Whill of Agora Trilogy: Book 01 - Whill of Agora (6 page)

“Ah, so the great fighter awakes,” Abram said as Whill took the seat opposite. “I’ve ordered eggs, bacon, and toast. Two orders each, which is not quite enough if you are as hungry as I.”

“Good, I’m starved.”

A startlingly beautiful young woman about Whill’s age walked up to the table. “Will you be wanting coffee also?” she asked him.

“Yes, I would, if you would be so kind, with six lumps of sugar.”

“
Six
? Do you have a thing for sweet stuff?”

He smiled. “That I do, though I would be ill-fated to try to find anything as sweet as you.”

The waitress blushed and gave Whill a coy smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Abram grinned. “You didn’t learn that one from me. I’m impressed.”

“What?” Whill feigned ignorance. “The truth rolls from the tongue easier than anything rehearsed.”

“That it does, my friend that it does.”

The waitress soon returned with Whill’s coffee, which was in a larger glass than Abram’s and topped with a thick coat of frothy cream.

“Thank you very much.”

“If you need anything else, please don’t be afraid to ask.”

Soon the large plates of food arrived, and Whill and Abram dug in with a hunger they usually only knew on the road. After finishing, Abram ordered another coffee for each of them and lit his pipe. Whill also cleaned his plate and sat back feeling very content.

Abram blew large smoke-rings into the air and watched them rise and linger. They sat for a moment in silence. More coffee came shortly and they again thanked the waitress. Whill watched Abram’s smoke-rings hang high above them, as still as stone.

“You know,” said Whill, “we could buy a nice ship with that gold I won.”

Abram laughed. “With that much gold you could buy a whole fleet. But a ship would be a very good investment.”

Whill thought for a moment. “You said we would be here for a while. Do you think it will be long enough to have a ship built?”

Abram raised his eyebrows. “I suppose we could. I do know an excellent shipbuilder—if he’s still alive, that is. I haven’t seen him since last we were here, and he was an old man then.”

“We should go and see him today. I’ve been tossing a ship design around in my head for years—just a daydream, really, but now it seems we can have it made.” Said Whill as his excitement grew.

Abram nodded as he sipped his coffee. “I had planned to buy a small boat, but now that you have won this grand prize, perhaps we won’t have to. I have to take you somewhere so that I may finally tell you all you wish and deserve to know. But it is far from here, and by sea we will get there much more easily. Dy’Kore,” he said, before Whill could ask. “The dwarf city in the Ky’Dren Mountains.”

Whill regarded him with utter astonishment. “We are going to the dwarf city?”

“Long ago I fought alongside the dwarf king Ky’Ell against the Draggard. He has since been a good friend. These long years since your birth, he has kept heirlooms of yours safe. Within the mountains lies your past, and there your story should be told to you.”

Whill had read about and heard many stories of the dwarves. They were a race who kept to themselves mostly and were not seen often beyond the mountains. They were made up of three clans, the Ky’Dren, the Elgar, and the Ro’Sar. The mountains they inhabited had been named after the dwarf kings who had first settled them. The Ky’Dren dwarves were allies to Eldalon and watched over the Ky’Dren Pass, the only land route into the kingdom of Eldalon. In return the king supplied the dwarves with a means to transport and trade their gold and jewels, as well as safe passage by ship to visit their kin, the Elgar. The Ro’Sar, who had lived within what were now called the Ebony Mountains, was all but wiped out. A great host of Draggard had come by sea five years before and invaded the Ro’Sar city of Del’Aris. All but a handful of the Ro’Sar had survived by fleeing to Dy’Kore.

“Then it’s settled,” Whill said. “We’ll build a ship and sail to the mountains, and finally I will know my past.”

They finished their coffee and ventured out into the street. It was high noon and the day was mild. The outer walls of the city gave good protection from the wind. The streets were littered with paper confetti and bits and pieces of pop balls. Already people were cleaning up, and it appeared that not only hired cleaners but also many citizens lent a hand. As Abram had expected, the young man from the previous night was waiting by the door with an expectant smile. Abram threw him a coin and told him their destination.

