The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (10 page)

At Rowan’s insistence, Alexis took a bit of water and food while he worked on her wounds, but her focus was on Tala and Demetrius, who had gone to the demon’s body. Demetrius removed Rowan’s sword, which had remained lodged in the creature as it died, and then Alexis’s spear, having to use a foot to hold the body down while he pulled it free.

Tala knelt before the body and closed her eyes as if in prayer. She drew in a steadying breath, then plunged a delicate hand into the entry wound created by the spear. Her eyes remained closed in concentration while she probed, and fortunately her search was a short one. She removed a small object from the demon’s body, and although it was covered in thick gore, everyone in the chamber knew what she had found, even Alexis. Tala wiped it clean as best she could, and with a few whispered words gave it to Demetrius.

“You seek to reassemble the Sphere?” she asked Rowan with a pleased look.

He nodded. “Is that the reason you came to be here as well?”

In reply she pulled a pouch from her belt, one stained with fresh blood. Opening it, she revealed a small piece of the Soul Sphere.

As the others drew near, Alexis began her story. “Our High Queen Alexandra was there when Solek betrayed us all, and both she and King Rodaan were able to escape with small shards of the Sphere.”

“Legend has always held that one shard was taken,” Corson said.

Alexis nodded. “The High Queen and King Rodaan agreed to allow news that a single shard had been saved to spread slowly in Arkania. Solek, in time, would likely realize a piece was missing, but for our peoples such news might give hope in dark days such as these.”

“And by allowing the half-truth that only one shard had been taken,” Demetrius said, “the second shard was further protected.”

“Yes. Solek would want to scatter the pieces, not collect them, so it was hoped he would never discover the reality of what was taken.”

“But how did you come to know this?”

Alexis paused for a moment, then said, “The High Queen found it necessary to confide this in me as I began this quest.”

“Is she well?”

“No one is well these days. But she lives, and still has some vigor in her.” Alexis continued her tale. “So, one piece went north to Lorgras, the other south to Corindor.”

“The second was the piece we began with,” Demetrius told her. “King Rodaan entrusted it to us when he fell to the Dead Legion.”

A haunted look flashed across her face. “I am sorry. Rodaan was a good man and a good king. He will be missed.” She looked at Tala. “I am guessing—hoping actually—that you have the magic.”

“My powers are quite limited, I’m afraid,” Tala said. “But I am able to locate the shards with finding spells.”

“I traveled with a party much like this one—a small group of warriors and a mage. They did not survive the passage into this chamber. We were overrun by crogs, and the tunnel is a poor space in which to fight with weapons such as ours.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Rowan. “We were passing through a separate passage when we heard the sounds of your battle.”

“Then the deaths of my companions may not have been in vain. If you had come later, the crogs would have met you in the tunnels as well.”

“They may yet return,” Rowan noted. “Are you well enough to move?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. She retrieved her spear from Demetrius with a nod of thanks.

As Rowan took his sword, Lucien, remembering the blade’s white glow as they fought the demon, pointed at it and said, “Avenger blade? Few skilled enough to earn them.”

“Or devoted enough to the ways of the Savior,” Corson added.

“What would you have me say, my friends. My blade, and my heart, are at your disposal. And I owe all of you my life. Our cause is just, and I will serve it just as I serve my Lord.”

“And we are grateful for your service,” said Tala, “as well as for your friendship. But now we must choose a direction and be away. If you will give me a moment…”

“Wait,” Alexis said. “There is a piece somewhere in the Garden Valley. If you go to Arna’s Forge, the Dwarf King Meldros could give you leave to travel safely, at least until you reach what guards that shard.”

Rowan looked concerned. “You will not come with us?”

“I insist upon it. But I will not go to Arna’s Forge myself. Meldros and the High Queen have disputed the ownership of the valley for years. Open war has been avoided, but the hostility is real. I will wait outside the city and rejoin you after he has given you leave to pass into the valley.”

“Could we not simply bypass Arna’s Forge?” Corson asked.

“If we are found on dwarven lands, especially near the mountains, and do not have proof of the king’s leave to be there, there will be bloodshed.”

“Then we return through the passage you entered?” Demetrius asked.

“Yes. We will then be in the Westerland. It is only a journey of two days to Arna’s Forge.”

“Two days? You must be a swift and strong runner.”

She smiled. “We left horses with a farmer only a short way from the foot of the mountains. They will speed our journey.”

Tala lit a torch and gave it to Alexis, who led them into the tunnel. She paused only once, among the scant remains of her fallen companions. “Rest well, my friends,” she said softly. “I will greet your souls in the afterworld and sing of your lives in this one.”

Chapter 4: Arna’s Forge and Beyond

They emerged into the biting cold their bodies had had little time to forget. Beneath them the vast fields of the Westerland stretched in every direction. Northeast the Aetos Mountains were visible, hazy blue-gray giants in the distance. At the western foot of these mountains stood the dwarven stronghold of Arna’s Forge.

