“The seventh scroll of the ancient telling of Ardruin, verse nine-seventy-two, A Song of Swords: ‘All eyes ever seek the heavens, all hearts their mystery. And so they will have a ladder to attain so high a dream, albeit one of two pieces, each got at great pain, each got by none named. The attainment of one shall be through great giving, the other through the taking of. That which is given cannot be taken, as that which is taken cannot be given. Let it be known that any who would seek such power, such a place among the gods, would do so with ill intent, as the son who desires the throne of his father.” The elf sagged as she finished, and then became alert; her face was one of puzzlement.
“It is not true!” shouted a white-robed elf. He paused as the talking died down and he was noticed. “We have awaited the coming of Whill for thousands of years! Everything told in the prophecy has come to pass. Now, here he stands before us. Shall we let a rumor, spoken by one we do not see, cast shadow of doubt upon our faith? Shall we forsake our savior so easily, now, when he stands yet before us?”
Many elves stood in agreement. Others argued of logic and reason, blind faith and sound judgment.
“No!” yelled the elf over them all. “We shall not forsake Whill, for he is but our last hope.”
Whill shifted uncomfortably and looked up to Avriel for support. Her dragon eyes relayed annoyance, and a hint of a snarl found her snout.
“Please! Please, I beg of you. Let me set foot past threshold before the argument begins, for I have yet to speak enough to offend.” Zerafin’s voice rose above all, and swallowed their words. Silence fell upon the gathering and everyone found their seat as the elven prince entered the pyramid. Zerafin was fully healed now, Whill could tell. He stood tall and proud, walking with strength and purpose. He made his way around the circle to his mother’s side. With tearing eyes the queen put a hand to her healed son’s cheek and kissed his forehead.
“Mother,” he said with a smile. He looked up at the dragon eyes of his sister and smiled. “Sister.”
Zerafin raised his hands to the gathering and eyed them all. His mouth opened as if to make words but then closed quickly as if the words eluded him. Finally he began slowly.
“My friends, my fellow elves.” He looked to his mother once more. They shared a moment, and Whill was sure they had conversed. The queen nodded with a smile. Zerafin went on.
“My good elves of Elladrindellia, children of the sun, wielders of Orna Catorna, survivors of the exodus. With the blessing of my mother, and hopefully with your blessing as well, I have come to you to announce that I, Zerafin, son of King Verelas, do so from this day forth claim the throne of my father.”
Whill was shocked, as were many in attendance. Through their constant if not always marked connection, Whill felt Avriel’s surprise also, and then quickly he felt her swelling pride. Zerafin had for centuries refused the crown of his father, saying that Verelas would one day return to them. Whill watched Zerafin, and for but a second their eyes met. Whill understood then that Zerafin had only now accepted his father’s fate, he had let go. Whill quickly shifted his mind from thoughts of Abram. His throat tightened and he chastised himself for being weak. He stood quickly to distract himself and began to clap. He looked around at the elves, wondering suddenly if elves clapped also, or did they have another way of showing cheers? Whether they were familiar with clapping or not, they stood one and all and clapped as well. Whill smiled to himself as whistles even pierced the drumming.
Zerafin raised his hand. “Thank you,” he said and bowed.
Eventually the cheers died down and Zerafin was free to speak. “I have heard the tale of Kellallia, as you just have.” He searched the faces of all in attendance, Whill’s most of all. “As you also know, my family is of the order of Adromida, as are many of you.” The elves who believed the prophecy religiously nodded their heads victoriously. Those more skeptical by nature stirred restlessly, feeling a verdict on the matter forthcoming from their new king.
“I will not rule out the possibility of the ancient one’s tale. It has been confirmed to me from my sister and also the wise Azzeal that indeed it was she.”
The tension in the room shifted and the believers’ smug faces were taken by the skeptics.
“But as Whill said earlier, it matters not; either way, Eadon must force Whill to give him the blade voluntarily. The task of defeating Eadon remains. I feel in my heart that Whill shall be the one to finish this, prophecy or not.”
