Whill eyed the contraption with worry. Without a word Roakore hopped over the side of the cart and sat down, bidding them to do the same. With a smile and pat on the back from Abram, Whill did the same.
“Trust me,” said Roakore. “These railways are sure an’ safe. We only have a few accidents a year.” He laughed again. “Whatever ye do, don’t put yer arms out, and hold on fer dear life.”
He pushed down on the single lever next to the cart, disengaging the blocking mechanism, and then disengaged the brake lever. They began to roll very slowly, literally at a crawl for many moments. Whill frowned at Abram, who only shrugged. “Roakore,” he said, “are you sure this will be fas-”
The words in his mouth were replaced by his stomach as the cart suddenly shot down at such an angle that it felt more like they were falling. Roakore hooted and laughed maniacally, as did Abram, but Whill could only scream and hold on as the cart descended at breakneck speed down, down, down the pitch-black tunnel. Finally the track leveled out almost flat, and they came to an area lit every fifty feet with torches. But because of their initial descent, which had hurtled them down the track, and because the track still ran down at a slight angle, the torches passed like fence posts to a sprinting horse.
Whill had found his voice now and hooted and hollered with the other two. The track led relatively straight, with only small turns in course. After less than half an hour they had traveled the many miles to the entrance cave, and now the track leveled out altogether. Far ahead Whill could see the end, and the stone wall beyond. He glanced nervously at Abram.
“Yer thinkin’ mayhap it’s time to slow down, eh?” Roakore said, and then pulled back hard on the brake. Sparks flew from under the cart, and the brakes gave an ear-splitting shriek in protest. They began to slow somewhat, to Whill’s relief, but then to his horror Roakore flew backwards, braking lever in hand. The brakes let up as they careened towards the end of the tunnel at the speed of a flying dragon.
“Not to worry!” Roakore said, somewhat unconvincingly. “There is a backup.”
Whill saw what the dwarf meant, and groaned as he braced himself. The track suddenly dipped low into a shallow pool of water less than fifty feet long. Great waves rose up more than twenty feet as the cart barreled into the water. Although it slowed the cart considerably, it did not stop it completely, and all three screamed as the cart slammed into the barrier wall at the end of the track. End over end they flew through the air, slamming hard into the wall thirty feet away.
They three lay at the base of the wall for a long moment, Whill and Abram groaning. Whill fought his dizziness and stood over the dwarf, who was rolling around in a fit of laughter.
“I take back what I said before, Roakore,” Whill said. “You are insane!”
All three burst into hysterical laughter
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Whill, Abram, and Roakore walked out into the early morning sun. They had exited through a different tunnel than the one they had previously entered through. They were a few miles south of that entrance, and closer to the shore. The railway had taken them to the base of the great mountain range, and from the small cave they had exited they could see the dense forest before them.
Whill led the way. Having spent so many years with one as knowledgeable as Abram, he could easily determine the direction they must go to get to Sherna. He led them at a pace almost as frantic as when had journeyed to the mountain. After more than an hour of hiking, Roakore sat upon a large stone, halting Whill and Abram.
“If the fear o’ Draggard on our tails causes ye to walk so fast, then consider that they would catch us anyway, an’ it would be better not to be exhausted if they do!” He pulled a piece of dried meat from his pack and ripped off a large chunk with his teeth.
Whill winked at Abram. “Good dwarf, I apologize if I set a pace too fast and grueling for you. How long do you wish to rest?”
Roakore’s eyes widened in rage and he began to stand, but then noticed the smirk upon Abram’s face. Seeing the teasing for what it was, he sat back once more and bit off another large piece of the meat. “Don’t ye go being a dragon’s arse, lad, I just don’t see the point in such haste. The meetin in Kell-Torey ain’t fer two weeks, an’ ’twill take us no more than ten days to get there.”
Abram regarded him, his smirk gone. “We believe that a friend of ours may be in danger-Tarren, the boy we told you of. If the Draggard followed us from Sherna, then we think it possible they may have caused more than a little trouble in the town.”
Roakore nodded as he stood, still chewing the meat. “Why didn’t ye say so?”
With that he took up the lead. The hardy dwarf surpassed their earlier pace, and indeed, the three were now running through the forest. After no more than fifteen minutes, Roakore abruptly stopped and turned to Whill with a strange scowl.
“How’s it that ye can run so, with the wound ye received to yer leg just two nights ago?”
Whill had forgotten about the wound almost completely after hearing the story of his parents. He had forgotten to act as if he still carried the wound, as Abram had warned him to.
His mind raced for an answer, but Roakore’s gruff gaze told him that lies were useless. “The wound wasn’t as bad as it seemed,” he said with a shrug, and began to walk past the dwarf.
Roakore grabbed him by the arm. “Let me see it.”
Abram intervened. “Can the inspection of Whill’s wound not wait until we reach Sherna? If Tarren truly is in danger, our pause may be detrimental.”
Roakore did not let go. “No, it cannot wait. If I’m to trust the two o’ ye on this long journey afore us, then I need an answer now-an answer that suits me!”
Whill pulled free and pulled up his pant leg, showing the area of his thigh where the wound had been. Where it should still be.
Roakore’s eyes widened and he gripped his axe all the tighter. “I should’ve known when ye made the argument about the elves with King Ky’Ell. Yer in league with ’em, in league with the Draggard! Well, Roakore will not be so easily fooled. Come on then, ye assassins, let’s have a row!”
Whill only sighed and rolled his eyes to the sky. Abram, on the other hand, held out his hands in truce. “Roakore, think about what you are saying. Whill’s parents were murdered by the Draggard. What is this lunacy that you speak?”
Roakore spat stubbornly. “Then let’s have the truth from ye! A gash that deep from a Draggard tail don’t heal in a day. It’s elf magic, I’m sure. What lie do ye have fer that one, eh?”
Whill looked at Abram. “We don’t have time for this.” He drew his father’s sword. Roakore made a defensive stance and scowled. “This is the sword of my father, forged for him by the elves. My family has a unique relationship with the elven people. And through that relationship we have obtained some of the elven powers. And though I have never even met an elf, I have many elven powers, like the one you see before you: the power to heal. That is the truth. Take it or leave it. And if you would judge me so for such powers, then so be that as well. You see the elves as enemies though you know not one; your kind curses the Elves of the Sun for what the Dark elves created. And that, my fierce friend, is simply stupid!”
They stared at each other for many long moments. Abram did not move, either, looking from one to the other.
“We will see if what ye say o’ the elves is true, young Whill,” Roakore said at last. “But know this, that it’d not be wise to ever lie to me again.” And cursing under his breath he ran off again.