Kingdoms in Chaos (11 page)

Avriel turned from the door and gave Whill and her mother their privacy at last. She knew better than to spy, but she couldn’t help herself. The feeling that she had experienced upon seeing him again could not be mistaken. But what did it mean? He spoke of her so poetically. And looked at her like he knew her heart and soul.

This was the man she had given her life for…

She shook her head and straightened in her stride. Lingering on the possibilities was a waste of time. There was nothing she could do. Even if she did miraculously remember him, it would do nothing to change the circumstances. He was a human king, and she was an elven princess. If they had shared a love for a time, that time had passed.

Her people were leaving Elladrindellia, possibly forever. They would return to their homeland and rebuild. She needed to focus on what was important.

There was a dinner in Whill’s honor that night in the palace. Outside, the crowd of elves who had come to see him had grown into the thousands. He knew that he had to address them sooner or later, which was a daunting prospect. They would certainly ask him of the goddess, to which he had nothing to offer.

The crystal-walled banquet hall had once shimmered with inner power, and while it still reflected the burning torches, it had none of its former luster. Whill sat beside Zerafin at the large table with Avriel on the king’s right side. Many of the elders were in attendance, as well as Zerafin’s personal council. Tyron Greyson sat on Whill’s left, eyeing the room with subtle suspicion. Behind them, Whill’s personal guard stood at attention.

The elders had many questions of the final battle with Eadon, with their inquiries always coming back to Kellallea and her ascension. Many of them had been there to witness it themselves, but none had yet been visited by the goddess. When asked if she had appeared to him, Whill lied, not wanting to have to explain his reaction to her offer.

The elves had changed a lot in such a short time. When once they were proud and powerful, now they appeared much like humans, with a desperation and melancholy hiding behind their steely facade.

Outside, the crowd chanted his name ever louder. They had always treated Whill like a deity, and now their admiration was even more apparent. He was reminded that sooner or later he was going to have to address them

“You needn’t worry about making a long speech,” said Zerafin, once again seemingly reading his mind.

“There will be many questions. Already they plead for word of the goddess,” said Whill.

“The people are scared. Do what you can to alleviate their fears.”

Shortly after dinner, the king led Whill to his balcony along with Avriel and the elders. The crowd cheered happily, some falling to their knees and bowing before him. He held up his hand to silence them, but it only spurred their excitement. Zerafin stepped forward and, at great length, quieted the crowd.

“My good elves of Cerushia! Once, an ancient prophecy told of a man who would defeat the dark lord and bring peace to our people. I must admit that when I first met him, I had my doubts.” Zerafin turned to Whill and grinned. “He was an impatient young man with little grasp on his magical abilities. More than once he nearly killed himself using Orna Catorna. But as I watched him grow into his power, I began to dare hope that perhaps he was the one. He is a man built of solid moral fortitude, and has strength of mind and spirit rarely seen. Never have I met a braver soul. My good elves of Cerushia, I give to you, King Whillhelm Warcrown!”

The crowd gave a cheer and Whill took the podium and waved. As before, not everyone watching from below did so with admiration. Some of them stared up at him with anger in their eyes.

“Hello, my friends. It is with humble appreciation that I stand before you today. Not as a god, not even as a king, but as a simple man. When I was young I dreamed of grand adventures. I read about dragons and dwarves and elves in books given to me by my late mentor, Abram. I never imagined that one day I would be part of such an amazing tale. I feel blessed by your friendship, and I thank you for everything you have done.

“Magic has been taken from us. And though I went most of my life without the ability to perform Orna Catorna, the loss of it has affected me greatly. I cannot imagine what it must be like for you. Know that it was not my choice. In the end, when I attained both the blade of power taken and the blade of power given, Eadon tried to possess me. For it was his plan all along. In that final moment, when I felt myself slipping, I gave to Kellallea all the power that I possessed. I had it all, and I let it go. I was not strong enough, even with my great power, to stop the dark lord. I cannot say if what Kellallea did was for the best or not. All I can do is continue on into the unknown as I have always done, with the belief that good will overcome evil. I will continue to fight against those who wish to oppress others, and I will ever be your friend and ally. Thank you.”

