other portal.
He couldn’t get the image of a rift inside one of his mountain cities out of his head. He remained convinced the other portals led to dwarven mountains, and he was fraught with worry for his people. The dwarves were fighting for control of the mountains, and he was helpless to do anything to help.
Roakore cursed himself; he should have listened to Nah’Zed. What kind of king left his mountain during a war? He heard his royal brain lecturing him on the responsibilities of a dwarf king. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be royalty.
Knowing the rifts had been closed did little to remedy his mood. For all he knew, they would be trapped here in Drindellia for months. They needed to find the portal, and fast. War was being waged in Agora, and he intended to take part.
Not even the strange stone formations below took his interest; he had too much on his mind. Next to everything was the problem of the Book of Ky’Dren and its implications. If indeed the elves taught Ky’Dren how to move stone, his religion was likely a lie, and the power to move stone was not gods-given.
“ I shoulda left the damned book alone,” he told Silverwind.
R oakore made one more turn around the lake and gave up. The sun would be setting soon, and he was anxious to find out what the others had learned.
“ C’mon Silverwind, best we be headin’ back to camp,” he said, and turned his mount around.
He found nothing new on the way back to the group. They were easy to locate; the mushroom-like cloud left a scar in the sky that could be seen for miles. When he arrived, he noticed the elves and dwarves had made camp. Below, many small cook fires and tents were scattered near the face of a large cave. After landing, he dismounted Silverwind and soon found Zerafin among the elves. He was huddled with a small group, looking over a map of Drindellia.
“ Ye failed to mention ye brought a bloody map,” he said to Zerafin.
“ Ah, Roakore, did you find anything?”
“ That was gonna be me question,” he replied with a sigh. “Where the bloody hells be Whill?”
A n alarm rang out, and something streaked across the sky, coming in fast. Roakore and Zerafin squinted at the object.
“ Well, what ye spyin’ elf?”
“ Whill,” said Zerafin with a smile.
Whill came down fast and slowed at the last second; he floated to the ground and landed among the elves. Roakore pushed his way through the elves with Zerafin in tow.
“ Well, Laddie, what do ye know?”
“ Prepare to march. We make for the lost portal of Arkron,” said Whill.
Th e elves and dwarves prepared to march. Whill, Roakore, Zerafin and Avriel met at the mouth of the cave. The sun sat low. Drindellia had become cold. Already, their breath came in plumes of vapor as they spoke.
“ I have spoken with Kellallea,” Whill told them.
“ That old crazy lady? The words outta her mouth be suspect if any ever spoken. She’s a nutter,” said Roakore.
“ She possesses great power, and she has agreed to help.”
“ Last we saw her, she struggled to keep the blight at bay. How can she be of help?” asked Avriel.
“ She is stronger than she appeared,” said Whill. “She has told me how to reach Eadon’s stronghold.”
“ And you be believin’ her? She what told you the prophecy was a lie and such? Bah!” Roakore spat.
“ I believe her information is correct,” said Whill
“ How far?” Zerafin asked.
“ It is a day’s march southeast of this location.”
“ Well, then,” said Roakore. “Let’s be off, I for one wish to be back in Agora right quick.”
T he elves and dwarves prepared for the road. Whill had not been back for thirty minutes, and they were already heading out in the direction he had indicated. Avriel stayed behind with him, and they watched the small army of elves and dwarves start out over the rocky terrain.
“ What happened?” he asked Avriel.
She regarded him with a small scowl. “You do not remember?”
Whill shook his
He couldn’t get the image of a rift inside one of his mountain cities out of his head. He remained convinced the other portals led to dwarven mountains, and he was fraught with worry for his people. The dwarves were fighting for control of the mountains, and he was helpless to do anything to help.
Roakore cursed himself; he should have listened to Nah’Zed. What kind of king left his mountain during a war? He heard his royal brain lecturing him on the responsibilities of a dwarf king. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be royalty.
Knowing the rifts had been closed did little to remedy his mood. For all he knew, they would be trapped here in Drindellia for months. They needed to find the portal, and fast. War was being waged in Agora, and he intended to take part.
Not even the strange stone formations below took his interest; he had too much on his mind. Next to everything was the problem of the Book of Ky’Dren and its implications. If indeed the elves taught Ky’Dren how to move stone, his religion was likely a lie, and the power to move stone was not gods-given.
“ I shoulda left the damned book alone,” he told Silverwind.
R oakore made one more turn around the lake and gave up. The sun would be setting soon, and he was anxious to find out what the others had learned.
“ C’mon Silverwind, best we be headin’ back to camp,” he said, and turned his mount around.
He found nothing new on the way back to the group. They were easy to locate; the mushroom-like cloud left a scar in the sky that could be seen for miles. When he arrived, he noticed the elves and dwarves had made camp. Below, many small cook fires and tents were scattered near the face of a large cave. After landing, he dismounted Silverwind and soon found Zerafin among the elves. He was huddled with a small group, looking over a map of Drindellia.
“ Ye failed to mention ye brought a bloody map,” he said to Zerafin.
“ Ah, Roakore, did you find anything?”
“ That was gonna be me question,” he replied with a sigh. “Where the bloody hells be Whill?”
A n alarm rang out, and something streaked across the sky, coming in fast. Roakore and Zerafin squinted at the object.
“ Well, what ye spyin’ elf?”
“ Whill,” said Zerafin with a smile.
Whill came down fast and slowed at the last second; he floated to the ground and landed among the elves. Roakore pushed his way through the elves with Zerafin in tow.
“ Well, Laddie, what do ye know?”
“ Prepare to march. We make for the lost portal of Arkron,” said Whill.
Th e elves and dwarves prepared to march. Whill, Roakore, Zerafin and Avriel met at the mouth of the cave. The sun sat low. Drindellia had become cold. Already, their breath came in plumes of vapor as they spoke.
“ I have spoken with Kellallea,” Whill told them.
“ That old crazy lady? The words outta her mouth be suspect if any ever spoken. She’s a nutter,” said Roakore.
“ She possesses great power, and she has agreed to help.”
“ Last we saw her, she struggled to keep the blight at bay. How can she be of help?” asked Avriel.
“ She is stronger than she appeared,” said Whill. “She has told me how to reach Eadon’s stronghold.”
“ And you be believin’ her? She what told you the prophecy was a lie and such? Bah!” Roakore spat.
“ I believe her information is correct,” said Whill
“ How far?” Zerafin asked.
“ It is a day’s march southeast of this location.”
“ Well, then,” said Roakore. “Let’s be off, I for one wish to be back in Agora right quick.”
T he elves and dwarves prepared for the road. Whill had not been back for thirty minutes, and they were already heading out in the direction he had indicated. Avriel stayed behind with him, and they watched the small army of elves and dwarves start out over the rocky terrain.
“ What happened?” he asked Avriel.
She regarded him with a small scowl. “You do not remember?”
Whill shook his
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