Read Whill of Agora Trilogy: Book 01 - Whill of Agora Online
Authors: Michael Ploof
Whill blocked a blow meant for his head and quickly brought his sword down and across the chest of his attacker. Pushing the man back into the group of pirates, he ducked as an arrow zinged past his left ear. Abram had killed two men and was now fighting a third when Whill noticed an archer taking aim at his friend. Whill quickly dispatched another pirate, grabbed his knife, and threw it at the archer sixty feet overhead. The blade found its mark and hit the bowman in the throat as the arrow intended for Abram hit a pirate descending the ropes. Two men now came at Whill, one with a hatchet, the other a sword. The hatchet-wielding pirate made a two-handed overhead attack as the other jabbed straight at Whill’s chest. Whill blocked the swordsman and spun away from the hatchet blow. Abram chopped the head off the hatchet-wielder and blocked a blow of yet another foe as Whill parried the swordsman’s attack. The pirate was no match for Whill, who cut the man down with ease. Even as more men came onto the deck, Whill and Abram steadily drove them back.
“Come on, you pirate scum!” Whill screamed as he took down three more men. Abram was now fighting a large man with two swords. Whill again faced a man with a hatchet, who came at him with a wild cry. As the pirate swung at Whill’s head, Whill quickly blocked the blow. Swinging his sword down hard, he effectively caused the hatchet to lodge in the deck floor. Before the attacking pirate knew what had happened, Whill stabbed him through. Before the body could fall, Whill had impaled another pirate who had just landed on deck. Whill turned and grabbed the hatchet that had stuck in the deck and simultaneously blocked a sword attack. Abram killed Whill’s attacker and was quickly faced with yet another foe. Whill launched the hatchet towards the top of the rope that held the most men. The hatchet cut the rope clean and sent six men falling towards the deck. As the men fell, there was a shout from the ship above.
“Enough!”
Captain Cirrosa stood with his hands upon the side of the boat, looking down at the battle below. His hair and clothes were black as night. His face was deeply tanned and rough with age and years at sea. He wore a mustache and pointed goatee, which, along with his menacing eyes, gave him the look of a bird of prey, ready to attack.
The attacking pirates stopped where they were, and Whill watched as the rage drained from their faces and was replaced by intense fear. There was a thud as Abram let the last of his attackers fall to the deck, having stabbed him through.
“You useless scum can’t do anything right,” The captain yelled to the men below.
Whill ran a finger down his bloody blade and pointed it at Cirrosa. “If you want more of your men to die, then by all means, send them down the ropes. And if you want my diamonds, sir, then come down yourself and try to take them. But I promise you that you will bleed.”
Cirrosa gave a hearty laugh, as did his men from above. The men below did not.
“You have a fighting spirit, young Whill! Good for you. But in fact you have killed none of my men. Those you have slain are slaves, nothing more.”
Whill looked at the men who cowered as the captain spoke. They stood with their arms at their sides, heads down, shoulders hunched. It seemed to Whill that their failure to kill him and Abram had in some way condemned these men.
Again Cirrosa laughed. “I told them that if they could kill the two of you, I would set them and their women and children free. If not, they would die.” The crew began to cheer and whistle.
Abram stepped forward. “You always were a heartless killer, Cirrosa.”
The captain’s face lit up. “Abram, my old friend. It’s been a long time. I see you also have abandoned the Arden empire. We have something in common after all.”
Abram ignored Whill’s puzzled look. “For one, Cirrosa, we are not friends. And second, if you do not leave now, you and your men will all die today. Twelve men remain on our ship—slaves, you would call them. But I call them free men who will fight alongside us to free the women and children you speak of.”
Cirrosa laughed again, but cut his laughter short, and instead of a smile bared his teeth. “I fear that you and your friend have not counted on one thing.” With one swift movement, he produced a long knife and pulled a child close to himself, putting the knife to the child’s throat. Whill recognized the boy immediately. It was Tarren.
“No!” Whill lurched forward but was halted by Abram. Cirrosa ran the blade teasingly along the terrified boy’s throat.
“You have something I want, and it seems I have something you want. Give me the diamonds and the boy will go unharmed.”
Whill began to curse the captain, but Abram spoke over him. “If we give you the diamonds, you will kill us anyway, and the boy, along with these men’s families. We find no comfort in the word of a pirate.”