He turned from the crowd as they erupted in cheers. Some asked him of Kellallea, others asked for his blessing, still others blamed him. Zerafin offered an approving nod, and Avriel smiled upon him. The elders parted as he and Zerafin, followed by Avriel, headed across the balcony to the archway.

A sudden commotion erupted in the palace, and two elves with bloodied blades rushed across the room toward Whill and the others. Whill’s guards standing on each side of the door moved to intercept them but were cut down quickly by the two skilled assassins.

“Protect the king!” someone yelled, and both human and elven guards crowded around Zerafin and Whill.

“Death to Kellallea and her human dog!” one of the attackers cried.

Two more elves dropped down to the balcony and Whill grabbed ahold of Avriel and pulled her behind him. He unsheathed his father’s sword and engaged the closest elf. The assassin was skilled, and the fighting was made even more difficult in the close quarters. He frantically parried the furious attacks as the other assassin came on with a dagger thrust to his side. Tyrron Greyson leaped in front of the attack and engaged the elf as Whill’s other guards came to his aid. The elf cut down two of them before Whill was able to disarm him with Zerafin’s help.

“You took everything!” the furious elf screamed as more guards helped to restrain him.

Whill looked desperately to Avriel and found her being whisked away deeper into the palace by her guards. His own soldiers were trying to coax him inside as well. He shrugged them off and made his way through the chaos to Tyrron. The lord general was being helped up by two elves. He clutched his chest and grimaced with pain.

“How bad is it?” Whill asked.

Tyrron gritted his teeth and grinned. “I’ll live.”

“Hurry,” said Whill to the elves. “Get him somewhere safe.”

“My Lord,” said one of Zerafin’s guards, “you should come with us to the inner sanctum as well.”

“You are my guest here,” said Zerafin. “I will not see you harmed in my house. Please, go with them.”

Whill reluctantly allowed himself to be led off the balcony with Tyrron. Behind him the crowd was in an uproar.

The call went out across Drakkar Island, a collective roar that told Reshikk that more were arriving. He flew to the top of the volcano and searched the ocean to the west. Far off in the distance he spotted the large storm of dragons. This was the fifth clan to arrive in the last week, and more would be coming.

Reshikk gave an approving growl.

As the dragons drew near he counted seven in all, and soon spotted the alpha, a large male flying at the head of the storm. He would bow before Reshikk and offer up his females, or he would have to challenge him.

Many of the dragons had begun to gather at the spire jutting out from the southern side of the volcano. Reshikk waited until the dragons coming from the west were within a mile and let out a powerful roar that was echoed by every dragon nearby. He leaped and glided around the smoldering mouth, knowing that the new arrivals could see him quite clearly. They came to land just outside the ring of dragons around the spire, and he dove swiftly.

He landed on the tip of the spire and tucked his large wings. The new clan consisted of one male, two whelps no larger than horses, and four females. They were being greeted by Reshikk’s clan, who snapped, growled, hissed, and shot fire into the sky above the heads of the newcomers, creating a blazing arch.

A big, black dragon appeared to be their leader. Blacks made up most of the clan, along with a few silvers. He was young and strong, and might have been able to give Reshikk a bit of a challenge, but Reshikk was a true green.

The black dragon gave a deafening roar when a red male got too close to one of the females of his clan. His spiked tail shot out wide, and grazed the shoulder scales of the younger red. The others parted before the new arrivals as they made their way to stand before Reshikk.

“Who has called this gathering? Who has spoken to our minds with the voice of a god?” said the black.

“I, Reshikk, have summoned you here.”

“We have sailed upon many currents to answer the call. The eye of the moon has opened and closed since we left the islands to the west. Why have you called us here?” said the black.

Reshikk unfolded his massive wings and let out a plume of fire twenty feet long. “The father of dragons speaks to me. It is by his will we are gathered here, for the time of the dragons has come again! Kneel before me, follow me to glory and conquest. Together we will take back our ancient mountain homes.”

