Whill knew it was time to go, but protested. She reassured him once again, with great love and pride, and was gone. He knelt at the foot of the bed, his eyes burning with hot tears. He could hear the infant wailing loudly and smiled to himself as he passed out.
Chapter 11
The Road to the Mountain
Whill was again in the state he had been after healing Tarren. His body ached, his head pounded, and he floated in and out of strange, feverish dreams of his parents, the mountain, and of places and people he had never known. He awoke briefly to find an old woman wiping his brow with a cool cloth. He attempted to ask of the infant, but his head swooned with pain and he fell once again into a deep sleep.
Again the elf woman came to Whill and, with her soothing touch and warm smile, took away all pain. Her beauty surpassed that of any mortal he had ever seen, and he was sure he would be content to stare into her eyes forever. Her face radiated with great compassion, but Whill could sense an urgency born of fear. As she soothed his many pains with her own healing energy, she spoke.
“Whill, he can sense you. You must not use your powers again until you are among us. He knows where you are. You must go now.”
Whill awoke abruptly and sat up. Abram jumped, his eyes heavy. Whill surveyed his surroundings. He knew where he was—the house of healing. The old man and woman now tended to him, and they seemed as shocked as Abram. Even Tarren stared in wide wonder as Whill attempted to get out of the bed.
“Abram, we must go, we have to leave know!”
Abram gave Whill a look of concern. “Whoa, whoa there, friend, relax. Give yourself a minute. Are you alright?”
Whill found his clothes and hurriedly put them on. Tarren retrieved his boots. “Thank you,” he said. “Abram, the elf woman from before told me we should leave— just now, before I awoke.”
Abram’s face turned to a hard scowl. “What else did she say?”
Whill tied his boots quickly. “She said something like ‘he can sense you,’ though I don’t know who she was talking about.”
Abram paced the room for a moment as if in deep thought. “You’re right, we must go, and we must go now. Tarren, go and tell Hagus we are leaving.”
The boy ran from the room without a word, and the old man peered out the window with a scowl. “I don’t know how easily you will escape the crowd, good sir.”
“What crowd?”
“That crowd, there.” The old man pointed.
Whill went to the window. “They have been outside for four days now, awaiting a glimpse of the great healer; he being you of course, sir.”
He was not surprised at being unconscious for days, but he was by the crowd. More than fifty people were camped outside of the small home. A man noticed Whill and cried, “There he is, there he is!”
Whill quickly ducked away from the window as the people began to cheer. The old man smiled at him. “That was a wonderful thing you did for the child; though, I know not how you did it. You have a great gift, son—an elven gift, if I may. Tell me, are you part elf?”
“Uh, no, I am not. I do not understand my…abilities, either. How is the child, anyway?”
The old woman smiled as she poured Whill some tea. “She is doing excellently, thanks to you. You know, upon learning your name, the mother named the baby Whilliana in your honor. She is most grateful and has come every day to see how you are. The town has been in an uproar; the sick have even begun coming from surrounding towns to ask to be healed by you.”
She handed Whill the tea and he thanked her. Abram peered out the window, wearing the same scowl. “Not all of them are admirers, mind you,” he warned. “Just last night a band of fools arrived carrying torches, demanding to have the sorcerer handed over. The soldiers would not let them pass, of course, but they came nonetheless. Word of this will soon spread throughout Agora, Whill. Our troubles have only just begun.”
Whill could sense that he had much more to say on the issue but was holding his tongue for now. Outside, the crowd was still cheering and demanding for Whill to come out. He peered through the side of the window. Twenty armed Eldalon soldiers had formed a barrier in front of the house, and he suspected that there were more guarding the rest of the building. He could hear women and men alike pleading for him to work another miracle.
“Please, my son is blind, if you could just help him,” one woman pleaded.
“My father is sick, good sir, would you take just a moment—” said another.
“My mother, she cannot walk, surely you can help us?” asked a young man.
And there were countless others.
