The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (34 page)

Like everyone else, Rowan had stood awestruck at the sight of the Blaze, and had watched numbly as Alexis had been violently unhorsed. When the spell was broken, he thought first of Alexis, but could not reach her through the press of the frenzied attackers. Now that the Blaze was gone and the dead and injured were being
tended to, he was able to find her. He winced at the sight of her injuries, an especially brutal slice on her right side that might have killed her already had not the heat from the flaming sword partially cauterized the wound. Her left leg was shattered. Her right elbow was grotesquely large, and the bottom half of that arm did not line up well with the upper portion. Lorgrasians had gathered around her, protecting and comforting one of their own and their queen, but something about the look on Rowan’s face caused them to draw back so that he could approach. As he did so, another sight, unexpected and in many ways as jarring as her wounds, struck him like a slap in the face.

Kneeling beside Alexis was Lucien. His head was bowed and his warblade was laid flat on the ground at her side. The goblin looked up at Rowan only long enough for the paladin to notice the tears brimming in his eyes.

Rowan dropped to his knees at Alexis’ side, opposite to Lucien. His own vision started to swim as his eyes watered.

She looked toward him, the pain further away now, receding like a ship on the horizon. She gave him a wan smile, then turned slowly back to Lucien. “I am happy to have called you friend,” she said to the goblin.

“Lady,” Lucien began. His voice sounded rough even to his own ears. “I failed you. I—”

“You have done much and will do more.” She lifted a hand and placed it on his arm. “Pick up your warblade. Fight on.”

Lucien let out two long, ragged breaths. He reached down, tentatively, as if his own weapon might bite him. Slowly he brought it up, curling his arms to hold it against his chest. “Solek’s blood or my life,” he said. It was a vow.

“Go with my blessing,” Alexis said. “Farewell.”

Lucien rose and backed away, leaving Rowan and Alexis as much privacy as two could share when surrounded by would-be mourners. Their eyes met, and the rest of the world dissolved away.

“And so we part again,” she said. “I’m not sure whether the first or last was more painful.”

“I do,” he said, stroking her cheek. “I’m sorry. I should have been able to act. We all should have. If we had only done so…”

“I nearly fell under the spell as well. And her magic was stronger against men.”

“Maybe so. That doesn’t excuse the price you had to pay to save us. If I had been stronger—”

“If you were strong enough, you could take on Solek and all his minions alone. You are what you are, Rowan. And what you are is more than most could hope to be. It is why I loved you. It is why I love you still.”

“And I you. Always.”

She closed her eyes and smiled. For a moment Rowan thought she was drifting away, but then her eyelids fluttered open again. “I wish we were able to say so, all those years ago.”

“You had a kingdom to rule. I am not of noble blood.”

“Not by birth, perhaps, but by action. I saw that in you. But you had a god to serve as I had a kingdom. I part with only the regret that we could not spend the days of our old age together, after the throne had passed from me to another. It was a dream of mine, one I kept secretly in my heart. But I was granted the gift of seeing you again, of spending long days and nights by your side. For that I will be thankful, even if it ends here for me, broken on a field of dust.”

Rowan took her hand and kissed it gently, ignoring the blood and dirt. Her hand was cold in spite of the heat of the day. His tears fell now, and he let them, without shame.

“Farewell,” she said, her voice a soft breeze. She closed her eyes and then fell still.

Rowan stayed there for a long time, not caring about anything else in the world, lost in grief. He prayed for her soul and that steadied him somewhat. When he started to rise he felt a strong hand help him up.

“I’m sorry,” Demetrius said. “I didn’t know…”

Rowan took in the nearest faces. Corson was there by Demetrius, as were Tala and Lucien, the entire company that had quested together now mourning their first loss. They guided him away as he spoke in soft, mournful tones. “We fell in love when we were young. I spent three years in Lorgras, in study and training. I did not know she was to be queen when she reached age twenty-one. If I had known, I would have…”

“Led a less full life,” Tala said.

Rowan had to admit that was true, even now.

“You were kept apart?” Corson asked.

“No, at least not by any hard and fast rule,” Rowan replied. “That made it all the more difficult. Because we knew it would be frowned upon by many, a queen and a commoner, and she was right to say my desire to pursue a paladin’s life played a role in our decision to part. When I returned to Delving, I never thought to see her again. Then we were fighting that Pit Demon, and who shows up to save us.”

“Small world,” Tala said. “You hid it well. Both of you.”

“We had a higher calling to fulfill. That much didn’t change. Maybe when Solek lay dead at our feet we would have had time to think of being together. Until then, it would have been pointless to discuss it. And she was still queen, and I a paladin.” Something struck him then, a quick thought. For an instant his face brightened but it faded even before he spoke. “I have some small healing power,” he said to Tala. “With the elders, would there be any chance—”

Tala’s face dropped, cutting him off. “I’m sorry, Rowan. Even we cannot bring back the dead.”

“I suppose not,” he said. “My Lord can, but only when he comes again.” He looked back at Alexis, glimpsing her face through the Lorgrasians who surrounded her, and saw there an expression of peace. He chose to ignore her crushed body. Suddenly a dark shadow crossed his features. “Solek can raise the dead as well, in a perverted way.” Slowly he drew his sword. “That cannot be allowed.”

