The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (16 page)

“Thanks for saying so.”

“I just feel like a stone around everyone’s neck. I rest, I eat the food, I—”

“You have already done more than most of us could ever dream of doing, and everyone here knows it. And they expect more of the same, once you are at full strength. No one begrudges you this time. Stop beating yourself up about it.”

Demetrius allowed himself a smile. “Okay. Thanks, mom.”

Granos laughed at that, then added, “If you really feel the need to do something, clean up around the camp. Some of these boys could do well to have their mothers about.”

Demetrius’ smile vanished in an instant. “Riders,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I hear them, too,” Granos said.  “Keep that sword at hand, just in case.”

The hoof beats were slow and irregular, and were certainly no signal of an attack. All in the camp who were visible melted away, waiting hidden and with weapons prepared. The riders came into the camp cautiously, their own blades and arrows drawn, but soon riders and defenders all wore smiles; Midras and Corson had returned along with three other soldiers of Corindor. Greetings were exchanged and the newcomers were introduced. Corson shook hands with an uneasy, forced smile until he saw Demetrius emerge from behind his tent. Then his grin was broad and genuine.

“I’d give you a big hug, but I’m afraid that might kill you,” Corson said with a laugh.

Demetrius extended a hand instead. “Might not kill me, but it might re-break a few ribs. Sometimes I think that might be worse.”

“I was afraid that—”

“I’m too stubborn to die like that,” Demetrius said. “I need something more heroic.”

“Well, we’ll all get a chance at that before we’re done, I suppose. But come, let me introduce you to some people.”

One of the riders brightened when he saw the two approach. “You must be Demetrius,” he said. “Corson has told us much about you. I am Dervy. This is Pash, and this is Sam.”

After they exchanged pleasantries, Dervy went on. “I was just telling Granos here that the south is already beginning to move.”

Demetrius glanced at Corson with eyebrows raised and favored him with an approving nod. “What kind of organization do we have?”

Dervy frowned. “Less than we’d like, for sure. Once the cities fell, everyone was scattered, the king was gone, the prince—as Corson confirmed for us—is gone, and most of the generals fell in the battles. Two remain—Joss and Destan. It was to them that Corson had to tell his tale, and them he had to convince to act.”

“I had to convince them of my sanity first,” Corson said with a laugh. “The rest was easy after that.”

“You have to admit your story is hard to accept at face value,” Sam said.

“I have never denied that.”

“But eventually we were convinced of his sincerity,” said Dervy, “and realized the wisest course was the most foolish—to gather what little strength remained in Corindor and take the war to Solek’s doorstep.”

“You mentioned the south was already moving,” said Granos.

“Preparing certainly,” said Dervy. “If they haven’t started marching, they will do so within a day. They will travel across open country in the heart of our land, until they reach the Snake’s Tongue River, then they will go north until they come to the road from Steeple Rock to High Point, and follow it east. They are hoping you will join them there, along with any other camps in the north that might be mustered.”

“I will do so,” said Granos, “as will almost all I have contacted. Even so, if we add a thousand men to the number from the south, it would be a pleasant surprise.”

“A thousand can do much in battle,” said Pash, “and it will be a great boost to us. All the main camps in the south will amount to only three or four thousand. Some need to remain behind with the children, the old, and the sick. And far too many have fallen already.”

“We will start our preparations immediately,” said Granos. “Will you remain with us, or ride back to the main body?”

“We will stay, if it is not too much trouble,” answered Dervy.

“You are most welcome,” Granos said. “And if your horses might be used to spread the word to the other camps, it would be a great help.”

“They are, as we are, to be considered at your service.”

While they started to make detailed plans, Demetrius pulled Corson aside. “Four thousand men. I should get hurt more often. I had not hoped for half that many. You did a great job.”

“Don’t give me too much credit. There were a lot of people with swords they felt had become useless. Now they have new focus and energy, although they will soon be reacquainted with the Dead Legion. I fear a few may quail then, or even turn back.”

“That is to be expected. But maybe we will do better on the offensive than we were able to do trying to defend our cities.”

“I hope so, or the offensive will be short.”

“Even that would be better than waiting for Solek to attack where and when he pleases.”

“How do you think the others are doing?”

“If they do as well as you did, we have some hope yet.”

Corson looked away, embarrassed to show the smile these words brought to his face. Luckily Granos chose that moment to come over.

“So, Corson, I was just telling Demetrius he could not go with us on patrol, that he needed to continue to mend until he was healthy enough to be of value in a fight. But now we will move in a day or two. Do you think I can leave him behind?”

“Our chances against Solek are far greater than the odds of riding off without him. He is far too mule-headed to allow that, no matter what anyone says.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” was Demetrius’ sarcastic reply.

“Maybe if we left in the middle of the night,” Granos mused.

