Whill of Agora: Book 02 - A Quest of Kings (39 page)

You cannot win this fight Whill of Agora
, came Eadon’s voice in his mind. It resonated in his head in a deafening chorus of pain. Whill summoned more power from the blade, but it was useless against Eadon’s mental attack. No matter the energy at his disposal, Whill could not hope to counter Eadon’s attacks. He began to give in to the Dark Elf. He had to make it stop, the gruesome visions, the blinding pain.

“Stop! I will give you the power of Adimorda. Please make it stop!” he pleaded.

“Enough of your tricks, boy!” screamed Eadon. “Give me the power now!”

The pain intensified, and Whill felt as though he were on fire. His head felt as though it would explode with the pressure of the mental attack. He wanted only silence, peace, death, anything to make it stop. He had
failed miserably. He had no hope of defeating the Dark Elf, and he gave in to defeat. He raised his free hand to Eadon’s extended hand. He would give Eadon the power, and he would know peace.

Whill’s shaking hand had almost met Eadon’s when suddenly the Dark Elf was engulfed by the huge jaws of the red dragon Zhola. Instantly the pain subsided, and the mental attack stopped as Zhola shook his head violently and threw the Dark Elf to the ground. He bathed Eadon in fire and stomped one giant, clawed foot into the ground, burying Eadon.

“Go now!” he roared at Whill, and Whill wasted no time in heeding the dragon’s words. He leapt from the ground and took flight once again, speeding toward the portal cave. Behind him, Whill heard a painful cry from Zhola and then a loud explosion. He did not look back—he did not have to—he knew that Zhola had been destroyed.

Whill flew into the cave as quickly as possible and brought his sword to bear as he shot through it. With the blade of Adimorda, he cut through the side of the portal and released a huge amount of energy into the strike. The portal exploded in a shower of light and sparks and closed, trapping Eadon in Drindellia.

Whill was shot forward by the blast and was slammed into the opposite wall of the cavern. His shield prevented any injury; without it, Whill knew he would have been crushed.

The volcano still shook violently, and the cavern was quickly falling apart. Huge slabs of stone rained down all around him, and lava had begun to pour down the stairs. There was no way he was going to walk out of the volcano. As everything fell apart around him, Whill desperately summoned a massive amount of power from the blade, and when it was too much to bear, he released the energy up toward the ceiling.

The blast ripped through the stone, sending it exploding out of the surface. Lava quickly rushed in from all directions to fill the massive hole Whill had created in the volcano. He strengthened his shield against the lava and shot out of the hole into the night sky. Once out, Whill looked down in terror and awe at the destruction he had caused. The volcano had erupted violently, and lava poured forth upon the surrounding island and into the ocean. Steam and ash and rolling black smoke filled the sky and had shot as high as the clouds.

Whill flew fast, moving toward Agora and away from the destruction. He soon came upon his friends and cried with joy to see that they had all survived the blast that he had caused. Roakore looked at him wide-eyed as he flew past. Avriel gave out a loud roar and touched his mind with hers. When they reached the shores of Isladon and landed, Roakore dismounted and ran to Whill in a fit of laughter.

“Ye can fly now? If I hadn’t seen it with me own eyes, I would never be believin’ it.” He hugged his friend and squeezed him hard, patting him on the back.

“What of Eadon?” asked Azzeal hopefully.

“I led him through the portal and on to Drindellia. I would have been killed had it not been for Zhola. He came at the last moment and distracted Eadon long enough for me to escape back through the portal and destroy it.”

“Good, then Eadon be trapped far away,” said Roakore jubilantly.

“Yes,” Whill concurred. “For the time being anyway.”

“You did well, Whill. I had feared…But you are returned to us now,” said Avriel. She bent to him, and Whill hugged her thick neck, and tears welled and fell from his eyes. The rush of the battle had worn off, and Whill felt terrible. As soon as he had sheathed the sword, he had begun to shake uncontrollably.

“There is no time to rest,” warned Azzeal. “We must make for the safety of Elladrindellia with all haste. We know not what means Eadon has to travel back here from Drindellia.”

“Let us go first to me mountain. There we will find rest and food, and the ale will pour endlessly. You could help me to translate the book o’ Ky’dren,” said Roakore enthusiastically. “And don’t be forgettin’ about Tarren.”

Whill nodded. “I have not forgotten about the lad, and your offer sounds wonderful. But I must travel to the Elves. There is much I must learn and not enough time to learn it. Besides, I do not think that it would
go over well, bringing Avriel to Ro’Sar in her current form.”

Roakore hummed his agreement as he looked to the white dragon. “Indeed, that would not be goin over to well.” He gave a long sigh. “Very well, I will return home and let me people know what has happened. And then me and Tarren will meet you in Elladrindellia.”

Whill nodded. “The city of Cerushia is our destination.”

“Cerushia it is then,” said Roakore. “We will be along before the month is out.” He slammed his fist to his chest and bowed slightly, and Whill returned the gesture. He then extended his hand, and Whill took it.

“May the gods see you to your mountain, King Roakore.”

“Aye, and yours to the Elf lands, King Whill,” Roakore said with a smile. He pulled Whill in for a small hug. He held him at arm’s length and smiled. “I be glad you be returned to us lad,.”

“Thanks for everything, Roakore. Thanks for coming for me. I will look for you in the sky.”

Roakore mounted Silverwind, and the two flew off to the northeast, back to Ro’Sar. Whill watched them sail high into the clouds and disappear. After some time, he turned to Aurora.

