The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (8 page)

Jon rubbed his face. “You two were wise to come here alone first. The men and women here are good folk, but not trained warriors, and their nerves are on edge. The sight of a goblin approaching the city might have resulted in some unpleasantness. I will make arrangements to have them admitted, and for food and beds for your party. Do you have animals?”

“A single horse,” Demetrius replied

“He shall be fed and stabled then. If you are willing, I would like to share a meal with your group, along with a few others who can speak for us here. If we can be of help, we will.”

“Your hospitality and company would be welcome.”

“I’ll go back for the others,” Corson said.

“Very well,” said Jon. “I’ll accompany you to the gate, and see to it that Gleeson has your group quietly admitted and taken to shelter. Even so, you might want to have your green friend…he is green, isn’t he?”

Demetrius laughed softly. “He is.”

“I’ve never actually seen a goblin, just heard stories. Anyway, you might want to have him wrap himself in a cloak, so as to avoid any unnecessary disturbance. The falling dark will provide added cover.”

Forty minutes later the travelers were seated before a humble meal, joined by Jon and a sort of town council comprised of a man and two women. While Lucien got more than his share of curious and sometimes frightened looks, Tala was a rarity for these people as well. There were little more than uneasy pleasantries being exchanged when the food was first served, but by the end of the meal some of the tension had drained from the townsfolk.

As the dishes were cleared, Jon lit a pipe and leaned forward over the table. “So, Gleeson said you were traveling north to seek allies in the battle against the Dark One and his forces.”

Demetrius confirmed that this was the case.

“I have heard,” Jon continued, “that the Dead have struck in all the kingdoms. If that is so, there is little help to be had, I fear.”

“But it is also why we must try,” Tala said. “Only by fighting together can we hope to win. Even so, as you hint at, our fate may already be sealed…”

“Surely not the elves as well,” said a woman known as Kalinda. “I have heard your people have powerful magic that can hide your city.”

“For a time, perhaps. But hiding is not the same as living. And our land will suffer as yours does. The Dark One’s reach extends to us as well.”

The townspeople were asked about the attack of the Dead Legion and the defense of the city. The host assaulting High Point had been a large one.

“Dwarven dead as well as men,” said Jon. “You could tell from their size and their build, and from the axes they wielded all too well. We were no match for the army that struck, and they city fell rapidly. Some of the soldiers resisted to the last. Brave, but with ill results.” He eyed Corson and Demetrius, but fell silent.

“They are part of the Legion now,” Demetrius said, speaking aloud what Jon held back. “And are now fighting against their own people. They even wear the colors of the king. It is a cruel trick that such a fate awaits the Legion’s victims if they are not properly…prepared for final rest.”

Jon met Demetrius’ eyes, then ventured a question. “The king?”

“He is not with them.”

“That is good. There is little else to be pleased about, other than the fact that we still have our own lives.”

*          *          *

They rose well before dawn the next day and were escorted by Jon himself through the city and to the bridge beyond, which crossed the Snake’s Tongue. “Your packs have been filled with food and your canteens replenished. I wish you well in your journey.”

They thanked him and crossed the long stone bridge, which showed evidence of a failed attempt to destroy it, likely by the fleeing Corindors. The road was wide and paved with stone, and made for easy traveling. Tala had consulted the Sphere piece as soon as they were out of sight of the city, and indicated that they could stay on the road at least for a day.

The Stone Mountains loomed up to the north, cold, gray and forbidding in the pale morning light. They formed a natural barrier along much of the northern border of Delving and Corindor, with the Westerland lying on the other side. Even though the range ran nearly six hundred miles, there were no easy passes, and the range was rarely crossed—travelers made the long journey around the eastern or western ends of the range if they wanted to reach destinations beyond. The biting wind that swept down from the snow-capped peaks only reinforced the hostile nature of the mountains.

As they sheltered in a small grove of trees that evening, Corson chewed without enthusiasm on a piece of dried meat that he had warmed over the small fire they had allowed themselves. “Why is it our nature,” he said with a sigh, “to have so little appreciation for what we have?”

“What mean?” asked Lucien.

“I’m sitting here thinking how much I would love to have a simple bowl of stew, or a mug of ale. But I thought little of these when I had them…and little of what we have now.” He looked at the withered meat and smiled ruefully. “Will I dream of having such fare as this in days to come?”

“Only days ago,” said Tala, “we had no food at all. That may indeed happen again.”

“Exactly. So is that just human nature, or am I an ungrateful sot?”

They all laughed, and Demetrius added that though he had had the same sort of thoughts, Corson was, in fact “ ‘an ungrateful sot’ if not worse.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘human’ nature,” said Tala. “I am no less guilty.”

“I same,” added Lucien.

“How about you, Rowan?” asked Demetrius. “I’ve seen you thank the Savior before meals that were less than this one. A habit?”

