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

coin toss to a young lad, were on their way.

“Where are we going?” Whill asked. “The king said he wants to meet privately with me.”

“Of course he does. But the meeting will not be for a while, and it will not be in Fendale.”

“What do you mean?”

“First we have a small journey to make, one that will better prepare you for the counsel of the king.”

Whill had no idea what Abram meant, but he wasn’t going to ponder the issue. Tonight was to be a night of celebration. “So where are we headed?”

“To the best pub this side of—”

“Let me guess: the Ky’Dren Mountains.”

Abram grinned. “No smartarse, I was going to say the best pub this side of the ocean. But you get the point.”

They rode for about ten minutes towards the heart of the city and stopped in front of a rustic-looking pub. The crowd had not subsided at all, though it was now well into the night. People laughed and cheered in the streets as they followed one of the many parades that had been snaking their way through the city all day. Whill followed Abram into the pub.

The pub was called the Wet Whistle and was aptly named. It was filled with music and laughter, and packed from wall to wall with men and women drinking the house beer. All smiled or nodded as Whill and Abram walked to the main bar.

“They sell one thing in this pub and one thing only: the house ale,” Abram hollered over the crowd and the band that played in a far corner. “At one time the owner of this place was a sailor. He ran a merchant ship from here to Del’Harred, the port city of Isladon.”

A fat bartender with a merry face approached. Abram ordered four beers and continued his story as the man began to pour the ale from large barrels.

“One day old Barlemew—that’s the owner—one day he was sailing his normal route, which happened to bring him within fifty miles of Drakkar, the dragon island. Suddenly off the starboard side he spotted a dragon flying high. This is a regular occurrence with merchants of that route, so Barlemew didn’t worry much—that is, until the dragon flew directly at them.”

Abram laughed and went on. “You won’t believe what happened next. Old Barlemew gets scared and tells his men to ready the harpoons. Well, the dragon flies right over them but, to everyone’s surprise, doesn’t attack. Instead he drops a pile of dung on the ship, covering old Barlemew.” Abram pointed at the bartender.

“That’s Barlemew?” Whill asked. Abram merely nodded, so choked with laughter he couldn’t speak. Whill laughed also at the thought of a dragon taking a giant shyte on the poor fat man. With tears in his eyes, Abram continued.

“So there’s old Barlemew, covered in dragon shyte, his men on the floor in laughter, and the poor fool has an idea. You see, Barlemew had always fancied himself a gardener. He had been trying to grow hops and barley for years, but his ale had always been only tolerable at best. So he had his men save the dung until he docked here in Fendale, and then he used it as a fertilizer for his garden. Come to find out, dragon dung is the single best fertilizer for a garden. Crops grown in it are the finest any farmer has ever seen. To make a long story short, old Barlemew stumbled upon the secret to the best beer that has ever been brewed, and he has made a fortune on it.”

The bartender put their beers on the bar. “So, you told the young lad my story, eh?”

With great effort, Whill managed to speak. “I’m glad to hear of your good fortune, sir.”

“Uh huh, Try the ale and you’ll wish a dragon had done his business on your head,” Barlemew said with a laugh.

Whill complied and took a long drink from the large mug. The ale was superb— hands-down the best he had ever had. It was rich and thick yet smooth and satisfying. Putting down the mug, he looked at the bartender with astonishment.

“This is the best ale in all of Agora, no doubt. I congratulate you, sir.”

Barlemew smiled with pride. “I thank you, lad. Folks say it’s magical, too, you know. I drink a glass of my Dragon’s Brew every day and have had perfect health since. Even feel stronger.”

Abram gave Whill a wink. “I don’t doubt that, good sir.”

Barlemew gave them two more. “These are on the house. Don’t worry ’bout drinkin’ too much, neither. You’ll feel like new men after a night of this stuff.”

They both thanked Barlemew and toasted the man. After two mugs each, Abram said, “Maybe I’ll be able to dance after all.” And with that, he headed in the direction of the music. Soon he was surrounded by a crowd of both women and men cheering him on. Abram was good at a great many things, dancing being one of them. He performed the Jolly Two-Step, to everyone’s delight, and soon motioned for Whill to join him. 

Three hours and six beers later, they stumbled into the street singing. The crowd had thinned and the first light of dawn was slowly making its way into the sky. They got a ride on a wheel cart and soon were back at their inn. Abram fell out of the cart in a fit of laughter and tipped the boy his entire sack of coins.

“Be here at high noon and there will be more of that.”

The kid smiled in disbelief and bowed frantically. “Thank you, sir, thank you!”

They made their way to their room and quickly fell asleep, Whill in his bed and Abram on the floor.

