Whill of Agora: Book 02 - A Quest of Kings (32 page)

Zhola turned back to face the black dragon. “He is yours to do as you wish. I seek only the chamber below. Once we’ve passed through it, you will see no more of these creatures.”

“Very well then.” said Krashakk with a small bow as he forgot Zhola and turned on Roakore.

Whill sprang forward and stood before Roakore, arms out. “He is not to be harmed! We go through to the portal one and all or not at all.”

“Lad, you don’t be needin’ speak for me. I got me own mouth! Now get outta me way while I send this black demon o’ the dragon gods back to hell!”

Zhola had already begun to walk to the gate at the foot of the volcano, and the others were inclined to follow,
even Avriel, who was glared at by many of the dragons young and old—for they sensed something about her was not right.

Whill could do nothing; he could not offer to fight alongside Roakore, as the Dwarf would have none of it. Neither could he stop the fight in the midst of so many dragons. He walked clear with the others and stopped to bear witness. Zhola roared after him, “To the gate and to the sword! No matter who wins the fight, you will want to be past the gate before the end. Already many of my kin stir.”

Whill heeded the dragon’s words and mounted Avriel and reluctantly headed toward the gate with the others. Roakore had begun to circle the black dragon and started his stone birds a whirling. He sent the weapon spinning off to the right, and taking three running steps, he leapt atop Silverwind. The bird beat her wings and leapt into the air.

Krashakk beat his glossy black wings and roared a laugh. “You are not wise to take to battle with a dragon within the skies, Dwarf king; there we are as sharks in wat—” Just then the whirling stone bird slammed into the back of the dragon’s head as it passed by, quick as a hummingbird. The dragon roared and staggered with a flutter of wings. He shook his head, and with renewed vigor, he followed the hawk and Dwarf rider into the sky.

Roakore bade Silverwind to climb higher, and she did so with great fervor. Her long, piercing cry ripped
through the air as those below watched the chase. The black dragon, with his powerful wings, slowly caught up to the hawk, and though he was in range, he did not let loose his fell breath of deadly flame. At this angle and speed, Krashakk would only eat his own flame, and Roakore had counted on this. He suddenly steered Silverwind to bank hard right and turn over into a fast dive. Krashakk’s head snapped to the side as he followed his prey and banked swiftly also.

The hawk leveled out and quickly turned as the summoned stone bird whirled past—so close to Roakore’s head that he heard well the whiz of his weapon. The stone bird kept on its course and slammed into the unsuspecting dragon’s left eye, gouging it badly. The black dragon tumbled end over end and fell limply for many moments before once more catching the air. While Krashakk had tumbled, Roakore had turned and gained the advantage of height. He and Silverwind now flew directly over the dragon. Holding on to his ax with one hand and the reigns with the other, Roakore stood in his saddle and yelled against the wind to his trusted mount. “Now don’t be lettin’ me fall to me death, ya hear!”

With that, the crazed Dwarf king flung himself from his saddle and fell thirty feet through the air. He descended upon the surprised dragon with a yell and a wild look in his eyes. Ax first, he slammed into the black dragon. The ax cracked scale and sunk deep into Krashakk’s left shoulder. At the same time, Roakore’s
body slammed into the dragon, and one of the black dragon’s short, thin spikes drove into Roakore’s thigh. Pinned to the dragon’s back, Roakore ignored the pain and chopped at the beast mercilessly.

Dragon and Dwarf blood rained down upon the sides of the volcano as Krashakk desperately fell as much as flew to the ground below, where he might loosen the cursed Dwarf warrior. As the ground rushed up to meet them, Roakore lifted his leg from the pointed spike without as much as a groan of pain. With his other foot, he kicked off the dragon’s back and yanked his ax free of its neck. As Krashakk landed violently upon the ground below, Roakore was grabbed by the talons of his mount. Silverwind dropped him shortly after and landed near him as Roakore guided his stone birds down upon the injured dragon. He had practiced daily with the weapon and could keep it aloft with only a steady thought at the back of his mind.

