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

the room. Before he had gone more than five steps into the well-lit chamber, a young dwarf stopped sparring and slammed his fist to his chest. He began to announce the arrival of their great leader, but the proclamation was cut short as his opponent’s wooden axe caught him in the side of the head and sent him crashing to the floor. Roakore laughed, and as he walked over to the dazed dwarf, the other one took up the cheer instead: “Roakore has returned!”

His words were taken up and echoed throughout the chamber until every dwarf had slammed his chest and bowed low, silently waiting for Roakore to speak. The dazed dwarf made an utterly miserable sound as he tried to focus on his leader. Roakore took him by the arm and helped him to stand. The young dwarf shook his head and slammed his chest, almost knocking himself to the ground.

Knowing that he now had the attention of more than a thousand young fighters, Roakore spoke loudly so all could hear. “What is yer name, boy?”

The young dwarf eyed him through heavy blinks and slightly crossed eyes. “Haldegoz,” he answered groggily.

“Well, young Haldegoz, can ye tell me why it be ye lost this fight?”

Haldegoz scrunched up his thick eyebrows and scratched his short beard. “I saw ye, good king—that is—ye, Roakore.” He cowered at his near mistake. Every dwarf knew that Roakore had prohibited anyone from calling him king until he stood before his people within the chambers of the Ebony Mountains—upon the throne of his forefathers.

Roakore ignored the slip and instead scowled at the surrounding crowd. “In warfare there ain’t no time fer pleasantries, there ain’t no time fer formality! In warfare there ain’t no rules but one: if ye don’t kill yer opponent, he’ll kill ye! Haldegoz was defeated because he let his concentration slip, he let down his guard. In the midst o’ battle, to lose yer concentration be to lose yer life. Never let down yer guard, never relent, and never take yer eyes from yer enemy!”

He patted the young dwarf on the back and raised his arms. “Now let us see what Haldegoz’s opponent has learned!” He took up Haldegoz’s wooden axe and eyed the dwarf he had been fighting. “What is yer name, lad?”

The slightly older boy puffed out his chest and proclaimed, “I be Ky’Drock, son o’ Ky’Kronn.”

Roakore slammed his chest and bowed slightly, purposefully, though he owed the young dwarf no such sign of respect. Ky’Drock beamed as he returned the gesture. It was just what Roakore had wanted. In a flash he was upon the bowing dwarf, striking hard with his wooden axe. Ky’Drock’s expression turned from sheer delight to horror as the rightful king of the Ebony Mountains attacked. The lad barely blocked the massive blows as he tried to stay on his feet. Roakore did not relent; he swung low, then high, then straight down from above. To his delight, the young warrior met him blow for blow.

After a while, Ky’Drock found his rhythm and took the offensive. Roakore intentionally weakened his own defenses until it appeared as though he could barely fend off the attack. Ky’Drock gained confidence with every strike. When he finally became too cocky, his master stepped up the fight. As a heavy blow came down from overhead, Roakore stepped aside and let the wooden axe hit the floor. He then quickly brought his own axe over top, pinning it to the ground. With his left fist he gave the young lad—who was still bent over, clutching his axe handle with a look of surprise—a strong backhand to the face. After a few more, Ky’Drock fell to his knees, and Roakore swung his axe at the lad’s face. Ky’Drock let go of his weapon and rolled out of the way, before the lad could get up, though, Roakore came out of his spin swinging, and sent him rolling away again. Ky’Drock rolled away three more times as Roakore continued to swing, and then quickly reversed his spin towards his opponent’s legs. He kicked Roakore hard in the gut—but the skilled dwarf just spun away, absorbing the force.

No matter, Ky’Drock was on his feet in an instant. He retrieved his weapon, and charged in hard. He swung from overhead and then the side. Both attacks were parried.  Next he went for the feet, but his master was too quick. Roakore leapt over the axe and came in hard as Ky’Drock’s momentum spun the young dwarf to the side. The mighty dwarf struck him behind the knee, forcing him down onto it, and then spun in the opposite direction. The ensuing blow was so powerful that, even though Ky’Drock blocked it, he went flying onto his back.

Roakore chopped at Ky’Drock’s legs, but the energetic dwarf proved agile, indeed, as he somersaulted backward into position—axe ready. Then Roakore came on full force, keeping the lad on his heels. Left, right, left, overhead, right: the onslaught came. Finally, Roakore feinted right and Ky’Drock twirled left. Before the young dwarf knew what happened, he had been struck in the side, and had his legs swept out from under him. Roakore spun again and stopped his wooden axe an inch from Ky’Drock’s neck.

“Yer dead.”

The astonished dwarf only stared and gulped. Roakore lent the lad a hand, with a heavy pat on the back, and handed Haldegoz his axe. He addressed the on looking crowd.

