The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (14 page)

The actual make-up of the cave was plainly visible now, fading sunlight drifting in through the opening. For twenty feet the floor was solid stone, but then a pit that fell away into bottomless depths yawned open to greet the unwary, and this chasm stretched from one side of the cave to the other. The stone pedestal rose up from the center of the pit, well out of ordinary reach.

Rowan realized he had only been a few short steps away from tumbling into oblivion, and Demetrius saw that if he had not bumped into an invisible Lucien, he likely would have met his end. Even Tala drew back from the lip, so empty a feeling did she have as she gazed downward into nothing.

With the spells gone it was a simple matter for Tala to levitate the shard across the pit and into her hand. They left the wretched place with few words, each understanding how close they had been to disaster. They mounted up and rode off without discussion, wanting to put several miles—and hours—between themselves and the cave before they tried to rest.

*          *          *

The next morning as they ate, they shared with each other what they had seen, and pieced together what had happened.

Alexis shivered at the thought of how close she had come to spearing any or all of them. “What powers are we facing,” she asked, “that can wield such magic?”

“That creature,” answered Tala, “relied on a mastery of illusion, rather than brute strength. Whether its power came from the Dark One or elsewhere, I cannot say.”

“What chance do we have against the one who possesses Solek,” Demetrius wanted to know, “if even his minions have such abilities?”

“All the guardians who serve him that we have encountered are now dead at our hand,” said Rowan. “We must take hope from that.”

“I, for one, am just happy to see you all alive,” said Corson. “I was certain you had all been killed.”

“I nearly kill Demetrius,” Lucien said, gesturing at the small cut on Demetrius’ arm while wearing an angry scowl.

Demetrius looked at the injury and shrugged it off. “We’re incredibly lucky this scratch was the worst that happened.” He tried to smile, but he couldn’t wipe the serious look from his face. “We must remain vigilant. If we cannot trust what we see…”

 “Only one supremely skilled, with a lifetime of learning, can hope to create such illusions,” said Tala. “The chances of us seeing the like again are slim. But you are right. We must be on guard.”

“Did anyone see anything on watch last night?” Demetrius asked.

They all replied that they had not.

“But,” said Rowan, “the Mist could watch from a distance. It is best to assume it still lurks nearby.”

“I agree,” said Demetrius, “and I am wondering about the Sphere pieces.”

“How so?” asked Tala.

“We have kept the shards separate to try to avoid drawing the Dark One’s attention. I believe we have now drawn his eye, as we all knew we would eventually. It seems then, we should either combine the pieces, or divide up and go in different directions with them.”

“I do not like the idea of splitting up,” said Rowan. The others quickly agreed.

“Nor do I,” said Demetrius, “and as only Tala can direct us to the next piece, the rest of us would be acting only as decoys, unless we find other mages.”

“Not likely to happen,” said Corson.

“So since we will remain together, and since we think our progress is being monitored, and our enemy knows our destinations, we lose little from combining the pieces. What is gained…” Demetrius weighed what he wanted to say, trying to think it through logically.

“Go on,” said Rowan.

“The Sphere was broken when the Dark One escaped. But is it not true that no weapon or magic in this mortal plane can break the Sphere pieces further, or separate them once they are combined?”

“Legend says this,” answered Tala. “It was the greed and malice of men, along with the Dark One’s undying hatred of all that is good and pure, that allowed the Sphere to be shattered. But if he could have ground it to dust, he would have.”

“Then if we ultimately fail, it would be best if everything we have collected is combined, for the sake of those that might come after on the same quest. I know I would feel better right now if there had only been five pieces. We’d be done.”

Tala thought it over. “There is the risk that Solek would have all of the Sphere if we fail.”

“That’s probable regardless of whether we combine the shards or not—if we fail. Maybe Alexis should keep the piece she has. It was hidden and perhaps it can remain so.”

They settled on this course of action, and Tala assembled the pieces, save the one Alexis held. As each was put into place, it fused itself with a brilliant flash of yellow light. Once she was done, Tala held up the finished product for all to see. It was still well short of being even half of a complete sphere. Casting the finding spell, she sought where they should go next.

“There are two pieces, well apart from one another, in the Great Northern Forest.” She looked at Alexis. “Your land.”

Alexis shook her head. “Within the borders of Lorgras, but not claimed by my people. We do not enter the forest. It is a foul and evil place. Those that have ventured there are seen no more.”

“Sounds lovely,” said Corson.

“There are places beyond number I would rather go than the Great Northern Forest, but if that is where the pieces of the Sphere lie, that is where we must go. The Dark One’s servants chose well when they picked that grim wood.” As if to show her determination, she steeled herself, rose to her feet, and mounted her horse. “Let’s get on with it.”

The others followed her lead and started off to the west. They crossed the Wandering River at a ford where the swift current was broken by rocks and small boulders, then rode in the shadow of the Trawnor Mountains. They moved in silence, each contemplating what they had accomplished and what might lie before them, each shivering against the chill in the air, which was sharpened by their clothes, still wet from the river crossing. The Trawnor’s foothills were less wooded
than those of the Aetos, and although this offered less shelter, it allowed
faster travel.

