Free Whill of Agora: Book 02 - A Quest of Kings by Michael Ploof

behind a mouthful of shrimp.
    They all tried the shrimp and many of the other plates set before them. Then they eagerly filled their plates and began to dine.
    They ate in silence for a bit and then fell into conversation. Roakore inquired about Helzendar and Tarren’s training. Many stories of the mock battles were told. Lunara informed Roakore that Tarren needed less healing every day. Tarren blushed at the telling. Helzendar told his father that he had won the last four tournaments. Roakore nodded his head and smiled with pride between bites of a chicken leg.
    Roakore lifted his foaming mug and cleared his throat. Before he could speak, the door burst open as an exhausted Dwarf in soiled clothes stumbled through the doors and fell hard. Everyone had jumped when the door burst open, and all had grabbed the nearest weapon, be it hatchet or a fork. Two guards came incursing, one with his hand pressed firmly to his bleeding eye, the other with an exaggerated limp. They moved to grab the rogue Dwarf when Roakore noticed that the half-dead intruder carried a thick parchment.
    Roakore raised his hand to stay the guards, and they froze. He leaned down and saw that the Dwarf had passed out. He took the parchment from the sleeper. Those at the table looked on expectantly as he read the paper to himself. He finished and passed the parchment to Tarren with a shaking hand.
    He looked deadly serious, his eyes vacant. “Me human reading ain’t what me talkin’ be, boy; let me hear it clear from you in Dwarvish.
    Tarren looked to the parchment with wonder as he took it from the Dwarf king. He cocked his head to read it.
    “Come one, come all. Your great king doth invite all that may attend to the newly finished coliseum of champions the twenty-seventh of this month for the grand opening celebration, featuring some of the greatest gladiators to have ever bled in the arena. In honor of this great day of blood sport and festivities, all in attendance shall witness the trial and execution of the most hated criminal in all the lands of Agora. Bringer of darkness, master of the Draggard, enemy to all free humans of Uthen-Arden, Whill of…”
    Tarren gulped and looked to Roakore with wide eyes. “Whill of Agora.”
    Tarren lowered the paper to the table, his appetite gone.
    Lunara and Haldagozz looked to each other, thinking the same thing.
    Roakore slammed the table with his heavy fist; the crack of his knuckles on the wood resounded throughout the hall.
    “He lives! Ha-ha!”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Powerful and
Powerless
    Z erafin bathed in the river for hours. Finally, the first day’s light crested the water, sending it aflame with color. The sun reminded him of the power he had been gifted with. Such power as had not been given in many centuries, now his. With such power, he could live without fear of foe for thousands of years. None could match the power he possessed but Eadon and the wielder of the sword of Adimorda. He’d known that these thoughts would come to him; they always did with the knowledge and possession of such energy and power. He had been told he would be tempted.
    Zerafin was aware of the side of him that would seek to dominate and create a world of his liking. He was also aware of the side of him that wished for no power at all but simply a peaceful life. As his two sides bickeredand Zerafin listened, he became aware of an approaching friend.
    He walked from the river to the bank and stood in the long grass, looking to the forest. He did not bother covering himself; neither the weather nor the company called for it.
    “Azzeal? I was wondering when you would be joining the hunt.”
    For a moment there was no sound but the breeze, then came a rustling in the woods. From the tree line leapt a large wolf. It was brown, for the moment, with streaks of almost black. But once its paws touched the long grass, it became dark green with strips of dark brown. Its head came to Zerafin’s elbow; its body was massive. The great