Many elves nodded in agreement. Eadon remained the problem at hand. Whether or not the prophecy was a lie, the sword of Adimorda had been returned to the elves of the sun, and there was yet hope.
“We have yet a problem that must be spoken. While I was under the afflictions of Eadon’s rotting curse, one which we shared as result of my counterspell, I shared a sort of connection with the dark one.”
Avriel growled almost inaudibly, and many elves shifted uncomfortably at the thought.
“It was not a connection to mind but to body. My counter affliction spell bonded us together in sickness while the curse lasted. I was able to sense his, though he is many hundreds of miles off. Nevertheless, it was strong enough for me to notice strange shifts in the sensation beneath the pain. I have come to the conclusion that Eadon has discovered the secrets of teleportation.”
The room was as silent as a tomb as everyone’s mind eventually followed the train of thought. If Eadon could travel to any location at the command of his will, then he could also travel an army. It seemed the extent of his power was limited by only his imagination.
“We have hid from our destiny long enough, my friends. We hide no more. We have brought the destruction of our fallen brothers upon the innocent of Agora. Every day we have drawn breath upon this continent we have done so by the blood of children, human and dwarf alike. I am shamed by our shadow of defeat, always hunting, always breathing down our throats!”
Zerafin slammed the table and Whill jumped, so enthralled was he by Zerafin’s flowing speech, and the promise of action that it echoed.
“I have seen my path. It is not one of running, or hiding. It is time for the elves of the sun to awaken, to rise as before against the darkness of tyranny and death, to strike out once and for all, with the armies of men and dwarves at our side. Together and only together”—Zerafin found Whill’s stare and held it—“shall we be victorious!”
The gathering erupted in applause for the new king. To Whill’s surprise, applause sounded as a dull roar outside and all around them, the words spoken by the king somehow reaching those outside and around the city.
“I call to arms every elf within Elladrindellia! We shall move as one, joining with the armies of dwarf and man, and we shall strike at the heart of Eadon’s empire. With us shall go the blade of power given.”
Whill cheered with the rest of them, and though he still bore the weight of responsibility in defeating the dark lord, he now had the beginnings of an army at his back. He smiled to think that he was beginning to bring the races of Agora together as one.
Chapter 8
Chief
Night had long past fallen, and with it came a hard rain. Dirk paid it no mind as he approached the small town. He soon discovered it to be long deserted, given the destruction that remained. Most buildings had been burned to the ground, and all that remained of some were the skeletal remnants of their wooden frames.
At both ends of town pikes protruded from the ground, each with a human head atop it, man, woman, and child. Dirk turned from the sight in disgust. The hairs on the back of his neck shot up, and he realized he was being watched. The feeling came from behind him, between two burned-out but standing buildings. He made no move to give suspicion. He went about inspecting the town as usual. He called upon the jewels in his ears and listened through the rain. He heard nothing, and this did not bode well. If it were a beast or a draggard he would have heard its breathing.
Dirk listened while he walked toward the largest building; he listened for nearly te
n minutes after he had slipped into the shadows between two buildings. Nothing stirred, but he felt the waiting. He felt the cold calculation and patience of a predator.
A dark elf, then, he thought, guessing that he had been tracked on the orders of Eadon. He needed to discover the location of his pursuer. From a pocket he withdrew a small speaking stone, a gift from Krentz. She had made most of his trinkets, and her creations were clever. Dirk whispered into the stone and threw it across town. It landed in a burned-out building and Dirk’s voice boomed out of the stone. “Turn around now and you may keep your life.”
A fireball ripped through the rain, leaving a trail of steam in its wake. Dirk knew then that indeed a dark elf pursued him, and it was weary. It was going for the quick kill, recklessly exposing its location in the process. It was a foolish mistake, and it did not make sense that Eadon would send a novice to dispose of Dirk. Instead he would send someone skilled in the arts. Eadon knew Dirk’s abilities. He would send a master. The dark elf was toying with him; he was trying to convince him that his pursuer was weary, that he was a novice. Dirk was dealing with an excellent predator. He respected his tactics, though he would not fall for them.
