The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (30 page)

It is natural that when main forces of such bodies merge, the leaders come together to confer—to share news and make plans. This was Alexis’ duty, of course, and she had with her the goblin chiefs and Lucien. She had hoped the leaders of the other factions moving from the south would bring her quest companions along, so that she might greet them again. She was happy to see that the Corindor and Elven leaders did so, but was surprised to see Rowan alone for the Delvish. She spoke to the others first, and then moved to him, wanting to embrace him but feeling she could not—not here and now. She was queen and leader of Lorgras. “I am glad to see you well,” she said.

“And I, you, my lady of Lorgras,” he replied.

“The duchess?” Alexis asked warily.

“She’s fine…well, as fine as could be expected, but she wanted no part of leading troops in the field.”

“Then who—?” Alexis began to look past Rowan, as if someone would materialize there.

Rowan’s only reply was an awkward smile. He looked away, embarrassed by the pride he felt was showing through his poor attempt to mask it.

Alexis saw his expression, and understood. “The duchess chose well.”

“I am not of royal blood.”

“That matters little now, here in this place and time. We need leaders, not figureheads. The duchess understood that.”

Rowan gave a small bow. “I am flattered. We have been fortunate to make it here with minimal loss.”

“As we all have, I’m sure,” said Alexis.

Before they could say more, Deron called for their attention. “We are all well met here my friends, a last alliance to save Arkania.” He looked them over, men and goblins and dwarves and elves, their eyes bright, their faces strong and stern. “I regret it has taken this to bring us together.”

The others nodded and sounded their agreement, but Deron’s eyes found his daughter’s and there she saw something more: regret certainly, but perhaps an apology as well. He had remained apart from the rest of Arkania for too long, and his people with him, had started to get comfortable with the thought that the elves, in their secret place, were somehow above all the schemes and plans of the rest of the world. Now he understood differently. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.

“So now we are here,” Deron went on, “ready to oppose Solek one last time, to defeat him or to yield our world up to him if we fail. Am I correct to think all know of the Sphere?”

They did, but many asked to see it. Tala stepped forth and slid it from the bag. The hole left by the missing shard seemed a jagged wound. No one dared to touch it, choosing only to gaze upon it in silent wonder. When they were satisfied she hid it once again.

“Such a small thing to put all our hopes in,” said Joss.

“But made of wondrous material, the like of which I’ve not seen before,” said Gellan. “There’s magic about it, no doubt.”

“Are we sure we can’t defeat Solek by force of arms?” Destan asked.

“It is possible to kill Solek,” Deron replied, “but not to hold the Dark One. It is he who must be taken, if we are to reclaim our world.”

“Both taste goblin warblades,” stated Xoshan.

“I hope you are right,” said Rowan. “But we will have many battles before we get that chance.”

“And other obstacles to overcome that weapons will not help with,” said Alexis. “I have seen the evil magic our opponent is capable of. For this we must be ready.”

“We hope we can help with that,” said Deron. “Some of my people are skilled in the magic arts as well. They are old and wise, and would be of little use with a bow or sword, but they are here to do what they can. Even so, Solek has become powerful beyond what we once thought possible. We need to weaken him before we can assault him directly.”

“My understanding was that that was the plan all along,” said Destan. “To absorb his blows and deal with a less formidable enemy when we meet him face to face.”

“That’s right,” Corson said, meeting Destan’s eyes. It was he that had told Joss and Destan this would be the way of things. He hoped the others had proceeded under the same assumption. When he found that it was so, he let out a soft sigh of relief. One doesn’t convince generals to move an army under false pretenses and hope to be forgiven later.

They talked for hours, making their plans, and then ate together, for the first and probably last time as a group. Afterward there were only a few brief exchanges, and then they parted to return to their own camps, in order to prepare their troops for the coming dawn.

Demetrius and Corson lagged behind Destan and Joss, letting the two Corindor generals discuss strategy. They were little more than foot soldiers now, and it seemed odd to be playing a lesser role after all they had been through with the collection of the Sphere shards. They had each been offered a company to lead, and had accepted the honor. For Demetrius it was a position to which he was accustomed, to Corson a promotion of sorts.

“Any concern about leading tomorrow?” Demetrius asked, sensing the meaning of his friend’s unusual silence.

“Just that other lives might depend on my decisions. It’s one thing to be responsible for yourself, but for others…it kind of weighs on you.”

“You never really get that out of your mind. It’s actually a good thing. Their lives matter, and they need to know you know it. But death is inevitable in war.” Demetrius sized Corson up and smiled. “You’re ready. Been ready for a while.”

Corson looked away and muttered “Thanks.” When he turned back, he saw that Demetrius’ attention was focused squarely on the pass, shadowed now in the fading light of day. In the twilight the winged demons could be seen poised on the rocky ridges of the mountains that rose on either side of the Saber Pass. Beyond the pass was the black cloud, larger now, the red glow emanating from within, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Tomorrow is going to be interesting,” was all Demetrius said, his eyes never leaving the pass.

