The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard

by David Adams

  “It is well,” Deron said. “Solek will need to expend more power to strike at us over such a distance, and I doubt he will allow us to enter his land unchallenged. If we hope to weaken him as we advance—which we have stated is our goal—then we should be pleased he is content to sit upon his throne, rather than taking to the field.” Deron spoke with such authority on the matter that no one would have challenged his comments, even if they had disagreed.

  They decided on their plan of march, desiring to stay twenty miles or so from the foot of the Gray Mountains until they neared the pass, which would also keep them away from any unknown danger from the Demon Hills. The elves would march on the right, nearest to Veldoon, flanked by the Delvish, the Ridonians, the Corindors, and finally the dwarves on the far left. They would march close, with riders ready to send news of trouble coming from any direction so the entire force could be brought to bear on any enemy.

  * * *

  Four days of cautious movement had allowed then to cover half the distance from the edge of the Eastern Forest to the Saber Pass. The world around them was eerily silent, unnoticeable when they moved in force, but when one stood on the fringes of the camp or a rider stilled his mount some distance from the main body there was an emptiness that seemed just beyond perception, and the lone person found themselves yearning for human companionship, though they often did not know why.

  Scouts returned that day, bringing tidings of the Lorgrasians and the goblins. They had found scouts from Lorgras, exchanged information on the positions of their armies, and then returned with the good news. The two sets of scouts had estimated the Lorgrasian/goblin force would arrive a day or so earlier than the group advancing from the south, but that assumed neither was hindered in their movement. As the armies closed on one another and their destination, the scouts could guide them to a link-up safely distant from the pass, such that they could arrive there together.

  As night fell and they made camp, there was a lightness in their spirit, and voices grew a bit louder, jokes were told and songs were sung. They marched in the open, and had been unopposed for days now, even as they neared Solek’s doorstep, and now more strength was arriving from the west. More than one soldier speculated that Solek had already done his worst, and that victory would soon be theirs.

  The leaders let their forces enjoy themselves within limits—and the lack of ale or beer pretty much ensured those limits would not be pushed. But those in charge, while relieved and pleased at the news from the west, had no delusions as to the certainty of victory. Solek would be heard from, sooner or later.

  A loud rumbling was heard that night from beyond the Gray Mountains, a distant storm growling its threats. The sound stilled the singing and loud talk, and as eyes turned toward Veldoon they saw great black clouds in the far reaches of that land, rimmed with red as if they were ablaze. Suddenly stout hearts were quailed, and fear found a new home.

  Rowan was not sure what to make of the storm, and Demetrius and Corson exchanged wary looks, remembering the acid rain that had fallen during the assault of the Dead Legion on Mill Harbor. Tala had ridden to visit her father and asked what he thought.

  “He is angry,” Deron said. “He knows we come. Such open defiance he probably did not expect.”

  Tala saw her father’s expression was one of mild amusement rather than concern. “It is well then?”

  “He wastes his energy on a show of anger.” He wheeled and spoke loudly to any who would hear. “He means to make us tremble before his display of might, but I see it for weakness on his part. Be at ease. It is a dog barking in the night. His bite is fierce, but no more so than what we already have felt. He will find us advancing in the morning, not running away. Pass the word down the line—it will take more than this petty show to frighten us.”

  There were some nods, and a few uneasy smiles, and Deron’s words were spread quickly through the assembled forces. The distant storm still drew their attention, but they would rest easier now, and would go forward as one at dawn.

  Tala followed Deron into his tent. “You have changed, father. You surprise me.”

  “I have not changed as much as you might think,” he said quietly, so as not to be overheard by those outside. “It is, I think, more of a temper tantrum than anything else, but we have his full attention now, and his wrath will be terrible.”

  “Then why—”

  “Fear will not help us. We are committed to go forward. As leader, I owe it to our people to keep their spirits up and their hopes alive, faint though I think they might be. When the time comes to stand against him, we must not flinch.”