The stone bird whizzed by and took the dragon in the eye once more. Blood flew, and the dragon’s head snapped. Through bloody teeth came liquid fire in gushes as the enraged and injured black dragon bathed Roakore and Silverwind in flame. Roakore quickly brought up a stone wall before him and frantically called up more stones, as those which he raised quickly turned molten and melted. Silverwind was hit by flames and liquid fire alike, but the enchantments of Lunara held back the attack. Krashakk charged the pair, and
through the flame, his thick, barbed tail swept across and slammed them both to the side.

Roakore recovered quickly and pulled up another wall of stone. It rose up in his defense, but with it came molten lava from the many deep channels below the volcano. Roakore’s eyes widened as a grin and a maniacal giggle overcame him. As the black dragon spewed his fire breath once more, Roakore dove to the left of his wall and mentally directed the stream of lava to slam into the body of the beast.

Krashakk howled in agony as the lava covered his side and right wing and burned through the thick scale and muscle beneath until bone could be seen. Roakore dropped his ax, and with two hands, he summoned a thick stream of lava from each side of himself. As Krashakk thrashed and roared in pain, the two streams of dripping molten rock were shoved down his throat and surged into his body. The dragon’s roar turned to a gurgle as his body swelled in size and violently burst, sending bits of dragon and lava in every direction, and only charred meat and bones twitched beneath the cooling and graying lava.

Roakore grasped his great ax once more and held it high; he roared a challenge to all of the dragons. “C’mon then, who be the next demon to die by me hand?”

The challenge was met by dozens of thunderous roars and great plumes of fire as the outraged dragons began to stir. Whill and the others had reached the arched
gate of the volcano. Whill turned and yelled back at his fearless friend. “Roakore!”

If Roakore heard him, he gave no indication. Sweat poured from his forehead and dripped down his beard as he mentally called upon the lava to burst from the ground around him. The dragons hissed and growled, roared and screamed. Dozens took to the skies and descended upon the mighty Dwarf king. Any that got too close felt the sting of spewing lava as Roakore guided his newfound molten weapon from one dragon to the other.

Whill watched helplessly from the gate as the dragons descended, and he turned to Zhola in desperation. “Help him!”

The red dragon was well within the mouth of the large gate, waiting patiently. He watched the distant battle and knew the Dwarf’s doom. “I will not fight my own kind for the sake of a Dwarf! Let us make haste to the portal before the wrath of all of Drakkar is upon us.”

Whill was about to ask Azzeal to help his friend when he saw Roakore mount Silverwind, and together, they disappeared from sight. Dragons’ breath converged where he had been and bathed the ground in flame. Whill quickly called upon his mind sight and saw the two flying toward the gate. Whill gave a victorious cry and turned to run down the hall.

“Roakore follows! Hurry to the portal!”

None argued as dozens of angry dragons of all colors and sizes charged the gate. The group scrambled down the hall leading to the heart of the volcano. It was a natural cavern, big enough for Zhola by many yards. He led the group down the dark passage that became even darker as they turned left with the tunnel and then right and down a flight of stairs built for dragons.

There was no need for illumination down in those dark tunnels—for the fire of the pursuing dragons lit the chambers all too well. Whill mounted Avriel as the group came to the stairs, Azzeal turned into his bird form, and Roakore glided down upon Silverwind.

Dirk attempted to glide down with Zhola and jumped up upon his back. The assassin was met with a quick winged elbow that sent him flying.

“I have tolerated the two of you upon my back because you were spoken for by the chosen one, but we do not fly now, and you can use your own feet.”

As Zhola leapt and glided down the stairwell, Aurora offered Dirk a hand up and shrugged. Together, they bounded down the steps in great leaps, though Aurora took them two at a time and Dirk one. Each step came up to Dirk’s shoulder, and they were very slick due to the constant humidity within the volcano’s guts.

At the bottom of the stair, the tunnel broke into two, one going left, the other right. Zhola went right, and the others followed him. Behind them, many dragons
had already begun the descent from the top of the stair, and they were catching up quickly.

“Bah, we got ’em tunneled. Won’t have to fight more than two at a time up there where the tunnel narrows a bit. I says we go through there and turn to make a stand. We could kill dozens!” The Dwarf plotted with wide eyes and battle lust. “The gods would sing me glory for all time.”

