Whill of Agora Trilogy: Book 01 - Whill of Agora (2 page)

Abram had taken care of Whill since he was a baby. His earliest memories were of living in Sidnell, a small town on the eastern edge of Shierdon. Abram had entrusted Whill to his sister for most of his childhood. Whill called her Aunt Teera, she was a stout woman with an even bigger heart. She was the healer of Sidnell, and Whill had lived comfortably with her and her three daughters till he was eleven.

Abram stayed with them often but was usually gone for months at a time. Whill would beg him to stay, but Abram would tell him he had to go and that one day he would understand. Before leaving, Abram always gave Teera a list of things he wanted Whill to learn in his absence. In this way Whill learned the medicinal and culinary uses of every herb and plant in the known lands.

When Abram was home he taught Whill a great many things. Whill learned to speak Elvish and Dwarvish, though he had never met anyone of either race. He also learned a great deal of history of the kingdoms of Agora, its peoples, and its geography. He learned sewing, cooking, tying a variety of knots, and countless other skills. He never complained but mastered all that Abram set before him, out of sheer love of learning and his own pleasure in making Abram proud.

Whill knew that Abram was not his father, for he had told him so when Whill was old enough to understand. When he asked who his parents were Abram had only said, “I will tell you when you are ready, and I will judge when that time is. I know that it is the one answer you seek to know most, but you must trust me: some things in this world must not be known until the time is right. Bear no hard feelings for me because of this. I only do it to protect you.”

Whill had wondered about his true lineage since that day but never asked again, knowing Abram would not tell. Still, the question burned in him every day of his waking life. Perhaps this burden led him to apply himself so strongly to learn all else that he did not know.

Eventually the day came when Abram said he was leaving again, but that this time Whill would go with him. On that warm June night Abram took him to the seashore and said, “You have been very patient, and you are an excellent student. There is nothing more for you to learn from my books, and Teera has taught you much that I cannot. You are nearing manhood now, and I must now teach you how a man protects himself with the fist and blade, and how to live in the wild and on your own.”

From that day on Whill had been at Abram’s side as they traveled from one end of Agora to the other and back again. They sailed the seas together and braved the mountains, and always Whill was eager to learn more. Every day they sparred or practiced with fists. Abram had taught him to hunt, use a bow, throw a spear, use an axe, and wield a knife until Whill’s skill surpassed his own.

Now, sewing Abram’s larger gashes with needle and thread on this cold March night, that June day on the shore seemed like decades ago. Whill had become wise beyond his years and stronger than most his age. When he had finished suturing, he looked at his work. “They should heal with little scarring.” He began to bandage Abram’s arms.

“You are one of the most skilled healers I know. I’m sure they will heal fine.” Abram grimaced as he put on an extra shirt and coat. “I will remove what supplies I can from my horse, and make a fire while you skin all those hell-born wolves. I would help, but I don’t want to ruin your stitch work with too much movement.”

Whill collected the carcasses and went to work while Abram searched for wood dry enough to burn. With flint and dried moss from one of his bags, Abram managed a small fire. Whill worked tirelessly for hours until the first morning light appeared in the sky. When the last hide was finished, Whill washed his knife and arms with snow Abram had melted. After a breakfast of dried meat and cheese, they set out once again toward Fendale.

With two riders, the extra supplies, and ten wolf hides to carry, the horse’s pace was slow. “We are about twenty miles from Fendale,” Abram said. “At this pace we will be there in about seven hours, including a couple of breaks for our poor horse.”

“It will be nice to lie on a bed and eat warm food after that night.”

“Indeed it will.”

CHAPTER TWO

Fendale

T
he sun hung low in the east, an orb of orange bringing warmth to the world below. The land was alive with the sounds of the wild. Birds flew from tree to tree singing their songs of joy, and squirrels scurried here and there, cheeks bulging with winter’s rare treasures. It was a landscape of pure white with a sky of clear blue, a pleasant change from the endless grey that had plagued the previous two days of travel. The storm they had encountered had not been typical for this time of year. Already it had begun to warm considerably, and in a few days the snow would melt and be gone.

“It will be a good night for the celebration,” Whill noted.

“That it will,” Abram agreed. “We should reach Fendale by noon and have plenty of time to rest, though I won’t be in any shape to dance. Shame, really. This celebration brings some of the finest ladies this side of the Ky’Dren Mountains.”

“You old dog. If you have half your usual charm they’ll be flocking regardless. Just don’t get us into the kind of trouble we had in Brindon. Steer clear of blacksmiths’ wives and we’ll be just fine.” Whill chuckled at the memory of it.

Abram laughed and started to make a rebuttal but could think of none.

“I’m surprised that after almost getting your arms ripped to bits, all you can think of is women and dancing.”

Abram smiled. “Life goes on. Those who dwell in the past have no future, as my father used to say. Besides, it could have been much worse.”

Whill looked forward to staying in the city. When not in the wild they stayed briefly in small, out-of-the-way towns throughout Agora. They had no true home, and swore allegiance to no one but each other. Abram kept them constantly on the move, never making themselves known in any place for too long. Life with Abram had the feeling of running away from something or someone. But Whill fancied his life of adventure and never questioned Abram’s motives. He knew that Abram hated the Uthen-Arden empire, for he regularly spoke of King Addakon of Arden with a mean tongue. King Addakon had come to rule after the death of his brother Aramonis not twenty years before. Within that year, the mountain range of the Ebony Mountains had been invaded and thousands of dwarves slaughtered. There had been many battles between the peoples of Agora and the Draggard. Abram said that a great war was coming, that Addakon would see to it. He suspected that Addakon would move to conquer all of Agora and make it one kingdom under himself. Already there was strife between the kingdoms. It was for these reasons that Whill and Abram seldom traveled within the realm of Uthen-Arden. If they were to travel to Shierdon or Isladon, it would be by water rather than land.

