The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere

by David Adams

  Alexis dismounted and entered the Great Hall, the mighty stone doors that had once guarded the entrance now smashed to rubble. More dead littered the main hall, the gold in the carpet stained dark with blood, the banners that had once adorned the walls now in tatters on the ground. More dead were on the stairs leading to the levels above, their bows and axes at their feet or still clasped in frozen hands.

  Alexis heard the footfalls of her companions behind her as she crossed the hall-turned-tomb and walked into the throne room. Signs of spilled blood were apparent throughout the room, and everything was a shambles save the throne, upon which sat the lone body in the room. King Meldros wore mail plated with gold, and in his lap he held his own head in his gauntleted hands, the helm askew and the eyes staring blindly forward. Alexis closed her eyes and turned away. “There were times I wanted to slay him with my own hands, but now I feel nothing for him but pity. He has lost everything. It is better he is dead, rather than having to look upon his great fallen city.”

  “He trust too much in walls,” said Lucien. “What hold back living not stop dead.”

  “This city is now a foul place,” said Rowan. “We cannot rest here. I would prefer to take my chances on the open land.”

  All agreed, and soon they rode back out of the city’s destroyed gates. Alexis started to turn her mount south, but Tala said in a hushed tone, “Turn north. Our friend is watching.”

  The group dutifully followed Tala’s lead without question or comment, each fighting the urge to steal furtive glances at the dark spy. Eventually Tala called them to a halt and motioned back toward the upper reaches of the Great Hall of Arna’s Forge. “It was perched up in one of the upper windows. It has fled to the east. If we are fortunate, it will give whatever awaits it there a misleading report.”

  “It will be simple enough to see that our tracks stop and turn back,” Demetrius pointed out.

  “But if they move to intercept us further north we have gained an advantage,” Corson said.

  “Let’s pray that Mist does what we hope,” said Rowan, “and that there are no others watching us for now.”

  By the time they were ready to find refuge that evening, the tracks they might leave in the snow became a non-concern. A storm that had begun gently enough in mid-afternoon now raged, a screaming wind driving the snow that fell from black clouds above. It was all they could do to stay together and keep moving in what they hoped to be the right direction. Visibility was so poor that even the mountains in whose foothills they planned to travel were temporarily lost from sight.

  They braved a fire that evening in a ramshackle barn, shaking off the snow and cold and allowing their clothes and skin to dry out. They were lucky to find a stable that provided some shelter for the horses—the doors were broken and part of the roof was gone, but the horses huddled together under what roof there was and shared the warmth of their own bodies.

  Alexis had taken the first watch, and so had gained a relatively long, uninterrupted sleep until dawn when her duty had ended. She peered out through the opening where the barn doors came together and let out a long sigh. The snow continued to fall at a prodigious rate, and, if anything, the wind howled with even greater fury. She looked skyward and saw nothing in the low, heavy clouds to indicate the storm might pass soon.

  Rowan stepped up beside her. “I take from your expression that the weather will not be our ally today.”

  “It will hide us from distant eyes and cover our tracks, but it will slow us greatly. I would prefer speed to stealth right now. The journey is still a long one.”

  “As it was when we both set out from opposite ends of Arkania. We’ve come a long way already.”

  She nodded but there was no smile on her lips. “We have lost much as well.”

  “But not all.”

  “No,” she was forced to agree. “Not all. That is why we press on. But the longer the quest takes, the more I fear we will save little even if we defeat Solek. He has fouled the very land and killed the people of our world in numbers beyond counting.” She glanced at Rowan, studying him, looking for the strength that she felt waning in herself, then looked away, ashamed of her own words and feelings. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I think we may have already lost and we simply fight on out of stubborn pride.”

  “If that is a reason to keep on, it is good enough. Fighting evil is always a worthy cause, no matter the destruction already sewn.” He touched her gently on the shoulder. “And I don’t believe that there is so little of the life we have known left that we fight for a lost cause. It may take years to restore the land and rebuild the cities, but it can be done. It will be done.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  He touched the cross that adorned his shirt.

  Alexis smiled softly. “A vision, Rowan?”

  “Hardly that, my lady. Faith.”

  She squeezed his hand and said, “Have enough for both of us.” With an effort she forced the door open, the drifting snow resisting her. “I need to see to the horses.”

  Rowan followed silently to help.

  * * *

  Corson was the first to cross the line and actually utter the word “blizzard.” By the time he did, there was no point in arguing whether that was the case or not. Progress now became painfully slow, and more and more they used Tala’s spell to make sure they moved in the right direction. As strong and smart as the horses were, there was no road here to give guidance or some semblance of solid footing beneath the snow that piled ever deeper. Like their riders the mounts pressed on with bowed heads, trying to slice through the storm and keep the driven snow out of their eyes.

  “How wind blow in face no matter which way we turn?” Lucien grumbled.

  “I’d blame Solek,” Corson answered, “but I’ve seen the phenomenon too often back home. Nature plays its own jokes.”

