The man shuddered as the wolf crept to within an inch of his face and growled. Dirk whistled a tune and gathered the unconscious driver and rider. He put their hands over the whimpering man’s and stabbed through them all with the dagger. The two men screamed awake suddenly but soon became calm as Krone compelled them to obey Dirk. He recited the same instructions to the three men that he had to the others.
Dirk left them tending to their wounds soon after. They would follow his instructions, for they were weak minded and easily controlled. Dirk had rarely met even an elf who could resist the dagger, much less any human.
He ate as he rode and made good time the remainder of the day. By nightfall the mountains towered before him and he knew the Ky’Dren Pass to be only hours away. He rode on through the night and thought of nothing but Krentz.
The sky had gradually cleared and now there was not a cloud to be seen in the darkened heavens. He had not dismissed Chief all day, curious about his stamina within the physical plane. All day the wolf had darted ahead down the road to disappear around a bend or hill, but always he came back. Sometimes he would take to the woods for such long durations that Dirk thought he had returned to his own plane of existence, but always he returned. He was curious to learn more of the spirit wolf. Chief. The name played in the back of his mind, sparking the faintest light of recognition. But it seemed that the information was long ago learned or only overheard. He could not pinpoint where or when he had heard it.
Dirk shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, weary from travel but not able to spare a moment of rest if he was to stop Krentz. He still could not believe that she had sworn fealty to her father, a fact that disturbed him more than a little. He feared that he would be too late to stop her from reaching Whill’s kin, from killing them all. If he allowed that to happen, he did not know if she would ever forgive herself for such a heinous act. He had to save her, and then…
Dirk wondered what his next move would be. If he did reach her in time, he would likely have to fight her. She would be compelled to carry out Eadon’s orders; there would be no resisting. To resist meant death. But Dirk could not let it reach that point. He could not make her decide, for she would choose death. Instead he would have to trap her, and then…
The only help Dirk could imagine for breaking Eadon’s spell of fealty was Whill, but Whill thought him a traitor, and rightly so. Dirk did not regret what he had done; for the sake of Krentz he would do it again. But he hoped that saving his kin from certain death would be enough to regain Whill’s trust. The dwarf Roakore, however, was a different story. The dwarf king would try to kill him on the spot.
One thing at a time, he told himself as the road before him turned once again.
Chapter 16
The Dragonlance of Ashai
Aurora didn't sleep that night. She sat cross-legged between the fires for most of it, entranced by the sounds around here. The jungle had a savage lull to it, a primal element that helped one forget the trappings of the mind. Here one needed be alert at all times, ever in tune with their surroundings. The random death cries of those creatures that failed to do so echoed often throughout the night as a reminder to all.
At some point light found its way once again into the dark depths of the jungle. Aurora had spent part of the night braiding vine and building a sled to carry the meat. She took each heavy piece down in turn and wrapped it in large leaves and secured them with vine. The spears were pulled and added to the smoldering fire, and the logs were scattered. Aurora didn't concern herself with a possible wildfire, the vegetation here was damp. She headed towards Cerushia feeling rejuvenated. During the ritual dance the barbarian goddess had spoken to her. Aurora was now resolute; she would leave shortly and journey to her homeland. Once there she would challenge the chief, and once victorious, she would lead her people against the dark elves and share in the spoils of an Agoran victory. The ancient barbarian lands would be restored, and again her people would know pride.
It was slow going through the jungle dragging nearly a thousand pounds of boar meat. By the time she reached the city it was past midday, and she was soaked with perspiration. She had washed off the mud during the night, but her ritual dance required that she cover herself in the blood of her kill. She came dragging the smoked boar into the city and gained many stares from the elves. Over an arched bridge of stone and straight through the market square she dragged her wares. She drew stares from the elves every step of the way. Finally she reached her dwelling and released her burden with a relieved sigh. She knew that she must have looked every bit the part of the savage barbarian.