The black growled low in his throat. He glanced back at his clan and then to the surrounding dragons. His females did not meet his gaze, too busy admiring Reshikk’s majesty.

“You say he speaks to you, but what proof do you have?” he dared.

“I am the last of the ancients! My venom burns through flesh and bone, earth and stone. I will melt the mountain doors of the dwarven halls and feast on their flesh. I will scorch the cities of the humans. The elves shall become my slaves. Bow before me, join the Final Clan, and you, Black…you will know the glory of your ancestors.”

The gathering of dragons stirred; deep, guttural sounds pronounced their excitement. The black knew of what he spoke. Like the rest, he too held the knowledge of every dragon of his line, and he remembered the powers of old.

“You and your Blacks shall breathe death, the Whites will once again spew forth lightning, the Blues will strip flesh with steam, and the flame of the Reds shall become a terrible beam of destruction.” Reshikk stood proudly above his clan, letting his proclamation echo across the valley of lava flows. He saw the recognition in the eyes of the Black and his clan. The ancient memories came back to them, whispers of power nearly forgotten, even by the long-lived dragons. “The war of clans nearly wiped us out, and ended many lines. Untold knowledge was lost. For too long you have flown astray. Soon the men of Agora will remember the terrors of old, soon the dwarves will burn inside their caves…soon the elves shall return to their gods. The time of the dragon is upon us. Rise with me, fly with me, KILL WITH ME! And I shall show you the glory of the ancients!”

The black females gave out yearning groans. They gnashed at the air and blew streaming jets of fire into the sky. Their alpha saw the effect Reshikk had on them, and his snout twisted. He turned to his clan and silenced them with an ear-piercing cry.

“You have a gifted tongue…would the ancient one use so crude a tool as words?” the black asked.

Reshikk leaped from the tall spire and landed before the black dragon. He had hoped the young one would offer him a challenge. When the females saw his power they would fight among themselves to be mounted first.

Reshikk grinned.

The black lunged forward on powerful legs and reaching arms and snapped at Reshikk’s neck. Reshikk met the attack with vicious force, coming under the maw of his opponent and slamming up into his chin with thick horns. Reshikk followed the blow quickly with a whip of his tail that cracked many of the scales upon the black’s leg.

The two dragons lunged into each other and rolled across the glowing gray and red rivers of igneous rock. They thrashed and bit, clawed and roared. The surrounding dragons offered up a chorus of bestial noises and encircled them in a ring of fire.

Reshikk took a blow to the shoulder when the black attacked his right wing with a tail thrash. He took advantage of the twisting motion and pounced on his off-balanced opponent, crashing him to the ground and pinning him beneath powerful arms and legs. Reshikk leaned in close to the struggling black’s face.

“Witness the power of the ancient ones,” he snarled.

The black had a crown of horns about his head three feet long. Reshikk held him firm and opened his maw, letting a long, thick glob of green venom fall slowly onto one of the jutting horns. His opponent thrashed about, staring with terrified eyes at the acid slowly reaching for his head. The venom hit the thick horn with a sizzle and burned through it as though it were candle wax. The black cried out for mercy, offering himself and his clan completely.

Reshikk held him there, watching as the acid completely dissolved the horn. It would melt straight through his brain if he tilted the black’s head a certain way. Instead, he turned it away so that the acid burned partially through the crown and down the side of his snout. It dripped off and hit the black’s leg, boring a four-inch-wide hole through it and into the ground.

Satisfied, Reshikk released him and stood tall above his conquered foe. He turned to the newly arrived females and gave a commanding roar. They bowed their heads before his majesty, extending their wings down to the ground in a show of obedience.

The mating that followed was vigorous. Reshikk had already defeated several challengers, and continued to solidify his position as the head alpha. Females flocked to him in droves, and those he deemed unfit for his seed were sent to breed with the others.

Those females he chose for himself laid their eggs in warm, glowing caverns deep beneath the volcano. When the time came they would be covered in flame and would soon hatch. Like their father, they too would possess the powers of old.

Reshikk’s private birthing chambers already housed dozens of eggs. And while he was eager to attack Agora, he knew that he must be patient. Many more would heed his call.