The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (9 page)

“Steps,” Demetrius said, lowering the torch to waist level to make them more visible. The stairs were as rough and uneven as the walls, and continued the downward spiral of the passage.

The steps ended in a flat section of tunnel that covered twenty feet, and then another set of steps began. Behind them the darkness closed like water over the head of a drowning man.

At the bottom of the second stair the tunnel was more polished, and reflected in the stone was a dull red light. As they neared the foot of the stair they could also hear scuttling noises in the distance. Demetrius extinguished the torch.

Around the bend he peered into a large chamber. Before them was a small platform of stone, placed to overlook the room. The place was circular, several hundred feet in diameter, and in the center was an open pit, out of which the glow emanated. The light was not bright, but was sufficient to chase the darkness from the room. Across the chamber were two other platforms with access ramps, each leading to a tunnel similar to the one from which they had emerged.

The scuttling noise was more apparent in the large room, but clearly distant, coming from one of the tunnels or perhaps the pit. Whether the noise moved toward them or away, they could not tell.

They took up positions on the platform, keeping low with weapons drawn. New sounds reached them now—the ring of metal on stone, and worse, the sounds of human shouts, some war cries, some of pain and death.

They fought the urge to run toward the sound of battle, Demetrius and Rowan giving silent warning to Lucien, who started forward at the noise. Instead they moved down the ramp in good order and started around to the nearest tunnel, keeping their backs to the chamber wall for maximum protection.

When they were halfway to the next tunnel, the noises suddenly stopped. Then, like a building ocean wave, the sound of thousands of scurrying, chitinous feet grew.

“Crogs!” Rowan shouted as the creatures poured forth from the tunnel. They were no more than a foot high and a foot long, six clawed feet propelling a cylindrical body whose purpose seemed to be to transport a set of sharp, needle-like teeth. They were fast, and clung to the walls as easily as they moved along the floor. Their dark gray bodies were difficult to see against the stone, which appeared to undulate with movement as the crogs covered it.

The party drew into a circle and began to slash furiously with their blades as the creatures tried to swarm over them. Individual crogs were easily dispatched, but their numbers and speed made them formidable opponents. Tala’s bow was rendered useless, and she was reduced to batting them away. Their attack was so swift that she was unable to reach the level of concentration required to call upon her magic, although she wasn’t sure her spells would do much good against the small beasts.

Dead crogs lay thick about their feet, but the living simply scrambled over the fallen and continued to strike. Swords slowed as arms began to grow weary, and blood began to well up from puncture wounds inflicted by crog teeth.

“Are they poisonous?” Corson asked, while a swift stroke of his blade sliced through two of the creatures.

“No,” Rowan replied. “But if you fall beneath them you will not rise again. Keep your feet at all costs.”

Crogs dropped from the ceiling, trying surprise and having some success, distracting and confusing the adventurers, and sometimes finding purchase to snap with their vicious teeth. One clamped onto the back of Demetrius’ neck, and he yelled out in pain.

Lucien sliced through it cleanly with his warblade, then turned back to the work in front of him in one smooth motion. “They quick, but weak,” he observed.

The crogs backed away, perhaps noting that their numbers had been reduced greatly and that their opponents, though bloodied, still stood resolutely before them. Individual creatures lunged to attack, but were easily brought down. For a moment, a haunting silence fell, broken only by the soft clicking of hungry teeth.

“What holds them back?” asked Rowan. “Crogs are not known to—”

A guttural noise emanated from the pit, the low angry growl of some new monstrosity. The red light flickered as it was interrupted now and then by the shadowy passage of something rising from the depths.

With a belligerent roar it flung itself from the pit. It stood twice the height of any of the awestruck adventurers before it. Glistening black scales covered a body that was roughly human in shape, but the head was all sharp angels and long horns. Huge, membranous wings flared out behind it, and in one clawed hand it held a black metal staff topped with a ruby jewel. It glared at them with bottomless black eyes.

“Pit demon,” Corson breathed. “Never thought to see one. Kind of reminds me of Lucien, though. Maybe a big brother.”

The demon let out a yell of challenge while the crogs skittered into the background, willing to wait out of the way for the sizable meal they expected was coming.

It swung first at Rowan, striking with shocking speed and strength. Rowan brought his weapon up to parry the blow, the blade glowing white with some internal power. The parry was effective, but the force behind the attack buckled Rowan’s knees. He recovered in time to lunge away from a second strike, while the others tried to flank the demon.

Tala took aim at an eye and loosed an arrow, but the thing was too quick, easily batting it aside, then lunging at her before she could ready a second shot. Seeing the speed of its advance, she held her ground as if to engage in hand-to-hand combat, then ducked and rolled through its legs as it brought its staff down, and finally scrambling clear before it could react to her move.

Lucien and Demetrius took advantage of the demon’s momentary imbalance, each striking at one side of the monster. Forced to choose, the demon parried Lucien’s warblade and twisted away from Demetrius’ sword, but only with moderate success. A small wound opened in its side, black blood bubbling slowly out.

The demon let out a roar of primal rage, wildly swinging its staff in Demetrius’ direction. The big man ducked the blow, but Corson and Rowan, who were charging into the fray, were both caught by the staff, and were flung back, arms and legs flailing, weapons clanging against the stone floor.