Chapter 6 Plans for the Sea Maiden

Whill awoke from strange dreams of dragons and gold. A faint breeze drifted in from the open window along with the new day’s light. The scent of cherry pipe tobacco lingered in the air. Abram was not in, but he was not surprised. Abram always arose before he did. Whill realized that, though they had drunk heavily, he did not have the usual headache. He actually felt great, refreshed and alert, but he was very hungry and his mouth was as dry as desert wood. He got up and undressed. His clothes and hair smelled like beer, smoke, and women. Whill laughed as he began to wash. The water basin had been filled with fresh hot water, probably at Abram’s command. Clean and clothed, he went downstairs and found his friend sitting at a small table in the main room, a steaming cup of coffee and long scroll in hand.

“Ah, so the great fighter awakes,” Abram said as Whill took the seat opposite. “I’ve ordered eggs, bacon, and toast. Two orders each, which is not quite enough if you are as hungry as I.”

“Good, I’m starved.”

A startlingly beautiful young woman about Whill’s age walked up to the table. “Will you be wanting coffee also?” she asked him.

“Yes, I would, if you would be so kind, with six lumps of sugar.”

“Six? Do you have a thing for sweet stuff?”

He smiled. “That I do, though I would be ill-fated to try to find anything as sweet as you.”

The waitress blushed and gave Whill a coy smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Abram grinned. “You didn’t learn that one from me. I’m impressed.”

“What?” Whill feigned ignorance. “The truth rolls from the tongue easier than anything rehearsed.”

“That it does, my friend.”

The waitress soon returned with Whill’s coffee, which was in a larger glass than Abram’s and topped with a thick coat of frothy cream.

“Thank you very much.”

“If you need anything else, please don’t be afraid to ask.”

Soon the large plates of food arrived, and Whill and Abram dug in with a hunger they usually only knew on the road. After finishing, Abram ordered another coffee for each of them and lit his pipe. Whill cleaned his plate and sat back feeling very content.

Abram blew large smoke-rings into the air and watched them rise and linger. They sat for a moment in silence. The coffee came shortly and they again thanked the waitress. Whill watched Abram’s smoke-rings hang high above them, as still as stone.

“You know,” said Whill, “we could buy a nice ship with that gold I won.”

Abram laughed. “With that much gold you could buy a whole fleet. But a ship would be a very good investment.”

Whill thought for a moment. “You said we would be here for a while. Do you think it will be long enough to have a ship built?”

Abram raised his eyebrows. “I suppose we could. I do know an excellent shipbuilder—if he’s still alive, that is. I haven’t seen him since last we were here, and he was an old man then.”

“We should go and see him today. I’ve been tossing a ship design around in my head for years—just a daydream, really—but now it seems we can have it made,” said Whill as his excitement grew.

Abram nodded as he sipped his coffee. “I had planned to buy a small boat, but now that you have won this grand prize, perhaps we won’t have to. I have to take you somewhere so that I may finally tell you all you wish and deserve to know. But it is far from here, and by sea we will get there much more easily. Dy’Kore,” he said, before Whill could ask. “The dwarf city in the Ky’Dren Mountains.”

Whill regarded him with utter astonishment. “We are going to the dwarf city?”

“Long ago I fought alongside the dwarf king Ky’Ell against the Draggard. He has since been a good friend. These long years since your birth, he has kept heirlooms of yours safe. Within the mountains lies your past, and there your story should be told to you.”

Whill had read about and heard many stories of the dwarves. They were a race who kept to themselves, mostly, and were not seen often beyond the mountains. They were made up of three clans, the Ky’Dren, the Elgar, and the Ro’Sar. The mountains they inhabited had been named after the dwarf kings who had first settled them. The Ky’Dren dwarves were allies to Eldalon and watched over the Ky’Dren Pass, the only land route into the kingdom of Eldalon. In return the king supplied the dwarves with a means to transport and trade their gold and jewels, as well as safe passage by ship to visit their kin—the Elgar. The Ro’Sar, who had lived within what were now called the Ebony Mountains, were all but wiped out. A great host of Draggard had come by sea twenty years before and invaded the Ro’Sar Mountains. All but a handful had survived by fleeing to Dy’Kore.

“Then it’s settled,” Whill said. “We’ll build a ship and sail to the mountains, and finally I will know my past.”

They finished their coffee and ventured out into the street. It was high noon and the day was mild. The outer walls of the city gave good protection from the wind. The streets were littered with paper confetti and bits and pieces of pop-balls. Already people were cleaning up, and it appeared that not only hired cleaners, but also many citizens, lent a hand. As