The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere

by David Adams

  Lucien glanced almost casually at the four demons who took up positions in a box around him, their bows at the ready. “Only head you worry about is yours. I still name you coward.”

  The demon laughed again, but there was little of mirth in his eyes, which blazed all the more brightly with hellfire. “You have spirit, goblin, which will soon belong to me as well.” He jumped off his horse and landed nimbly on the snowy ground, and then threw aside his cloak. His taut muscles rippled as he drew his great sword. The weapon was made of black metal, engraved with words written in some unknown, ancient tongue. Flame sprung off it as if it were a log set ablaze. He glanced at one of the bowmen. “Do not interfere with my sport unless he draws blood. If he lands a lucky bow, fill him with arrows.” He grinned evilly at Lucien. “Fair play is not one of my concerns.”

  The demon’s approach had been almost casual, but his first blow was lightning quick and had deadly intent. Lucien parried it, feeling unaccustomed strain in his arms from the power behind the strike. His hands stung from the vibrations sent through his weapon. The ring of metal on metal reverberated over the open plain, bringing a knowing smile to Lucien’s face.

  Tala was the first to rise from the snow, her first shot piercing the throat of one of the demon archers. Even before it slid from the saddle with saliva and blood gurgling out of the wound, she released a second shot, catching another foe unaware.

  The two falling demons were all the distraction Lucien and Tala’s allies needed. Demetrius and Corson unseated the third demon and Alexis and Rowan the fourth.

  The lead demon had only struck one blow, the one which acted as a signal for his enemies. Realizing he had been ambushed, he drew back a step, regarding his situation with barely controlled anger. “Well done, treacherous ones. There is something of the pit in all of you.”

  “Otherworldly power, perhaps,” Rowan said. He pulled open his cloak so that the cross he wore was apparent. “But not that of the pit.”

  The demon spit at the sight of the Savior’s symbol. “I will pay you personal attention, human. After I feast on your innards, I will see your soul is tormented for all time.”

  Rowan held his sword before him, the white flame alive in the presence of the hellish creature. “My soul is not yours to torment. It belongs to one far more powerful.” He lunged forward, the light in his eyes making the demon give ground. Sparks and fire leapt from the blades as they crashed together.

  Despite all his power, the demon retreated before the onslaught, unexpected as it was. He had not thought any mortal could challenge him in single combat, had thought this quick-witted group of six might cause him some exertion before he killed them, but nothing more. He parried the blows that rained down on him, unable to regain the initiative. He looked into Rowan’s eyes and cringed away from what he saw. Beneath him his feet added a final betrayal, slipping on the snow and causing him to fall.

  There was no thought in Rowan’s mind, no anger or malice. There was only power and right, and as the white flame of the sword cut the air he was in tune with both the natural and spiritual worlds. His movements flowed forth without need of conscious decision on his part. Later he would realize he was unaware how his companions had simply watched in slack-jawed wonder, how the demon’s expression turned to one of terror as the white sword hammered ever closer. Rowan’s ceaseless drive to destroy this foe came from without and from deep within.

  The third slash of the Avenger blade after the demon had fallen knocked the creature’s black blade aside, and the fourth arrived before he had a chance to recover, cleaving his skull from the top of his head down to his chin. As black blood gushed from the wound in ever-weakening pulses, the white flame on Rowan’s sword faded, as did the light in his eyes. Suddenly weary, he dropped to one knee beside the demon’s body.

  Demetrius stepped close to Rowan, ready to help him to his feet, but he paused when he saw that the paladin was giving a prayer of thanks. Only when the prayer was finished did Demetrius offer his steady arm.

  “Impressive,” said Lucien, raising his warblade in salute.

  “Are you okay?” asked Alexis.

  “Fine,” Rowan replied, unsure if she meant his physical or mental state. “Just a little winded.”

  Tala stepped to the fallen body and cut the cord that held a small container around the demon’s neck. She found a small latch and opened it, gasping at what she saw inside.

