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

dwarf to go back and return with forty more, which he intended to have search the many tunnels in pairs.

Just as the dwarf was heading on his way, the draft in the tunnel shifted. It had been blowing into the mountain since Roakore had opened the door, but now reversed direction and blew faintly on his beard—with the scent of a dragon.

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An hour had passed and Whill had long ago become weary using mind-sight. He looked again every few minutes but nothing had changed. The dragon still flew directly above them, thousands of feet in the air. Abram and the others, learning of the dragon’s presence, had discussed the implications and relayed the information to the other ships. At least this would not be a surprise attack, but it seemed there was no way of stopping it. The elves where powerful, but even an arrow shot with perfection and elven power behind it would not be able to take down the beast.

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Roakore’s blood began to boil. The thought of a dragon slumbering within the mountain of his people—the mountain of his father—was too much to bear. His breathing became heavy, and his axe was in his hand without his realizing he’d gone for it. He was no longer aware of the three dwarves remaining with him. He knew only that he was running into the chamber of the dragon.

A sound that at first had been faint now grew into a primal scream. The guttural war cry, he knew, would carry to the many thousands of dwarves still outside the tunnel. It was a sound, he also knew, that would be recalled by all the surviving dwarves when they sat and told the story of this great day. If there were any survivors.

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Whill continued to watch the night, as the elves did, with his mind’s eye. He was no longer tired from it, for he had begun calling upon the stored energy of his father’s blade. He was so intent on the dragon above that he was startled when Avriel suddenly pushed him to the ground with a mental energy blast. As he hit, Zerafin was already firing his bow at a phantom that swooped down where he had stood. Whill looked desperately in the direction the elf’s arrows flew, but saw nothing. The sudden drop to the floor had broken his mind-sight. He slowly regained it, but in his panic it was not easy to maintain. Then he saw more clearly as Avriel came to his side and whispered, “Stay down.”

It was a Hawk Rider.

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Roakore barreled down the tunnel and into the trading chamber. He was met by a wall of heat and flame as the dragon belched fire from its maw. He dove to the left behind a pile of treasures, at the same time releasing his stone bird. It whirled through the air, directed with all his mental might to where he thought the dragon to be. The weapon hit with a loud thud, followed by an angry groan. Again the beast groaned in pain as three hatchets thrown by Roakore’s comrades, found their marks. Only the dwarves’ strength and excellent craftsmanship could have gotten the blades through the thick scales. Roakore fired his own hatchet at the beast as it reared its head to strike yet again with its deadly breath.

As the weapon flew, he got a good look at the monster. It was the biggest he had ever seen, and he had seen a few in his day. It had no front legs, like some did, but rather two huge outstretched wings and huge, powerful hind legs. Its scales shone green in the firelight; its eyes dead black. Upon its head like a crown were a series of small horns, starting above its eyes and growing bigger as they ascended toward the main horn. Like a knight’s lance it was, but not as long as the many sharp horns upon its back. Roakore knew this species: it was a spear-horn.

He ducked again behind his makeshift shelter as another wall of searing flame spewed across the chamber. Two of his men dove for cover among similar piles of gold and jewels, but one was not so lucky—a young soldier named Ro’Quon, who was consumed by the fire as Roakore screamed his name. The dwarf did not fall; he did not stumble. Engulfed in flames and his armor glowing red, he charged forth crazed. Blinded but for the tears of rage that quenched the fire in his eyes, he took ten running steps up a pile of gold and leapt at the dragon with his axe pulled back high over his head,, his entire body arched in the great strike. His huge axe found its mark, breaking through scales and muscle and bone, as both blade, and dwarf disappeared into the beast’s fiery mouth. To Roakore’s amazement, the dragon reared its head and let out an earthshaking scream. Fire sprayed forth onto the ceiling and descended upon the chamber. Roakore’s cloak was consumed and half his beard burned off. It was not until the dragon suddenly lurched forward that he saw the wound. The dragon’s snout had been split from mouth to forehead by Ro’Quon’s great axe. The spear-horn lurched again and finally fell dead, black smoke issuing from its split head. Roakore and his men stood from their cover and looked on in awe until finally Roakore spoke.

“Now that, me boys, is how it’s done.”

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Zerafin’s initial shots had missed, and now the Hawk Rider swooped low beyond view over the deck. Because of the ocean’s great aura, it was impossible to see it against the water.

“What’s going on?” Rhunis yelled as he hurried up from below deck.

“A Hawk Rider,” Zerafin answered as he scoured the night.

