Whill of Agora Trilogy: Book 01 - Whill of Agora (16 page)

“Come,” said Roakore.

Whill followed him along the ledge to the boulders he had spoken of. Once again Whill peered cautiously over the ledge. They were directly above the diamonds. Roakore smacked his back. “Help me, laddie. Gather as many large rocks as ye can.” He walked over to a rock directly behind them. “This size is perfect.”

Whill regarded the rock in disbelief. It was three feet tall and three feet wide. “I cannot lift that rock!”

Roakore had found another of the same size. He regarded Whill with frustration. “Then roll the damned thing.” He squatted, took a deep breath, and lifted the giant rock onto his shoulder. He carried the rock over to the ledge. Whill was astonished. He had heard of the dwarves’ strength but was amazed nonetheless.

Not able to match Roakore’s strength, Whill got behind his rock and with great effort began to roll it to the ledge. By the time he had rolled the massive rock to the desired spot, Roakore had gathered five more. The dwarf peered over the ledge. “Hurry, boy! Get another, they are almost upon us!”

Darkness was advancing quickly now. The sun would set completely in twenty minutes to their disadvantage. The Draggard could see excellently in the dark, a fact that unsettled Whill as he looked to the horizon. With great effort he retrieved another, smaller rock as Roakore gathered four more. They then took their place behind the pile of stone. To their left was a huge boulder, five feet high and four feet across. Roakore took two of the gathered rocks and placed them a short distance behind the boulder. He then wedged his feet against the rocks and leaned forward, placing his large hands on the boulder. In this way he intended to push the boulder over the ledge. Whill was again amazed.

“Will you need help with that?”

The dwarf laughed. “No, you just have that bow of yours ready and I’ll worry about the rocks.”

Peering over the ledge again, Whill could see Abram perched upon his boulder, his bow ready. He returned Whill’s gaze and Whill thought he saw him wink. Below and to the right he could see the Draggard scouts about thirty feet from the diamonds. The rest of the band followed thirty feet behind them. At this distance Whill could see that they wore no armor or clothes. They had no shields, either, only long, two-sided spears with long curved blades at each end.

The sun now met the horizon as it began to set. It was a brilliant array of red, orange, and purple that spread out like ghostly fingers throughout the thin clouds. Whether it was because it might be the last sunset he would ever see or not, Whill thought it was the most beautiful. He did not get to enjoy it long, however. The Draggard scouts had reached the diamonds. He watched as they peered at them, growling low and hissing violently. In the dying light their skin was dark green, with black markings covering their whole bodies. They had ears like an elf’s, though much longer. They stood about seven feet when fully erect, which was rarely. The two scouts seemed to favor a slightly bent posture. Their bodies were well defined and muscular, with thick scales covering all but the chest and belly. On their backs they had short, pointed horns protruding from their backbones. Their tails were as long as the Draggard were tall, with sharp points at the ends.

Suddenly the two scouts let out a horrible cry that made Whill’s blood curdle. He watched as the Draggard pack stopped, fell to all fours, and ascended the mountain trail with alarming speed. The scouts surveyed the land but seemed half-hearted in their search as they snarled and pushed each other, fighting for dominance of the diamond pile. Regardless of their careless visual search of the surrounding area, Whill backed away from the ledge slowly as Roakore got into position. Whill in turn silently strung an arrow. He could tell that the rest of the Draggard had reached the scouts—there were many snarls and growls now. Roakore waited as the noise grew. Whill imagined from the sound that they were fighting to take a look at the diamonds.

Sensing that it was time, he nodded to Roakore. The dwarf made a silent grimace as he pushed the boulder with all his might. At first it did not move. Roakore gave it more effort, and the boulder slowly began to roll. To Whill’s dismay, the movement sent small rocks and pebbles tumbling over the ledge. The noises below stopped. Roakore pushed the boulder with all his might and sent it tumbling violently over the ledge. Whill took the opportunity to bring his bow around and aimed over the ledge.