“What are your plans? Do you wish still to remain with us?”

Aurora stood and nodded. “I do, that is…” She looked to Azzeal and Avriel hesitantly. “That is, if the
Elves would have me in their lands. I know not their rules on foreigners.”

“We would have you, fair warrior of the north,” said Azzeal, and Aurora’s face was one of delight. She breathed in through her nose and straightened, smiling.

“Then I would aid you further in your quest. For your enemy is mine, and your victory as such.”

“Very well then, let us be off.” said Whill.

Dirk shifted in and out of consciousness. He had fallen nearly fifty feet and had broken his legs. His shoulder had been broken by the Dwarf’s stone bird, and his arm was useless. How he had averted the attention of the dragon, he did not know. For as Zhola had circled overhead, Dirk had accepted his fate. But now, suddenly, he was alone. Though he knew that he would surely die here, he would rather it was by his own hand than the jaws of a dragon.

He propped himself up on his good arm until he was in a sitting position. He looked around at the darkened and twisted forest. How long would it take for some nightmare of the twisted forest to find him and eat him?

He took a dart from its small sheath and stabbed himself in the arm. His eyes rolled back as the strong pain-numbing liquid went to work. He sat there for a long while before reaching for a dagger. He thought of Krentz, and tears found his eyes. It was true it seemed.
He would die because he had tried to free his love. Regret that he could not help her after all filled his heart, and he sobbed. He did not care that he would die; he cared only that she would be left in that dark place.

Perhaps Eadon would go good on his word since Dirk had told him of Whill’s location; perhaps not. He would never know.

He said aloud, “I love you, Krentz.” Then he took a steadying breath and lifted the dagger to plunge it into his heart. He thrust the dagger, but it was suddenly stopped by an iron grip.

“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” asked Eadon. “I am afraid I still have many uses for you, my assassin. Perhaps you can kill yourself another time.”

Dirk let out a tired sigh as Eadon began to heal his injuries. “Son of a bitch.”

“I will take that as a thank you,” said Eadon.

Dirk just scowled at the hated Dark Elf.

Whill and his friends followed the southern coast of Uthen-Arden, stopping only at night for a few hours to sleep and hunt. Once the group was well past the city of Del-Oradon, they breathed a little easier. Aurora rode with Whill atop of Avriel and thanked the barbarian gods for her good fortune. She had left her homeland
of Volnoss in an attempt to save her people from the coming war, and it seemed she had found the one who could help her. The sneaky assassin was now out of the picture and along with him, the knowledge of what she had done.

She remembered how the Elf-dragon had heard Dirk’s thoughts. Therefore, she attempted to only think in her native tongue and hoped that would help in keeping her secret from Avriel. She had gained the trust of the group, had proved herself an able ally. She would strike a treaty with Whill, the rightful king of Uthen-Arden, and she would lead her people in victory against the Draggard and the Dark Elves. She needed only to solidify her friendship with Whill and, indeed, Roakore as well. Then she would return to her homeland and challenge the chief of the Timber Wolf clan.

After many days of travel, they came to the borders of Elladrindellia and flew on to the city of Cerushia. Whill had never seen the Elf land, not even on foot. Below him, the land looked much like any other. It had forests and lakes and rivers running through it. Prairies and meadows abounded, along with villages and towns and sprawling cities. It was all these things, but so much more.

There was more green and more gold, more light and more moon. The trees were giants, and the flowers sprang from a dream. There were vines thick as tree trunks and ferns as tall as a horse. Waterfalls abounded
for a stretch of land for most of a day, and Avriel made Whill and Aurora nearly sick, flying up and down them. In her defense, she said that she had only been following Azzeal, and he flew as a dancer in the sky.

They met no resistance as they flew into the heart of the city. Avriel flew them to the same assembly in which Zerafin had been granted his strengthened sword. The council of elders was there, and the vine-covered meeting place was full of Elves. Avriel landed near the stair to the elevated speaking podium.

Whill dismounted and silently walked up the stairs and stopped at the vine podium. He looked out over the crowd of hundreds of whispering Elves. He took up the sword of Adimorda and raised it to the sky.

“I am Whill of Agora! I have found the sword Adromida!”

The End

Dear Reader,

Thank you for purchasing this book. I hope you have enjoyed the adventures of Whill of Agora. I hope that interest in the series allows me to continue the story for a long time to come. If you like the books and wish to follow Whill’s future adventures, please tell everyone you know on Facebook and Twitter and so on. Its fans like you that make all of this possible.

I would love to hear what you thought of the story, so please feel free to join in the conversation at
www.whillofagora.com
.

If you would like, feel free to leave a review of books one and two on
Amazon
.

I am a self-published author and do not have the luxury of a team of promoters at my disposal. You are my team, and I appreciate your efforts and support.

Thanks again, friends, for following Whill this far. I hope to go on many more adventures with you in the future.

I have recently published two children’s books that I think you will find enjoyable. The Sock Gnome Chronicles follow the adventures and exploits of Billy Coat-button. Billy is a sock gnome living within Sockefeller Castle; book one,
Billy Coatbutton and the Wheel of Destiny
, follows Billy as he attempts his first test of mastery to see if he will become a treasure hunter like his father.

Adults and children alike will enjoy this satirical romp into the lives of sock gnomes, while at the same time answering the age-old question, where
do
those missing socks go?

Thank you once again for your support,

With humble appreciation,

Michael James Ploof