ye guess?”
Abram sighed and leaned forward. “It is said that a queen can lay more than twenty eggs a day, and those eggs can lay dormant for years. I would guess we are looking at an army of over one hundred thousand.”
Whill could hardly comprehend such an estimation. He tried to envision an army so vast, and his body involuntarily shuddered at the prospect.
Roakore stood, red-faced. “I said it long ago, we should’ve taken back the mountain immediately!” He pointed at Ky’Ell with a shaking hand. “Ye have damned me father to hell! Why have ye made us wait? Just so the children o’ the fallen mountain could partake in the reclaiming o’ it! Are ye not now shamed in yer folly, in yer cowardice?”
King Ky’Ell sprang to his feet, his own rage twisting his face into a snarl. His voice boomed throughout the room. “Do not forget who ye speak to, Roakore o’ the Ebony Mountains! I’ll not be called a coward in me own halls. If ye were any other dwarf, I would kill ye where ye stand! But the gods have another plan for ye, son of the fallen mountain. Do not anger me again!”
From Roakore’s twisted face came tears of frustration. He bent his head low and weakly hit his fist to his chest. Through clenched teeth, he said, “I am sorry, great king o’ Dy-Kore, me tongue was led by me rage. Ye have been nothing but good to me people.”
He slumped back into his chair and peered at the king. His face was no longer filled with anger; rather he looked like a dwarf without hope. His despair was so great that it eased even the king’s rage. Ky’Ell spoke again, more softly this time.
“Ye will have yer chance, son o’ Ro’Din. Sooner than ye think. But know this: I’ve waited to help ye take back the mountain fer many reasons. Yer correct, I do feel it’s the right o’ the eldest sons o’ the fallen mountain to fight fer it. Second, I intended on fightin’ alongside ye in them halls, but I am old an’ at the end o’ me days. I wanted to see that all was in order here, an’ that the son o’ me choosing was o’ the right age to succeed meself, fer I knew I might not return alive. Call it a selfish ol’ dwarf’s vision o’ glory in the eyes o’ the gods an’ ye’d be correct. Though, seems now that I’ll be needed here, if indeed the greatest war to ever be waged in Agora looms.”
He paused to consider his next statement. “I’m thinkin’ ye should go with ’em to Kell-Torey an’ represent the dwarves, as a king o’ dwarves. Ye’ll speak fer meself an’ fer King Du’Krell o’ the Elgar Mountains. When ye return, we’ll begin plans for battle. What say ye, son o’ Ro’Din?”
Roakore rose once again and slammed his fist to his chest. “I would be honored to represent our people.”
The king looked to Abram and Whill. “’Tis settled. The two sons o’ fallen kings shall journey together to Kell-Torey. An’ let ’em know that many a song’ll be written in many languages to tell the tale o’ the great war, an’ the Draggard slaughter!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After the meal Whill and Abram returned to their rooms without the guidance of Fior- Ky’Ell had made it known that a visiting king was their guest within the city, and was free to roam as he pleased. He had also offered them a tour of his great city, and Whill had graciously accepted. Abram, with the pressing business at hand, had forgotten that this was Whill’s first encounter with the dwarves, and hoped not to spoil the experience. But since the battle with the Draggard, Abram had pondered the many implications of their presence. The creatures had surely followed them from Sherna, loathe though was he to believe it. It was the only logical explanation.
He and Whill came to Abram’s room and went in. “How do you think the meeting went?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing, Whill. What is your opinion?”
Whill sat down upon a large wooden but heavily cushioned chair and thought for a moment. “I like the king. He is gruff, opinionated, and stubborn-everything you would expect from a dwarf king. He is wise, I might add, though I do not presume to be qualified to judge such a character.”
Abram laughed. “But, Whill, you
Whill sighed and slowly put a hand through his hair. “All of my life I have wondered of my parents. I have dreamed of them in many ways. But never have I considered such a possibility as the story you have told me Abram, never in a million years.”
Abram spoke gently. “I do not mean to press.”
Whill sat up in his seat, his elbows upon his knees, and a smile spread across his face. “I know, and you are right. I do intend to claim the title, and I intend to see Addakon pay for his treachery, but I am afraid. If my uncle has been taught by the elves-worse yet, if he has teamed with Eadon, as you said-then what chance do I have?”
Abram sat across from Whill in an identical chair and lit the pipe he had been preparing. “You mean what chance do
Whill was touched by Abram’s words. He knew of his guardian’s fatherly love and did not doubt the bond of their deep friendship. But given the recent revelations, Abram had become more than a father figure or friend. In this new lonely light in which Whill was forced to see himself and his destiny, Abram had become a blessing.
“Do not forget,” Abram went on, “You have powers far beyond your contemplation, powers that when fully understood and mastered will make you a very real threat to the false king Addakon.”
Whill furrowed his brow. “But the trouble has already begun. I know I must be trained by the elves, but I assume that training will take years. How can I be of any use in the coming war?”
“I also have pondered that point. It is unfortunate that Addakon has begun his crusade against Agora so soon, and it would seem that time is indeed against us. But do not forget your history: wars are not won and lost overnight, and the other kingdoms of Agora are strong indeed. You must prepare to face Addakon and let that be your goal.
“We have trained every day for the last ten years. Your prowess as a fighter is great indeed, and will only become greater. The elves will teach you things I cannot, and I do not doubt, given the abilities you have already demonstrated, that you will master their ways quickly.”
“And when do you suggest I go to Elladrindellia?”
“After the meeting in Kell-Torey-the elf queen is invited, do not forget. I suggest that we depart with her afterward.”
Whill was happy with the idea. He was eager to learn the ways of the elves, the ways of his father. Abram banged his pipe lightly against the small table at his feet and looked at Whill with concern. “I fear your uncle knows where we are, Whill, or at least he knew.”
Whill was not surprised by the statement; he had considered the same. “I feel so also. That is what the elf lady was trying to warn me of. I must have been vulnerable when I was in that fevered sleep after healing the infant. If the elf could find a way into my mind, then I do not doubt Addakon could do the same, or at least sense my presence.”
“Yes, and if the Draggard followed our trail from Sherna…”
Whill took in a quick breath of surprise as the realization hit him. “Tarren. Tarren may be in danger. The entire town may be in danger!” He sprang to his feet, but Abram motioned for him to relax.
“We do not know that. The Draggard are vicious indeed, but if they were on a mission, they would not have lingered in Sherna. They would have sought our trail and pursued us immediately. Attacking Sherna would have been an open act of war towards Eldalon, and Addakon would not dare such a thing at this early stage of the game.”
“It is set in your mind that Addakon is a Draggard ally, but you said yourself that Addakon implies to his