“Don’t even make jokes like that,” Corson said, “otherwise he’ll refuse to sleep.”

Granos grew more serious, addressing Demetrius directly. “Do get what rest you can, my friend. We will have need of that sword of yours soon. I had hoped we could stand together on the field of battle. Corson as well. It would be an honor.”

“The honor would be mine,” Demetrius said. “And when the time comes, I will be ready.”

The three clasped hands, a silent pact between brother warriors ready to fight—and die—together.

*          *          *

Rowan and Tala had crossed country that was strangely quiet during the day and subtly active with distant scuffling and strange cries at night. Their trip had been unimpeded, and though they traveled with caution, keeping out of sight as much as possible, they found the ease with which they moved somewhat unsettling, as if they were being watched and allowed to pass for some unknown reason.

Once they crossed the Crystal River, the Eastern Forest came into sight. It seemed an oasis of peace and prosperity, a shimmering green jewel to which spring had come early. The land around the woods was all yellow and brown, with scattered trees and bushes struggling to bud and blossom. The sickness of the land had clearly gotten worse the further north—and closer to Veldoon—they went, as if Veldoon was a cancerous realm whose disease was now spreading beyond its borders. They spoke little of this to one another, although they both surveyed the land with the same worried expression. But the Eastern Forest was so alive with life and new growth that Rowan could hold his tongue no longer.

“Is your land protected by magic of some sort?” he asked.

“It is, some of it in the trees themselves. But like a rock in a stream it will slowly be worn away. The only question is how long it will take.”

The passage through the forest, for Rowan, was a return to happier times. The green canopy above allowed the sun to peer though in warm golden shafts. The air was cool and fragrant, void of the undercurrent of decay that they had become used to. There was a feeling of safety here, so foreign to the darkness and sense of despair they had felt in the Great Northern Forest that the two places seemed polar opposites. Streams of cool, clear water wound their way leisurely through the woods, and here and there large rock formations added an aura of grandeur to the area. Their pace was slowed often as they had to lead their horses by hand through the glens and around the steep hills and rocky crags, but Rowan enjoyed the leisurely hike. He no longer felt rushed by events in the outside world, and for now that’s what their struggle with Solek seemed, someone else’s bitter fight joined in a dreary, far-away place.

Tala breathed deeply, like someone freed from a poisonous cloud, but she wore worry on her brow, and if she noticed the stubborn beauty of the elf realm, surrounded as it was by a sea of misery, she also feared for its eventual loss.

Tala led here, knowing which paths to take and the shortcuts and hidden ways where there was no path. They traveled for three days under the shelter of the wood, and even dared to sleep without taking turns at watch, such was the feeling of security this place gave them. The fourth morning brought heavy rain, but broken up as it was by the leaves above them, it seemed only a gently shower.

Rowan took one look at Tala’s face as she readied the horses for the day and said, “We arrive today.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Rowan only smiled.

“I suppose I should try to muster a bit of enthusiasm.”

“You
are
seeing your people and your family again.”

“I know that. Why do you think I have this look of trepidation on my face?” She laughed, but the sound was forced and uneasy, even to her own ears. She wondered how bad it sounded to Rowan.

The sun had just passed its daily zenith when Rowan noticed something out of the corner of his eye, a flash of silver and stone between two trees. He looked again, directly at the spot, and saw nothing. “Did you—” He checked himself upon seeing the determined look on Tala’s face. “We’re there, aren’t we?” he said at last.

She nodded slowly.

“Can you see the city?”

“Yes. Dol Lavaan, the city of the elves. But I know what to look for, and where to look. Did you see it?”

“A glimpse, I suppose, but nothing more. Once it had my attention it was gone.”

“It is still there, just hidden behind strong spells. Did you notice the archers on the walls?”

“Archers? No, just a bit of stone and silver metal.”

“The walls,” she said with a nod. “Your perception must be better than most, to be able to see even that much. The defenders on the walls have spied us, and their bows are taut. We will approach slowly. Make sure you keep your hands away from your sword.”

They rode forward, keeping their hands visible. Rowan squinted, trying to bring into focus something that played at the edges of his vision, but all he could see were the towering trees and the rocks and glens of the wood.

Tala stopped and called out. “I am Tala, daughter of Deron and Lasha. I wish to enter the city.”

There was a moment of silence that stretched long enough to make the riders anxious, the soft singing of the insects all the louder while other voices remained still. Finally, after a brief whispered discussion, one of the archers spoke. “You are recognized Tala, by name and appearance, and you are welcome. Who is it that travels with you?”

“This is Rowan, a servant of the Duchess Onsweys, ruler of Delving.”

“Ill news if the duke no longer lives.”

“He fell in battle.”

“So have many others. Does your companion seek refuge here?”

“Not refuge,” Tala replied. “He rides with me at my request, to bring tidings of the world beyond these walls.”