He saw a horrific sight. Twenty Draggard stood in a circle below, looking up at them. As the boulder descended, many of them let out ear-piercing cries. Whill let loose an arrow before the boulder dropped, hitting one Draggard in the mouth. The arrow disappeared down the beast’s throat as it flailed violently. Many of the beasts scrambled out of the way of the boulder, but five were not so lucky. The boulder came down with bone-shattering force upon the Draggard, and was quickly followed by a huge rock hurtled by Roakore. The rock found its mark, slamming hard into the face of a howling Draggard. Abram simultaneously shot his own arrow, hitting one of the beasts in the throat. The Draggard were bewildered and scampered from the fallen boulder. Whill shot one in the eye as Roakore crushed the leg of another with one of his many large rocks. Abram shot repeatedly, killing two Draggard as they advanced in his direction. Many others began to ascend the rock face, coming straight at Whill and Roakore. They clawed violently at the rock. Whill shot the closest one in the forehead, but to his amazement the arrow was deflected by thick scales. The beast screamed insanely, baring hideous teeth. Roakore dropped a large rock. The creature tried to avoid it but was hit square in the chest. Whill had strung another arrow and this time aimed for the eyes. He hit another and it fell hard, landing on the boulder below in a dead heap.

Seven Draggard remained. Five ascended toward Whill and Roakore, while two advanced on Abram. Whill shot another through the eye; it fell with a loud thud on the ground below. Roakore had now abandoned the stones and grabbed his great axe. Whill followed suit and unsheathed his sword.

As the last audible note of Whill’s unsheathed sword reverberated in the air, the sun finally set, and the Draggard topped the ledge. Whill was scared, more scared than he had been when facing last year’s bear, the wolves, and the pirates. The Draggard were a nightmarish sight up close. They did not attack at once, they simply waited.

The dwarf let out a scream. “Come on, ye foul beasts!”

They did not move. Instead they let out cries of their own. The sound hurt Whill’s ears and his body shook. The beasts growled and hissed, spittle falling from their pointed teeth. They had stood side by side but now began to spread out. He could not take the anticipation. He searched himself for the strength he needed to face these fell creatures. They were the only thing standing in the way of all his answers. They were the scourge of the earth, a plague.
They should not be feared
, thought Whill.
They should fear me!

From below Abram cried in pain and Whill was jolted into action. He lunged forward at the closest Draggard and was met with greater force. The beast swung its great spear, which Whill blocked with difficulty. Roakore took the opportunity to swing at the beast closest to himself. His great axe made a heavy
whoosh
as it cut through the air, missing its target. The two others joined in the attack. Whill blocked as both Draggard swung and stabbed at him with their spears. They were relentless, hissing violently as they advanced. Whill was slowly being pushed back, and he knew if they got him against the rock wall he would be doomed.

Roakore, meanwhile, was not being driven back. He screamed and growled as he blocked the Draggard attack with his heavy axe. Whill parried yet another blow and, finding an opening, sliced the leg of the beast to his right. It howled in pain and let up long enough for Whill to be one-on-one with the other. The beast brought down its spear, meaning to hew Whill’s head. He moved out of the way in time and with one powerful stroke cut off the beast’s right arm. Roakore, who was now ten feet away, closer to the ledge, blocked a series of blows and quickly dropped to his knees, avoiding a blow meant for his head. With lightning speed he swung his axe at the closest Draggard, and chopped its leg off above the knee. He followed with a heavy blow that hewed the beast’s head. The beast fell over dead as blood poured from the wound. The dwarf rolled sideways and was quickly attacked by the other Draggard.

Whill was inspired by what he had seen of Roakore’s masterful counterattack. He blocked again as the uninjured of his two attacking Draggard wielded its long spear. The beast that Whill had cut screamed again in rage and barreled straight at him. As he exchanged blows with the one before him, the other jumped with a mad look of pure hatred burning in its eyes. It dove at him, arm extended, legs spread. Whill exchanged blows with the Draggard still before him as the other flew toward him. He blocked an overhead attack and simultaneously turned his back on the diving beast. He ducked a blow meant again for his head and at the same time changed his grip on his sword so that it pointed at the ground. He thrust his sword under his right shoulder and impaled the one-armed beast through the chest as it attempted to jump on his back. The Draggard before Whill did not let up on its attack, and as Whill impaled the other it stabbed at his chest. Being in a crouch, with his sword stuck in the chest of the dead beast, Whill had no time to parry. Instead he abandoned his sword and jumped high into the air as the spear barely missed him. He performed a back-flip over the impaled Draggard and landed behind it as the other’s spear found the neck of his fellow, rather than Whill. The beast wailed in anger as it pulled its spear from its dead kin.

