The Mantle of Darkness: Whill of Agora Book 7: Legends of Agora

by Ploof,Michael James

  Shortly after arriving at the castle, Roakore poured himself and the others a drink. He sat at the stone table on the balcony and gave a contented sigh. Far below, a dwarven sheepherder was bringing in his flock.

  “It be a good day for Ro’Sar,” said Helzendar suddenly, lifting his glass of fermented cider.

  “That it be,” said Roakore, tipping his own glass.

  “So,” said Philo. “Ye had but a few hours to think o’ it, and already ye decided that Raene’s proclamation be right?”

  “I have and I do,” said Helzendar with a nod of finality. “If it be good enough for the gods, what do I have to say about it?”

  “The lad be smart,” said Roakore.

  “Aye, and I be thinkin’ somethin’ happened in the Mountain o’ the Gods,” said Philo, a little lower.

  “What ye be meanin’?” Roakore asked, intrigued as always by the spirited dwarf’s theories.

  “Well, if the gods be decreein’ this to us, then it must be ‘cause they had their own little revolution. The dwarven goddesses, I mean.”

  “Aye,” said Roakore, nodding. “Ye might be on to somethin’ there.”

  “Maybe they needed more power to fight the dark one,” Helzendar piped in.

  “What ye know o’ the dark one?” Philo asked.

  Helzendar glanced from Philo to Roakore, looking as though he had, as the dwarves were fond of saying, “let the snake out o’ the bag.”

  “Well then,” said Roakore, “spit it out.”

  “I can’t say nothin’ on account o’ a sacred promise in the name o’ Ky’Dren. I swore it to me friend.”

  Roakore and Philo didn’t like the answer, but they respected it.

  “All I’ll say be this. A good friend o’ yours will be needin’ yer help. But he be too proud to ask.”

  Roakore eyed his son, but left it at that.

  Chapter 6

  A Warning from the Gods

  Gretzen leaned on one of the beams that made the frame of her new tent. Her bones ached like they had for centuries, but usually the herbs and tinctures she used daily brought her some degree of comfort. Now, however, she felt every day her two hundred and seventy years.

  The elves, specifically Azzeal, had helped her to reach an age beyond the wildest dreams of most humans. Indeed, the oldest a Vald had lived, to her knowledge, had been one hundred and ten.

  She knew that her end was near. And she was glad. Although she loved life, she had no idea how the elves could do it. Already she had changed so much, and seen so much, that she was no longer the person she had been even a hundred years before, and she wondered how many decades before she was someone else altogether. She felt like she was losing herself.

  It was yet autumn, and a mild one at that. The winter would be mild, she thought, which was a good thing. Gretzen had gotten too used to the perpetual summer of the Elladrindellian rain forest. Even here, at the northern edge of Shierdon, she was beginning to feel the chill of the seasons.

  She had decided to return to Volnoss for the winter with most of the young warriors and women who had accompanied her. A few would remain behind at the first barbarian outpost in Shierdon, one that she had named Styrker, for the Vald god of the same name.

  Gretzen had also decided that she would live through this one last winter, at least until she had seen the Vald break ground in the spring, then she would move on to the spirit world. But now those plans had changed, for a dream had come to her in the night, a message from the spirit world.

  Azzeal greeted her with his ever-present smile as he walked to her tent with a steaming bowl.

  “Good morning, my friend. Are you hungry?”

  “Many thanks,” said Gretzen, accepting the clay bowl. “Please, come in. I’ve been waiting for you. We must talk.”

  Azzeal followed her inside and sat by the small fire at the center of the tent. Gretzen took the figurine of Aurora and called her from the spirit world.

  “Folkhagi,” said Aurora with a bow. She glanced to Azzeal and back to Gretzen once more. “What is it?”

  “A message has come to me from the other side. Dark tidings.”

  “I had hoped that dark tidings were behind us,” said Azzeal with a mirthless laugh. “Who is the messenger? The spirit of Talon Windwalker again?”

