by David Adams
Rande’s ghost held his own head aloft to better see Jazda. This was too much for the sea captain, who mounted the nearest horse and fled, heedless to the calls of Rowan and Tala to stop.
“Should we go after him?” Tala asked. She made no motion to do so.
“No,” Rowan answered. “Though I fear he may harm himself in his flight, he could lead us all into peril if we pursue him. We need to speak to Rande further.” He turned back to the boy’s spirit, and studied him before speaking again. “Do you know who that was?”
“Jazda,” he answered, his tone neutral.
“How do you feel about seeing him again?”
“ ‘Feel’? I feel empty. Lost. I need to leave, but I cannot.”
“But what of Jazda?”
“He lives. I hope he continues to live. I wish for none to be trapped as I am. As we all are.”
“What binds you?”
“You know,” Rande said, and his eyes locked with Rowan’s. “He is gaining control of this place. He binds spirits here, both good and evil. He must be contained or returned to his own plane so that we can be freed.”
“And if we fail?” Rowan asked.
“Then none have hope, either living or dead, and he will travel to other planes and worlds and do the same. The struggle continues throughout time, as it always has and always will. Good is stronger, but evil can twist much to its advantage, and it burrows into men’s souls like maggots into dead flesh. You must prevail.”
“Is that why you have come here?” asked Tala. “To tell us this?”
“I know much I did not know while I lived. I speak with a voice more powerful than my own. I came here because I am drawn to those whose spirits touched mine. I came here because I can go nowhere else.” He looked east, where the clouds remained unbroken but where they lightened as dawn neared. “I must go. The night belongs to the spirits of the dead, the day to the living.”
“Will you return?” Rowan asked.
“I know not.” Slowly he faded, as the sun peered through a slender opening in the clouds. By the time the clouds had moved to cover the rising yellow orb once more, Rande was gone.
Tala rubbed her eyes, feeling a headache born of lack of sleep rising behind them. She wanted to talk about what they had just experienced, but she couldn’t decide where to begin, or what a conversation might add. She saw that Rowan had moved off to clean up their meager camp and ready the horses, so she pitched in to help.
When they were done, Rowan mounted up. “We’ll go east a bit,” he said, indicating the direction Jazda had fled, “but only for a time. We need to get on with our mission. If we can’t find him quickly, he’ll have to find us. Otherwise…”
“He is on his own,” she finished for him.
He nodded solemnly and rode off. She did not argue the point.
Both of them could see the tracks Jazda’s horse had made in his flight, the impressions still fresh in the soggy ground. Near mid-morning the rain stopped and the clouds started to break up. They crossed a small stream, stopping briefly to fill their skins, and then found the trail again on the other side. Soon after they came to a thicket and found Jazda there, his head bowed. His horse grazed a few yards off, flicking his tail contentedly.
As they approached, Jazda looked up. Tears streamed down his face and a sob racked his body. Tala knelt beside him, and Rowan followed her lead and did the same.
“He was like a son to me,” Jazda whispered. “And now—” Another sob choked off the rest of his words.
“We have all seen things no one should see,” Tala said. “It is not easy.”
Jazda nodded and blew out a long, slow breath, trying to steady himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have run off like that.” He got to his feet and called his horse. “Thanks for coming after me. We best be on our way.”
They departed, turning south, the Stone Mountains growing closer as the Aetos range faded in the distance. Rande’s ghost filled their thoughts, but neither Rowan nor Tala spoke of him, nor did Jazda ask what the boy had said. Rowan wondered how the sea captain would react if Rande returned that night. He prayed they would not find out.
The rest of the day passed without event. As the sun disappeared in the west they made camp and shared a small meal. They realized even the insubstantial food they were able to have might seem a feast when they reached Delving. It would soon be time to plant this year’s crops, but who would plant it, and would anything grow even if the farmers could work the land? They all had the same questions, but none wished to ask them aloud. They were dispirited enough as it was.
Jazda insisted on taking his watch, but was obviously relieved when he woke Rowan at the end of it. When it was Tala’s turn, Rowan shook her awake, then pointed to a second patch of trees some hundred yards from those under which they had sheltered.
“Do you see him?” he whispered.
“See who? Rande?” She studied the trees, then nodded. “Looks like he is hiding.”
“He’s been there for at least half my watch. I want to go talk to him, but I didn’t want to do so and leave the camp unattended.”
Tala understood. “I’ll keep an eye here.”
Rande’s ghost made no move to depart as Rowan approached. He held his head in front of his stomach with both hands, like it was some heavy, grizzly trophy. The eyes looked up to regard Rowan. “I wanted to stay away,” he said. “For Jazda.”
“And yet you are here. Are you compelled to haunt us?”
“I am drawn to you.”
“Is there something you wish of us?”
“Only what I have already said, that you release us from our bondage.”
“You know our task. Your presence only slows us, and if you are seen when we return home it will be taken as an ill omen.”
“I know. I am drawn to you, but not compelled. Tonight I stayed here, rather than entering your camp. Tomorrow perhaps I will stay away.”
“ ‘Perhaps’?” Rowan repeated.