  “What’s wrong?” Corson asked.

  “Nothing,” Tala said, a tremor in her voice. “Absolutely nothing.” She held out the piece of the Sphere for the others to see. It was nearly half of the Soul Sphere. She grabbed at the other part in her pouch, nearly dropping it into the snow in her haste. She took a steadying breath and brought the parts together. When the fusion was complete, the total Sphere was almost three-quarters whole.

  Rowan shook his head in amazement. “I had not even dared to hope.”

  “Our quest grows far shorter,” Alexis said.

  “And no less dangerous,” Demetrius added. “I am pleased to find such a large piece as well, but that pack of demons that rode off after our horses will eventually return. We cannot be here when they get back.”

  “Rowan’s blade maybe disagree,” Lucien said.

  Rowan smiled tiredly. “It might at that, but it will do little against such numbers, especially mounted archers. Demetrius is right.”

  “We should go to the city,” said Tala.

  “But it’s under siege,” Demetrius protested.

  “It was. If I am right about this demon being a conduit for the Dark One, it no longer is.”

  They set off at a brisk trot, not wanting to run recklessly ahead, but watching over their shoulders for the return of the demon horde. As they approached the army surrounding Western City, they could see that the entire field was devoid of motion, save for the carrion fowl that followed an army around. The birds danced among the dead, picking at whatever flesh they could find.

  “It is as I hoped,” Tala said. “The demon acted as the local channel for Solek to wield power. Once he fell, the spell was broken and the animated dead fell as well.”

  “Can Solek re-animate them?” asked Rowan.

  “In time, but it will take great strength to do so. There should be time to…” She allowed her words to trail off.

  “Time to render these bodies ineffective for further military use,” Demetrius finished for her.

  “Yes.”

  Rowan said, “Then we need to get the duke to set his men to the task.”

  “Approach the wall cautiously,” said Demetrius. “Their archers will be on edge.”

  As they made their way through the sea of dead, stepping carefully between the skeletons and half-rotten bodies, Corson couldn’t help but think about what would happen if Solek managed to re-animate the Dead Legion at that moment. It dawned on him that the Legion might be setting a trap, just as he and his companions had done to the demons. He swallowed hard and tried to focus on Western City up ahead.

  A challenge came from the wall just as they entered bow range.

  “I am Alexis of Lorgras,” was the bold reply. “We have slain the demon lord and caused his army to fall, but much of the demon horde yet lives and they may return. We urgently request to speak to Duke Fallo.”

  “The duke cannot just—” The man stepped aside, another taking his place. This one removed his helm as he gazed across the field of the fallen, long locks of gray hair falling gently to his shoulders.

  “I know you, Alexis of Lorgras, and I would welcome you to Western City. My eyes have grown old, but they still recognize an elf and a goblin among your party. Would you ask me to freely open the gate to them as well?”

  “I would, Duke Fallo.”

  “I have never willingly opened my door to a goblin. Just moments ago thousands of goblins were preparing to storm our walls.”

  “As were humans from many lands, including yours and mine. The Dead know allegiance to neither man nor goblin,
only to the Dark One and his minions. We fight Solek and his armies as surely as you do, and Lucien, the goblin I travel with, has helped deliver Western City from our common foe. He should receive your thanks, not your insults.”

  “Your words grow harsh. But, alas, these are hard times. Come speak with me then, all of you. If Lucien has earned my thanks, he will receive it.”

  The metal doors of the city were opened just enough to allow the travelers to enter, and then were slammed shut behind them. Duke Fallo, having made his way down from the wall, greeted them while flanked by a dozen guards, who kept enough distance so as to not insult the guests, but close enough to be conspicuous. The duke had just ended his sixtieth year, and although his face was creased with age and worry, he was still an imposing figure, hale and hearty. But on this day, his face showed nothing of the strength of his body, a shadow of fear lurking behind his eyes. “You wished to speak with me,” he stated plainly, not bothering with introductions.