Demetrius tried to stay him. “Let someone else do it.”

Rowan answered with only a dreadful, determined look, one even the Lorgrasians would not dare to question. The others backed away, and then turned away. They could not watch what needed to be done.

*          *          *

The funeral pyre was much smaller than that lit after fighting the Veldooners, but the sorrow was no less. Alexis was given a place of honor, a small separate pyre past which those who had known her filed to pay their final respects. The fire took her body and those of the others, a final irony considering the means of their deaths. The wounded were few; once one was bitten by the Blaze’s fiery sword, a sort of fire spread within and consumed the victim’s life in a short time.

Rowan mounted up and started away before the pyres had died down. Night was falling and they could not travel far, not safely, but he would be away from this wretched place before he would rest. If only the haunting memories could be left behind as easily.

Rowan had led them off without a word, and Deron stopped them for the night in the same way. Dimly on the horizon to their rear the dying pyres could be seen, casting a red-orange glow into the black night.

*          *          *

The next day dawned overcast, thick white clouds blotting out the sun and stealing some of the heat that beat down upon the advancing army. Since they had been near or in Veldoon, they had seen only clear skies with a scorching sun, ominous dark clouds, or worse. Today’s fluffy white clouds seemed odd and out of place, a reminder of home and of happier days.

Late in the morning one of the men of the Westerland came pounding up to the Arkanian leaders. He had been acting as a scout, and had found a hot spring less than a mile off their direct path. “It’s quite warm and smells of sulfur, but it’s the best we’ve found since we’ve been on the Plain.”

“It’s the only water we’ve found,” Zald noted, clarifying what his man had said. “Is there a significant flow?”

“There is, my lord,” the man replied. “And a small pool as well, though that water is stagnant.”

“Lead on,” said Deron. “If the source is usable we’ll want to move the army close so we can refill all our skins.”

They covered the distance quickly, hopeful expectation giving them an added push. The spring was just as the man had described it, the smell being the most notable feature. But the water was not too hot to handle, and the process of collecting and purifying it by spell, though tedious, progressed throughout the rest of the day. In the end they camped near the spring, and considered the loss of most of a day a fair trade for the water that refreshed them now and would sustain them in days to come.

*          *          *

While there was no feeling that the worst was now behind them, the water lifted their spirits and their legs on the march, and they covered more ground in the following two days than in the previous three. As they approached their goal each passed mile was a relief, but a sense of foreboding grew—what would oppose them next? At Adiel’s urging Tala risked a brief finding spell using the Sphere, to be sure they had not gotten lost—or been led astray by some undetected magic—as they crossed the barren waste.

“We’re on track,” Tala said, as she hurried the Sphere back into the cloaking bag. “And we are nearly clear of the Dead Plain.”

“How much longer?” Deron asked.

“A day or two to the Belt,” she replied. “One or two past that to Citadel.”

“At our current pace,” Rowan added, seeking confirmation.

Tala nodded. Everyone understood that the pace they were discussing was for an unopposed march.

The first sign that the easy movement would end came within the hour. Drifting toward them came six Mists, Solek’s spies. These were spared only cursory glances before all eyes began to scan the horizon for approaching enemies, given that the Mists had only served as eyes for the enemy and occasionally harbingers of coming trouble. Sure enough, while the shadowy figures circled the Arkanians a mass of shapes appeared, as if materializing out of the shimmering heat of the Dead Plain. As they neared, these figures were outlined against the dust they kicked up behind themselves.

Rowan called the Arkanians to a halt and gave the order to move into battle formation. He would have preferred to receive the approaching enemy from a defensive position, but there was nothing in this barren place to use for such a purpose, no sizable rocks or trees, no hills, no streams. Any attacking army here need not be at a disadvantage. It was with this thought in mind that Rowan spoke to the other leaders

“With those Mists in the air and this flat land there will be no secret movements. We should choose when the battle is joined, and use our riders to hit their flanks while our footmen strike their front. I believe they are all on foot.” He looked at Deron for confirmation of the fact.

“They are,” answered the elf, squinting despite his superior eyesight to improve his focus. “Odd creatures they are, like a cross-breed of men and trolls. They are tall and wiry, and move with a quick, shuffling gait. They have carved clubs for the most part, and a few have bows.”

Tala readied her own bow, but remained on her horse. She planned to take a few shots while her mount could be held stationary, then to join the flanking attack, switching to a short sword she had acquired from one of the elves that fell fighting the Veldooners. Her supply of arrows was growing perilously short, so she needed to make each one count.

The approaching creatures came forward in a broad line of battle. As they neared, Tala could make out their features. Their clothing was non-descript, faded tans, browns, and blacks, loose fitting and short in the arms and legs, as if they had grown long of limb while losing weight. Their eyes were solid white, with no sign of iris or pupil, their skin a drab gray, their hair dark and hanging down in long strands where it grew, which was only on the backs of their heads. Something else about them struck her as strange and it took her a moment to put a finger on it. Just as their white eyes made them appear blind, there was no indication that they had ears with which to hear. “Deaf and blind?” she asked herself. “Is Solek so desperate?”