The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard

by David Adams

  They started just after dawn, the elves followed by the mounted Lorgrasians, while the others prepared to fall into line when the time came. The winged demons simply watched from the peaks, the occasional fluttering of their wings reminding those below that they were not gargoyle statues, but rather living creatures. Three Mists hovered over the entrance to the pass, making neither sound nor motion toward the armies below, silent sentinels on an unceasing patrol.

  As the elves advanced, they noted that the number of winged demons was increasing, and that they now lined both sides of the pass from the entrance to as far forward as they could see, although their numbers were still dwarfed by the assembled armies making the passage, who were over thirty thousand strong. If this assembled strength of Arkania was only fighting the living in Veldoon they would have been a formidable force, and the sight of them streaming into the pass would have given many an enemy pause. But Solek commanded more than just the living, and none who marched knew whether they had the numbers to make Solek quake, or simply enough to be a nuisance that the Dark One would easily brush aside.

  It was past noon before the goblins could march into the pass, and several hours beyond that before the rear guard could turn and look over their shoulders to see the walls of the pass behind them as well as ahead. The walls appeared to close in quickly as they went forward, and the opening at the entrance seemed an empty void, begging to be filled by some enemy.

  Elves are light of foot and can move swiftly at need, and many of the Lorgrasians behind them were mounted. They checked themselves often, making sure they did not leave any large gaps in the line, though something inside urged them to hurry, to move through this place as quickly as possible. As the sun started to fall in the west, shadows stretched across the pass, and the watchers above were silhouetted against the sky, detail fading until they were simply menacing, dark shapes. A sound came then, a high wail that chilled them to their core. Only the wind, they soon realized. Somehow that fact didn’t bring much relief.

  The high walls brought darkness earlier than what they had experienced on the open plains. Still, the elves felt they had covered well over half the length of the pass—closer to three-quarters, they thought. They pushed on a bit further, their sharp eyes letting them see even as the night shadows deepened. The wind howled continually, masking any sounds that might alert them to danger. Finally even they found it difficult to see well enough to travel safely, and realizing it would be worse for their allies, they called for the day’s march to end.

  The wind was a constant companion as the deep of night fully descended, a scream that sometimes faded but never died. Sleep came hard that night for all but the hardiest soul.

  Dawn finally arrived, and upon first inspection little had changed. The wailing wind still assaulted their ears, and the winged creatures and Mists maintained their vigil. But to the east, the rising sun was hidden by cloud, and not the deep black rimmed with red they had started to grow accustomed to. Instead, a lead gray blanket covered half the sky, the front of it straight as a razor’s edge and moving toward them swiftly.

  It troubled all who gazed upon it, but none more so than those Corindors who had suffered the assault at Mill Harbor. Demetrius and Corson had both been there and the younger man was first to see the cloud. He pulled at Demetrius’ sleeve, choking back a curse.

  Demetrius swiveled his head left and right, confirming that the walls of the pass had indeed remained in place during the night. He gauged the speed of the approaching storm. “No way can we outrun it back. We’re trapped here. Get a group of riders to spread the word forward and back. Look for overhangs, caves, anything that might be used as shelter.”

  Corson’s face, already glum, dropped further. “I don’t recall seeing much like that yesterday. Certainly not enough for all these armies.”

  Demetrius mounted his horse. “If you can come up with a better idea, pursue it. In the meantime, see what can be found.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To warn the elves.”

  He reached the front quickly, many of the troops mesmerized by the advancing storm and doing no more than milling about uselessly. He asked for Deron and Tala, and was directed to the very front of the elven forces. When he got there he found father and daughter conversing confidentially, while three of the elven elders were some distance ahead, facing the coming maelstrom.

  As soon as Tala saw Demetrius, she correctly concluded that this was the same atmospheric event he had described in his tale of the fall of Mill Harbor. “We thought as much,” she said after he confirmed that she was correct. “Some kind of acid fell from it?”

  “Yes.”

  Deron called ahead to the elders, a short burst of information conveyed in elvish. If they heard him they gave no sign, but he seemed satisfied that his message had been received.

  “I’ve got riders spreading the word to look for shelter,” Demetrius said, “but that’s a slim hope.”

  Deron agreed. “Our hope is there,” he said, motioning to the three elves, who now looked more old and frail then ever. It seemed the wind driving the storm was likely to blow them away. “Solek timed it well. We can only hope our own magic can stop his.”

  “What are they trying to do?”

  “They will attempt to shield us with defensive spells. We elves are strongest at that type of magic—defensive. We cannot hope to split the storm or dissipate it or otherwise drive it away—that would be pitting our strength directly against the Dark One’s, and I fear we would use all our energy in the attempt, and probably fail regardless. But once the drops fall from this cloud, they are no more magical than a regular rain, though far more deadly. Against the rain, not the cloud, we have a chance.”

  “And if they fail?”

  Deron gazed at him solemnly. “Then I hope your scouts find a very large, deep cave.”

