Whill of Agora: Book 02 - A Quest of Kings (36 page)

“Alright then, back to the surface; let’s see what Zhola can make of it,” Whill said.

Azzeal brought with him a few volumes stowed away in one of his larger pouches. Roakore clung to the book of Ky’dren as if it were the greatest treasure in the world. They made their way out of the library without incident and found the two dragons and Silverwind nearby. Whill presented the book to Zhola expectantly. Zhola eyed the book with one giant orb, and a puff of smoke escaped his nostrils.

“The book, good, open it and begin to read. I will find what I need in the words.”

Whill looked to Avriel who shrugged, which looked quite odd from a dragon. He sat down and got comfortable and began to read the Elven words.

“A dragon of blue she was, with eyes like glimmering ice. Her beauty was matched only in dreams, and her wrath was a force of nature.”

Whill read on for more than six hours. Every time he stopped for a drink or a bit of his rations, he looked to Zhola expectantly, but the dragon only listened. He said nothing and moved rarely. Others of the group slept, including Roakore, who snored away.

The sun was nearly set when Whill reached the middle of the book. He was tired of reading, and his joints were stiff. Zhola saw this, and Whill jumped, startled, when the dragon finally said, “We leave now. I have learned enough from the story thus far to continue to our location. I assumed so before but had to be sure. Mount up.”

Roakore grumbled and swore. He was always grumpy when abruptly awoken. He mounted Silverwind, and the others mounted the dragons. Azzeal changed into his bird form, and soon they were leaving the city behind them and traveling back the way they had come. They flew on into the night and finally returned to the cave from whence they had come.

“Find your rest. At first light we make for the mountain of Algarath,” said Zhola.

“Mountains, eh?” Roakore turned to Azzeal. “You got mountains here?”

“Yes,” nodded Azzeal. “Drindellia has many mountains.”

“And be there treasure within?”

“We mine them, yes; we use the stones and crystals in our workings of nature.”

“YOU mine them! Elves mining mountains!”

Azzeal ignored the Dwarf’s temper and began to eat from his pouch of leaves and nuts and berries. Between chewing, he answered lazily, “Who else is to mine the stones or have any use for them? There are no humans here, and what Dwarves there ever were are long gone.”

Roakore perked up at that and looked to his revered book of Ky’Dren. His eyes flashed with wonder “Bein’ that there was Dwarves here once, you be sayin’?”

“Indeed,” answered Azzeal.

“Well, whatever hap…” Roakore stopped as he noticed everyone listening in. He scooted closer to Azzeal and in a lowered voice continued, “What ever happened to them?”

Azzeal eyed the book that Roakore held stuffed under an arm. “Best you hear the telling from one who was there.”

Roakore’s eyes went wide, and he slowly regarded the book that had somehow appeared in his lap, held in both hands. Tears gathered and threatened to burst like summer rain clouds in the Dwarf king’s eyes. He sniffled and quickly coughed to mask it. Azzeal only smiled and ate his mix.

Morning came and they took to the air and flew north. After less than three hours, they could see far off
on the horizon what, at first, Roakore thought to be a thunderhead. When he realized that it was a mountain, his jaw dropped.

Dirk sat between Zhola’s flexing shoulders and saw too that mountain. His excitement grew tenfold as he knew the moment would soon come. Soon Whill would be led to the sword, and it would be within Dirk’s reach. How he was going to steal the sword he did not know, nor did he have a plan of escape. He knew that he could not take the sword until he was near the portal they had come from, which meant that he would have to steal the sword directly from Whill once Whill had found it. The timing would have to be perfect if it was to be successful. Dirk fingered the gem that Eadon had given him. The Dark Elf had said that with it Dirk would be able to speak to him. Dirk did not doubt that with it Eadon was able to track his exact location. Dirk dared not use the gem yet, lest he be exposed. He would have to hold out until the time was right.

They flew toward Algarath Mountain under a canopy of dark gray clouds. There was a light fog, and its mist gathered on the dragons and riders, leaving the scales of the dragons glistening like jewels.

