Whill of Agora: Book 02 - A Quest of Kings (28 page)

Roakore stuttered over his reply, aghast.

Whill addressed Dirk once more. “You are obviously skilled. I watched you closely against the gladiators.
What does a blade for hire want with such a perilous quest as I have before me? We will all likely die in this endeavor.”

Dirk nodded, conceding the point. “True, but if you are successful, I would have the favor of the king of Uthen-Arden, would I not? Besides, if you are not successful, there will be nothing but death and destruction at the hands of the tyrant Eadon. If I can aid in his destruction, I will.”

The gravity of Dirk’s words weighed on Whill’s mind. He wanted to scream. He considered pitching himself over the ledge, but instead he sighed. “Then we have gained a valuable ally,” he said and reached out and shook Dirk’s hand. Dirk nodded, his face cast mostly in the shadow of his large hood. Through the enchanted hood, Dirk studied Whill. He determined that the man suspected nothing of his true mission.

Whill used the handshake to pull himself up. He looked from Dirk to Aurora and then to Roakore at his side, and finally to Azzeal. “What about you, Elf? Do you want to join the ‘we are going to get our arses kicked club?’

Azzeal cocked his head to the side like a curious dog. “You find this funny, then? This is funny to you?”

“Actually, it is hilarious,” Whill responded.

“You are a human brat that is too weak for this task,” Azzeal spat.

“Indeed I am weak, and I am human!” Whill screamed as he pushed past Dirk and got closer to the Elf. “We are
weak. We are stupid. We are selfish, and we are slow.” He pointed his finger at Azzeal’s chest. “Your people brought this Dark Elf plaque to our lands, because your entire nation was not strong enough to defeat Eadon! And you bastards expect me to clean up your mess because some old, dead Elf prophet said I would? You hide behind a prophecy and spend your days talking to trees, while my people die by your brother’s hand. You left me to wander the countryside, clueless, with Abram, the only one man enough to attempt to help me.”

Whill’s voice cracked at the memory of Abram and their years of adventure, back before his world had been turned upside down. He shook with rage and tried to hold back the mounting pressure. He jabbed Azzeal in the chest hard. “Let this be known to your people, Elf! When I attain the sword, when I go to face Eadon, I want the might of the entire gods damned Elven empire at my back. You bastards are going to face your fallen brother, or you are going to die trying. You owe it to the humans; you owe it to the Dwarves, and you owe it to me.”

Whill saw movement peripherally and turned to find Avriel had landed. With feline grace, she approached them. “You have so much anger in your heart, so much pain. I am sorry, Whill. Your words are true. We have failed you, and we have failed you all.

“I am not angry with you, Avriel.”

“I am an Elf, and, therefore, you are. You are a victim to your anger, a slave to your rage. It holds you back from your full potential. If you cannot let go, it will destroy you.”

Whill could feel the rage still boiling within him, like an explosion contained within his core. It pulsed out in waves from his center and electrified his being. Through a clenched jaw, he spoke, “All I have left is anger.”

“No, all that you still cling to is anger; you have forsaken all other emotions. You dare only feel rage, because you think that it is the only one that cannot be taken from you.”

Whill looked down and to the side, shoulders sagging, as tears spilled from his eyes.

“Love, hope, happiness. You do not dare feel these things.”

Large tears welled in Avriel’s dragon eyes, and she came closer until her snout lifted Whill’s chin and their eyes met.

Remember love
.

Her voice whispered in his mind, and he was once again within the meditation garden of Kell-Torey. The sun shone down upon Avriel in Elf form, sitting across from him, legs crossed. Her raven hair took on a bluish sheen in the light, and her smile warmed the darkest recesses of Whill’s empty heart. Warmth that he had since forgotten spread over his body, and waves
of contentment crashed over him. Whill reached out to touch her beautiful face, and her skin was hard and smooth.

Whill opened his eyes and looked into Avriel’s dragon eyes. The living memory of the garden faded, but the feeling remained. Whill smiled at Avriel and laughed to himself.

Thank you
.

She purred, and her deep humming caused the ground around him to vibrate.

Zhola landed and the ground shook. Spewing flame into the air, he mentally hollered. “Why do you remain idle?”