  “So you would give them hope where you have none.”

  Deron did not reply, simply looked away as if he could see the blazing clouds through the fabric of his tent.

  “And what of me?” Tala asked. “Would you take my hope away?”

  Deron stepped to the opening of his tent, then turned back to face her. “Far from it. I expect you to have enough hope for both of us.” With that he left her alone to contemplate his words and the coming storm.

  * * *

  If anything, the clouds were darker and more foreboding in the morning, but they stayed distant, a black shroud of anger that Solek wore around his shoulders. The Gray Mountains rose bleak and drear, their name apt, and upon the jagged peaks could now be seen sentinels, winged beasts that were not spawned in this world. The humans could see them when they took to the air, black shapes similar in form to men, but with large membranous wings that carried them with easy, gentle motions. The elves, closer and with keener eyes, could make out their features, and while they might be similar to man or elf in shape, they were clearly from the pit from which the Dark One himself had issued. As the army moved so did the creatures, marking them. The winged beasts made no move to close upon them, apparently content for now to watch from their lofty perches.

  Rowan pulled his Avenger sword an inch out of its scabbard, enough to see the faint white glow, then returned it to its place with a nod of confirmation.

  Tala was riding next to him, and was no more surprised by the glow of the blade than he was. “Spies of sorts, I suppose.”

  “But with no need of secrecy. They want us to know we are being watched, and that Solek knows exactly where we are.”

  “No change of plans?”

  Rowan shrugged. “No reason to. Looks like those things could keep up with us, and out of bowshot, regardless of where we go. Never had any real hope of sneaking into Veldoon anyway.”

  “Not with an army,” Tala agreed.

  For a time the armies moved in a silent, hunched-over shuffle, as if waiting for a blow to fall. But after a time they began to relax somewhat, seeing that danger, while there, may not have been as imminent as they had first thought. In a way it made for great theatre, winged demons with a burning black cloud blazing behind them, and broke up the monotony of a long day’s march. The creatures remained at night, hidden by the darkness but outlined by an occasional flare of flame or lightning, their black eyes always turned to the camps below. Despite a strong guard being placed each night, sleep did not come easily, and as the days passed a weariness began to settle deep into the bones of Solek’s enemies. The very air seemed to grow oppressive—hot and heavy.

  Corson commented on these feelings one day. “I half wish those things would attack.”

  “But not really,” Demetrius replied with a knowing smile.

  “Not really,” Corson agreed. “But the waiting is starting to wear me down.”

  “It’s affecting everyone. We should reach the Saber Pass tomorrow or the following day. I doubt we’ll need to wait much past that time for Solek to make a move.”

  Corson smiled. “I guess I’d better be careful what I wish for, in that case.” He watched the winged creatures, those in flight tracing lazy circles before alighting again at a place further along the path of the armies’ march and taking up the constant vigil once again.

  * * *

  They had
left the Demon Hills behind, a stark marker of bad memories, and come into the fields before the Saber Pass, the gap between the Black and Gray Mountains directly before them. Through the pass was the menacing cloud that swirled and boiled, Solek’s bottled rage ready to be unleashed. Even the goblins, for all their bravado, were subdued by the sight. Mists had tracked them for three days now, so they moved swiftly, all chance of surprise gone. There was no need to increase the size of the guard at night—it was already large, with plenty of volunteers since the attack of the hill trolls.

  Alexis gave the cloud little more notice than she had given the Mists. She had come for war, and these were merely signs that Solek was prepared to give it. She rode proud and tall, and her horse, perhaps sensing his rider’s strength and resolve, strode forward fearlessly. Alexis knew her troops watched her, and she would give them no reason to think she was wavering in her chosen path, now nearing its end.

  Scouts returned with news of their allies moving to join them from the south, contact only a day away if they made for one another, less than two if they both moved toward the pass. “We can mark their progress from here,” one of the riders added.

