Whill of Agora: Book 1, Michael Ploof [read aloud TXT] 📗

instinctively withdrew his own sword and took up a defensive stance. Rhunis began to circle him. Whill simply moved in circles, holding his ground. You can do this, you can do this, he is only a man, Whill thought, but quickly doubted his own advice. Finally Rhunis lunged with a powerful overhead strike, almost knocking Whill to the ground as he blocked it. Before Whill could think of a counterattack Rhunis was swinging again, this time at his side. Whill blocked the attack as Rhunis stepped back. The crowd was wild; the chant for Rhunis became unbearably loud. Again he attacked, and Whill parried every blow. Around they went, Rhunis attacking and Whill blocking, until it seemed the fight would never end.

He’s playing with me, Whill realized. He thinks he has me. He played along for a moment, pretending to barely block the blows, acting tired and weary. Then with all his might he parried a side attack and began his own. Blade gleaming, he swung at Rhunis again and again, unrelenting, as the knight blocked his blows. Rhunis backed a step and gave Whill a nod.

“Do you wish to have my best fight?” he asked.

“That I do, sir.”

With that the dual escalated to a point that none had seen yet that night. Rhunis showed no sign of tiring, nor did Whill. The crowd was on its feet, as were Lord Rogus and King Mathus. Cheers filled the coliseum and fists pumped as the crowd chanted for the Dragonslayer. Whill, however, was oblivious to the crowd. It was as if he and Rhunis were suspended in the sky upon the sand, and nothing existed but the ring and his opponent. Rhunis made an overhead attack and Whill quickly blocked it, bringing them together in a struggle. Swords pointed at the sky, they circled, hands upon each other’s wrists. Rhunis quickly moved to the side and smashed the side of his helmet against Whill’s face. Whill was thrown back, their swords still tangled. Rhunis thrust the hilt of his sword at Whill’s face, sending blood spraying from his nose. Whill fell back onto the sand. Tears welled in his eyes as he fumbled to get up. Rhunis was upon him and kicked him back to the ground. Then he stepped on Whill’s hand, pinning his arm and his sword as he brought his blade around to end the match.

With his free hand Whill grabbed the leg that held him down and simultaneously brought his leg up and around Rhunis’s midsection. With all his might he pushed and managed to send Rhunis falling on his back and jumped to his feet. With nose bleeding profusely, and eyes still blurry, he lunged at his opponent—who had also gotten to his feet. Attacking with the fury of a caged beast, he sent Rhunis stumbling backward and noticed that the sound of the crowd had changed. They had taken up a new chant, faint at first but growing louder.

“Whill! Whill! Whill!” they cried, as steady as a drumbeat. Rhunis seemed to weaken but Whill felt stronger than he ever had. With powerful thrusts he came down on his now backpedaling opponent—he was winning. In fact, it was now he who was toying with Rhunis; all he needed to do was decide when to claim his victory. With this revelation, he left an intentional opening for Rhunis to exploit. When the knight took advantage, he blocked and, in one circular motion, sent Rhunis’s sword flying. He quickly brought the tip of his blade to Rhunis’s neck as the defeated knight’s weapon soared through the air and stuck into the sand with a wobble. The crowd went into frenzy; the chant for Whill now sounded throughout the arena.

Rhunis slowly lifted his arms to his helmet and removed it. Whill lowered his sword. Rhunis looked upon him sternly as he got to his feet, but then his face broke into a smile.

“That, my friend, was my best fight, but it seems yours was better. I hope you are never an enemy to Eldalon, for you would be a dangerous foe.” He gave a small bow.

“Thank you,” Whill panted. “But I will never be an enemy to your great kingdom; I will remain ever its ally.”

“Then maybe one day we will draw swords together.” Rhunis retrieved his blade and returned it to its sheath. With another small bow he made his way to the knights’ quarters. Whill stood on the sand, roses showering him as the crowd cheered. He looked up to the royal booth and saw the king staring down at him. He nodded at Whill, and Whill nodded back.

Chapter 5 The Award Ceremony

Whill raised his hand and waved to the crowd. In return they cheered loudly, fists pumping in the air as the chant for Whill grew louder still. Among the cheering fighters he saw Abram and a large smile spread across his face. Whill gave a bow and walked to the fighters’ section. He was greeted with many congratulations and pats on the back as he ascended the steps to his seat. He stopped before Abram, who extended his hand and shook Whill’s heartily.

“I never had a doubt.” Abram pulled him into a small hug, still shaking his hand, and offered him a towel for his face. “That was some of the best swordsmanship I have ever seen. I see you’ve come up with some of your own moves.”

Whill wiped the blood from his face. “I have only you to thank. You have been a great teacher.”