The monster Roakore had been fighting, Whill realized, was but five feet from him. It abandoned its fight with Roakore and came at Whill, who was now unarmed but for his knife. He ran toward the ledge, the Draggard close behind, Roakore following. Whill was almost to the ledge. In the darkness he could barely see his abandoned bow lying four feet away. He scrambled to reach it in time. He dove as he pulled an arrow from his quiver and upon landing grabbed his bow. He was now on his back as he strung his bow and frantically pulled back. He shot at the Draggard, which was now three feet away. The arrow found its mark and hit the beast in the belly as it reached him. But the arrow only slowed the beast as it raised its spear to kill him. The blade came down fast, aimed for his head. He feebly raised his knife in defense as Roakore barreled into the Draggard before the spear struck. He and the Draggard flew over Whill and disappeared over the ledge.

Whill went to look over the ledge but remembered the other Draggard. He whipped his head around in the direction of the rock wall and there it was; a demonic silhouette fifteen feet away. He got to his knees and took a shooting stance as the monster ran at him with a menacing howl. He shot the Draggard in the chest, but the arrow barely penetrated its scales. He shot again, hitting it in the belly. The beast slowed but did not stop; it was now eight feet away. It came at him with both arms forward in an impaling attack. He shot again, pulling back hard on the bow. The arrow sliced through the air and hit the Draggard again in the belly, sinking deep this time. The beast stumbled and dropped its spear, falling to its knees four feet from Whill. He had another arrow ready and aimed for the monster’s face. The dying Draggard quickly swung its tail around and broke the bow in two as it lunged forward and grabbed him by the neck. The Draggard’s strength was incredible. Whill could not breathe and knew his neck would soon be crushed. As the Draggard’s sharp claws sunk into his flesh, he brought up his knife into the chest of the monster. Its grip loosened as Whill stared into the Draggard’s hideous black eyes. They stared back, burning with anger. The grip on Whill’s neck tightened once again as the Draggard whipped its tail and sank it deep into Whill’s left thigh. The beast bared its pointed teeth in triumph. Whill could not scream in pain, he could not breathe; his vision had begun to go black at the edges. He could only sink his knife deeper with what strength he had left. He shoved the knife as far as he could until it could go no further. The beast’s eyes widened and its growl turned to a gurgle. The hand around his neck loosened and finally fell as the beast dropped on its side, dead.

At first Whill could not breathe; he was on the verge of passing out. On his knees still, he struggled for breath as his damaged windpipe finally opened enough to let in a shallow breath. He sucked greedily at the air as his breathing slowly became deeper. The air burned his throat and he went into a coughing fit that made his head spin. He fell forward, exhausted, and slowly his breathing returned to normal. He groaned in pain as he reached for the tail which was still in his leg. With great effort and immense pain he pulled it from his flesh.

He crawled towards the ledge, wondering what had become of Roakore and Abram. He peered into the darkness below and saw Roakore hacking away at a lifeless Draggard that lay next to the fallen boulder. The beast was already in pieces. Roakore swore profusely and kicked a decapitated head, sending it rolling. He looked up at Whill with a hard scowl still on his face. “Ye still alive, boy?”

Whill could not answer. He simply nodded and pointed in the direction Abram had last been. The dwarf ran in that direction and began to look for Abram. Whill’s heart sank as Roakore looked back up at him and raised both arms in the air as if to say “I don’t know,” and continued searching.

Whill feared the worst. Crawling back from the ledge, he attempted to stand. His head spun and his leg gave out as he fell to his knees, wheezing. He heard heavy footsteps coming toward him suddenly and grabbed his knife. He looked in the direction of the noise but saw only darkness. Whill struggled to see the figure that came at him but could not, until it was almost upon him. When it was but ten feet away Whill began to be able to make out a large figure and prepared himself for another fight. Then he heard a familiar voice.

“Whill, are you alright?”