Chapter 7: Saber Pass

The Saber Pass was an anomaly in the mountainous wall that surrounded Veldoon where the sea did not. It was so named either because it appeared as if some giant or god had cleaved the opening in the mountains to allow passage in and out of Veldoon, or because the path itself went straight except for a bend near the Veldoon side, so that it was somewhat shaped like a saber. Possibly it was some combination of both. The pass was nearly thirty miles long, and though it appeared to be several miles wide, the least rocky and therefore easiest passage was a swath roughly a half-mile wide down the center.

After much discussion the order of march had been decided upon. The elves would take the lead, at their insistence, expecting any magical attacks with which they were best prepared to deal would come from the far side of the pass. The goblins, always wanting the place of most danger and therefore most honor, had wanted to go in first, but reluctantly settled for the rear guard, in case the whole of the assembled armies was walking into a trap which would require an escape route to the rear be opened. This left the dwarven and the human armies with the middle places in the line, with little to do except watch for trouble on the cliffs that rimmed the pass. There was no safe way to traverse the pass, and they settled on the need to camp one night in it, rather than trying to race through it in one day, which would string them out even further, force them to start and end their march in the dark, and leave them exhausted at the far end even if they passed through unchallenged. Even so, sleep would be hard to come by with the enemy watching over them from the cliffs and peaks on each side, and it was expected that getting plenty of volunteers for the night watch would be easily accomplished.

They started just after dawn, the elves followed by the mounted Lorgrasians, while the others prepared to fall into line when the time came. The winged demons simply watched from the peaks, the occasional fluttering of their wings reminding those below that they were not gargoyle statues, but rather living creatures. Three Mists hovered over the entrance to the pass, making neither sound nor motion toward the armies below, silent sentinels on an unceasing patrol.

As the elves advanced, they noted that the number of winged demons was increasing, and that they now lined both sides of the pass from the entrance to as far forward as they could see, although their numbers were still dwarfed by the assembled armies making the passage, who were over thirty thousand strong. If this assembled strength of Arkania was only fighting the living in Veldoon they would have been a formidable force, and the sight of them streaming into the pass would have given many an enemy pause. But Solek commanded more than just the living, and none who marched knew whether they had the numbers to make Solek quake, or simply enough to be a nuisance that the Dark One would easily brush aside.

It was past noon before the goblins could march into the pass, and several hours beyond that before the rear guard could turn and look over their shoulders to see the walls of the pass behind them as well as ahead. The walls appeared to close in quickly as they went forward, and the opening at the entrance seemed an empty void, begging to be filled by some enemy.

Elves are light of foot and can move swiftly at need, and many of the Lorgrasians behind them were mounted. They checked themselves often, making sure they did not leave any large gaps in the line, though something inside urged them to hurry, to move through this place as quickly as possible. As the sun started to fall in the west, shadows stretched across the pass, and the watchers above were silhouetted against the sky, detail fading until they were simply menacing, dark shapes. A sound came then, a high wail that chilled them to their core. Only the wind, they soon realized. Somehow that fact didn’t bring much relief.

The high walls brought darkness earlier than what they had experienced on the open plains. Still, the elves felt they had covered well over half the length of the pass—closer to three-quarters, they thought. They pushed on a bit further, their sharp eyes letting them see even as the night shadows deepened. The wind howled continually, masking any sounds that might alert them to danger. Finally even they found it difficult to see well enough to travel safely, and realizing it would be worse for their allies, they called for the day’s march to end.

The wind was a constant companion as the deep of night fully descended, a scream that sometimes faded but never died. Sleep came hard that night for all but the hardiest soul.

Dawn finally arrived, and upon first inspection little had changed. The wailing wind still assaulted their ears, and the winged creatures and Mists maintained their vigil. But to the east, the rising sun was hidden by cloud, and not the deep black rimmed with red they had started to grow accustomed to. Instead, a lead gray blanket covered half the sky, the front of it straight as a razor’s edge and moving toward them swiftly.

It troubled all who gazed upon it, but none more so than those Corindors who had suffered the assault at Mill Harbor. Demetrius and Corson had both been there and the younger man was first to see the cloud. He pulled at Demetrius’ sleeve, choking back a curse.

Demetrius swiveled his head left and right, confirming that the walls of the pass had indeed remained in place during the night. He gauged the speed of the approaching storm. “No way can we outrun it back. We’re trapped here. Get a group of riders to spread the word forward and back. Look for overhangs, caves, anything that might be used as shelter.”

Corson’s face, already glum, dropped further. “I don’t recall seeing much like that yesterday. Certainly not enough for all these armies.”

Demetrius mounted his horse. “If you can come up with a better idea, pursue it. In the meantime, see what can be found.”

“Where are you going?”

“To warn the elves.”

He reached the front quickly, many of the troops mesmerized by the advancing storm and doing no more than milling about uselessly. He asked for Deron and Tala, and was directed to the very front of the elven forces. When he got there he found father and daughter conversing confidentially, while three of the elven elders were some distance ahead, facing the coming maelstrom.

As soon as Tala saw Demetrius, she correctly concluded that this was the same atmospheric event he had described in his tale of the fall of Mill Harbor. “We thought as much,” she said after he confirmed that she was correct. “Some kind of acid fell from it?”

“Yes.”