The blood had stopped flowing from his nose, but his cheekbones throbbed. He was going to have two magnificent black eyes. He touched two fingers to the bridge of his nose with a grimace. “I think it’s broken.”

“We’ll have you fixed up after the ceremony; you still have your reward to receive.”

Whill had forgotten completely about the reward. His weight in gold—he could hardly fathom the wealth he had won. Lord Rogus again went to the front of the royal booth to speak. The crowd quieted.

“I offer my congratulations to the young fighter, Whill. We should all take a moment to congratulate him.” Rogus began a slow clap which was taken up by the crowd. The coliseum filled with loud applause that sounded like thunder breaking over crashing waves. Abram nudged Whill, indicating that he should stand. He complied, a smile spreading across his blushing face. He extended a fist into the air, sending the crowd into loud cheers and whistles. After a moment he sat, and the applause died down as Rogus continued.

“And now for some light-hearted entertainment.” The gate opened and a mob of jesters, jugglers, and dancers filled the ring, followed by more than twenty men carrying great drums. The drummers circled the ring and began an intricate, upbeat rhythm. The pounding echoed throughout the coliseum. The dancers jumped and spun, putting on a grand performance. Four men costumed as dragons took up the center of the ring. Facing each other at a safe distance, they blew fire from their mouths. The crowd cheered, the drums pounded, the dancers reeled.

To Whill the night had become surreal. He had beaten one of the most legendary knights in Agora. He thought of the gold he had won, and a possibility occurred to him. What if King Mathus made him a Knight of Eldalon?

Soon the show was over and the colorful performers exited the ring. Trumpets blared as King Mathus himself entered the ring, followed by ten knights. He shone with a brilliant light as he walked to the center. He wore light armor of silver underlain with light blue fabric. Upon his back was a large cloak that could easily have covered his entire body if pulled around. Light reflected from it in a way Whill had never seen— a dragonhide cloak, he guessed. The knights followed King Mathus in two rows of five. The front four carried a large iron chest between them. Behind the knights, ten more men entered the ring pulling a strange-looking mechanism. Made of wood, and with four large wheels, it resembled a large battering ram, but in the ram’s place was a long wooden beam teetering upon two shorter ones. At one end was a large basket, and at the other, a chair.

“Is that what I think it is? Do they mean to weigh me here, now?” Whill asked.

Abram laughed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. It is a better show for the people to see you weighed. Have fun with it. Give them what they want.”

King Mathus raised an arm and the crowd quieted again. He turned and addressed Whill. “It is time for your reward, young man.” He extended a hand.

Whill felt the thousands of eyes upon him once more, but he didn’t mind the feeling this time. He descended the steps and entered the ring. He approached the king, who stood among his guards. He regarded Whill with a curious smile. He looked to be slightly older than Abram. His long black hair hung to his shoulders, and his face was covered with a full, neatly trimmed beard. Within his soft brown eyes Whill saw compassion and kindness. He liked the man’s face, and not merely because he was about to give him a pile of gold. The king gave off an unmistakable energy, one of great power and pure goodness. He was not the type to sit upon his throne and enjoy a life of lavish luxury while his people went without. Any attack on them was considered a personal attack on him, Whill knew. King Mathus traveled often among the cities, towns, and villages of his kingdom, personally witnessing the lives of his people.

The king took Whill’s hand in his own. With a firm grip, he shook it and congratulated him. He then led Whill to the seat positioned on the scale.

“My good people of Fendale, and those of far cities, I ask your assistance. This chest is filled with twenty-pound bags of pure gold coins. I ask that you count aloud as they are put into the weighing basket. Let’s see this lad’s weight in gold.”

The crowd cheered and Whill sat upon the scale, feeling a little awkward, with his feet still on the ground.

“The first bag of gold, please!”

A knight took a bag of gold from the chest and put it in the basket.

“One!” the crowd cried. Another bag was put into the basket. “Two!” More bags were added. “Three! Four! Five! Six!” Whill had started to rise slightly with the additional gold, but his feet still touched the ground.

“Seven!” the crowd cheered as the knight put in yet another bag of gold. “Eight! Nine!” Whill’s feet finally left the ground. “Ten!” At last the beam evened out. Whill was bursting with elation. Two hundred pounds of gold!

Knights on both sides took hold of the beam as he was lowered. The king again shook his hand. “Congratulations, Whill. I look forward to meeting privately with you soon.”

“Thank you, Sire. I also look forward to such an honor.”

“If you like, the gold will be kept safe for you until such time as you are prepared to take it.”

Whill had wondered how he and Abram would leave with two hundred pounds of gold. He thanked the king and returned to his seat. Then he and Abram made their way out of the coliseum and into the noisy street. They quickly found another wheel cart and, with a