The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (2 page)

“Glad to hear it. An honorable death isn’t needed to remove a mark of dishonor that’s not there.”

Demetrius clasped his friend on the shoulder. “You needn’t fear that.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Thanks for staying behind. The road will pass more swiftly with good company.”

“True, but I’ll have to do. The prince was last headed for Humbold, as I recall.”

“So he likely took the road to Whiton, then the Bay Road north.”

“Unless he ran into the Legion. That may have forced him and his escort overland.”

“Or worse.” The words hung in the air, while the night insects sang their endless songs.

“If they found him…” Corson began. “He could even be in Mill Harbor, pillaging with the rest of them.”

“We won’t know unless we search.”
“We may never know.”

“But we will go anyway. It is all we can do. And it is the command of my fallen king.”

Corson nodded his agreement.

“We best cover some miles now,” said Demetrius. “We need to be well away from here when dawn comes.”

They started down the road, neither speaking, neither looking back at the burning city, both knowing the lives they once knew could never be reclaimed.

*          *          *

They had covered a dozen miles, keeping just off the road so they could slip into the trees quickly at need, and then settled down for a few hours of fitful sleep before dawn. Exhausted as they were, they simply crawled into the brush and wrapped themselves in their cloaks, not bothering to take turns at watch.

Demetrius arose first, his eyes glimpsing the first rays of the dawn-red sun as it crested the horizon. He got to his feet slowly, his joints stiff from the night march and the morning chill. After a brief glance at Corson, he went to the road, peering ahead through a rising mist. Everything was still, silent and gray, as if the land itself was dying. He rubbed his eyes, thinking the dull color of the grass and leaves to be a figment of his tired imagination.

“I see it, too,” Corson said, sitting where he had slept. “It’s like the world has been used up.”

“It’s just the fog,” Demetrius said. “There’s a stream a bit up the road, and a few farms. Perhaps we can find what we will need for our journey.”

By way of reply, Corson rose and joined him.

Their progress was slowed by the fog and a lack of food and proper rest, but presently they came upon the stream Demetrius had mentioned, and, after testing the water, they drank their fill. Corson filled a small canteen he had managed to grab as he fled Mill Harbor.

“Won’t last long,” he said, holding it before him like a precious jewel. “At least the weather is cool.”

By mid-morning the fog had burned off and the road left the woods in favor of a more pastoral region. They moved further off the road, trying to keep out of sight but staying close enough to cry out if help might pass by.

They came to the first farm around noon. It was obvious the Dead Legion had passed this way. The house was a charred ruin, as was the grain silo. Dead animals littered the yard, and as they drew nearer they could see human bones strewn about, even as their eyes watered from the oppressive stench of death.

Corson checked one of the pigs. “Several days since this happened. We won’t be getting any meat from them.”

“No horses,” Demetrius observed. “Maybe someone got away, or else the Dead took them.”

“Never known a horse that would let a dead man ride it, not a living one anyway.”

They picked half-heartedly through the wreckage, hoping to find something of value, but knowing they wouldn’t. The Dead Legion had been thorough in its work.

Demetrius crouched over a small doll, a child’s plaything, part burned black and the rest gray with soot. Why had days such as these come? He thought he heard something and stiffened, listening, then held up an open palm and whispered, “Corson.”

Corson paused, then nodded that he, too, heard the distant sound of horses on the road. The movement was slow, unhurried. They took positions behind burned out beams and waited.

On the road came two travelers, the taller dressed in red and white, the colors of the kingdom in which they now traveled, Delving. He had a broadsword on his hip, but his tired face was uncovered and unthreatening—a weary warrior looking for a place to rest perhaps. The other rider was cloaked in blue, with the hood up, but the delicate facial features and lithe build were clearly those of a female. She was armed with a bow, which hung comfortably over her shoulder.

Demetrius and Corson exchanged a glance, nodded at one another, then stepped into the open.

Seeing them, the riders reined up the horses. “Do I address servants of King Rodaan?” asked the man. “I see you wear his green and gold.”

“You do,” answered Demetrius. “And you serve the Lord of Delving?”

“Indeed,” said the man. “I am Rowan, servant first of the Savior, and then to Duke Onsweys of Delving.”

“Duke?” Demetrius repeated. “Then the king…”

“Slain by the Dead Legion. We travel to seek the help of King Rodaan, or at least to pass on warning, but it appears the Dead are several days ahead of us.”

“Mill Harbor has fallen, and the king with it.”

“Foul tidings,” said Rowan, his body sagging as if a weight had been placed on his shoulders. “When did this happen?”

“Only yesterday.”

Rowan and the woman faced each other. “Then it is true,” he said.

“What is?” Demetrius asked.

“Whiton fell only two days ago. It was said the Dark One could call his army up from the very ground if he so desired, that they are many in number and more than one force. We had thought the group that attacked Whiton had gone toward Lower Cambry, so we moved west to warn you before they turned this way. Apparently they did go south, but another force passed this way several days ago. That is the army you faced yesterday.”