  Gretzen shook her head gravely. “Thodin, the Father.”

  Aurora’s eyes widened, and she sat down slowly.

  “He says that although the darkness has passed, the night has not even begun. The wars that we have seen in our lifetimes have been part of a grand plan, one orchestrated by the false goddess Kellallea. The rise and fall of Eadon, the Draggard Wars, and even the rise of Whill of Agora—all of this has been her design.”

  “What is her endgame?” Aurora asked.

  “She wishes for Whill to take up the dark mantle and free her beloved, Eldarian.”

  “Eldarian?” said Azzeal, his voice and eyes trailing off and the ever-present smile disappearing from his face.

  “Who is this man?” Aurora asked.

  “He was not a man, but an elf,” said Gretzen. “During the War of the Gods, he defeated the dark one and took upon himself the mantle of darkness. He then allowed himself to be imprisoned for all time by the many gods. Men, elves, and dwarves have prospered because of his great sacrifice, but Kellallea has never forgiven the gods, and she seeks to free him from his eternal prison. In doing so, she will unleash eternal night and usher in the second War of the Gods. Unless another takes Eldarian’s place, the world will burn.”

  “And that someone is Whill of Agora,” said Aurora.

  “Is he prepared to make this sacrifice?” Azzeal asked.

  “Yes,” said Gretzen. “But he will need help. There are many who wish to stop him, those who would see the power of the dark mantle unleashed upon the world. Eldarian too will move against him. For there is little, if any, goodness left in him, and the power of the mantle wishes to be free once more.”

  “Please,” said Aurora, dropping to her knees on the dirt floor. “Let me serve Thodin. Let me accompany you on this quest.”

  “You will serve Thodin, but you will not come with me. You have sworn to protect the Vald of Volnoss forevermore, and that is what you will do.”

  Aurora’s head bent, and her face became grave. “Yes, Folkhagi.”

  “You will stay behind and fulfill your vow. I will be entrusting your figurine to Chieftain Vardveizla Soaringsong of Eagle Tribe. She will be your master from now on.”

  “But, when you return, will you not—”

  “I shall not return from the east,” said Gretzen.

  Azzeal looked to her, startled. “You have seen this?”

  The old woman nodded gravely. “Will you accompany me, Azzeal of Elladrindellia?”

  Azzeal searched her eyes, wondering if indeed he would return from such a quest. “I would be honored.”

  “Thank you,” said Gretzen, smiling on her oldest friend. “I will say goodbye to my people one last time, and we shall leave for Del’Oradon at first light.”

  Chapter 7

  A Bittersweet Reunion

  The flight from Cerushia to Del’Oradon by way of dragon would normally take no more than half a day, but Avriel made many stops along the way, wanting to use the opportunity to visit with some old friends, as well as one of her two sisters.

  “How long has it been since last you spoke with her?” Lunara asked from the secondary saddle.

  “Fifty years.”

  “Why the long silence?”

  “My sister doesn’t…she has different ideas.”

  “About what?”

  “Everything,” said Avriel as she steered Zorriaz down toward a small city and the palace at its center.

  They landed in the courtyard, and the elven guards straightened when they recognized their queen.

  “My liege,” said the captain of the guard as he rushed over to greet them. “Your visit is quite unexpected. Welcome to Vellorian.”


  “Thank you. Is my sister about?”

  “She has just been informed of your arrival.”

  “I assume that she still resides in the tower when she is here?”

  “Indeed. I will bring y—”

  “I know the way.”

  “Of course, my liege.”

  Avriel found her sister waiting for her in the highest room in the highest tower of Vellorian Palace. The doors were opened by a pair of guards, and Avriel’s sister stood just beyond the threshold, grinning a familiar grin.

  “Avriel,” she said, rushing forward and embracing her lovingly.

  “Zilena. It has been too long.”

  “Patrolling the eastern waters took me from home for far too long,” said Zilena. “Oh, but the stories I could tell you.” She glanced at Avriel’s enlarged stomach and raised a brow. “And indeed, there are stories that you could tell me.”

