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

his door on the right. He realized that his servant literally sat waiting instruction.

“Have you been waiting here all night?”

“Of course I have, sir.”

“And this is where you will wait until I call.”

“Of course, sir, unless I require bodily relief, for which of course I will ask permission.”

“You don’t have to do that. I mean, I will get along fine. You need not spend your days and nights waiting on me.”

Johanah looked puzzled, even hurt. “But I must, sir. I have been ordered to serve you and the lad Tarren as long as you sleep within these walls.” He bowed his head sadly and took a deep breath. “I can assure you, my age in no way inhibits my duties. My family has served the kings for seven generations, sir. We are the best at what we do, renowned even. Please do not send me away, good sir. I will serve you well, I promise.”

Whill put up a defensive hand. “No, no, it’s not that. I am sure you are excellent at what you do. It is just...I am not used to such treatment.”

Johanah’s head was bowed in shame, his eyes on the floor. Whill knew he had upset the old man. He put a hand upon Johanah’s shoulder and said what he knew he must to give the man his dignity once again.

“I am sure you will serve me well, Johanah. I am glad to have one such as you in my service. Forgive my ignorance in such matters.”

Johanah lit up once again. “Thank you, good sir, but it is not my place to forgive you for anything, only to thank you.”

Whill nodded with a half-hearted smile. This would take some getting used to.

“Do you or the lad require anything at this time, good sir?”

Whill thought for a moment. What would someone of his apparent stature ask of a servant? “We could use fresh bath water, and our clothes need to be washed. Some fruit and eggs and bread would do also, please.”

Johanah visibly cringed at the word please, and Whill made the connection. One did not say please to a servant.

“It is now seven in the morning. The king asks that you and your friends join him for breakfast at nine. Shall I send confirmation?”

“You shall.”

Johanah smiled and bowed again. “Very well, good sir, I shall send confirmation and return to start your bath water.” With that he turned on his heel and swiftly made his way down the hall.

Whill sighed and returned to his room and a sleeping Tarren. He had not taken the time the night before to look around his room, so now he did.

The room before him was immense. It boasted white marble floors and walls, with a twenty-foot-high ceiling. The bed in which he had slept and Tarren now slept in was huge. It looked as though it could sleep ten, with its numerous blue and purple silk pillows and thick blankets. The headboard was wooden, as were the posts, which held a thin blue fabric that hung down on all sides and matched the bed decor. The banners of both Eldalon and Kell-Torey hung upon the wall to the right. Next to the bed was a wardrobe that boasted numerous dressers and shelves. Whill found that his traveling pack and weapons lay within, untouched. To the right of the bed and closet, adjacent the wall from which the banners hung, was an opening to another room. This room, like the other, was crafted with marble floors and walls. To the right was a large bathtub built up from the floor.

Whill returned to the bedroom and walked out onto the balcony and gazed at the courtyard below. The morning sun had risen and its bright light now fell upon a marvelous garden of early-blooming flowers of every color.

Beautiful, is it not? Said a voice within his mind, the voice of Avriel. Whill turned right, then left, and saw her twenty feet away, standing on her own identical balcony. Gone were her traveling clothes, replaced by a thin white silken robe opened slightly in the front, revealing more than Avriel may have intended. Whill was left speechless, mind and mouth alike, at the sight of her. He felt his face flush and a strange heat overcame him as he looked upon the elf maiden. The sun’s light pierced the robe, making it all but translucent. Whill was paralyzed in the midst of Avriel’s well-proportioned beauty.

I spoke of the garden, came Avriel’s voice with a laugh. Embarrassed, he turned his head quickly to regard the flowers. When he looked once again to Avriel’s balcony, she was gone.

After a bath and change of clothes, Whill was led by Johanah to the king’s dining room. The room was no less than Whill would expect from the dining hall of the king. Massive chandeliers hung from the cathedral ceiling, and the floor was highly polished. The walls were of wood—detailed and masterfully carved; swirling patterns bordered intricate artwork. The table was no less beautiful, long and thin, with large, well-crafted chairs. It could seat more than twenty comfortably, though only two were seated there this morning: King Mathus and Abram.

Johanah bowed to the king. “I give you Whill of Agora, my good king.”

With that he turned and left, closing the large oak door behind him. King Mathus rose from his seat and walked towards Whill. Abram remained seated to the left of the king, pipe held between grinning lips

“Whill. How eager I have been to meet you.”

“And I you, King Mathus.”

The king shook Whill’s hand firmly for a moment and looked over his features. “You have your mother’s eyes,” he said. Then he released Whill’s hand and gestured to the seat at his right.

