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 waited to be spoken to. Abram 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 an 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, the Draggard, many of them. If he knows where we are, they will be sent.” He began to move again.
Whill, shocked, hurried to catch up. “The Draggard! They come for us now? Why? 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 the winged Draggard, named Draquon by the elves, had been seen near the Ebony Mountains. This thought 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 the…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 thought it wonderful that he’d had a chance to meet his mother, if only in spirit. He felt bad for bringing more peril upon Abram. 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 had become steeper. From his vantage point he could see the many rolling hills ahead and the mountains beyond. The sun was high, shining brightly among thick white clouds, which for now did not block its warm rays. There was little wind, but a strong scent of pine still floated in the air. The forest floor was alive with rich greens, moss, and flowers. Ferns were in abundance, as were redclove plants.
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.