The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere

by David Adams

  Demetrius was clearly surprised. “Then Solek has not attacked your people, even though the Eastern Forest lies in the shadow of Veldoon?”

  “No. But time will change that.”

  “But if he has already chosen to pass you by while he stretches his hand over more distant lands—”

  “Only to subjugate men first, for men would fight. We hide and wait, thinking our spells keep us safe, while the Dark One grows stronger each day. He will turn his attention to us soon enough. And then with bitterness will those of us reaching out to men be proven right.”

  She looked at him, her eyes fierce, her face set. Slowly her features softened. “I am sorry. I did not wish to speak so harshly.”

  “These are harsh days.”

  She changed the subject. “Corson seems a good man. And a good friend.”

  “I have known him since we were boys.” Demetrius laughed, remembering. “I was a few years older, and he followed me around when he was five or six like a lonely puppy. I put up with him more than anything else. By the time he was twenty-two and I was twenty-five, we were nearly inseparable, and have been since.”

  “It must be good to have someone like that, especially now.”

  “Is there no one like that in your life?”

  “Friends, yes. There was one…” She forced a smile. “New friends are something to be grateful for. Despite everything, I count myself lucky to be here. There are many who have not been so fortunate.”

  Demetrius nodded. “King Rodaan, for one.”

  “I take it he was a good king.”

  “He treated us all like men. His respect and love for us made us feel the same for him in return. If I could have died in his place, I would have gladly done so. My duty was to protect him and his lands.” He shook his head. “How am I doing?”

  “I’m sure you did all you could.”

  “Corson said the same. Kind words.”

  “More likely true words.”

  Demetrius kicked at a few stray rocks along the edge of the path. “We seem to be taking turns being gloomy.”

  “Perhaps we could use a bard to sing happy songs of days past.”

  “A bard, yes. If you heard me sing, you would only have another tale of woe.”

  They laughed together, and talked of happier things as they continued their journey north.

  * * *

  It was mid-afternoon when Corson came riding back to announce that the farmers had been spotted. The three moved forward to where Rowan waited, eyeing the group of locals. They advanced together, moving slowly and staying in plain view to avoid startling the group. A cluster of thirty or so huddled together, having an animated conversation. Back in the trees a makeshift camp could be seen, sheets used as tents and small fires cooking meager meals. A few carts held a handful of belongings, while worn-down horses and mules idly nuzzled the ground in a vain attempt to find nourishment.

  As soon as someone in the debating group of men spotted the approaching strangers, their conversation abruptly stopped. A tall, rotund man stepped forward and regarded the newcomers with open suspicion. A few in the crowd began to move toward the sides of the new arrivals, and although the farmers were unarmed in the traditional sense, they wielded hoes, picks, and other tools in a way that was not welcoming.

  Rowan looked the group over, and then dismounted. “I am Rowan, in the service of the lords of Delving. We come in peace.”

  “I’m sure you do,” said the man, his tone sarcastic. “As have the others that came before.”

  “I cannot speak for them. We have been told you have captured a spy. I was hoping to question him.”

  The man muttered something unintelligible, then made a weak attempt to seem more pleasant. “Indeed we have, though he denies it. Lying seems to be the norm these days.”

  “May we see him?”

  “First tell me who these others are.”

  “Tala, from the Eastern Forest. Demetrius and Corson from Corindor, both of whom serve King Rodaan, our ally and friend.”

  The man studied them one last time, then, unable to find a suitable reason to deny their request, waved for them to follow him.

  They passed through the crowd, which parted and then closed behind them. Guarded by four men and bound to a tree was a large goblin, taller by a foot than a normal man, broad in the chest and well muscled. He wore boots, pants, and vest, all of black leather trimmed in red, and his green skin nearly matched the moss that grew on the trees. They had tied his hands and feet with thin cords, and fastened him to the tree with several wraps of a larger rope around his chest and waist. He looked up as the party approached, taking in the newcomers with a neutral expression.

