The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (3 page)

Tala nodded. “And Solek might then be vulnerable.”

“So with this small shard, we have a beginning,” said Demetrius. “But it is useless without the other pieces.”

“We must try to retrieve them,” Rowan stated.

“The four of us?” asked Corson. “Against Solek’s armies.”

“We can’t retrieve the pieces with an army of our own,” Rowan replied. “It would draw his attention. The four of us might move unseen where a large force could not.”

“I agree,” said Demetrius. “But where do we begin? Arkania is a large world.”

Rowan smiled and turned to Tala. “Lady?”

“May I?” she asked, reaching for the vial.

Demetrius handed it to her.

Carefully, Tala undid the clasp and opened the small container. As she slid the shard into her hand, the crystal piece seemed to be  highlighted, shimmering with tints of green and yellow against her pale skin. She sat on the ground with crossed legs and closed her eyes. She spoke in hushed tones, in words that sounded to the others like some arcane tribal chant, or perhaps nothing more than the incoherent mumbling of a mad woman.

Corson leaned close to speak to Rowan. “She is a sorceress?”

“She has some power,” Rowan confirmed. Demetrius and Corson exchanged hopeful looks.

They waited in silence for several minutes, allowing Tala to do her work. Finally she opened her eyes and arose slowly, her legs uncertain beneath her.

“Are you all right?” asked Rowan as he offered his arm to steady her.

“I’m fine. The nearest piece is northeast of here, in the swamplands. It will be several days’ hard journey once we reach the swamp.”

“Did you see a guardian?”

“No, but that means little. There are many ways to hide and guard a treasure.” She took a deep breath, and then offered Rowan a tired smile of thanks as she released his arm. She handed the shard back to Demetrius. “Perhaps it is best you carry this.”

Demetrius took the small piece of crystal, asking, “What did you do?”

“A seeking spell. More a deep meditation really. A useless piece of magic unless one has an object connected to that which is being sought. This shard can eventually lead us to the others.”

“And once we have them all?” asked Corson.

“Then we may be able to deal with the Dark One,” answered Rowan with a shrug.

“You’re not sure,” Corson stated.

“Who can be sure, where such evil and magic is involved?”

“It’s more than we had an hour ago,” said Demetrius.

“And it will have to be enough,” said Corson. “You know I will stand by your side, even in the face of death.”

“I never doubted it, my friend.”

“And we will stand with you as well,” said Rowan, “if you will have us.”

“We would be honored,” Demetrius replied.

“There is a small village a half-day’s journey to the east, abandoned but relatively unharmed,” said Tala. “We could go there, gather a few supplies, and perhaps sleep in a bed one last time before we strike out north.”

“Does your spell guide us?” asked Corson.

“Well enough,” Tala answered. “I may need the shard again as we get closer.”

“We should be off,” said Rowan. “The horses are too weak to carry two, so we’ll need to travel at footspeed. If we can be off the road by dark, it would be best.”

The others agreed and they began their journey as the fall sun warmed their backs.

*          *          *

They arrived at the village just after sunset, a few sagging structures a half-mile off the main road. The place had been abandoned quickly—animals still milled about in yards and unfinished meals sat on tables. The travelers slept well in borrowed beds, and in the morning gathered what dried food and water they could, and helped themselves to extra blankets.

“A shame there are no horses,” said Corson.

“It is just as well,” Tala said. “We could not use them in the swamp. I do not like to think of leaving the two we have when we get there.”

Demetrius finished the last bit of packing and moved toward the door. “Just as well we have so little, in that case, seeing that we’ll need to carry it ourselves eventually.”

Rowan reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin, which he laid on the table. Seeing Tala’s questioning look, he said, “For the food and blankets. It’s only right.”

“Hopefully the owners may return one day to appreciate the gesture,” she said.

Neither cared to express whether they thought that would happen.

Chapter 2: The Swamp

They traveled north along a dirt road that meandered through farms and small villages, each taking turns walking and riding. Tala laughed off attempts at male chivalry, claiming her legs were just fine as she took her own turns on foot. The past day she had ridden because of the energy the spellcasting had drained from her, but today she was recovered. Her step was light and sure, and the four soon settled into a steady rhythm and made good progress. The weather was kind, the sun passing unhindered by clouds through a crisp autumn sky.

“At least the Dark One does not affect the weather” Corson said, breathing deep the clean, cool air. “At least not here…not today…not right now. You don’t suppose he can hear when someone uses his name?”

“Not unless he’s standing within earshot,” Rowan said.