Whill looked at Abram, who gave him a look that said clearly, “No!” The pleas were making Whill sick to his stomach, and he wanted to be far from this place as fast as possible.
“How do we get out of here without being noticed?” he asked.
“I have had four days to plan our escape, Whill. Do not worry. As you know, many of the herbs and roots and such needed by a healer must be kept cool.”
Whill nodded. “An underground storage room.”
The old man pointed to a trapdoor near the northern wall. “There is a tunnel that leads to our cold room; it can be exited through a small hatch that looks like a tree stump.”
“I told Tarren to have Hagus bring a wagon around back,” Abram said. “From there we should have no problem escaping to the woods.”
Whill was satisfied. “Sounds like you have thought of everything. But what shall we do with Tarren?”
Abram gestured to the old man and woman. “Iam and Laurna have agreed to be so kind and watch over him until we return.”
“We would be happy to,” said Iam.
“It is our honor,” Laurna added with a smile.
“Thank you, both, so very much,” Whill said. “And please accept payment for this deed. I insist. If not for yourselves, then take it for your patients. I know that gold can buy medicines that are scarce in these parts. And though I cannot help these people right now, as I would wish, perhaps my money can.”
From the window, Abram spoke. “Tarren has returned. We must go.”
Abram had readied their things so they could leave as soon as Whill awoke; their weapons, packs, and supplies sat in a heap at the foot of the bed. As they prepared for travel, Tarren entered the room and quickly closed the door on the screaming crowd. The sound of the mob was unsettling; Whill tried to block out the sounds of the pleading people, but found it difficult. He wished he had control over his powers; he wished he could help every one of them. But knew he could not.
Once ready, he turned to Tarren. The boy smiled bravely with a slight shimmer in his eyes, and Whill could tell he was scared. Bending to one knee, he said, “You be good for Iam and Laurna, alright, lad? Help them out and stay out of trouble.”
Tarren tried to be tough, as always. “When will you be back?”
Whill knew how Tarren felt; he saw himself in the boy now more than ever. “We will return before the tenday. I promise, Tarren, we will come back for you. You have my word.” He gave the boy a hug and turned away with watery eyes of his own, and joined Abram at the trapdoor.
Abram regarded Tarren with a reassuring smile. “You be a good lad. We’ll be back before you know it.”
It was the same thing he always told Whill before leaving on one of his adventures. To hear it now made him even more somber. Together with Abram, he descended the steps to the tunnel. Iam closed the hatch behind them, whispering, “Farewell, and good luck.”
The tunnel was dark, but for the candle that Abram held, and smelled of earth. Low and not more than ten feet long, it was cool and dank. The emerging roots left just enough space to walk in a crouch, but soon the two came to the cold room. It was fairly small, and spanning its entirety were shelves of various roots and herbs, tinctures, and animal extracts; it was a well-stocked supply room. At the opposite end of the small room was a ladder leading to the hatch. Abram ascended it a few feet and lifted the hatch just enough to peer outsi
de.
“Good, Hagus is here. Ready, Whill?”
Whill nodded and Abram extinguished the candle. As he lifted the hatch, Whill was blinded by the daylight, but quickly followed Abram outside. Directly in front of them was Hagus’s wagon. They scampered to the rear of it and jumped inside as Hagus urged his horses into motion.
The wagon was not covered, but the innkeeper had furnished a large blanket to conceal them until they were out of town. They rode quietly as the wagon made its way to the forest trail. After about fifteen minutes Whill peered out from under the blanket and saw the surrounding treetops. The sky was clear and the sun shone brightly overhead; it looked as though it would be a good day to travel.
After another half hour of riding, the wagon stopped and Hagus said, “You’re clear.” The two emerged from under the blanket and got out of the wagon. “I loaded all the things you asked for, Master Abram. Also a few treats made by m’ dear wife. If there is anything else I could do fer ya, let me know. I would be honored.”
Abram grabbed a few of the supply bags and his bow. “You have done us a great service, Hagus, and we are grateful. We need not remind you to keep silent about where we are headed.”
