The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (3 page)

Before the creature could fully recover Demetrius and Corson were upon it. Demetrius’ sword cracked against a chitinous plate, which absorbed the blow with a loud crack. A claw-like appendage swatted at the sword, while a dozen legs scrambled for purchase on the ground. After fixing Demetrius with its black, soulless eye, the thing sprang away, quickly vanishing into the night.

Demetrius watched it go—although there was nothing to see after a couple of seconds—while Corson calmed the horses. After the horses were settled, Corson moved beside his friend.

“Any idea what that was?” he asked.

“No,” said Demetrius. “And that bothers me a great deal.”

*          *          *

Rowan gazed through a light morning fog while dawn broke in the east. He could just make out the outlined peaks of the Trawnor Mountains in the distance, although the foothills were still shrouded.

“I don’t like fog,” he said, speaking to himself. “Makes it hard to see where you’re going and what’s coming at you.”

Tala overheard him. “Nothing for it but to press on. It will lift soon enough.”

“I know. But it’ll slow us down until then.”

They picked their way carefully south, the Great Northern Forest at long last receding behind them. They had traveled within sight of it for a full week since their separation from Demetrius and Corson, and the whole group had used it as a guide for nearly a fortnight before that. It was a parting utterly devoid of sorrow. The woods remained as dark and foreboding as ever, and at night shadows eyed them from just inside the tree line, and of late from beyond it. There had been no attacks, but the horses had been nervous and jittery, and Rande now carried Jazda’s extra knife—just in case.

Jazda was a jovial enough companion, but the boy was quiet and detached. He spoke when spoken to, and helped with building fires and tending the horses, but he rarely smiled or laughed. This morning he had taken his usual spot in line behind Jazda, and seemed content to study his mount’s mane. Tala gave her horse a little kick and moved up beside him.

“Sleep well?” she asked.

He nodded in reply.

“How long have you sailed with Captain Jazda?”

“Since I was eight or nine.”

“Your parents?”

“My mother had seven kids. Never knew my father. She couldn’t feed us all—not easily anyway. So I found work.”

“Do you like it? Life at sea, I mean.”

“I’m good enough at it, I suppose.”

“Ever think you might want to captain your own ship someday, when you are a bit older?”

He fixed her with a quick, piercing stare, then turned away again. “I don’t think I’ll be seeing ‘older.’ Even if I do, it’ll be living under a rock, trying to avoid the Legion—or worse things.”

Tala was so taken aback by his words that she had to clear her throat before she could reply.

He smiled at her discomfort, without mirth. “I’m young, but my eyes still work. I can see what’s happening.”

“I have more hope than you, perhaps. For the future.”

“What would someone like me know of hope?” The question was a challenge.

“You have done better than most, faced with the choices you had. Captain Jazda thinks highly of you. The crew thought of you as one of their own.”

“And now they are all dead.”

“Yes,” said Tala, eyeing the boy. “But you are not. Do not act like you are.”

“I do my fair share.”

“I was not speaking of that, as you know. You have to decide whether to face the challenges life deals you by fighting on or by quitting. You do not strike me as being a quitter.”

Rande wore a sullen look. “I’m not.”

“No one has been exempt from pain. Your life has been harder than most, but you know you have a lot of company in hardship. And we have a chance—however slight—to change things for the better.”

“I hope you don’t think that little speech will suddenly have me giggling like a little girl and braiding flowers in my hair.”

“Hardly. But I would like to think you are not beaten already. Of course, that choice is up to you.”

Rande mulled that over for a bit. “So what makes you think happy thoughts all the time?”

Tala laughed. “I do not. Never have. My life had its own complications
long before Solek raised his first army. But I know once I give up, he has won.”

“And what of this Savior Rowan speaks of?”

She shrugged. “I have seen the power of evil embodied. Why not good?”

“Doesn’t sound like he’s converted you.”

“He has not tried. It is not his way. I have only heard him try to answer your questions—I do not recall him preaching to you.”

Rande sighed. “He hasn’t, but he probably will soon enough. People all worship something—a god, money, themselves—and they want you to see the world the way they do.”

Tala shook her head. “There is some truth in that, but people are individuals. Some, like Rowan, will fight for what is right and good, with little thought of personal gain or loss. I think that is his most powerful testimony for his Savior. Try to see that part of the man, and then maybe you will recognize it in others and decide there is hope for Arkania—and that there is something here still worth fighting for.”

With that she fell back, allowing Rande to ponder what she had said.

That evening the adults sat around the fire while Rande busied himself with the horses. He found some solace there from his internal scars, and though he often lingered longer than necessary, they never called him away from the animals. It wasn’t as if he had a dozen chores to do anyway.

Evening campfires had become the norm. The group felt watched all the time, and once night fell they found some comfort in the warmth and light of the small blaze. They tried to find hollows or rocks to somewhat hide their presence, but despite the risk they had no desire to sleep in the dark—something about the shadows stalking them made them feel the absence of light would be just what their uninvited guests wanted.

