Whill of Agora Trilogy: Book 01 - Whill of Agora (25 page)

Just then a shadow swept past, quick as a flash but noticeable nonetheless. Whill realized that it had been too large for a bird, but too small for a dragon. He looked up, as did Roakore, but there was nothing to see but the sun high above. Abram was already on his feet and moving out into the meadow as Whill and Roakore followed.

“What’s it, then?” asked Roakore as the two came up next to Abram.

Abram only stared north, past the edge of the meadow, above the trees. He scanned the treeline for many moments before his eyes quickened. “There.” He pointed.

Both Roakore and Whill squinted as they tried to make out the large creature flying low above the trees, some four hundred yards away. Abram was already gently pushing them back to the cover of the trees when it struck Whill. He froze a moment in disbelief, but the closer the creature got, the more obvious its identity became.

“A Draquon? It can’t be.”

Roakore spat on the ground and patted Whill on the back. “Ye really know how to make enemies now, don’t ye?”

The Draquon were a less common, winged version of the Draggard. They were taller than the Draggard, some nearly twelve feet, and had longer tails as well. The Draquon more resembled a dragon than any human, with thick gnarled horns upon their heads and long pointed spikes running the length of their backs.

The three companions ducked low as the Draquon began to cross the meadow, now moving swiftly in their direction. Abram took up his bow and strung an arrow, and Whill followed suit.

“A scout, no doubt,” said Whill. Abram nodded in agreement.

Roakore began a low chant then, and Whill noticed that he held two large, rounded stones, connected by chain to a well-adorned metal handle.

Abram put his hand upon Roakore’s shoulder, gesturing for the dwarf to wait. “It has not yet spotted us!” he said in a hushed whisper.

Roakore shrugged Abram’s hand away. “Why wait till it spots us? The damned thing’ll be long gone before the two o’ ye get off a shot.”

Whill winced at Roakore’s loud voice. It was as if he meant to give away their position.

“It may not see us,” Abram pressed

Roakore’s face twisted into a maniacal grin. “Oh, it’ll see us, alright. I’ll not be letting a beast such as that fly free.” With that he pushed past the protesting Abram and ran out into the field, waving his arms and yelling to the low-flying Draquon, now less than one hundred yards away.

“Here we are, ye stupid, dragon-spawned, demon-lovin’ beast! Come an’ taste me blade!”

Abram only rolled his eyes and with a great sigh sprang from the woods, bow ready. Their suspicions that this beast was only a scout were proven right when the Draquon reared and turned swiftly in the opposite direction. Whill and Abram let off a shot each but didn’t even come close as the beast rose into the air and flew away from them.

Just as Abram was about to chastise Roakore for being so stupid, the dwarf let out a guttural scream and swung the two-stoned weapon in wide arches, gaining more and more momentum as he chanted loudly. Finally he let loose the weapon with a great growl and raised his hand in the Draquon’s direction. Abram and Roakore watched in amazement as the spinning stones ascended higher when they should have fallen, and turned towards the flying beast when they should have gone straight.

The stones gained speed with the help of Roakore, who used his innate abilities to guide the stones with sheer willpower. The weapon came in hard on the beast, catching it in the side with so much force that the creature flipped four times in midair before descending to the ground in a heap of flailing wings. The Draquon crashed hard to the ground less than thirty feet from Whill and Abram, who came running, bows at the ready.

The Draquon rose to its feet with a roar. One wing was broken, but though it could not fly, it could still run with great speed. Whill and Abram took up a shooting stance twenty feet from the monster and let loose their arrows. The beast snarled defiantly as the arrows deflected harmlessly off its scaly armor.

Roakore was still standing in the same spot he had been, arms extended, chanting. The Draquon charged on all fours, baring its razor-sharp teeth, meaning to devour the lone dwarf. Suddenly Roakore’s stone bird came whirling across the meadow. To Whill and Abram it was but a blur, so fast did it move. It slammed into the Draquon’s chest, sending the beast flying back ten feet.