Rowan wore a wan smile. “More often than it should be, I suppose. But I do try to be thankful for what I am given. We may have to search hard at times like these, but there are always things to be thankful for. If not our lives, then a small meal, a cloak to fight off the cold…” He paused looking at each of them in turn. “Or friends for the journey.”

“Friends are always worth giving thanks for,” Tala agreed.

“Even the ugly ones,” added Corson while giving Lucien a hearty pat on the back.

“I thankful we have someone here to be food if we need it,” Lucien replied, giving Corson a toothy smile.

Corson swallowed with feigned nervousness. “I thought stories of goblins eating people were just that—stories.”

Lucien ran his tongue over his teeth, then rolled over to go to sleep.

“Very funny,” Corson said to the goblin’s back.

Around mid-afternoon the next day, Tala called the group to a stop just after Corson had commented that they seemed to be making good progress. “I knew I should have kept my mouth shut,” he grumbled to himself.

“We should start heading north now,” she informed them.

Rowan led the way off the road and toward the looming mountains. “Keep an eye out for any openings or paths up,” he called back over his shoulder. “It would be good if we could keep the horse.”

No one disagreed, but from the look of the mountains, no one held out much hope for that either.

They reached the foothills just before dark and set up camp. The night passed quietly. With the coming of dawn they studied the terrain ahead and Tala consulted the Sphere piece.

“We need to go a bit more west before going up. If we’re lucky we’ll find a trail.”

They had no luck finding any signs of previous human passage up the gray stone hills, but decided a spot where the grass extended up a gentler rise—they had become used to rubble and larger rocks—was as good an entry point as they could hope to find. Even then, it was not long before the slope became a burden that slowed them.

Rowan and Demetrius had the lead and would stop from time to time to study the ground, trying to plan ahead as much as possible so they could avoid backtracking. At a particularly difficult spot they proposed breaking for lunch, but even the extended time did not yield a good plan for moving on. They asked Tala to take her bearings again, and when she reported that they needed to keep moving in the same direction, the two men exchanged disappointed looks.

“There are decent hand and footholds ahead,” Demetrius said, “but nowhere for a horse to go. Let’s take what provisions we can. We’ll have to let him go.”

After taking a moment to study the climb before them, as well as the lay of the land to the west and east, they began to relieve the horse of its burdens. Corson whispered a kind word in his ear and gave him a gentle swat on the hindquarters, then watched as he fled down the hill and turned east—back towards what he thought of as home.

They camped on the mountain that evening, estimating they were a quarter of the way up its sloping face. They found a small recess that shielded them from the worst of the wind, but knew they would have little success lighting and sustaining a fire.

“It’s fortunate it’s not the heart of winter yet,” said Demetrius as the group huddled together for warmth. “It would be hard to pass the night without a fire if it were much colder.”

In response the group simply pulled closer to one another, hoping to share what little heat their bodies held.

As frigid as they were, it was hard to determine if the next day’s cold was worse, but clouds that matched the gray color of the mountain moved in, and snow began to gently drift down from the leaden sky.

The progress they made was slow, each step taken with caution. As the day wore on, the elements worsened and the battle against them became more personal, a driving wind blowing snow into their faces, stinging cheeks and eyes. They spoke little, and when they did, the words were carried away more often than not by the gusting wind.

Aching muscles and rumbling stomachs begged for rest, but they pressed on, hoping for shelter or at least to shorten the ordeal as much as possible. Finding a ledge that yielded a decent foothold, Tala paused to consult the Sphere. She frowned at what she learned.

“What’s wrong?” Demetrius shouted over the gale.

“We have ascended above where we need to be. I think we need to go into the mountain somehow.”

“Are you sure it’s not on the other side?”

“It is not. It is almost directly below us. It is under the rock we stand on. We need to look for an entrance.”

“I’ve been looking. We’ve all been looking. I’ve found nothing.”

“I know. But we need to keep searching. We should spread out; some go higher, others east or west.”

Two bone-chilling hours later Corson called out, grimacing as he did so due to his still-tender ribs. “I’ve found something. An opening with a warm draft of air coming out.”

Whether it was the right way or not, the promise of warmth drew them all quickly inside. A small outcropping of rock hid a vertical opening not much wider than a man. The hole was visible only to someone standing right in front of it.

Inside a passage was rough-hewn out of the rock. They could walk two abreast if they desired, and it was high enough that even Lucien could pass without stooping. “If dwarves did this,” said Rowan, “they did it for something other than their own use. They rarely carve their access tunnels larger than what they need in order to pass through them themselves.”

The dim light of the snowy day faded quickly once they were inside, forcing them to light one of the few torches they had.

“I can cast a light spell if we need it,” Tala said. “But I’d prefer to save my strength for what lies ahead.”

Recalling the battle in the swamp, no one questioned the wisdom of that decision.

The tunnel wound slowly down and to the left, making it difficult
to see more than a few steps ahead even with the torch. They proceeded
with weapons at the ready and cringed at the subtle echo of their own footfalls, fearful they were announcing themselves to whatever might be waiting before them.