Kellallea unleashed a sonic wave that shattered the behemoth and sent the frozen stone bouncing down the mountainside.
Above the doorway, the stone peeled back to reveal a glowing red eye. Kellallea raised a defensive hand as a long thin beam of white-hot energy shrieked out from the eye and hit her energy shield. The voice of the gods shook the mountainside.
“What have you done?”
“Eldarian shall be free!” she screamed over the booming voices as she pushed against the beam. Fire and sparks erupted from the point of contact, and Kellallea held firm.
Another eye opened on the mountainside, and then another. Soon multiple beams were bearing down on her, threatening to tear through her defenses. She grinned, knowing that the gods were weakening Eldarian’s prison with this feeble attempt to stop her.
Kellallea gathered her power and unleashed it upon each streaming beam of godly light. The eyes simultaneously exploded. She stood tall before the door, waiting to see what they might throw at her next.
After a time, she continued on through the mountain passage that she had ventured into so long ago. The door led to a long tunnel that opened to a great cavern. At its center was a small mountain lake of lava. She waited, expecting it to blaze to life and attack her, but all remained silent.
Kellallea continued through tunnels and caverns. When the path led to a vast underground lake, she swam down into the murky depths. All manner of beasts attacked her there in the dark, and she smote them all, coming to the surface in another cavern and laughing at the gods.
“You know that your elemental minions cannot stop me. Come, face me yourselves and let us be done with this! Your actions will free Eldarian, and together he and I shall smite you all!”
The mountain shook violently, and she waited, raising both the Sword of Power Taken and the Sword of Power Given.
Silence followed, and Kellallea cursed the cowardly gods.
“So be it. Remain silent as you have always been.”
Streaking lights hit the ground all around her, and she brought up a strong shield of energy. She clanged the blades together, waiting for the attack, but the flames died down, and the many gods of men, dwarves, dragons, and elves stood before her.
A goddess of the elves strode forward and looked upon Kellallea with shimmering eyes. “Eldarian gave himself so that the world might be spared. Why do you seek such vengeance? Why can you not take pride in his sacrifice?”
“What have you sacrificed, sister?” Kellallea said with a sneer. “You are all cowards. One day you will have to face your brother, and the world will be born anew from the ashes of the old. There will be a thousand years of darkness, a thousand years of cold. The mortals will suffer, but you, you will endure. You know nothing of pain, nothing of hardship. You have become complacent there upon your empyreal thrones. Do not act as if you care!”
The gods regarded her with hard eyes of cold wisdom.
“You do not know of what you speak,” said a dwarf god. He strode forth with shield and axe, eyeing her with fury.
She glanced around with a smirk. “I do not see the father of man among you. Where is Jhova, called by the barbarians Thodin? Why does he remain silent?”
The gods did not speak.
“It is his champion who will soon sail east to take up the mantle of darkness. Perhaps your quarrel is not with me, but him.”
They shared glances, and one after another they disappeared, leaving only sparkling remnants of their forms. Soon the embers died, and Kellallea was once again alone.
More confidently than ever, she strode forth into the next chamber and came to the throne room of the Lord of Darkness.
Hot tears spilled down her dirty face as she beset eyes on her Eldarian for the first time in many ages of mortals.
Kellallea fell to her knees there before the glowing orb that was his prison. Eldarian sat upon a high throne littered with bones and skulls. Blue-green flames burned within the throne room, and the same hellish light glow
ed in Eldarian’s eyes.
“My beloved! I have returned for you as I promised. Soon you will be free. Soon we will be together again.”
Chapter 2
A Mother’s Fears
Avriel stood sideways and glanced at herself in the full-length mirror. She was due in two months, and it took an elf with only one good eye to see her condition. Her belly was already round and full beneath her light-green gown. It protruded like an egg, riding high on her torso, which the old mothers said was always a good sign.
