The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (4 page)

They passed through the crowd, which parted and then closed behind them. Guarded by four men and bound to a tree was a large goblin, taller by a foot than a normal man, broad in the chest and well muscled. He wore boots, pants, and vest, all of black leather trimmed in red, and his green skin nearly matched the moss that grew on the trees. They had tied his hands and feet with thin cords, and fastened him to the tree with several wraps of a larger rope around his chest and waist. He looked up as the party approached, taking in the newcomers with a neutral expression.

Rowan and Demetrius exchanged a few quick words before Rowan turned to the farmers’ spokesperson.

“How did you come to capture him?”

“He came upon us. Our camp that is. Me and a few others disarmed him and took him prisoner.”

“You disarmed him? Was he carrying a warblade?”

“That he was.” His chest puffed out a bit as he signaled one of the others to come forward with the weapon—a central wooden staff with a curved steel blade at each end.

“Did he put up much of a fight?” asked Rowan.

“Not much. Likely saw he was outnumbered.”

The goblin let out a derisive snort. The man nearest him gave him a soft kick, then backed away quickly when he received an angry glare in response. The fact that the goblin was bound was apparently of little comfort.

The goblin spoke to the newcomers, in harsh guttural tones. “I come in peace. Make an alliance against Dark One. Goblins suffer, like men do.” He glanced at Tala, and added. “And elves.”

“Silence!” shouted the farmer. “A spy he is, at the least. If he wants to see the King, it is so he can kill him, not make a treaty.”

“I’ve no doubt you are right,” said Rowan. “We’ll need to take him for further questions.”

“But…” the man sputtered.

“Yes?” Rowan asked patiently.

“We took him. We should—”

“You have done a great service to the kingdom, but unless you are trained in the art of getting information out of spies, it’s best we handle things from this point.”

There were a few grumbles in the crowd, but no one interfered as Rowan cut the ropes binding the goblin’s feet and loosed the one holding him to the tree. The farmers watched as he fastened the larger rope to the cord around the goblin’s wrist, then attached the other end to the saddle of one of the horses. As Rowan checked his work, Demetrius approached the farmers to ask for the warblade, and as the group’s attention shifted, Rowan spoke a few quiet words to the goblin.

The farmer who had done the talking drew himself up at the request for the war blade. “No offense, son of Corindor, but in these days, one cannot even trust one’s own. We claim the warblade as a prize for capturing this spy.”

“No offense taken. But let me ask if you know what will happen to you if his companions find you with this blade? To you and your family? Are you aware of the Goblin War Code?”

“ ‘Goblin War Code’?”

“Yes. You want to take that risk? For a trophy?”

The man mulled this over. “I had forgotten that. Best you take it along. As evidence of his hostile intent.”

“A wise decision,” Rowan called out as he remounted. “And thank you all again for your brave service.”

The four travelers moved away with their captive, going deeper into the wood that surrounded the great swamp situated in the central valley of Delving, while the farmers watched with expressions that ranged from shock to confusion, from anger to relief. After they had moved well out of sight of the locals, Rowan dismounted and released the goblin. “You will understand if we wish to speak a while before returning your weapon.”

The goblin nodded his assent.

“I see by your uniform you are of the Kabrinda pack, and one of your Chief’s chosen warriors.”

“You know goblins, human. You fight in wars?”

“I did not, but I would have in order to defend our lands, had it been necessary. My name is Rowan, by the way. You are…?”

“You no can say name. Lucien you call me.”

“Well enough, Lucien. These with me are Demetrius, Corson, and Tala,” he said, gesturing at each in turn. “How did you come to be here in Delving?”

“I spoke truth. A few goblins sent to make peace. Stand together against Dark One. I pass Stone Mountains and down Snake’s Tongue River, where I leave my companion. He looks for King Rodaan. I go to Delving, for King Bellas.”

Rowan and Demetrius exchanged a look. Demetrius said, “Both kings have fallen before the Dead Legion.”

“I sorry,” Lucien said, and even though the tone of his ragged speech was hard and the set of his features even harder, it seemed a genuine sentiment. “What happens to you now?”

“The people of Delving and Corindor are in retreat, some trying to fall back to other cities and make a stand, others being scattered like your friends back there.”

“Thanks for freeing me.”

Rowan nodded. “The farmers know little more than stories from their youth, but they still did not understand that you could have snapped your flimsy bonds at any time, or taken them all on in combat and likely emerged victorious.”

“I am curious, though,” said Corson. “Why did you allow them to take you in the first place?”

“I did not think humans here. They poorly armed and scared. I yield to avoid killing. If I kill, we no be friends ever. And I no can just walk up to king to talk. Must start somewhere else to talk. Farmers good as any.”

“Your chief asked you to risk much,” said Rowan, “you and the others he sent to human lands. You are not likely to get a warm welcome anywhere.”