Whill looked to his wide-eyed friend gliding along to his right. Roakore stared at the mountain; it was the biggest that Whill had ever seen, twice again the size of the largest mountain in Agora. Algarath Mountain was nearly five miles wide at its base. Its snowcapped body
gave way to a peak that was lost above the clouds. There, where the clouds consumed the mountains, lightning flashed behind the thick cover. To Whill, it looked as though a battle raged upon the mountain. Deep and booming thunder rolled across the sky and echoed for miles in every direction. The mountain had no brothers; it stood alone in its majesty.

Along the sides of the mountain grew green trees and vegetation. In contrast to the dull gray sky and blackened world around it, the mountain stood out as a defiant vestige of Drindellia’s life force. At its base, where the mountain green clashed with the dark forest, was a ring of what at first looked like piles of jagged stone and shale, but upon closer inspection, Whill realized that they were piles and piles of bones, Draggard bones. Tens of thousands must have fallen trying to break through whatever power separated the mountain from the tainted earth.

Zhola steered them toward the mountain base. The mountain loomed above them, making even the dragon Zhola feel small and insignificant. Roakore had sung to the glory of the Dwarven gods since first seeing the mountain; now he sang all the louder.

They glided down toward the large mouth of a cave built near the base of the miles-wide mountain. Zhola did not land but flew straight into it. He growled low in his throat, and his body began to glow with inner fire, illuminating the way. Further down, the large cave
curved and opened to a massive shaft in which a natural waterfall flowed. They flew swiftly down with the waterfall for a long time and finally leveled out and splashed into an underground lake.

Zhola landed upon the stone shore of the mile-wide chamber in which the lake sat. The chamber hummed with power, and the very air within was thick and heavy, and the humidity within left everything wet and glistening. Deep green flower-covered vines and multicolored moss covered every inch of the cavern, even creeping up the walls and across the stone ceiling. The flowers within the cavern glowed with a rich silver inner light that left the onlookers in awe.

At the center of the lake, upon an island of glowing moss-covered stone, was the source of the great humming power. A figure glowed so radiantly that it could not easily be seen within the light. Whill could make out the thin, naked figure of what looked like an Elven woman. Her legs were encased in stone up to the knees, and her humming energy pulsed through the stone island and the lake in ripples of cascading light. Her arms were outstretched, each one growing into a thick, knotted root that grew thicker and snaked its way far across the glowing lake. The two roots met with others, and each of these found their way eventually to the walls of the cavern. Her glowing white hair danced in blue flames atop her head; energy crackled and hummed, and small arks of electricity licked at the stone-and-vine roof.

Zhola bent down to his knees and bowed his head. “It is the lady Kellallea.”

Whill’s eyes widened with amazement and sudden fear. This was the Elf of legend, Kellallea, the keeper of the ancient knowledge of the Elves, the taker of all power after the great Elven wars of old; it was she who had granted the Elves with the power of Orna Catorna once more.

Whill dropped to a knee and bowed as did the others—Dirk even removed his hood. There was a great pulsing of the light within the cavern, and for a moment, all were blind. When he could see once more, Whill saw the ghostly silver figure of Kellallea walking toward them across the water. Her body remained rooted to the island, and what now strode toward them, Whill assumed, was some sort of spiritual projection.

He dropped his head once more, averting the gaze of the pulsating spirit Elf and tried not to tremble like a scared puppy. She walked up to him and stopped. Whill dared look up at the radiating, naked form of the ancient Elf, and tears welled in his eyes. For her gaze was one of blissful peace and unyielding love. There was a terrifying intensity in her eyes, which shone with blinding light and pierced Whill’s very soul. The power possessed by Kellallea was greater than Whill had ever witnessed, even within the deep, dark eyes of Eadon.

“Lady Kellallea, I…” Azzeal’s voice cracked and failed him, and he was left weeping at her feet.

The spirit Elf smiled upon the prone Elf and put a hand lightly upon his head and stroked his green hair. She took his face in her hand and lifted his chin; he smiled upon her as a child would its mother. She then looked to Whill, who could not meet her eyes directly.

“Whill of Agora, he foretold to defeat the Dark Elf Eadon, I have waited long for your arrival.”

Whill bowed lower still. “Kellallea.”

“Stand,” she bade them all, and they complied.

Her gaze swept over them all in turn and lingered upon Aurora and Dirk. The two averted their gazes, their guilt laid bare before the ancient Elf. She looked to Avriel and strode to the white dragon.

“Daughter of Verelas.”