Demetrius laughed. “Well, let’s be thankful for small favors.”

Nothing about the land brought laughter. None of the humble dwellings they passed showed signs of human life, although farm animals were seen here and there. The leaves on the trees had faded from green, but had yet to burst into their fall splendor, the grass was a muted beige color, and even the soil had a sickly gray tinge to it. After having observed this in silence for some time, Rowan said, “It is as if the land itself is poisoned.”

“I wish this was simply the way things were in Delving,” said Demetrius. “But I noticed the change even as the Dead Legion marched into Corindor.”

“Do you think the crops will grow next spring?” Corson asked. When no one answered he went on. “I mean assuming we can plant, and that we have land to plant on…” He uttered a sharp bitter laugh.

“We should focus on our own task,” said Demetrius. “Let’s hope we are fortunate enough to concern ourselves with planting when spring arrives.”

The road continued mainly north, sometimes east, and by the fifth day had become more of a trail than a road. Around noon, as the sun peaked in another perfect sky—the weather had been all they could hope for—they came upon a small farm, different from the others only in that a woman could be seen feeding a few scrawny chickens and a man knelt repairing a worn wooden cart. As they approached, the woman sank back toward the house.

“If you’re thinking to rob us,” said the man, “we’ve not much. But we won’t try to stop you. Just leave us in peace.”

“ ‘Rob you’?” repeated Rowan.

The man seemed to fully take them in now, especially Rowan. “Excuse me, your grace. I did not see your markings.” He gestured at the cross on Rowan’s chest.

“Rowan is my name. We mean you no harm.”

“If you say so, I believe it. Never had problems with any of you wearing the mark. Wish I could say the same for everyone in service of the king.”

“Soldiers giving you trouble?”

“Brigands wearing the king’s cloth, more like,” the woman barked. The man motioned at her and she went inside wearing a scowl.

“These are hard times,” the man said. “A man can’t be sure who to trust. There have been some soldiers through, mostly south of here. Fleeing from the Dead Legion. A few helped themselves to what we had, or to that of farmers like us. Called it ‘taxes to fight the war.’ ”

“I am sorry,” said Rowan. “You are right when you say these are hard times. For everyone, king’s servant or farmer.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“The homes south of here are abandoned, it seems. Odd, given only a few hungry soldiers.”

“Oh, that wasn’t because of the soldiers, not directly anyway. It was what the soldiers said. About the Dark One’s army coming this way. And you could see a fear in their eyes—the soldiers’, that is—that they were scared, more scared than they would have been about any living army. A man might run from a living foe, but he won’t have the desperate, hunted look these men had—like they knew there was nowhere they could go where they were really safe.”

“You mentioned the farmers leaving…”

“Oh, right. Folks around here know they can’t defend their homes from these Dead, so we moved to the fringes of the swamps north of here until the danger passed. For my part, I just got back a few hours ago, figuring that spy we caught must have gotten lost and that the rest of them must have already passed by.”

“ ‘Spy’?” the travelers said as one.

“Goblin, someone said he was. From the Shadowlands to the west, no doubt. He protested his innocence, that one. Said he’s no servant of the Dark One, but that’ll hold no sway with us. Keeps asking to see the king. Likely he’s an assassin.”

“What have they done with him?” Rowan asked.

“Tied him up real good, then set to arguing. Mostly Conklin and Jensen jawing at one another—string him up or keep him hostage. Me and the wife left before they could make up their minds.” He chuckled to himself. “Probably still arguing, if I know those two.”

“How far away are they?”

“A few hours up the path by foot.”

Rowan turned to the others and saw by their looks they all thought the same thing: they needed to see this “goblin” for themselves. He thanked the farmer for his time, and as they started to move away, the woman of the house called out to them. She approached, handing a small sack to Tala. “It’s not much,” she said, “but it will feed you for a few days.”

“Thank you,” Tala said with a sincere smile. The others offered their appreciation and said their farewells, which the woman brushed aside as she returned to her chores, mumbling under her breath.

A few miles up the road Corson and Rowan took their turns on the horses, and moved out in front of the walkers, scouting a bit more aggressively in anticipation of the collected farm folk, the lone spy, and the possibility that others of his kind might be lurking in the area.

“Goblins are not known to come this far east, or so I have been told,” said Tala.

“Not that I’ve heard,” Demetrius agreed. “If they cross into human lands it is usually for raids into the Westerland, and they’ve come as far as White River in Corindor, but no further.”

“Have you ever fought goblins?”

