Whill of Agora: Book 1 - Michael Ploof (e book reader for pc .TXT) 📗

in his mind, he wondered if there was indeed a possibility that it would ever fall to the Draggard. After all, the beasts had conquered the elves of Drindellia. True, the armies of Agora were strong—and the navies stronger still—but the elves had powers that humans did not; if they could be defeated by the Draggard, then what chance did humans have?

Though the sky was clear and the night was calm, Whill was troubled. Suddenly he heard a loud banging noise that jolted him from his trance. Abram appeared from below the deck, swearing loudly and rubbing his head. Whill laughed. “You alright, old man?”

“The damned ceiling down there was made for a dwarf. I swear, if it were any lower I would have to crawl around like a fragging dog.”

“Well, Mr. Brightside, at least you’ve still a head to hit things on—it’s got to be the hardest head this side of the Thendor Plains,” Whill said, mocking Abram’s voice, which he happened to be very good at.

“Very funny.” Abram checked his fingers for blood.

“If you like, I could try to find you an iceberg to bring down the swelling.”

Abram chuckled. “Alright, jester, why don’t you get some rest. I’ll take over for the rest of the night.”

Whill gave Abram a pat on the back as he took over the wheel. He went below deck to the sleeping quarters and crossed the dark room with his arms outstretched. Suddenly he banged his head on a low beam. A flash of light appeared before his eyes and he became dizzy. Sharp pain shot from his throbbing forehead as he heard Abram burst into a fit of laughter above.

“Look out for that beam! My father always said what comes around goes around. You all right, boy?”

“Never better,” Whill grumbled as he found the cot. “Good night.”

Chapter 8 Diamonds and Greed

“Wake up, Whill, we have trouble!”

Abram shook Whill out of his quiet and dreamless sleep. He sat straight up in the cot, alert and ready. “What is it?”

“Come above.” Abram started for the steps.

Whill followed Abram to the deck and looked at the sails and then the ocean with wonder as the older man untied rope holding the wheel steady. “What’s wrong?”

Abram pointed to the rear of the ship. “There.”

Whill followed Abram’s finger toward the horizon. With the morning sun just rising in the east, it was not hard to see the faint dot. “A ship, I presume?”

Abram nodded, troubled. “I noticed it not an hour ago. Whoever they are, they have been following our course steady, and they’re gaining.”

“Pirates!” Whill spat over the side of the boat.

“Yes. Followed us from Fendale, I imagine.” He slammed his hand down hard on the rail. “Damn, but I am a fool. We are not prepared for this.”

“Can we outrun them?” Whill asked.

Abram answered bluntly. “No. This ship is no match for theirs.” He paused. “We could sail toward shore and try to make land in time.” He pointed toward the coast, which was nothing more than a phantom beyond the fog.

“But broad cliffs line those shores for miles. Our only option is to fight.” Whill looked at the ship upon the horizon, already growing larger. “What if we just give them the diamonds? That’s what they want.”

“Pirates have a code, as you know: leave no man alive whom you have wronged. They will take what they want and kill us without hesitation.”

“Then what chance do we stand?”

Abram smiled at him. “None but hope, my friend—hope that our path is not destined to end here. That is all we have.”

Whill was not encouraged by Abram’s speech. “We should start tossing everything we don’t need!”

“That will give us a little more speed and a little more time, but not enough. Let us prepare for battle.” Abram loaded his quiver with arrows. Whill went below and donned his armor from the tournament. He also grabbed the armor he had bought for Abram and brought it up to the deck.

“I was going to give this to you yesterday, but we left in such a hurry I didn’t have a chance.” He held out the bag.

Abram emptied it and marveled at the silver armor. He gave Whill a one-armed hug and pat on the back. “Thank you, Whill. Not only is this a wonderful gift, but it could’ve come at no better time.”

The hours passed and the ship gained steadily on them. Soon it was not more than a half-mile away. Whill could now see that it was a black ship with all-black sails—but for a large dragon symbol outlined in white at the center of each.

“That can’t be,” Whill gasped.

“I’m afraid it is—The Black Dragon.”

Whill knew of the Black Dragon, as did most people living in Agora. The ship and its captain, the notorious pirate Cirrosa, had once been part of the Arden navy. Their last mission had been to escort a merchant ship sailing from the port city of Hentaro. Destined for Fendale, the cargo had been a wealth of diamonds and jewels—over twenty chests. After sailing from Hentaro, neither the Black Dragon nor the merchant vessel were seen again. It was rumored that the ships were lost to a great storm or destroyed by dragons, but when a vessel identical to the Black Dragon was reported to have been plundering ships, it became clear to the king and people of Arden that it was indeed Captain Cirrosa and his crew. Since then, Cirrosa had become the most feared and wanted pirate to sail the great oceans of Agora.