Cirrosa shook his head and grinned. “So be it. We will kill you all and take the diamonds anyway. Shame, really. I could have gotten good money for this boy.” With that he slit Tarren’s throat and let the boy fall to the deck below. Whill could hear nothing but his own screams as Tarren’s body fell. He ran to the boy’s limp body as real pirates now made their way down the ropes.
Cirrosa spoke again, this time to his men. “Kill them all, and one hundred coins to the man who retrieves the diamonds!”
The pirates descended the ropes. As Whill held the dying boy in his arms, he heard Abram yelling to the slave men, “Fight for me, bleed for me, and I swear your families will not perish!” The slave men answered with a primal scream that could only be produced by the truly oppressed, those who have given up hope for themselves and fight only for the lives of those they love.
As if through a long tunnel, Whill heard faintly the sounds of swords clanging and men fighting. He could not take his eyes off Tarren, who lay in his arms, bleeding from the neck, body broken from the fall. As he watched the boy die, he could distantly hear Abram calling his name, yelling something about getting up. Whill’s head began to churn as if the tides were locked within. His rage alone was enough to make him dizzy. Anger welled within him—anger at Tarren dying, anger that the men he had killed had been slaves fighting for freedom, anger that he might die today without learning his true heritage. The injustice of it all sent him into a trance-like state. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand covered Tarren’s throat.
As his flesh made contact with the young boy’s blood, Whill felt a strange sensation run through him. It was as if his energy and life force were suddenly being sucked from his body. Tarren’s chest heaved as a great wave of energy coursed through Whill and into the boy. Whill became dizzy and disoriented as men fought around him and the boy in his arms. He became aware of nothing but Tarren and himself and the bond they now shared. A strange blue light was all Whill could see as tide after tide of energy pulsed through his body and into Tarren’s. As the blue light faded into blackness, Whill was suddenly jolted out of his trance and slammed to the deck as the sounds of the world came rushing in. He saw blood and bodies and fire and Abram looking down at him as a red dragon flew overhead.
Abram shook Whill but he would not respond. He was unconscious and would remain that way for sometime, if he snapped out of it at all. The fighting had slowed as many slaves and pirates stood dumbfounded by what they had seen. Abram rose. There was nothing he could do for Whill now but win this battle. He turned to the slaves.
“Behold, men, your gods fight with you! Go forward without fear, and may the blessing of the gods lead your strikes!”
The slaves’ cheers grew into a primal scream. The pirates upon the deck did not live more than ten heartbeats after that. The slaves were heading up the ropes when suddenly an explosion hit the pirate ship, deafening all nearby momentarily and shaking many from their feet. From the ship Abram saw the source of the carnage: a massive red dragon. The distraction was enough to ensure that the climbing slaves could make it up the ropes to the deck of the pirate ship, with Abram right behind them. He hit the deck and was engaged by a pirate wearing all black, with only a thin slit revealing his eyes. He brandished two daggers and came in hard, slashing with one and stabbing forward with the other. Abram barely avoided the slash but was ready for the stab. When it came he spun away from the strike and jumped up onto the rail, knowing that the pirate would go for his ankles with those deadly weapons. Abram jumped backwards from his perch and brought his legs up high, tucking his knees and then came down with a powerful slice. The pirate swiped at his legs with both blades but missed. He had a glimpse of his leaping enemy and a shining blade, and then he saw no more.
The slave men were tearing into the pirate force with reckless abandon. The ship was aflame, and the dragon repeatedly swooped down on the battle and scooped up a pirate in his huge claws or maw. Down into the battle the dead and bloodied pirate would drop, usually on top of one of his comrades. This horrible image alone sent many pirates scrambling for the rails and into the ocean. Abram had his suspicions as to why the dragon seemed to fight for him, he did not care. It was enough. The slave men had already begun opening the many iron doors upon the deck that led to the slave quarters, setting their families free.
“Get them onto my ship and set sail!” Abram ordered. “Do not wait for me—look for me in the waters!” He spotted Cirrosa making a run for the lower decks and he followed. Through a door and into a small stairwell went the most wanted pirate in two centuries, whose scrolled list of crimes against the peoples of every kingdom in Agora would have fallen to the floor. Murder, theft, kidnapping, rape, torture, and many, many more vile and heartless acts—Abram wanted this man dead out of sheer duty if nothing else. He followed Cirrosa slowly into a large room below. It seemed to be the mess hall for the sailors; there was a door to the kitchen on the right, and three doors to the left.
He knew the
Dragon
’s style of ship, so he knew to take the door to the right. Upstairs and into the captain’s quarters he went cautiously, and there he found Cirrosa and a flying dagger. Abram rolled as he hit the landing, a blade whizzing by his head. Then he leapt to his feet and charged at Cirrosa.
