by David Adams
Rowan hesitated, looking back toward his friends.
“I have lived in these woods a long time,” Ballthor said. “I can’t claim the friendship of all that dwell here, but I have learned to co-exist with most. That ‘nest,’ as the Wolf King so aptly calls it, was placed soon after the Dark One escaped his prison. It was simple enough to guess its purpose.”
Rowan sighed. “I sense we will have no secrets under your roof.”
Ballthor laughed. “I am no sorcerer. Just a simple druid. But if one pays attention to what one sees and hears, much can be learned.” He started to apply the paste he had created to Tala’s injured leg.
Demetrius cleared his throat. “Do you know of any other pieces of the Sphere?”
Ballthor glanced at him with a mischievous smile, then went back to his work. “I’m glad to see the rest of you are not mute. There is another shard in this wood, several days journey to the north. It is buried in an underground city of sorts.”
“What awaits us there?”
“I cannot say. I have little interest in trying to retrieve the shard, but great interest in preserving my own skin. If the Dark One’s minions have placed two small pieces here in this wood, I will let them be.” Ballthor finished applying the salve and then gathered up the used bandage Rowan had applied earlier. “I will burn this, and then apply a poultice to the wound. After that we can only wait while she rests. I offer you what little hospitality I can—a warm place to sleep if not a bed, and food and drink.”
“We thank you,” Rowan said. He followed Ballthor back outside.
The Wolf King asked about Tala as Ballthor set the soiled bandages in one of the braziers. It was quickly consumed, giving off a lazy curl of black smoke. “She is resting,” he told the great wolf. “I think you brought her here in time.”
The Wolf King turned his yellow eyes to Rowan. “We will take our leave now.”
“We owe you a debt,” Rowan said.
“Payment for exterminating the insects,” said the Wolf King. “The debt was mine, and it is paid. Farewell.” He gave a howl that seemed to shake the very ground, then dashed into the wood, his pack sending up an answering call and then following. The black wolf paused for a moment, eyeing Lucien.
“I hope we meet again, goblin.”
“ ‘Lucien’ is name. If meet, know whose shoulders your pelt will warm.”
The wolf’s eyes twinkled. “And I am Krellos. You will likely make a vile meal, Lucien, but I will taste your flesh regardless.” He flashed his teeth, the white standing out against the black of his fur and the woods beyond, then darted off to join his pack.
“Well, that was pleasant,” said Corson with a smile. He patted Lucien amiably on the back. “You really have a way with people—and wolves.”
“That why I prefer to talk with warblade.”
Back inside Ballthor’s home, the druid busied himself preparing a stew for dinner. Alexis asked how he came to have such a dwelling.
“I have always loved nature. As I grow older, the ways and things of man interest me less and less. The more we create, the more complex things become, and in the end there is more pain and destruction. Oh, to be sure, much of it springs from the evil some men harbor in their hearts, this Solek being a perfect example. But I decided years ago to live simply and at peace with as much of the world around me as I could. This forest is rarely traveled and provided a safe harbor.”
“How did you come to find safety here?” Demetrius wondered. “From the wolves and the other things that dwell here?”
“I was fortunate to find a she-wolf in need of healing. One of her litter was Denosis, now the Wolf King. The pack has afforded me much protection as has keeping fires lit outside. Most of the creatures that dwell here will not venture near, and many, over the course of long years, have learned that I will be a friend if allowed. If not, they can be certain I will do them no harm.”
“And those insects?”
“Ah, yes. Skezis, they are named. None here will weep at their passing. Brainless for the most part, but quite deadly if one stumbles upon them unawares. Luckily they never stray far from their pit. They killed several wolves before I learned how to deal with the poison.” He took a pot and placed it on his small table, then rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “I’m afraid I not only have but one chair, but I have only two bowls. You’ll have to eat in turns.”
“We are grateful for your hospitality,” said Alexis.
Demetrius settled comfortably against a wall, the aroma of the stew and the warmth of the fire making him sleepy. He dozed for a short time, until Lucien woke him to take his turn at the stew. It was bland but warm and filling. If only he had a soft bed to fall into… He smiled at the thought.
“What is it?” Corson asked, settling beside him with the other bowl in hand.
“Just thinking how nice a bed would feel right now. There are muscles I forgot I had letting me know their displeasure about recent activities.”
“I know what you mean, although it must be far worse for someone of your advanced years.”
“You're lucky I’m hungry, or you would be wearing this stew,” Demetrius said with a laugh. “Besides, I’m less than three years older than you.”
“True, but you’re over forty and I’m not. You’ve moved to the downward slope of life now.”
“In that case I thank you for coming along on this journey, to protect me in my feebleness.”
Corson gave a mock bow. “My pleasure.” His look grew more serious as his eyes fell upon Tala. She had remained motionless on the bed since they had arrived. “I hope she pulls through.”
“I think she will.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Demetrius met his friends searching look with one of steel. “Then we will bury her, mourn her, and go on. There is little else we can do. For now, though, we have food and shelter and she is being tended to. We hope and wait.”