“I will try. But I’m so…lonely.”
“You said there were others like you.”
Rande’s body moved as if he was nodding, but his disembodied head remained still. “There are more each night. Torn by foul beasts or ravaged by hunger. We are many, but we are all painfully alone. It is why I come to you. Being here starts to fill the void I feel, even if only a small portion. I long for something, though I know not what it is.”
“Your spirit longs to commune with the Great Spirit.”
“The Savior you spoke of?”
Rowan nodded.
“I have thought much about what you told me of him. I am still not sure I understand, or believe. But I did not think I had a spirit, and in that I have been proven wrong.”
“I do not claim to know all, either. I would not expect to see spirits prowling this land, though with the Dark One here…” He shook his head.
“Do you think those that serve him feel as I do? Lost? Alone?”
“I would think so. But then they bury those feelings under malice, rage, and evil. No amount of pain they can inflict will ever satiate their bottomless emptiness. The cruelty the enemy is capable of is beyond the understanding of men. We can be driven by revenge, hatred, or lust for power or wealth, but eventually time will cool our fiercest passions, and remorse and regret for our actions may stay our hand from further ill deeds. We will eventually wonder why we never seem to have enough of whatever it is we seek. The Dark One, I think, knows he can never be fully satisfied and his willingness to deal out pain is endless. I fear when he wrings all he can from the world he will move on—to another plane as you called it. He feeds on fear, misery, and death, and once he has drained the life from Arkania, he will do the same elsewhere.”
“I thought you believed Arkania was the only world.”
“I did. But I thought about what you said, and all I have seen and experienced, and now I think otherwise.”
“Has this weakened your faith?”
Rowan
smiled softly. “I know there is much I do not know. My faith, if anything, is stronger, and my desire to destroy the enemy and foil his plans all the greater.”
“That is well then.” Rande lifted his head up and placed it on his neck. “May your god go with you. I will try to trouble you no more, but my hopes will go with you.”
“I hope you find peace,” Rowan said, lifting an open hand in blessing.
Rande turned and walked away, moving out of the trees and across an open field. Rowan continued to watch him. Well before the specter moved out of sight, he simply faded and vanished.
In hushed tones Rowan gave the particulars of his conversation with Rande to Tala. She listened intently, and when he was done asked, “Do you think he will be back?”
“I’m not sure. He will try to stay away, but whether he’ll be able, or for how long, no one can say. He is much changed already. The shell he spent his life inside of is dissolving.”
“We should not speak of this to Jazda. Not yet anyway.”
“I agree. And Rande was trying to stay out of Jazda’s sight. He knows how hard this has been on the man.”
“You’d better get some sleep. We have another long day tomorrow.”
Rowan sighed and did as he was told.
* * *
Their travel was slower over the next few days. Open space was harder and harder to find, and the brambles and thickets were more frequent and dense. The heavy rains had left the ground muddy, further hindering the horses. It took four days to reach the foot of the Stone Mountains, whereas if they had traveled on a road they would have needed only slightly more than a day. During the passage of the four days Rande had paid them no more visits.
The setting sun cast a ruddy glow on the western edge of the mountains, but the eastern end of the range was all slate gray and dark shadows. The Little River would be in sight before noon tomorrow, and once across it they would be in Delving, home for Rowan and Jazda. The realization of how near they had come to his land made Rowan decide to broach the subject of home with Tala.
“You have said nothing lately of the Eastern Forest, and our path has curved away from it for days now.”
“I know. I want to see what success we have in Delving before I return. It will take time to organize and march an army north. I can go ahead to speak to my people then.”
“Well, I can’t argue with your logic.”
They rode on in silence for a time. Tala took a couple of furtive glances at Rowan, who seemed content to let matters lie, but she sensed something was being left unsaid. “If you have more to say, please say it.”
Rowan shrugged. “It will take time for an elven army to prepare to march to war as well. But I suppose you feel your people will not fight.”
Her face grew hard. “My father will convince himself that what is happening is between men. He will wish us to stay safe behind our walls within our wood.”
“Safe for a time maybe, but not forever. The Dark One’s gaze will eventually fall on the elves.”
“I know that. And if my father will not listen…”
“You can only do what you can. In time, if we fail, Solek will have your father’s full attention. For my part, I will go with you to your people, if you wish it. And if it is allowed.”
“I would welcome your company. As far as it being allowed…” Tala laughed to herself. “That decision will be mine, and one I’m sure my father will disapprove of, as he has with many things. But better you than Solek or his armies.”
“It is decided then. We will have the Sphere to show, to help convince him. I hope we are able to say a Delvish army marches as well.”
The sun sank behind the mountains, which loomed now dark and forbidding. Beyond, Delving fell into shadow, barren and silent as an empty grave.
* * *
After a hard ride they reached the Salesh war camp. Rough tents were the only shelter, there being no time to dig burrows or caves in which the goblins preferred to dwell. Small groups of warriors cooked small meals over two dozen campfires. Around the camp, heads of fallen Omwee stood atop pikes. Lucien and Alexis now knew who won the battle whose remnants they had come across.