  Opportunities to take shelter were fewer now that they were away from the road, but the dwellings they did find were just as abandoned. The whole world seemed to have fled. Despite how slow they were going, they still took time to find cover and build a fire even for the noon meal, their clothes and cloaks soaked or frozen and not nearly as effective in holding back the cold as they would have hoped. At least the swirling snow hid any sign of the fire and its smoke from spying eyes.

  The storm broke the next day, only a few stray flakes drifting to the ground. The sun made an appearance the following day, and although it did little to break the chill at least they were starting to dry out. The snow on the ground had no intention of melting, sun or no, so the horses continued to struggle, but they held their heads high and seemed relieved the worst of the weather had passed.

  Day followed day, and they continued to travel east in the shadow of the Aetos Mountains. They melted snow for water, and took what game they needed, the animals that ventured out into the snow-shrouded countryside easy to track. As they progressed further to the east the temperatures held cold, but the snow pack was shallower, the storm apparently not as fierce here. The horses seemed to gain strength as they had to fight the snow less and less, and although they covered fewer miles than they would have liked, the memory of the blizzard was still fresh enough that they were thankful for the ground they did cover.

  At dawn one morning Demetrius woke to find Rowan gone. He rose from a makeshift bed of straw and ventured outside to find the paladin facing the rising sun, down on one knee with his head bowed. When his prayers were finished he rose and turned to find Demetrius watching him.

  “I apologize,” Demetrius said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “I’m not offended,” Rowan said with an easy smile. “It is a special day.”

  “I wondered about that, to be honest. I’ve seen you pray before, but not usually in such communion with nature. And I know you don’t normally worship the sun, the planets, or trees as some others do.”

  “Nor do I do so today. I was simply enjoying the sunrise. It was particularly beautiful this morning. Today is the day I ce
lebrate the birth of the Savior.”

  Demetrius let out a short, surprised laugh. “How can you keep track of what day it is? They’ve all blurred together on me.”

  “They would for me as well, but I cheat.”

  Demetrius raised an eyebrow. “You? You’re the last man I would guess would cheat.”

  “I make notches in my belt to note the passing of days—marks actually. Too many notches and I’d have no belt left.”

  “Marks, like a man in a prison cell.”

  “Except that I count the passing days to know what day it is, not how long I’ve been imprisoned. I am free in both body and soul.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I have no gift to give you on this day. That is a tradition of sorts, is it not?”

  “It is. And you’ve given me a great gift, as have the others we travel with: friendship. A priceless gift and one I’ll always treasure.”

  “In that case, I have to thank you for providing the same gift in return.”

  Rowan sniffed the air. “I think I smell bacon. I know I don’t, but one can always dream.”

  Demetrius indicated the home they had sheltered in with his thumb. “Maybe someone found a hidden stash. Who knows, maybe it’s a gift to all of us from your Savior.”

  Rowan’s stomach answered with a growl. “Let’s go find out.”

  Chapter 8: The Abandoned Castle

  They reached the Crystal River on the tenth day after they left Arna’s Forge. Where it met the mountain it was shallow and easy to cross. Once on the far side, Tala announced, “We are now in Ridonia, and some fifty miles ahead is the Eastern Forest where my people dwell.”

  “If I recall my maps correctly,” said Demetrius, “the most direct path from here to Ludroe’s Keep is through the forest. Might we go to your city and replenish our supplies?”

  Tala paused so long that Demetrius thought she might not have heard the question. Finally she sighed and said, “You recall your maps correctly, although the forest is dense and on horse it is quicker to go around. I fear outsiders would not be welcome in Dol Lavaan, the home of my family and many of my people, especially in these times. To admit this shames me greatly, but I can answer no other way. We can shelter in the woods at night, and find sufficient game there as well.” She looked to each of her companions, one after another. “I wish it were otherwise, but we would do well to avoid Dol Lavaan.”

  Alexis started forward again, making no comment. Lucien, Rowan and Corson followed in turn. “I’m sorry,” Demetrius said as he fell into line.

  “So am I,” Tala replied in a voice barely above a whisper. She hoped Demetrius hadn’t seen the tears that she was fighting to keep from forming in her eyes.

  The Eastern Forest had its own dangers, like any place in Arkania, but was no more than a gentle wood when compared to the darkness and denizens of the Great Northern Forest. They saw nothing more threatening than a few lean wolves when they entered the fringe of the forest to forage or camp, wolves that weren’t desperately hungry enough to consider attacking a party so well organized and armed.

  Demetrius noticed Tala’s frequent, lingering glances into the heart of the woods. Finally he asked amicably, “Are you looking for something, or just longing for home?”

  “I had thought there might be scouts, but I have seen none.”

  “You’re concerned by that,” he stated.

  “I fear all the elves remain in the city now—total defensive withdrawal.”

  “This area is in the shadow of Solek’s realm,” Demetrius reminded her.

  “All the more reason for constant patrols.”

  For seven days they traveled at the edge of the forest, then crossed a small neck of land to the eastern shore—turning north from there to follow the coast up to Ludroe’s Keep. The sea looked as gray as the winter sky, the foam churned up by the waves washing up endlessly on a barren beach. A damp, chill breeze blew inland in rugged gusts, biting through their meager clothing and sending collective shivers up their spines. They only spent a few uncomfortable hours near the water’s edge before taking an inland path that was slightly more direct to their destination than the curving coastline.

