The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (24 page)

The “cloud” had merely paced them for the last two days—they could outrun it easily, but when they rested it made up ground. Rowan had riders looking for an easy spot to ford the river, but their reports to date had not been promising. The place Rowan and Tala had used on their earlier journey north was to the west now, enveloped in the thick white mist.

A few hours later scouts who had gone further east brought good news—a rocky area where the water ran shallow. It was not wide, so they’d have to cross single file, but other than getting their boots wet, they could cross safely.

“Lead us,” Rowan told them. As the scouts took charge Rowan confided in Tala, “I don’t like the thought of such a slow crossing. We’ll be vulnerable on both sides of the river. But we don’t have much choice. Do you think the forest will be any protection against that vapor?”

“I hope so.”

“Not very reassuring.”

“No, but honest.”

“I probably shouldn’t ask whether you think we can get there before people start dropping from exhaustion.”

She offered a wan smile. “You are probably right.”

Shouts and calls came from the rear of the column, at first seeming to be sounds of excitement. Perhaps, Rowan thought, the news that a crossing had been found had worked its way back through the troops. But soon it became clear that the noises were those of battle being joined, and in some cases were the sounds of panic.

“Turn and form a line!” Rowan shouted. “Defensive positions here and here,” he said, indicating left and right of where he was. He spurred his horse and rode to the rear, with Tala following close behind.

The back end of the army was all chaos. At first, against the backdrop of the pursuing white cloud, he saw only the prone bodies of the dead and wounded, and what appeared to be dozens of madmen, swinging their swords wildly at the air. He watched a man fall, his chest suddenly an open wound, though no sign of any thrown weapon or fired missile was apparent. What had felled him? Rowan wondered.

Tala answered as if hearing the unspoken question. “The air shimmers. I see forms in the shape of men moving and fighting.”

As they drew nearer, Rowan could see them as well. “It looks like they’re out of focus. The shape is there, but indistinct. You could look right through one and not notice it. A blur.”

The name seemed appropriate and stuck. Rowan called to those doing battle. “Fall back! To me, to me! Form a line!”

They did so as best they could—disengaging from a nearly invisible enemy is not simple. The blurs pursued, but slowly, giving the Delvish time to form up.

“Swords in front, bows to the rear!” Tala called. “Keep tight formations!”

Rowan leapt from his horse and found a sergeant. “What happened?”

“They came from the cloud, I think. Quietly overtook the rear guard. We lost twenty men before we even knew we were in a fight.”

“Do swords work on them?”

“Yes, but they’re hard to hit, even when they’re right in front of you. But I struck one for sure, felt the pull of it on my blade when the edge bit into him, same as any man. It fell or vanished or ran off. Can’t say which way, but he was gone.”

Rowan turned to see the new rear of his army, which had formed into lines as ordered. If they had to fall back now, they could do so with some chance at order. He wished more had joined the front line where he stood, but those in the middle of the column had a choice, and most chose the stronger rear line. “See if you can get more archers forward,” he said to Tala. “I want to cover the front with arrows if we can.”

As she rode off, he ordered his lines into a slow retreat. “We’ll meet them,” he said, “but let’s draw them nearer our reserves.”

It was hard to estimate the numbers they faced, but Rowan guessed less than 300. Now that he knew what to look for, he could make out where the individuals were, if not any detail about them. They approached in a methodical, steady style, their line not even that—they were simply a small mob advancing.

Rowan pressed his men together, certain now that the enemy wasn’t looking to flank him. “Maintain your lines. Fire arrows on my command. Don’t aim, just cover the area. Front lines, swing your swords in broad arcs before you.” He turned and saw Tala racing back, sixty more archers on foot following behind her at a run. “Get them into line, quickly!”

The nearest of the blurs moved within seventy yards…sixty…fifty. Rowan borrowed a bow and rode in front of his forward line. He took aim at the nearest blur and fired. He was nowhere near the archer Tala was, but his shot was true, at least as far as all eyes could tell. But the arrow passed beyond the blur, and the thing continued to advance unabated. The men grew uneasy, speaking to one another in furtive whispers. “They fool the eye,” Rowan said. “Attack the area about them. They can be hit.” When they closed within thirty yards, Rowan gave the order to fire.

Arrows whistled over the front line, filling the air. Most dropped harmlessly to the ground, but enough found targets to let them know their enemy was anything but invincible. The arrows that hit home stopped suddenly, danced for a moment, then turned to stand face up, their tips hidden inside the bodies of the blurs they had struck down.

“Excellent!” Rowan shouted. “Reload. Again, on my mark. They die as surely as any man, and we outnumber them.”

A few cheers from the front line went up, and several stepped out, ready to close with a foe they now felt capable of defeating. Rowan called for them to hold. “Stay together. The area to the front of a tight line will become a killing field. Remember, side-to-side swipes with the swords.” He called back to the archers, “Fire!” A second rain of wooden shafts fell upon the enemy. Seven or eight more blurs fell, but the rest pressed on.

“Archers fire at will! Front line, get ready!”

For the most part, the men at the point of contact followed orders, odd as they might seem, and Rowan deemed this a good sign for the future, assuming they had one. They swung their swords in blazing arcs before them, heedless of whether or not they saw an enemy there, ignoring how foolish it felt when the weapons struck nothing, while elsewhere their fellows might be locked in mortal combat. Most that fell did so to enemies unseen, or foes that appeared to be a foot or more to their right or left. But the plan was working, and they were clearly on their way to victory, the blurs falling one by one until their numbers were nearly spent. Still they came on, showing no sign that they understood the concept of retreat. They would press the fight until they broke the men or died trying.

