Whill of Agora: Book 02 - A Quest of Kings (11 page)

“Old friend, I do not doubt your resolve. Among men, you are one of the greatest warriors I have ever known, but against the Dark Elves, what power do you have?”

Abram rapped his pipe on the windowsill and pocketed it, pondering the question. “The only power I have is that of faith. I believe in the prophecy; therefore, I believe that Whill will not die in the arena. I believe he will be freed to fulfill his destiny.”

“Then let us not run in haste into the arms of the Dark Elves. Let us await the counsel of Zerafin.”

Abram looked again to the arena. He knew Rhunis’s words to be true; he understood that haste in the matter would be folly. If the execution was indeed a trap, then there was to be no surprise attack. He would do Whill no service by being captured or killed. But what if Eadon was through with Whill; what if he had not been able to break him? Abram had to believe that Whill would make it out, and he intended on being the one to help him.

CHAPTER TEN

The Silverhawk
Rider of Ro’Sar

R
oakore inspected his ax in the torchlight; the blade had known its share of nicks and scrapes over the years. Satisfied with the edge, he put his collection of sharpening stones in their leather case and stowed them away within his traveling pack.

Nah’Zed watched her king with a scowl the whole while. Roakore ignored the glare. His mind was made up; he was king after all, and the decision was his alone. Whill was set to be executed in less than five days, and Roakore had pondered the situation for two days too many. He would not be moved in his resolve now that his mind had been made up.

Finally, after so long watching Roakore pack and sharpen his blade while ignoring her, Nah’Zed could take it no longer. “You been king for less than a year, sire;
yer place be here! We’re still rebuildin’ for Ky’Dren’s sake.”

“Hold yer tongue! We been through this! Me mind’s made up.”

“Yer people need ya here, sire!”

Roakore turned on Nah’Zed with a scowl, but his anger quickly died as he saw the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Roakore let out a sigh. “Aye, and me friend be needin’ me too. I can’t be two places at once. Whill be in the worst kind o’ trouble, and I be able to help him.”

“But ye said yerself, sire, the Elf—”

“Zerafin,” Roakore corrected her.

“Zerafin and Abram and the rest o’ them will be sure to attempt a rescue; ye said it so yerself.”

“Aye,” Roakore agreed. “And I’ll be there to help.”

Nah’Zed bowed her head in defeat.

Roakore lifted her chin with his hand and brought her eyes to his. “Whill would do the same fer me. And I would do it for any o’ me friends. Fret not; it been quiet along the mountainsides since the reclamation. I be leavin’ the clan in the able hands o’ me son. Besides, Whill be an important part o’ this fight. Helpin’ free him be the best thing I could be doin’ for the clan, for all the clans.”

Nah’Zed wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You be puttin’ too much stake in this Whill.”

“You were not there; ye didn’t see the dark scourge that emptied from me mountains and spread across
the lands. An that be but a fraction o’ their numbers. The Draggard be ravishin’ all the land as we speak, and the war ain’t even truly begun. If the Dark Elves ain’t stopped, all the land will burn and the mountains will crumble. Whill o’ Agora be named in an ancient prophecy to be the one to put a stop to the Dark Elves, an’ I, for one, be believing it.”

Nah’Zed squared her shoulders and looked her king in the eye. She took up his traveling pack and nodded. “Then be swift, me king, and may yer ax be true. For every day you be away be a day o’ sorrow for the Ro’Sar Mountains.”

Roakore made his way up the great, winding stair. It had been recently added to the city and led to a high chamber near the peak of Mount Havrokk. He had made the journey almost daily in the last six months, and now he was glad he had.

As he crested the top of the stair, he heard the telltale squawk of Silverwind. She stood rigid with anticipation behind her cloak of camouflage that made her blend in flawlessly with the surrounding rock wall; if Roakore had not known what to look for, he may not have noticed the great bird. Upon seeing Roakore, Silverwind gave a great squawk and changed back to her natural color of bright silver.

Roakore greeted the massive bird with a big smile and a handful of hawk’s bane. Silverwind tentatively took
the treat from her master’s hand and crooned with joy as she ate and the king petted her head.