“Please, you must be famished. Have a seat and we shall dine and talk. A grand adventure you have had since your stay in Fendale, I hear.”

Whill took his seat, as did Mathus. With a snap of the king’s fingers, a door opposite the one Whill had entered through opened. Two female servants entered. One pushed a wheeled cart of many covered dishes, while the other one brought a variety of beverages. The servant with the food removed the lid of each serving plate before putting it on the table. Whill’s mouth watered as he realized how hungry he really was. Upon the table was laid fruit, boiled eggs, thick red steak, pork belly, bread, and white cheese. The servant with the beverages then added pitchers of milk, cider, water, and wine. The servants gave a low bow.

“That will be all,” said the king with a nod and a smile, and the servants exited. He poured himself a glass of milk. “Please help yourselves. I would have them serve us our plates, but I would rather be alone just now.”

Whill took a little of everything, and was relieved when Abram and King Mathus did the same.

“Rhunis tells me that you had a run-in with a Dark elf, of all things. Can you imagine, in Eldalon?”

Whill swallowed his food and cleared his throat. “That among other things.”

The king nodded. “Yes, among others. Rumor has it the two of you defeated Captain Cirrosa. I must hear that story.”

Whill raised an eyebrow at Abram, who was enjoying a bit of steak. “Abram is the storyteller, I’m afraid.”

“That he is indeed,” Mathus agreed.

Over the next hour Abram, with Whill’s help, recounted the many days since they had so hastily left Fendale; the fight with Captain Cirrosa, the journey to the mountains, the meeting of Roakore, and the battle with the Draggard. Then had come the battle of Sherna and the meeting of the elves, and finally the fight on the road to Kell-Torey. The king listened intently, asking few questions. He seemed angered by the battle of Sherna, and joyous to hear of the Draggard defeat. Finally the tale was over. Abram sat back and lit his pipe.

The king sat in contemplation for a moment. “It is a miracle that you all made it through unharmed, especially the boy Tarren. Not many ever see a Dark elf and live to tell about it—nor the Black Dragon, for that matter. Your deeds these last few weeks alone ensure that your names will live on in song for generations. Yet you are not even twenty years old!” He leaned forward, elbows upon the table. “The question is, what do the two of you plan to do next?”

Abram shrugged. “I will follow Whill’s lead, wherever it may take us.”

“Good king,” Whill said, “I had thought such talk would be better suited for the meeting, but I may tell you now—I intend to aid Isladon in whatever way I can. And if I may—I understand I have been invited to the meeting, and I am honored, but I don’t understand what place I have there.”

King Mathus laughed. “What place, you ask? You are the rightful king of Uthen-Arden, my boy, as I am sure you know. You have as much right as I to attend.”

“I understand. But I have no army, no followers. My own kingdom does not even know I exist.”

Abram spoke up. “But you do have followers, and you will have an army. You rallied those men at Sherna and led them to victory. You have a strength that you underestimate, my friend. And do not forget the power of the spoken word—news of the Battle of Sherna beat us to Kell-Torey. Your people know of you, do not doubt. Those whispers have been floating on the breeze for a long time now. Your people want you to be real. They need you to be. You seem but a myth to many, a legend. But soon you will show them that the legend is flesh and blood, that the myth is true.”

Mathus spoke, his voice serious. “You plan to learn the ways of the elves, do you not?”

Whill was shocked. “Yes—yes I do, in time—”

“And do you think it wise to risk your life in the inevitable battle within Isladon?”

“How did you know?”

King Mathus finally smiled. “Do not forget, I am your grandfather. There were no secrets between my daughter and I. Do not fret, your family’s secret is safe with me, grandson.”

Whill felt a lump build in his throat. Grandson. All his life he had yearned to know his true lineage and now before him sat his grandfather.

“Thank you” was all that he could say.

King Mathus sensed Whill’s emotional state, for he simply smiled and turned to Abram. “Do you think Whill should fight?”

Abram stroked his beard and looked up at the ceiling. “Let us see what comes of the meeting. It may be that the elves will elect to go also. Either way, Whill is now a man and must decide what is best for himself.”

––––––––

Roakore stood at his door, scowling at the young man before him. “What do ye want, anyway, wakin’ me at this hour?”

The young man bowed low. “I apologize, good dwarf, but it is three hours after sunrise and I thought you might want your breakfast.”

“Me breakfast, eh? What if I do?”

The young man nervously scratched the back of his neck. “I will bring you whatever you desire, sir. If I may.