Whill walked to stand between Zhola and the group. “They are coming with us, all of them. Let us tarry no longer. If you mean to show me to the sword of Adimorda, then let us be off.”

Zhola clawed out the earth, sending piles of dirt and rock flying. “Fool boy, do not presume to command me! I have not lived thousands of years to listen to your childish prattle.”

Zhola’s roar echoed for miles as flames shot into the sky. The great red dragon bent until he was face to face with Whill. His nostrils flared, and smoke blew back Whill’s hair.

“We go to the sword alone,” Zhola growled.

“No, we go together, or I go not at all,” Whill answered stubbornly.

Zhola growled and showed teeth that were as long and wide as Whill’s legs. Whill showed his own and growled back.

“I should kill you myself and be done with this foolishness!” The ground rumbled with Zhola’s deep voice.

“Then be done with it!” Whill screamed.

Zhola roared in Whill’s face, and though no one could hear him, Whill screamed right back. The dragon looked around at the group. All brandished weapons and were ready to fight him; Avriel, too, was ready to pounce if need be. Roakore bounced on his toes, eager to carve a new cloak out of the dragon.

Zhola moved back from Whill and raised his head to his natural height. Looking down at Whill, he spoke, “Perhaps there is something to you after all, Whill of Agora; perhaps you are all a band of fools.

Everyone but Roakore relaxed their grip on their weapons. Whill nodded. “Perhaps.”

Zhola turned his massive head to look to the sun; he then looked to the west. “Where we go, there is no game to be found. There are no plants to eat; there is no water to drink. Where we go, there is only silence and death. Hunt what you will, and bring what you can. We leave at nightfall.

“What is our destination” asked Whill

“Drakkar Island,” said Zhola to them all.

“Drakkar Island!” roared Roakore. “That’ll be the day that I follow a dragon to Drakkar Island!”

“If I wanted you dead, Dwarf, I would kill you now.”

“You could try!”

Whill led his friend away from Zhola, and Roakore grumbled to himself the whole while. Before Whill could speak, Roakore started in. “Follow a dragon to Drakkar? Fight alongside a barbarian? Trust an assassin, who hides behind a hood like a trickster? And how ye be knowin’ that white dragon be Avriel, aye?”

“The red dragon will lead us to the swo—”

“It’ll be leadin’ us to our death!”

Whill sighed, knowing that he would not convince his friend. He knew that for Roakore, to not attack the dragons took every ounce of his self-control. He did not trust them and never would.

“I cannot force you to do anything, King Roakore. You are my friend, and I know that you would come if I asked, but I cannot make that decision for you. You do what you want; I go to find the sword.”

Whill turned from his friend and mounted Avriel. They set off together to hunt for what they could find.

Nearly two hours later, everyone had returned to where Zhola was sleeping with one eye open. The group had collected many roots and a variety of edible plants. Azzeal had changed to wolf form and hunted down a deer, which was quickly skinned and cut into pieces and then charred by Zhola’s dragon breath.

Whill climbed atop Avriel’s back once again, and Roakore mounted Silverwind as Aurora and Dirk
mounted Zhola with apprehension. Azzeal, however, changed into a flaming phoenix.

Following Zhola, the group flew west. They flew on for hours and watched as below them the kingdom of Uthen-Arden was replaced by Isladon. As Whill surveyed the ground, he saw firsthand the destruction that had come to the land since his imprisonment. Though they flew high, Whill saw that many villages they passed over were empty. Many of the towns’ buildings had been burned to the ground; others were only the skeletal remains of the main framework, black and charred like the fossils of a colossal beast long dead. Fields, that should by now have been harvested, stood bare or overrun by nature. More than once, Whill spotted huge packs of wolves scavenging through ruined towns, crows joining them in a feast of the dead.

The land was barren; an empty feeling permeated from it and instantly brought sorrow to bear upon the hearts of the onlookers.

Death spreads across the land in our absence
, said Whill to Avriel’s mind.

She growled deep in her throat, and the humming caused her entire body to vibrate under Whill.
It is indeed a dark time for man; it is a dark time for all the world it seems. It reminds me of…of home
.

