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

Roakore’s chest in circular motions. He cleared his mind, focusing his entire being on his friend. Very slowly he tapped the energy within Avriel’s sword. He jolted slightly as he felt the first waves of power flow from the sword and into his body. He had the sudden urge to take from the sword for himself, but he closed his eyes and fought it back. He guided the energy through his body and into Roakore’s chest.

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Zerafin walked over to his sister, who was watching Whill from afar, and spoke to her with his mind.

Tell me you didn’t give him your sword to heal the dwarf.

Avriel smiled mischievously. You think he is not ready?

Of course he is not ready! He has had no training in the ways of healing. Yet you give him your own blade!

She kept watch over Whill, and did not turn to look at her brother. He has healed before. Yes, I know what you will say—he almost killed himself. But I believe he can do this.  I believe in Adimorda, and so I must believe in Whill of Agora. He is our only hope, dear brother. You know this as well as I. And so we must let him do as he will.

Zerafin did not take his eyes from his sister. He knew her heart better than any.

“You love him.” He spoke aloud now.

Slowly she met her brother’s gaze. Avriel could not lie to him, even if she wanted to. She smiled to herself and pondered his statement.

“It seems I do.”

Her brother breathed heavily. “You know what is said about such matters.”

“But do I care?” she snapped back. “Nay. Many elves have forsaken love for law, but to what end? We have hid away for centuries in Elladrindellia, venturing from our given lands only to help in the wars. We—you and I, all of us—have met humans whom we liked, even loved.” She took his arm. “Yes, brother, remember even you have fancied a human woman.”

Zerafin turned on his sister. “And now she is dead! Centuries lie in the wake of her last breath.”

Avriel made her tone soft toward her anguished brother. “That she is, but had you been allowed to teach her, to show her our ways, would she not be here today? I fear we have erred in not allowing such unions. Elves and humans both would be better off now if we had shared more in the past.”

“You forget, this is a law laid down by the elders, our mother among them.”

“Laws change like the seasons. I will one day be an elder. Or you, Zerafin. You have only to take it and the throne of Elladrindellia is yours. Mother wishes it. ”

“You know that I will not! Father may yet be alive, somewhere.”

Avriel looked mournfully upon her brother. “Drindellia fell. Why do you hold on to this...?”

“This what, fantasy? Has Whill not been your fantasy since childhood, a fantasy now come true? So allow me this: I know it may not seem logical, but I feel that our father is alive.”

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Whill dared not open his eyes. Behind his lids he could see the faint blue light. The power surged through him now; it came like a rushing river. The mental dam he had built had been overrun. Roakore’s damaged body was taking all that it could, more than it needed. The dwarf’s chest heaved and his body stiffened. Whill tried with all his might to let go, but he could not. He was but a vessel now, no more in control than a man in an avalanche. He gathered all his mental strength, summoned all his willpower, and with everything in him he screamed to the sword, STOP!

To his amazement, it subsided. He opened his eyes to find Roakore lying still before him. Abram, Rhunis, and an amazed-looking Tarren stared down at him. Whill lifted the sword of Avriel and stared in wonder. Leirva, the sword of the elf maiden of Elladrindellia—he had wielded it. Avriel and Zerafin came over to him.

Avriel offered Whill a smile. “I knew you could do it.” She extended her arm to take the sword.

“You did well,” said Zerafin.

Whill handed over the powerful blade. “What of Roakore?”

Avriel and Zerafin both regarded the dwarf. Avriel laughed. “Well he seems to be fully healed, and then some.”

“Yes, our gruff friend should be awake any moment and full of dragon piss.”

Roakore’s eyes popped open and he jumped to his feet. He jerked his head in all directions, eyeing each of them. He frantically felt his chest and his ribs.

“What in dragon’s hellfire happened here, eh?” He snorted and spat. “No blood, me side don’t hurt, and why do I feel I might explode from within?”

Whill waved off the others, who were starting to giggle. He put an arm around the dwarf and walked him away.

“Roakore, do you remember nothing?”

Roakore eyed the others over his shoulder with a scowl. “I remember—I don’t know. I remember stopping fer a rest and then—”

Whill stopped him. “I offered to help you and you accepted. You did not ask for help, and probably didn’t need it. But I felt obliged to do what I could and I tended to your wounds, minor as they were.”

Roakore felt his ribs again. “I agreed?” He looked back at the others. “Is this the work o’ those two damned elves? They think they need to look over me—aye, me!”

Whill shook his head. “No! No! They did nothing, I swear to you on the blood of my father. I alone tended to you, I alone.”

“That damned Dark elf sent me own weapon back at me. Took a good hit, I did.”

