tale told by a strange people. The fact that the elves led the horde of Draggard only suggests to me that you may wish to be more cautious in the company you keep. And as for young Whill here-well, how many stories are there of a fallen king, or betrayal for the sake of power? Addakon very well may have killed his brother for the throne, but that does not indicate that he wants domination of Agora.”
“I was there, good sir,” Abram said. “I was there when Addakon betrayed his brother, and I saw with my own eyes the Draggard army at his command.”
“Is that so? I had not heard of this before. Let me ask you this, Abram. If, as you say, Addakon has command of the Draggard, why would he not station them in the dwarf mountains within his own Kingdom?” He looked at Roakore. “Perhaps he saw the Ebony Mountains a weaker target.”
Roakore said nothing, but his nostrils flared and he shifted in his chair.
Ainamaf let the slightest smirk find his face. “Perhaps the reason the Draggard took the Ebony Mountains is because they are within Isladon, and the attack was ordered by the King of Isladon.”
Abram held out his hands. “I suspect you have more to say on the subject. By all means, go ahead.”
“To be blunt, sir, all of your so-called facts have no merit. Was this meeting called so that we may all assume the facts, that we may take the advice of a long-retired ex-personal guard who happened to become so only weeks before his king was slain? Should we be up in arms because Dark elves whom no one has ever seen are running amuck in Agora?
“I have a few ideas of the truth myself, if I may. The elves of Elladrindellia arrived here and took refuge. Then came the Draggard, whom the elves themselves admit to having created. The Draggard have inhabited the Ebony Mountains for twenty long years and Isladon has done nothing. Addakon has taken the first step in eradicating this unholy scourge, and we debate sides? Gentlemen, this is painfully simple. The elves brought the Draggard to this land; the elves control the Draggard, you said it yourself, Abram. The elves, it appears, are in league with Isladon and the Draggard.”
Neither Zerafin nor Avriel said a word. Whill felt his blood boil, but Abram did not look surprised. Roakore, however, snapped. He rose to his feet and slammed his fist upon the table. “Lunacy! Ridiculous! Dragonshit!”
Ainamaf did not rise, but his voice did, drowning out that of the furious dwarf. “Is that so, good dwarf, is that so? You, of all in attendance here, I would think, would listen to reason. You! Who have lost everything because of what the elves created, because of what they brought to your doors. The halls of your fathers stink with the putrid stench of dwarf corpses and Draggard slime! Yet you defend the elves. It is unbelievable, an outrage. May I ask you, Roakore, do your people know of your alliances, your allegiance?”
Roakore’s voice was calm now. “What me people know, Ainamaf, is that I am a dwarf who knows right from wrong, good from evil, and truth from lies. And you, my friend, have the eyes of a liar.”
Ainamaf glared back, ever with a smile. “Is that so?”
“Aye.”
Ainamaf waved his advisors away. “Leave us.”
With a confused look but no words, they did as they were told. Once the doors had closed, Zerafin spoke. “I must give them my condolences for the death of King Ainamaf.”
Whill suddenly understood.
Ainamaf rose to his feet. “If I am killed here today, you will have waged war with Isladon, good King Mathus. You wouldn’t want that, now would you? And as for you, Zerafin, I should have killed you upon the temple steps of Orkalendor.”
“Travvikonis. I am glad to see you still live, so that I may do as I should have done long ago.”
Travvikonis only smiled. “Addakon has but one order: forgo this futile effort and surrender at once, to me, now! For if you do not, you shall all die, your cities shall burn and your kingdoms shall crumble. There is no hope. Give up and spare many lives.”
King Mathus stood. “This is our response to your king, the betrayer. We will do as we have always done: we will fight till the death, and we will do it smiling. You my friend and your sad little band of reptiles have come to the wrong country. Now leave my halls before-”
“Before what?”
Rhunis rose beside his king. “Before your limp lifeless body is wheeled out of this city in a manure wagon.”
Travvikonis’s wicked guttural laugh turned into a snarl. He jerked his right hand forward, letting loose a red glowing sphere of flame. Rhunis whirled out of the way as the fireball hit the wall with a bang and shower of sparks. As he came around Rhunis had already produced a dagger and let it fly across the room. The dagger was passed by another ball of fire. Then the dagger and the fireball stopped inches short of their targets. Travvikonis had mentally stalled the dagger, and Zerafin had stopped the fireball. Everyone in the room waited.
“Do you wish to wage war on Isladon, Mathus?” said Travvikonis with a smirk.
King Mathus looked at Zerafin, whose outstretched hand held the fireball in place. The fireball disappeared with a poof, and the dagger fell to the table with a clank.
Zerafin turned to Travvikonis. “Leave this castle now!”
“Then I have your answers. I look forward to seeing you again, on the battlefield.” With that, he left the room.
The great doors shut and everyone inside said not a word for a long time. Finally Mathus broke the spell. “Rhunis. See to it that Dark elf posing as Ainamaf and all his people leave these castle walls. I want all of them accounted for.”
Without a word Rhunis exited the room. Then Roakore spoke up. “Damnit, ye two!” he bellowed at the elves. “Couldn’t you have used yer damned magic to see through his disguise?”
“No, good dwarf, we could not,” said Avriel. “It was a very powerful spell. It seems Travvikonis transformed his entire body-not only his outward appearance, but his aura as well, for when I looked upon him with my mind’s eye, he appeared to be Ainamaf.”
Roakore responded with only a “Bah!”
Abram spoke up, addressing the entire room. “One other thing disturbs me.”
“Ha! Only one?” said Roakore.
Abram ignored him. “Travvikonis did not attempt to kill Whill, though he knew who he was. Surely he would be greatly rewarded for such a deed. Unless…”
Zerafin finished the thought. “Unless he knew that Eadon would not approve.”
“Surely Addakon wants me dead?” Whill asked.
“Surely,” Avriel agreed.
“Aye,” said Roakore. “But Eadon may have different plans for ye than does his friend Addakon.”
“Precisely,” said Abram.
“Then soon Eadon will know where I am.”
“This is true,” Zerafin said.
“All the more reason to get you to Elladrindellia where you will be safe, and your training can commence,” said Avriel.
“She is right Whill,” said Abram. “There is too much at stake here. I suggest we leave for the elf kingdom as soon as possible. You are no help to Agora dead.”
Whill looked to everyone in the room in turn. “But I am no help to Agora if I hide either. I-we-have been on the run my whole life.”
“Whill.” Avriel’s voice was firm. “This is but one of many battles that shall befall this land in the coming months, perhaps years. The best way you can help now is to travel with us to Elladrindellia, learn the ways of the elves, and find the sword.”
“It is good counsel you keep, Whill,” Mathus said. “You would be wise to heed their words.”
Whill knew they were right, but his vision of battle from the previous night showed all too clearly in his mind. He wanted to be there, to help in some way. But he realized the truth in their words. He would most help by following the elves to their land and training as his father had done before him.
“Though it is not what my heart tells me, I see the wisdom in your advice and will heed your council.”
“Very well,” Zerafin said.
“Indeed it is the wisest choice,” agreed Mathus. “Now we have a choice before us. The truth of Ainamaf’s fate changes the issue at hand greatly.”
