Whill of Agora: Book 02 - A Quest of Kings Read Online Free

assassin. When Dirk saw his quarry begin to turn left down Crow Street, he instantly sprang into silent motion. Dirk ran the length of the rooftop with little-to-no sound; while he ran, he kept low and prepared his cloth-covered hook. Dirk twirled and leapt as he reached the end of the roof; the hook was thrown even as its destination was lost to sight.
    Above the drunken man a shadow whispered into the night; the man staggered and looked up as the night slammed into him. He was wisked into the vicelike grip of death. He knew as soon as the cold, iron grip seized him with but one arm, that he was doomed. Through the back door of a closed shop they went, and the man was set upon the floor without a sound and gagged with a rag that had a strange, bitter taste of…
    “Poison!” the drunken man’s voice screamed into the rag, but it was too late. He became dizzy, and fear struck him until he smiled stupidly.
    Dirk knew by the man’s eyes that the drugged rag had done its work.
    He reared on the drunken man, and his eyes took the giggles from the man.
    “You are here to kill me, eh, eh? Aren’t you now? Why yer a demon, you are!” The man said with a muffled voice, and he began to whimper and cry.
    “Shut it, mate, or else I gotta take your tongue. I want answers from you. Now listen, and answer on thee life or lose it.”
    Dirk let out a breath and tensed. “Well then, nod if you understand.”
    The man nodded.
    “Now answer me this, who is Whill of Agora? Eh?”
    The drunken man looked puzzled.
    Dirk removed the rag with a threatening glare.
    “It’s just a myth is all, just a rumor.”
    Dirk smirked.
Finally
, he thought. “I like myths. Tell me more.”
    “Well…” The drunk man sat up and slumped. “He is the one that kicked Rhunis’s ass right here in Fendale. By the gods, he did. I was there; I seen it with me own eyes. Beat ‘im, he did, ‘n’ rightfully so. He got his own weight in gold as reward. Well, he was said to be about the city for a few weeks or so, and then he ups and vanishes. Rumor came on the wind that he got pirated by Captian Cirrosa of all pirates. He and his pal there, Abram, be credited with the killin’ o’ Cirrosa—got rewards owed ‘em by all the countries of Agora and that of the Dwarves to boot! Then comes word of some crazy Elf magic saving the life of some kid from here in Fendale; poor kid’s parents was killed in a fire said tobe set by Cirrosa and his men, and now the lord admits they knew about Cirrosa bein’ in town and they didn’t want to alarm the people…gut rotten dragon shit!”
    Dirk’s hand covered the drunken man’s mouth with the speed of a viper. They both listened; Dirk’s eyes warned the man of sudden death should he make a sound. A minute passed as Dirk listened through the enchanted jewels in his earlobes. He found the song of the night. He heard a nest of rats thirty yards away in the adjacent street. A newsletter rustled in the faint breeze, and dogs fought over food three blocks away. Laughter spilled out of countless taverns. The night did not listen back, and they were alone.
    Dirk removed his hand. “Continue.”
    The drunken man gulped and whispered. “Well, also word come from Sherna of another strange Elven style healin’ done by Whill to some dyin’ infant; then he ups and leaves there. A few days later, the town was invaded by a fleet of over a hundred Draggard on their unholy winged masters. The battle of Sherna it is called. Already the songs are being sung of the victory. Why, Whill of Agora is the secret hero amongst the people, all the people, of every country.”
    The drunken man looked strangely at Dirk. “Why, you must know as much about the man, eh? Why the questions?”
    Dirk answered as he always did. “What I know is
from
questions. You know the answers I seek. What else have you heard about the Elven legend?”
    The drunken man lurched; he had hoped this question would not be asked, for to speak of it was death. But