The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard

by David Adams

  The wait was longer than expected, nearly two hours, but Rowan accepted it gladly, filled as it was with clean water to drink and wash with, and fruit and cheese that reminded him how long it had been since they had a meal with any flavor to it. Tala was anxious, and while she washed and drank, her food remained untouched. After a time Lasha allowed her daughter to be alone with her own thoughts, and passed the time speaking with Rowan, discussing his home and how the people of Delving fared, but avoiding asking what Tala had been doing since she had left Dol Lavaan, or what it was that they had come to speak to her husband about.

  Finally they heard the door open, and for a heartbeat all was silent save the soft footsteps coming into the entryway.

  “Go to him,” Lasha said to Tala.

  Rowan watched her go. She moved hesitantly at first, then with conviction. She ran the last few steps and fell into his arms, and they held each other for a few lingering moments, unwilling to let words interrupt the message a simple hug could convey. Rowan moved away to the left, out of sight, and so did not see when they parted that tears had moistened both of their eyes.

  Deron led his daughter into a small sitting room and took his ease, inviting her to do the same. “You are looking well,” he said.

  She looked at her dirty clothes and couldn’t help laughing. “I am in good health,” she agreed. “And you?”

  “Troubled in mind and spirit, but my body does not betray me, though I am getting on in years. I have no cause to complain.”

  Tala fidgeted nervously. “I do not know where to begin.”

  He offered a paternal smile. “At the beginning.”

  So she began her tale, from her first leaving Dol Lavaan until her return. He interrupted frequently to ask questions, but whatever feelings he had he kept well hidden behind a stoic mask. She concluded by telling him that Delving readied for war, that the other kingdoms, she hoped, were doing the same, and that the help of the elves would be invaluable if Solek was to be overthrown.

  “I understand,” he said as he rose. He paced about the room, staring off into nothing as the wheels of his mind turned. “Where is this Sphere now?”

  She held up the bag that held it in answer.

  “You brought it here!” he exclaimed with a scowl.

  “This is the cloaking bag I spoke of. The Sphere cannot be detected by magic so long as it remains inside.”

  “But our enemy has many spies, and most do not rely on magic. Do you not think the Dark One searches for it? If he finds it, he will send an army for it. To date, we have given him little reason to search for our city, our refuge. You may have changed that.”

  “It was a necessary risk.”

  “That is your opinion. It is one thing to run off and risk your own life, and wholly another to bring trouble here to your people and your home.”

  “And taking in the Ridonian refugees was not a risk?”

  “I did not wish to admit them.”

  “Father, that was a challenge, not a question. So, you would have preferred they died under Solek’s heel?”

  “No,” he said. He sighed and sat down, looking far older than even the gray hair on his temples hinted at. “Believe it or not, Tala, I wanted to help them, I just wish we could have found another way. Our city cannot long support so many, even with summer coming, and we cannot simply turn them out now. But mine has always been a voice of caution. There are many who think as you do, and I do not doubt we will march to war with the humans.”

  Tala pulled back as if slapped. “Then you will support this?”

  He smiled thinly. “I will not oppose it. I think it will destroy us, but I see no other viable action. You will speak to the council, and they will likely agree to go to war. The Ridonians—many of them—will do so as well.”

  “The Ridonians? I guess that makes sense, especially if they are refugees. But will they leave the safety of Dol Lavaan’s walls?”

  “For many of them, this city is no more than a prison.”

  “I have felt the same way at times.”

  “I know,” he said, laying a hand gently on her shoulder. “You did what you felt you had to do. I do not fault you for it. Actually, it is a source of quiet pride.”

  Tala fumbled for words. “I do not know what you would have me say.”

  “Perhaps that you have misjudged me as well. That I am not simply a stubborn male.”

  “I never said that.”

  Deron only smiled.

  “I have never doubted your love for me or our people,” she said. “If I spoke too harshly it was out of frustration or fear. I beg your forgiveness.”

  “That you do not need, as it was never withheld. But come, introduce me to your companion from Delving. Is it this Rowan you spoke of?”

  “It is,” she said with surprised look, knowing Rowan had been out of sight as they spoke. “But how did you know?”

  “News travels quickly, even into the Council chamber.”

  Rowan was caught off guard by the kindness shown him by Deron, and as he spoke to the elven leader Tala looked abashed, ashamed perhaps of the picture she had painted of her father. He took dinner in their home and was given a bed for the night, which he accepted with genuine gratitude. As he fell away to slumber, he tried to recall the last time he had had a real bed, and wondered when, if ever, he would have one again.

