The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (26 page)

“Of course,” her father replied. “But I am sure the others have faced obstacles just as you did. Hopefully, they fared as well.”

“What is your plan for the march?” Rowan asked.

“We will go northwest through the forest, staying to the trees as long as we can. We will then pass between the Demon Hills and the Gray Mountains, through a narrow valley. If Solek has spies in the mountains, and I have no doubt that he does, they will see us then. But the Demon Hills are difficult to cross, and going around them to the west will cause great delay.”

“And the westward path would not guarantee we could move unseen,” Rowan said, agreeing with Deron’s plan. “Especially with Mists and who-knows-what-else roaming the world. I never thought we could sneak up on Solek anyway.”

Deron nodded. “Very well. Take what ease you can while we have the chance. There will likely be little rest beyond these walls, until Arkania’s fate is decided.”

Rest wasn’t the word either Rowan or Tala would have applied to the two days that followed. There was a feeling of safety in Dol Lavaan that eased their minds somewhat, and they were happy not to be moving all day—more so for the men and women that did so on foot. But Rowan still had an army to care for, and although the elves fed and sheltered them, Rowan had to be mindful of what they might face in the coming weeks. He allowed them to idle for one day, but set them to light drills the next, and made sure his command structure was sound—he had lost a few lieutenants as they fought the blurs.

He also was asked to add the Ridonians to his numbers. A woman named Chel had been elected spokesperson, and had talked to Rowan and Deron about the wishes of her people. “The assaults of the Dead hit us first and hardest,” she had said. “Almost all we would look to for leadership fell in a string of battles we were forced to fight. We are willing to fight—we want to fight—but have not the military minds that would put us to best use. We would be honored, of course, to go to war alongside the elves who have been our hosts and protectors, but it is said elves may give battle differently than men. So we thought it might be best if we placed ourselves under the command of our brothers from Delving.”

Deron agreed to this readily, then turned to Rowan, awaiting his reply. Rowan knew he had little choice but to accept. He felt it a mixed blessing at best—more soldiers, but of uncertain mettle. Still, they had been through a great deal, and these had survived and were willing to battle on. He assumed they would be as effective as his own people, and busied himself with the added details of including these new troops. He was surprised to find they nearly doubled his numbers.

Tala meanwhile said goodbye once again to elves and places she had known and loved since childhood, she hoped not for the last time. She found herself anxious to move on and needing to set aside the feeling that the world was moving to some fateful climax while they waited here. She often found her hand straying to the cloaking bag, the Sphere inside like a cancer she had brought into this uncorrupted place. The sooner it was gone, the better.

The next morning brought the sights and sounds of armies preparing for war. Horns blared throughout the city, stirring those who had managed to sleep well, few though they were, to action. Everything was alive, but it was ordered chaos, and when the warriors departed they did so in clean lines, and to the cheers and good wishes of those who would be left behind. A small group of mounted elves went first, to act as guides and as a screen for the army’s front ranks, followed by the Delvish and Ridonians, and finally the main elven host. At the lead of the elven army rode Deron, wearing a golden helm and breastplate, a sword at his side and a bow on his shoulder. Tala, who had saved her farewells for her parents until this morning, was shocked to find her father so arrayed.

“One leads in peace and in war,” he told her. “We march to war. This is my place.” So proud and noble did he look on his steed that no one could have argued.

Unsure how to reply, she simply bowed, a gesture of respect to her father and the leader of her people. She stole a furtive glance at the humans filing past and through the city gate.

Deron noticed the look. “Go,” he said with a paternal smile. “You have been through much together. Ride with your friend. Besides, I know you can look after yourself, but if you are here I will naturally have one eye on our affairs of war and the other on you.”

She nodded her thanks and turned to go, then looked back. “I will only say farewell for now. We will save our goodbyes for another time.”

He raised a hand in salute, then watched her go with a father’s pride shining on his face. As she moved off, his face slowly fell. “Goodbye,” he whispered. He gave himself a moment, then stilled his emotions and put on a stern mask. When he led his army through the gate, his people saw only a brave warrior with a will of steel.

*          *          *

The Demon Hills were a broad band of rocky, wooded hills, riddled with crags and crevices, boulders and chasms, and tangled trees that had somehow managed to grow in the thin soil. So hostile was the terrain that the Hills were said to have been created by the Dark One himself. Whether or not he participated in their creation, they now served his purpose, standing as they did between an army marching to meet him and the kingdom he, through Solek, currently ruled.

Alexis had slowed the march of the Lorgrasians as much as she dared, hoping the lead elements of the goblin army would reach her rear guard before the Lorgrasians reached the Hills. Rumor was the Hills could be crossed, but only by a small party picking their way cautiously along, likely backtracking many times as they found their way barred by some natural obstacle. And that was assuming the creatures that tales told lived there did not interfere. Alexis had no delusions about this army going across the Hills—her plan was to pass through the narrow area where the foothills brushed against the Great Northern Forest. The extra time the slower march had given them allowed her to confirm the path was open, as well as giving the foraging parties a chance to replenish a portion of their dwindling supplies, though the pickings were, not surprisingly, slim.

The Lorgrasians camped within sight of the Demon Hills, and Alexis told her captains to be prepared to move at best speed in the morning—she wanted to pass the Hills as quickly as possible, and the narrow way would naturally string her army out.

