The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (27 page)

The troll had seen the woman go behind the rock, had tried to strike before her head sank below the top of the stone. Too slow it had swung its club, and now she was safe, but only so long as the rock was between them. Its legs were in agony, but its arms had lost little of their strength. It reached over and lifted the rock, raising it over its head. The look on the woman’s face was almost payment for the spear she had put through its leg. Almost. The sight of her smashed body would square things.

Despite what she had seen of the troll’s strength, Alexis was shocked to see the boulder she sheltered behind hoisted so effortlessly into the air. Totally exposed, her every instinct was for flight, but she eyed her foe, waiting in a crouch for it to make the next move.

Lucien saw the danger, but also the ideal opening. The troll was powerful, but slow and not bright enough to keep track of all its enemies. As it lifted the rock to crush Alexis, it had clearly forgotten all about Lucien. Once the boulder was squarely over the troll’s head Lucien acted, driving his warblade into its back and upward into its chest cavity. Lucien had hoped to see it collapse then, perhaps even dropping the rock upon itself. Instead it twisted violently, trying to throw Lucien clear. The goblin slammed into a large tree, but stubbornly Lucien held on.

The troll felt its strength draining. It wanted at the goblin, but could do little with the rock in its hands while the green creature clung at its back. It spotted Alexis again and brought the rock down.

Alexis sprang to her right as soon as the rock started for her, then rolled further off in that direction. She felt helping hands pulling her away.

Lucien tried to get his feet set so he could free his weapon. Some distant voice in his mind told him to let it go, that the troll had to fall soon and that he could retrieve it then, but the warrior in him refused, certain that if he let go the troll would be given a chance to recover, regroup, and then press the attack again. He could sense it reaching for him, but he had placed the warblade, and therefore himself as long as he held it, at a spot the troll could not easily reach.

The troll, unable to grab its tormentor or shake it off, allowed its wounded legs the break they desired. It fell backward, trying to drop its weight on the goblin.

Lucien felt the move coming too late to jump clear. He braced for impact and then took the blow, a hard shot as if a mighty hammer had fallen on him.

“Finish it now!” Alexis cried, seeing the troll in a prostrate position. She grabbed a spear from a warrior that stood dazed beside her and raced at the troll. As she drove the spear into the creature, she was pleased to see four others had followed her lead.

The troll, already weakened, gave up its spirit quickly after the spears had skewered it. It simply gasped and then rolled over, crashing against one of the trees it had failed to uproot.

Lucien was uncovered as the troll died, the warblade finally coming free of the beast and remaining held fast in the goblin’s hands. He lay motionless, covered in fresh blood, his eyes staring skyward. A shiver ran through him, shaking him to life. He blinked and sat up.

Alexis knelt beside him. “Are you alright?” She gently probed where the blood was thickest, thinking to find some wound that needed mending.

“Sore. Okay,” Lucien said. “Blood is troll’s.” He struggled to his feet then gestured west, where the sounds of battle still raged. “More trolls.”

“Let’s go,” Alexis said, in reply to Lucien and in command to the Lorgrasians. Alexis glanced at her warriors, saw the hesitation. A spark of anger started within her. She had never thought to see cowardice, especially among these, some of her most trusted and tested warriors.

The look on her face must have displayed her feelings all too plainly. Carlend motioned at a fallen Lorgrasian.

Understanding bloomed within Alexis, and a heavy sorrow settled into her expression just as it did her heart. She went to the downed warrior, who still lived but whose breaths were ragged and harsh. There was no blood, but the place where the troll’s club had impacted her torso was all too plain. She knelt down and whispered, “Delona.”

Delona reached up to grip Alexis’ arm. There was strength yet in the grasp, but it was fading. “My queen. I’m sorry. I wished to fight with you until the end. Instead I fall at the beginning.”

“Be still now,” said Alexis. “While you yet draw breath there is hope.”

Delona laughed, once, the sound turning into a pained cough. Bright red blood painted her lips and then trickled down her cheek. “I am beyond the power of any healing, magic or no. Bless me, my queen, that I may go to the next world with my head held high and proud.”

Alexis cupped Delona’s face in her hands while tears streamed down her face. “You have my blessing and my thanks, daughter of Lorgras. You will be sorely missed.”

Delona gave Alexis’ arm one last squeeze, then let her hand drop to her side. “Victory, my queen.” She motioned at Lucien to come closer, and when he did so she said, “Protect her, goblin, with your life if you must.”

“Warblade. Life. Hers to command.” He held his weapon up in salute, one warrior to another.

Delona nodded once, then closed her eyes and gave up her spirit.

Alexis ordered two warriors to see to Delona and the other dead. “Move them away if you can. Protect them. They should be buried with honor. I’ll not have them abused if we lose the fight.”

The soldiers simply nodded that they understood, neither pointing out that if they lost the fight the victors would do whatever they wanted to the Lorgrasians, whether living or dead.