“How can you stand this?” Jazda asked.

Rowan smiled and laughed softly. “The food? You get used to it.”

“Not the food. The feeling of being hunted.”

“You do not get used to it,” said Tala. “But we can hunt as well.”

“I suppose,” Jazda said. “But night after night of poor sleep is wearing on me. And from what you’ve told me you’ve been living this way for months. The enemy need not attack if he can simply get us so tired that we step over a cliff on our own.”

“I doubt the creatures pacing us are sent by the enemy,” Rowan said, “although they no doubt have spawned from the evil he has inflicted on the world. I’ve found you can sleep well enough when you trust your companions on the watch.”

“I trust you. But I’m used to a solid eight hours. I think when we get home I’ll sleep for a week straight.”

Suddenly Rande was with them, speaking in hushed tones. “Something is coming close. The horses grow more restless than normal.”

Weapons were drawn. “Which way?” asked Rowan.

Rande pointed southeast, past the horses.

Rowan started to circle to the left, while Tala went to the right. As she was moving away, she told Jazda, “Stay with Rande.”

“I can fight,” Jazda said with a scowl.

“I do not doubt it,” she replied as she slipped silently into the night.

As Rowan passed by the horses and out of the light of the campfire, he saw his blade had begun to glow. He heard the soft pad of something drawing near, and the intensity of the blade’s light increased. As he shifted his gaze away from his own weapon, they were upon him.

The first leapt at him, its black teeth snapping at his throat while its paws thudded against his chest. “Demon dogs!” he shouted, hitting the one on him with a forearm. It rolled once and then sprang back to the attack. Rowan felled it with a swift slash, while a second was caught in mid-lunge by Tala’s arrow. This one slunk away into the night, whimpering as it did so.

The dogs were powerfully built and large, standing three feet at the shoulder. Their fur was all black, as were their teeth and tongues. Only their red eyes kept them visible in the darkness. They numbered eight, but they were intelligent enough to sense that the two who had come to meet them were proficient with the arms they carried. The dogs went after the horses instead, which were tethered together around a pair of trees.

The horses reared and kicked frantically, while the dogs harassed them and bit deeply into their flanks. Soon four of the dogs brought one of the horses down, and once they did so they finished him quickly.

Jazda held his position by the fire, his eyes alert and searching, waiting for one or more of the dogs to attack. The knife he held was long and sharp, but it was no sword, nor was he an expert in its use. He thought it to be feeble protection at best. While he contemplated how he might deal with a pair or more moving on him at once, Rande burst past him. “Rande! No!” he screamed.

“I have to save the horses!”

Jazda raced after him, but the boy was quick, and was swiftly in the midst of the fray. Rowan and Tala converged as well, looking for an opening.

Rande kicked one of the dogs in the ribs with all his strength. It crumpled to its knees while the air rushed from its lungs, but it regained its feet quickly, and turned its hell-lit eyes upon the boy. Fresh blood glistened on its teeth.

An arrow zipped between dog and boy, finding its target. The arrow plunged into the dog’s well-muscled chest and flames spit from its mouth, scorching the left leg of the nearest horse. The horse screamed in pain and reared.

Rowan and Jazda were trying to work their way into the cluster of terrified horses and attacking dogs, but found themselves blocked by the bucking and kicking of their steeds. Jazda kept shouting Rande’s name over and over, trying to call him away from danger.

The numerous distractions caused Rande to break eye contact for an instant with the dog he had kicked. It was all the opening it needed. It flung itself forward, jaws wide, drool and blood flying, going for Rande’s throat.

Rande reacted reflexively, pulling back and putting up a warding arm. The demon dog’s cruel black teeth tore into the flesh and muscle of his forearm. Rande cried out in agony, the bite like fire.

Rowan arrived then, and hacked the dog’s head off with two swift blows. The severed head remained on Rande’s arm, a clinging, disembodied monster, until the boy shook it off. Oblivious to any further danger, he dropped to a sitting position, cradling his arm to his chest.

Rowan slashed at one of the dogs feeding on the fallen horse. It dodged the full brunt of the blow, but still took a nasty wound on the shoulder. It let out a low, menacing growl, but once it saw Rowan advance rather than retreat, it fled into the night. Its living fellows followed suit, baying and howling as they ran. Whether the sound was a cry of victory or frustration no one knew, but it chilled those that heard it.

Tala tried to calm the horses while Rowan returned to Rande. Jazda knelt a few feet away from the boy, but was oblivious to Rande or anything else going on around him. He plunged his knife over and over into the headless corpse of the demon dog that had bitten Rande, screaming curses and oaths while he did so.

Rowan stayed his hand. “It’s dead,” he said. When Jazda turned to look at him, Rowan had to fight the urge to pull back, so haunted was the look in the seaman’s eyes. “Help me with Rande,” he said, trying to pull Jazda back to the moment.