  Rowan and Demetrius exchanged a few quick words before Rowan turned to the farmers’ spokesperson.

  “How did you come to capture him?”

  “He came upon us. Our camp that is. Me and a few others disarmed him and took him prisoner.”

  “You disarmed him? Was he carrying a warblade?”

  “That he was.” His chest puffed out a bit as he signaled one of the others to come forward with the weapon—a central wooden staff with a curved steel blade at each end.

  “Did he put up much of a fight?” asked Rowan.

  “Not much. Likely saw he was outnumbered.”

  The goblin let out a derisive snort. The man nearest him gave him a soft kick, then backed away quickly when he received an angry glare in response. The fact that the goblin was bound was apparently of little comfort.

  The goblin spoke to the newcomers, in harsh guttural tones. “I come in peace. Make an alliance against Dark One. Goblins suffer, like men do.” He glanced at Tala, and added. “And elves.”

  “Silence!” shouted the farmer. “A spy he is, at the least. If he wants to see the King, it is so he can kill him, not make a treaty.”

  “I’ve no doubt you are right,” said Rowan. “We’ll need to take him for further questions.”

  “But…” the man sputtered.

  “Yes?” Rowan asked patiently.

  “We took him. We should—”

  “You have done a great service to the kingdom, but unless you are trained in the art of getting information out of spies, it’s best we handle things from this point.”

  There were a few grumbles in the crowd, but no one interfered as Rowan cut the ropes binding the goblin’s feet and loosed the one holding him to the tree. The farmers watched as he fastened the larger rope to the cord around the goblin’s wrist, then attached the other end to the saddle of one of the horses. As Rowan checked his work, Demetrius approached the farmers to ask for the warblade, and as the group’s attention shifted, Rowan spoke a few quiet words to the goblin.

  The farmer who had done the talking drew himself up at the request for the war blade. “No offense, son of Corindor, but in these days, one cannot even trust one’s own. We claim the warblade as a prize for capturing this spy.”

  “No offense taken. But let me ask if you know what will happen to you if his companions find you with this blade? To you and your family? Are you aware of the Goblin War Code?”

  “ ‘Goblin War Code’?”

  “Yes. You want to take that risk? For a trophy?”

  The man mulled this over. “I had forgotten that. Best you take it along. As evidence of his hostile intent.”

  “A wise decision,” Rowan called out as he remounted. “And thank you all again for your brave service.”

  The four travelers moved away with their captive, going deeper into the wood that surrounded the great swamp situated in the central valley of Delving, while the farmers watched with expressions that ranged from shock to confusion, from anger to relief. After they had moved well out of sight of the locals, Rowan dismounted and released the goblin. “You will understand if we wish to speak a while before returning your weapon.”

  The goblin nodded his assent.

  “I see by your uniform you are of the Kabrinda pack, and one of your Chief’s chosen warriors.�
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  “You know goblins, human. You fight in wars?”

  “I did not, but I would have in order to defend our lands, had it been necessary. My name is Rowan, by the way. You are…?”

  “You no can say name. Lucien you call me.”

  “Well enough, Lucien. These with me are Demetrius, Corson, and Tala,” he said, gesturing at each in turn. “How did you come to be here in Delving?”

  “I spoke truth. A few goblins sent to make peace. Stand together against Dark One. I pass Stone Mountains and down Snake’s Tongue River, where I leave my companion. He looks for King Rodaan. I go to Delving, for King Bellas.”

  Rowan and Demetrius exchanged a look. Demetrius said, “Both kings have fallen before the Dead Legion.”

  “I sorry,” Lucien said, and even though the tone of his ragged speech was hard and the set of his features even harder, it seemed a genuine sentiment. “What happens to you now?”

  “The people of Delving and Corindor are in retreat, some trying to fall back to other cities and make a stand, others being scattered like your friends back there.”

