Whill of Agora: Book 1 by Michael Ploof (early reader books txt) 📖

it,” Whill said as he stared off into the distance.  “What of my parents, Abram. Were you there when they died?”

“I was. I’m getting to that. Now as you are aware, your father and uncle were identical twins born only minutes apart; your father Aramonis first, and Addakon second. You must understand that your father treated Addakon as an equal. He loved his brother deeply. Addakon, on the other hand, harbored a deep and dark hatred for your father which he did not show openly. The fact that Aramonis would be king angered Addakon deeply; he was insanely jealous and felt that he had been cheated by mere chance. When they were sent to learn the ways of Orna Catorna, it only got worse. Addakon had a thirst for power that, once he got a taste of it, could not be quenched. He wanted to be king at any cost, and eventually he proved that no cost was too great.”

Abram stood and began to pace slowly, his hands behind his back. “Your father was my best friend, Whill. I loved him, and your mother, deeply. They were the kindest and most righteous people I have ever known.”

He stared into the torchlight a moment before continuing, “I was a knight of Arden, and I met your father when he was sixteen. I was twenty-two at the time, and trying to make a name for myself within the ranks of Arden. I fought in many battles against the Draggard, on both land and sea, and soon caught the attention of your grandfather, King Armond. I was made a personal guard to the royal family at age twenty-five, and shortly thereafter King Armond died in the Battle of Fendora. As you know, it is the greatest Draggard attack on Agora to date. They came with hundreds of ships, and their army numbered over ten thousand. It took the combined strength of all four kingdoms of men, and the elves, to defeat the enemy. Afterward, your father became king, and I his personal guard—and friend. He took as his wife the beautiful Princess Celestra of Eldalon. Years passed and the kingdom of Arden prospered, as did its people. Your father was known as the greatest and most generous king to take the throne of Uthen-Arden, and his death was deeply mourned throughout Agora. As you know, the kings of Arden have been legendary warriors since the time of King Theorolus. Now you know that this is largely due to the fact that they possessed elven powers. Each king in your line has striven to become a greater legend than all before him. It has helped the kingdom to thrive, but it has also led to many untimely deaths. This thirst for power and fame, along with a boldness that comes with great power, has made you and Addakon the last in the line of Theorolus.”

Whill waited intently as his friend paused; he had many questions but held his tongue. After a moment Abram tapped his pipe on the table and sat down again.

“The day your parents died, I was there; I was with them. Your mother was eight months pregnant with you at the time, and they were on their way to Eldalon to visit your mother’s family; the King and Queen of Eldalon were very eager for a grandchild and the unity it would bring to the two kingdoms.

“We traveled north from Del’Oradon towards the Ky’Dren Pass, but two days into our journey we were ambushed by a great host of Draggard. They came in the morning and our small camp was overrun. Traveling with us were eleven of the greatest knights of the time, along with forty other soldiers, but the Draggard numbered over three hundred. The fight lasted less than an hour as our men fell. They protected their king and queen valiantly until the end, but we were too hopelessly outnumbered. And though they had managed to kill a great many Draggard, over a hundred still remained. Your mother was killed in the fight by a Draggard spear.”

Abram looked at him, his eyes shimmering in the torchlight. “It was quick, Whill. She did not suffer. The Draggard had circled us and stood waiting, as they do when they are sure of victory. Your father held your mother in his arms and wept, unable to heal her.

“I was hit also.” He pointed to his upper right chest. “Though I knew I would die, I was ready to give my life defending my king—my friend. Your father stopped me, however, from attacking the beasts, for as the Draggard waited, a man came to us from their ranks. It was Addakon.

“Your father was crushed. Holding his dead wife, he asked, ‘Why, brother, why would you do such a thing? Have I not been good to you, have I not loved you all these years?’ Then he stood and cried, ‘Is your thirst for power so great that you would see your own brother die at the hands of these beasts?’ Addakon told your father he was a fool and would die a fool’s death. Then Aramonis spoke to me for the last time. He told me to take his child, and see to it that one day he took back the throne.

“Turning to Addakon, he said, ‘If I am to die today, brother, then you will die with me.’ He raised his sword high and spoke, in the words of the elves: ‘Ortho min brensa las enna, engrona de lementho brydon.’

“Addakon knew what the king was doing and ordered the Draggard to shoot him. Spears took flight but were stopped in midair, inches from us, as your father bellowed the elven chant of death. Addakon knew he was beaten and started to run.