There was a growl suddenly from the forest; Dirk knew it to be that of a wolf or wild dog. If nothing else, it seemed he was facing a proficient Ralliad that could change into a wolf. He assumed that the elf knew where he was, and it was possible that he was cornered, as the fireball had come from the other end of town, and the growl came from the opposite direction. Dirk was at a big disadvantage strategically. Again a growl came, and Dirk saw a pair of ice-blue eyes a few feet from the end of the alley in the thicket.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” Dirk taunted and the eyes burned like blue flame. A huge brown timber wolf erupted from the brush and charged toward the alley. Dirk knew it was a trap; the wolf’s master must be in wait at the other end of the alley. Instead of falling into the trick, Dirk charged the wolf, or seemed to.
As the wolf crashed through the underbrush, Dirk twirled his grappling hook once and sent it flying up and out. With his free hand he threw two poisoned darts at the animal. The hook caught hold of the roof ledge of the partially standing building to his right. He pulled the line taught and leapt into the air. He angled himself with the line and at the same time pulled himself upward while running along the wall. The wolf leapt for him and grazed his boot.
Dirk went up and over the ledge. Unhooking his grappling hook with a twist of the wrist, he crept quickly along the roof, contemplating what he had seen. The darts he had thrown had been dead on, yet they’d missed. They had not been deflected; rather the brown-and-white wolf had become translucent and the darts had simply slipped through. It was as if the wolf was a ghost, or perhaps it was a dark elf after all. But no dark elf he had ever seen could make themselves as intangible as smoke. Perhaps Eadon could, but this was not Eadon’s style. If he wanted Dirk dead, he would simply kill him.
He snuck a look over the edge of the roof. There was nothing to see but a fireball coming straight at him. With no time to duck and no protection to be found within the burned-out building, Dirk leapt over the fireball and extended his grappling hook with a flick of the wrist. The enchanted rope grew until it caught hold of the ledge on the adjoining building. Dirk swung out and wide intending to land on the adjacent roof. Another fireball ripped through the night and exploded where the grappling hook had caught. At that moment the ghost wolf slammed into Dirk and together they went tumbling.
They landed and Dirk rolled once and came up with a slash of his iron dagger. Dirk’s suspicions of the wolf were proven right when the beast reared from the slash and growled. A bright red slash appeared upon its flank. The wolf’s form wavered and turned translucent, then quickly back again, and the wound was gone.
Dirk dropped a smoke bomb that exploded with a deafening flash of blinding light. Behind him the wolf growled as he dove for the broken window of the crumbling stone structure. No fireball or wolf came at his back. The smoke bomb bad created a thick fog which covered the entire town in shrouds of gray. From a pocket he retrieved the glasses that a sun elf had created to his specifications under pain of death. He knew that the dark elf could not see him with his mind-sight, due to the spells upon his dragonhide cloak. But the dark elf had other ways of tracking. Dark elves could follow the aura of one’s spiritual imprint, as clearly as a footprint in the sand. Dirk had of course remedied that problem with enchantments to his boots and attire. There were a multitude of tricks, however, and he assumed that the dark elf knew his location. The smoke had been more for the wolf, and it seemed to be working.
Dirk needed to even the odds and quick if he was to survive against the hunter and his pet. He had to take the wolf out of the equation. Quickly he took from a pouch a firestone and found the center of the room. He stood upon an old chair and scratched a symbol into the ceiling. Outside he could hear the low growl of the wolf as it stalked about, sniffing for a scent. He knew that the dark elf too was closing in. He finished the symbol and quickly made its twin upon the floor. It was a spell trap for snaring spirits, taught to him by Krentz. It would work, in theory; he did not know for sure, as he had never needed to use it before.
