The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere

by David Adams

  Lucien drew back his blade as if to strike, then stopped himself, realizing that he would do more damage to his companions than the creature with his warblade. With a scream of rage he plunged forward, reaching into the creature, hoping to grab one of the three held within.

  “Back, Lucien, or it will have you as well!” Tala shouted.

  He lunged away, just avoiding the fate she had described. The swamp monster advanced toward them, but more slowly, needing to keep the others contained.

  “Ready your blade,” Tala said, her face grim, then slowly relaxing as she closed her eyes. Her lips moved, mouthing ancient words.

  The swamp beast came at her, ignoring Lucien, who stood to one side, poised to attack. It sent a hammer-like column of mud at Tala, which slowed and then hung in place mere inches from Tala’s serene face.

  “Now Lucien!” she cried.

  The goblin struck the protrusion, his blade slicing through and sending it falling into the swamp. The creature howled, whether in anger or pain it was impossible to tell.

  It lunged at Tala, as fast as it had moved earlier. The quickness of the motion freed the three men it had held, its focus on the one it now feared.

  She spoke words again, only a whisper, bringing the full power of the spell to bear on the creature. She remained in place, eyes closed again, all her concentration on the spell. She could not retreat and attack at the same time.

  It was a simple race between beast and sorceress. To Lucien, the moment stretched out as he watched the drama unfold before him, unable to act until one of the combatants prevailed over the other. But it was only a moment, for that was all the time that Tala had.

  Lucien could see it, the hardening of the monster’s body, the solidifying that would allow his warblade to damage the creature again. He moved swiftly, unsure how long she could hold on, raining one crushing blow after another upon it.

  Where the blade fell, the creature’s body remained gouged. As slices crossed in its foul flesh, pieces of it fell away, dropping back into the swamp from which the monster had been formed.

  Like an experienced lumberjack felling a tree, Lucien bore down upon his task, forming a wedge in the thing’s side and then working the opening.

  “Hurry,” Tala whispered. She struggled to remain upright.

  Lucien could go no faster, but his work was efficient. Chunks continued to slough off the beast. Demetrius joined him, having regained his senses enough to add his sword to the effort.

  Muddy water began to seep from the wound like blood. They reached the thing’s breaking point, a soft creak indicating the beast was ready to topple.

  They leapt away after each took one last murderous swing at the monster. The top half of it leaned toward them, closing the gouge they had carved, but extending a tear completely across its body. The top continued on, falling with a splash and covering them anew with mud and foul water. Both halves began to melt away, and after a few seconds it was gone from sight, the surface of the swamp growing still.

  The silence was broken only by their ragged breathing. Rowan’s exhales had a hollow rasp, and he and Corson appeared to be propping each other up. Tala fell to her knees, exhausted, her chin just above the water’s surface. Lucien lifted her with a muscular arm.

  “Is it gone?” Demetrius asked.

  “Yes,” Tala said in a barely audible voice. She spoke to Lucien. “Take me to where it fell.”

  She still held the shard in a trembling hand, and now she summoned something from the small reserve of energy she had left. With her other hand she reached beneath the surface of the swamp. “Let me go,” she told the goblin.

  Lucien hesitated, then saw the steel had not left her gray eyes, regardless of how much strength had fled her body. He did as he was asked, and she slid beneath the surface, sinking from sight just as the creature had done.

  They waited in agonized silence, even their breathing held in check. Time slowed, the seconds stretching out.

  Demetrius was the first to speak. “Pull her up Lucien, she—”

  Rowan held up a hand. “Hold,” he commanded in a rasping voice.

  A delicate, clenched fist flopped weakly from the water. Lucien grabbed it immediately and yanked Tala up.

  She took several breaths to steady herself before she managed to lift her hands and open them for the others to see. In each was a piece of the Soul Sphere.

  “Well, that was easy,” said Corson, grabbing at his side as a jolt of pain hit him.

  “We need to find somewhere to rest and heal,” said Demetrius.

  “Swamp not good,” said Lucien. He lifted Tala, and she hung limp in his arms, no protest issuing from her lips. “I carry her.”

  They decided to go back roughly south, not knowing where the next shard might be and Tala far too weak to divine its location. None of them wanted to adventure further north into the parts of the swamp they did not know.

  “Food’s gone,” said Corson. “As is the water.”

  “Nothing we can do about that now,” Demetrius replied. He looked at Corson and Rowan. “We do need to be armed. We should try to find your weapons.”

  “Look fast,” Lucien said. “Want to be far away by night.”

  No one argued the point.

  * * *

  They managed to collect both swords and find Corson’s bow, although it was broken and he tossed it away. They covered several miles before darkness fell, and were grateful for a few close patches of solid ground upon which they could sleep. They were wet, cold, tired, and hungry, and in desperate need of baths, but they were alive and for that each gave thanks in their own way.

  Of their physical injuries Corson’s broken ribs were the worst, and even that was far from life-threatening. Rowan pulled at his shirt and rubbed his neck from time to time, but his near strangulation would soon be reduced to no more than a memory. Tala was exhausted from her deep use of magic, but she told them she would be well enough to travel on her own in the morning. Lucien and Demetrius were bruised—nothing more.