“My life for chief and pack. Dead attack us, like they attack you. Many die every day. Not so big risk coming here.”

“I suppose not. The Dead Legion in you lands—human?”

“Goblin.”

Tala nodded. “It is as we feared. The Dark One raises his armies wherever needed.”

Lucien looked at Rowan. “Who rules your land now?”

“Duke Onsweys is closest to being an heir. The people follow him or no one. Many only look out for themselves in times such as these.”

“I go to duke.”

“If he still lives, he is well to the south by now, perhaps in Lower Cambry.”

“You go south?”

“No, we are headed north for now.”

“I ask leave to go then.”

“You have it, but I don’t see how you can succeed. You will be hard pressed to pass through the Legion and reach the duke, and coming through the Dead will only make it more probable that you will again be seen as a spy and an enemy.”

“You may do more harm than good that way,” added Demetrius. “And it seems none of our peoples have the ability to come to the aid of the other. Solek moves on all fronts.”

“Then I fail already.”

“Both our peoples fight the same enemy,” Rowan told him. “Perhaps for now that is enough.”

Lucien looked down for a moment, as if having a sudden urge to study the ground. “Chief unhappy if I go back so soon. “

“It may be that you can serve your chief as well as all of Solek’s enemies in another way.”

“How?”

Rowan glanced at Tala, who said, “He is telling the truth about his purpose here. And we don’t know what we might face.”

“Demetrius? Corson?”

Both the Corindors gave their non-verbal assent.

Tala stepped toward Lucien, making sure she fixed his gaze with her own. “We seek the Soul Sphere.”

Lucien let out a grunt-like laugh. “And you say my task hard. Demons of the pit guard shards.”

Tala shrugged. “It is the only way we believe we can defeat Solek. Long odds are better than no chance at all.”

“Yes. I will help, if that is why you vote.”

“It was.”

“So you go north now.”

“Into the swamp. A piece is there.”

“How you know?”

Demetrius showed the shard. Lucien’s eyes lit up as if he was eyeing an unimaginable treasure trove, then he turned to Tala, his lips curling into ferocious smile. “You have the power? The seeing?”

Tala nodded.

“Why we wait? Fast get shard, fast Solek die.”

After hesitating a heartbeat, Demetrius tossed Lucien his warblade. “Welcome to our merry little band.”

*          *          *

They covered a few miles more that day, passing through woods that eventually began to thin. Finding a small stream that flowed toward the swamp and provided fresh water, they decided to fill their canteens and make camp, knowing it would not be long until they reached the swamp itself. They decided to risk a meager fire as dusk fell, bringing a fall chill with it, then shared their rapidly thinning rations.

Lucien took the food with thanks, though he worked at it without pleasure. “Why you tell farmers there is ‘Goblin War Code?’ That bad things happen if he keep warblade?”

Demetrius laughed. “For all his bluster that man was full of fear, as were the others. I just needed to give him a reason to give up the weapon.”

“What else they think of goblins?”

“Likely no worse than what goblins think of men.”

Lucien’s only answer was a grunt.

“We should set a watch,” said Demetrius, changing the subject. “I will go first, if there are no objections.”

The others agreed. Lucien cleared his throat. “You free me, I join you, you give me weapon. Trust me to guard while you sleep?”

When the others hesitated, he laughed his harsh laugh.

“We do not mean to offend,” said Tala.

“Not offend,” said Lucien. “Trust not easy between our kind. Maybe I hunt while you watch. Find fresh food. Hunt best at night.”

They agreed to this arrangement, and Lucien loped into the darkness of the trees.

“What do you suppose he will hunt?” Corson asked with a wry smile.

“Hopefully something we could all partake in,” said Demetrius. “For now, I’m going to try not to think about it.” He took up the watch, while the others tried to get a few hours of fitful sleep.

*          *          *

Lucien was successful in his efforts, and when morning broke the group cleaned and cooked a few scrawny rabbits, enough for breakfast and more to take along for later.

They broke camp and started out, journeying through a morning where the sun remained hidden behind heavy, leaden clouds. As the trees thinned, a north wind bit at them, forcing them to wrap cloaks and blankets more tightly around their shoulders.

The ground became noticeably softer as they progressed, and any sign of human passage—trails, old campsites—faded.

As they paused for a brief and sparse lunch, Tala asked, “What should we do with the horses? We cannot take them into the swamp.” “The ground is getting less firm,” Rowan agreed. “How far into the swamp will we need to go?”

“May I have the shard?” Tala asked Demetrius.

He handed it to her, and she slipped into a trance-like state while she fingered it, mumbling a spell as she had done before. Her time away from them was much shorter than the first time she searched. “It is at least two days’ journey yet, probably longer. The swamp will slow us.”