Deron called ahead to the elders, a short burst of information conveyed in elvish. If they heard him they gave no sign, but he seemed satisfied that his message had been received.

“I’ve got riders spreading the word to look for shelter,” Demetrius said, “but that’s a slim hope.”

Deron agreed. “Our hope is there,” he said, motioning to the three elves, who now looked more old and frail then ever. It seemed the wind driving the storm was likely to blow them away. “Solek timed it well. We can only hope our own magic can stop his.”

“What are they trying to do?”

“They will attempt to shield us with defensive spells. We elves are strongest at that type of magic—defensive. We cannot hope to split the storm or dissipate it or otherwise drive it away—that would be pitting our strength directly against the Dark One’s, and I fear we would use all our energy in the attempt, and probably fail regardless. But once the drops fall from this cloud, they are no more magical than a regular rain, though far more deadly. Against the rain, not the cloud, we have a chance.”

“And if they fail?”

Deron gazed at him solemnly. “Then I hope your scouts find a very large, deep cave.”

They did not have to wait long. The wind they had heard since they entered the pass drove the storm hard, and the front raced at them. If they had tried to turn and flee…maybe a few on swift horses might have had a chance, but even that was a dicey proposition. As the front neared them, Demetrius could hear the elven elders chanting. He did not understand the words, but they were spoken more loudly and with more urgency as the danger neared.

The rain was visible now, a heavy sheet that covered the pass entirely and lumbered toward them, leaving no gap, no small hole through which they could hope to escape. It kicked up small clouds of dust where it first struck dry ground, and behind it small rivulets worked their way down the walls of the pass, combining to make small streams and waterfalls depending on the nature of the rocky cliff face. Above, the winged demons flew away, cackling and laughing—the first noise they had emitted. The Mists remained, apparently safe from the foul liquid their master had sent to kill those in the pass below.

The wall of water came at the elven elders, who stood their ground with hands lifted and voices raised. Just before it reached them it seemed to lift from the ground in a small but widening arc. As the front advanced the arc grew and covered those gathered in the pass, an invisible bubble protecting them from the deadly rain. Heads were uplifted to see the rain pour down and then roll aside, like watching a storm from under a glass roof. And like glass, the roof was fragile. No sooner had those below felt relief than they were gripped again with fear, such was the volume of liquid that fell, the sound like the thunder of the sea. If the elven magic failed, their lives would end.

The storm moved faster than word of what was happening. The protection outpaced the storm, carrying as far back as the goblins. Even without a full understanding of what was passing overhead, none doubted the foul source and nature of the storm, which could be deduced from the flight of the demons and the way the horses screamed and kicked as the front arrived and passed.

Demetrius stood silently, his eyes drawn away from the rain and to the three elders. Their voices trembled now and again, and he thought he saw one’s knees buckle. He started forward to help him stand, a reaction rather than a decision. Deron blocked him with an extended arm and a shake of his head. The elders, lost in a spell trance, should not be disturbed.

The storm’s end appeared in the distance, a line as precise as the front. It came on quickly, but the rain itself did not lessen or abate, and each passing second seemed an eternity. Demetrius could almost feel the strain the elvish mages were under, waves of raw energy emanating from them in steady pulses. He wished he could help them, to take on some of the burden, but all he could do was stand by helplessly and watch, for him the worst possible fate.

As the end of the storm passed, he let out an audible sigh of relief, but there was no such relief for the elves. Understanding, he turned, watching the storm recede into the distance. They were safe here at the front, but those in the rear were still in need of protection. Even after the storm had gone from sight and the sun started to warm the pass from a rare clear sky, the elders held on, their voices fading, their limbs trembling. Without warning all three collapsed, a signal that the danger was over or that their combined will had finally been broken.

Deron, Tala, and several other elves rushed to the fallen mages. Demetrius approached more cautiously, curious but suddenly feeling out of place. As the elves ministered to their fellows, Tala stepped away to talk to Demetrius. “Sharest and Adiel will be fine, with enough rest. Roldon…”

“Will he live?”

“It is too soon to tell. And we must move on now.” She pointed to the Mists, already fading from view as they raced back across Veldoon. “We want to be clear of the pass before Solek launches another attack. We hope he is as drained as our elders, but we cannot rely on that. My father asks that you pass the word back. We will have to sacrifice caution for speed.”

Demetrius mounted up. Before he left, he asked, “And what of them?” indicating the elders. “Won’t moving them make things worse?”

“We have no choice,” she replied, confirming his concern.

There was one bit of magic still to be used, though few would know of it. Deron, alone, led the combined forces of Arkania, walking twenty paces before the main army and casting a simple spell as he went to push the occasional puddles of acid aside, clearing a safe path. Most of the rain worked its way into the ground well before Deron arrived, leaving a dry surface and doing unknown damage to the soil.

Of what Solek was doing or thinking there was no sign. Neither the Mists nor the winged demons returned, and the sky over Veldoon remained crystal clear, the pure blue seeming out of place in this harsh land. If the travelers had time to ponder these things they might have taken them for signs of good or ill, each according to his own mindset, but they were too hurried, and were simply happy to be unhindered and unopposed.