  Rowan knelt beside Corson, who rested against the gnarled root of a tall tree. “I might be able to help.” He met Corson’s eyes while he touched his shirt, then pulled it up to look at the injury after he received a nod of approval. A deep purple blotch marked the spot sufficiently, even in the fading light. Gently, Rowan placed his hand on the ribs, and then closed his eyes to focus. Healing power flowed from one man to the other.

  “It’s better,” Corson said when he was done. “Thank you.”

  “I only wish I could do more. It is not healed by any stretch of the imagination. You must be careful. I would suggest packing it in cold mud, but given our present state, I’m not sure it would matter.”

  Corson laughed, then winced. The injury was causing less discomfort, but Rowan was right, it wasn’t healed. “Not sure I’d let you put mud on me right now, anyway. I’ve seen enough of that for one day.”

  “Try to get some rest,” Rowan said. He left Corson and went to where Demetrius and Lucien were huddled, speaking quietly.

  Demetrius raised an eyebrow at his approach. “Do you still deny you are a paladin?”

  “I deny nothing. You may think of me any way you wish. I simply prefer to be called ‘Rowan.’ ”

  “Then ‘Rowan’ it will remain. And I thank you for helping him. Are you well enough for the watch? Lucien and I will do it if you need rest.”

  “I’m fine,” he answered, even as his hand slid toward his throat. He caught himself and forced it down. “I’ll take my turn.”

  The night passed slowly, the eerie silence so noticeable that it made them uneasy. More than usual, it was a great relief when morning came.

  Tala was correct about her recovery. She stood easily, without wavering, as soon as she awoke. Her face lacked the pale pallor that had come over it yesterday. Noticing the concerned looks of the others, she smiled and reassured them that she was fine.

  “What do to monster?” Lucien asked.

  “Froze th
e water in it. A parlor trick when the spell is learned, but a bit more difficult against what we faced yesterday. If it been a bit stronger, or a bit quicker…” Her words trailed off as she pondered what might have been. “No matter. It is over now. We should focus on our next step.”

  “Are you strong enough to find the next piece of the Sphere?” Rowan asked.

  She looked almost embarrassed. “Better to wait another day. I fear you may have to carry me again if I cast another spell so soon. Have we traveled back the way we came?”

  “In general, yes.”

  “Then we should keep on until we exit the swamp. Even if we need to move north again, we’ll make better time over solid ground, and we’ll need supplies.”

  “What of the pieces we have?” asked Demetrius.

  Tala reached into the pouch on her belt and a pocket in her pants, removing a piece of the Soul Sphere from each. She held them before her, as if weighing one against the other. “I am of two minds about these,” she stated.

  “How so?”

  “I would like to place them together, to be certain they will re-assemble and heal, as legend says they will. But I also would like us to keep the pieces separate as much as we can, perhaps even have different people carry them.”

  “In case something happens to one of us?”

  “In part. What I really fear is drawing the attention of the Dark One.”

  Rowan frowned at that. “He would know if we re-formed two of the shards?”

  Tala shrugged. “I do not know. Nor do I know if or when he may find that we killed one of his pets. He may know nothing, or he may already be sending his minions this way.”

  “That’s comforting,” Corson said, as he joined the others in looking at the surrounding terrain and the sky above, as if Tala’s words were notes of impending doom.

  “I say we put them together,” Demetrius said. “Before we face another test like the one we just had, I’d like to know the Sphere can be renewed.”

  “Agree,” Lucien said. “I will die if I must to defeat Solek, but not want to die for nothing.”

  Tala still hesitated.

  “We will draw his attention soon enough, I fear,” Rowan said. “Perhaps we can give him a reason to fear us as well.”

  Tala’s gaze turned to Corson. She wanted them all in one accord.

  “If it works,” Corson said, “maybe I can convince my ribs that it was worth the pain.”

  “Very well,” she sighed. She studied the piece in her left hand a moment, spun it around to line up with the one she held in her right, and then cautiously brought them together.

  The pale green glow that emanated from them increased and faded as they were drawn together, like a softly strumming heartbeat. As the two shards came together a brighter light illuminated the crack where they met, a yellow shimmer that blazed from inside both halves of the crystal. For an instant the crack shone as if the sun were behind it trying to peek through. When the moment passed, Tala studied the new object carefully. She tried to pull it apart, to bend it, to break it or twist it, but it resisted all such efforts. “It is one piece now, with no sign that there was ever a break.”

  They took a brief moment to congratulate themselves and wonder over it, and to give thanks. It was Demetrius whose face fell first.

  “So small still…” He had not intended the others to hear, but they did. He went on, sorry that he had attracted their attention. “The two combined make little more than a third of a hemisphere.”

  “Closer to a quarter,” Corson said.

  “We do not know the size of the other pieces,” Tala told them, hoping to lift their spirits. “And the lost shard King Rodaan had is said by legend to be the smallest.”

  “It is of no consequence,” Demetrius said, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt. “We have had luck and success so far. It is only a matter of how much more success we need to have.”

  “And how long until Solek doomed,” agreed Lucien.