The woman spoke for the first time. “And the Dead Legion has struck in Ridonia as well, and recently. Rumor has it that they also march in Lorgras and the Westerland.”

“Is there no land Solek’s hand does not grasp at?” asked Corson.

The question remained unanswered, a mournful silence falling over the group.

“I am Demetrius, of the King’s Guard, and this is Corson. The king has sent us to find Prince Kalan. He departed several weeks ago to offer our help—” He paused, seeing another knowing glance being exchanged by the riders.

“I’m sorry,” said the woman. “He was with us at Whiton. We had been forced to abandon the castle at Humbold, and had fallen back to Whiton to try another defense. The prince stood with us there, until he was felled by a battle axe. Many of the Legion were destroyed by his hand, but our numbers were too small to hold for long.”

“Then all our quests have met with failure,” said Corson.

Silence again fell about them, more ominous due to the surroundings—fire, death, destruction, the bleak land.

“Are you a servant of Delving as well, lady?” Demetrius asked, less for an answer than for the reassurance of his own voice.

She smiled and pulled back her hood. “No, I am Tala, of the elves of the Eastern Forest. Like your prince I had come to offer aid to our friends in Delving.”

“I did not know elves cared about the lives of men.”

“As far as the Dark One is concerned, men and elves are one—simply beings to destroy and rule over, cattle to feed his endless need to spread fear and hate.”

“ ‘Fear and hate’?” Corson repeated.

“And death. The Dark One grows stronger through these things. That is why he brings suffering to all the lands. The more his evil spreads, the stronger he grows.”

“Is there nothing left for us but death and despair?”

Rowan answered. “As long as there are those who are good and true to oppose him, there is hope.”

Demetrius now noticed the cross on the right breast of Rowan’s uniform, and thought back to Rowan’s comment that he was “servant first of the Savior.” “Are you a priest-warrior then, Rowan? Or a paladin?”
He smiled softly. “I am no priest, but I know a little of the healing art. Paladin might be a fair term, if you choose to use it. I prefer to be known simply as ‘Rowan’.”

“The more important question,” said Tala, “is ‘What do we do now?’ ”

“If the Prince has fallen,” said Corson, “we must return to our people.” He looked at the two travelers. “You would be welcome to come with us. We could surely use your sword and bow.”

“As could my own people,” answered Rowan. “Perhaps it is best if we all tend to our own affairs. I fear it will go well for none of us, though. Solek’s forces have laid waste to all our lands.

“We cannot give in,” said Tala.

“No,” Rowan agreed. “But we need to find a way to strike at Solek. Until then, we can only defend what little we have left.”

Tala nodded, then addressing Corson and Demetrius, she said, “If you men fought yesterday and traveled this far since, you have not eaten. We do not have much, but we will share what we have before we part.”

Demetrius thought to protest, then realizing they would find nothing to eat on their return journey, simply said, “Thank you, lady.”

The riders dismounted and the group moved off the road and away from the smell of death that clung to the area around the destroyed farmhouse. They sat and ate quietly, sharing a bit of dried meat and cheese, washing it down with most of the water they carried.

“We should get moving,” Rowan said to Tala as soon as they had finished eating.

The four rose, but as Tala and Rowan turned to claim their horses, Demetrius said “Wait.”

As they gave him their attention, he reached into his shirt and pulled out the vial the king had given him. Corson had seen it before, and simply looked on with a puzzled expression, but Rowan’s eyes widened and Tala gasped.

Reaching a tentative finger toward the dull glow that emanated from the crystal’s enclosure, she said in a whisper. “I almost feared to hope we might find a portion of it.”

“Then it is true, the stories…” said Rowan.

“What’s true? What stories?” demanded Corson.

“The Soul Sphere,” said Tala, her gray eyes never leaving the object.

“I thought that was only a tale,” Corson said. “You are saying it’s real, and that we hold a piece?”

“It is very real,” said Tala, “though hidden for so long that many believed it to be no more than a wish, a myth to give hope when there was none”

“Then King Rodaan…” Corson turned his gaze to Demetrius.

The bigger man nodded. “Was there with the other rulers of Arkania when Solek shattered the Sphere, releasing the Dark One. He escaped with the others as the Dark One took possession of Solek’s body, and he took a piece of the Sphere with him as he fled.”

“And what of the rest of the tale? That Solek has had the other pieces of the shattered Sphere hidden away, and that they are guarded by demons and other foul creatures?”

“It is as you say,” said Tala. “Elven spies have confirmed the act, even if we do not know the locations.” She shook her head and smiled grimly. “The advantage of our proximity to Solek’s soiled lands, Veldoon in your tongue.”

Corson rubbed his chin. “The rest of the legend says if the Sphere is re-assembled the Dark One’s soul would be drawn in and imprisoned once again.”