  Corson was glad to move out of sight of the sea and said as much.

  Demetrius was surprised. “You always loved the ocean.”

  “Not so much in winter, but it’s even worse now. The water moves as it has throughout time, but it still seems dead to me. I could hardly bear to look upon it.”

  “I think our journey has made you melancholy.”

  Corson laughed. “And what are you so chipper about?”

  Demetrius shrugged. “Maybe just that we’ve had some time without wondering whether the next moment would be our last. It has been a quiet month.”

  “And here I thought you were frustrated at the time the journey was taking. That Solek was up to who-knows-what while we made our way across the breadth of Arkania.”

  “I was and still am. But a commander knows his soldiers need a break from battle from time to time to be at their best. Great commanders know even they need rest.”

  Corson clapped his friend on the back while he let another hearty laugh escape from his belly. “And only a commander would consider a month of riding through deep snow with little food and scarce shelter to be a ‘break.’ ”

  They spent what they hoped would be the last night of this leg of the journey in yet another abandoned farmhouse. The place had been unused for quite some time, the cobwebs thick and rats having cleared out whatever food there was to be had at one time. Before they set the watch and settled in for some rest, Tala spent some time in spell-induced meditation, and when she was done she told them their destination was a castle on the near side of Ludroe’s Keep.

  “Not the city proper?” asked Alexis.

  “I’m not surprised,” said Rowan as Tala shook her head. “The Keep was one of the first cities to fall to the Dead Legion. A few refugees made it to Delving and told the tale. The city was always on alert for an attack from Solek, but their outposts, of course, had seen no army from Veldoon go through the Saber Pass. The Dead Legion caught them unprepared and the city fell quickly.”

  “The rest of us fared no better, even with warning,” said Demetrius.

  “Sadly, true. But the devastation to the Keep was thorough, as it absorbed the full force of the Dark One’s newly unleashed wrath. The survivors said the place is no more than a charred ruin now. Not easily defended, not that it would need to be, unless the caretaker of the shard we seek had decided to move in. Tell me, Tala, is the castle we are looking for on a rocky hill, surrounded by a ring of tall evergreens?”

  Tala’s eyebrows shot up. “That was the impression I had. Have you been there?”

  “No, but the refugees spoke of the place. It was home to various royals in the past, but it fell into disrepair and was reputed to be haunted for the last twenty years or so. The locals steer clear of the place.”

  “The timing is right,” said Demetrius, thinking of the years that had passed since the shards were hidden. “The locals may not be far off when they refer to the place as being haunted.”

  Morning broke clear, the red disk of the rising sun peering over the horizon with empty promises of warmth and comfort. They ate and mounted up with little discussion, knowing that today they would likely look death, in whatever guise he chose, directly in the eye. Lucien rode in the lead, his battle senses on full alert. Like his companions he used his eyes and ears to great effect, but his heightened sense of smell was an added skill he exploited whenever possible. His frequent sniffs yielded little but the scent of the sea, and under that an odor of death and decay. He commented on it, adding, “Not smell of Legion. More like old battle, where bodies left to rot.”

  They arrived at their destination in the early part of the afternoon, and while Tala confirmed it with a spell, the place was unmistakable based on Rowan’s rough description. Evergreens stood sentinel in three concentric rings, the most recent snow still decora
ting the branches. Behind the trees a hill rose up at a sharp angle, boulders and rocks still showing through the wintry blanket. Atop the hill was built a castle, the large gray bricks that formed its walls showing their age, their surface pitted and scarred, green moss snaking half-way up to the top. The walls rose some forty feet and met at circular towers, which stood at each corner of the square outer wall. The group worked their way around to view the castle’s entry, staying beyond the boundary set by the trees for the time being. Within a stone archway was set a double door, one of heavy wood set behind a thick iron portcullis. The metal bars showed signs of rust, but even at a distance seemed a formidable, unmovable barrier. Along the top of the castle’s front wall was the structure’s only decorative element, a dozen three-foot-tall gargoyles, each in a unique pose, but all sporting ram-like horns, fangs, and stone wings.

  “If this place is defended,” said Rowan, “they are keeping out of sight.”

  “We could try the gate and door,” suggested Demetrius, “although it would be no different than knocking. If anyone is inside they’ll know we’re here.”

  “But they’ll have to reveal themselves sooner or later, or else let us walk away with what we want,” said Corson. “And we do need to get inside.”

  “That we do,” said Tala from behind them. They turned to see her tired, drawn face. “The shard we seek is somewhere within these walls, but where I cannot say. There is a warding spell upon the place that will not allow my gaze to penetrate it, nor will it brook the use of magic within the walls I would wager.”

  Lucien uttered a goblin curse and spat. “More magic. Rather face hundred warriors on top of wall.”

  “Your strength and your warblade may yet be of use here,” Demetrius told him. “Let’s try that gate. Tala, cover the battlements above us with your bow. Shout out if you see any movement.”