  Chapter 3: Under the Mountain

  Two days later morning broke colder than any since they had set out, a harbinger of winter’s approach, still some sixty days away. While they were still a mess to behold, they had escaped the swamp, and had been able to catch some small game and find a few streams that provided drinkable water.

  “It is time,” Tala said, responding to the unasked question on each of their minds. Without another word she walked apart from the others, taking out the Sphere piece and settling into a meditative state.

  The others let her have her distance, but they watched intently, worrying over the occasional grimace that crossed her face. Whether these pained instances were from an effort of concentration or a foreboding of what they might face next, they did not know, nor would they ask.

  Once finished she rose, her legs unsteady beneath her. Demetrius was nearest and lent her an arm.

  “I will be fine in a moment,” she said. “Perhaps I had not recovered from the battle with the swamp beast as completely as I thought.”

  They waited patiently while she composed herself. “We must travel next to the Stone Mountains, west of High Point, but not as far as Steeple Rock.”

  “Corindor,” said Demetrius, glancing at Corson. “Our home.”

  “What is the best way to travel there?” asked Rowan.

  “I would go west from here to the Snake’s Tongue River, then follow it north to High Point. There is a decent road from High Point to Steeple Rock, so we can use that as far as possible. This is all assuming the Dead Legion allows us to travel in the open.”

  “Good way to start,” said Lucien.

  They reached the Snake’s Tongue three days later, having accepted the hospitality of a few of the farmers that remained in the sparsely populated area. They had cleaned themselves and their clothes as best they could, now had enough food and water to last a week or more if they were careful with it, and some extra clothing and blankets to fight off the biting wind that swept down from the north. Of the events elsewhere in the world they heard little—rumors of the Dead Legion overwhelming all of southern Corindor, and attacks in the Westerland and Lorgras. The land here seemed reasonably healthy and the locals had not been harassed. Some were dismissive of the rumors and wary of the travelers, eyeing Lucien with undisguised distrust or fear, but others were more in touch with what was happening and realized that even in these areas distant from civilization they would not remain safe forever.

  A farmer who had identified himself as Toppin listened to their story with a stony expression but had offered them shelter and a meal. In the morning he had surprised them with a gift—a strong, black colt. “He’ll carry one of you, or your supplies,” he said simply. “Sorry I don’t have much else to give.”

  “You have given much,” Demetrius told him.

  “Might as well give it those who mean well. I see your weapons, and I know you could take the horse and more—not that I’m saying you would. You seem honest enough. My boys went off to join Rodaan’s army two years back, and I see two of you wearing the colors, and I...” He took a moment to compose himself. “I figure the best chance of seeing them again is by helping to fight the Dark One. I’m not much with a sword, but I’m guessing you are, and the horse will help you get where you’re going, that’s all.”

  They traveled northeast, following the river, which flowed swiftly in the other direction. Demetrius and Corson had told them boats would do them little good—not that they had easy access to such transportation—and they were proven correct.

  Lucien eyed the river as they turned north, guessing it was a quarter mile across. “To cross, where is bridge or ford?”

  “The bridge at High Point is the only true bridge,” said Corson. “There are a few places where one can get across using rocks and only be soaked to the waist.”

  “And closer to High Point there are traders who could shuttle us across on rafts or small barges,” Demetrius added.

  Rowan pondered this information. “Well, we coul
d swim if we had to.”

  Demetrius laughed. “I can tell you’re a military man. Worried about being caught in the open with your back to a river.”

  “And badly outnumbered if it’s the Legion doing the catching.”

  “Not good to swim,” Lucien said, his words hard-edged. “Current too fast.”

  “Let’s hope it’s an option we’re not forced to consider,” said Demetrius.

  The next two days passed easily, the aches and exhaustion from their time in the swamp starting to fade, even Corson’s rib healing nicely. The weather was kind, cold but clear. They traveled mostly in silence, their eyes searching for threats that might materialize at any time, their thoughts straying to what might be happening elsewhere. It was hardest on Corson and Demetrius, who walked in their own land but who were still far away from where their comrades in arms had last been—far to the south.

  Like an ill omen, deep gray clouds filled the sky on the third day of their journey along the Snake’s Tongue. They had not gone far when the land began to change again, the colors washed out, just as they had seen in Delving. Rowan asked about it, to be certain the others were seeing what he did.

  “It is wrong here,” Demetrius confirmed, “as if the land is sick. The Dark One’s foul magic, no doubt.”

  “Must be careful,” said Lucien. “If Legion came this way, we may find them.”

  “Or they us,” Corson added.

  They approached High Point near dusk, the world darkening as the sun, hidden still behind clouds, set behind the Stone Mountains, which formed the city’s backdrop. A few lanterns were visible, indicating the city was still inhabited, at least to some extent. Demetrius and Corson studied the city while the others gathered around them.

  “What do you think?” Tala asked.

  “I haven’t been here in years,” said Demetrius. “But the city has been attacked, as you can all see—the wall was breached and some of the buildings are ruined. The repaired breach tells me two things: the Dead are gone, as they have no need for a walled city, and whoever remains was either hurried or unskilled in the repair.”