Even as it came to a halt Whill and Abram were upon it, blades drawn. Abram went straight for the eyes of the prone monster, jabbing frantically and managing to take out one amidst the Draquon’s thrashing. Whill hacked and chopped, doing minimal damage to the monster’s armor. Then the dazed beast was on its feet again. It had lost an eye, broken a wing, and no doubt fractured a number of ribs thanks to Roakore, and it was angry. It stood eleven feet tall, towering over Whill and Abram. They waited in a defensive crouch as Roakore barreled in, axe in hand, screaming to the dwarf god of war. The beast turned to face him, and as it did it brought its ten-foot long tail around in a great sweep. Roakore hopped the tail without missing a beat. At that instant Roakore appeared to Whill more ferocious than the Draquon. Fire burned within his eyes, and his face was a picture of pure, twisted rage.

The Draquon brought its tail across again, and Roakore jumped over it once more, flying straight at the monster, axe raised over his head. The Draquon caught Roakore in its massive claws, which only increased the momentum of the dwarf’s great axe. It came down fast, even as the monster realized its folly, but too late. With a primal scream, Roakore buried the axe into the Draquon’s head. The creature instantly fell in a dead heap, bringing Roakore along for the ride. The dwarf spat and cursed, kicked and thrashed, trying to get out from under the massive corpse.

Whill and Abram quickly helped free Roakore, who emerged unscathed. With a great tug he freed his axe and, laughing all the while, wiped the blood from his blade with his sleeve.

“Ha! Thought he could get away didn’t he, stupid beast. Ye see me stones take him right outta the air?”

“A great weapon indeed,” Abram concurred.

Whill only nodded, his gaze wandering to the west.

“What are ye thinkin’, lad?”

“There, over the trees.” Whill pointed across the meadow.

Abram and Roakore both squinted as they looked to the west. Abram noticed it first.

“Smoke rises in the distance.”

Roakore peered harder at the spot. “That’s the direction the Draquon was headed when he spotted us.”

Whill nodded. “The beast was headed for Sherna.”

They grabbed their packs and started west at a frantic pace. As the hours passed and they neared Sherna, the smoke could be seen much more clearly. They were at least five miles from the town, and at a lower elevation, but the smoke was easily visible. It was thick and black, rising high into the air, and even from the great distance Whill could tell that a great many large fires had caused it.

Rhunis stood at the helm of the warship
Thunder
as it made its way steadily eastward. His face was stern, his brow bent, his scowl only intensified by the burn scar that covered a large portion of his face. He had been sent by King Mathus to find and aid Whill and Abram. Mathus had learned that upon the pair’s hasty leave from Fendale, they had been tailed by none other than Captain Cirrosa. Rhunis had found the wreckage of the
Black Dragon
three days after Whill and Abram’s departure, and to his amazement he had found it utterly destroyed. He knew well Abram’s prowess as a fighter, and he had experienced Whill’s firsthand, but the idea of the two of them taking down the
Dragon
with only a fishing vessel made no sense. Cirrosa had a crew of more than fifty, and the
Dragon
was a warship stolen from Uthen-Arden. They’d had help in the fight, no doubt, but Rhunis could think of no logical explanation. If one of the many Eldalonian warships had helped in the battle, they would have taken the wreckage to port, where they would have been treated like heroes for such a kill. No, it hadn’t been the Eldalon navy, but if not them, then who, or what?

The king had known Whill and Abram’s destination—a small fishing town on the southeastern coast of Eldalon, named Sherna. That was now the warship
Thunder
’s destination. Soon Rhunis would catch up to Whill and Abram and find his answers. From there he was to bring them to Kell-Torey, where they were to meet with the king personally.

Rhunis was jolted from his ruminations by the lookout, who yelled down from the crow’s nest.

“Smoke ahead, smoke ahead!”

Rhunis looked eastward and saw it also. They were but five miles from Sherna. He knew instinctively that the town was in trouble.

The fires were visible through the trees as Whill, Abram, and Roakore sped through the woods toward Sherna. They had taken a route that would bring them out close to the beach, where they could get a good view of the town. As they reached the edge of the forest they could hear the unmistakable sounds of battle, metal striking metal, screams of both women and men, and the growls and snarls of Draggard.