“A hit that would have killed a dragon,” Whill agreed.

Roakore’s scowl slowly left his face. “Yer a good healer,” he said, and went to join the others.

Whill knew that in his own stubborn way, Roakore had just said thank you. A smile spread across his face as he followed the dwarf.

Rhunis and Zerafin were leading the horses back from their drink at the brook. Abram and Rhunis had started a small fire and were preparing what was left of the venison. Whill walked over to Tarren and took the boy by the shoulder.

“Listen, Tarren, I ask a favor of you.”

“Anything.”

Tarren’s tone was so serious, it almost made Whill laugh out loud. He composed a serious face to match. “Do not tell Roakore what you saw. You may not understand, but trust me and give me your word.”

To Whill’s surprise, Tarren winked. “Oh, I understand. If Roakore knew he was healed by elven ways, we wouldn’t hear the end of it. Don’t worry, Whill, your secret’s safe.”

He laughed out loud and rustled Tarren’s hair. “Good lad.”

After a quick meal, the companions were off again. They were many miles from Kell-Torey and had days ahead of them. But the mood was light, the talk merry.

They had passed a few roads branching off from the main road, leading to other villages, but they did not venture down any. Trouble had followed Whill since Fendale, and he did not intend on endangering anyone else. Danger was a shadow that wrapped itself like a cloak around Whill of Agora. He did not know how he could possibly live up to the prophecy. He had barely wrapped his mind around being the son of a king. At moments it was all too much, and he found himself having to mentally stomp out the fires of fear and doubt. It was in those moments that he thought of his new-found friends. If any good at all had come out of the last few days’ revelations, it was the company he now kept. Never had he met dwarf nor elf; never had he seen such fierce warriors.

“You are not such a bad warrior yourself,” said Avriel as she rode by.

Whill smiled at the compliment but quickly realized that Avriel had read his mind. He quickened to ride beside her. “I thought you would not read my mind without permission.”

“And I have not.”

“But what you said—it was along close lines to what I was thinking.”

“I did not read your mind as much as you did the telling.” She smiled. “You were projecting your thoughts of us. Unintentionally, it seems.”

Whill blanched. “You can hear my thoughts if they’re...about you personally?”

Avriel slowly moved her horse closer to Whill’s. “If you are thinking intensely enough about me, or someone, it is sometimes hard for that person to ignore.”

Whill looked away. Great! He thought. She probably already knows. This is so unfair. Dammit, she’ll hear you. Right, relax, Whill. Don’t project, don’t think it. Not that word. Choose another. Dragons! Yes, dragons—big ones, small ones. A dragon flying through the midnight sky against a full moonscape....Avriel astride the dragon upon a velvet saddle, as naked as—damn it, man, shut up!

Whill fell back, thinking of nothing but witch’s warts as he came to ride next to Zerafin.

“You have to teach me how to not project,” he said.

Zerafin smiled. “If you wish. Why? Are you afraid of offending naked dragons?”

Whill gulped and slowly fell back again. It was safest it seemed, to ride beside Abram.

They rode on for the remainder of the day. As night fell, they stopped and made camp once again. They had eaten the remaining venison, to Roakore’s dismay. He had not had it in quite some time and had a keen liking for it. He strode up to Whill and patted him on the back. Whill was almost knocked over by the strong hand.

“C’mon then, lad, let’s get us all some dinner.”

Whill tied off his horse and retrieved his bow. “Night hunting?”

Roakore scoffed. “Is it night? I see fine no matter the light. I was raised within a mountain, ye remember.”

They ventured into the dense forest under faint, cloud-covered moonlight for more than ten minutes. Roakore was, Whill discovered, following a game trail. He came to a stop, lifted his broad nose in the air, and took a long slow sniff.

“Hmm. Somethin’s about.” He went left and Whill followed. After a minute they came to a clearing where a small herd of deer sat in the grass. Roakore crouched and cursed the wind under his breath.

“No time fer stealth, lad. The wind’ll give us away soon, don’t ye doubt.”

Whill strung his bow and took aim at the closest deer. Roakore grabbed his arm gently.

“Let me, laddie,” said Roakore, and he started his stone bird a-whirling.

The deer became aware of the hunters as the soft whoop of the weapon resonated through the night air. The stone bird came in with a blur as the deer got to their feet and began to leap into the woods. The stones caught one round the neck, a buck with a magnificent set of antlers, it fell to the ground and moved no more.

“Bahaha! Now that’s how it’s done, laddie!”

They returned to camp to find that a fire had been started. Roakore found a suitable stone to work on and washed it off before spreading