Early in the afternoon, while the sun above them strained to warm the world, there was a sound from the hills to their right. A few rocks tumbled down the face of the mountain, indicating motion above. They slowed and looked up to see a large boulder being rolled aside to reveal an opening into the mountain. From this orifice began to issue a steady stream of dwarves, clad in mail and holding their war axes. They made directly for the riders below.

“Should we hold here?” Rowan asked. “We do have the letter from King Meldros, and we—”

“Ride!” Demetrius commanded.

They urged the horses to full speed and charged forward, constrained by the river on their left and the mountains to their right. Down those mountains came an avalanche of dwarves, an army that had hidden in deep caves and whose numbers were beyond counting. A closer inspection of the dwarves revealed the places from which they issued were tombs, and that they themselves had passed from life long ago. The dead dwarves raced to catch their fleeing targets, ignoring the treachery of the mountain they descended, several falling to be smashed on rocks below, others slipping and sliding but no worse for the tumble. Many who fell rose again, in ways that the living could not.

The Lorgrasian horses easily outran any dwarves that tried to follow, but there were others coming from caves forward of their current position that rushed to cut off their flight. The horses saw or sensed what approached, and they drove themselves harder than any riders’ spur or whip could.

Finally the cave tombs came to an end, several hundred yards ahead. That spot became a finish line of sorts—if they could pass it before the dwarves could descend upon them, they would be safe, at least for a time.

The riders urged the horses on, some with soft words, others with a gentle prodding of boot to flanks. Foam flew from the mouths of their mounts, but the horses found one last reserve of energy to try to bear their riders to safety.

The dwarves they raced with had reached the grass that painted the mountain’s foothills. They ran straight across the fields, trying to cut off the riders’ escape.

“Weapons!” Demetrius shouted. “But do not halt! Charge through them!” He glanced back, seeing a tide of dwarves coming up behind. “We cannot go back.”

Some of the dwarves to the riders’ front won the race, their axes gleaming in the afternoon light. But they were few, and could form only a thin line.

Lucien let out a war cry, which the others added to with calls of their own. The dead confronting them were in various states of decomposition, some no more than bone, others with withered skin and hair that made them look nearly alive. All wore looks of malice and dread intent.

The horses and their riders came into violent contact with their foes. Axes, warblades, and swords flashed, and there was a sound like metal thunder.

Alexis’ horse was the strongest and swiftest, and had carried her easily through the narrow line while Alexis knocked down a pair of dwarves with her spear. She pivoted in time to see Tala’s horse spring to safety, while Rowan and Demetrius hacked their way clear.

Lucien’s warblade was swift and sure, and he put four dwarves out of the fight. But their axes had found their mark as well, hacking at the horse that carried him, and it wavered beneath him. He leapt free just before his mount tumbled to the ground, from where it would not rise again. As it fell, its legs tangled with those of Corson’s steed and knocked it off balance. Corson, leaning to strike at a dwarf, was unseated. His horse bounded clear of the melee, but Corson and Lucien had been brought to ground, just as their foes had desired.

Hundreds of dwarves closed in, while thousands more marched toward them, but for now Lucien and Corson faced only a dozen opponents, and those had been scattered by the charge of the riders. Corson took a quick hack at the nearest foe and was prepared to flee on foot, but Lucien, overcome by instinct, held his ground and was ready to take on any dwarf that came within reach of his warblade.

Corson saw those still mounted were preparing another charge, but he saw the folly of that and shouted at them to stay back. He grabbed at Lucien’s arm and yelled, “We must go!”

“I hold them,” Lucien said, his warblade singing through the air, striking down two more dwarves.

“You can’t defeat them all. Solek wishes you to stand and fight—and die.” Corson swung his sword wildly, missing his target but slowing its progress. “If you kill a thousand it is no loss to him. It is our lives he seeks.”

Lucien battled on, Corson’s words heard but not acknowledged. A rain of bolts swept in, doing little damage but portending more to come. Regardless of what Lucien thought of his skill against the axes of the dead dwarves, he could do little against distant crossbows. He finally yielded and ran with Corson toward their companions.

Tala and Demetrius urged their horses forward, helping Lucien and Corson, respectively, up onto their mounts. The horses strained under the added weight, but bore them away at good speed, their terror at seeing the advancing army of the dead overcoming the protests of their taxed muscles.

“We can gain some distance before the horses will need rest,” Alexis called over the sound of thundering hooves. “They can do much when it is required.”

A look back revealed that the dwarves, cheated of their prey for now, had ordered themselves and begun to march in pursuit. Neither pursuers nor pursued had any doubts the riders were safe for a time—dwarven legs, no matter how sturdy, were no match for horses.

Corson’s horse rejoined them, and they wound their way closer to the river, searching the mountains and foothills for any further sign of activity. They kept up a swift, steady pace, the horses being asked to take turns bearing the extra rider. They paused only for a quick evening meal, mainly to let their steeds rest for a short time, then put a few more miles between themselves and their pursuers before they made camp for the night in a rocky glen. They set the watch, and then wound themselves tightly in their cloaks, unable to ward off the cold with a campfire that would give their position away.