He finished the second symbol and put it between the wolf and himself. He heard a faint noise from the upstairs of the stone building and looked to the stairs back and to the right, but nothing stirred beyond the dark shadows of the passage. Dirk withdrew a dart, which, like the symbols, he had never used. This dart, like the six others of similar purpose, contained a silver tip and a poison of salted blessed water. He chucked the dart through the doorway as the spirit wolf stalked by; the dart hit the wolf in the neck. The wolf yelped and shook its head fiercely, it turned to spirit form and staggered back as the dart fell to the ground. Dirk readied another dart and his iron dagger as the wolf snarled and growled.
Behind him the wall exploded inward and he was forced to take a knee and shield himself with his enchanted cloak. A dark elf appeared through the destruction as if from out of the smoke and extended a hand toward Dirk. The assassin anticipated the attack and was ready as black tendrils of energy shot forth and were deflected by his enchanted cloak. Dirk twirled with the attack and came across quickly with his dagger. Behind him the wolf attacked, lunging at Dirk with hungry teeth and sharp claws gleaming. Dirk ignored the attack as his dagger was deflected by the dark elf’s energy shield.
The dark elf came across with a sword slash, which Dirk rolled away from. At his back the wolf crossed the threshold and entered the area of space affected by the symbols. The spirit animal hit the force field as heavily as it might a large window. It realized its prison and thrashed about wildly, snapping and snarling at its invisible walls.
Dirk noticed the elf’s slight surprise and predicted his next attack. As the dark elf brought up his hand to blast him with a spell, Dirk lunged forth with the speed of a viper. He knew that the only way to get through a strong energy shield was at its weakest point, which only occurred in the palm of the hand just before and just after a magical blast. The palm of the hand was the only place that the shield needed to be lifted, lest a practitioner release the spell within its own shield.
He plunged his mind-control dagger through the palm of the attacking dark elf as the spell began to emerge. The dark elf screamed in defiance, but before he could react, Dirk screamed, “Be still! You will not raise hand nor mind against me! You cannot, or you will die!”
The dark elf was silent but his face contorted with the pain of the struggle against the dagger’s influence. “You were sent by Eadon, correct?” Dirk asked.
“Y…yes,” the elf was forced to answer angrily.
“To kill me or take me captive.”
The elf’s face contorted as he fought the dagger. “To…kill.”
Dirk nodded. “How do you control the wolf?”
The dark elf fought hard against the dagger. Dirk asked again, and intensified the dagger’s force. “How do you c
ontrol the wolf?”
The dark elf screamed against the wicked pain of the biting blade, fought against the mind intrusion, but the blade proved too powerful. His eyes rolled back and he shuddered with exertion.
“Tali…sman,” he uttered and looked at his pocket.
“What is its name and what are its commands?”
“Chief, you hold the talisman, and summon, dismiss the same.”
Dirk nodded thanks to the dark elf and in one swift motion hewed off his head so clean that it slid off the neck slowly. He retracted his dagger and searched the dark elf’s effects. In a hidden pocket he found a small bone carving of a timber wolf, the talisman.
Dirk grabbed the dark elf’s severed head and turned to the trapped wolf. It had stopped fighting the spell trap and simply stared at him as it sat on its hind legs. It looked at the head of its former master and cocked its own to the side; it let out a small whimper and disappeared to the spirit world. Dirk regarded the smooth bone talisman for a moment and then put it in his pocket. From the door of the building he threw a dart that hit the dark elf’s body and exploded in flames. As Dirk left town, the building behind him went up in steadily intensifying flames. He set the head of the dark elf upon a pike that had been meant for the villagers. He took fifty paces and then threw a dart at the severed head. Dirk turned and continued on as behind him the dark elf head exploded on impact.
He kept to the road to make better time and ate what he could find off the trail. He knew how to be hungry, but he needed energy if he was going to make all haste to Kell-Torey. He knew himself to be just east of the Ky’Dren Pass. By morning he would reach the great pass, the only way into Eldalon by land. There within the gap in the mountains he would find the bustling trade city of the same name, and with any luck, he would find a faster way to Kell-Torey.
Whill of Agora: Book 03 - A Song of Swords Page 7