Abram scowled at the approaching ship. “We have but one advantage: the element of surprise.”

Whill knew exactly what Abram had in mind and he quickly went to work. From one of his bags he retrieved a length of bandage cloth. He tore it into long thin strips and wound them around the end of his arrows. Next he dismantled a lantern, opening it at the basin so that he could dip the arrows into the oil. He and Abram quickly converted ten arrows in this manner. Finally, Abram lit a torch and they were ready for their surprise attack, feeble though it might be. There was nothing to do now but wait.

When the Dragon seemed to Whill to be about two hundred yards away. He nodded to Abram, gesturing for him to light his arrow. With the tip of his arrow ablaze, Whill steadily pulled back on the bow as he aimed at a point high in the sky. Bringing the bowstring all the way back until the feather of the arrow touched his cheek, he fired. The blazing arrow flew high into the sky in a large arch and began its descent upon the ship. Instead of hitting the sails, it missed and landed on the deck of the vessel. Whill and Abram could hear someone cursing and screaming obscenities, and assumed it was Captain Cirrosa ordering his men to put out the small blaze. As the first arrow hit, though, Whill was ready with another. Abram lit this one in the same fashion and Whill recalculated his shot. The second arrow took flight and found its target. It hit the closest sail in a small burst of flame, which quickly began to spread. Men swung from ropes, trying to douse the fire with buckets of water. The captain’s barked orders became more urgent now, and Whill heard him yelling, “Drop sail, you useless fish turds, drop sail!”

Before the crew of the Dragon could comply, Whill shot another arrow at the same sail, this time hitting higher than before. He followed with two more aimed at the deck of the ship. Still, the Dragon had gained enough that Whill could see a small group of archers preparing to fire upon them. He let loose another arrow, aiming this time directly at them. The men saw it coming and ducked out of the way as the arrow stuck in the mainmast, spraying liquid fire on the surrounding ship. They quickly resurfaced, though, and shot a barrage of their own arrows. Whill yelled, “Get down!” and ducked in the stern as they struck the deck.

Not daring to peek over the side of the ship, Whill watched as Abram abandoned the torch and went for his own bow, which lay beside him. He readied an arrow and said, “Alright, when they get—” but his words were interrupted by a deafening crash as the Black Dragon rammed them at the starboard rear. Huddled close to stern, Whill and Abram were now smashed hard against it from the great force of the collision. As they recovered from the blow, they saw the bow of the Dragon come into view. It loomed high over Old Charlotte and seemed ten times as broad. Abram scrambled into a shooting position, as did Whill, and as the archers came into view, the pair took down two of them with simultaneous shots. Their fellow archers cursed them as they let their own arrows fly. Anticipating the return fire, and with no immediate cover, Abram grabbed Whill and ran for the sleeping quarters. Arrows fell right where they had been, and more followed close at their heels. Abram and Whill had instinctively notched another arrow each, and took the opportunity to fire before the archers could again. They stopped just long enough to get off a clear shot, and then quickly closed the distance to the stairs as two bodies fell to their deck from above.

Whill and Abram hurried down and took cover. Whill stood closest to the opening. “That’s one hell of a large ship,” he said as arrows hit the back wall.

Abram nodded as he readied another arrow.

Whill did the same. “There must be dozens of men aboard.”

“Aye. And here they come.”

Whill heard what could only be large ropes hitting the deck. Abram grabbed his arm and switched places with him.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s no time to bicker.” Abram abandoned his cover, dropped to his knees, and fired three arrows in rapid succession. Whill heard a loud thud as at least one body hit the deck. Abram retreated within the stairway once again and strung another arrow.

“There are seven ropes over the side of the Dragon and men are filing down one after another. We can’t hide here forever. Let’s do the unexpected and meet them head on, my boy. Are you up for a good fight?”

Before Whill could answer, Abram ran out into the opening, firing arrows as he went. Whill followed suit and ran screaming onto the deck. At least twenty men were now descending upon the ship down the long ropes. Whill shot at the men highest of them, hoping they would take some of their fellow seamen with them as they fell. He took up his position next to Abram and they took down two more men. Though they were excellent bowmen, the pirates were too many, and soon they covered the deck. Some had swords, while others brandished a long knife in each hand. Still others carried hatchets and maces. The men didn’t look anything like Whill thought pirates might. They wore rags for clothes and looked very thin, as if they hadn’t eaten for weeks. Two men charged forward and were quickly