“Hold the line!” Rowan called. “Keep tight together.” Now that the fight was so close, the archers were forced to stay their hands. Many drew swords instead, plugging holes in the front line when one of their brothers fell.

Tala had rushed a force forward to push back a group of blurs that had fought their way through near the center. Whatever tricks the blurs were able to play on the eyes of elves and humans alike were less effective when they were grouped. A blow meant for one might miss, only to strike another. The blurs were forced back before they could exploit the breach.

“Well done,” Tala said, riding up and down the line. There had never been any formal discussion of her having a position of leadership in this army, but the Delvish had accepted her orders without question. Rumors of the quest she and Rowan had been a part of had spread rapidly through the troops, and even though some of the tales were exaggerated, she had clearly won the respect of all. Now her eyes scanned the Delvish line for breaks and then the field beyond. She paused, seeing something strange there. “What’s that?” she asked in barely audible tones. Not letting the object out of her sight, she rode over to Rowan.

“They are nearly spent,” he said when he saw her, a note of triumph in his voice.

She gripped his arm firmly, the urgency bringing him immediately back to harsh reality. She pointed and he saw it. A curse wanted to leap from his lips but he swallowed it, long habit not lost even in the midst of battle. The simple conclusion was that it was another blur—certainly it had the same barely perceptible non-look to it—but it was at least three times the size of the others, towering over all on the field.

“Your sword,” Tala breathed.

Rowan looked down at his sheathed sword. Even through the leather he could see the white light it was casting off, escaping as it did in sharp rays where it found small holes in the scabbard. Rowan unsheathed it and held it aloft, the light fiery. “Demon,” he said, verbalizing what his Avenger sword was already saying.

The Delvish had seen the new threat now, and went from victorious to cowed. They fought unseen shadows within themselves, struggling to hold their ground. Some failed, running to the rear, heedless of the calls of their fellows to stand and fight.

The archers let loose at the large form, many forgetting what they had been told, taking aim and then watching in dismay as their arrows found no mark. Worse were those shafts that found the beast, for these simply bounced off, doing no harm. Impotent now, the archers began to falter.  Tala tried to keep them in line, but she was only one voice, and the approaching behemoth spoke far louder. Men started to the rear, a trickle at first, and then a steady flow. The archers were broken.

Those on the front line saw the uselessness of the arrows, but did not see the rear guard crumble—they were far too focused on the advancing enemy. Past the point of retreat now, they called out to their foe, inviting it to feel the sting of their steel and the icy embrace of death. The brave words had little impact on their opponent, but it girded them a bit.

Still out of reach of the swords of the men, the demon blur swung its own weapon. Broken bodies flew through the air, as if the beast had swatted a child’s toy warriors. Men and women raced in to attack, swinging wildly, hoping to find a target. In the melee it was hard to see that even the swords did little damage to the thing, but no one could miss the fact that each swing of its arm scattered another dozen foes before it. It only took a few seconds for the demon blur to crush the human resistance around him, and send those at its flanks scrambling away, hoping to find a safe haven far from this gigantic horror.

Rowan saw everything falling apart around him, a victory that was so certain moments ago now a crushing defeat. He spurred his horse forward, holding his sword aloft, determined to stop the demon or die trying. He knew if he ran away now that his army would be of no further use against Solek, having been demoralized and defeated well away from the border of Veldoon.

Tala gasped as he charged, his horse swerving to avoid the beaten army that streamed in the opposite direction. She knew she couldn’t stop him now. She maneuvered her own horse, trying to get the best view, holding her bow with an arrow nocked, ready to shoot if she thought it might help. Whatever the thing was, she thought, its hide seemed impervious to arrows, but that didn’t mean it had no weak spot. She wished she could catch just a glimpse of its eyes…

Rowan raced in, sword blazing. There was no way the thing could miss seeing him. As he closed on it, he rode upright in the saddle, as if he was giving his opponent a good target.

From Tala’s vantage point she could see the blow fall, could tell from the hazy outline of the thing that it reached back to gather strength and then swing at the charging rider. Just as the shout of warning was leaving her lips, she saw that Rowan had seen it too.

Rowan pulled hard on the reins and ducked, slashing with his sword arm. Suddenly he was airborne, flying from his mount, which was knocked to the ground. The blow was only a glancing one, and both rider and horse lived. Rowan rolled to his feet, sore and out of breath. He saw his horse, recovered now and moving away to safety, and then heard a sound that both chilled him and brought him hope.

A deep bellow came from the demon’s unseen mouth, a roar of mingled pain and rage. Rowan’s sword had been able to strike where the other weapons had failed, and for the time being that fact alone saved his life. The pain of the wound had caused the beast to hesitate in its attack long enough for Rowan to regain his feet and gather his wits. He charged in, slashing at the blur, hoping more than expecting to do more damage. He swung at what he thought was a leg, but his sword sliced only air.

The demon attacked again, from above, striking straight down. Rowan tried to ignore what his eyes were telling him, relying on instinct. The demon shape seemed to be aiming to crush something to Rowan’s left, but he knew where the blow was targeted. He rolled left, even though the action placed him squarely under the blur’s apparent attack site. He flinched as the blow fell, but felt nothing.