He smiled, thinking back. “When I was much younger, and the thought of battle seemed romantic in some strange way. Duty on the front soon cured me of such notions. We did what needed to be done, but there is no glory in slaying.” A shadow passed over his face and he fell silent for a moment. When he continued, his voice was hushed. “Goblins are fierce warriors, more so when pressed. I saw many good men fall at their hands.”

“Have you traveled much, in the service of your king?”

“No, lady. My duty usually kept me near to him, and he seldom strayed from his own lands. Short trips into Delving and the Westerland, but no further. I have heard tales of the elves of the wood, but I never thought to meet one.”

“We tend to keep to ourselves, deep in the heart of the forest. It is a shame that it takes dark days such as these to stir us enough to seek the friendship of men.”

“Solek is a man. I would think the terror he has loosed on the land would make you less inclined to leave the wood.”

“There are some who think that way. But it is the Dark One who sends the destruction—Solek is merely his vessel. It could have been an elf-king had fate been different.” She looked away for a moment, her eyes losing focus as her mind drifted to some far away place. “There are some of my kind who still believe we can remain hidden in the woods forever. It is a foolish hope.”

Demetrius was clearly surprised. “Then Solek has not attacked your people, even though the Eastern Forest lies in the shadow of Veldoon?”

“No. But time will change that.”

“But if he has already chosen to pass you by while he stretches his hand over more distant lands—”

“Only to subjugate men first, for men would fight. We hide and wait, thinking our spells keep us safe, while the Dark One grows stronger each day. He will turn his attention to us soon enough. And then with bitterness will those of us reaching out to men be proven right.”

She looked at him, her eyes fierce, her face set. Slowly her features softened. “I am sorry. I did not wish to speak so harshly.”

“These are harsh days.”

She changed the subject. “Corson seems a good man. And a good friend.”

“I have known him since we were boys.” Demetrius laughed, remembering. “I was a few years older, and he followed me around when he was five or six like a lonely puppy. I put up with him more than anything else. By the time he was twenty-two and I was twenty-five, we were nearly inseparable, and have been since.”

“It must be good to have someone like that, especially now.”

“Is there no one like that in your life?”

“Friends, yes. There was one…” She forced a smile. “New friends are something to be grateful for. Despite everything, I count myself lucky to be here. There are many who have not been so fortunate.”

Demetrius nodded. “King Rodaan, for one.”

“I take it he was a good king.”

“He treated us all like men. His respect and love for us made us feel the same for him in return. If I could have died in his place, I would have gladly done so. My duty was to protect him and his lands.” He shook his head. “How am I doing?”

“I’m sure you did all you could.”

“Corson said the same. Kind words.”

“More likely true words.”

Demetrius kicked at a few stray rocks along the edge of the path. “We seem to be taking turns being gloomy.”

“Perhaps we could use a bard to sing happy songs of days past.”

“A bard, yes. If you heard me sing, you would only have another tale of woe.”

They laughed together, and talked of happier things as they continued their journey north.

*          *          *

It was mid-afternoon when Corson came riding back to announce that the farmers had been spotted. The three moved forward to where Rowan waited, eyeing the group of locals. They advanced together, moving slowly and staying in plain view to avoid startling the group. A cluster of thirty or so huddled together, having an animated conversation. Back in the trees a makeshift camp could be seen, sheets used as tents and small fires cooking meager meals. A few carts held a handful of belongings, while worn-down horses and mules idly nuzzled the ground in a vain attempt to find nourishment.

As soon as someone in the debating group of men spotted the approaching strangers, their conversation abruptly stopped. A tall, rotund man stepped forward and regarded the newcomers with open suspicion. A few in the crowd began to move toward the sides of the new arrivals, and although the farmers were unarmed in the traditional sense, they wielded hoes, picks, and other tools in a way that was not welcoming.

Rowan looked the group over, and then dismounted. “I am Rowan, in the service of the lords of Delving. We come in peace.”

“I’m sure you do,” said the man, his tone sarcastic. “As have the others that came before.”

“I cannot speak for them. We have been told you have captured a spy. I was hoping to question him.”

The man muttered something unintelligible, then made a weak attempt to seem more pleasant. “Indeed we have, though he denies it. Lying seems to be the norm these days.”

“May we see him?”

“First tell me who these others are.”

“Tala, from the Eastern Forest. Demetrius and Corson from Corindor, both of whom serve King Rodaan, our ally and friend.”

The man studied them one last time, then, unable to find a suitable reason to deny their request, waved for them to follow him.