  “The Dead Legion needs to be disabled while there is time,” Alexis said.

  “They seem disabled to me. Did you see some spark of life as you passed amongst them?”

  “A spell animated them,” answered Tala. “They have been stopped for now because we have slain the demon that led them. But spells can be re-cast.”

  The duke took a long, appraising look at Tala. “And who are you to know this? A spell caster, no doubt.”

  “I am Tala. It is true that I have some knowledge of the magic arts. I can also see a threat that can be stilled if swift action is taken.”

  Duke Fallo continued to study her, an uncomfortable silence growing as he did so. Finally he called one of the guards to his side. “Take a hundred men and start removing their heads.” He looked back to Tala. “Is that sufficient to end their usefulness to the enemy?”

  Tala nodded, but said, “A few thousand men would be even better.”

  The duke laughed, a harsh biting noise. “I’ll not send so many out until I am convinced there is nothing amiss.”

  As if on cue, a call from the wall came down. “The demon riders return!”

  The duke glared at Tala and then Alexis before starting up the stone stair that ran to the top of the wall. Unbidden, Alexis followed, with her companions trailing and the duke’s personal guard coming behind.

  They stood side-by-side on the battlements watching the demon riders thunder up to the edge of where their army had fallen. The underworld creatures meandered about for a few moments, assessing the situation, and their gestures made it apparent they were arguing amongst themselves about what to do next. The debate ended swiftly, and the riders wheeled their horses about and departed.

  “What was that all about?” the duke demanded, still looking out over the field.

  Alexis responded. “They have no leader and no army. It seems they have decided to retreat for now.”

  The duke made a harrumphing noise and studied the field for another minute or two. Turning to the nearest guard, he said, “Take the hundred men out now.”

  “Still only a hundred?” Alexis asked.

  “I am still Duke of the Westerland, Lorgrasian. A hundred men is my order.”

  “As you wish,” Alexis said with a subtle bow.

  The duke took a deep breath to calm himself. “My hospitality is lacking. I hope you’ll forgive me. I find that my trust in any but my own is in short supply these days. Please be my guests for dinner and stay the night. My table is not as full as in better days, but I judge it would be more than you have had if you travel these lands on foot in the winter.”

  “We would be most grateful,” Alexis said.

  “Perhaps while we dine, you can tell me how you came to be together, and what has brought you here.” Despite the duke’s attempt to be more polite, the words held a certain challenge.

  Alexis knew better than to rise to the bait. “We would be happy to tell you all you wish to know.”

  The duke’s table might have been lacking by his own standards, but it was far from bare, and the travelers ate well. The duke mellowed through the meal, strong wine and the tale of their adventure softening him. They asked for little—a bed for a night and replenished supplies, specifically food and water, warm cloaks, and long lengths of rope—and the duke gave it willingly. Near the end of the meal a guard reported that Lorgrasian horses had approached the city, some saddled but none with riders. Learning they belonged to the party dining with him, he ordered the steeds brought in, cared for, and fed. After inquiring how the work of disabling the dead went and being told the progress was slow but that the workers were un-harassed, he ordered half his available men to the task. He refused to look at any of his guests as he did so, simply grumbling under his breath about the weeks of work they would then have burying those bodies.

  “Better your men bury them than fight them,” said Alexis.

  The duke nodded his agreement, almost reluctantly.

  After they had thanked the duke for his hospitality and been shown to their chambers, Tala, with her companions around her, cast the finding spell to determine where they needed to go next. She sat still on the edge of her bed, breathing deeply with her eyes closed while she flew over Arkania in her mind to some unknown destination. Suddenly her eyes flew open and she uttered a small gasp.

  Rowan took her arm. “What’s wrong?”