“I will never forget what happened next. Your father drove his sword deep into the ground, and a great boom and flash of light exploded through the air. Every last surrounding Draggard fell to the ground dead, as did your father.”

Abram reached over the table and put his hand on Whill’s shoulder. Tears slid down his cheeks. “He died to save you, Whill.”

Whill could not meet Abram’s gaze. He stared at the floor, a lump swelling in his throat. Abram stood and stared into the torchlight. “Your father performed the Orrona Dekarra, the sacrifice of life, the most powerful elven attack. He used all of his energy, and all the energy left in his sword, to kill over a hundred Draggard. When they fell, I watched in horror as he died too.

“There was no sign of Addakon, though I know now that he survived. I did what I knew I had to do, Whill; I took your father’s sword and cut you from your mother. You were alive, due to your father’s attempt to heal your mother, but I knew you would die soon if I did not find help. I mounted the closest horse and rode as fast as I could to Elladrindellia, seeking the aid of the elves. For days I rode, knowing that hell itself was at my heels. When I finally reached the elves, you were barely holding on and I feared the worst. But Queen Araveal healed you that day. And now here you are, a man by every measure—one whom your father would surely be proud of.”

Abram went to the large iron chest. He produced a key from his pocket and disengaged the lock. Whill watched intently as he opened it and retrieved a small object from within. He held it in his fist and turned to Whill. “This, I’m afraid, is all I have to give you of your mother’s.” He laid a silver ring in his friend’s hand, and Whill took it between thumb and finger. As he gazed at it, a pang of sorrow rose from his very core. Abram spoke again, “That ring has been in the Eldalon royal family for hundreds of years. It was made by the dwarves for the queen of Eldalon. It has been passed down from mother to daughter ever since. Celestra received it on her sixteenth birthday and cherished it dearly; she wore it always.”

The ring was made of pure silver, and at the center sat a large pearl encircled by sapphires. Whill tried the ring and found that it fit his smallest finger. Abram returned to the chest once more and produced a sheathed sword. He presented it to Whill with open palms. “This was your father’s sword. It is called Sinomara.”

Whill took it by the hilt, and his eyes filled with hot tears; he could find no words—this was the sword his father had wielded to save his son’s life. Slowly he pulled off the sheath and set it on the chair, and eyed the great sword with reverence. It was an elven sword. Its long hilt was bound in black leather and bright blue silk, and the single-edged blade was three feet long and slightly curved. The hand guard was a thick steel ring encrusted with small diamonds. Along the length of the blade, on both sides, were elven runes. They read, “This is the blade Sinomara, made for a king of men. May it protect its master in times of peril, and vanquish all that dare to stand before it.”

Whill inspected the sword in the firelight. It was the most beautiful and well-crafted peace of weaponry he had ever seen. Simply holding it in his hand gave him a sense of great power and strength.

“I will leave you now for a while,” Abram said solemnly, and went to the door. Whill barely heard him close it, so transfixed was he by the sword in his hands. He looked at the ring and the sword in turn. Tears welled in his eyes again and a dam of emotion broke within him. He was flooded by sorrow and fell to his knees weeping. Staring at the sword through blurred vision, he spoke to his long-dead parents:

“I will avenge you, mother. I will avenge you, father. With all the power I possess, I will hunt down Addakon and make him pay for what he has done. I will make him pay.”

Overcome with grief, his voice cut out. He wailed and gasped, shuddering as he held the sword. Then his sorrow was replaced by a great rage, and holding the sword high with both hands he bellowed, “I will not rest until he is dead!”

Chapter 14 The Dwarf King

Whill stayed within the vault for a time unknown, chanting to himself over and over his promise of vengeance. His rage and sorrow did not ebb; he focused on it intently, replaying in his mind the final minutes of his parents’ lives. His father’s words echoed through his head in a maddening chorus. Why, brother? Why would you do such a thing? He heard his mother’s final screams, and the sounds of battle. Abram’s voice joined in the chorus. He died to save you, Whill.

His head spun and his mind raced. He thought of the life he might have known, the life that had been taken from him—his mother’s laughter, his father’s smile. These too joined in the deafening chorus of pain that was Whill’s world. When he was finally exhausted he fell into deep sleep, his father’s sword still in hand.

His dreams were filled with blood, screams, and pain. He stood next to Abram as his father cradled his dead mother in his arms. Draggard soldiers were all around,