Hagus raised his eyebrows and shook his head vigorously. “No, no, I will not say a word, not to no one. You have me word.”
Abram eyed Hagus for a moment, more to intimidate him than out of suspicion. “Good. And thank you once again.”
Whill finished unloading his things and stood next to Abram. He too thanked Hagus for his services, and they watched as the wagon traveled out of sight back down the forest trail.
Whill surveyed the surroundings. To the south and north the forest trail could be seen winding slightly through the forest. The trees were in bloom now, and sprouts could be seen on almost all of them. Some early-blooming flowers also stood proudly, scattered here and there along the forest floor. At a hurried pace, they left the trail and headed eastward through the forest, toward the mountains.
Whill thought of the infant and his mother. Now it all seemed like a dream. He knew Abram had much to say on the topic, but decided to wait until he brought it up. At the moment his friend was silent, thinking deeply on something. They walked for an hour until Whill could no longer bear the silence.
“Abram, I’m sorry for the other day.”
Abram did not look at him. “Whill, I don’t think you understand what you have done.”
He let out a deep breath. “I know, I shouldn’t have healed the infant, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was like—”
“You could have died! Again! Not only that, but you have alerted the enemy to your existence and whereabouts. We will be hunted now, you can be sure of that.”
Whill took the offensive. “Hunted by whom? Men who think I’m a sorcerer? Let them come.”
Abram stopped and looked Whill in the eye. “The Draggard will be after us now, son— many of them. Surely he knows where we are, and they will be sent.” He began to move again.
Whill, shocked, hurried to catch up. “The Draggard! They come for us now? Why? And who is this man you speak of?”
“He is a very powerful foe. If the elf woman warned you of him, then we are in great peril for sure. Do not ask more on the subject. We will be in the mountains soon.”
Whill was left once again to wonder. He feared the Draggard; though he had only seen paintings of the fell beasts, he feared them like he feared no man. They were bred for one purpose: killing. Rumors had begun in Agora that winged Draggard—named Draqwon by the elves—had been seen near the Ebony Mountains. This thought greatly unsettled him.
Abram’s voice pulled him from his violent imagination. “Other than the elf woman’s visit, what else occurred during your healing?”
Whill thought for a moment. It sounded mad, but he told Abram anyway. “I saw my mother.”
Abram turned to Whill, dumbstruck. “Your mother?”
For the next hour of their journey, Whill told Abram what had happened. When he was done, Abram went silent for a moment. “Then I suppose it was good that you healed the infant, or you never would have had this...encounter,” he said at last. “You are fortunate for such a thing.”
Whill was surprised. “You believe me?”
“Of course I do. For one, your description of your mother was perfect. For another, I believe that we move on to live other lives. It is true that your tale is a fantastic one, but fantastic things do occur. Take comfort in your mother’s words and be grateful. We shall soon see how great the price will be.”
Whill was not comforted by Abram’s statement, though he was still grateful for the chance to meet his mother, if only in spirit. He felt bad for bringing more peril upon them. He was, however, comforted by the mountains that could now be seen in the distance. The forest had become considerably less dense, and the terrain steeper. From his vantage point he could see the many rolling hills ahead, and the mountains beyond. The sun was high and shone brightly among thick white clouds. There was little wind, and a strong scent of pine floated in the air. The forest floor was alive with rich greens and flowers. Ferns were in abundance, as were redclove plants.
They walked steadily for the rest of the day, talking little— which was of no concern to either; they had traveled together for many years and were comfortable in their silence. Also, Whill could sense that Abram was wary of danger.
With each step, he was closer to the mountain that held so many answers for him. Who his parents had been, what their names were, and most importantly, why Abram had withheld such information? His excitement grew, as did the mountains before him.
With the sun getting low and only a few hours of daylight left, Abram picked up the pace. They had not taken a break since they started out, and Whill knew that he did not intend to.
“At this pace, we will reach the foot of the mountains before dark,” Whill said. “Do you intend to camp?”
