The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard

by David Adams

  They decided they could brave the road, trading stealth for speed, thinking that if pressed they could simply try to outrun whatever might oppose them. Rowan took a long look at Tala, and then let a small laugh escape his lips. “I doubt you will look this dour when we march on Veldoon. Does the thought of seeing your father again fill you with more dread than facing the Dark One?”

  Tala smiled and shook her head. “I though I was hiding it better than that.”

  “You’re not, and you didn’t answer my question.”

  Tala thought for a moment. “I am afraid, I suppose. For my people and for this world. I do love my father, and he has led well for many years. I do not wish to defy him, but I have to say what needs to be said. I am afraid, Rowan, that emotion will interfere with the message, and maybe the decision. If the fate of so many rests on this coming battle, I cannot allow that to happen.”

  They rode on in silence. To the north, dark clouds covered the sky like a portent of coming doom.

  * * *

  Alexis found little rest in the goblin camp. Certainly she was at her ease, and the looks she got were more curious than hostile. The food was bearable and the weather mild. But uneasiness was growing inside her, and as the days passed with no apparent progress toward their goal, she found herself pacing restlessly in the night as much as the day. It was a great relief to take to the road again as they headed to the council, and the stories Durst told of days past helped the hours go by.

  Grek and Blage had arrived in the Kabrinda camp soon after Durst’s summons, and they traveled with Durst’s group now, each with a personal guard, as Grosh had specified. They often smiled or laughed at Durst’s tales, but said little themselves. Alexis they regarded with a cool detachment, an outsider that must be with them for a time, and Krast, their guide, was an enemy whom they were forced to follow and trust. If the two goblin leaders appeared uneasy, Alexis did not need to question why.

  When the morning of the council dawned, it seemed to Alexis that the air was fresher and that a weight that had been slowly building had been lifted from her chest. Lucien, on the other hand, clearly grew tenser as each day had passed, the time and leisure with his mate now a fading memory, and a debate that would determine much inexorably approaching.

  “Just tell what you have seen and experienced,” Alexis advised. “You can do no more beyond that. They will make the decision based on what they deem best, not on how well-spoken your argument might be.”

  “That good,” Lucien said. “Argue better with warblade than words.”

  They had been moving mainly north, through fields of long grass and light brush. The sight of an open tent on the horizon was their first indication that their journey was drawing to a close. As they neared, they could see that if any treachery was planned, it would have to be carried out by those present. Anyone approaching over the open plain would be seen at a distance, allowing plenty of time to raise the alarm.

  Grosh and Ast came out of the tent to greet them, and the goblins shouted and slapped each other on the backs like old friends, not leaders of warring factions. The tent flaps had been pulled back so the interior would be plainly visible, allowing the new arrivals to see that no others waited inside. In this way Durst and company had no need for surreptitious checks or reason to chance openly insulting their hosts in order to ensure their own security.

  “We have a small meal prepared for all,” Grosh said. “Then we will post our guards at the corners of the tent and take council.”

  They ate in uncomfortable silence, the weight of pending decisions pressing on them and squeezing any joviality out of the atmosphere. There was a palpable sense of relief when they finished and the guards and Krast were excused to wait outside.

  “I think,” Grosh said, “that it would be appropriate to give our guest from Lorgras the honor of speaking first.”

  Alexis looked to Durst, who motioned for her to proceed. “Thank you,” she said to Grosh. “My tale and Lucien’s start apart, but quickly join.”

  “We will hear him soon enough,” Grosh stated. “Please go on.”

  Alexis began the story, describing the coming of the Dead Legion to Lorgras and the decision to set out on the quest to reassemble the Sphere, which gave a glimmer of hope for victory in a very dark time.

  “Your High Queen had a piece of the Sphere?” Ast asked. His common was as smooth as Grosh’s.

  “She did. She was there when Solek seized power, and loosed the Dark One.”

  “And she kept it hidden and secret all these years, then suddenly entrusted it to you?”

  “Myself and the party I set out with.”

  “Do you have it now?”

  Durst interrupted. “Let them tell whole tale as they would. There will be time later for questions. Much of what you ask will become clear soon enough.”

  Ast leaned back with a scowl. “As you wish. But I deem I have just received the answer I sought.”

  “I no longer have it,” Alexis confirmed. “But it is not lost to us.” She went on, and the goblin chiefs, though they often started to rise with questions or other exclamations as the story unfolded, restrained themselves until she was done. After she revealed the plan to march what arms they could raise to Veldoon, and of the breaking of the party and the coming of Lucien and herself to the goblin lands, she fell silent.

  “Is Lorgras committed to battle?” Blage wanted to know.

  “They are. The Queen has spoken. Preparations are being made now.”

  “You mentioned companions in Delving and Corindor, and even an elf from the Eastern Forest, and that all are making the same request of their people,” said Ast. “But you have not spoken of the Westerland.”

  “I made the same point myself when I first heard this tale,” said Grosh. “I believe you plan to speak to Duke Fallo as soon after this council as possible.”

  “That’s correct.”

  Ast shook his head. “If he will not fight, and maybe even if he does, I say he will not let us pass the Watch Wall.”