  Lunara cleared her throat, and Avriel extended a hand toward her. “This is my dear friend and advisor, Lunara—”

  “Lunara Evenstar,” said Zilena, taking her hand. “I have heard much about you. They say that you helped to raise Whillhelm Warcrown’s ward. What is his name? Tarren?”

  “He’s a good lad. I grew to love him during our time together.”

  Zilena cocked an eyebrow and glanced from Avriel to Lunara. “The boy, you mean?”

  Lunara averted her eyes as she blushed and fell silent.

  “We’ve been flying for hours…” said Avriel, hoping to break the tension. Her sister had always loved to cause trouble, and it seemed that she hadn’t changed.

  “Of course. Where are my manners? I shall have food brought. Please, join me on the balcony. The sun will set soon, and it is sure to be marvelous.”

  Fresh fish was brought before them, along with fruits, nuts, exotic cheeses, and wine. Avriel’s appetite since becoming pregnant had proven ravenous, and she did nothing to hide it while she and Lunara dined with Zilena on the balcony. The ocean lapped against the sandy beaches to the left, and to the right the rain forest rose with the tall northern hills.

  “Tell me of your adventure on the eastern seas,” Avriel said, hoping to guide the conversation. If given a chance, Zilena would steer it back to more awkward topics. Nothing much ever got by her sister, who had dozens of spies at her disposal, if only to scoop up the juiciest gossip they could find. Avriel had no doubt that she knew everything about Lunara’s feelings for Whill.

  “Oh but my tales would be bland compared to yours. You and brother have been busy getting mixed up in everything it seems.”

  “Fate has handed us much responsibility.”

  “Fate? I hear that you jumped at the opportunity to rescue Whill when he nearly killed himself healing the boy.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

  “And now you are to be wed. I was quite hurt to not have received an invitation. It has been the talk of Vellorian.

  “I wanted to come and invite you in person,’ said Avriel.

  Zilena smiled lovingly and put her hand on top of Avriel’s. “I am honored, and I accept.”

  “I would also ask you to stand for me in Mother’s place.”

  Zilena’s eyes teared and she sprang from her chair and hugged her sister. “Dearest Avriel. Again I accept. I was heartbroken to hear of mother’s passing. But Zerafin was with her at least.”

  “Yes, she wanted to die in the homeland.”

  “Have you heard word from him?”

  “None,” said Avriel, not wanting to mention Kellallea’s words to Whill that Zerafin would be waiting for him, and would lead him to Eldarian’s prison.

  “I hope that no trouble has befallen him and the others. Brother always relied so on his magic. Without it, I fear that he might dive headlong into something that he cannot get himself out of.”

  “Zerafin can take care of himself, I believe,” said Avriel. She knew that Zilena had more to say about the taking of power. She could see it in her eyes—her sister was just itching to know why Kellallea had blessed her.

  “Where were you…when it happened?” said Zilena.

  Avriel sighed and glanced at Lunara, who seemed not to like Zilena much at all. She hadn’t said two words to the elf since the small teasing, and instead ate her food slowly, staring at her plate as though she heard not a word, like a servant might.

  “I was there when Kellallea took all power and knowledge of Orna Catorna,” said Avriel.

  “I heard it far out to sea. I heard it in my mind and felt it in my heart. We all did.”

  “That was a terrible day indeed,” said Avriel, not wanting to talk further on the subject.

  Surely Zilena could sense it, but she cared not, for she pressed the issue. “They say that you have been blessed by the goddess.” There was small accusation in her eyes, and hope.

  “I have, but I fear—”

  “Show me.”

  “Zilena…”

  “Show me!”

  Avriel moved uncomfortably in her chair and sat up. “I have all the knowledge that I once possessed. What would you like me to do?”

  “Do what you will. I would see the lost power wielded once more.”

  Avriel opened her hand, and a ball of flame erupted in her palm.

  Zilena gazed at the fire with teary eyes. “Why didn’t you use your power to save Mother?” she said in a faraway, haunted voice.

