Whill of Agora: Book 02 - A Quest of Kings (21 page)

Whill extended his hand and screamed with murderous rage, and from his hand shot foggy black tendrils of dark energy. They slammed into Eadon’s extended palm as he blocked the blow. Steadily, they pulsed, and steadily, Eadon absorbed Whill’s attack.

“You cannot begin to harm me, Whill. Your every attack will be absorbed by me and added to my power,” said Eadon with a sneer.

Whill screamed and pressed the attack harder. He could feel his energy quickly fading, though he cared not. He ended the energy attack. His frustration and rage at being so helpless against Eadon surged within
him, and he dealt Eadon a double-fisted blow to his midsection. Eadon was unaffected, but Whill was thrown back many feet, his attack having been turned against him.

Whill dragged himself up from the floor. His rage gone, his anger sated, he did all he could do—he laughed. His laughter echoed off of the walls and through the hallways, a laugh of pure mirth. Whill continued to laugh as he slowly walked toward Eadon. The Dark Elf simply smirked at him, amused. Whill’s laughter became maniacal. He tried to speak, but he could not. He pointed at Eadon as he laughed.

“You…” he said between chuckles. “You are a coward.” Whill finished with a great fit of laughter. Whill had reached Eadon and stood before him. He lifted his arms and went in circles and spoke as though to a crowd.

“I give you, Eadon, the coward.”

Eadon’s amusement disappeared. Whill went on.

“The king of lies, the murderer of his homeland, the creator of monsters with which he might hide behind. The Dark Elf of legend, the coward, Eadon of Drindellia!” laughed Whill.

He turned on Eadon and spat in his face. The spittle did not hit Eadon, however, and instead dripped down the invisible energy shield just an inch from the Elf lord’s face. Whill laughed all the harder.

“Behold, all ye, the great and powerful Eadon. His power is so great that he will not be spat on, nor shat
on. None shall harm the great coward, but he will harm all.”

Whill’s laughter was cut short as Eadon took him by the throat and lifted him off of the stone floor. Whill spoke without breath. “None…will…mourn…you.”

Eadon threw him at a far wall, hard enough to crack the stone and a few ribs. Whill sucked in the precious air and got to his feet slowly. He opened his hands and clenched air as blue tendrils of healing energy quickly wove their way beneath his shirt, mending his ribs. He staggered, the healing taxing him. Bravely, he stood to his full height. “You are a coward, Eadon. That you cannot change, not with all the power in this world. You will die alone, and no tears shall fall, unless they be those wrought by pity. Like a crazed dog frothing at the mouth, you need to be put down.”

“You will…” Eadon began.

“I am speaking, coward!” Whill hollered and took steps toward the Elf. “Why not simply end it now and let me put you out of your misery? Because should you let me live, I will teach you the meaning of hell.”

“Enough from you!” Eadon barked and shot forth from his left hand a ball of pulsing red energy. Whill extended a hand in defense, and the spell turned and slammed into Eadon’s invisible energy shield. Sparks and fire flew forth from the Dark Elf, none touching him. He looked on, wide-eyed.

Whill staggered again, the magic taxing him greatly. He laughed once again and slurred like a drunkard. “Looks like I learned a new trick, eh, coward? For that shall be your name hence…forth.” said Whill as he slumped down against the stone wall.

Eadon only smiled in wonder. “The prophecy has made you powerful indeed.”

Whill chuckled to himself. This time his mirth was genuine and not brought on by lunacy. He had sent back the attack of Eadon, a defense Eadon had just used on him. The first spark of hope Whill had known lit deep within him, washing warmth throughout his body. Hope regenerated his spirit. He, it seemed, had the ability to mimic any spell used upon him. It had not occurred to him until he had sent back Eadon’s attack. Now it made perfect sense. He had been healed as an infant; therefore, he had the ability to heal Tarren. He had been attacked by the Dark Elf with some kind of pain attack, and he had known numerous such spells during his time of torture. If Whill could mimic those spells, he could mimic all.

As if Eadon had been reading his mind, Eadon raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you can. But that is a far cry from being able to cast quick enough to be effective.”

Quickly and violently, Eadon unleashed a barrage of multicolored energy assaults upon Whill that he could not begin to counter. Eadon had his turn at laughter as Whill was engulfed in a fireball and slammed into the
wall. Eadon walked over to the charred and twitching Whill. He kicked him in the face, his boot taking an amount of skin with it. He allowed Whill’s breathe to become very shallow before healing him.