“Whill is going to be so excited by the news,” said Lunara, who stood behind the chair to the vanity. She had been with Avriel on all her journeys back and forth from Del’Oradon to Cerushia over the last few months and had proven herself a great asset. Avriel knew that in her heart, Lunara still loved Whill. Her service to the elven crown was her self-sentenced penance. But Avriel had trusted her with her life since the attempted assassination by the avengers of the Taking, a group that had been all but snuffed out by Avriel’s great show of magical power.
Avriel smiled at Lunara in the mirror, knowing that the silver-haired elf meant what she said and was indeed happy for them
“Yes,” said Avriel. “He will be excited, and a bit shocked.”
Lunara laughed musically and began braiding Avriel’s hair. “May I sing to your beloved?”
“Please.”
Lunara sang an old elven nursery song as she wove the intricate patterns in Avriel’s hair. Her voice was beautiful, echoing off the smooth columns and marble walls of the sparsely furnished room. The curtains to the right blew into the room, and a mild breeze washed over Avriel, sending goose bumps dancing down her bare arms. A baby’s soft foot pressed against her belly, and Avriel watched as it slowly moved across her stomach.
She smiled. She couldn’t wait to give him the news. He had at first been exited by the prospect of learning the sex of the child, but had soon changed his mind, saying that he wanted it to be a surprise announcement for the wedding. What she had to tell him would indeed be a surprise.
“Have you settled on names?” Lunara asked when her song was done.
“I have.”
Lunara’s eyes went wide, as if to say, “Well?”
“Let that be your surprise,” Avriel teased.
“Hmm, now you’ve got me thinking. I’m going to write down my best guesses and open them after the announcement. I bet I get one right.”
“We’ll see,” said Avriel with a playful smile.
The autumn air was beginning to bring a chill, even this far south in Cerushia. Still, Avriel kept the many double doors leading to the balcony open, liking the cool air. The pregnancy was giving her severe hot flashes, which she endured as would a mortal, taking only herbal tea, not wanting to use magic to alleviate any of the adverse effects of carrying a child. She wanted to feel it all. She wanted to remember every moment.
Soon Whill would have to sail east to Drindellia to face his greatest challenge yet, and Avriel had a terrible feeling that he would never return. They hadn’t discussed how Whill might thwart Kellallea’s plans for fear of the goddess hearing them.
They hadn’t been able to speak of it, but Avriel knew that Whill was formulating a plan. He was not one to give up so easily, though he was one who would give himself to save the world, and that was what worried Avriel the most. They had been through so much already. She was beginning to resent their place in history, wishing instead that they could just have a nice quiet life in their little corner of the world. But the lives of kings and queens were rarely calm and peaceful.
Avriel tried to focus on the present and near future. Soon she and Whill would be married in the courtyard of Castle Del’Oradon; soon she would give birth to the future.
She worried so much over Whill that she had all but forgotten her old fears about the prejudice their children might face. There was nothing known of elf and human unions, and until Avriel had claimed her pregnancy and made known the father, the elders hadn’t even thought it possible.
When preparations were complete, Avriel and Lunara went out into the courtyard as the guards loaded the bags on Zorriaz. The dragon smiled down on her with a toothy grin that would have sent most people running for the hills.
“How are you feeling, sister?” Avriel asked, stroking the dragon’s shiny snout.
“I feel strong. The night cries out for flight. The winds run northwest, and we will have a very good flight I believe.”
“Excellent,” said Avriel before allowing herself to be helped up the rungs to the saddle. Lunara climbed up in the second saddle and strapped herself in.
Zorriaz leapt gently into the air, not wanting to jostle Avriel too much, given her condition. They rose high above the palace courtyard and headed toward the sparkling Thousand Falls. The waters were furious, having recently been fed by three days of rain. But Zorriaz had ensured Avriel that she smelled no rain coming from the south, and so they had set out shortly after the rains had stopped, and now chased the thunderhead west across the Gulf of Arden.
