understand, but you must bury your feelings deep, Whill. She must not know. Though she may already suspect, you must not speak of it. You must not think it, though you feel it.”
Whill thought for a long moment. “And what about you, Abram?”
“Me? What of me?”
Whill laughed. “And so the wise man does not see.” He shook his head. “You old fool. What about you? I love you as I would love my father, as I love no friend, as I would a brother. Should I hide that also?”
“That is different.”
“How so?”
“The feelings a man has for his first love are more powerful than any he will ever know. This is written by both men and elves. I may die in the upcoming wars, but you will survive. You will have others to lean on.”
Whill shook his head as if he thought the notion absurd. Abram grabbed his arm. “Listen to me, Whill.” His tone and demeanor demanded Whill’s attention. “I may fall, Tarren may fall-any may fall and you still will be alright. You will be hurt, mind and soul, but you will survive. If your love is lost, however, you may become that which you strive to defeat. This I say as a warning and nothing more. You are the rightful king of Uthen-Arden. I have not trained you these long years to see you fall. I only say these things to protect you.”
Whill looked at Abram, then at Avriel and the others. “I understand. But I think you put too much on me alone. You treat me as some kind of savior. I am but one man. One man! I can not be held responsible for the fate of Agora! I will not! The elves will fight without me. The humans will fight without me. And the dwarves will fight till the end without me. Yes, I intend to try to take back my father’s throne. But if I fail it will be of no large consequence to the cause!”
“You are wise, Whill, but there are many things you do not know. I blame you not for that which you are blind to. But I ask you: ask Avriel, or her brother, for that matter. Ask them what part you play in all of this. I assure you it is no small one.”
Whill was tired of hearing of himself in such ways. He was but a man, after all. He had accepted the fact that he must take back his father’s throne, but the liberator and savior of Agora? It was all a bit too much.
He got up, put his sword in its sheath, and stormed over to the fire without a word more. Abram simply puffed on his pipe and left it all to the gods.
Roakore and Tarren were in deep discussion about dragons and dwarf gods when Whill slumped down next to them.
“Just tellin’ yer boy Tarren here ’bout the dragon gods,” Roakore explained. “Meat’s got a little while to go, though.”
Tarren piped in with his usual enthusiastic demeanor.
“Aye, Roakore told me all about the dragon and dwarf gods. It’s really good stuff, Whill, you should hear it! All about the Prophet Ky’Dren and-”
Whill cut him off and recited the old tales. “Ky’Dren came to the dwarves at a time when they were lost. They had no religion or social structure other than that of the nomad. Ky’Dren told them he had been sent from the dwarf gods to lead them, to give them a better life, to show them their purpose. Ky’Dren could move stone with his mind, they say, as can his direct descendants still. He was a god among dwarves, a god among all.”
Roakore nodded in approval at Whill’s summary. Tarren became jubilant. “Whill, I didn’t know you knew so much of the dwarves! What else do you know?”
Roakore patted Tarren’s leg. “A great deal about all things, I imagine. A great deal.”
Whill spoke to no one the remainder of the break. They all ate their share of the venison, packed up, and headed out once again. Tarren, however, asked to ride this time upon the pony with a less-than-enthusiastic dwarf. They rode the remainder of the day and briefly into the night along the old road leading to Kell-Torey. They met no one along the way but a group of one hundred soldiers headed for Sherna. Rhunis informed them that he had been in charge of the reconstruction of the town, but had handed the task over to his second-in-command on account of other more important duties. After a short briefing the soldiers were off once again and the riders made camp for the night.
Roakore made a large fire and went about cooking the remaining venison, with the help of one tired but eager lad. Whill took the time to speak with Avriel and her brother. He found them tending to their horses. Not being in the mood for small talk, he walked up and simply said what was on his mind.
“Abram tells me I have a larger part in all of this than I know. Though I cannot think how my part may become any greater, I trust you will enlighten me as to his insinuations.”
Avriel and Zerafin stopped what they were doing and looked at the faraway silhouette of Abram, and then at each other. They seemed to share a silent communication and finally nodded. They put down their brushes.
“Sit, then, and we shall tell you the tale,” said Zerafin.
Whill sat upon the ground, as did the elves. Twenty yards away the fire burned, casting faint orange light upon the two storytellers.
Avriel began. “More than five thousand years ago there lived within Drindellia an elf prophet by the name of Adimorda, our great-great-great-grandfather. He was a skilled fighter and healer, but he was best known for his foresight.”
“Foresight?”
“Yes,” Zerafin said. “Adimorda is now known as the greatest elf prophet to have ever lived, which is no small feat, considering that our history dates back more than seven hundred thousand years.”
Whill lit up. “Yes, now I remember reading of him. Vaguely, however; I was a child then, and the books I had of the elves spoke little of him. I remember them saying that he could see into the future.”
Avriel nodded. “He used his powers unlike any before him. When first he looked into the future, and then later events proved him right, he became obsessed. He spent year after year pouring his energy into his blade, and he used the stored power to strengthen his mental abilities.”
Zerafin took over without missing a beat. “As more and more of Adimorda’s predictions came true, his followers increased. They would travel from hundreds of miles around to give him their stored energy in exchange for a glimpse of the future. With so much energy at his disposal, Adimorda began looking farther and farther into the future-decades, hundreds, even thousands of years.”
Avriel’s eyes shone wet in the faint firelight. “Then Adimorda saw something that terrified him, something that would change him forever and drive him into a lifelong obsession. He saw the destruction of Drindellia. He saw the rise of a purely evil elf lord, the creation of hideous beasts, the fall of his homeland. We know now that elf lord was Eadon, and the creatures the Draggard. Adimorda knew he must do all he could to prevent this from happening. He devised many plans, and began to carry them out. But he soon found that with every plan he attempted, the results would be the same or worse.”
Whill cut in. “He looked to the future to see how he had helped?”
“Precisely,” Zerafin said. “And he found that nothing he did would help. He could not alter a future so far away.”
Whill’s mind hurt as he thought of the possibilities. He put both hands through his hair and let out an exasperated breath. “Then what did he do?”
Avriel sighed. “Some say that he went mad.”
“Others, the true believers, like myself and my sister, think he did all he thought he could, his last attempt to save Drindellia.”
“Yes,” Avriel said. “Adimorda decided that Eadon’s rise to power was inevitable, that all he could do to help was create a weapon to counter the powerful Dark elf.”
Whill lit up. “He created a weapon?”
Zerafin nodded and let out a laugh. “Yes, his own blade. He thought that if he could store enough energy within it, with the help of his followers, then the wielder would have a chance at defeating the Dark elf. But his plan backfired. He looked once again into the future, only to discover that the Dark elf himself would get his hands on the sword, and all would be lost.”
“But that was not all,” Avriel said. “Adimorda would not give up so easily. To see to it that the Dark elf would never use the sword, he made it so that no elf could ever wield it. He created the Order of Adromida, a group of his followers who would dedicate their lives to his cause.”
Zerafin took his turn. “Adimorda disappeared shortly after that, and was never seen or heard from again.”