“Me good dwarves o’ the Ro’Sar Mountains! Hard ye have all trained these long years. Before me now I see skilled warriors, dedicated fighters: a great tribute to our fallen kin. Let me say that each o’ yer fallen fathers smiles down upon ye this day from the great Mountain o’ the Gods! Long has been our road—and stained in blood it be—but we finally reach the end. A war is coming, one that’ll include all kingdoms o’ Agora! Our part will be one o’ great importance. Not only will we take back what be rightfully ours, but we will rid the world o’ a great evil.”

The chamber erupted in cheers. The deep, booming voices of the thousand dwarves was deafening.

“But be knowin’ this: we must not underestimate our enemy! Fer a trusted source tells me that a queen Draggard now inhabits our lost mountain.” Roakore spat at the mention of the beasts, as did hundreds of his followers. “We may be facing an army o’ over a hundred thousand!”

Roakore watched closely as many hushed conversations broke out. On the faces of his followers he saw surprise, anger, and confusion, but he did not see fear.

“But, me brave warriors, we be not alone! When the time comes, our kin’ll march with us—from Ky’Dren and the Elgar Mountains to the east.” He raised his voice so that his next statement echoed loudly throughout the chamber. “An’ let it be known now: the march o’ the three clans o’ the dwarves will be echoed in song fer all eternity! The great deeds we do in the name o’ our fathers will live on in our sons fer all time. We will reclaim our mountain, we will defeat the Draggard, and we will bleed with wide smiles in the faces o’ our enemy. Victory, glory, our home: will soon be ours!”

The chamber roared. The cheers and the stomping boots of the excited dwarves were so great, they could be felt by Whill and Abram far down the long corridors of Dy’Kore.

––––––––

There came a knock at Abram’s door, and Ky’Ell entered. “Are ye ready for a tour o’ me great city, then?”

They followed the barrel-chested king through the many halls and chambers of Dy’Kore. After descending a number of stairs they came to the great under-city. Huge furnaces roared on all sides as they walked through. Thousands of dwarves were hard at work shoveling coal into the large pyres, or wheeling barrels of it from adjoined tunnels. The heat was almost unbearable for Whill, and after only a few minutes his brow dripped with sweat. Steel, iron, gold and silver were melted down to be reshaped by the great smiths of the city. Next to each furnace was at least one work station; hundreds of smiths banged away tirelessly, crafting goblets, jewelry, weapons and armor.

It took almost five minutes to walk the length of the furnace room, and though Whill was amazed at what he had seen, he was relieved to be out of the grueling heat. The next stop was an entrance to the mines. The areas close to the main under-city had been milked dry centuries before, so they had to follow Ky’Ell for almost half an hour, taking many turns in the maze of tunnels, before finally coming to the current mines. He handed both men a lantern and Whill gasped aloud as they entered a rich tunnel. The walls on both sides gleamed and shimmered as the light shone on the many veins of gold within the rock.

“This tunnel were cut not a month ago,” the king boasted. “The gold veins go on into the stone fer thirty feet, as far as we can yet see. The devils tried to hide it away forever, they did, but we found it. We always do, fer the glory o’ our gods.”

Whill knew that, by “devils”, the king was referring to the dragons. It was said by dwarf religion that, in the beginning, there were two kinds of gods. The Dwarnevly—the good gods—had created the beauty of the world: gold, silver, diamonds, and jewels. The Dargandae—the dragons—were insanely jealous, for until then, they themselves had been the most magnificent beings in all the world. A great war ensued. The dragons, unable to destroy the beauty of the Dwarnevly works, hid the treasures instead. Deep in the earth and mountains they buried it, never again to be seen. And so the dwarves had been created—to retrieve and spread again the great beauty of the Dwarnevly’s creations throughout the world.

When Whill had first heard the many stories of the dwarves from Abram, he had been more than skeptical and thought their beliefs rather silly; but after what he had experienced in the last few weeks, he wasn’t sure what he believed anymore.

After returning from the mines and passing once again through the hot furnace chamber, the king led Whill and Abram above the under-city to the Chamber of Treasures. This chamber, aptly named, was the largest and most breathtaking Whill had yet seen. Here were some of the most beautiful artifacts the dwarves had ever crafted. The room was brightly lit with golden chandeliers and hundreds of torches, positioned in such a way that not a shadow could be seen in the vast room. The walls, floor, and ceiling aided in the effect, for they were covered with diamond dust. Millions of sparkles caught Whill’s eye from every direction as Ky’Ell led them deeper into the magnificent chamber. The crowns of each of the many kings were set upon marvelous pillars, in order from Ky’Dren down, along the right side of the room. Whill could hardly believe that he was looking upon the actual crowns worn by so many ancient dwarven kings, and he realized he was one of few humans to lay eyes on these priceless treasures.

To the left of the crowns were various other treasures, many crafted by a king or his sons, or by one of the many famous smiths of Ky’Dren. Great axes and hatchets, war hammers, and maces of old stood proudly on display, along with magnificent suits of armor adorned in jewels and plated in silver and