Abram reached for his leather water bag and took a long drink. “If we do indeed have pursuers, it would not be safe camp here in the forest. We would be better off on the mountains at night.” He wiped the dripping water from his mouth.
The terrain was very steep as they climbed one of the final hills that stood between them and the mountains. Whill’s legs and shoulders ached from the exertion. He was used to carrying many packs when hiking, but they usually did not go this long without a break, or keep up this hurried pace. Before them the mountains loomed like great gods with bodies of stone and white crowns. The peaks of some could not be seen as they pierced the clouds above. Scattered upon the mountains were pines and birches, which thinned out considerably with elevation.
Finally they reached the base of the mountains. Directly ahead of them was an impassable rock wall, rising more than one hundred feet. Abram surveyed the area and pointed to the southeast. “The passageway to the city is about two miles that way,” he said. “We will barely make it before dark, lad, so keep up.”
Whill laughed. “Alright old man, I’ll try.”
They made their way along the base of the cliff until they were able to ascend the mountain. They grasped trees and roots when possible, to aid in the climb, and even when they found a fairly flat portion of rock, the advance was slow. They had been hiking since before noon with no break, eating on the go, and were both exhausted. Finally Abram stopped, hands on his knees, and said, “Let’s take a little break.”
“If you insist.” Whill panted.
Abram laughed weakly, but his laughter was short-lived as a small hatchet flew through the air and stuck in a tree, right next to his head. Together he and Whill drew swords and turned in the direction it had come from. They saw no one. They were in a perfect position to be ambushed; the only refuge was a large boulder, and they quickly took cover behind it. They readied their bows and listened keenly, but heard nothing. Peering out over the rock, Whill saw many other boulders, any of which could harbor a foe.
Abram cupped his hands around his mouth. “Who goes there?” Ther
e was no response. “We mean no harm to the dwarves and are willing to come out unarmed!”
Whill grabbed Abram’s arm. “What are you doing, they could be Draggard!”
Abram nodded toward the buried hatchet. “That is dwarf-made. If it were the Draggard, they would have attacked already. He is most likely a sentry.” He put down his bow and sword and walked out in the open.
“Now the other!” a gruff voice ordered.
Abram nodded to Whill, who reluctantly joined him.
“We come in search of Dy’Kore,” Abram said. “We come as friends and allies. I am Abram of Arden, and this is my companion, Whill.”
“Those names mean nothing to me. And if ye be allies, why d’ye have a band o’ Draggard following ye? Maybe ye’r scouts, and should die where ye stand.”
Whill started for the ledge to see for himself, but the dwarf’s words stopped him. “Move an’ ye’ll die. Think you’ll signal to em, eh? No, stay where ye are.”
“Master dwarf, we are not scouts,” Abram insisted. “I am a personal friend of your King Ky’ell, and have proof of it.”
“Ha! Show the proof, if ye have it. But be doin it slow.”
Abram slowly reached for the chain around his neck and took it off. Upon it was a large golden seal, embedded in jewels. He lifted it into the air.
“Throw it here,” said the dwarf, extending a hand from behind the closest boulder and exposing his position. Abram did so. The dwarf quickly retrieved the necklace and disappeared again behind the rock.
“That was given to me by the king to ensure passage into the city. As you know, it bears the royal crest and cannot be obtained falsely.”
The dwarf came forward slowly. He stood not five feet tall, and was shod in large boots. His clothes were a strange shade of grey that made him blend in well with the surrounding rock. At either side, he carried hatchets— two on the right, one on the left. In his hands was a great axe, four feet long with two large half-moon blades. The edge of the blades sparkled even in the faint light. The shaft was well polished and smooth. The handle was wrapped tightly with leather, and at the base there was a sapphire the size of a child’s fist.
Whill of Agora: Epic Fantasy Bundle (Books 1-4): (Whill of Agora, A Quest of Kings, A Song of Swords, A Crown of War) (Legends of Agora) Page 11
