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.
For five long months the elves sailed ever westward until they reached Agora. They landed on the easternmost coast of Uthen-Arden, and made contact with the people of Opalmist. Soon the ruler of Arden at that time, King Thoerolus, heard of the refugees and went personally to see them. Whill knew many songs in both human and elven tongues that spoke of the meeting of the queen of the elves and the good king of Arden. The king agreed to help the elves and he gave the southeastern land the elves called Elladrindellia. Since then the elves had lived there quietly and built great cities the likes of which had never been seen in Agora.
Whill had heard countless stories of the elves from Abram and never tired of them. He longed to meet one some day, but that was not likely since they did not leave their territory often, and humans had been banned from entering without permission long ago by King Thoerolus. Most people regarded the elves with fear, mostly because of their use of what humans called magic. The dwarves particularly despised the elves and blamed them for the appearance of the Draggard in Agora. For two hundred years both men and elves had kept the Draggard at bay. They always came from the east, and were always defeated by the navies of the five kingdoms. But recently the Draggard had been attacking from all sides of the ocean and had already overtaken the Ebony Mountains, making them their own. This only infuriated the dwarves more, intensifying their distrust for the elves.
Whill thought of the stories of the elves and wondered if he should indeed become a knight of Eldalon. Abram had told him of the war that would come, and suspected that Abram would expect him to become a soldier. Whill headed back towards the city as the sun climbed higher in the sky. He didn’t want to be late for his meeting with Freston.
He entered the city and rode to the shipbuilder’s house. Abram was already there, and they soon continued the plans for the ship. Freston calculated what it would all cost to build and added roughly 320 hours of labor for each of his three sons. That brought the total to 32 gold coins, hardly one percent of Whill’s fortune.
That night Whill and Abram enjoyed a hearty dinner, and afterwards visited the Wet Whistle again. For hours they listened to Barlemew tell his tall tails of dragon attacks and mermaids.
The next day Whill awoke to find a light rain falling on Fendale. From the grey sky thin sheets of mist lazily fell to the earth. Whill was unsure of the time because the sun failed to shine through the thick clouds. He guessed it was only a couple hours past dawn. He got up and stretched with a great yawn and was about to begin washing when he saw a note on the small table.
Whill,
I’ve gone to take care of some small business.
I’ll be back after dusk.
Abram
Whill wondered what business Abram was tending to. He was a little disappointed that Abram would not be at the docks, for today the building began on his ship. He finished washing and dressed. After a small breakfast of fresh pastries and coffee he headed to the Fendale Bank on horseback and withdrew enough gold to pay Freston for the ship in advance and to buy Abram a gift. After putting the gold in his saddlebags, he headed for Freston’s house. As he made his way down Fendale’s main street, he felt as though he was being watched. Since the tournament, many people now pointed at him as he rode or walked by. Some children asked for his signature, and he gave rise to many hushed whispers wherever he went. But this was not the feeling of adoring fans watching him. It was more like the feeling he had had in the woods before the wolf attack.
He stopped his horse in the street and looked around. Rain fell softly on the cobblestone street. A woman shook a rug from a second-story window. The street was fairly quiet; only a small crowd moved about. Three children hurried after two women. Men on horseback rode by, talking loudly, and a kid pulling a wheel cart ran past. The strange feeling did not ebb as Whill searched for its source. He began to ride again, slightly faster now. The feeling followed him all the way to Freston’s door.
Once inside, he peered through the small window on the front door. A lone horseman slowly rode by, coming from the same direction that Whill had. He could not determine whether the man had been following him, though, for he looked straight ahead and showed no interest in the house.
“Are you ready to begin work on your beauty?”
Whill jumped. The old man looked at him oddly. “Are you alright, Whill?”
“Uh, yeah, fine, a little jumpy. I brought payment for the ship.” He handed over a bag of gold coins. “That is the agreed-upon amount.”
Freston’s eyes grew wide as he felt the weight of the gold. “You know, you could have just transferred the gold from your vault to mine at the bank.”
Whill felt like an idiot. “I’m sorry, it didn’t cross my mind. I should have assumed that a man such as you would have his own vault. Now I feel like a genuine ass.”