They again traveled towards the center of the city and soon stopped before a large, three-story building. It was made of exquisitely crafted stone that had a shiny gloss. It boasted four large pillars, each of which was decorated with Fendale’s emblem. A large set of marble steps led up to the main door. Upon the very top of the building, stone letters as tall as a man declared “Bank of Fendale.” Whill noticed that archers were positioned every ten feet along the top of the building. There were also four armed guards at the base of the stair.

“This is where your gold is being kept. I assumed that you would want to make a withdrawal.”

“You assumed correctly. You’ve paid my way long enough. It’s high time I treated you for once.”

Abram laughed as they climbed the marble steps to the front door. An armed guard stood at each side.

“What is your business, good sir?” the guard on the right asked Abram.

“We are here to make a withdrawal,” Whill said.

“What are your names, please?”

“I am Whill, and this is Abram.”

The guard gave Whill a queer look. “You’re the one who beat Rhunis?”

“This would be he, good sir,” said Abram. “And if you don’t mind, we have pressing business that must be attended to. Unless you want an autograph from the young lad, that is.”

The guard looked embarrassed. He put on a serious face again. Leave your weapons at the check-in or you won’t be permitted inside.”

With that he turned and together he and the other guard opened the great doors for them. Whill and Abram entered a small room with bare walls. Another great door lay directly in front of them. To the right there was a guard behind a three-foot-square opening to another room, the weapons storage room. He told them to sign in on a scroll and gave them a quill.

“All weapons must be surrendered here,” he declared in a flat voice.

They complied and handed over their swords and knives. Satisfied, the guard went to a small slit in the wall and said, “Ocean blue.”

The door opened and they went into the main lobby of the bank. It was a large room that led to many doors. At the other end of the room was a large oak desk. A short little man with large glasses hurried towards them. With an exaggerated hello and handshake he led Whill and Abram to the vault where the gold was kept. Once inside, Whill saw the twenty sacks of gold upon a large wooden table covered with a red velvet cloth. He opened one of the bags and let the coins fall out onto the table with a heavy clang. Abram took a coin and tested it with his teeth, then eyed it in the torchlight. The light reflected on the surface was deep orange. The emblem of Eldalon was stamped on both sides.

“I’ll be taking a half a bag of gold today,” Whill told the little banker.

“Of course, sir, and it will be our pleasure to hold the rest for as long as you want, at one percent interest, of course.”

Abram scowled at the little man. “In that case we won’t be keeping it here long.” He grumbled and left the vault, mumbling something about damned vultures.

After retrieving their weapons and leaving the building, they headed to the shipbuilder’s place. It was a nicely built and decorated home near the city’s ocean side. This time Whill tipped the wagon boy himself, throwing him a gold coin from his bag. The kid looked at the gold in his hand, astonished. Abram laughed. “You do know how much that’s worth?”

“A wise man once told me there is no point in having wealth if you cannot use it to spread joy.”

Abram smiled. “You’re a quick learner.”

They left the astonished boy standing in the street and went to the front door of the house. After two knocks the door was opened by an old man in a brown vest with a white undershirt. His pants were a fine brown fabric, and on his feet he wore thick brown slippers.

“May I help you?”

“Freston, you old dog! Are you so senile you don’t remember old friends?”

The old man’s frown turned into a wide smile. “Abram, I hadn’t expected you. Folks say you were killed in one of your crazy journeys.”

Abram laughed. “There are more stories of my death than there is sand on the beach.”

Freston chuckled. “Come in, come in. I was just about to have a little tea. Now I have someone to share it with.”

Whill and Abram entered the house, which was just as nice inside as out. Paintings of ships adorned every wall, and numerous shelves were dedicated solely to small ships in bottles. Whill looked at these closely, wondering how they had been put inside. Freston led them to his study and offered them each a seat at his scroll-covered table. “Sorry for the mess, but a builder’s work is never done. I’ll return in a moment with the tea.”

Whill noticed that the scrolls were ship drafts and blueprints. He cocked his head at one design that caught his attention. Freston returned with a tray and three tea cups.

“Feel free, young lad. Those are just new designs I’ve been working on.”

Abram and Freston talked while Whill pored over the designs. Freston’s sons now built most of the ships, he said, as he was too old for much of the work. But he was very excited about the proposition to build a ship of Whill’s own design.

“Usually I build merchant ships or small sailboats, and even a few for the royal navy over the years,” he said. “Helping you bring your design to life would be a rare pleasure.”

