Whill of Agora: Book 02 - A Quest of Kings (35 page)

Roakore puffed out his chest at that and got a bit taller. “Well then, let’s hope he ain’t for talkin’.” Aurora chuckled at that from where she stood watching their backs.

“Tell him I got a mind to chop one piece from him for every Dwarf his kind done killed. And he will live through it all.”

Dirk got up from his seat and retrieved his two poison darts; he wiped them off and went to work cutting the pointed tip of the Draggard’s tail off.

The Draggard eyed Roakore with a scowl. Azzeal turned from it and began to walk away. “Very well then, Roakore.”

The Draggard gave a strangled cry, and finally, the terror in its eyes shone. It spoke quickly to the Elf, never taking its eyes off of the eager-looking Roakore. Azzeal listened and nodded when it had finished. Without a word, he reached down and broke the Draggard’s neck. Roakore gave a disappointed groan.

“Some of you may be aware that Draggard can sleep indefinitely in a hibernation state. He says that he is one of a group of nearly fifty Draggard that have made this their den. The others are below. Three were guarding
the entrance, and the third ran to wake the others.” His ears perked up, and everyone listened. “And there they are.”

Through the tunnels began to echo the sound of many clawed feet. The sound came from both directions. “We should let them come to us; we can make a stand at the stairs where the small space will make their greater numbers of no concern,” Aurora suggested.

Azzeal shook his head. “No, they are not that stupid. They will lay in wait in the next chamber. Both of these halls double back and open to the same room. It is there they will attack; it is there we must go.”

Dirk, who was no fan of straight-on combat, suggested otherwise. “We cannot simply walk into their trap; we have no advantage and are outnumbered.”

“Bah! We be outnumbered, but we ain’t out armed. Let me at ’em!”

Aurora looked to Roakore with a grin and more than a hint of admiration. “What do you suggest, Whill?” she asked. She looked to Whill as if he were her leader, grim faced and at attention. Whill jerked his head to her question and pondered for a moment. She hoped he would give her a task in which she could outdo Dirk’s impressive performance. She had begun to dislike the sneaky man. Besides the fact that she had no respect for someone that hid within the shadows and stabbed his victims in the back, she did not like the way he watched her without watching her. The barbarian woman had
done enough hunting to know the look of something that was quietly alert to her presence, and though it seemed Dirk was alert to everything around him, he focused on her more than even Whill, his supposed hero. The entire ride to the city, she could feel his eyes buried in her back as they rode atop the dragon.

Finally Whill shrugged his shoulders. “Roakore is the master of underground war tactics.”

“And he would say to charge in screaming,” piped in Aurora with a wink to the Dwarf king. Roakore raised an eyebrow at her and scowled.
He will take some work to warm up to
, she thought,
a lot of work
.

“There will likely be booby traps and the like; it is safer if I have a silent look around first,” said Azzeal.

Roakore chuckled.

“We should send word to Zhola and Avriel that there are likely other guards about,” said Aurora.

“I already have,” Azzeal responded and tapped his temple with a long finger. He led the way farther down the hall. After many more turns, they came to a doorway. With his mind sight, Whill saw that beyond was a large chamber.

“Await my return,” Azzeal bade the others and shape-shifted into his vine form. Before anyone could protest, the vines disappeared into the chamber.

Dirk watched the tunnel behind them and hid his nervousness at being bottled up as they were with no clear back door. It was simply not the way he operated.
Tense minutes passed as the group waited just beyond the entrance. Whill attempted to follow the Elf with mind sight, but it was blurred by the stone before him. Finally Azzeal returned and took his Elf form once again.

“The chamber is long, with many overhanging archways that span the curved ceiling’s entirety. There are many traps set and groups of Draggard ready to ambush. Follow my lead, allow me to spring the traps, and take care of whatever I pass over.”

“It be ’bout bloody time me ax gets some use! I haven’t killed a Draggard since yesterday!” yelled Roakore. Azzeal scowled at him but could not keep a straight face while looking upon the eager Dwarf. Roakore was so genuinely excited that he bounced on his toes in anticipation. Azzeal pointed at himself. “I will shield.” He pointed at Whill. “You will stay in the center of the group and heal any wounds. You, assassin—”

“It’s Blackthorn, Elf,” said Dirk.

