Whill raced up the beach. The dragons had seen him and they came-by the dozens they came. They flew low, their wings dipping in the ocean with every beat. Only a short distance away he saw an elf sitting cross-legged, chanting quietly with his sword lifted to the heavens. Though Whill did not recognize the elf, he knew him to be Adimorda, and the blade he held to be Adromida. Whill raced toward him but seemed to get no closer-rather he was sinking, sinking quickly in the sand beneath his feet. Adimorda continued his chant, oblivious of Whill’s peril. To Whill’s horror he saw behind Adimorda his own father, sword held high, wearing a look of pure hatred, ready to strike down the elf. Then Whill realized it was not his father but Addakon. Whill screamed to Adimorda, the dragons neared, Addakon struck, and Whill sank.
Whill’s screaming woke him and the rest of the camp. Zerafin kneeled by his side looking down at him, an unmistakable look of worry on his face. He extended a hand and addressed the others. “It’s alright, go back to sleep. He was having a bad dream.”
Abram came to his side. “What was it, Whill?”
Whill shook his head and laughed, embarrassed. “It was nothing, really. Just a dream, like Zerafin said.”
“Given the dreams you have had of late, I would not take any lightly if I were you.”
Worry was etched into Zerafin’s handsome brow. “My sister was able to reach you in your dreams. Do you think maybe Addakon or Eadon-”
Whill cut him off. “No, no.” He shook his head. Could his dreams have been influenced by his enemies? Given recent events, he decided he really had no way of knowing. Nothing he heard would ever seem strange again. In the new world he had been thrust into, anything seemed possible.
“It is my turn to keep watch, Zerafin,” Abram said. “Get some rest, my friend.”
Zerafin nodded in Abram’s direction, never taking his eyes off Whill. Finally his serious look was replaced by a friendly smile. “Very well, then, but I shall like to hear of the dream later.”
He took his leave as Abram and Whill walked a few yards out of camp. They walked the perimeter in silence at first, Abram seeming to sense that Whill needed a moment to get his wits about him. There was little wind on the edge of the road to Kell-Torey, and the spring night was unusually warm. This came as a welcome change to the cold winter that had recently passed. Crickets chirped all around them, and every now and then the strange song of bats filled the air. Whill had only slept for a few hours, but he was not tired; rather he found that his head was quite clear.
Abram ended the silence with a pat on Whill’s shoulder. “Have you forgotten that tomorrow is your twentieth birthday?”
Whill laughed. “With all that has transpired, I had forgotten completely.”
“Actually it is your birthday already-so says the moon.” Abram looked past the heavens to a place lost to the years. “I cannot believe it has been twenty years.”
Whill stopped and turned to Abram. “I had never realized, nor have I properly thanked you, for all you have done for me. I cannot imagine a life with you not at my side. So now, twenty years after the beginning of it all-thank you, Abram. Thank you for everything.”
Whill hugged him hard, and gave him a firm pat on the back, which Abram returned. Abram then pushed off and held Whill at arm’s length. “You have surpassed my greatest expectations in every regard, Whill. It truly has been not a sacrifice, but an honor.”
Whill smiled, but then his smile faded, his eyes moving to the woods. Abram understood the look instantly. “What is it?”
Whill surveyed the surrounding forest. “Listen-the crickets. They have stopped.”
“So they have.”
They quickly but quietly returned to camp, where they found Rhunis and Roakore awake and alert. Rhunis gestured them to come quietly. “Zerafin woke us a moment ago. He and Avriel have ventured into the brush.”
Roakore looked annoyed. “So what is it, eh? What’s the excitement about?”
Whill surveyed the woods once again, a chill running down his spine all the while. “The crickets have stopped singing to each other.”
Roakore huffed. “It’s about time, those little monsters kept me up half the night.”
“SHH!” the others exclaimed.
“Draggard are about,” Whill said. “Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Ready your axe.”
Roakore nodded, but rather than his axe he took in his hands his stone bird and began to chant quietly.
Rhunis gave the chanting dwarf a queer look. “What is he doing?”
“What we we all should be doing-preparing,” said Abram, as he slowly unsheathed his blade.
Just then a scream ripped through the air, a scream of death, made by a Draggard. Great flashes of light erupted from within the forest, one, two, three bursts of light. Then Zerafin and Avriel came dashing out of the woods.
“Prepare for battle!” yelled Zerafin. He and Avriel each reached down and picked up four large stones. The siblings said something as they waved a hand over the stones. To Whill’s amazement, the stones began to glow bright white. Zerafin and Avriel then cast the stones in every direction, greatly illuminating the night around them.
Only then did Whill realize that Tarren was still asleep, snoring even. He gently shook the boy. but to no avail. He shook harder. “Tarren, wake up!”
“Do not bother,” said Avriel as she threw a few more stones into the woods. “I have made it so he will sleep soundly. The boy does not need to see this.”
Whill nodded, grateful for Avriel’s thoughtfulness.
Zerafin looked back at the others. “They have surrounded us.”
“Twenty, maybe thirty of them,” added Avriel.
Zerafin surveyed the night sky. “And at least a dozen Draquon. Ready your bows, and guard the boy.” He strung an arrow of his own.
Roakore seemed not to hear any of it as he stood, eyes closed, chanting still.
So they waited, Abram, Whill, Rhunis, and Roakore with their backs to the fire, Tarren lying next to it. Zerafin was on one side of the low-burning fire, Avriel on the other, both ten feet from the others, facing the illuminated woods.
They needed not wait long. Seeing no point in stealth with the night suddenly so bright, The Draggard attacked all at once from the shadows from all directions, and from the sky. Just as quickly the elves stretched out their arms at the attackers. An unseen energy hit the Draggard, more than twenty of them. The beasts were lifted five feet into the air and thrown back into the shadows.
Whill could only watch in awe. Roakore saw also, and saw that it was time. With one last loud exclamation of his chanted words, he raised his hand and the stone bird whirled to life. Up, up into the air it flew, and with a thud it connected with a flying Draquon. The beast fell to the ground ten feet from the fire, its head crushed.
Whill and Abram sprang into action, firing shots into the night sky as the ominous shadows flew overhead.
“Duck down!” shouted Avriel, and all four warriors obliged. A split second later a Draquon’s tail whipped overhead. Avriel shot quickly. Before her warning had begun to echo through the forest, the Draquon fell, an arrow straight through its forehead.
From his crouch Whill noticed that the Draggard that had been thrown backwards had regrouped. They were now in a throwing stance, and more than twenty spears were at the ready. “Watch out!” he shouted, even as the Draggard threw their many spears in unison.
The spears came whirling in at the group. Whill lifted his sword, ready to deflect the onslaught, but there were too many. They came from all directions, pointed tips gleaming. As one, the elves raised a single hand.
The spears came in swiftly, then just as swiftly changed course and flew into the night sky. More than half a dozen Draquon fell from above, spears protruding from many wounds. The spear-wielding Draggard hissed and growled and charged again. Once again the elves sent a shockwave of energy to throw them back.