The supply wagons and over one hundred guests had set out days and even weeks before, having been promised to be put up in the castle until the wedding. Whill had ensured her that the wedding would be the grandest that Del’Oradon had ever seen, but she didn’t care about such frivolous affairs; she was simply happy to be marrying Whill of Agora, a man she had dreamed of since before he was born.
Chapter 3
A Pleasant Surprise
The lanterns glowed bright all around the council chamber, though the candles had burned out long ago. Whill had called a private meeting with the council, one in which they had been finalizing the constitution of the First People’s Government of Kell-Torey. The lords had not been happy with the ideas that Whill presented, but in the end there was little they could do. The people were behind him, and many of those people who had once served the lords were now quite wealthy due to the gold that had been paid to them to join Whill’s army. Widows and children had even been given the fallen soldiers’ shares, which made him and his new ideas even more popular. In the end, the lords were forced to sell the lands outright to those farmers who had been working them.
The council members themselves had expressed worry about the absolving of their stations, but Whill ensured them that he would recommend each and every one of them to his successor. The election was to be held at the end of the month, after Whill’s wedding to Avriel. As some people in Del’Oradon had feared, Avriel would be queen for the short time during the transition, but they tolerated it nonetheless, waiting to see if King Whillhelm would indeed give up the crown. Many people said that he was mad to give up the throne; others called him a saint. But he had his own reasons. He had no heir and wasn’t sure if he would ever return from Drindellia. Without a stable government in place, the kingdom would fall to chaos in his absence. Aside from that, Whill thought it was the right thing to do. It wasn’t fair for a people to be ruled by someone they hadn’t elected, just because that person was of royal blood. Addakon had been proof of that.
In the end, Whill and the council had decided on a government controlled by a senate, which was appointed by the people of each district. The most powerful position in the people’s government was that of the elected governor, whose power was kept in check by the senate.
Already there were men campaigning for the position of governor, including his own Magister of Reflection, Archemedes Krell. The old man’s wisdom was respected by most, and Whill knew him to be a pragmatic, logical man. His advanced age made him a man without ego, one who looked at everything from all sides, always consulting the past for answers.
Aside from Magister Krell, there was another man gaining traction with the guild leaders and former lords, one Jonathon Gelding. He was a highborn man whose family fortune had been greatly affected by Whill’s new doctrines, and Whill knew that if he won the office, he would do everything in his power to return power to the nobles. Sadly, many of the people supported him, for th
ey had followed the same system their entire lives and were reluctant to embrace change, even if that change improved their quality of life.
When the meeting finally ended, Whill took his leave and retired to his quarters for a much needed glass of wine. He stood at the balcony, looking out over the city beyond as he sipped his drink, his eyes veering to the east like they always did. Eldarian was waiting for him far across the ocean. He could all but feel the pull of the dark mantle. He saw it in his dreams every night, a high throne set on a pile of bones, deep within the heart of a dark mountain eternally crowned by violent storm clouds.
He had racked his mind for a way that he might thwart Kellallea and somehow defeat her, while at the same time ensuring Avriel’s safety and that of his unborn child. He had prayed to the gods of men and even elves, but no one came to him in his time of darkness. There was no rumbling voice from the heavens, no bright and shining light. Did the gods know something that he did not? Or was Whill doomed to take up the dark mantle and be imprisoned for eternity? At times he wanted to curse the gods.
The following morning, Whill sat down to a late breakfast in his quarters when a knock came at the door.
“Enter,” he said, his voice echoing through the vast room.
The door opened, and Tarren walked into the room, beaming.
“Tarren!” said Whill, raising his arms high and smiling for the first time in days. He pushed back from the desk and met the lad in the middle of the room to give him a big hug. “Well, you’ve gotten big, haven’t you? And it’s only been a few months. How they treating you over there in the academy?”
The Mantle of Darkness: Whill of Agora Book 7: Legends of Agora Page 1