Whill of Agora: Book 02 - A Quest of Kings (33 page)

Whill heard a mournful humming from Avriel, and looking to her, he saw large tears quivering upon her dragon eyes. She bent her head in a bow, and the dragon tears fell to the stone below. In her shimmering orbs, Whill could see his silhouette and the moon. He did not know what to say to console her, so he said nothing and simply put a hand upon her scales.

“Alright, where is this sword then, dragon?” Roakore asked gruffly, hiding a small sniffle.

“I do not know,” Zhola answered. Everyone turned to look at the giant red.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” asked Whill.

Zhola looked to the southern horizon. “A half day’s flight that way leads to the ancient Elven city of Vollorynn.
Within the city is a great library, within the library a book, and within the book a clue.”

“You hid the truth even from yourself so that you could never give it away against your will,” said Dirk impressed.

“Correct, and that is the path. We leave at first light.”

They made no fire, and all but Zhola and Azzeal retired to the cave. Whill sat away from the others near to Avriel, and he looked deep into the dark pools of her eyes. It was hard to think of her in there, trapped in a foreign body and so far from her true form. She was yet another one of Eadon’s bargaining chips, as Abram had once told him she may be—Abram, his mentor, his father, his brother, and friend. Whill felt a vast emptiness in his heart. Though he had come to accept that Abram was dead during his torture, losing Abram hurt no less the second time.

The weight of Rhunis’s death weighed upon his heart also. The old, scarred knight had been a good friend and ally. Whill thought back on the bar fight they had found themselves in and chuckled. Avriel hummed deep in her chest and turned her weary head from rest. “What is it?”

“Just remembering the bar fight in Kell-Torrey and the look on those thugs’ faces when you healed Parpous Hellios’s severed arm.” He laughed.

Avriel’s dragon laugh came out as a melodic hum and growl, vibrating Whill’s entire body. “I don’t recall
it being much of a fight,” she purred. “Roakore was throwing those men around like children.”

Whill laughed harder still at the memory. It felt good to laugh, and he dove into the emotions that came with it. His laughter slowly turned into tears as memories of the times shared with Abram and Rhunis flowed through his mind. Avriel’s voice came with a humming, soft and deep. “Rejoice in the memories of the fallen. Remember them always and smile. But do not let your own pain tarnish memories that should warm the heart. You must learn to control your emotions. You are a slave to your pain. You are no more free from Eadon’s chains now than you were while in his clutches. You are addicted to your pain.”

“I am not addicted to my pain! Do you even feel as we do? Elves have their ways, and we have ours…I have mine!” Whill lashed out.

“We feel pain as you do—though we understand that to allow it to consume us is to relive the pains of the past anew. Too often people take on the role of the victim and wallow in their torment for ages. If you truly want to heal your mind, you must let go.”

Whill knew her words to be true; they resonated verity. Defeated, he pulled himself together and attempted to let go. He delved deep into the corners of his own mind, seeking out the path to the source of the pain, the rage. Following his thoughts and feelings backward through his mind, he came to early memories of his
childhood. He had first felt the helpless rage as a young boy, left behind time after time by his father figure. He liked living with his aunt and was adored by his female cousins, but he longed to follow Abram into the wide world.

There, deep in his memories, were the roots of his pain and rage. Frustration at being too small to come along, pain at learning that Abram was not his father, and the simmering rage, carried for nearly two decades, because Abram would not tell him his lineage. Whill realized that a part of himself almost hated Abram for his secrets, for his strict training schedule, and for pushing Whill so hard. Deep within the roots of his primal pain, far beyond memory or reason, was a deep, dark spark of rage and sorrow and injustice: It was the memory of being cut from the bliss of his mother’s womb by a blade and being forced into a cold and dangerous world.

Whill shuddered, and he released a breath as though he had been holding it forever. The revelation disappeared in an instant, like a candle blown out, leaving only a floating river of smoke to hint at the truth of the flame.

You must forgive him Whill. You must forgive yourself, and you must forgive the world
.