The waiting continued for more than a week, but Tala improved each day. She had awoken on the third morning, the swelling gone by then and the bruising that had stopped at her hip fading to a still ugly but definitely lighter shade of purple. She had been able to take nourishment soon after, and had tried a few tentative steps on the sore leg by the fifth day of their stay.
Ballthor was an excellent host, who declined offers from his guests to make good on the food they ate, insisting that the plants he cooked with were plentiful and that he rarely needed to hunt for meat—the Wolf King and his pack saw to his needs. As if making up for years of solitude, Ballthor thoroughly enjoyed the company of his guests, being of good cheer and telling and listening to stories with equal vigor. As for the group, they had rest they had not known since before their journey began, partaking in warm food and having a certain sense of security in his cozy home, not to mention the fact that his braziers and the house’s walls allowed them to forgo the nightly watch.
Alexis had asked on the third day if they should consider pressing ahead and then returning for Tala after they had recovered the next shard, but she had no argument to counter Rowan’s concern that without Tala’s magic they would have trouble locating it—Ballthor had said that he only knew where the entrance to the underground city was and that the shard was somewhere within, nothing more. So they waited for Tala to get better, and in truth Alexis was happy for the chance to recover her strength, just as the others were. Her mind drifted often to Lorgras, and to her friends lost under the Aetos Mountains, and she grieved for them with unshed tears.
The waiting was hard on Lucien. He was a goblin of action and spent many hours pacing around outside Ballthor’s home, burning off excess energy, the cold air invigorating. He knew the delay was necessary, and even when Alexis raised the possibility of action, he remained silent while Rowan, Demetrius, and Corson counseled patience. As much as his heart and spirit wanted to move on, his mind knew they were right. The humans passed much of their time discussing changes and happenings in the outside world, much of which was me
t with looks of wide-eyed astonishment by Ballthor. Lucien either took his exercise outdoors or stood silently during these discussions, answering questions tossed his way as amicably as possible for a goblin. In quiet times Demetrius and Corson often huddled together, as one would expect friends to do, and Lucien noticed Alexis and Rowan passing many hours in private conversation as well. He felt no sense of being left out, preferring as he did the solitude of his own thoughts, and he took refuge there often.
Tala had awoken before the others on the ninth day of their stay with Ballthor. She was tired and restless from too much time in bed, but her thoughts were clear. She had dreamed of the creature that had bitten her, dreamed of Solek and of the Dark One, of the Soul Sphere, and these nighttime illusions were filled with images of dark despair that melted together in what seemed a long, ugly fever dream as she fought the poison. She rose from the bed, stepping quietly around her companions and toward the door. Once outside, she paced around Ballthor’s dwelling. The leg was tender, but she thought she could manage the pain easily enough.
“I’ll return this,” Demetrius said, startling her. He held the partial Soul Sphere out toward her.
She took it, turning it over once. “You added the latest piece,” she observed with a smile.
“It heals itself once the pieces are placed properly. You told us that once before, but the way my hands trembled when I did it, I guess… Maybe I wasn’t sure if I trusted it, or myself.” He gave her a searching look.
“Great power went into its creation, and great power broke it apart. But the old power is what binds it again, nothing that I or anyone else could hope to do.”
He nodded. “I’m still happier to have you carry it. Just watch your step from now on.”
“That I will,” she answered.
Ballthor served them a final meal and provided more food and water for their packs, as well as a dozen torches and three thick blankets. “Winter is coming,” he told them when he was first refused. “I have a fire and enough other blankets to stave off the shivers, not to mention four walls to stop the wind.”
Each thanked him in turn for his hospitality and healing, Tala clasping his hands and saying that although she could never repay him, she would give anything in her power if he asked it. “Be safe,” was his only request. Rowan was last and tried one last time to convince him to join them, something he had spent a great deal of time failing at during their stay.
“No, and no again,” Ballthor said, his voice stern but his lips and eyes smiling. “I have forsaken the world you know and my place is now here. I wish you well, but I cannot accept your gracious invitation.” He added with a wink, “Regardless of how many times the invitation is extended.”
Rowan bowed once, a formal surrender. “Then we will trouble you no longer.”
“Two days journey to the north,” Ballthor said, taking the cue and pointing the way. “The entrance to the Lost City is easy enough to find, but what lies within few that live can say. If any have entered and come out again, I have yet to hear their tale.”
Lucien smiled, his great teeth flashing as they always did, making the look far more sinister than it truly was. “If meet again, we tell of it.”
Ballthor laughed and clapped Lucien on the back. “I don’t doubt it, my green friend. Whatever is there should tremble at your approach.” He raised an open hand, as if calling down a blessing on the group. “Farewell.”
They set out at a slow pace, some unspoken agreement becoming apparent to Tala as one after the other her companions stole peeks at the steadiness of her gait. Realizing verbal protest would be useless, she stepped to the front and moved to a faster beat, showing them she was capable of keeping up. Rowan took the lead thirty minutes later without slowing, saying “You made your point,” as he passed Tala with a nod of respect.
Corson was pleased to see the mood was light as they set out, his wit earning him more laughs than he was accustomed to with this crowd. But as they drew further away from the sanctuary they had enjoyed for a time, the gloom of the wood and the thought of what might lay ahead penetrated mind, heart, and soul, and a heavy seriousness settled over them. Corson dropped the one-liners, his guard going up as he looked for threats in the dire wood.