“The land does not seem so wounded here,” Tala observed. “The grass is green, the trees show their fall colors…”

“Only for a time will it be so,” Alexis said. “Lorgras is sick, as is most of the Westerland, further west and north. Once Solek turns his eye here, this land will suffer. He will not stop until all is under his dominion.”

“Or until we stop him,” said Demetrius.

They made their way down the mountain, slowed by the angry wind, falling darkness, and their rapidly numbing hands and feet. It was several hours past nightfall when they reached level ground and could at least consider taking their ease.

“How far to the horses?” Rowan asked, while trying to shake the aches and cold away from his limbs.

“An hour perhaps, no more than two,” Alexis answered. “I am hoping we might shelter there for the night. The farmer’s house is small, but there is a stable and a barn that might be of use.”

By the time they arrived they were weary to the bone. The farmer and his wife looked at the group in slack-jawed wonder, no doubt marveling at the sudden changes in Alexis’ company. The farmer appeared to be on the verge of flight, nervously offering his house as shelter while he fought to keep from gawking at Lucien.

 Alexis placed a comforting hand on his arm. “If we could have a bit of food and drink, and be allowed to use the barn, we would be extremely grateful. We would not have you yield your own bed to us.”

The farmer gulped and assented to the request. He didn’t react to the gold coin Alexis pressed into his palm as payment, but rather mumbled about getting a lamp to show them the way. He returned and led them to the barn, keeping his eyes forward at all times, and once they were inside he left the lamp and backed out as quickly as he could.

They each found a place to rest, arranging hay and cloaks into beds of a sort. The farm’s mistress brought food and drink, busying herself laying it out and chattering away about how they “didn’t see many traveling folk here…makes my husband a tad nervous…lots of strange tales about what’s happening in Arkania…” Her eyes remained steadfastly on her work, avoiding even the smallest glance at her guests. She left and pulled the door shut behind her, still talking to herself as she did so.

“You have an interesting effect on the locals,” Corson said to Lucien. “But it seems to get us well fed.” He tore into a piece of meat and grabbed some cheese.

Lucien grunted. “Some day feast at my table. Then well fed.”

Their conversation was limited, the food and drink satisfying their needs and the beds of hay calling to aching bodies. They turned in early and slept well.

Lucien was the first to rise and was sitting on his flattened pile of hay, contemplating what might lie ahead, when the farmer’s wife returned with breakfast. She stepped lightly, trying not to disturb them. When she saw Lucien watching her she let out a gasp and nearly dropped the tray.

“Breakfast,” she said, in a voice that was little more than a squeak.

“Thank you,” he replied.

Her eyes grew large at hearing him speak, and abandoning all decorum, she turned and fled.

Lucien shook his head and laughed his guttural laugh, then woke the others.

They were on their way just after dawn, riding atop strong, white steeds that Alexis and her party had left in the farmer’s care. The farmer and his wife watched them away through a front door that was open only a sliver, and after the travelers had reached the edge of the property the door was closed and bolted against further intrusion.

The sun blazed brightly and the morning was crisp rather than cold, the frost on the grass melting away quickly. They rode over cart paths and fields of tall, thick, green grass, their spirits lifted by this unspoiled terrain.

Demetrius commented on the speed and endurance of the horses, for regardless of how hard Alexis pushed them, they did not seem to weary.

“I hear of Lorgras horses,” Lucien said. “Stories true.”

“We ask much of them,” said Alexis, “but treat them as family. They are much loved in my land.”

A day of fresh, clean air filling their lungs while they passed over healthy fields was enough to revive them further, and for a time they forgot their worries past and present. They slept under stars that shone brilliant in the autumn sky.

“I wonder if I should remain out of the city proper as well,” Tala said to Alexis as they set out the next day. “Dwarves are not known to be overly fond of elves.”

“Or goblins,” Lucien added.

“Nor men,” said Rowan. “They are a private people who do not care for outsiders much. But we must all go, except for Alexis for the reasons she has already stated. We are what we are, and we need to pass into Meldros’ realm—with his approval if it can be gained, without it if we must.”

“And if he takes offense to any or all of us?” Demetrius asked.

“You would be escorted out of the hall,” said Alexis, “and put under the king’s doom, but not harmed unless you dared to return. The dwarves are hospitable in their own way, to a point.”

“They would make powerful allies,” Demetrius pointed out.

“They would, but I do not think Meldros will be swayed to act. He will remain where he is, confident that his walls and towers will protect him from the Dark One’s forces.”

“From what I have seen,” said Demetrius, “there can be no refuge from Solek’s evil.”

They pondered that in silence for a time, and then Tala asked, “Should we show Meldros the Sphere, or tell him of our quest?”

“I fear we must,” said Rowan. “It is well to keep this secret from most that we encounter, but Meldros can greatly aid our cause if he so chooses.”