Eadon walked to the door and turned with a flourish. He eyed the tattered Whill. “Enough of these games, perhaps another time.”

He opened the great doors with ease and let them fall inward. A great wall of fire burst at his back harmlessly as he chuckled. A great white dragon roared behind him. Whill’s eyes went wide, and he prayed he did not look upon…

“I give you the maiden of Elladrindellia, the beautiful Avriel,” said Eadon to Whill’s horror. Avriel reared as far as she could against the chains and breathed forth fire yet again.

Whill cried in disbelief. Eadon laughed as the wall of fire dissipated against his raised hand. He hit Avriel’s dragon body with steady, pulsing dark energy that had her roaring and writhing in pain.

“Stop!” screamed Whill as he ran toward Avriel, but he was stopped easily by Eadon’s strong arm. He was raised into the air by his shirt. With the other hand, Eadon continued to torture the dragon. He screamed into Whill’s face above the roar of the tortured Avriel.

“Your fealty, boy, or there will be no end to her pain!”

“Leave her alone!”

“Your fealty, Whill of Agora!”

Whill’s mind raced, and he stopped in his thrashing. “How do I know it is her?”

Eadon released them both. Whill never took his eyes off of the white dragon. She curled up and breathed heavily, her murderous blue eyes watching Eadon’s every move.

“Oh, it is her alright, though I have made her forget who she is. Or rather, her soul has not yet been awakened within her new body. That, I was waiting for you to witness firsthand.”

Whill could only watch, horrified, as Eadon chanted low to himself and directed a hand at the dragon. A spot within her center glowed brightly and then subsided. The dragon stood and regarded the two with newfound interest. Her large blue orbs settled upon Whill, and recognition was within them. She then turned to Eadon and reared back in horror. She roared and suddenly stopped at hearing her own voice, that of a dragon. She looked down at herself as if puzzled. Extending a huge wing, she looked upon herself. She looked again to Whill and tried to speak. Rather than words, the sound was a chorus of strange growls and guttural noises. Then Whill heard the voice of Avriel faintly within his mind. He spoke to her as her voice floated up out of darkness and into his mind.

Avriel
!

Whill
?

Avriel
!

Whill walked forward daringly into the cell and came within feet of her. She came forward also, until her chains would not allow it. Her head was half the size of Whill’s body, her eyes as large as his head.

Whill? What has happened? I had died, and…what has he done? Why am I within this body? How?

Whill could only extend a hand and touch her face. She turned on Eadon.
This is your dark magic
! Her mind screamed, and her mouth roared.

Eadon laughed. “I should think you more grateful for my saving your life when you so unwisely tried to end it. Your soul needed a proper…host. Be glad it was not a Draggard queen, princess.”

Neither Avriel nor Whill contested that fact; instead, they looked to each other’s eyes. Eadon watched the two with a grin. Avriel broke the gaze and bade Whill with her mind.
Look upon me with mind sight
.

Whill did as she had requested. It took a moment, as he had not practiced it in some time. But once his mind sight was achieved, he gasped as he laid his awareness upon the spirit before him. Avriel’s soul looked like nothing he had ever seen. It shone from the projected corporal form of the Elf maiden with a brilliance that could have blinded his eyes. Her three forms, that of the iridescent dragon, Elf maiden, and soul, moved in unison and spoke as such. Whill focused upon Avriel as he knew her.

“I see you,” was all that he could utter.

A teardrop fell from the dragon’s eye; the soul pulsed brightly, and the phantom image of Avriel kissed Whill’s lips. It was the kiss they had never shared.
Come back, Whill
, came her voice in his head.

He did so, and before him, once again, was the beautiful white dragon. A part of him was restored then, a part that had died when she had died, when they had all died. Avriel was not lost to him after all, and never again would she be.

“She can never be restored to her body; none know the secrets to the art—none but me. I alone can restore Avriel to her true form.” Eadon bravely strode into the cell, within Avriel’s reach.

“Give me your fealty, and she shall be restored. Together, we can bring peace to this land. Bring me the sword of Adimorda; pledge your fealty to me, and you shall live to be a king.”