  They did not have to wait long. The wind they had heard since they entered the pass drove the storm hard, and the front raced at them. If they had tried to turn and flee…maybe a few on swift horses might have had a chance, but even that was a dicey proposition. As the front neared them, Demetrius could hear the elven elders chanting. He did not understand the words, but they were spoken more loudly and with more urgency as the danger neared.

  The rain was visible now, a heavy sheet that covered the pass entirely and lumbered toward them, leaving no gap, no small hole through which they could hope to escape. It kicked up small clouds of dust where it first struck dry ground, and behind it small rivulets worked their way down the walls of the pass, combining to make small streams and waterfalls depending on the nature of the rocky cliff face. Above, the winged demons flew away, cackling and laughing—the first noise they had emitted. The Mists remained, apparently safe from the foul liquid their master had sent to kill those in the pass below.

  The wall of water came at the elven elders, who stood their ground with hands lifted and voices raised. Just before it reached them it seemed to lift from the ground in a small but widening arc. As the front advanced the arc grew and covered those gathered in the pass, an invisible bubble protecting them from the deadly rain. Heads were uplifted to see the rain pour down and then roll aside, like watching a storm from under a glass roof. And like glass, the roof was fragile. No sooner had those below felt relief than they were gripped again with fear, such was the volume of liquid that fell, the sound like the thunder of the sea. If the elven magic failed, their lives would end.

  The storm moved faster than word of what was happening. The protection outpaced the storm, carrying as far back as the goblins. Even without a full understanding of what was passing overhead, none doubted the foul source and nature of the storm, which could be deduced from the flight of the demons and the way the horses screamed and kicked as the front arrived and passed.

  Demetrius stood silently, his eyes drawn away from the rain and to the three elders. Their voices trembled now and again, and he thought he saw one’s knees buckle. He started forward
to help him stand, a reaction rather than a decision. Deron blocked him with an extended arm and a shake of his head. The elders, lost in a spell trance, should not be disturbed.

  The storm’s end appeared in the distance, a line as precise as the front. It came on quickly, but the rain itself did not lessen or abate, and each passing second seemed an eternity. Demetrius could almost feel the strain the elvish mages were under, waves of raw energy emanating from them in steady pulses. He wished he could help them, to take on some of the burden, but all he could do was stand by helplessly and watch, for him the worst possible fate.

  As the end of the storm passed, he let out an audible sigh of relief, but there was no such relief for the elves. Understanding, he turned, watching the storm recede into the distance. They were safe here at the front, but those in the rear were still in need of protection. Even after the storm had gone from sight and the sun started to warm the pass from a rare clear sky, the elders held on, their voices fading, their limbs trembling. Without warning all three collapsed, a signal that the danger was over or that their combined will had finally been broken.

  Deron, Tala, and several other elves rushed to the fallen mages. Demetrius approached more cautiously, curious but suddenly feeling out of place. As the elves ministered to their fellows, Tala stepped away to talk to Demetrius. “Sharest and Adiel will be fine, with enough rest. Roldon…”

  “Will he live?”

  “It is too soon to tell. And we must move on now.” She pointed to the Mists, already fading from view as they raced back across Veldoon. “We want to be clear of the pass before Solek launches another attack. We hope he is as drained as our elders, but we cannot rely on that. My father asks that you pass the word back. We will have to sacrifice caution for speed.”

  Demetrius mounted up. Before he left, he asked, “And what of them?” indicating the elders. “Won’t moving them make things worse?”

  “We have no choice,” she replied, confirming his concern.

  There was one bit of magic still to be used, though few would know of it. Deron, alone, led the combined forces of Arkania, walking twenty paces before the main army and casting a simple spell as he went to push the occasional puddles of acid aside, clearing a safe path. Most of the rain worked its way into the ground well before Deron arrived, leaving a dry surface and doing unknown damage to the soil.

  Of what Solek was doing or thinking there was no sign. Neither the Mists nor the winged demons returned, and the sky over Veldoon remained crystal clear, the pure blue seeming out of place in this harsh land. If the travelers had time to ponder these things they might have taken them for signs of good or ill, each according to his own mindset, but they were too hurried, and were simply happy to be unhindered and unopposed.

  The last vestiges of the acid rain were gone well before they reached the end of the pass, so when Deron stepped into Veldoon proper, he surveyed the place with Tala and several others by his side. A rocky path wound its way from the end of the Saber Pass into the heart of Veldoon, an ancient road formed by nature, which split a scruffy field of grass. It surprised no one that the grass itself was a vile yellow, oddly bright, like an active infection. They were hesitant to step on it, wondering what it might leave on their boots and feet, wondering what kind of foul crop might grow in such a land. The air held a bitter, acrid smell.

  The elves continued down the path, but it soon narrowed and then vanished all together. Deron dropped from his horse, kicking at the grass with the toe of his boot. It had a wet, spongy feel to it, but he determined it would do them no harm. “More of the sickness we have seen,” he stated.

  “Just closer to the source of the disease,” Tala added. She dismounted as well and led her horse into the sallow field. She was relieved that he followed her willingly.