As dawn broke, a scout from the rear reported the goblin army had pulled within three days’ march of them. “They move like the wind,” the scout said. “No doubt our armies will be linked by the time we reach the open country beyond the Demon Hills.”

Alexis dismissed the scout with her thanks, smiling at the news. Their hope against Solek was in the strength of combined armies. As to what was happening elsewhere she could only guess, but the forces she had been able to set in motion would likely arrive together and on time at Solek’s doorstep. When she passed on the news to Lucien, the big goblin only grunted his understanding, but she could see the pleasure in his eyes. The thought crossed her mind that, as much as could be expected, all was well. The thought was fleeting, but was enough to sound a warning in her mind for extra care to be taken. Now was no time to relax. She sent orders for the patrols to be wary.

*          *          *

They had traveled for two days on the edge of the Hills without incident. Alexis rode at the front of the column, not really the front of the army since a cavalry screen always probed some distance ahead, but the symbolic position of leadership. Delona did not like it—she felt the position exposed the queen unnecessarily—but she knew better than to ask Queen Alexandra to ride in a more sheltered spot. Instead she always stayed a few yards back, scanning for anything that might be amiss. Only a short time ago she would have protested the goblin riding next to the queen, his warblade close at hand, but she had come to understand in some small way the bond that had grown between the two and the others they had earlier traveled with while collecting the Sphere shards. She had no doubt Lucien would take an arrow for the queen as readily as she would. But she worried Alexandra might do the same for Lucien.

That night they camped under a cloudless sky. The moon, just past full, cast its pale blue-white light on the world, adding an eerie dimension to the shadows on the Demon Hills and at the fringe of the Great Northern Forest. The Lorgrasians huddled around their campfires, more for the comfort of the light than the warmth. There was an unmistakable sense as they traveled that the Hills and Forest were pressing in on them, and that sense was keener at night. Conversations tended to be short and whispered and there was little laughing and no singing to be heard throughout the camp.

Alexis had just drifted off to sleep when she was awakened by shouts in the distance. In an instant she was fully alert and out of her tent. Delona was running up, with Lucien a few steps behind.

“What is it?” Alexis asked.

“Something to the rear,” was all Delona had to offer.

Alexis started moving. The camp was all confusion, disorganized, everyone grabbing weapons but not knowing if there was an enemy about, or if so where the enemy was. Loud cracks and thuds sounded from somewhere in the Demon Hills, as if they had suddenly sprung to life. The cries of her people some distance ahead took on a different tone, less one of confusion and more one of organization—orders being given and responded to. A rider appeared out of the darkness between the campfires, dodged to one side to avoid Alexis and her small escort, and seemed ready to press on when she suddenly checked
up. She wheeled about, first eyeing Lucien, who must have caught her attention, and then spying Alexis. “My Queen!” she shouted, presenting herself to Alexis. “We are under attack from the hills.”

“By who?”

“I…I don’t know,” she stammered. She reached up to a deep cut on her forehead and wiped the blood away from her right eye. “Boulders and trees started falling upon us. I was sent forward before we closed with the enemy.”

“Your horse,” said Alexis. “I must borrow it.”

The woman jumped off without question, and Alexis was quickly in the saddle. Delona grabbed at the reins. “It is too dangerous to ride ahead, alone and in the dark.”

Before Alexis could answer, the Hills seemed to explode. There was a great rending sound, of trees being ripped from the earth and of wood snapping, and suddenly the sky was filled with wood and rock, which rained down upon them.

Alexis wasn’t sure if she had been knocked or thrown from the horse. She rose from the ground, ignoring the pain in her ribs and left shoulder, and wiped the dirt from her face. What she saw before her was something out of a tale told to her when she was young, to frighten her into behaving.

Twenty feet tall it was, thin but impossibly strong. In one hand it held a tree freshly uprooted, in the other a wooden club not much smaller than the tree. Its skin was mottled green and brown, and a pair of black eyes looked out from a face as hard as stone. It swept trees and brush out of its way and advanced down the hill.

“Hill troll!” someone shouted, putting the name Alexis had not bothered to mutter to the beast. She was peripherally aware that other trolls were advancing from the Hills, but her attention was fixed on the one before her.

Alexis diverted her gaze long enough to find her spear. She stood tall, willing the troll to see her. With a cry she leapt forward.

“To the queen!” Delona cried, and dozens of warriors torn between fight and flight had a rallying point. When Alexis struck at the troll, she was not alone.

She rammed her spear into the hill troll’s leg, the hide tough but not impenetrable. The troll twisted in pain as the spear ran through flesh and muscle, ripping the weapon from Alexis’ hand and tossing her to the ground. With a sweeping motion of its club it cleared an area before itself, scattering many of its foes. It threw the tree into the next nearest mass of warriors, killing two and wounding several others.

Lucien had rolled under the club swipe and driven his warblade into the troll’s good leg just as it released the tree. It tried to swat the goblin with its club but was too slow, Lucien scampering between its legs and hacking at the back of its ankle. Deprived of the use of one leg it knelt, swinging wildly now in rage. Spears and arrows pestered it, some finding the mark and doing damage.

Alexis reached twice for her spear, which was still lodged in its leg, then thought better of it when the club missed her skull by a few inches. She suddenly realized she was next to a very angry hill troll and that she was weaponless. She rolled behind a large boulder and looked for an opportunity to retreat. Above her head she heard the crack of wood on stone as the troll tried to get at her.