Whill of Agora woa-1

by Michael Ploof

Whill and Abram 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 Whill was closer to the mountain that held so many answers for him. Who had his parents been, what were their names, and most importantly, why had Abram 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 intended not to.

  “At this pace, we will reach the foot of the mountains before dark,” Whill said. “Do you intend not to camp?”

  Abram reached for his leather water flask and took a long drink. “If we do indeed have pursuers, I do not intend on making 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 now 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 crowns of white. 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 as the mountains steepened.

  Finally they reached the base of the mountains. Directly ahead of them the mountain was an impassable rock wall, rising more than one hundred feet. Abram surveyed their options and opted for a southern pass. “The passageway to the city is about two miles that way,” he said, pointing southeast. “We will barely make it before dark, lad, so keep up.”

  Whill laughed. “Alright old man, but I have to warn you, I don’t tire easily.”

  They ascended the mountain, taking the quickest possible routes. They grasped trees and roots when possible to aid in the climb. 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 they were both tired. Finally Abram stopped, leaned both 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 hit a tree next to his head. Together he and Whill drew swords and turned in the direction the axe had come from. They saw no one. They were in a perfect position to be ambushed-a rock faced to the right and a steep wall behind left them with few options. Their only refuge was a large boulder, which they utilized. From behind the boulder they readied their bows and listened keenly. They heard nothing. Peering out over the rock, Whill saw nothing on the path ahead but more boulders, any of which could harbor a foe.

  Abram cupped his hands around his mouth. “Who goes there?” There 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 and he reluctantly joined Abram, unarmed.

  “We come in search of Dy’Kore,” Abram said. “We come as friends and allies. I am Abram of Arden, and with me is Whill.”

  “Those names mean nothing to me. And if ye be allies, why d’ye have a band o’ Draggard following ye? Maybe yer 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, exposing his position by extending a hand from behind the closest boulder. Abram did so. The dwarf quickly retrieved the necklace and returned to his position.

  “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, and he was shod in large brown boots. His clothes were a strange shade of grey that made him blend in well with the surrounding rock. At both his sides he carried hatchets, two on the right one on the left. In his hands he held a great axe, four feet long with two large, half-moon blades at its end. The edges of both 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.

  The dwarf came within five feet and spoke, not easing his grip on the axe. “What’s yer business in the city?”

  “I seek counsel with the king. And we have business of a personal nature for Whill here.”

  The dwarf eyed Abram and Whill in turn. His long brown hair was clumped in thick locks, and his brown beard reached his belt. Behind his large, flat nose were watchful green eyes.

  “Ye do indeed be friends o’ the king if ye carry such a pendant, but ye must be great fools to bring a horde of Draggard at yer heels to the mountain pass. Quick, now, get yer weapons an’ follow me.”

  The dwarf waited as they retrieved their weapons and then walked to the ledge. “There.” He pointed. “They’ve been following ye nigh an hour.”

  Whill could faintly make out movement far below. Abram saw them too. “There are at least twenty, damn! Do you think we will make it to the pass in time?”

  “Doesn’t matter whether we will or no. We’ll kill ’em before we get there,” he said with a proud voice.

  “What!” Whill exclaimed. “You intend to fight them? I am sure you can wield that axe with great skill, but they are too many. Even with the three of us we are outnumbered almost six to one. It would be suicide!”

  “I’ll not run from those beasts! This is a dwarf mountain, this is, and I’ll defend her as such. Those foul ones will learn the ferocity o’ the dwarves. We don’t back down, and we don’t run. They be the trespassers, and they will pay for their crimes.”

  The dwarf’s face was red and his eyes watered as he spoke. Whill could sense that something very intense fueled this dwarf’s hatred for the Draggard.

  Abram spoke up. “You may be proud enough to die taking on that many Draggard, but do not be foolish. We can get reinforcements and return to fight.”

  “No!” The dwarf insisted in a deep voice. “If they find the door to the passageway, they’ll send messengers to report it. As ye know, they’ve a keen sense o’ smell-that’s how they track ye still. If they learn o’ the passageway into the city I’ll have failed in me duty, and that will not happen. I will fight! Ye can run like cowards if ye wish, but ye will never see the city!”

  Whill stepped forward. “We are no cowards! But we should not run to fight these beasts hastily. We need to have a plan for attack.”

  Abram agreed. “He’s right. I have seen one Draggard rip through ten men before falling to the blade. We will not defeat them if we simply stand and fight.”

  The dwarf squinted at them, frowning. “I been watching ye and yer pursuers fer an hour now. I have thought o’ a plan for ambush already.” He pointed at the ledge directly above them. “On that ledge are many boulders, large enough to kill those beasts but small enough to push. I’ll wait there; the two o’ ye should wait o’er there.” He pointed in the direction he had come. “Ye can attack with those b
ows o’ yers once I’ve let loose the boulders.”