Azzeal nodded curtly, and his forest-green eyes flashed. “And it is Azzeal, Blackthorn. You come up front with me; your stealth will be needed. Roakore, prepare your stones and watch our backs. Aurora you take up the rear and trust your back to us.”

Aurora nodded, Roakore set his stone birds a whirling, and Dirk reached into his bag of tricks and unsheathed a dagger. Whill made a deeper connection with the energy within his blade—energy taken from
his fallen foes. It was a practice shunned by the Elves of the Sun, but he was not an Elf.

Azzeal led them around the corner into the chamber and lifted a hand. A globe of shimmering energy surrounded them and then disappeared, and though unseen, they knew it remained. With the glowing staff showing the way, they began across the chamber. They walked ahead cautiously and needed not wait long for the attack. Half-a-dozen spears came rushing at them from the darkness ahead. The weapons were deflected by the invisible shield, and sparks flashed on contact.

A dozen Draggard came charging and screaming at them across the grand hall. Dirk threw a small object far ahead, and it erupted with a flash of light. Smoke poured out of the projectile and wafted up to the ceiling and curled down the arches. The group waited just outside the thick smoke. Out of it came charging the disoriented Draggard. The first to come through screaming got a black dart in the throat. Dirk hit two more in the mouth as they came charging recklessly. There was a loud explosion, and gore flew everywhere as the first Draggard’s head exploded, followed by the other two. Three more came rushing through the smoke, and Dirk engaged one with his dagger and sword. Whill was amazed at the assassin’s fluidity and grace. Every strike was lethal; every move was calculated. The three Draggard fell dead as Dirk twirled back, and on cue, Azzeal came in with his spinning staff and engaged the next wave.

Six of the beasts roared through the smoke with spears leading. The spinning staff connected sickeningly with skulls and limbs and backs alike. Whatever spells the Elf poured forth through the staff were deadly. Bones were crushed like dry eggshells against the thin wooden staff, spears snapped, heads cracked, and all that remained was a broken pile of dying monsters.

Roakore sent his stone bird into the smoke and laughed wickedly when he heard a telltale thud. Suddenly from the sides the walls opened, and from behind them, Draggard poured.

“Hah, now that’s more like it!” roared Roakore, and he jumped to meet them. He slapped a spear thrust aside with his ax, got in close, and kicked the Draggard in the chest so hard that there was a loud crack, and the beast went flailing backward into its kin, knocking three of them to the ground. Behind him, on the other side of Whill, Aurora smashed one with her shield and hacked another nearly in two.

Whill moved to Roakore’s side, and together, they eagerly met the Draggard attack. The sword of his father pulsed in his hands, and a grin found his face. Here, he knew peace; here, he knew pleasure. In battle, his mind found rest and his animal side took over. Forgotten was his pain, and embraced was the madness. In battle, he was free to be himself, free to release his pent-up rage. In battle, sanity was not needed. Whill screamed at his attackers and soon had them on their toes while
Roakore hacked at their legs. Whill took advantage of the distraction and slashed and stabbed. Those that did not fall to Whill met Roakore’s ax.

Azzeal slammed his staff onto the stone, and a great wind whipped past the companions and sent the cloud of smoke blowing down the hall. The group charged after it and cut down the surprised Draggard that were on the other side of the smoke. Again the walls they had passed opened, and hordes of Draggard came rushing.

Aurora growled and discarded her massive sword and shield. She took on the beasts barefisted. Whill watched on in awe as the seven-foot barbarian woman pounded on the Draggard as though they were drunkards. A spear and tail came at her fast, but she was the quicker. She caught the spear shaft in her armpit, and as she jerked to the side, snapping it, she sidestepped the tail. Another spear came at her, and she twirled, dodging it, and came around whipping the spearhead. It took a Draggard in the neck, and the beast gurgled to the floor. A strong kick broke the knee of the spear wielder; she stomped on its head as it screamed in agony. Aurora went into a crouch and sprang to meet a charging Draggard. They came together and locked hands and eyes. The Draggard hissed and dug its claws deep into the top of her hands. In response, she growled and crushed his hands with hers. She gave a twist, and the Draggard took a knee with a howl. A spear came at her back, and she spun away as the spear impaled the
prone Draggard. She punched another in the forehead and caught his tail as it came around to counter. With a twist and a jerk, she yanked the beast’s tail and, spinning, sent it flying into an arch protruding from the wall. With a crack, its back snapped.