  “How so?” Alexis asked, seeing no movement over the fields.

  The rider pointed to the peaks of the Gray Mountains, where dark, shadowy shapes could be seen. From where Alexis sat they looked like birds and she stated as much.

  “So they might appear,” said the rider, “but we are distant. Winged demons they are, and they stalk the southern armies.”

  “These demons do not attack?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Just like the Mists with us,” she mused aloud. “The Dark One wants us to know he knows where we are. But I’ll take the fact that he stays his hand as a good sign, whether it is so or not. If he could take us now, before we join with them, he would. Since he does not, he cannot. A reminder that he is not all-powerful.” She came out of her reverie, to see the scout staring at her wide-eyed. “But still a formidable foe,” she added. “Tell our goblin friends what you have seen. We will keep on for the pass, and join with our southern friends at the foot of the mountains. There we will decide how best to proceed.”

  The rider bowed and rode off to carry out her assignment. Alexis watched the distant shadows moving on the mountains, and saw that they indeed only moved north when changing their position. She smiled a soft, hopeful smile.

  * * *

  The armies came together two days later, less than a day’s march from the Saber Pass. They greeted one another—mainly as new allies, but in a few cases as old friends, while above them the Mists and winged demons watched. The storm over Veldoon still raged, the cloud flashing now and again with red-tinged lightning.

  It is natural that when main forces of such bodies merge, the leaders come together to confer—to share news and make plans. This was Alexis’ duty, of course, and she had with her the goblin chiefs and Lucien. She had hoped the leaders of the other factions moving from the south would bring her quest companions along, so that she might greet them again. She was happy to see that the Corindor and Elven leaders did so, but was surprised to see Rowan alone for the Delvish. She spoke to the others first, and then moved to him, wanting to embrace him but feeling she could not—not here and now. She was queen and leader of Lorgras. “I am glad to see you well,” she said.

  “And I, you, my lady of Lorgras,” he replied.

  “The duchess?” Alexis asked warily.

  “She’s fine…well, as fine as could be expected, but she wanted no part of leading troops in the field.”

  “Then who—?” Alexis began to look past Rowan, as if someone would materialize there.

  Rowan’s only reply was an awkward smile. He looked away, embarrassed by the pride he felt was showing through his poor attempt to mask it.

  Alexis saw his expression, and understood. “The duchess chose well.”

  “I am not of royal blood.”

  “That matters little now, here in this place and time. We need leaders, not figureheads. The duchess understood that.”

  Rowan gave a small bow. “I am flattered. We have been fortunate to make it here with minimal loss.”

  “As we all have, I’m sure,” said Alexis.

  Before they could say more, Deron called for their attention. “We are all well met here my friends, a last alliance to save Arkania.” He looked them over, men and goblins and dwarves and elves, their eyes bright, their faces strong and stern. “I regret it has taken this to bring us together.”

  The others nodded and sounded their agreement, but Deron’s eyes found his daughter’s and there she saw something more: regret certainly, but perhaps an apology as well. He had remained apart from the rest of Arkania for too long, and his people with him, had started to get comfortable with the thought that the elves, in their secret place, were somehow above all the schemes and plans of the rest of the world. Now he understood differently. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  “So now we are here,” Deron went on, “ready to oppose Solek one last time, to defeat him or to yield our world up to him if we fail. Am I correct to think all know of the Sphere?”

  They did, but many asked to see it. Tala stepped forth and slid it from the bag. The hole left by the missing shard seemed a jagged wound. No one dared to touch it, choosing only to gaze upon it in silent wonder. When they were satisfied she hid it once again.

  “Such a small thing to put all our hopes in,” said Joss.

  “But made of wondrous material, the like of which I’ve not seen before,” said Gellan. “There’s magic about it, no doubt.”

  “Are we sure we can’t defeat Solek by force of arms?” Destan asked.

  “It is possible to kill Solek,” Deron replied, “but not to hold the Dark One. It is he who must be taken, if we are to reclaim our world.”

