“Yes, sister, indeed it is.”
“The oddest thing is…he is exactly what I had envisioned.”
Zerafin scowled and sighed. “This could be disastrous. I fear your feelings could-could-”
“Could what, brother? It has been written, it will come to pass. He is Whill of Agora, the one we have waited a millennium for. Whether I love the idea of him is of no concern. It is not the same as loving the person.”
Zerafin could only shrug. “We shall see.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The remainder of the day was spent salvaging what they could from the destroyed town. Riders were sent out to the nearest towns, and to Kell-Torey. Though no one thought another attack likely, they would all breath a little easier when reinforcements arrived. Whill spent most of the day with Tarren, who asked a million questions about the dwarf city, which Whill was happy to answer. When the stars finally took to the night sky, Whill was more than glad to see them. He, Roakore, and Abram had been up since leaving the mountains. All fell into a much-needed sleep.
Whill awoke the following morning to the smell of pork and eggs drifting on the still-smoky air. He turned his head from the sky and saw Roakore and Tarren sitting by a fire, Tarren no doubt asking more questions of Dy- Kore. Roakore noticed that Whill had awoken and took the opportunity to break conversation with the young human.
“Aye then, finally. Thought ye might sleep through the day, lad. The boy here’s got more questions then there be stars. Says he never seen a real dwarf, he does. I tell him I ain’t ever seen a fake one.”
Whill chuckled and made his way to the two and accepted a hearty share of breakfast. All around him were similar camps, with similar fires. Families and groups of soldiers were all now starting their day.
Soon Abram arrived with Avriel, Zerafin, and Rhunis, each leading a horse. Rhunis helped himself to a piece of pork and ruffled Tarren’s hair. “So here we all are. This is good.”
Rhunis gestured behind him to a knight leading a black stallion and a pony. “These are for you,” he said with a smile as he addressed Whill and Roakore. “We have many miles before us, and I for one would prefer to ride.”
“I had assumed we would journey to Kell-Torey by water.”
Abram gestured towards the sea. “
Whill nodded. “Days that we don’t have.”
Just then Avriel whistled and threw Whill the sword of his father. Whill caught it and looked it over quickly, he could not tell by sight or touch whether the blade had been used as he had intended. A slight nod and smile from Avriel answered that riddle for him. Whill smiled at his new companions and looked to the west. “Well, then. The road awaits.”
Soon they left the still-smoldering Sherna behind. A group of fifty soldiers from a nearby town had made station at dawn, and a small fleet was expected within the ten-day. Whill knew that the townspeople were in good hands, and he doubted they would see any more trouble. The Draggard had only attacked the town because he had been in it. The best thing he could do for Sherna was to leave.
Though he had recently learned that he was heir to the Uthen-Arden throne, and had just witnessed and been part of a horrible battle, and though death and destruction seemed to follow him like a morbid shadow, Whill was in good spirits. With the ever-inquisitive Tarren riding with him, his old friend Abram, elf and dwarf royalty, and a legendary knight of Eldalon at his side, Whill felt good indeed.
They headed west along the old and seldom-used road leading from Sherna to Kell-Torey. They rode for many miles, Tarren talking many of those, until the sun crested the midday sky and it was time for the first rest.
The riders dismounted and made camp next to a small creek. The horses and pony were left to drink and graze, and Roakore, the most hungry of the group, started a strong fire.
“Got me some good meats from one o’ them towns-women,” Roakore boasted as he took from his pack a half-dozen slabs of venison. “Said it was the least she could offer for me help.”
Avriel put her hands upon her hips and gave Roakore a look. He huffed and pulled as innocent a face as he could muster. “What was I to do? I may have insulted the poor human if I said nay!”
Everyone had seen the exchange, and none could help but have a good laugh at the poor dwarf’s expense. Roakore threw up his arms and tended to his cooking. The only ear he found was in the form of a young curious lad who had joined Roakore to learn the secrets of dwarf cooking. Roakore put an arm over Tarren’s shoulder and looked back with a scowl at the rest of the group, which caused another small fit of laughter. “Bah. Forget them, laddie. They can think what they likes. Let ’em have their dried meats and their stinkin’ cheese.” Tarren only smiled.
Avriel and Zerafin had taken up a conversation with Rhunis as the elves brushed their stallions. Abram took the opportunity to talk with Whill, who was sitting on the ground, sharpening his own retrieved sword.
“We will be in Kell-Torey soon, eh?” He packed his pipe and took a seat next to Whill.
“Sherna to Kell-Torey, let me think…five hundred miles or so, I figure.” Abram nodded as Whill went on. “The horses carry us twice as fast as our legs would, so I would say we can make Kell-Torey in sixty hours’ travel time, figuring in eight hours’ sleep and two hour-long rest stops per day.” He looked to the sky briefly as he made the calculations. “So we should reach Kell-Torey in four days, around eight in the evening, just in time to find lodging and drink.”
“Exact in all regards, my friend. Well done.”
Whill stopped sharpening his blade for a moment and smirked. “Please, that was child’s play. I figured those estimations before we left Sherna.”
Abram chuckled as he exhaled smoke from his pipe. “I know, I know. Just making sure the old skills remain as sharp as that blade.”
Whill huffed through his nose. “Better come up with something better than that, old man!”
Abram took a long pull from his pipe and blew it into the mild wind. “Alright then, answer this riddle.”
Whill laughed. “You have no riddles left for me, I fear, Abram.”
“Oh, I have one! One that you may never find the answer to.”
Whill stopped his work, intrigued. “Out with it, then.”
Abram cleared his throat. “How does one keep his mind on the mission at hand when he has fallen helplessly in love with an elf princess?”
Whill said nothing. For a long and silent while he and Abram simply stared at each other. Finally Whill laughed and went back to sharpening his blade, and Abram to smoking his pipe. After more than five minutes, Whill stopped and set aside his sword.
“I am not in love with her.”
Abram tapped his pipe on a nearby rock and regarded Whill with one raised eyebrow.
“Don’t give me that look,” Whill said.
“What look?”
“You know what look”
“I did not know I was giving a look. It must have been subconscious.”
Whill let his gaze wander to Avriel. What he felt upon simply looking upon her, he could not deny. “Alright, you win, Abram. As always, you have seen into my mind and soul.” He took a deep breath and asked in a surrendering tone, “What do I do?”
Abram let his victorious smile fade and pondered for a moment. “I do not know what will become of this. History tells us nothing of human and elven romance, or the ramifications. But I know this: your feelings will be used against you, whether she shares your feelings or not. Your enemies will target the ones you love. It is hard to