The scouting party drew only casual glances as first, and then longer looks as Alexis and Lucien, because of the colors he wore, were noticed, but the goblins soon returned their attention to their own personal business. They had little interest in the two newcomers, who would likely either be off with the rising sun or have their heads join those of the Omwee as camp decorations.
The group came to a stop, and Lucien and Alexis were told to dismount and sit on the ground. The large goblin who led the scouting party ordered that food and water be brought, and then loudly commanded in the common tongue that the prisoners be killed if they tried to escape. After giving them a knowing look, he marched off, stopped to talk with two goblins that stood outside a small tent, and then went inside.
Lucien noted with some approval that Grosh’s tent was not the largest, nor was it central to the camp. “Largest tent easy target to find,” he said to Alexis in hushed tones, “but many choose it—for honor. If Grosh make decisions with mind and not ego, we have fair chance.”
A small platter of food was dropped on the ground before them, some of its contents spilling into the dirt. Two mugs of water were handed to them. Lucien took some of the food that had left the plate, brushed it off and ate it. With the hand that held the mug he indicated the plate of food to Alexis and nodded. She followed Lucien’s lead and quickly learned it was meat of some sort, cooked and covered with a pungent gravy. She had had worse fare, although she had no interest in finding out what it was they were eating.
They were summoned before they had finished. At the entrance to the tent they were told to leave their weapons, and then they were searched by one of the guards, who were nearly as large as Lucien. Once deemed clean, they were told with a grunt to go inside.
The interior was just as simple as the exterior, only a group of rough-hewn wooden chairs for furniture, a small fire pit, and an old wooden chest that likely held Grosh’s personal belongings. Four goblins were in the room. The leader of the scouting party stood at attention behind three chairs, upon which three goblins sat. On the left was as large a goblin as Lucien had ever seen. His warblade, which rested upon his knees, was brown with dried blood. He wore a purple and green sash in addition to the uniform common in the camp, a sign of some honor or office. He gazed at the visitors with a cool confidence, trying to guess their business, a subtle challenge just under the surface of his expression. On the right, a smallish goblin sat erect, his fingers tapping anxiously on his legs. He studied the newcomers with scholarly attention, taking in every detail. In the center was a goblin of medium size and advanced years. His muscles in places had run to fat, but there was a strength in the eyes that belied any thought that he was weak. He leaned forward expectantly, but whether he hoped for information, a good tale, or good sport they could not guess. It came as no surprise when this one introduced himself as Grosh.
To Lucien’s relief, Grosh had addressed them not in the goblin tongue, but the common. Another good sign. “I Lucien. This Alexis from Lorgras.”
Grosh waded in immediately, not bothering to name the others present. “I am told you, Lucien, were sent on a quest to find allies to fight Solek, and that Alexis and her people you would so name.” His command of the common tongue impressed Alexis.
“Found allies. Fighting I return to speak of. Lorgras prepares. Others go to Corindor and Delving. I must see if goblins will fight.”
The large goblin growled at what he took as an insult. Grosh hushed him. “I take your meaning well enough, Lucien. Will we fight as one race? The problem is that we now battle one another. A sudden alliance may be much to ask.”
“But ask I must.”
Grosh smiled. “I doubt Durst has given you current authority to seek out alliances with the other packs, if you have been away as long as I am told.”
Lucien bowe
d ever so slightly. “Apologies. I do not mean to treat for Durst without approval, and conflict between packs started after I gone.”
“Tell me your tale, Lucien. Then I will decide what should be done.”
Lucien did so, with Alexis’ help. The large goblin’s eyes grew as they spoke of various battles, and the smaller listened without expression, no doubt searching for any detail by which he might catch them in a lie of some sort. Grosh leaned back and took it all in like he was being entertained by the pack storyteller. When they finished he said, “Interesting,” and then he took some time to ponder what he had heard. No one dared break the silence until Grosh deemed it was time to do so himself.
“So,” he said at last, “all Arkania is to rise up against Solek. Men, elves, dwarves, and goblins together. A final battle, as it were.”
“That is idea,” Lucien replied
“A fascinating concept for an alliance. But who will rule when it is finished, assuming Solek can be defeated?”
“Each their own realm, as before.”
“And Veldoon?”
“Not considered that. Not for me to decide.”
“But others will consider it, and will have their own ideas. Some among our kind, assuming we can unite against this common foe. I doubt all would agree to one solution.”
“But if Solek wins we all fall, every pack. By comparison goblin squabble seem petty.”
Grosh laughed. “Spoken like one who has been away on a great quest.”
“And what packs fight over this time? Insult to honor? Access to watering hole?”
The large goblin bristled at this challenge and started to rise, but Grosh waved him back to his chair. He regarded Lucien coolly. “Honor, power, money, land. Wars have been fought for many things. We fight for survival. This land cannot support us all anymore.”
“I guess all packs not reach this conclusion at same time.”
Grosh shrugged. “Every war has its first attack. It matters little who started it once the battle has been engaged. Your blade has tasted blood. You know this.”
“I do,” Lucien said. “I not here to question why packs fight, though I wish it were not so.”