They talked for a while about Whill’s vision for his ship, and Freston wrote one detail or another down on a piece of paper. Abram added his recommendations to the design. After a few hours of drawing, planning, and calculating, they had a rough draft of what the ship would look like.

Whill held the sketch up to the light. “She’ll be a beauty.”

“That she will, and if done right, also one of the fastest that ever sailed these blue waters,” Freston agreed.

They made plans to meet the following day and said farewell. Upon leaving the house, Whill and Abram stopped in their tracks. Outside Freston’s house there were fifteen kids with pull carts, all offering them a ride.

Abram laughed aloud at the sight. “It looks like the word is out.”

Whill said politely that they would be walking, to the lads’ disappointment. “We could use a good walk anyway,” he told Abram, who simply chuckled.

The kids followed them for a while but soon gave up on the prospect. Whill and Abram walked in silence for a while as the sun set beyond the city walls. The streets were not crowded; only the occasional horseman or guard rode along. Women in long gowns and men in an assortment of autumn colors strolled from shop to shop. Couples walked hand in hand, laughing and talking in excited voices. Some children still ran about, letting off small fireworks from the previous night.

After about a half hour Whill and Abram reached Ocean Mist and enjoyed a fine dinner of seafood and wine. They talked over their plans for the ship and made plans for the days ahead. They had estimated that it would take a month to build the ship, and by that time Abram would be almost fully healed.

The next day Whill brought his horse out beyond the city to give it some exercise. He rode for hours up and down the coast, the fresh saltwater spraying his face as his horse raced along the beach for miles and miles. It was nice to be out of the city. As much as he liked it, he liked the freedom of the open land much more. He had always loved his life of travel, going from town to town, never making any one place his home. He figured he would settle down one day, but not any time soon. He looked forward to setting sail in his own ship, with nothing between him and the setting sun but the gentle blue ocean. There was nothing better than a night on a ship on calm waters. Sometimes the stars seemed so bright and close, he felt as though he could reach up and touch them. When the sky was clear and the water was still, there were times when he could not tell where the earth ended and the ocean began. He was truly at peace on the sea, where the mysteries of the water were more complex than his own. It was a place where he could let go of all his worries and be lulled into quiet tranquility.

As he sped along the beach, he thought of his childhood home. The beaches of Sidnell had been his favorite place to think. He would sit for hours on the sand and read. Abram brought him the most interesting books, some with facts about Agora, some a complete history of each kingdom. Then there were his favorites, the books of the elves. As soon as he had learned to read Elvish, he had been fascinated by them. They had come to Agora in the year 4650, five hundred years before Whill was born. Their story was one of great loss and suffering. They had lived in a land called Drindellia, far to the east. They had thrived there for tens of thousands of years and had built great cities within. The books then told of a great foe, the Draggard, who were created through the evil works of the Dark elf Eadon. Using what people call magic, but the elves call Orna Catorna, he combined an unborn elf with a dragon egg, in the hopes of creating a powerful breed of elves. The Draggard had the shape of the elves, but in appearance they resembled dragons. Their skin was dark green and was rough and scaly upon their backs. They had hideously sharp teeth and claws, and strong thin tails that could whip or impale a man. They were stronger than elves, but like them they lived long, dying only from injury and not age. Like their dragon kin, the Draggard also laid eggs, which was where they found their real strength: great numbers. A queen Draggard could lay thousands of eggs a year.

Eadon proclaimed himself lord of all Drindellia, and with his followers and the Draggard began a bloody war against King Verelas, ruler of the Elves of the Sun. The war raged for nearly 110 years. The Draggard were many in number, but the elves were skilled in body and in mind. Slowly the elves were pushed to the west of Drindellia, where they were to make their final stand. It was then that Verelas sent a great number of his people over the sea, in hopes that even if the war was lost, the race would not perish. Across the sea and into unknown lands went one thousand elves, and with them Verelas’ wife, Queen Araveal; their three daughters, Zilena, Avriel, and Kiella; and their only son, Zerafin. The king insisted that he stay and fight with his fellow elves, though the queen begged him to leave. He told her to go and find a safe land where the elves might prosper again and live in peace. That day a fleet of ten great elven ships left Drindellia forever and as the land faded from sight, the Draggard army could be seen advancing upon the beaches.