  Abram looked at the ledge above, and at the boulders he and Whill would use as cover. “It is a good plan, master dwarf, but they will not all be killed by your falling rocks, nor our bows.”

  The dwarf smiled mischievously. “I know. The rest will die by our blades.”

  Whill laughed nervously. “You’re mad, did you know that?”

  The dwarf’s smile faded. “Ye know, boy, men have died fer saying less to a dwarf. But I need yer help fer now, or else we would have to go round. That can be settled later, laddie. I advise ye to watch yer tongue.”

  Abram watched the exchange and eyed Whill with a raised brow. Whill let out a frustrated sigh. “I apologize, master dwarf. Perhaps I have mistaken your bravery and cunning for-pardon the expression, insanity.” The dwarf eyed him suspiciously. “Could I know the name of such a fearless dwarf?”

  The dwarf eyed him still. Whill assumed he was pondering whether to chop off his head or introduce himself. At last the dwarf, being accustomed to the ways of men, extended his hand. “I am Roakore, son o’ Ro’Din.” Whill shook his hand. It was like a rock. His skin was rough and his grip was crushing. Whill tried not to grimace and instead he manifested his discomfort into an animated look of surprise.

  “You are the son of Ro’Din? Fallen king of the Ebony Mountains?”

  Roakore released Whill’s throbbing hand. “Aye, but this ain’t no time fer conversation. Let us ready ourselves quickly.” He looked over the ledge once again. “They’ll be here soon.”

  Just then Whill had an idea. “What if we bait the Draggard, try to get more of them in range for the falling rock?”

  “What do you mean?” Abram asked.

  Roakore laughed. “If ye would like to be the bait, boy, go ahead.”

  Whill ignored him and produced the bag of diamonds from his pocket. He looked up at the ledge, determined the best spot, and dumped the diamonds onto the ground. They gleamed brightly even in the dim light. Roakore gasped at the sight of the large pile of gems. “How did ye obtain such a wealth o’ diamonds?”

  “He defeated Rhunis of Eldalon in competition,” Abram said.

  Roakore’s expression of shock did not fade. He looked at the diamonds and to Whill again. Finally he composed himself. “Indeed, if ye can beat the Dragonslayer, ye will be an able ally; though it makes me uncomfortable to leave these diamonds fer those beasts.”

  Whill mocked the dwarf’s earlier conviction. “I as well, but they will all die as sure as the sun will set.”

  Roakore simply nodded and let out a growling laugh. Abram urged them to go as he peered over the ledge. “They are coming.”

  The three started for the boulders they would use for cover. Abram chose a large one about sixty feet from the diamonds. It was nine feet tall and as wide as four men, with a large crevice on the side opposite the ambush site. Abram climbed atop the boulder and squatted within the crevice. It was perfect for his intentions: he could quickly bring his bow over the top, and had a better vantage point from there.

  Roakore nodded his approval. “I think that Whill here should come with me. ’Twill be a more effective attack if a bowman was directly above ’em as well. It’ll confuse ’em.”

  Though Whill did not like the idea, Abram agreed. From the boulder he put a hand on Whill’s shoulder. “Aim for the neck and eyes.”

  Whill nodded and began to follow Roakore. They walked down the trail a few feet before Roakore began to climb the rock face. “Quickly, boy, so we are not seen!”

  Whill scrambled to keep up. The dwarf, with his short legs and arms, surprised Whill by how well he scaled the steep rock face. They climbed fifty feet before coming to another ledge. Once on the ledge Whill peered over the side. He could now see the Draggard much better as they advanced up the trail. There were two scouts thirty feet ahead of the main pack. One advanced along the trail, while the other took a different route, continually veering from the trail and stopping often, snout in the air.

  “Come,” said Roakore.

  Whill followed him along the ledge to the boulders he had spoken of. Once again Whill peered cautiously over the ledge. They were directly above the diamonds. Roakore smacked his back. “Help me, laddie. Gather as many large rocks as ye can.” He walked over to a rock directly behind them. “This size is perfect.”

  Whill regarded the rock in disbelief. It was three feet tall and three feet wide. “I cannot lift that rock!”

  Roakore had found another of the same size. He regarded Whill with frustration. “Then roll the damned thing.” He squatted, took a deep breath, and lifted the giant rock onto his shoulder. He carried the rock over to the ledge. Whill was astonished. He had heard of the dwarves’ strength but was amazed nonetheless.

  Not able to match Roakore’s strength, Whill got behind his rock and with great effort began to roll it to the ledge. By the time he had rolled the massive rock to the desired spot, Roakore had gathered five more. The dwarf peered over the ledge. “Hurry, boy! Get another, they are almost upon us!”