  Avriel extinguished the flame and put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “You know that if I could have, I would have.”

  “Why couldn’t you? What was stopping you?”

  “Mother had already passed when I was given the power by Kellallea.”

  Zilena seemed far from satisfied with the answer. She drank down the rest of her wine and glared at Avriel. “Why do you serve her? She who allowed our mother to die, and took from us the very essence of what it is to be an elf.”

  “It was that or death, and the death of my children,” said Avriel.

  Zilena held her with a stern gaze. “Then you are her puppet?”

  “You once told me that we are all the gods’ puppets.”

  “She is not a god!” said Zilena, growing angrier with every passing word. “She is a meddler, a false goddess. She is the enemy.”

  “Do you think that I do not know this? Do you think that I like the position that I have been put in? Do not preach to me about things that you know nothing about. While you were having your fun on the high seas, I was here, fighting for our people, fighting for Agora. My very soul was torn asunder by Eadon. I lay in Cerushia for months, mind and soul trapped in the body of a dragon, kept alive only by the strength of our people. And where were you?”

  Zilena stared at her, mouth agape. Never had Avriel spoken to her sister so.

  “Do not lecture me,” Avriel said, standing. Lunara rose to her feet as well, quite enjoying the berating. “I have done everything I can in this fight, and I will continue to do so.”

  With that she turned and stormed out of the room, leaving her sister to stare after her, speechless.

  Chapter 8

  Trouble on Drakkar

  Zalenlia the Gold waited until high noon to fly to Del’Oradon. She knew that in the noonday light her golden scales would shimmer and shine, easily marking her presence to the people below. Before she had reached the wall of the reconstructed city, the dragon horns blared. She glided over the busy streets and markets, reveling in the way the people stopped and stared, pointing up at her in wonderment. Everyone knew of the alliance between their king and the golden dragon, and they cheered as she passed.

  She landed in the courtyard and was pleased to see Whill coming from the castle to greet her.

  “Zalenlia,” he said, stopping to bow before her.

  She returned the gesture. “Whillhelm Warcrown.”

  “I hope that you come with good tidings of your campaign in the west,” said Whill.

  “No, I do not.”

  “It has been months. I had assumed that you were victorious.�
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  “No one is victorious in war,” said Zalenlia, looking up at the six circling gold dragons. “I was successful for a time, and thought that perhaps we dragons could live in peace.”

  “Who controls Drakkar?” Whill asked, concerned. The last thing he needed was a group of volatile dragons living off the western coast of Agora.

  “Longclaw, the silver male. He is one of the surviving blessed.”

  “What was his blessing?”

  “Lightning.”

  “Do the other dragons follow out of loyalty or fear?”

  “Both, I believe.”

  “How many?”

  “Hundreds, of all colors.”

  “Surely with your power to heal, you could defeat him.”

  “I do not wish for war. The dragons have spoken, and I will respect their decision.”

  Whill let out a sigh. “I owe you a grand favor, and you have come to collect, I know this. What do you ask of me?”

  “I wish you to help us retrieve our eggs.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we will leave, back to the golden coasts to the south that no man has seen.”

  “You would leave me with hundreds of volatile dragons to deal with?”

  “I am not responsible for the fate of—”

  “I thought that once. But I was wrong. Those in power to fight back evil must do so.”

  “Who is evil? Is Longclaw the Silver evil? Are you? The dragons were forced from Agora by men and dwarves long ago. Are they not right to want to take back what was first theirs? If it were the other way around, would not the human bards sing of the injustice of the usurper dragons?”

  “Then you think your kin will prosper under Longclaw’s rule?”

  Zalenlia stared at him with unblinking orbs of gold. “Many will die if there is war,” she admitted.

  “If he moves them to attack Agora, I will be forced to defend this land by any means necessary,” said Whill.

  “You do not know that he will attack.”

  “Don’t I? You said it yourselves. The dragons have justice on their side. That is enough to motivate most.”