  Once the mouth of the pass was a mile or so behind them, they began to fan out, following their plan to move in a straight column only when forced to do so, knowing attacks could come from any direction at any time. The elves stayed front and center, but the others formed to the left and right, though slightly more to the rear with each new group, such that from above they moved in the rough shape of an arrowhead, with the elves at the point. These positions had been taken up while the sun drifted lower in the west, and they would spend the first night in Veldoon camped in the formation in which they planned to travel.

  Word of what had happened in the pass—the danger of the rain and the salvation provided by the protective bubble—now found its way throughout the assembly. Rowan was the first of the leaders to arrive at the elven camp and inquire about the elders. He had spoken to Demetrius personally, so he had been given a first-hand account of what had transpired, and though he was told their was little he could do to help the elven mages, he prayed over them, and looked each in the eye as he offered his thanks.

  Tala watched him from a distance, only approaching as Rowan moved away from the stricken elves. “There is power in your words,” she said. "I could see the life slowly returning to them, even as you spoke.”

  “The power is not in the words or in me,” he said in humility. “If I can serve as a vessel, though, I am honored to do so.”

  Uncertain how to respond, she changed the subject. “Casualties?”

  “None in my group,” he said. “A few burned feet here and there I’ve heard. A few broken bones from trying to settle the horses was the worst of it.” He paused, then added, “Thanks to your people. I don’t want to think about what condition we’d be in now if not for these mages.”

  “Then do not. We are in this together. Our skills, if we are lucky, will compliment one another’s. It is our best hope for victory.”

  Alexis arrived then, unmistakable on her great white Lorgrasian horse. Lucien rode behind her, a constant escort now. They paid their respects to Deron and the exhausted elders, Alexis with words and Lucien simply by his quiet presence, and then joined Tala and Rowan.

  “We survive another day,” Alexis said, “at what appears to be little cost to our main force. But what of your mages? Will they live?”

  “I believe they will,” Tala answered. “The greatest danger is past.”

  “Will we have their services again?”

  “When they are able. They are spent now, but Solek must be equally drained.”

  Alexis was not so certain of the truth of that, but considering that they stood here in Solek’s territory and spoke to one another in perfect health, she was not going to gainsay it. “Are we completely without magical defense? You have—”

  Tala stopped her. “I have the skill of a child. My father has some of the art, as do a few others, but none planned for this to be a mage battle. We knew the Saber Pass was a grave danger, and a likely spot for an attack of some sort. It was mainly for that purpose that we wished the elders to be present, and we were fortunate. They have seen to our safe passage to this point, and have bought us time.”

  “That they have,” Alexis agreed.

  “Elves still need to march first?” Lucien asked.

  Tala pondered that. “I will speak to my father. It made sense in the Saber Pass. Here in the open…we still have keen eyes, and strong bows.”

  “But here we can use mounted scouts to great advantage,” said Alexis. “Perhaps we should take the point when we are ready to go forward in the morning. The flanking armies should send a cavalry screen out as well. Let us go speak to Deron.”

  * * *

  Demetrius and Corson sat with a small group around a modest campfire. They had no concerns about giving their position away—all were sure the Dark One knew exactly where they were. The question was what was he going to do about it, and when. They had cleared the pungent grass away as best they could, though any attempt to burn it was quickly aborted—it simply tried to kill the fire and gave off a thick, rancid smoke. They had made a small meal, no one needing to be told to ration the food or water. They were reasonably well supplied, somewhat by their own hands, more so by the stores of the elves, but n
o one knew if they would find acceptable food or drink while they were in Veldoon.

  The talk around the campfire was muted, the darkness oppressive and the mountains which now rose to their rear like a giant gate pressing in on them. They talked little about what had transpired or what was to come. The more one thought about those deadly drops of liquid, held at bay only by an invisible barrier over their heads, the more chills went down the spine and the mind questioned what they were doing here. It made them feel overmatched and helpless. Instead they talked of home, of happy times past, and of their hopes for the future.

  Corson let his eyes drift across the night sky, seeing the same constellations he had known since he was a young boy. He chuckled to himself.

  “What is it?” Demetrius asked.

  “The stars. Guess I thought they’d be different here, like Solek would have changed them too. I mean, I didn’t really ‘think’ it—I knew they’d be the same. But some deeper part of me just sort of assumed something would be different.”

  “I know what you mean.” He looked up at the summer sky, the blue-white stars blinking back at him. “Maybe it’s a good sign. Solek’s reach isn’t infinite.”

  “He’s not all-powerful either. He didn’t want us to collect the pieces of the Sphere, and he doesn’t want us here, yet here we are. The closer we get, the better I like our chances.”

  Demetrius nodded, but added, “Keep in mind the closer you get to the sword arm, the more dangerous the sword.”

  Corson laughed softly. “Always the optimist.” Seeing Demetrius rising to the comment, he held up a warding hand. “Don’t bother defending yourself. I know you’re right. But if our goal is to take the sword from his hand, we have to get close. We know it, and he knows it. He keeps trying to stop us, but we keep coming.” They sat in silence for a while before Corson asked, “Think he’s scared?”