  “Thanks for freeing me.”

  Rowan nodded. “The farmers know little more than stories from their youth, but they still did not understand that you could have snapped your flimsy bonds at any time, or taken them all on in combat and likely emerged victorious.”

  “I am curious, though,” said Corson. “Why did you allow them to take you in the first place?”

  “I did not think humans here. They poorly armed and scared. I yield to avoid killing. If I kill, we no be friends ever. And I no can just walk up to king to talk. Must start somewhere else to talk. Farmers good as any.”

  “Your chief asked you to risk much,” said Rowan, “you and the others he sent to human lands. You are not likely to get a warm welcome anywhere.”

  “My life for chief and pack. Dead attack us, like they attack you. Many die every day. Not so big risk coming here.”

  “I suppose not. The Dead Legion in you lands—human?”

  “Goblin.”

  Tala nodded. “It is as we feared. The Dark One raises his armies wherever needed.”

  Lucien looked at Rowan. “Who rules your land now?”

  “Duke Onsweys is closest to being an heir. The people follow him or no one. Many only look out for themselves in times such as these.”

  “I go to duke.”

  “If he still lives, he is well to the south by now, perhaps in Lower Cambry.”

  “You go south?”

  “No, we are headed north for now.”

  “I ask leave to go then.”

  “You have it, but I don’t see how you can succeed. You will be hard pressed to pass through the Legion and reach the duke, and coming through the Dead will only make it more probable that you will again be seen as a spy and an enemy.”

  “You may do more harm than good that way,” added Demetrius. “And it seems none of our peoples have the ability to come to the aid of the other. Solek moves on all fronts.”

  “Then I fail already.”

  “Both our peoples fight the same enemy,” Rowan told him. “Perhaps for now that is enough.”

  Lucien looked down for a moment, as if having a sudden urge to study the ground. “Chief unhappy if I go back so soon. “

  “It may be that you can serve your chief as well as all of Solek’s enemies in another way.”

  “How?”

  Rowan glanced at Tala, who said, “He is telling the truth about his purpose here. And we don’t know what we might face.”

  “Demetrius? Corson?”

  Both the Corindors gave their non-verbal assent.

  Tala stepped toward Lucien, making sure she fixed his gaze with her own. “We seek the Soul Sphere.”

  Lucien let out a grunt-like laugh. “And you say my task hard. Demons of the pit guard shards.”

  Tala shrugged. “It is the only way we believe we can defeat Solek. Long odds are better than no chance at all.”

  “Yes. I will help, if that is why you vote.”

  “It was.”

  “So you go north now.”

  “Into the swamp. A piece is there.”

  “How you know?”

  Demetrius showed the shard. Lucien’s eyes lit up as if he was eyeing an unimaginable treasure trove, then he turned to Tala, his lips curling into ferocious smile. “You have the power? The seeing?”

  Tala nodded.

  “Why we wait? Fast get shard, fast Solek die.”

  After hesitating a heartbeat, Demetrius tossed Lucien his warblade. “Welcome to our merry little band.”

  * * *

  They covered a few miles more that day, passing through woods that eventually began to thin. Finding a small stream that flowed toward the swamp and provided fresh water, they decided to fill their canteens and make camp, knowing it would not be long until they reached the swamp itself. They decided to risk a meager fire as dusk fell, bringing a fall chill with it, then shared their rapidly thinning rations.

  Lucien took the food with thanks, though he worked at it without pleasure. “Why you tell farmers there is ‘Goblin War Code?’ That bad things happen if he keep warblade?”

  Demetrius laughed. “For all his bluster that man was full of fear, as were the others. I just needed to give him a reason to give up the weapon.”

  “What else they think of goblins?”

  “Likely no worse than what goblins think of men.”

  Lucien’s only answer was a grunt.

  “We should set a watch,” said Demetrius, changing the subject. “I will go first, if there are no objections.”