Once again, Whill knew the truth of her words, and he tried to let go of his pain. He forgave all of the causes of it. He immediately felt a weight lifting from him, and he felt a peace he had not known since his years spent
wandering the wilds of Agora with Abram. He let go. But the roots of his consciousness were no easier to dig up than those of a great oak. These roots were at the core of who he was; they were his ego’s identity.

Dirk rested against the wall of the cavern and watched Whill and the dragon from behind his enchanted hood. To anyone looking at him, he appeared to be sleeping. With the jewels upon his earlobes, he listened to their conversation. It was apparent that Whill was an emotional wreck. Though it was an understandable reaction for a person that had lost friends, Dirk did not find it acceptable in a warrior of legend. The young man appeared weak to Dirk, and had he not seen Whill in battle, he would be inclined to write the legends off as rubbish. Whill had laughed one minute and cried the next—a fact that frustrated Dirk all the more. The idea that Whill could somehow defeat Eadon was laughable. Whill was dangerous without some ancient sword of power; Dirk could not imagine the destruction that would be wrought if Whill possessed such an outlet for his festering insanity. He felt no safer imagining Whill with the sword than he did Eadon, and he would do what it took to free Krentz.

He did not care for the world’s problems—for while people lived there would always be struggle. Whether kings or emperors or Dark Elves from foreign shores, someone would always be there to enslave humans in
their own stupidity. Dirk was not about to take on the mantle of being a hero to the blind masses. He held loyalty only to Krentz and to himself, and only for himself and her would he fight.

Dirk bathed himself in his resolve but could not think himself out of one realization. The world beyond the cavern’s mouth was one of death and destruction; the wasted land had been reduced to the burning embers of Eadon’s malice. Part of him knew that Drindellia’s fate would become Agora’s and that many would die. Yet another part of him argued that those same people would die eventually anyway, and maybe for the better—should their religions prove true. Who was he to attempt to interfere in a fight for people that would not fight for themselves?

A voice came into his mind so suddenly and clearly that he jumped, startled.
I see you seeing me, assassin. Your hood does not hide your eyes from me. Why do you study Whill so?

Dirk quickly composed himself and directed his thought at the dragon as he had learned to mind speak with Krentz. His thought voice came calm and steady.
Why not use your mental abilities to glean the answer from my thoughts?
he asked and enjoyed the dragon’s hesitance to answer.

He had deflected her question and boldly put her on her toes with his own. The dragon looked him in the eye, though his hood fell to his mouth. Dirk fought his dragon fear and stared back, still as stone. He felt her
mind nudge his and fought the panic of his thoughts being intruded upon. Eadon had done it to him, and it had been the most unpleasant feeling the assassin had ever felt. But Dirk knew also that Avriel was an Elf of conviction and belief—she was of the type that took her people’s laws as the gospel. She would not invade his mind.

He repressed a shudder as he stared into the dragon’s eyes and fought for control of his mental imagery. If Avriel did read his thoughts and deciphered that he intended to steal the blade and betray them all, he would be eaten whole. Dirk chastised himself for thinking about that which he was trying not to think about; that was the problem with fighting mental projection. Avriel did not even have to invade Dirk’s mind if she could get him to project his secrets at her. Dirk closed his eyes and let Avriel fly from his mind as he forgot all but Krentz. It was the thought of her tattooed and studded face in the moonlight that he used to ground his mind. He easily fell into thoughts of her and was no longer in danger of divulging his secrets to Avriel.

You love this woman, this Dark Elf you think of so?

Dirk was annoyed that she had seen his mental projection of Krentz, but it was better he projected that than his other secrets.

She is not what you think; she is not like her people
, he responded.

The white dragon stared into his eyes, unblinking.
Are you like her people? You have many Elven trinkets about
you, both light and dark. Were they given as gifts? If so, then you are the friend of my enemy; if they were stolen by you, then you are indeed skilled
.

Dirk answered smoothly with his mind.
A little of both, if you must know, Elf-dragon, but I am not the friend of your enemy. My enemy is Eadon and his devilish creations
.