“Come on!” The pirate taunted as he brought up his short sword and a long curved dagger. Abram came in hard with a slash to the left that was deflected by the short sword. The dagger came in. Abram spun out, keeping his distance from the blade. Cirrosa went into a slash-and-stab dance that kept Abram on his toes in the close quarters. Cirrosa worked the two blades like a master, but Abram was prepared. He knew the pirate’s fighting style well, for they had been friends for a time in their academy days. Cirrosa had perfected his art long ago, and now he fought similarly, but better. Abram kept pace but knew he needed to get one of the blades out of the fight. He deflected the short sword up and high to the left, coming in close to Cirrosa, knowing he would go for the gut. A bare moment before Cirrosa thrust with the dagger, Abram was already pulling back from the strike. Down his blade came from the short sword parry; straight came the thrust of Cirrosa’s blade. In an instant Abram sliced deep into Cirrosa’s forearm, nearly severing it. It swung sickeningly from the pirate’s arm. Cirrosa let out a howl of pain and spun away from Abram. The
Dragon
was rocked again and lurched to the side. Abram and Cirrosa were thrown to the wall. Abram got his footing as quickly as possible and came at the injured captain. Cirrosa’s eyes went wild with pain and rage. He lunged with his blade, but Abram easily blocked it. The pirate was too weak from his injury to fight, but he kept trying, and Abram knew he wouldn’t stop until the bitter end. Cirrosa would never allow himself to become a prisoner, nor to see the inside of a courtroom. For Cirrosa, being caught meant being killed.
There was no time for speeches. The ship was falling apart around them. Abram deflected another feeble slash and stabbed Cirrosa through the heart.
Cirrosa jolted and his body froze. Then he found Abram’s gaze and grabbed his shoulders. Blood poured from his mouth as he spoke. “I’m glad it was you. I’m glad it was you,” He said, and then his eyes went blank.
“So am I.”
Abram watched Cirrosa fall. Then he fled to the empty and burning deck above, climbed the rail, and dove into the ocean.
W
hill awoke to more pain than he had ever known. He was sure that he was dead or dying. Every fiber of his being ached to a point that it was almost unbearable. He was not sure if he were actually awake or asleep. A fog blurred his vision as strange shapes loomed over him and spoke to him in a language he could not understand. He tried to move but could not; he tried to speak but found he could not remember how. He lay in fear—fear of the seemingly endless pain, fear of the shadows which spoke to him in such a strange tongue.
Once again he blacked out and slipped into the world of dreams. He could see a man and woman standing upon a small hill. Though he did not remember ever seeing them, he knew they were his parents. Joy flooded through him as he ran toward them, ready to finally embrace the mother and father who had been stolen from him. But as he ran the hill grew bigger, and his parents’ smiles withered. The faster he ran, the higher the hill grew until it was a mountain before him, and his parents’ faces smiled skeletons’ grins.
Whill screamed as he awoke and sat up. His vision was still blurry and the strange figures grabbed at him. He tried to fend them off but they soon subdued him. Vaguely he recognized the boy Tarren sitting next to him, smiling. He knew then that he was dreaming again, for Tarren was dead. He struggled to wake. As his vision grew clearer, he could now see that with Tarren sat many women and children he did not know. He tried to move and was almost rendered unconscious as pain jolted through his body. As his vision blurred again, he saw Abram walking towards him. Then blackness found him again.
He lay in great pain while the voices spoke soothingly but strangely. Then the blue light returned, slowly at first, dancing along the edges of his vision. As it became stronger, his pain finally left him and he found he could sit up. He was surrounded by the blue light, and now he saw a figure, a person, standing before him. The figure drew close enough that he could tell that it was a woman. She came and knelt before him, the most beautiful woman Whill had ever seen. Her hair was so long that when she knelt it touched the ground. It was brown and shone with a great radiance, as did her body. Her face was a picture of pure beauty, her skin smooth as silk. Her eyes were bright blue, the irises ringed in a darker shade, and within them Whill sensed great compassion and kindness, and wisdom beyond mortal understanding. He thought he must be dreaming of his mother again until he noticed the ears. They were pointed ears, and protruded from under her hair. He knew at once that he was in the presence of an elf. As he stared in wonder, she simply smoothed his hair back and spoke in an almost humming tone the same words over and over: “
Endalla orn, Whill, elan orna menon, lelalda wea shen ora
.”