  Tala shook her head to clear it. “I am okay,” she said, avoiding his question just as she avoided his eyes. She worked the Sphere around in her hands as if trying to warm it, blew out a long stream of air, then repeated “I am okay,” before re-casting the spell.

  The second casting took longer than usual, and Rowan was almost certain he saw a flash of fear cross Tala’s delicate features despite her best efforts to hide it, but in the end she was successful. “We need to head toward Ludroe’s Keep,” she announced.

  “Ludroe’s Keep!” Demetrius exclaimed. “That’s on the far side of Ridonia.”

  “So it is,” Tala answered evenly. “And it is where we need to go.”

  “Thank the Savior for the horses,” Rowan whispered. “It will be a long journey even with them.”

  “What is best path to take?” asked Lucien.

  Demetrius collected himself and put his mind to the question. “The swiftest way would be the road from here to Arna’s Forge, then across country south of the Aetos Mountains and the Eastern Forest. Of course, the swiftest route will be the most watched as well.”

  “It can’t be helped,” said Alexis. “And even if we take a slower path the enemy will likely be able to find us.”

  “Why bother looking for us?” asked Corson. “He knows our destination. He can have his forces meet us there if he so chooses.”

  “That is so,” said Tala, “but it would mean diverting his strength from the conquest of Arkania. I think he will be aware of us, but will count on the protections already provided for the remaining shards to stop us.”

  “Who can know what’s in such a twisted mind?” Rowan said with a shrug. “We know where we must go. Our choice is simple: go or not. I trust there is no need to even discuss it.”

  There wasn’t. They slept and were riding out of Western City before the sun was up.

  * * *

  The road between Western City and Arna’s Forge was one of the best in Arkania, paved with stones over most of its nearly 500 mile length. But once the winter snow arrived the road was no more than a depression in the white blanket that covered the world. A traveler wouldn’t see even a single stone unless he got down on hands and knees and worked the snow aside, but the road still marked a path showing the quickest route between the two great cities.

  Alexis set the pace, knowing the horses as well as she did, often speaking to them in the evening to understand how well they were holding up under the rigors they were being asked to endure. The riders made it a habit to change horses during small breaks for the noon meal, and they never traveled much once the sun set. It became apparent that a large portion of the D
ead Legion had passed this way as they moved to assault Western City, the homes near the road without fail being abandoned, and many were burned to the ground. It was usually simple enough to find shelter for the night, and often some meager portions of food had been left by the occupants in their haste to leave. The party took as little as they could, knowing the owners might return with the danger apparently past, and Rowan always left a gold coin behind worth far more than what they took. Still, some guilt lingered. “One cannot eat gold,” he said. “And this winter may give way to a grim spring.”

  “We do what we must,” Tala said, and to that Rowan could only agree.

  Early on the twelfth day of their journey they approached Arna’s Forge, debating all the while whether they should stop for rest and supplies or steer clear. They decided to draw near but with caution, to see if they might find better forage for the horses than the grass the steeds had been pawing from under the snow. The discussion turned to who might move close to the city safely—Alexis had stayed away before, and none of the others felt their return would be a welcome one.

  “It looks like it won’t matter,” Corson announced. He had been looking ahead rather than focusing on the debate, and at his words everyone’s attention turned to the mighty city which rose up from the plain along with the first mountain of the Aetos range.

  From a distance, the Great Hall built into the mountain looked wrong, different than before, cold and dead. As they drew closer they could see the damage, the walls chipped, cracked and broken, the statues of dwarven kings that had stood for centuries now shattered where they stood or toppled to the ground below. The city wall came into view, a sad imitation of what it once was, the iron gate open and bent on its hinges. No movement inside these fractured walls could be seen.

  The company approached and entered the city, no one speaking. The dead were few, and those who had yielded their lives were badly maimed or beheaded, the bodies those of men and dwarves. Demetrius had little doubt they would find no one alive within Arna’s Forge and that back at Western City, as the gruesome work continued, dwarves would be found among the assembled host of the Dead Legion.