Aurora ran alongside the Silverhawk and saw the look in the Dwarf king’s eye; she had seen that look before and had worn it many times herself. It was the look of the hunter, and the Dwarf was the slayer of dragons. She still did not like his people, but she could not deny him respect.

“Good Dwarf…” She breathed through a steady and paced breathe “Is your bloodlust for the dragons so great that you would have us all die to kill but a few?”

Roakore looked down at the barbarian from on high; he wore an incredulous expression. “I never said nothing ’bout dyin’, giant woman.”

Zhola roared, causing the tunnel to quake beneath their feet. “When this is through we shall have words, Dwarf.”

Roakore only laughed as they came into a large cavern thrice the size of the widest tunnel they had yet ventured. Opposite them stood the arched gates of Arkron. The stone gates stood more than fifty feet high and again as wide. They were not adorned with jewel
nor sculpted pattern but were perfectly rounded and as smooth as glass. As the flames of the pursuing dragons brightened the room, the gate had begun to glow with an inner fire that captured the light of the flame and caused it to burst into millions of tiny, dancing lights.

The group crossed the room, and Zhola reached it first. He dug in his claws and stopped with a skid before the gate. Behind them, the first of many dragons barreled into the room and began to cross the hundred feet between them. Zhola spoke the name “Arkron,” and the gate came to life. The cavern floor and walls vibrated slightly as a deep hum emanated from the gateway. There was a blinding flash of light, which turned many of their heads. When they could look again, they saw not the wall behind that gate as they once had but rather a rippling rift of pulsing blue light blurring the view of a cavern beyond.

“It works,” said Azzeal breathlessly, and he smiled.

“Quickly!” roared Zhola as he turned and gave a piercing warning roar to his kin. The others wasted no time and dove for the portal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Drindellia

W
hill dove into the gateway as the dragons crashed into the chamber spewing flame and shaking stone. He felt a warmth run through his body, as if passing by a sunny window on a summer day, then the commotion of the room within the volcano disappeared and was replaced by silence. He came through the other side of the portal onto smooth stone surrounded by bright light.

They were in yet another stone room, this one much smaller than the other. Finally Zhola came crashing through the portal and roared, “Arkron!” and the portal closed as it had opened. Darkness covered the room. Azzeal murmered a word, and a crystal atop his staff began to glow brightly. Zhola did not take time to survey the tight room as did the others; instead, he walked forth and crashed his head through a stone wall opposite the portal. The others followed him into yet another cavern; this one was also a natural cave.

“This way,” Zhola bade them and turned left when they came to two tunnels.

Soon the group came to the mouth of a cave. As they reached the exit, one by one, they walked through it and into night.

“Damn Elven magic! What is this? It be but after midday, yet the sun is gone. What devilry is this?” Roakore bellowed, looking up at the moon of all things.

Azzeal looked out over the tree line; they were high up on a large, stony hill. By the moonlight, tears could be seen in his feline eyes. He fell to all fours and grabbed handfuls of earth and smeared the dirt upon his face. “It is dark here because we are now far across the ocean to the east. We are in Drindellia. Once again I lay eyes upon my lost homeland.”

The Elf’s eyes glowed in the moonlight as his body convulsed and his skin rippled and grew fur in the blink of an eye. He transformed into wolf form and with front paws upon the ledge, he howled into the night. The sound went on for minutes and echoed across the land in a haunting chorus. Clouds that had partially hidden the moon now departed, and the world beyond the ledge was revealed in moonlight.

From their vantage point atop the lone hill they could see in all directions, and all around them was forest. Even in the faint light, Whill could tell that something was not quite right about it. The trees were black, twisted, and gnarled, and shadows lingered too
long in the breeze. When Azzeal’s howl had died down, the world around them returned to silence. A shudder ran down Whill’s spine as he used his mind sight, and though he scanned over all that he could see, he saw no life force besides that of the sickened forest. This information he relayed to the other humans and Roakore.

Aurora’s chest heaved as she took in the night air with her nose to the sky. “This is unlike any forest I have seen, and the wind carries the stench of death.”

“The land has been poisoned by Eadon and his creations. They long ago purged this land of wholesome life,” said Azzeal. “All that now remains is a tainted and blackened land, a plagued shadow of the beauty that it once was.”