Roakore nodded to the human nearby. Horris had been a Silverhawk trainer of the Shierdon Kingdom. When word came down through the black-market contacts that a certain wealthy Dwarf was offering a fortune for a Silverhawk chick, he had jumped at the opportunity. He had brought Silverwind to Roakore and received his fortune; he also stayed on to help the king train the bird, for a hefty fee of course.

“She ain’t full grown yet, but I would bet she will hold your weight…I think. I loaded a pouch of hawk’s bane, and the new saddle should be more to your liking, king.”

Roakore petted the bird’s lowered beak as it savored its bane; he pulled on a saddle strap and simply grunted.

Horris presented Roakore with a cloak of black feathers, those of Silverwind. “Now for the true test, sire; now for the ‘test o’ Silverwind,’ as you would say. If you put on the cloak and it remains black, it is not to be. If it turns silver, well, then you know…then, my friend, you can fly.”

Roakore eyed the cloak with trepidation. He was not a Dwarf that often, or ever, knew defeat, since that dreaded day so long ago. He had resolved to never again fail in something that he had set his heart and soul on. He dreaded putting on the cloak to find it black.

Roakore reluctantly took the cloak with his right hand; then he found his resolve, and he listened to
his gut. Silverwind was not going to bond with any other than the most confident of persons. She would not allow any but the utmost courageous and bold a rider.

The great hawk eyed Roakore and the cloak intently, her racial memory reminding her of what such a moment meant. Her eyes went wide, and she took a step back, ruffling her feathers and spreading her wings in warning. Roakore hesitated as he took the cloak in both hands and faced her. She let out a great squawk and backed up a step from the king, pounding him with the wind of her wings. Then she hissed.

“I be needin’ ya to help right many wrongs, great hawk.” Roakore stepped closer. “I be needin’ yer help in rescuing me friend.”

Silverwind squawked angrily but held her ground. With her head low, her feathers bulged to increase her size and intimidation factor.

Roakore put on the cloak swiftly with an outstretching of his arms. Silverwind turned in a half circle and smashed him in the side and shoulder with a gut-rocking blow. Roakore flew into the nearby wall, hard enough to make him see a few stars.

He got to his feet in an instant, clearing his head with sheer willpower as his father had taught him. “Let the mind be dizzy and confused; let yer soul take over.”

Roakore faced the great bird in his black cloak of failure. He squared his feet and bellowed, “Silverwind,
I named ye! I am to be your rider! Together I promise great adventure and glory!”

The bird cocked her head and took a step toward the Dwarf king, his entire body no larger than her neck. She leaned her head to the right as if to groom herself, and then she shyly batted her eyelids and crooned. Roakore burst out in a smile and reached for her.

Horris had no time to warn Roakore as the bird’s great beak came up and caught him between the legs and lifted him so high that his head smacked against the stone ceiling fifteen feet above. He fell like a rock.

Roakore groaned and heeded his father’s advice and got to his feet, though to his dismay, he found that his feet would not hold him. He reached up and felt his bloody head. A knot had already begun to form. Roakore let out a deafening roar, and the hawk perched, ready to attack, and waited.

“She is testing you good, king. This is a time of trials. Fail here and you may die.”

Roakore grimaced at the trainer. “What the bloody hell am I supposed to do now?”

Horris backed to the safety of the room entrance, directly adjacent to the twenty-foot-wide archway leading to the night sky behind the hawk. “I cannot help you in this. This is your ‘trial by feathers’ as they call it. You and you alone can tame this bird or be killed by it.”

Roakore thought about another plea, but he quickly dismissed the idea.
What gesture would I respect? Hhmm. That which I already respect, of course!

Roakore walked bravely toward the bird until his face was but a foot away from hers. He then smiled. The bird tilted its head slightly to the right, a telltale sign. But Roakore did not wait for the resulting action; rather, he put all of his weight and strength into an uppercut blow to the bird’s beak that caused its head to snap back suddenly and clip the ceiling.

The great bird shook its head and reared until it hit the stone wall behind it. Roakore squared his legs and made fists that caused his knuckles to pop. “I be yer rider, bird!”

Good,” whispered Horris as he slunk behind the archway to the stair, one eye only peering at the battle. “Now, she will truly try to kill you.”

Roakore could hardly ask what Horris had said, and the bird was charging. He was deafened by an ear-piercing shriek that literally made his ears bleed. The great bird came at him, meaning to squash him with her weight. But Roakore proved the quicker as he slid sideways and out of range. He rebounded off the wall to the right of the bird and came in hard at her side with two flying boots. The blow sent the hawk lurching to the side to almost fall from the open archway to the night beyond.