Alexis moved west toward the battle, Lucien and the Lorgrasians still fit to fight by her side. They passed two fallen hill trolls, and too many slain or wounded Lorgrasians to count. Alexis tried to ignore the losses, to focus on the task at hand, but could not, the death and pain too personal, the damage to their hopes of defeating Solek already incalculable and growing worse. The first living hill troll she came upon paid the price. It was already wounded, but still capable of doing great harm. It was holding off a dozen warriors with a tree, but Alexis came at it from an oblique angle, and drove her spear through its heart before it even knew she was there. With new additions she continued west, the Lorgrasians letting out screams of triumph and anger as they raced on.

If there was a center to the battle they came upon it next. Six trolls had been working together, providing one another with some protection from flank and rear attacks. Two had fallen and one was badly wounded. Human bodies lay scattered about them. The Lorgrasians were in a loose semi-circle, having seen the damage the trolls could do to a knot of people with their clubs. They used arrows from a distance, and in turns lunged forward to toss spears when they saw an opening. For their part the trolls took lunging swipes as well, leaping forward and swinging their clubs, then retreating to the relative safety of their kin. It had become a drawn out battle of attrition.

Lucien’s spirit cried for him to charge, but his brain knew doing so alone against four trolls would spell his doom, regardless of what pride he felt as a warrior. He held his warblade ready, but felt useless in this contest where ranged weapons were their best hope. He tried to calm himself so he would be ready to strike if a troll came near.

From further west came a battle cry, hundreds, perhaps thousands of fell voices raised in unison. Alexis felt her stomach tighten and her heart sink. A new foe, striking them now, would turn the tide in favor of the trolls. She heard Lucien let out a great bellow, a roaring scream. “You know them?” she asked, hoping some knowledge of this new enemy might give them a slim hope of victory. She spared a quick sideways glance at the goblin, surprised to see him standing tall, with that odd, eerie, toothy smile creasing his face,

“Help here,” he said, pointing with his warblade.

She saw them now, coming around the foot of a hill, racing ahead as if afraid to miss out on the end of the battle, their weapons already stained with blood, her own warriors mixed in with them. The goblins had arrived.

*          *          *

One thing that was apparent to Demetrius from the time he and Corson were asked to lead a small group in search of their dwarven allies was that even with the dwarves they would not be a force ideally suited to movement or battle. The dwarves were stout on the march, but with only his mount and a few others, there was little chance for scouting the terrain for possible enemy positions or maneuvers. He knew they had been lucky that their only opposition to date had been a relatively small Legion force, and the cloud, which fortunately had dissipated and allowed them to pass. They moved northwest then, going as quickly as they could, feeling the weight of lost time. Ideally he would have sent riders east and south, to try to contact the Corindors he knew were moving, and the Delvish he hoped were, but he didn’t have anyone to spare, nor did he want anyone riding alone. So he simply pressed on and hoped.

He awoke one foggy morning to the report of horses approaching from the south. Slowly the riders emerged from the mist, wearing the green and gold of Corindor. Demetrius let out an audible sigh of relief.

“I’m awake, right?” Corson said.

“Either that or we’re having the same dream.”

Corson looked the taller man up and down, as if just noticing his appearance for the first time. He shook his head. “Nope, no dream. I can do better than you.”

Demetrius laughed, too relieved at the reunion with his countrymen to bother responding to the jibe. There were only eight riders, who probed in front of the main force, looking for obstacles, enemies, or the allies they had just found.

“Have you been attacked?” one of them asked.

“Several weeks ago,” Demetrius said, “by the Dead Legion.”

“We were as well, but less than a week back. We were stopped by some sort of fog to our front, and the Legion hit us from the rear. They were not many in number, and we bested them, but not before many fell.”

“A cloud held us at bay for several days as well, but then it simply vanished.”

“It was the same with us, soon after the battle was won. I see you have been successful in your journey,” he said, gesturing at the dwarves.

“We have,” Corson answered, “and formidable warriors they are.”

“I don’t doubt it. And I dare say we will need them. Any news of the Delvish?”

“None,” Demetrius replied.

The rider sighed. “We can hope they are ahead somewhere, or have taken a more easterly route.”

Demetrius nodded his agreement. “How far in front of the main body do you ride?”

“A day, no more. I’ll send some men back to say we found you. Might be best if you took a bit of extra rest tonight and let our forces catch up. It would be better for all of us if we moved together.”

*          *          *

Corson had trouble taking advantage of the chance for some
extra
sleep. He rose before dawn and went to find the guards, perhaps to let them rest early, or to talk if they were in the mood. He noted with a smile that the dwarves seemed to be having no trouble sleeping in. They were nearly as good at snoring as they were with their axes.
Corson knew to move cautiously in the pre-dawn half-light.
Frightening guards was always a danger. Before he could locate them, he saw Demetrius was also awake. He sat cross-legged on the ground, looking away to nothing in particular. Corson sat next to him. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

“No. You get used to being up early in the field. I suppose if I found a bed I could sleep for a week though.”

“What do you think of our chances?”

“Better with our own here. Even better if we see our friends from other lands again.”

“And if all we hope for arrive…think we can win?”

Demetrius scanned the sky, as if looking for the answer there. “I’m not sure we’ll lose,” he managed at last.

“I guess that’s something.”

“It is. We’ve gotten this far, against the odds I’d say.”