  The others agreed. Lucien cleared his throat. “You free me, I join you, you give me weapon. Trust me to guard while you sleep?”

  When the others hesitated, he laughed his harsh laugh.

  “We do not mean to offend,” said Tala.

  “Not offend,” said Lucien. “Trust not easy between our kind. Maybe I hunt while you watch. Find fresh food. Hunt best at night.”

  They agreed to this arrangement, and Lucien loped into the darkness of the trees.

  “What do you suppose he will hunt?” Corson asked with a wry smile.

  “Hopefully something we could all partake in,” said Demetrius. “For now, I’m going to try not to think about it.” He took up the watch, while the others tried to get a few hours of fitful sleep.

  * * *

  Lucien was successful in his efforts, and when morning broke the group cleaned and cooked a few scrawny rabbits, enough for breakfast and more to take along for later.

  They broke camp and started out, journeying through a morning where the sun remained hidden behind heavy, leaden clouds. As the trees thinned, a north wind bit at them, forcing them to wrap cloaks and blankets more tightly around their shoulders.

  The ground became noticeably softer as they progressed, and any sign of human passage—trails, old campsites—faded.

  As they paused for a brief and sparse lunch, Tala asked, “What should we do with the horses? We cannot take them into the swamp.” “The ground is getting less firm,” Rowan agreed. “How far into the swamp will we need to go?”

  “May I have the shard?” Tala asked Demetrius.

  He handed it to her, and she slipped into a trance-like state while she fingered it, mumbling a spell as she had done before. Her time away from them was much shorter than the first time she searched. “It is at least two days’ journey yet, probably longer. The swamp will slow us.”

  Rowan shook his head. “Then we can’t leave the horses tied here. We will have to set them free. We’ll send them back toward the farmers.”

  Lucien weighed this decision against his own thoughts, and then decided to speak. “Not take them for food?” He seemed almost embarrassed at the question, but unable to resist asking.

  “No,” Demetrius replied with a knowing smile, as he placed the shard back in his pouch. “We value horses too much to do that—at least until pressed by starvation. We
should find enough game to get by. And even if not, they have been our companions.”

  “Understand. I could not eat you, now that we travel together.” Lucien laughed at his own words, and was joined by the others, who seemed less than comfortable. “Joke. Goblins not eat human or elf flesh.” He grew more serious. “You heard stories, like farmers.”

  “Perhaps,” admitted Demetrius. “Our races have fought along the border for centuries. We always said it was to protect ourselves and our land. I imagine your people did the same.”

  “Yes,” said Lucien.

  “Well, today we march against a common foe. It is a start. Maybe with time we will find we have more in common.”

  They gathered their belongings and sent the horses back south with a slap on the hindquarters. Their pace was quick as they set out again, but within a few hours it began to slow as the ground softened beneath their feet and water began to pool around the soles of their boots. The trees became sparse and thin, their shallow roots starting to show through the spongy ground.

  Tala led the way, never hesitating as to the direction she chose. Demetrius and Corson took the rear, falling a few paces back so they could talk.

  “Do you trust him?” Corson asked.

  Demetrius shrugged. “He could have easily left last night, or attacked us in the dark. I’m honestly not sure how we would fare against him in combat, even four against one. And he certainly could have done a great deal of harm to those farmers had he wanted to.”

  Corson smiled. “All true. You didn’t answer my question, though.”

  “And knowing you I have to or you’ll pester me all day,” Demetrius replied with a laugh. “I suppose I trust him as much as I can trust anyone these days. As much as I trust Rowan and Tala, who are still strangers to us. It’s easier to be at ease around what is fair to our own eyes—it is how we picture ‘good’ in our minds. I’ll try to look beyond Lucien’s exterior and my own prejudice. He is certainly no spy.”

  “I think he was telling the truth, too. This must be hard for him. I know I wouldn’t want to be traveling with a party of goblins in their land.”