  Darkness was advancing quickly now. The sun would set completely in twenty minutes to their disadvantage. The Draggard could see excellently in the dark, a fact that unsettled Whill as he looked to the horizon. With great effort he retrieved another, smaller rock as Roakore gathered four more. They then took their place behind the pile of stone. To their left was a huge boulder, five feet high and four feet across. Roakore took two of the gathered rocks and placed them a short distance behind the boulder. He then wedged his feet against the rocks and leaned forward, placing his large hands on the boulder. In this way he intended to push the boulder over the ledge. Whill was again amazed.

  “Will you need help with that?”

  The dwarf laughed. “No, you just have that bow of yours ready and I’ll worry about the rocks.”

  Peering over the ledge again, Whill could see Abram perched upon his boulder, his bow ready. He returned Whill’s gaze and Whill thought he saw him wink. Below and to the right he could see the Draggard scouts about thirty feet from the diamonds. The rest of the band followed thirty feet behind them. At this distance Whill could see that they wore no armor or clothes. They had no shields, either, only long, two-sided spears with long curved blades at each end.

  The sun now met the horizon as it began to set. It was a brilliant array of red, orange, and purple that spread out like ghostly fingers throughout the thin clouds. Whether it was because it might be the last sunset he would ever see or not, Whill thought it was the most beautiful. He did not get to enjoy it long, however. The Draggard scouts had reached the diamonds. He watched as they peered at them, growling low and hissing violently. In the dying light their skin was dark green, with black markings covering their whole bodies. They had ears like an elf’s, though much longer. They stood about seven feet when fully erect, which was rarely. The two scouts seemed to favor a slightly bent posture. Their bodies were well defined and muscular, with thick scales covering all but the chest and belly. On their backs they had short, pointed horns protruding from their backbones. Their tails were as long as the Draggard were tall, with sharp points at the ends.

  Suddenly the two scouts let out a horrible cry that made Whill’s blood curdle. He watched as the Draggard pack stopped, fell to all fours, and ascended the mountain trail with alarming speed. The scouts surveyed the land but seemed half-hearted in their search as they snarled and pushed each other, fighting for dominance of the diamond pile. Regardless of their careless visual search of the surrounding area, Whill backed away from the ledge slowly as Roakore got into position. Whill in turn silently strung an arrow. He could tell that the rest of the Draggard had reached the scouts-there were many snarls and growls now. Roakore waited as the noise grew. Whill imagined from the sound that they were fighting to take a look at the diamonds.

  Sensing that it was time, he nodded to Roakore. The dwarf made a silent grimace as he pushed the boulder with all his might. At first it did not move. Roa
kore gave it more effort, and the boulder slowly began to roll. To Whill’s dismay, the movement sent small rocks and pebbles tumbling over the ledge. The noises below stopped. Roakore pushed the boulder with all his might and sent it tumbling violently over the ledge. Whill took the opportunity to bring his bow around and aimed over the ledge.

  He saw a horrific sight. Twenty Draggard stood in a circle below, looking up at them. As the boulder descended, many of them let out ear-piercing cries. Whill let loose an arrow before the boulder dropped, hitting one Draggard in the mouth. The arrow disappeared down the beast’s throat as it flailed violently. Many of the beasts scrambled out of the way of the boulder, but five were not so lucky. The boulder came down with bone-shattering force upon the Draggard, and was quickly followed by a huge rock hurtled by Roakore. The rock found its mark, slamming hard into the face of a howling Draggard. Abram simultaneously shot his own arrow, hitting one of the beasts in the throat. The Draggard were bewildered and scampered from the fallen boulder. Whill shot one in the eye as Roakore crushed the leg of another with one of his many large rocks. Abram shot repeatedly, killing two Draggard as they advanced in his direction. Many others began to ascend the rock face, coming straight at Whill and Roakore. They clawed violently at the rock. Whill shot the closest one in the forehead, but to his amazement the arrow was deflected by thick scales. The beast screamed insanely, baring hideous teeth. Roakore dropped a large rock. The creature tried to avoid it but was hit square in the chest. Whill had strung another arrow and this time aimed for the eyes. He hit another and it fell hard, landing on the boulder below in a dead heap.

  Seven Draggard remained. Five ascended toward Whill and Roakore, while two advanced on Abram. Whill shot another through the eye; it fell with a loud thud on the ground below. Roakore had now abandoned the stones and grabbed his great axe. Whill followed suit and unsheathed his sword.

  As the last audible note of Whill’s unsheathed sword reverberated in the air, the sun finally set, and the Draggard topped the ledge. Whill was scared, more scared than he had been when facing last year’s bear, the wolves, and the pirates. The Draggard were a nightmarish sight up close. They did not attack at once, they simply waited.