Whether any threat remained just out of sight, none could say, but they passed the day in relative peace. Alexis shared the first watch of the night with Lucien, and when it was over and she curled up to sleep, she was grateful for the extra blankets Ballthor had given them. It was more brisk this night than their last under the stars, the contrast more striking since she had grown accustomed to Ballthor’s fire. She shivered until sleep finally took her some hours later.
Chapter 6: The Lost City
Tala woke with a start, her dreams troubled again. She touched her leg absentmindedly, then realizing what she was doing she proceeded to rub the soreness away. She shook off her blanket, pulled the wrecked Soul Sphere from her pouch, and then mouthed the words of the finding spell. As always, she felt the tiredness come over her as the magic took her energy—something must be given in payment for anything gained, she had been taught, and mages found it was no different with their power. Her mind was sharp, and whatever lingering effects she might feel from the Skezis’ poison was confined to a dull ache in her leg. Once the spell had done its work, she stood, found her legs were steady beneath her, and then blew out a relieved breath.
“Your recovery is nearly complete,” Rowan said with a knowing smile. “You can still use the magic.”
“Without swooning, yes,” she answered with a laugh. “We did well yesterday. We need to keep moving north, a day’s travel, maybe less.”
They marched that day as they usually did in these woods, single file, saying little, torches lit and weapons at hand. Tala took her normal place near the rear, with only Corson behind her. She could fight as well as the rest, not with a sword or a warblade, but her bow was just as deadly. Her life she did not consider of more value than those of her companions, but the magic made her different, and she understood their unspoken concern about what would happen if she died. So she allowed herself to be maneuvered into traveling in a position that was always protected front and rear. She just hoped when they next met a foe she would not be expected to stand behind some tree or rock while the others risked their necks.
Corson preferred any position in line other than the one he was in—the rear. It was simple enough to follow Tala, but the front of the line was only apparent due to the dim flicker of the torches ahead, and behind him darkness closed like a rising tide of foul water. Every time he turned the blackness seemed to be lurching toward him, eager to swallow him up forever. By necessity his gaze frequently went to the rear, as he was tasked to make sure nothing stalked them, and these looks made his pace uneven and the travel even less pleasant. He was always glad when he rotated forward in the marching order.
He stumbled over a root, not for the first time, catching himself against the trunk of a tree, and then quickened his steps to keep close to Tala. Back he looked at the void, forward again, back, forward…
Corson never saw it strike since it came from above. He felt a sudden pressure around his chest and he was yanked into the air, and then toward the black canopy overhead. His sword fell from his hands, which kept him from slashing at his assailant. He gripped the thing that held him, a fleshy appendage that shone metallic green in the soft light of the torches below, his breath gone and the shout he tried to muster refusing to come.
Tala wheeled the instant Corson’s sword hit the ground. Her eyes and arms shot upward, and she caught a glimpse of what was pulling Corson up before she loosed an arrow. It drove home with a dull thunk, a foot or so above the flailing man. She called to the others and fired a second shot.
As the arrow found its mark, the pressure on Corson lessened and then vanished. The appendage slithered back into the trees as Corson made a sudden twenty foot return trip to the ground below. He was no acrobat, but his time on the wall at Mill H
arbor served him well. He hit the ground and rolled, spreading the shock of impact. He came to his feet intact but for a slight ankle sprain and a set of bruises that would soon be blooming, grabbed his sword and shouted, “Go!”
Some twenty minutes later they stopped, out of breath and warily searching the trees above. Corson thanked Tala profusely, realizing how close he had come to becoming something’s midday meal.
“What was it?” Demetrius asked.
“I didn’t see much,” replied Corson. “A well-muscled thing, like a snake or the arm of a weight-lifting octopus.”
“Tree squid?” Rowan offered.
Corson turned toward the paladin with a look of surprise. Seeing the way Rowan’s eyes danced, he couldn’t help but smile. “Perhaps,” he allowed.
“It must have been huge,” said Tala, “to have enough leverage to reach so far down and pull a man up like that.”
“So now we watch up as well,” grumbled Lucien.
“We’re going to get strained necks from all this looking around,” said Corson.
“Better a sore neck than a broken one” said Demetrius. He placed a hand on Corson’s arm, saying quietly, “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Not as glad as I am,” Corson answered, rubbing his chest where the thing had held him.
Alexis called to the group, “Let’s be off. The sooner we reach this underground city, the sooner we get out of this wood.”
Late in the day, Tala told them they had arrived as she peered off into the darkness to the northeast. “An entrance, I believe. Five hundred feet in that direction.”
They closed ranks, traveling in a pack now rather than a line, the need for speed giving way to the need for strength. They held their torches before them, but even the combined light did little to overcome the oppressive gloom of the dire forest. Suddenly it appeared, an open doorway framed in gray brick. A ramp angled down just inside the opening, and the stone that framed this descending structure behind the door simply sloped directly through the forest floor. It seemed odd and out of place, standing alone as it did amongst the trees, a stone monolith from another time.