“To answer your question of how we came upon you.” She took a sip of wine. “We left Elladrindellia shortly after the incident with Tarren. Though we were instructed to find you, we also have a meeting to attend in Kell-Torey.”
“We were able to find you rather easily because of the bond that my sister shares with you,” Zerafin explained. “Since she was one of your healers in your infancy, she has always had a bond to you.”
Whill looked at Avriel with more wonder and admiration than ever, though his new feelings were accompanied by something else, a notion that his growing feelings for her were that of a silly young mortal. Avriel returned the gaze with a smile. Zerafin went on.
“It is hard for a human to understand such things, I know, but in time you will learn to understand such bonds, and to use them. You will no doubt share such a bond with Tarren, though he will be oblivious to it. You will be able to decipher where he is, for instance, and what he is doing. Also, though neither I nor my sister has experienced it…”
He paused and looked at Avriel. She continued her brother’s thought. “You may share a similar bond with those you killed, since you took their life energy for your own,” she explained. Seeing Whill’s startled look, she added, “Do not worry, we can teach you to ignore them. It is not known, though it is rumored, that the Dark elves are haunted by those they have taken from. Some can sever the bond or learn to ignore it. Others…”
Zerafin spoke up. “Others are driven mad by the voices and find silence by their own blade.”
Whill pondered that statement for a moment, appalled by the prospect. Avriel continued. “Do not fret at that, Whill, we will teach you to be rid of them. We need to now set our sights on Kell-Torey, where a most important meeting awaits us all, and from there Elladrindellia, where you will be trained like your fathers before you.”
Whill breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, taking in all he had heard. He had one pressing question he could not ignore. “How long will the training take?”
Zerafin furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Our mother has made a pact that states you shall be trained for the mandatory year. Is your haste so great that you would see this time as a burden?”
Whill sensed that he had angered Zerafin, and perhaps Avriel. He held out his hands, palms up. “No, no, I mean no disrespect. And I am grateful for all that the elves offer.”
“But?”
“But war rages now within Isladon, the Draggard multiply as we speak within the Ebony Mountains, and Addakon becomes more powerful by the second.”
Zerafin gave a hearty laugh, which earned him a scowl from Avriel. “So you wish to forsake the training of the elves so that you might end the war within Isladon, destroy the Draggard, and defeat your uncle Addakon, not to mention the true evil behind all this, Eadon. All this you will accomplish on your own? To do these things you need not our help?”
Avriel spoke before Whill could. “Save your condescension for one more worthy, brother. You know what he means.”
Zerafin looked to Avriel with fire in his eyes, but slowly that fire was replaced by a smile. Ever so slowly it grew, until Zerafin was beaming. He spoke, but his gaze did not leave his younger sibling. “Of course. I had forgotten how hasty humans can be, sister. I meant no offense.”
Whill sensed a silent battle between the two. “I did not mean to offend you, Zerafin, son of Verelas. Nor do I mean to offend the elves. I am hasty, I admit. I have much on my mind, much to do.” He slumped back in his chair, seemingly exhausted, his hand upon his brow. “You must understand that I have just learned who I am. Just a few days ago, I was only Whill, a ranger of Agora, going where I would, enjoying the life of a wanderer. Now I am the rightful ruler of a kingdom to which I have seldom ventured and care little about. I am to defeat a mighty king in league with the most powerful Dark elf in history. And as we speak his crusade begins, now, when I am so weak I almost killed myself healing a child.”
Avriel looked to Zerafin with a raised brow once again. Her brother flashed her a look and addressed Whill. “I am the one who should apologize. I may have forgotten the position you have been put in. But understand, you cannot and will not do this on your own. You will need friends, and friendship we offer.”
Zerafin offered Whill his hand, and Whill took it. Zerafin met his gaze with a serious face. “Whill of Uthen-Arden, son of Aramonis, son of Celestra, descendant of the great king who took the elves in when we needed friendship most: I offer you my own friendship, undying, unending, until time spreads thine ashes.”
Whill squeezed the elf’s hand. “And I offer you mine. I thank you, Zerafin, son of Verelas, prince of Elladrindellia.”
Avriel stood also. Time seemed to slow as Whill looked into her blue eyes. She too offered her hand and spoke words of promise: ever so softly, ever so beautifully, did they escape her lips.
“I offer to you, Whill of Uthen-Arden, my undying, unending, and boundless friendship, so that we may together, all of us, find peace.”
Whill thought for a moment that he would not find his words. Her voice and her gaze had had more effect on him than the wine. After a moment he composed himself mentally and responded, “And I mine, Avriel, lady of Elladrindellia, daughter of the great Verelas. And I mine, until the day I die.”
Zerafin broke the silence that followed. “Then it is settled. We shall travel to Kell-Torey and then on to Elladrindellia.”
After Whill had exited the tent to help within the town, Zerafin turned to his sister and studied her for a moment. Avriel sighed.
“What, brother?”
“What indeed? This is not a game, nor a childhood fantasy, Avriel.”
She was taken aback. “What lunacy has befallen your tongue, Zerafin?”
“I remember an elf child who would lend an ear for hours to any storyteller recalling the prophecy of Whill of Agora.”
Avriel laughed quickly. “What of it?”
Zerafin leveled his gaze on her. “You studied the prophecy for years, every piece of every scroll that mentioned him. Your life’s work has been for this man, this human.”
“But he is the one! I have merely been preparing.”
Zerafin raised an eyebrow. “You have been in love with his legend since you were a child. How does the real person seem to you? Is he everything you wished?”
Avriel scoffed at her brother’s teasing and then puckered her lips to one side in thought. “It is very strange, don’t you think, to meet one so often spoken of as he?”
“Yes, sister, indeed it is.”
“The oddest thing is…he is exactly what I had envisioned.”
Zerafin scowled and sighed. “This could be disastrous. I fear your feelings could-could-”
“Could what, brother? It has been written, it will come to pass. He is Whill of Agora, the one we have waited a millennium for. Whether I love the idea of him is of no concern. It is not the same as loving the person.”
Zerafin could only shrug. “We shall see.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The remainder of the day was spent salvaging what they could from the destroyed town. Riders were sent out to the nearest towns, and to Kell-Torey. Though no one thought another attack likely, they would all breath a little easier when reinforcements arrived. Whill spent most of the day with Tarren, who asked a million questions about the dwarf city, which Whill was happy to answer. When the stars finally took to the night sky, Whill was more than glad to see them. He, Roakore, and Abram had been up since leaving the mountains. All fell into a much-needed sleep.
Whill awoke the following morning to the smell of pork and eggs drifting on the still-smoky air. He turned his head from the sky and saw Roakore and Tarren sitting by a fire, Tarren no doubt asking more questions of Dy-Kore. Roakore noticed that Whill had awoken and took the opportunity to break conversation with the young human.