“And if you were found out in a lie,” Alexis said, “you would have insulted the king in his own hall. Not a wise thing to do under any circumstances.”

Just before the sun reached its zenith, Arna’s Forge came into view. A small collection of buildings stood inside a solid wall of stone built thirty feet high. These buildings were mainly for guests and the dwarven merchants with whom they came to do business. The true majesty of Arna’s Forge was behind the smaller city. Carved directly into the face of the mountain was the King’s Hall. It rose well over two hundred feet, with ornate statues and faces of dwarven heroes and kings of the past decorating much of the façade. Ramparts built for defense were placed strategically in a dozen positions, making any assault against the city a hazardous venture. No army had ever tried to take the city for as far back as memory or historical records could recall.

“It is even more spectacular than the stories tell,” said Corson.

Alexis studied it anew. “The dwarves do have a way with stone,” she admitted. “The interior is even more impressive. It is where most of the dwarves make their homes.”

“So you have been here before,” Demetrius said.

“I have, and I would not be welcome again. See that small grove of trees up ahead? I can wait there with the horses until you return.”

They dismounted and left the horses in Alexis’ care, then proceeded by foot to Arna’s Forge. As they neared the heavy wrought-iron gates of the outer wall, the city took on an even more stunning aspect, rising directly above them so that they needed to tilt their heads well back to see the heights looming above.

The gates were guarded but open. At first the gatekeepers seemed almost casual in their duty, used to the coming and going of men each day to barter with their dwarven counterparts. But once Tala and Lucien were noticed, the dwarves stood at firmer attention, and their captain stepped forward, battle axe at the ready.

“State your business,” the dwarf demanded. Even though he stood just slightly more than half the height of many of those he challenged, his posture and expression were stern and confident. In hand-to-hand combat, dwarves feared few who walked in Arkania.

“We have come to ask leave of King Meldros to pass safely in your land,” answered Rowan.

“For what purpose?”

“That is only for the king’s ears, I’m afraid.”

The dwarf let out a low growl. “I decide who enters and who does not.”

“And we ask your permission to pass,” said Rowan, his tone remaining calm. “But the news we have, and the quest we have undertaken, we are bound to discuss only with King Meldros.”

The dwarf turned to one of his lieutenants. “Gollos, bring a detail.” Eyeing Rowan once again, he said, “You’ll be escorted to the king under guard. Those given free access in the city are those willing to share why they are here.”

“I understand.”

“Your weapons will remain here. No outsider enters the king’s presence armed.”

Now it was Lucien’s turn to emit a growl. Demetrius put a warning hand on the goblin’s massive forearm. Rowan unbuckled his sword without comment, and the others followed his lead, even Lucien.

Gollos and seven other dwarves led them through the open section of the city. They drew stares, led as they were like prisoners, but were allowed to pass quickly through the massive stone doors that led into the mountain itself with no more than a wave from Gollos to the guards posted there.

The main hall was dimly lit by torches set against the four rows of columns that rose toward the darkened ceiling, meeting it somewhere beyond their ability to see. A wide, red and gold carpet made its way straight across the hall to another door, this one of heavy wood framed in a stone arch. The side walls were decorated with huge, colorful banners that hung between smaller stone doors leading to other rooms and passageways. Four large stairways of stone wound upward against the outer walls, giving access to higher levels and to the ramparts overlooking the outer city.

The dwarves marched forward without pause or comment, directly across the carpet to the door opposite, which swing open at their approach.

“The king welcomes you,” said a red-haired dwarf in a voice that held no warmth and little welcome. He did not spare so much as a glance at Tala or Lucien. Apparently the king and his servants were already aware of the group that had come calling.

As they entered the king’s throne room, the guards took up positions against the rear wall while the red-haired dwarf led the visitors forward.

The throne room had the same high ceiling as the outer hall, and the red and gold carpet continued on through the room and up the three steps to a stone throne. Upon the throne sat Meldros, whose aged face and head were covered with a luxurious mustache, beard, and mane of hair that had begun to turn from coal black to silver at the fringes. He leaned back as if tired, his forearms resting motionless on the hard arms of the throne, but his keen brown eyes were sharp and quick.

“Welcome to my hall,” said the king with an amiable wave of his hand. “My hospitality is extended to you.”

“Thank you, King Meldros. I am Rowan, of Delving. I travel with Demetrius and Corson of Corindor, Tala, of the Eastern Forest, and Lucien of the Kabrinda Pack.”

“I have never seen such a group in all my long years,” said the king in a neutral way. “Surely you must have an interesting tale to tell about how you came to be together.”

“We seek the same goal, and fate has brought us together—”

“Fate? I see you wear the sign of the Savior. I thought those such as you did not believe in fate.”

“Regardless of what it is called, be it chance or a guiding hand, something beyond our own plans has brought us together. ‘Fate’ is one term that can be used. There are others, as you know.”