  “I cannot speak for him,” Alexis admitted. “And the way around is long. But you can pass through Lorgras.”

  “You have been given authority to speak for your people in this matter?” Grek asked.

  “I have.”

  “And can you also treat with us on what we might demand to fight alongside you?” Ast wanted to know.

  Alexis’ eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  “We fight amongst ourselves because the land does not support us. Would a pack or more be given access to Lorgrasian land, or be lent aid in taking territory from the Westerland if Duke Fallo refuses to join us, once Solek is beaten?”

  Alexis was taken aback. “I do not seek mercenaries, to be paid for services rendered. We are all threatened alike by Solek. We wish allies in this coming fight, nothing more.”

  “It seems to me that Lorgras and the Westerland stand between Veldoon and our realm. Why should we march to fight his strength, when he would have to fight many battles to reach us?”

  “The Dead fight where their master wills,” said Durst. “You have felt sting of their blades, Ast, as we all have.”

  “In times past, yes. But where is his army now? Haunting others it would seem. If he has looked to other lands, I say—”

  “Please,” said Grosh. “We will all have to face Solek’s forces in time. The question before us is should we do so as one, or individually?” He spared Ast one brief, hard look.

  “You speak wisely, Grosh,” Durst said. “But before we decide, we should hear Lucien’s part in story.”

  “Of course,” said Grosh, adding a wave that might be dismissive or supportive.

  Lucien told of the task assigned to him by Durst, of journeying into the human-held lands and of how he came to join the company of his former companions. Once his tale reached the point where Alexis helped them defeat the Pit Demon—and as he relayed this part it was obvious Alexis’ own description of the event had been quite hum
ble—the assembled goblins looked upon her with a new respect.

  She flushed at the pause and the stares and told Lucien to go on.

  “Nothing to add to rest of what you told.”

  Ast eyed Lucien suspiciously. “It seems you took on a task far beyond that which your chief required of you.”

  “It is fortunate he did,” Durst said.

  “Only because things appear to have turned out well so far. But what if these actions bring Solek’s wrath upon us once again. It would be through the recklessness of one goblin.”

  “Only I may question actions of Kabrinda pack,” Durst said in a low growl.

  “Others may question,” said Ast. “Yours is the role of punisher.”

  “Punisher!” Alexis exclaimed. “For what?”

  “Disobedience,” Ast replied. “For putting his own desire for personal glory above the needs of the pack.”

  Lucien started to rise.

  “Enough!” said Durst. “Lucien has acted as I wished.”

  “And this is not the matter we have come here to discuss,” Grosh added. “We need to—”

  A call came from one of the guards. “Riders! They approach from the west!”

  Inside the tent, where nerves were already frayed, tempers neared the boiling point. Chairs flew back as the goblins leapt to their feet, and weapons were drawn, each goblin suspecting the others of some evil design.

  “They fly a gray banner!” the guard shouted.

  “The Allagon,” Durst said. He lowered his weapon. “I not call them here.”

  “Nor did I,” said Grosh, who sheathed his own warblade. “How could they be called? They have no leader to speak for them.”

  “Let us see what they want,” Durst suggested, leading the way outside as he spoke.

  More than fifty horsed goblins rode toward them, and indeed a standard-bearer was at the front holding aloft a banner with a solid gray field. The riders did not brandish their weapons, and they were not interested in disguising their approach.

  Alexis was relieved when Lucien and the others put their warblades away. “Who are these?” she asked him.

  “Allagon,” he said. “The packless. Nomads who live near Western Wall, at far edge of our lands. They claim no pack, no chief.”

  The riders reined up a respectful distance away from the waiting chiefs and guards. A half-dozen dismounted and stepped forward. “We have come for the council,” one said in goblin.

  “The Allagon have no voice here,” Grek replied.

  “We have a voice where we are concerned. If goblins are to go to war with the Dark One, the Allagon must decide what we will do as well.”

  “Then you await our decision,” said Grosh, “and make your plans from that point.”

  “You have not yet decided?”

  “No,” said Durst. “But I am curious. How did you know of this council?”

  A different member of the Allagon delegation spoke. “We have many eyes and ears. We know much of what goes on.”

  “Spies,” Grosh growled.

  “The Allagon are all free. None live amongst your packs, if that is what you fear.”

  “I fear the meaning of a secret meeting being known beyond those who were to know,” said Grosh. “The leak had to be from my pack, since all the other chiefs were led here.”

  “You assume one of your pack has been disloyal. But rumors have a way of spreading, and the five chiefs all traveling at one time is of interest, is it not?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Enough of this,” Durst said. “We are here to take council, and we have heard what news of distant lands and deeds we needed to hear to proceed with our deliberations.”

  “We have not heard,” pointed out one of the Allagon.

  “Nor will you in council,” said Ast sternly. “You have no place here.”

  “But while we goblins debate, our guest from Lorgras will be free to do as she wishes,” said Durst. “We must go into the tent, and you Allagon must remain here. But if Alexis of Lorgras wishes to repeat what she has told us, she will. And Lucien, of my tribe, I give permission to do the same.”

