Kingdoms in Chaos by Michael James Ploof Read Free Book Online

warring, tired of the mysteries that seemed ever to occupy his life. The old days traveling Agora with Abram had been a blessing, and he now understood why the old man kept his secrets all those years—he wanted to give Whill some semblance of simplicity in his life, if only for a short time. Whill wished that Abram were with him now more than ever.

Chapter 9
Whispers in the Dark
     
     
    Roakore.
    The voice woke him from a deep sleep. He shot upright in bed and looked around the dark chamber. His wife, Rubella—whose night it was to share his bed—stirred, and ran a hand across his chest, murmuring something unintelligible.
    “What? Who’s that?” he asked the darkness.
    No one answered.
    He searched the shadows, unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched. Something was in the stone chamber with them, he just knew it.
    “Show yourself!” Roakore screamed, leaping out of bed. He lit a lantern and whirled around quickly.
    The chamber was empty.
    “Roakore?” His wife sat up and wiped her sleepy eyes.
    “Sshh!” He held up a silencing hand and began stalking through the room, checking in dark corners and under furniture.
    When he had searched the entire room, he stood there puzzling.
    “Come back to bed. Yer havin’ yer dreams again,” his wife called to him.
    “I ain’t dreamin’. I heard a voice, I tell ye.”
    “Just the wind through the flue,” Rubella said with a yawn.
    He ignored her and checked the room a second time. When still he found nothing, he got dressed and left his sleeping wife.
    Retiring to his den, he poured himself a beer from the barrel in his extensive bar. After lighting a lantern and a half dozen candles, he sat down at his desk and stared out the window beside him. The wind howled along the side of the mountain, and it looked to have been raining recently, for the wide sill was slick with wet.
    He drank his beer and considered the voice that he had heard—again. It was deep and rumbling. When first he heard it he thought that it had been an earthquake, or possibly an avalanche. His chamber was built into the eastern side of the mountain, and the ice and snow often shifted. The voice was distant and muffled, as if obscured by a thick stone wall. It was commanding, calling to him as a father might.
    The Book of Ky’ Dren sat on the desk before him…beckoning. It spoke of a great migration of dragons who attacked and destroyed the dwarves of Drindellia. The tome also spoke of the origin of dwarven powers, saying that they came not from the gods, but the elves.
    The contradictions insinuated by the story had caused Roakore to begin questioning his faith. How could he be a king to his people if he questioned the very religion they worshipped? Roakore dropped to his knees beside his desk and offered up a prayer to Ky’Dren.
    He had hoped that the voice would return, but it did not. Only the howling wind spoke to him, and its voice gave a mournful warning.
    A knock came at the door shortly after, and Nah’Zed peeked in her head.
    “Ah, me royal brain, come in, come in. What’s on the agenda today?” Roakore asked as he closed The Book of Ky’Dren .
    “Good mornin’, me king,” she said.
    As usual, Nah’Zed carried a pile of scrolls with her. She placed them on the table and unfolded one. “Ye got a meetin’ with the elders in half an hour. After that, you got a meetin’ with the ambassador o’ Eldalon. Then yer scheduled for lunch with, Ak’Ren, the lad who be courtin’ yer eldest daughter from yer fourteenth wife. He be seekin’ yer blessin’ in marriage. After that, ye be unveilin’ the statue o’ Haldagozz.”
    She offered him a kind smile at the mention of the loyal dwarf, who had saved Roakore’s life by taking the brunt of a spell meant for him.
    “Aye, Haldagozz’s statue. It be a beauty,” said Roakore.
    He had moved the slab himself, and handpicked the best stone workers in the kingdom to create the homage to his fallen friend.
    “Sire, is