  * * *

  To his surprise, Rowan found himself making ready to depart just after the noon meal the next day. The Elven Council had convened to hear Tala at daybreak, and several Ridonians were allowed to enter into the hallowed chamber, something that would have been strictly forbidden a year earlier. Because of this, Rowan was allowed in as well, and just as he marveled at the delicate grace of the mighty hall’s architecture, so too he stood in awe of Tala’s impassioned pleas that the elves forsake the seeming safety of Dol Lavaan and go to war with the rest of Arkania. What would have fallen on deaf ears months before was now cause for action, the final warning of a storm that would eventually break on these shores as well. There was a time of spirited debate, of raised voices and accusations of foolishness, but in the end it was Deron himself, with no more than a silent nod, who set the vote in motion, and the Ridonian leaders quickly followed their elven hosts in the call to arms. Rowan’s joy at the decision was tempered by the knowledge that many of these elves would be struck down in the battles to come, and that this beautiful city might soon be no more if they failed. He had thanked his hosts and saddled his horse with a heart that was swiftly growing heavy, knowing that though he did not desire it, leadership of an army would soon be his, and he would send men and women, and even some he would call children, to their deaths.

  “You were not going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?” Tala asked.

  “Of course not, I—” He paused, noting that she led her horse, and that it was saddled. “Where are you going?”

  “With you, of course. To confirm the new bond between our peoples, and hopefully to be a symbol that Delving has friends in the coming fight.”

  “You father’s opinion on this?”

  “A quiet sigh was as much protest as I received. He knows he cannot ask me to wait here now. I have been too involved in this to sit out the rest of the game.”

  “Well, I won’t argue either. I’ll be happy for the company. Might take my mind off of how I’m to lead Delving’s troops.”

  “I thought that would be the main topic of conversation.”

  “As long as you have all the answers, that would be great.”

  “You are the leader, not I.”

  “Could have fooled me this morning. You should have seen your father’s face. I thought he was going to burst with pride, watching his daughter hold an audience like that.”

  Tala blushed, then hopped on her horse. “Let us go. Talking is easy. There is tougher work ahead.”

  Minutes later they rode through the city gates. Rowan glanced back as the doors swung shut, and Dol Lavaan seemed to vanish into thin
air. Suddenly, despite the she-elf that rode beside him, he felt very alone.

  Chapter 5: Fights and Fog

  Lucien petted his mount’s mane, and whispered softly into his ear. His voice sounded harsh as he did so, even to his own ears, goblin vocal cords not being meant for such delicate work. But the horse seemed to understand, and he nuzzled the goblin gently under the chin. A heavy sheen of sweat coated the steed’s body, and his breathing was still heavy, but Lucien knew if he remounted the horse he would be off again with all his strength.

  Even with such need for haste, Lucien would not have pushed the horses this hard. For three days they had ridden, going east, straight for the watchtowers of the Westerland, and Alexis had asked the horses to give heart, body, and soul to speeding them to their destination. Lucien did not doubt they would run themselves to death at her request, but she knew these horses better than he, so he let her command them as she saw fit.

  “We need to keep moving,” she said, glancing at the sun, which was slowly dropping in the west. “We might be able to reach the towers before nightfall.”

  Lucien gave the horse one last caress, then mounted him. Alexis turned and started off again, and in her face, as in her commands, he saw a glimmer of the High Queen of Lorgras. Her time to lead her people again was fast approaching, and the queenly mantle was beginning to settle once more upon her shoulders.

  An hour before sunset the watchtowers came into view, and a short time later the wall that connected them. Ancient they were, beyond the reckoning of many that now walked Arkania. They ran from the Wandering River in the north to the White River in the south. The early kings had built the towers and wall as a barrier first to wild men, and then to the goblins that inhabited the western regions of Arkania. The towers stood some seventy feet high, and the view from the top extended well out over the western half of the Great Plain. Between each a double wall ran, each forty feet high and spaced twenty feet apart. The breaching of one made the area between a death trap for invaders. In places the tops of the walls were connected by planks of wood or structures of stone, creating a road of sorts between towers, which were spaced at roughly mile intervals. Both towers and walls were made of great blocks of white or gray stone, and the toil needed to undertake such a project still brought gasps of awe to any looking upon the wall for the first time. Alexis and Lucien had each seen it before, but still they slowed at the sight of it, letting their eyes wander over the length of it. North and south it dwindled and vanished into the horizon.

  As they drew closer, they could see that the wall had been breached in several places, and that several towers had been damaged. Torches flickered in the upper regions of the towers, and here and there they could see movement—despite the signs of recent struggle, the towers were still manned with guards.

  There was no way to approach the wall unseen in the day, save by the negligence of those in the towers, and even at night a soft-footed person traveling alone would be hard-pressed to touch the base of the wall unchallenged. Alexis had her horse move closer at a slow gait, and asked Lucien to ride beside her with his cloak covering his head. “A goblin might receive an arrow rather than a verbal challenge, especially now.”

  As they drew near, she could see bodies in the rubble—goblins all, in various states of decay, all with their heads severed. “The Dead Legion,” she said. “This must be where the goblin dead passed into the Westerland to lay siege to Western City.”

  Lucien agreed. “Said among my people that wall cannot be taken when manned, unless one has great army and is willing to suffer great loss. Dead Legion can do what living cannot.”

  “The Dead can take a hundred arrows when trapped between the walls and keep going,” Alexis said, concurring. “The same would strike down fifty of the living.” She turned her attention back to the wall, and called out to the watchtower guards. “Hail Westerland! I am Alexis of Lorgras. I come with a vital request for help. I must speak to Duke Fallo.”

  The response was swift. “You may be Lorgrasian, but you ride with a goblin.”