Shortly the attack was over, and none more remained before them.

“Ah, did we kill ’em all already?” Roakore protested and caught his stone bird.

Everyone waited and listened, but if there were any remaining Draggard about, they were not in a fighting mood at the moment. Once again Azzeal guided them down the hall. Soon they came to the end and entered into a large room. It had once contained many volumes, but Whill guessed by the blackened floors that they had been burned long ago. Azzeal quickly went to the far wall and began inspecting the stone with his hands. He set an ear to the wall and listened. He crept along the wall in this manner until he stopped and stepped back. He pushed hard on one of the many stones, and it slowly moved inward. There were many clicks and a groan of metal and shrieking protest. Dust exploded from the floor as a large section of wall moved inward. Azzeal grinned at the others and walked through the hidden doorway.

What Whill saw took his breath as Azzeal’s light glowed brightly, illuminating a large room.

“Arshralock!” said Azzeal, and dozens of crystals upon the ceiling blazed to life in a rainbow of colors.
Upon the walls were glass-encased volumes of books and scrolls. At the center of the room were many small tables made of stone and wood that had been entwined together somehow. The room was pristine, as if it was untouched by time. It felt as though they were in a living city. As if Eadon and his legions had not driven away or killed every living thing in Drindellia.

Azzeal looked to everyone. “Brown book, red dragon,” he said, and then he went to a glass case and carefully opened it. The others did the same. Each began the tedious task of searching for the book.

Whill sifted through his a section of ancient Elven books and scrolls. He could not fathom the knowledge that may be leant by these writings. He saw many intriguing titles, some written plainly and others magnificent with beautiful artwork on their binding.

The Sorrow of the Gods
caught Whill’s eye, along with a thick tome titled,
What Animals Think
. There were many books, manuals, and even journals.
The life of Alzzuar
, spelled in Elvish,
Ta Zhen Dor Alzzuar
. Whill let his hand linger over one scroll in particular; the title was written on an attached feather,
The Laws of Magic
. There were thirty-three volumes in that collection.

What knowledge could be gained by the reading of all of these works? Whill’s mind raced frantically. “These works must be saved!” he breathed to himself and looked to Azzeal. “These books, the scrolls, the value of this collection must be immeasurable.”

Azzeal nodded. “Indeed, this is a great find. Much of this knowledge is kept in the minds of my people, but there are also powerful secrets hidden within these tomes.”

“Bah,” said Roakore. “Can’t read none of it anyhow! Just lookin’ for a brown book with a stinkin red dra—”

Whill looked to Roakore as the Dwarf’s voice trailed off. Roakore looked as if he had seen a ghost. His mouth hung wide open, and his eyes bulged.

“It…it…it can’t be! What devilry is this? Be there an Elvish word for Ky’Dren?” asked Roakore in a strangled tone.

Azzeal looked to what had upset the Dwarf so. “Ah, yes.
The Life of Ky’Dren
,” he said nonchalantly.

Roakore looked at him dumbfound. “‘Ah, yes’? ‘Ah, yes’ what? How in the hells can there be a book o’ Ky’Dren here?”

“Read the telling, good Dwarf. It may tell you what you need to know,” Azzeal said and then went back to his searching.

“Who wrote it, and how did they know o’ Ky’Dren?”

“The author of that book was Ky’Dren. The title reads
The Life of Ky’Dren,”
Azzeal answered.

Roakore opened it and saw that it was written in Elvish. “It be written in your people’s ridiculous swirl writing. How can it be by Ky’Dren?”

Azzeal sighed. “I suppose that Ky’Dren could speak and write Elvish words. Can’t you? What kind of king knows not his allies’ tongue?”

The last part Azzeal said in Dwarvish, with even a Ro’Sar Mountain accent to boot. Roakore was speechless and just looked at the book in wonder.

“I found it!” yelled Aurora. “Here it is, brown book, red dragon.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

The Ancient One

E
veryone stopped in the search and crowded around the book, which was handed off to Whill. He opened it gingerly and skimmed over the Elvish writing.