Roakore climbed upon her back as she lurched and spread her wings to catch herself from the fall. Even as
Roakore climbed the base of her neck, she regained her footing and instantly rolled upon her back. Roakore was crunched with over one thousand pounds of bird. Fearing that his bones would be crushed to dust under the great weight, he instinctively called upon the stone around him.

Silverwind was slammed sideways off of Roakore by a slab of stone that suddenly protruded from the wall. Another slab caught the bird on the other side, and two came from both above and below to trap the bird in a viselike grip. Silverwind thrashed and kicked until finally Roakore rose and, facing the bird, ordered, “Be still!”

Silverwind froze; its eyes wide.

“Now is the time! Make the connection, just as we have learned. Hurry, lest the moment pass you by! You have her attention and respect!”

Roakore grabbed the trapped bird’s head with his strong hands and pressed his head to that of Silverwind’s. Their eyes met, and instantly, the connection was made, and the cloak of black feathers began to glow bright silver. Roakore released Silverwind from the stone trap but held her head steady.

“Yer mine, bird, and yer name be Silverwind. As I be yer rider, we’ll make history, we will; that I be promisin’.”

Horris clapped and smacked Roakore on the back. Silverwind was on him in a heartbeat, knocking him
to the ground and letting out an ear-piercing cry. She held him there with one massive claw that covered his entire body and looked, with a tilted head, to Roakore.

“Bwahaha! She means business now, don’t she, Horris? She be waitin’ fer me to give the go-ahead to take yer head off! Well done, lad, well done!”

Horris could hardly find the breath to answer. “Thank you, sir.”

“Let him go, Silverwind; save your beak for one more deserving.”

Just then Tarren came huffing up the stairs, calling the king’s name. “Roakore, Roakore, wait!”

He was followed by Lunara and Haldagozz and Roakore’s son Helzendar. Tarren’s eyes went from the nine-foot-tall Silverhawk to Roakore’s cloak of silver feathers.

“By Ky’Dren’s beard, Father, ye got yerself a Silverhawk?” asked Helzendar.

“Oh man, are the Shierdonians gonna be mad ye got one of their birds,” said Tarren and whistled.

“Bah, let ‘em be whatever they want. They don’t own the creatures; the creatures be ownin’ themselves. And if they be that upset, let ‘em come try an take her from me!”

Tarren stared in wonder at the magnificent wings of the bird as she looked longingly to the mouth of the chamber and the night sky beyond. Roakore also noticed the bird’s look and began loading his bags.

“You are going to try and free Whill, aren’t you?” asked Tarren.

“I be doin’ just that, laddie.”

“C—”

“And before you ask, the answer be no!” Roakore interrupted.

“But—”

“This ain’t no game, son. There ain’t no place for a child on this quest. I be goin’ into enemy territory here.”

Roakore watched as Tarren’s head sank. He understood the boy’s want to go, to be part of the adventure. But the truth of the matter was that he was a child, and battle was no place for him.

“Besides, ye got the trials comin’ up, don’t ye?”

Tarren did not answer; he simply sulked.

“Well?!” demanded Roakore.

“Yes, I got the trials coming.”

“Well then, finishin’ the trials is what you’ll be doin’. Till then, you be in Lunara and Haldagozz’s care. When we free Whill, he can decide where yer place will be, fair enough?”

“Yes, sir.”

Roakore finished loading his packs on the saddle and strapped his ax to his back. With the help of Horris, he climbed into the saddle of the bent bird. He carefully strapped himself in and checked the straps with a tug. Satisfied, he faced his son.

“Ye be keepin’ an eye on Tarren here also, lad; he be the ward o’ me friend.”

“Yes, Father, me king.”

Roakore saddled up, pulled the reigns left, and turned the great Silverhawk to face the ledge.

“Father? What’s it like eh? Bein able to fly an such.”?”

Roakore turned to his son and shrugged. “I aint knowin, son, but I’m ‘bout to find out. Hopefully it don’t feel like fallin’ to me death.”

Helzendar stared, openmouthed.

“Wait,” urged Lunara as she ran forward. “The Silverhawk has no armor or protection from enemy arrows.”