They rode on; the hours passed. The rising sun brought small but welcome warmth to the world. Stopping only twice for the sake of the horse, and for only a few minutes, they made good time. Soon Fendale was in sight, as was the coast.

“There it is,” said Abram with a smile. “The great coast city of Fendale.”

Whill had not laid eyes on the city in eight years, but he remembered it well. Now he looked upon it with the same awe he had as a child. Fendale sat upon the northern coast of Eldalon, and a large stone wall thirty feet high surrounded its entire border. At Fendale’s center stood a great lighthouse seven stories high, the oldest standing building in Fendale. The lighthouse, called by the people “the Light of the West,” was also home to Rogus, Lord of Fendale. The thriving coast city was a main source of trade for most of Agora. Its wealth was very evident in its beauty. The exterior wall boasted ten magnificently crafted mermaid statues, each more than fifty feet high. They lay with fins curled, long flowing hair falling over their breasts, watching guard over the city. Four looked to the sea, while two looked in each opposite direction, north, east, and south. Within the eyes of each there sat a guard, and so the statues were called the Eyes of Fendale.

The wall itself was as smooth as marble, with an arched overhang that went in a complete circle, making the wall inaccessible to ladders. The main gate stood twenty feet high and fifteen feet wide, made of oak five feet thick and covered in iron.

The rear of the city was built on a cliff in such a way that the wall actually hung over the ocean. A large cave under the city acted as its harbor, with four points of entry capable of admitting the largest vessel. Each entry point had a massive iron gate that could be closed in seconds, effectively making the harbor inaccessible. Aside from being a port city, Fendale was also Eldalon’s main naval base, able to house more than two hundred warships.

As they approached the main gate, which stood open, Whill marveled at the mermaid statues that loomed overhead. Already he could hear the crowd within. A soft buzz of activity emanated from the city.

“This will be a night to remember,” he said with a grin.

Abram nodded. “But do not forget, these are times of war, and a pair such as we may look slightly suspicious. Most outsiders coming to the celebration have done so in great numbers. It is not often men travel alone these days, so act naturally.”

Whill laughed nervously. “I was acting naturally until that bit of advice, thank you.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll do the talking.” He slapped Whill on the back.

Upon reaching the gate, four guards on horseback approached Whill and Abram. They were fully armored, with swords at their sides and shields in hand.

“What is your business?” asked the guard closest to them.

“The celebration, of course,” answered Abram with a smile. “We also hope to sell these here hides.”

The guard looked suspicious. “Not much of a cargo for traders.”

“We are not traders, so to speak; we were actually attacked by these ten rascals last night. Luckily we escaped with our lives, though my horse was not so fortunate.”

The guard looked them over closely. “You must be great fighters to take down so many wolves without harm to yourselves,” he said in a skeptical tone.

Whill had the urge to ask if they would like to find out, but held his tongue. Abram gave a small laugh. “Oh, they drew blood, friend, but not enough. Great fighters we are not, but a man must know how to defend himself these days. We are simple men who only wish to enjoy your great city. That is all.”

Not looking completely satisfied, the guard nevertheless said, “Go ahead.”

Abram nodded. “Good day.”

Upon entering the city, Whill saw more people than he had ever seen at once. The city was alive with the excitement of the celebration. Crowds filled every street. Already there were booths set up and people digging in their pockets to buy a trinket or treasure. Many women gazed longingly at fine silk and jewelry. Men tested the weight of a blade or looked over various tools. Children ran wild, candies in hand, chasing each other with gleeful laughter.

The city was shaped in a half circle, with the wall spanning its entirety. It consisted of mostly stone buildings with the exception of a few wooden houses here and there. Twenty streets circled the city. One main street ran the length of the city from gate to ocean wall, effectively splitting the city into two parts.

“Follow the main road for a while, then turn left onto Third Street. I know of a good place to find drink and lodging,” said Abram. Soon they came to a beautiful, two-story stone building with finely carved windows.

Abram told Whill to stop and dismounted with a groan. A boy of about nine with shoulder-length blond hair ran up to them. “Welcome to Ocean Mist. Will you be needing a room tonight?”

“In fact we will, young lad. What is the price?”

The boy lit up. “You’re in luck, we have a few rooms left for only ten coins a night.”

Abram scowled. “Hmm. That is a little steep, is it not?”

The boy gestured toward the crowd. “Well, you can look around if you want, but you’ll not find better quality for your money, and when you return you’re sure to find us booked.”

“A born businessman, eh? What is your name, lad?”

The boy gave a slight bow. “I am Tarren. My father is the innkeeper.”

“Well, Tarren, see to it that our horse finds a stable and our belongings are not touched, and there will be more of these for you.” He tossed him a coin.

The boy looked at the silver with glee. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir, I will, sir!” He led the horse to the stables.

Whill followed Abram inside. The main room was a large tavern with a bar extending the length of the back wall. A staircase wound its way up and over the bar on both sides of the room, leading to the living quarters. They went to the bar and sat down. After guzzling two tall beers, they banged the cups together and said, “Lelemendela”—in Elvish, “to life.”

Whill wiped the foam from his mouth with his sleeve. “It’s been a while since we could do that.”

“Too long.”

After two more beers, hot stew, and fresh bread, they were feeling the effects of their long night. The bartender gave them keys to their room and accepted a fine tip. They made their way upstairs and were pleased to find a full water basin, fresh bedding on both beds, and a good view of the city.