Before Whill could answer, Avriel’s mind screamed, and her mouth roared in defiance. From her mouth spewed forth liquid fire. It hit Eadon in the chest, driving him back through the door into the hallway beyond. Avriel relentlessly continued to douse the doorway and hall with her liquid fire. She suddenly stopped and began to choke and cough, like a dog that has eaten grass. Whill shielded his face from the flames with his arm and leapt behind a scaled leg.

So great was the heat that the stone began to melt and, like lava, drip to the floor below. The hallway was
an inferno. Avriel quickly ran out of fire breath and breathed heavily from the exertion; smoke bellowed from her nose.

They both watched the doorway, but Eadon did not retaliate. It was quiet. Very abruptly, the temperature in the room changed from a melting inferno to below freezing. As Whill stood, there was less than a second’s warning to wonder what was happening. He and Avriel and the entire room were covered in thick sheets of ice. Whill was frozen still, though he was not frozen throughout. Avriel too was covered in a beautiful shroud of ice. They remained that way for some time, trapped within their ice tombs, unable to breathe.

They watched from behind the ice mold as Eadon strode into the room, lifted each hand slowly, and then shoved his palms out before him. From his hands blasted a shock wave of energy out into the small, enclosed room. The blast shattered the ice that held the two and traveled on to utterly destroy the wall behind them.

They were thrown from the room as Eadon’s blast only grew in intensity. Over the ledge they flew as rubble and debris bit into both skin and scale. Avriel was caught by her chains and dangled by her hind legs, her wings outstretching as she attempted to right herself. Whill barely had time to grab onto one of her clawed feet as he fell past. He swung up on it and caught a good hold with both hands. He looked down at the sloping roofs and the five-story drop to the courtyard.

Whill heard, but did not see, Eadon at the ledge; as he slashed his sword down and cut Avriel’s chains. Avriel instantly brought up Whill into her grasp and turned. Extending her wings, she kicked off from the tower and began to glide. She was unbalanced and a fledgling, but she glided.

She attempted to fly out of the courtyard, but her tail was entangled in chains, and she needed to land. But what was the point in that—she would only be beaten and reprimanded by Eadon. No, this was her chance to rescue them both. If only she could clear the wall, and the one beyond, and fly free across the green forests to the forest city of Cerushia.

Avriel felt the tension as Eadon caused the chains that dangled from her ankles to wrap themselves around her legs and wings and squeeze. She curled Whill up tight and rolled across a rooftop, only to be pitched off to fall a hundred feet to the courtyard below.

If she had been falling straight, she would have come out worse, but as it was, the pitch of the roof caused her chained form to roll for many feet before crashing into a supply wagon.

“Do you pledge your fealty to me?!” Eadon bellowed from the tower as he leapt off, extended his arms, and turned into a man-sized crow. The crow circled the bloodied and tangled pair and soon swept down almost to the ground. The legs of an Elf touched down, and Eadon returned to his Elf form.

The driver of the supply wagon trembled at what he had seen and could not withstand Eadon’s glare; he simply withered down to a dust pile. Eadon spread his hands, and the chains that held Avriel exploded from her. She gently opened her wings to reveal an unhurt Whill. He stood in the shadow of the wing and walked out onto the wreckage. He turned his back on Eadon and looked into the white dragon’s eyes. She looked at him but did not see him; her mind saw only what her soul felt, a presence, faint, ever-so faint, but familiar. Whill then felt it too; together, their minds spoke,
Zerafin
.

They had been projecting, intensely, and Eadon overheard their minds’ words.

“Yes, do you feel him?” he asked. Then he bellowed. “Zerafin! Oh, great warrior of the dying Elves! Come and face me, so that you and your sister shall die together!”

Eadon grinned and turned on Whill and Avriel. From his hands flew gnashing, twisting, biting, and hissing snakes of living lightning. They bit into Avriel’s scales and jolted her stiffly upon her side. She let out a roar of tortured pain that Whill had never heard from a creature.

Eadon smiled all the more and sent an excruciating pulse of the lightning at the white dragon.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Convergeance of
Power

T
wo miles away, Zerafin cocked his head to the sound. Even Abram and Rhunis stopped in their loading of the bottles of dragons’ breath and listened to the unnaturally loud voice of Eadon as he made his challenge. Indeed, every soul within the city proper heard the words. Abram knew the look on his Elf friend’s face, though it was usually seen upon a certain gruff Dwarf. He searched for the words and said, “Zerafin, should you do this?”