“There is more than one,” Avriel added

“This is no good; they know where you are, Whill,” Abram said. “We will never get to Elladrindellia this way.”

“We must,” Rhunis argued. “This is exactly what they would want, for Whill to be present at the battle. Or perhaps they simply have orders to kill us all.”

Avriel shook her head. “No, Eadon knows well enough that the Hawk Riders stand no chance against us, not with the power we possess. He was likely a scout. The others will be attacking shortly; they mean to capture Whill alive.”

Whill had been watching the dragon during the conversation. It had changed course and suddenly swooped down with great speed, parting the clouds as it came, revealing the moon behind it. He readied his bow.

“The dragon is attacking!”

Zerafin had already seen it. He shot one two three arrows in procession, each one glowing with a strange red hue. Avriel let loose three more such arrows, and though Whill felt quite foolish without their power, he fired two of his own. His disappeared into the nothingness of night, but the elves’ could be seen ascending higher and higher, headed straight for the dragon. The beast changed course and twirled in the air with astonishing speed and agility, easily dodging the arrows. But it did come close to a few, and Whill saw with amazement that when the arrows suddenly exploded, the dragon was blown to the side and lost in the fiery show.

It gave a great growl as it emerged from the green fire and changed course again. With a splash big enough to douse the companions with a wave of seawater, it hit the ocean and disappeared. Suddenly Zerafin turned and shot an arrow directly over Whill’s head. They watched its flight and saw it disappear into the night twenty feet behind him. Before Whill could ponder where it had gone, there was another explosion. From the blast fell a dead hawk and its rider into the cold sea below.

The ship was rocked once again as the dragon emerged, with great power, from the ocean off the starboard side of the ship. Avriel was ready to let her arrow fly when they saw yet another hawk and rider. These, however, were suddenly in the clutches of the dragon’s mouth.

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Roakore and his men stood with bowed heads, praying over the body of Ro’Quon, as backup came pouring into the chamber. He turned to the dwarves with tears of in his eyes.

“Our friend be gone from this world. Let it be known that on this day, the great Ro’Quon, engulfed in flames and nearing death, charged a green spear-horned dragon and killed it with one blow from the great axe o’ his father. He now dines in the Mountain o’ the Kings.”  He slammed his fist to his chest. “Ro’Quon!”

“Ro’Quon!” answered the others.

The body was lifted from the chamber floor and carried on the hands of every dwarf in the tunnel, and with his body went the telling of his great feat.

Roakore then sent scouts into the other twenty tunnels to give warning. The battle with the dragon had surely been heard, and they would be coming, in numbers.

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“The dragon fights for us!” said Abram in amazement as the group watched it violently shake its head, tearing the flesh of its prey before dropping it to the ocean.

Rhunis looked doubtful. “Or it wants us for itself.”

A great commotion had erupted from a nearby ship of the Eldalon navy. They too had seen the dragon, but they knew not that it might be friendly. Volleys of flaming arrows poured out from it and four others. Most of them missed, and those that found their mark bounced harmlessly off the dragon’s scaly armor. The creature ignored the arrows and blew fire at the ocean off the starboard side. There was a screech as a hawk and rider suddenly appeared consumed in flames. Zerafin hit the rider in the neck, sending him falling from his winged steed, but it was Whill’s arrow that put down the flaming hawk.

“Everyone to Abram, bows ready, circular formation!” Rhunis shouted. Everyone did as he had commanded, and the four took kneeling stances at the wheel.

The dragon had not attacked the ship, and Whill felt sure it wouldn’t. To the other ships he yelled as loud as he could, “Do not fight the dragon! Fire upon the Hawk Riders!”

If there was any question about whether they understood, it was answered as the dragon again sent fire toward the ocean and a rider appeared—only to be riddled with twenty arrows from the surrounding ships.

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The tunnel was like a tomb. The faint breeze had shifted, to Roakore’s dislike. The scouts had returned with nothing; at least twenty minutes had passed. They must have been heard, but no one came. Roakore puzzled for a moment then called back the scouts. He motioned the generals of the many armies to attention.

“They’ve laid a trap fer us, no doubt, but we don’t have time to play their game. We are gonna walk into the tunnel like we own the place, ’cause by the damned gods, we do!”

He unfolded a map of the mountain kingdom. Their location was easily discernable on the map, though the many tunnels spread out like an intricate spider’s web. There were tunnels and sub tunnels, chambers and halls, vaults and living quarters mapped out here. The map was of Roakore’s own design, one with which many dwarves had helped to create an almost perfect representation. There were more than fifty X’s marked in red. Each of them represented the exact spot where explosives would be