Avriel continued to stare into Dirk’s hidden eyes. For a long moment, she did not speak. Dirk went back to thinking of nothing but Krentz, so much so that after a few minutes, Avriel’s sweet, Elven voice startled him, and he nearly jumped.

He is your enemy because of this Dark Elf woman you love so? What has he done to her?
she asked.

Eadon holds her captive in his dungeons
, he answered softly.

Her voice changed, and Dirk knew that she had seen a hole in his story.
Whill told me in conversation that you had been arrested for fighting with guards and protesting the king. You shouted the name Whill of Agora throughout the streets. But it seems that you truly allowed yourself to be caught so that you could what? Try to free your lover?

Yes
. Dirk answered truthfully as his mind drifted to when he had seen her last, chained to the ceiling in enchanted, stinging bonds, her energy sapped, and her clothes shorn. They had lost themselves in a kiss of reunion and promise, and they had held each other so tightly that not a hurricane would have separated them. He could still feel her firm body pressed against his,
her lithe legs wrapped tightly around his hips…Before he could think too far into the scenario and reveal his secret loyalty; Dirk snapped out of his enchantment and answered the accusation.

It is a little of both, Elf-dragon. I believe in Whill’s cause, and I mean to free my Kr—I will see her free no matter the cost. It is to Whill that I look for help in my cause, because his cause is mine. I would see her freed as I would see Whill help us all to free ourselves from the bonds of oppression
.

Avriel said nothing more that night and Dirk believed her to be convinced, for he had told her the truth. A part of him did believe that Whill was in the right and that his cause for freedom was just and noble. Dirk knew it to be true, but when it came to the life of his lover, his most true friend; he would choose her over the world. Besides that, he had no idea to what extent Eadon’s powers went. He knew not if the Dark Elf could somehow scry him. If he diverted at all from his mission, Krentz would be killed, of that much Dirk was sure.

Now that Avriel’s curiosity had been sated, he focused his mind on another potential threat to his mission, Aurora. He had seen her throw the Draggard spear that had fatally wounded Abram, and he had been intrigued by her since. What was her mission? Surely she had been recruited by Eadon also, though he had not mentioned it to Dirk. It occurred to Dirk that she might have the same quest and that she may not only be in the way but might also be his competition. If he wanted her out of
the way, it would be easiest to simply kill her with a poison dart while she slept. But Dirk never did anything without gaining from it the maximum reward for his effort, and he could do much to gain the trust of the others if he revealed to them that it was she that was a spy.

Nearer to the entrance than anyone else, Aurora rested but dozed for only a few minutes at a time. The energy that coursed through her kept her steadily at maximum efficiency. Her muscles were hard as stone when relaxed, and her tendons were ready to spring into action. She lay there yearning for battle, hoping that they would find some reason to have to draw unholy blood. The land around her must have been teeming with dark creatures of every sort, she imagined. She waited anxiously for morning and their flight into the ruined city of the Elves.

She had failed Eadon when she failed to kill Whill’s mentor, Abram. And she knew that her people were indeed doomed. Her only hope in salvaging the situation and turning it to her favor was to gain the favor of Whill and his Dwarf friend and the Elf-dragon. She would try to save one of their lives, perhaps, or kill enough of the enemy to gain their respect and garner their favor. The Dwarf and the Elf-dragon she had realized were Whill’s good friends, and the strange leaf-clad Elf was known by the Elf-dragon. The only ones whom no one really knew were the shadowy killer, Dirk, and herself.

She did not trust the man for his dark attire and obviously devious ways, as he was like a black lynx stealing chicken eggs in the night. She wondered briefly if he was also a spy of Eadon’s. If so, she would gain much respect by flushing him out publicly.

You tried to kill the man’s friend, and now you will try to gain his friendship in return. If not for Whill and his friends and the escape upon a dragon, you would be dead or left to a life of fighting like a dog
.

I would have escaped
, she argued with herself.

Maybe, maybe not, but you did escape, thanks to Whill
, the other part of her mind countered.

Whill healed the old man and cheated me of my prize!