The vines door opened and Kreshna greeted her with a wide smile, until she saw the dried blood. She regarded the leaf-wrapped smoked meat curiously. "You spent the night in the jungle?"
"Yes, I was in the mood for the hunt," said Aurora as she unsheathed her sword and began chopping the tusks from the boar head. Kreshna jumped as the blade hit and sent a tusk flying off.
"These will make an excellent necklace don't you think?" said Aurora.
"The horned hog was nearly wiped out for its tusks and plating," Kreshna replied looking concerned. "We brought them here to live in the jungle so that they might thrive."
"Yes, the plating would make a fine shield. I feel honored to have been allowed to hunt the treasured beast," said Aurora as she continued to work at separating the many tusks.
"We-."
"The elf Azzeal took part in the meal, if he allowed it I assumed it was alright." Aurora told her standing to her full height, the act left her towering over Kreshma.
"Have you seen him?" she asked and went to collecting the severed tusks.
"I...no I haven't." Kreshna replied as she looked apprehensively at the tusks being piled in her hands like firewood.
"No matter", said Aurora adding the last of the tusks. "See that these and the smoked meat, and all of the many gifts make it to the harbor."
Kreshna gave her a quizzical look. "You mean to leave?"
"Indeed. It is long overdue," said Aurora. "There is a storm coming. I have little time and much to do. I have tarried long enough. The people of Volnoss need a leader, and I intend to be it."
"You will need a crew; someone who knows these waters, someone to help you introduce the elves to your people."
"My people know of you, if we share anything with the dwarves it is our...their opinion of you all. They do not adjust to change well."
"I can do it. You have warmed to me, to us, in such little time."
Aurora looked her over in thought."May as well be you then." She said and turned to enter her dwelling. A large crowd had gathered near to them. They did not stop but traffic had slowed considerably as the elves gawked at the spectacle.
"Thank you Lady of the North,” Kreshna said with a bow.
"See to it we are ready to leave this night."
Aurora bathed and took the better part of an hour braiding her hair. She let the blood remain on her furs; her people would find it appealing. It was for the same reason she had allowed her wounds to be healed, but had insisted that the scar tissue remain. She would need all the help she could get if she was to depose chief Icethorn
Aurora worried for her people. She had not been home in many seasons, and when she had left the land was plagued by draggard and whispers of war. The seven barbarian tribes of Volnoss cared not for the plight of the dwarves and man, and the elves were hated strangers. They planned to dig in and take what was left of the mainland. But Aurora knew that it would not work. If Volnoss did not side with Whill they were doomed, she had to show them somehow. Or would Eadon be the Victor of this battle, would she be leading her people to their doom? She had not heard from Eadon at all, nor could she feel his power humming within her as she once had. Was she free? In the end it didn't truly matter. All that mattered was that she kill Chief Icethorn, and to do that she would need help. She was confident that she could take the man, but she had no delusions about being able to defeat he and his dragon, the v
ery one that had dropped her father to his death those many winters ago. To defeat them both she would need help, and she intended to get it.
She left her room as elves came on Kreshna’s order to have Aurora's things taken to the waiting ship. Soon she was standing before Whill's door. She knocked and waited nervously. It had been hard to quiet her mind in the presence of Azzeal, and it was no easier around Whill. The door opened and Whill was quick to offer her a smile and greeting.
"Aurora, please come in."
She ducked under the threshold and entered.
"It is good to see you. Things have been so busy these days, I regret that we have not had more time to visit," he said as he moved to the table and offered her a seat.
"Think nothing of it," she replied taking a seat that was to her as a child's.
"Tea, water?" Whill offered.
"Nothing, thank you. I have come to tell you that I will be returning shortly to Volnozz."
"You intend to challenge your chief?"
"He is no chief of mine, but yes, I intend to kill him. I am confident that I can defeat him alone, his dragon is a different matter."
"His dragon?" Whill asked.