  This pleased the Allagon, but Ast stormed inside the tent with a furious gesture of his arms. The others eventually followed, Durst being the last to do so. “I do not know how you came to be here, or how you know what it was we were discussing,” he told the Allagon, “but I for one intend to take war to Veldoon and its dark master. I hope you will consider joining us. Packless or no, I have no doubt about your strength of arms.” The Allagon bowed as he wheeled about and went inside.

  Alexis and Lucien ended up speaking to all the riders, who listened to their tale intently and without interruption. The guards stayed at their posts but tried to eavesdrop as much as they could, and Alexis and Lucien helped them in that effort by speaking loudly. They had just finished when the goblin chiefs exited the tent, exchanging rough arm-clasps and vows of brotherhood and renewed friendship. Ast spoke a few words to his guard, and they were quickly away. The others came over to where Lucien and Alexis spoke with the Allagon.

  “We go to war,” said Durst. “Together. If you wish to march with us, you may do so under your own banner, but if we need to act as a race you must select a leader acceptable to the chiefs, or else do as the council determines.”

  “And if we refuse these conditions?” asked one.

  “Then you stay or march as a separate group, and any spoils of war going to the goblins will not be shared with you.”

  “We do not go to war in order to claim spoils.”

  Grosh laughed. “Do you presume now to speak for the Allagon? Are you the chief?”

  The goblin who had spoken seemed abashed. It was another that answered. “None of us do, individually, but what Madel says is right. We will take our own council now. When do you march?”

  “One week from today if we can,” Durst answered. He looked at Alexis, who had been receiving translated summaries of the discussion from Lucien, and said in the common tongue, “We will start to move toward Westerland. Quickest path. Will you go before us and try to open passage?”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Lucien go with you. If you need provisions, you can return to our camp.”

  “It would be best if we started out immediately, without supplies if we must. We have traveled as such before.”

  “We have food we can spare,” said one of the Allagon. “Enough for two.”

  “Thank you,” Alexis said. Lucien and Durst bowed their thanks, but the other goblin chiefs remained motionless.

  Durst addressed the Allagon again. “And what will you do?”

  “We will return to our people and let each decide. Some certainly will join you.”

  “Then you best go swiftly if you need to travel into the far west and have time to join us when we set out. Farewell, my brothers.” He raised his hand in salute.

  The Allagon were surprised by this simple act, done as it was by a chief. They returned the salute, mounted up and departed.

  Grosh took his leave next, saying some of his pack would return for the tent, table and chairs, just as they had come earlier to set it up. His horse kicked up a fine spray of dirt as he raced away.

  Alone now with his original allies, Durst asked for a moment alone with Lucien and Alexis before they left. The three walked a few paces before he spoke. “Agreement to go to war was swift,” he said. “Too swift for my liking.”

  “Meaning?” Alexis asked.

  “Grosh and Ast up to something. I do not trust them.”

  “Will you still march to Veldoon?”

  “Yes, side-by-side with both of them. But will keep an eye out for some intrigue on their part. I do not think they will interfere with your task at this point, but once we begin to move into other lands…”

  “Treachery against any in human lands will be repaid against all goblins,” Lucien said.

  “Not in my land, if I can stop it,” said Alexis.

  “You said �
��if,’ ” Durst pointed out with a knowing smile.

  “I’m afraid I need that word in there, to be honest. And if something happens in the Westerland, there will be little I can do.”

  “But path that way is much shorter,” Durst said. “We must risk it. But we must all be vigilant.”

  “It seems we have enemies on every side,” said Alexis.

  “It does,” Durst agreed. “That is why we need to cover each other’s backs.”

  With that they bid each other farewell, and Lucien and Alexis rode east toward the Westerland, unsure what kind of greeting they would receive there, and uncertain whether the army they would be requesting safe passage for could be completely trusted.

  * * *

  Demetrius rose slowly, shaking the sleep from his head. As he gained his feet, he stood still for a few moments, making sure he had his balance. Such an effort, he mused, for something normally done without thinking. But at this point he was happy to be able to rise at all.

  It had been nearly three weeks since he had come to the camp. It had been close for the first night and day, death lurking so near, and after that his health had returned grudgingly. Now each day brought improvement, and his mind often wandered to Corson, and to what was happening to the south. He felt time slipping away, and wished he could go in search of his friend, but that would only result in more delay as he searched aimlessly. As much as he hated it, he had to simply wait, regain his health, and hope for news.

  He went outside, and inhaled cautiously, his ribs barking a protest as his lungs expanded. He let the breath out, frustrated. He couldn’t possibly get better fast enough. It was an hour past dawn, and gray clouds covered the sky, driven by a mild easterly breeze. The camp was quiet, the dawn patrol departed and the night watch in their beds. A few men made a small breakfast over the dwindling campfire. He returned their wave and went back in his tent for his sword. Once back outside, he went to the far side of the tent, away from prying eyes, and slowly unsheathed the weapon. With both hands he held it before him, comforted by the weight of it, the balance he could attain with only light pressure from his hands. He allowed it to fall to the left, then slashed the air, only a half-strength blow. He winced at the pain in his side.