They flew on into dusk and found more destroyed villages than standing ones. Those that remained
had been fortified along their borders with makeshift wooden barricades and trenches.

Whill, what you said to Azzeal, about we Elves…

Whill began to make an apology but was cut off.

No, Whill, you were right. We brought this scourge upon you all; it has been and is our responsibility. We have put too much upon your shoulders. But you do not have to bear this burden alone; I shall see you victorious, or I shall see death
.

Whill stroked her neck, glad to have her back with him.
I know you will
.

I am sorry about Rhunis and Abram
, she said with much sorrow. Whill said nothing, but his throat tightened, and pain and sorrow poured through him once more at the thought of it. He was not yet ready to speak of it.

What has become of your brother?
He asked.

He was cursed by Eadon with some sort of rotting disease. I know not of his fate. If I were in true form, I could scry him, but I have not been yet able to harness any of my abilities. When I left him, he was in great pain and nearing death. But there is much combined power among those I left him with. Hopefully they were able to carry him to Elladrindellia swiftly; there perhaps the elders will be able to break the curse
.

Whill mentally comforted her as she had done for him at mention of Abram. It was not words to the mind in the form of a language; rather, Whill sent her a mental hug of sorts.

After you left, I saw Eadon struggling against affliction. Somehow Zerafin caused the curse to fire back on Eadon as
well. Even in the arena, he seemed crippled by it
, Whill told her.

Avriel purred at that.
Yes, if Eadon heals himself of the curse, I believe Zerafin will be free of it also. We can only hope that Zerafin can hold out long enough for Eadon to let it go
.

Whill smiled to himself, glad to know that Eadon was in great pain and that Zerafin had tricked the Dark Elf so. The fact that Eadon had been hurt was a great comfort indeed. Until then, it had seemed that the Dark Elf was impervious to all.

What is it like? Being a dragon
?

Avriel thought for a moment and tried to suppress the terror of not being one with her true body.
It is strange. I have only just begun to study the ways of the school of Ralliad. Before this, I had only ever changed into wolf form. It is much different than that transmutation. In wolf form, I was still in true Elf form; this is different. My soul possesses this body fully. I find myself affected by its chemistry in ways quite different than my Elven body. It is said that dragons are born with the collective memories and knowledge of their ancestors. I have discovered this to be true. My dragon brain is linked to all those before me. I am aware of the history of my line, dating back eons. It is all quite overwhelming and confusing. Where my Elf memories faded with time, as one would expect after centuries of life, the dragon mind recalls every memory as if it were yesterday. I feel myself slipping more into the mind of the dragon. I can no longer feel the presence of my true form. I fear that my body has died, and I am forever trapped within this one
.

Whill remembered Eadon’s words that he and he alone could return her to true form. He told Avriel this to her despair.

He is a master of manipulation and lies. It may be true, it may not; it is to be seen. I will not let it be my focus. There are bigger things at work here than my own fate. And I am guessing there are worse things to become than a dragon
.

Hearing her words, he felt ashamed of his own selfishness. He and he alone could stop Eadon it seemed, and rather than focus on the task, he had allowed himself to wallow in self-pity. His own personal pain had become his entire reality. It all seemed so clear at that fleeting moment. He was possessed by pain.

The sun set and the group flew on into the night. When they became tired, Azzeal flew close and touched a wing to that of the dragons. When Azzeal touched Avriel’s wing, Whill felt a warm surge of energy course through him. His aches and pains from riding dissipated, and his vigor returned.

Azzeal flew close to Roakore and Silverwind and bade the Dwarf to allow him to offer energy.
Good Dwarf, your mount tires from flying so long and hard. Allow me to restore her energy
.

“Do what you be doin’ to help Silverwind, but stay outta me damned head, Elf!”

Very well
, said Azzeal in Roakore’s mind once more and touched the tip of his wing to Silverwind’s. The Silverhawk let out a soft coo and a squawk.

Refreshed, the riders doubled their speed and caught a swift air current. The moon was their guide for the remainder of the night. They reached the coast of Isladon and left Agora behind. As the sun rose behind them, they were bathed in welcome warmth.