Avriel wept dragon tears and bowed her head to Kellallea’s touch. The spirit Elf stroked Avriel’s shimmering white scales.

“Would that I could undo this dark curse upon you, but I have not the strength to spare.”

“What is this place?” Whill dared ask. “What is happening here?”

In an instant, Kellellea was before him once again. She stretched an arm to indicate the cavern. “This is where the rivers of Drindellia’s life force converge. I have held the sickness of the land at bay for the time being, but my power wanes. Soon I will be overcome, as is stone against water, and the last of what was Drindellia will die with me.”

“We had feared you lost to us, my lady,” said Azzeal. “The Elves of the Sun shall rejoice, for the lady Kellallea fights for Drindellia still.”

Kellallea nodded. “Long Eadon fought against me and was successful to an extent. I was forced to abandon my form and take refuge here within Algarath. I have melded with Keye, and I am now the guardian of Drindellia’s life force, what is left of it.”

“Are you also the guardian of the sword?” asked Whill.

Kellallea looked to him with her bright, burning eyes; he held his gaze against the sight.

“I am,” she answered and looked to her body, which remained rooted to the island.

“With the sword I could help you, and together, we could heal the land. When I have defeated Eadon, life will thrive once again throughout Drindellia,” Whill promised.

“There is much you do not know, child. You cannot kill Eadon.”

“But it has been foretold in the prophe—”

“The prophecy is a lie,” Kellallea interrupted, her voice booming and echoing throughout the chamber.

Whill was speechless. Avriel gave a surprised growl, and Roakore blurted out, “Ye lie!”

“The prophecy a lie?” asked Whill, confused. “How can it be?”

“I have been connected to Drindellia for thousands of years. My roots reach to the heart of Keye and into
the rivers of energy below. I have learned the truth of Adimorda and the prophecy.”

“What is this truth?” Whill asked, though he dreaded the answer.

“It is true that Adimorda looked to the future and saw the rise of a great and powerful Dark Elf, and that he set in motion the creation of a weapon of great power. But what you have been told, indeed, what the order of Adimorda believed to be a weapon to defeat Eadon, has all this time been of his own creation.”

Whill was speechless; he did not understand.

“The truth is this,” said Kellallea. “Eadon
is
Adimorda.

Whill shook his head in denial. “No, that cannot be. How can they be one and the same? Adimorda saw the rise of Eadon and made the sword to defeat him.”

“No!” boomed Kellallea’s voice like thunder through the chamber. “Adimorda lied. The prophecy is a lie created to ensure the creation of a sword of power—a sword that he intends to use.”

Whill shook his head the whole time, not wanting to believe it. The ancient Elf saw that he did not understand.

“To understand, we must go back to the beginning. Adimorda was one of the most powerful Elves of his time; he was a master of many schools of knowledge and, indeed, the most proficient seer that ever lived. His goal was always more power, and like so many others, he was corrupted by it. He sought the ancient texts
and scrolls, always hungry for more knowledge. What he sought the most was an ancient tome said to be written by the gods themselves. It was not long before he found it, and what he learned within that book drove him mad with power lust. Eadon discovered an ancient legend, one which told of a way to attain the power of a god.”

Whill listened intently as his dread steadily grew.

“It is difficult, but it is possible for Eadon to attain such power. He has already one of the swords in his possession; he needs only be given the other. To gain the power of the gods, it is said that one must possess the greatest power ever given and the greatest power taken. Eadon’s own blade contains the greatest power taken, for he has laid waste to his own homeland to attain it. And by creating the prophecy, he guaranteed the creation of the greatest power ever given. Together, the sword of power taken and the sword of power given will make Eadon like a god. He needs only to be given the sword by you to fulfill his plan.” She looked to Whill grimly.

Whill was speechless. She went on, telling her unbelievable tale of manipulation. “Adimorda looked to the future and saw his own rise to power as Eadon. He foretold of you, Whill of Agora, and created the blade so that no Elf could wield it, not even him. For the laws of the two blades of power dictate that the sword of power given must be given. In this way, it was meant to prevent
one from attaining them both. But Eadon will be given the power within the sword if you try to kill him, for Adromida is indeed Eadon’s sword, and one cannot be killed by their own blade. This is why he has kept you alive; it is why he has tortured you so. He intends for you to want nothing more than to kill him. And you have played right into his game perfectly.”