  “Both taste goblin warblades,” stated Xoshan.

  “I hope you are right,” said Rowan. “But we will have many battles before we get that chance.”

  “And other obstacles to overcome that weapons will not help with,” said Alexis. “I have seen the evil magic our opponent is capable of. For this we must be ready.”

  “We hope we can help with that,” said Deron. “Some of my people are skilled in the magic arts as well. They are old and wise, and would be of little use with a bow or sword, but they are here to do what they can. Even so, Solek has become powerful beyond what we once thought possible. We need to weaken him before we can assault him directly.”

  “My understanding was that that was the plan all along,” said Destan. “To absorb his blows and deal with a less formidable enemy when we meet him face to face.”

  “That’s right,” Corson said, meeting Destan’s eyes. It was he that had told Joss and Destan this would be the way of things. He hoped the others had proceeded under the same assumption. When he found that it was so, he let out a soft sigh of relief. One doesn’t convince generals to move an army under false pretenses and hope to be forgiven later.

  They talked for hours, making their plans, and then ate together, for the first and probably last time as a group. Afterward there were only a few brief exchanges, and then they parted to return to their own camps, in order to prepare their troops for the coming dawn.

  Demetrius and Corson lagged behind Destan and Joss, letting the two Corindor generals discuss strategy. They were little more than foot soldiers now, and it seemed odd to be playing a lesser role after all they had been through with the collection of the Sphere shards. They had each been offered a company to lead, and had accepted the honor. For Demetrius it was a position to which he was accustomed, to Corson a promotion of sorts.

  “Any concern about leading tomorrow?” Demetrius asked, sensing the meaning of his friend’s unusual silence.

  “Just that other lives might depend on my decisions. It’s one thing to be responsible for yourself, but for others…it kind of weighs on you.”

  “You never really get that out of your mind
. It’s actually a good thing. Their lives matter, and they need to know you know it. But death is inevitable in war.” Demetrius sized Corson up and smiled. “You’re ready. Been ready for a while.”

  Corson looked away and muttered “Thanks.” When he turned back, he saw that Demetrius’ attention was focused squarely on the pass, shadowed now in the fading light of day. In the twilight the winged demons could be seen poised on the rocky ridges of the mountains that rose on either side of the Saber Pass. Beyond the pass was the black cloud, larger now, the red glow emanating from within, pulsing like a heartbeat.

  “Tomorrow is going to be interesting,” was all Demetrius said, his eyes never leaving the pass.

  Chapter 7: Saber Pass

  The Saber Pass was an anomaly in the mountainous wall that surrounded Veldoon where the sea did not. It was so named either because it appeared as if some giant or god had cleaved the opening in the mountains to allow passage in and out of Veldoon, or because the path itself went straight except for a bend near the Veldoon side, so that it was somewhat shaped like a saber. Possibly it was some combination of both. The pass was nearly thirty miles long, and though it appeared to be several miles wide, the least rocky and therefore easiest passage was a swath roughly a half-mile wide down the center.

  After much discussion the order of march had been decided upon. The elves would take the lead, at their insistence, expecting any magical attacks with which they were best prepared to deal would come from the far side of the pass. The goblins, always wanting the place of most danger and therefore most honor, had wanted to go in first, but reluctantly settled for the rear guard, in case the whole of the assembled armies was walking into a trap which would require an escape route to the rear be opened. This left the dwarven and the human armies with the middle places in the line, with little to do except watch for trouble on the cliffs that rimmed the pass. There was no safe way to traverse the pass, and they settled on the need to camp one night in it, rather than trying to race through it in one day, which would string them out even further, force them to start and end their march in the dark, and leave them exhausted at the far end even if they passed through unchallenged. Even so, sleep would be hard to come by with the enemy watching over them from the cliffs and peaks on each side, and it was expected that getting plenty of volunteers for the night watch would be easily accomplished.