"Yes, the very one that killed my father. I have no beast with which to challenge his, no one has. It is with his dragon that he has taken control of all tribes and named himself Chief of the Seven. If I can defeat him and become Chief of the Seven, then you will have the support of Volnoss. I promise you that."
"And you need my help?"
"Yes, surely with your great sword you can create a beast that could challenge the dragon."
Whill shook his head and looked to the blade. "I wield it yes, but I have neither the knowledge nor skill to create such a beast."
Aurora was disappointed and did not hide it. She looked on hopefully as Whill seemed to ponder the problem.
"Perhaps a ralliad could be of use, Azzeal may agree to it."
"No!" Aurora blurted but quickly composed herself. "I would not have any risk their lives for my cause. No, I could not ask it of Azzeal, or any other. I should not have asked such a thing."
She got up to leave towering over Whill. "I must go."
"Wait," said Whill standing too. "I will contact Avriel. Perhaps the elves possess an enchanted weapon for such a purpose."
"I would be honored," said Aurora as she sat back down.
She watched as Whill became distracted. He remained that way for some time and she assumed he was talking to Avriel. Finally he looked to her with a satisfied smile. "Avriel has told me of a weapon that will aid you in your fight, the Dragonlance of Ashai. She will see to it that the lance finds your boat."
Aurora's smile grew wide and she sprang from her chair and wrapped Whill in a hug. His laugh was smothered by her large bosom as he patted her big back. "You are a true friend and ally Whill of Agora."
She held him at arms length beaming. "I shall not fail you in rousing an army that will make the draggard quiver.”
Chapter 17
The Other
Whill waited patiently for Zerafin to arrive. Avriel seemed not bothered by her brother’s lateness a bit as she sat at the entrance to their new home. Whill had requested new lodging, as he could not move a foot from his old abode without being confronted by a worshipper. He had chosen one of the many towers jutting from stone outcropping along the Thousand Falls. The upper level was wide and open, its balcony easily large enough for Avriel. The lower levels were more suited to human standards and Whill was grateful for the elves’ consideration. The inside of his quarters looked like any of the dozens of inns he and Abram had ever stayed in. All the accommodations were present. He had a small stove on which to cook, a pantry stocked with seasonal vegetables and fruits, even a bath fed by the waterfall, its water warmed by a sun crystal.
The only way to the tower was by air, but one could leave by simply diving to the deep waters below. From the balcony the entirety of the Cerushia could be seen. The falls fed dozens of small rivers, all of which eventually connected with another larger river and those into one which led to the sea.
Whill went out onto Avriel’s balcony and joined her as she lay gazing out over her city. Her deep hum vibrated in Whill’s chest as he placed a hand upon her head.
“Were you sleeping?” Whill asked.
Avriel projected the feeling of a smile onto Whill. No, she hummed in his mind, half sighing. I was caught up in dragon memories. There is so much to know, so much to see. In this form I can recall entire lives of the dragons of its line. I can sit for hours, lost in the exploits of the dragon’s kin. I feel their triumphs, I know their pains. Humans have been a nuisance for centuries, and the dwarves—they hate dwarves with a passion.
Whill stared in admiration at the city glowing in the night. But Avriel saw it not; her mind saw the rolling hills of ages past, battles with dwarves, men, and even elves. She could look even to a time in Agora when the dragons ruled the land. And back farther still, to a time of long migration from a faraway land. Whill shared her vision through their mental connection.
The dragon-lore historians have been delighted in my tales and insist on longer and longer hours of recital. I am convinced that they hope I am never gone back to my elven body.
“Do you want to go back? Will you miss your dragon form?” Whill asked.
I wonder who she was, this dragon, Avriel said solemnly as she spread a clawed foot before her and cocked her head, considering it. I do not feel her soul here. Without me it is empty. I fear that the body will die without me.
“Your body will die without you,” Whill reminded her.
I know this, she said with a hint of anger. I am the reason for it. I gave that life in your name, Whill, and I will give this one.
