Whill of Agora: Book 1 - Michael Ploof (e book reader for pc .TXT) 📗

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?” 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, 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.

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

“We seek counsel with the king and have business of a personal nature.”

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; 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 city, 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, 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 a ledge directly above them. “There be many boulders up there— 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 from which he had come. “Ye can attack with those bows 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. That can be settled later, laddie, but 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 of the boulders?”

“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 as he peered over the ledge, “They are coming.”

Of the boulders they could use for cover, Abram chose a large one about sixty feet from the diamonds. It was about nine feet tall and as wide as four men, with a large crevice on the side opposite the ambush. He climbed atop the boulder and squatted within the crevice. It was perfect for his intentions; it was a good vantage point and he could quickly bring his bow up over the top.

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 said, “Aim for the neck and eyes.”

Whill nodded and began to follow Roakore. As the dwarf began to climb the rock face, he spoke over his shoulder, “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. Once on the ledge, Whill peered over the side and could now see the Draggard much better. There were two scouts ahead of the main pack, stopping often with their snouts in the air.

“Come,” said Roakore.

Whill followed him along the ledge to the boulders he had spoken of. Once again Whill peered over the edge cautiously. 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