Lucien connected with his warblade, catching part of a wing and striking a glancing blow to its back. The demon spun, more under control now, and thrust the jeweled end of its staff directly at the goblin’s torso. Lucien could offer only a weak parry, lessening but not eliminating the impact of the staff on his chest. With a grunt of expelled air he was sent sprawling backward. Scrambling to his feet, Lucien took a quick glance at the crogs, relieved that they still waited at the edge of the battle, unwilling to touch the demon’s prey. He shuddered at the thought of what might have befallen him and his companions had the crogs been in attack mode at the same time the five battled the demon.

The monster pressed forward again, oblivious or unconcerned that by doing so it allowed its opponents to gain flanking and rear positions. Given a choice, it again chose Rowan, and Lucien noted for the first time the white glow being cast by Rowan’s blade increased in intensity as the demon approached the Delvishman.

Rowan dodged two overhead blows from the demon’s staff, but was being forced back. Demetrius tried his luck at striking at a leg from behind, but the creature slammed the butt end of the staff backward into Demetrius’ stomach, forcing him to give ground. Feeling his feet beginning to lose their purchase on the floor, Demetrius flung out his hands to try to regain his balance, and peering over his shoulder, he saw he was precariously balanced on the edge of the pit. For an instant he hung there, looking down, gazing into the fiery red glow that came from depths beyond seeing, and then he felt his balance go completely. As he started to fall, a hand took a firm grip on his forearm.

Corson pulled his friend back to safety, but in doing so he had turned his back on the demon. Sensing an opportunity, the dark creature moved to push both Corindors into the pit. Seeing what was happening, Rowan let out a yell and swung at the beast, less to harm it than to draw its attention. Nevertheless, his sword bit into the flesh of its arm, the white shimmer of the weapon standing in stark contrast to the demon’s black, scaly hide.

Now, indeed, Rowan had the creature’s full attention and it charged. Ignoring an arrow from Tala that clicked feebly against its side, it rained one blow after another at Rowan, who could do no more than try to ward them off. He staggered back until the chamber wall forced an end to his retreat.

Rowan held his sword above his head, but was driven down by the endless blows of the staff. He was given a brief respite only once, when the demon whirled to fend off a charge from the others, but it held its ground, looking for a few uninterrupted seconds to finish its work.

The staff slammed down again, ringing against the steel of Rowan’s blade. Again the rod flew down, the ruby jewel a red blur. The sword did not come out of Rowan’s hand, but his grip was weakened, and the blade dipped toward the floor. The path was clear for a killing blow.

The demon reared back, ready to put all its strength, its malice, its hatred into the final smashing strike. Rowan detected unexpected movement out of the corner of his eye. A flash of silver split the air above him.

The demon paused, unsure what had happened. A large spear protruded from its chest, the point exiting its back and sending a splash of thick blood onto the floor.

Rowan stood quickly, righting his blade and driving it under the demon’s breastplate, hoping to find its wretched heart. It dropped its staff, but flung a clawed hand up to grip Rowan by the throat and lift him off the ground, ignoring the fact that the motion drove the sword even further into its own body.

It pulled Rowan close, teeth bared, sulfurous breath coming out of its open mouth in ragged gasps. It fell to one knee but tightened its grip, wanting to take Rowan with it into death.

Rowan could feel the muscles and tendons in his neck compressing, his windpipe constricted but not yet crushed. He gave the sword an ineffective twist, staring all the while into the soulless eyes of his enemy.

Suddenly those eyes and the head that held them were gone, severed by Lucien’s warblade. For a moment all was still, then the demon’s body crumpled to the ground, its grip finally slackening enough for Rowan to pull himself free.

The crogs were quick to react, fleeing down the far tunnel. Hungry and vicious as they might be, they had no interest in taking on any group that could kill their dark master. There was easier prey to be had.

Once the small carnivores had fled, attention turned to the wielder of the spear that had begun the demon’s undoing. She slumped against the wall of the tunnel from which the crogs had entered the chamber. Powerfully built and nearly as tall as Lucien, she was instantly recognizable as one of the warriors of Lorgras, a land in the far north of Arkania. Her thick clothes were tattered, and blood flowed freely from dozens of small wounds—it was easy to see that she had encountered the crogs earlier. She tried to stand without support from the wall, failed, and then slid to the ground.

Rowan was first to reach her, ignoring his own injuries. He hesitated for a second, sucking in a short breath as he gazed upon her face. He composed himself quickly. “Be still, lady,” he whispered hoarsely. “You are among friends now.”

She met his eyes for an instant, saw an unspoken message there, and then offered only a weak smile. She tried to speak, but only managed a racking cough.

Rowan placed his hands on her forehead and allowed healing power to flow into her. When he removed his hands they were covered with blood, but the female warrior’s eyes showed renewed strength.

“We will need to clean and bandage your wounds,” he said, “but you will live.”

“Thank you,” she said, trying to rise.

He helped her up. “It is you who deserve my thanks. Your spear saved my life.” He turned to Lucien. “And your blade. I owe you my thanks as well.”

“Live or die together,” Lucien said.

The woman took note of the goblin, and then of the others. To Rowan she said, “You travel with interesting company, paladin.”

“Rowan, my lady.”

“Alexis,” she replied with a quirky smile. The others introduced themselves in turn.