“Stop talking like that,” said Whill, half annoyed with this worship of him, and half at the fact that she had tried to kill herself.
But it is true.
“I know, and I would give my life for you, but I do not need to be sav—”
No, you cannot, Avriel blurted. You cannot die for me. I am nothing of importance compared to—
“Please,” he pleaded.
Just then she cocked her head and listened. Zerafin is here. I shall return.
Whill backed up from her as she stood and took a step and leapt from the balcony. Whill ran to it and watched her fall to the gathering mist below, and after a heart-hammering moment, she suddenly broke through the mist, parting the fog with her gliding wings.
It was only a few minutes before she returned with Zerafin on her back. “The masters have come to a decision, then?” Whill asked as Zerafin dismounted.
“Didn’t you tell me that this one would learn patience?” Zerafin asked his sister. She hummed a dragon laugh.
Whill stood before Zerafin, trying to convey patient waiting, but his tapping foot gave away the ruse.
“This is the masters’ decision,” said Zerafin as he withdrew from the bags book after book and stacked them in Whill’s arms. There were seven books in all, with thick silver bindings.
“These are the seven scrolls of the art of Orna Catorna. They contain the theories, spells, and science behind each school,” Zerafin explained.
“I am to study them all?”
“Yes. The masters wish for you to read them all and then appear before them again.”
“How long do they expect that to take?” Whill thumbed through the huge Elvish volumes. Strange diagrams and formulas in a mathematics more advanced than any Whill had ever seen filled the pages. He was reminded of all of the rare books and scrolls Abram had insisted on him learning from as far back as he could remember. It had seemed Abram was always trying to prepare him.
“You have seven days to complete them, one day for each volume,” said Zerafin.
“Of course.” Whill laughed. “One day for each giant tome of ancient elven magic. I had hoped to get in a little light reading while I visited Cerushia.”
“It is good to see you in high spirits, as
you should be. As should we all. Together we will bring about a new age of men and elves, one of peace and prosperity.” Zerafin gave Whill a pat on the shoulder.
Avriel did not hide her pleasure in seeing her brother warm up to Whill in such a way. Zerafin stroked her snout and walked to the balcony ledge. “You had better get to work on those early, Whill. I would start with something light, perhaps the book of Zionics.” He grinned and leapt from the balcony to the waters below.
Whill looked at Avriel with a sigh. “It looks like I have some work to do.”
Long into the night he skimmed through the many tomes. He was amazed by what he saw, descriptions of such magic as he had never thought possible. Spells and potions and transmutation and healing, mind reading and wielding the elements—it all fascinated him. Whill’s appetite for knowledge and his love for learning and lore kept him up all night, until the sun rose once again beyond the balcony.
Whill hardly noticed the morning and then day pass by as he delved into the first volume he had chosen, Arnarro, the Way of the Healer. In it were diagrams of the insides of bodies, from elf to man to horse and cow. The workings of the nervous, skeletal, and muscular systems were outlined in great detail. Also there were wards and spells, theories and assumptions, lists of herbs and roots and ointments and ales. When Whill finished the first tome past midnight that night, he felt refreshed. He had read stories of legendary healers who, at their strongest, were known to have healed hundreds of soldiers simultaneously. Some had even dared to bring back others from the dead, but that always ended badly.
Whill dove into the next tome, the Way of the Ralliad. He soon was distracted by an idea he had come across in the last tome, in a chapter dealing with brain trauma. He recalled the Watcher’s warning of meddling with his own mind, but he ignored it. He turned his consciousness inward; he turned his mind-sight on itself. He studied the inner workings of his mind, watched the rivers of thought and the constantly firing connections. From the sword he pulled a steady flow of energy and focused it upon parts of the mind he had discovered to be the centers of learning and memory. He sent great tides of energy into his mind, deep within the web of lightning sparks.
Whill of Agora: Book 03 - A Song of Swords Page 16