  “So much for cloak,” Lucien muttered.

  Alexis ignored the comment and responded to the guard. “He is a messenger from his people. The goblins will join us in the fight against Solek.”

  “Look at the corpses strewn about the damaged wall,” the guard replied. “Goblins all. They assaulted the wall, and a great host then marched to Western City to lay siege to it. Our brave people defeated them.”

  “Were you in the city for this battle?”

  There was a pause. “I was here at the wall.”

  Several pointed comments danced in Alexis’ mind, but she swallowed them whole. Now was not the time, and as this guard blocked their path, she needed to remain in his good graces. “We were at Western City. It was besieged by the Dead Legion, not goblins.”

  “Dead or not, those that passed here were goblins.”

  “The dead of the goblin realm would be goblins,” she said, maintaining her patience. “But the city was attacked by dead humans as well, many of whom wore the colors of the Westerland.”

  The guard who had been speaking conferred with another before answering. “You say you were there. How did this come about?”

  “We sought the aid of the duke, and came upon the city while it was encircled. I say ‘we’ because Lucien, my companion, was there as well, as were riders from other lands. After the Dead were defeated, we took council with the duke. We have come to do so again. Our names would be known to him, and we are in haste.”

  Again the guards conferred. This time the other spoke. “I was in the city then, and you speak the truth about a band of travelers, although they arrived after the battle was won.”

  “ ‘After,’ ” Lucien grumbled in low tones. “We lifted that siege.”

  “Patience,” Alexis told him with a gentle smile.

  The second guard went on. “Tell me, if it was you that was there, which banner of the attackers was first to flee when the duke marched out.”

  Now it was Alexis’ turn to whisper. “This is it. The truth would be an insult if they do not know what really happened.” She cleared her throat. “None fled and the duke remained safely behind his walls. The Dead fell as one because their demon lord was slain by Lucien. After we met with the duke, he spared a hundred to leave the city and sever the heads of the fallen.”

  “I know nothing of this demon lord,” replied the guard, “but in all else you speak the truth.”

  “Then we can pass?”

  “You ask much, to have a Guard of the Towers allow a goblin to pass.”

  “And I will ask even more when I speak to the duke. A goblin army will soon march this way. My task is to explain why to the duke, and beg his aid in the coming battle with Veldoon. We could go around the wall and reach Western City through Lorgras, but it would add much time to our journey, and a goblin army could reach the wall before we would speak to the duke.”

  The guards pondered this in silence.

  Alexis went on. “The two of us are no threat to Western City. We will be challenged at the city wall as well. If we speak falsely, the duke will be on hand to say so. If not, he will desire we be admitted.”

  “That is true enough,” the guard said. “But a goblin…”

  “Evil times make for strange allies. The goblin army that comes might be the salvation of all the human realms.”

  “But letting this one past might be the end of me,” the guard replied.

  “This wall was placed to stop armies, not individuals.”

  The guards talked in hushed tones once more, along with two others that had appeared to listen to the conversation. They reached an agreement. “It is true we cannot keep you from the walls of Western City, only delay you and make you travel through other lands first. You ride Lorgrasian horses and your story holds true. You may pass. But if you are false, may the Dark One take you.”

  “He will take all of us if we fail,” Alexis answered.

  There were gate
s built into the wall at irregular intervals, but none here. The damage to the wall done by the Dead was significant, and they were able to lead their horses through with the help of a few wooden planks supplied by the some of the newer guards, who were dispatched to help the riders. They were young, Alexis noted, and despite the conversation that had just taken place, they clearly viewed Lucien with wide-eyed fear. To his credit, Lucien ignored the gawking stares and the chance to intimidate these young men—boys really—and the goblin simply passed through and offered a humble “thanks” for the assistance. Lucien allowed his eyes to venture downward only once as they crossed the rubble, seeing there the withering corpses and bones of the dead goblins Solek had used for his work. It was wrong that they had been left so, unburied, as if in warning to living goblins that the wall could not be passed without great loss. Something flamed inside him but he doused it, knowing the anger would be misplaced. There was no time for it now. Once through they remounted and rode off, neither sparing a rearward glance, but both sensing the lingering looks that followed them as they continued east.

  * * *

  They reached Western City early in the afternoon two days after they passed the wall. The land was empty, all the farmers’ homes or small villages they came across abandoned, and most showing signs of abuse—they assumed at the hands of the Legion. Whoever had survived the attacks had apparently fled for the presumed safety of Western City and its walls, and none had returned since the Dead had been overcome on the fields around the city.

  The riders were brought to a halt by a challenge from the city guard, and had much the same conversation as they had at the watchtower, but here the duke could be consulted, and they were admitted directly to his hall, where they had both been guests once before. They were led inside and seated at a table to the right of the duke’s throne, and there given a generous meal in which to partake while the duke finished other business. Their wait was a brief one, and they ate but little of what was placed before them. Extravagant it seemed, fresh bread, meat, and cheese, dried and fresh fruit, mead and cool, clean water, even a selection of sweets baked that day. It was enough for a dozen, and an excessive show of…something. Generosity? Wastefulness?