They reached the edge of the forest, and what they saw took Whill’s breath away. Almost the entire town was burning, as was the navy vessel which had been docked when they’d arrived. A few hundred feet from shore loomed a great black ship Whill did not recognize. A small army of Draggard infested the town, more than two hundred in number. He watched in horror as the beasts hacked away at an obviously dead man with glee, taking legs and arms and tearing huge chunks of meat from the bone with their hideous mouths. This was a scene from a nightmare brought to life in broad daylight, which somehow made it all worse. These were beasts of the dark, monsters of the night; to see them under the light of the sun sent a chill up Whill’s spine.

A small band of villagers and Eldalonian soldiers had taken up defensive positions around the town hall, which being made entirely of stone, was not on fire. They were outnumbered four to one but they held fast their position in front of the large doors. Around them the Draggard stalked, toying with them, waiting, and laughing. The Draggard were known for their great cruelty; they would drag out a siege such as this for hours, basking in the horror of their victims.

Above the town hall, twelve Draquon circled like a pack of vultures. Whill watched horrified as one descended and plucked a man from the ranks. It soared into the air once again with the man in its great claws, and the rest of the Draquon were upon the man in an instant, tearing him to pieces and letting his limbs fall down upon the men below.

Roakore had seen enough. He grabbed his stone bird and his great axe and ran out from the trees before Abram could stop him.

“So much for a plan of attack,” Abram said as he rushed out after the dwarf.

Whill took both his own sword and his father’s and joined his friends in their apparent suicide run. The knowledge that these monsters had killed his parents, and now likely had killed Tarren too, filled him with primal rage. He caught up to Abram as Roakore broke into a battle cry that caught the attention of the nearby Draggard.

The beach was now one hundred feet directly behind them as they charged up the grassy slope, heading for the town hall. Before them a host of Draggard rushed to intercept the three warriors. Roakore let fly his stone bird, which sped to the nearest Draggard so fast it was but a blur. The beast didn’t know what hit it as its head was taken clean off its shoulders by the strong chain that connected the two stones. The weapon did not slow. At Roakore’s mental command, it turned left and slammed into another Draggard’s knees, no doubt shattering both.

Four of the beasts bore down on Roakore, who bore down on them in turn as Whill and Abram rushed to catch up. At twenty feet behind, however, they could only watch as the first Draggard engaged Roakore—or rather tasted his axe.

The sturdy dwarf easily knocked aside the Draggard’s spear to the left as he began a quick spin, and coming around he sunk his axe deep into the monster’s side, nearly chopping it in half. He spun again and used the momentum to pull the axe free, only to connect with another Draggard’s head. Through it all he never slowed, even as two Draggard came at him with axe. He met them with great force, barreling into both as they raised their axes simultaneously. Both the beasts fell backwards as he charged on, leaving them for Whill and Abram.

Whill came down hard on the Draggard to the left as it scrambled to get up, stabbing through the beast’s back with both swords, each finding a lung. Abram similarly dispatched his opponent and they were off again, following the mighty dwarf warrior.

Rhunis’s greatest fears were realized when he spotted the black ship, a Draggard ship, anchored near Sherna’s port. The captain instructed the men to ready the twenty catapults, though the other ship had not fired upon them and appeared to be deserted. Rhunis could see that the town was ablaze, and small battles were playing out along the beach and within. The people needed help. He advised the captain to keep the catapults at the ready and told his men to make for the town with all haste.

Whill and Abram caught up to Roakore as he paused to summon his stone bird once again. Though they had not yet caught the attention of the main force, many Draggard had taken notice of the three warriors, and many came. Whill engaged one as it barreled in, brandishing a nasty-looking spear. The beast stabbed for Whill’s belly, but Whill was too quick; he knocked the spear harmlessly aside with his own sword and stabbed the beast through the neck with his father’s. He spun to meet the next monster, ducking a spear meant for his head, and came around with his sword into the shin of his attacker. As he twisted he brought Sinomara around and drove it through the eye of the bent beast.

Abram pulled his sword from a dead Draggard and engaged another as Roakore’s stone bird whirled past. The dwarf taunted three approaching Draggard, who met those taunts with snarling maws and raised spears. The beasts bore down on the warriors, but were met with greater force as the stone bird came across low and fast, sweeping the monsters’ legs out from under them. Roakore smashed one of the prone Draggard’s heads with his great axe, while Whill and Abram simultaneously split the heads of the other two.