The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (45 page)

They saluted him as he took to the sky and departed, the last light of the setting sun glinting red off his scales. He passed over the cliffs that bordered Veldoon by the sea, then turned north, picking up speed and soaring out over the ocean. The burden of Solek, the Dark One, and the Sphere faded as Galway vanished in the distance, and their hearts and minds began to turn to thoughts of the journey home.

Chapter 11: Farewell

Two days later they began the long march back. They were as well supplied as could be hoped for, the stores of Citadel full of bland but palatable food, which they had ready access to. Water was abundant, and carts, along with the beasts needed to pull them, were taken or built to haul the supplies and the wounded. The Veldooners provided no further resistance, and before the Arkanians departed Deron assigned a half-dozen elves to oversee them and the city for a time, so incapable did the inhabitants appear to be at tending to their own needs. There was naught but pity felt for the poor brutes, who had been damaged, probably beyond full restoration, by the Dark One’s presence. The saving grace was that they took well to their new mentors, and worked with a will when put to a task.

Demetrius was one of the lucky ones—if it was appropriate to use such a term—who was able to ride. His injuries from the demon-smashed door were strangely similar to those given him by the wyvern, though to the left side of his body rather than the right. Now that Demetrius was past any life-threatening circumstance, Corson found this fact highly amusing, and feigned compliments to his friend on having the foresight to present his uninjured side to the door before it crashed into him.

Lucien walked near them, mostly in silence, as was his way. He had found the black wolf Krellos among the dead, and had buried him personally. He had spoken softly over the mound of dirt in his own tongue, paying homage to a kindred spirit and warrior, and had appeared to be nearly as affected by the wolf’s death as he had been by Alexis’. The emotion had passed from his face quickly, and now he carried himself with his usual stoic expression.

Tala spent much of her time near the cart upon which Rowan lay. The paladin had slept non-stop since the tower—in no small part due to the efforts and desires of his elven healers. Some of the color had returned to his face, and the wound to his arm was healing as well as could be hoped for at this early stage. Tala spoke to him often in soft whispers, and even offered an awkward prayer to the Savior in whom Rowan had put his faith.

There was brief consideration given to dividing the group, some to cross the Dead Plain to recover those wounded in the first passage, the rest to traverse the longer but less strenuous Belt, but in the end they knew they should remain as one. They took their time, short marches with frequent stops to combat the July heat, and they made camp early and broke it late, getting what rest they could. Invariably the wounded were overjoyed and shocked at the arrival of the survivors of the battle at Citadel, and listened with rapt attention to the tale of their victory. But noted too was how few returned—an army that numbered thirty thousand when they entered Veldoon would go home with fewer than five thousand alive, and many of those injured.

Rowan regained consciousness four days after he had his encounter with the Dark One. He spoke almost no words for several days, but took food and water and soon marched for long periods rather than using the cart. Tala stayed near, always ready to lend a helping hand, or an ear if one was required, and for his part Rowan seemed to appreciate her presence. It was not until the third day after he had awoken that he said anything concerning the quest they had carried with them into Veldoon.

“You need not tell me,” he said, “but I am curious as to what has become of the Sphere.”

“Galway took it, to drop it into the sea. We left it in the cloaking bag and filled it with rocks. If we are fortunate, it will rest at the bottom of the sea forever, undetectable by eye or magic.”

“Who knows of this?”

“Corson, Lucien, my father, Galway of course, and now you. Demetrius was told as well. Beyond that, it is best no one knows. And only Galway will be able to say exactly where he released it.”

“And the currents will make even that knowledge inaccurate.” He nodded, satisfied. “I think it was a wise decision.”

For a time they proceeded in silence, the sun warming them from behind thin clouds. “I am sorry,” he finally said, still looking off into the distance.

She scowled, confused. “For what?”

“I nearly killed you.”

“The Dark One nearly killed me. Your part was to spare me, despite the cost to yourself.” Her eyes fell to the stump at the end of his right arm.

He caught the glance and held the wound up before his own eyes. “I’ve not really thought of it much, actually. A small price to pay for what was gained.”

“But you paid a larger price, did you not?”

He stared away at nothing, long enough that Tala began to wonder if he would reply. When he spoke his voice was distant. “When he entered my body, there was a chilly despair, a black emptiness beyond my ability to comprehend. His will is so powerful, his anger and hatred of all that is good and pure so deep… It would be easy to get lost forever. I almost pity Solek now.”

“Except he freed the Dark One, and took him in by choice.”

“Likely thinking that his own will could contend with that of the foul spirit. A fatal mistake.”

“For more than just Solek.”

“Yes,” Rowan said in a whisper, his thoughts drifting to all that had met with ruin because of Solek’s desire to rule all…his thoughts drifting as they so often did to Alexis.

“The Dark One said he would return,” Tala said, “that any victory we gained would be only for a time.”

“He is the father of lies,” Rowan replied. “He hopes he will again be free of his prison one day, but it is no more than hope. If he could foresee the future, he would still be sitting on his throne in the high tower, and we would be…”

“Not here,” Tala finished for him.

“Not here,” he repeated with a smile. It was the first he had worn since the high tower.

*          *          *

It was near the end of August when they reached the Saber Pass. Neither man nor beast had hindered them, and with each passing day the nightly camp became merrier, and new songs were created and improved to tell the tale of their battle with the Dark One. But a hidden shadow crept into each heart, even as the belief that they would escape with their lives grew stronger—what would they find when they returned to their own lands? Hunger and want this winter, certainly, but beyond that what would next spring bring?  The sickly blackened grass of the Belt was a constant reminder that all Solek had wrought had not been set right, and it served often to sour their spirits.

Time healed the wounded that were destined to be well again, but there were several who were beyond help. These were buried outside the camp each night, the summer heat refusing to allow them to be carted home. Demetrius regained his strength and could even laugh at Corson’s jests without wincing in pain. Rowan grew used to his new limitations and regained much of his former good cheer, but those closest to him often noted a cloud would cross his face as his thoughts drifted to the past, and he would shake himself as if from a stupor to return to the present.

It was a three day journey through the Saber Pass, unhurried and burdened as they were. Many an eye went to the top of the walls of the pass, expecting some last spiteful assault, but none came. As the cliffs gave way to the fields beyond, a murmur passed through the army, gasps of surprise and prayers of thanks. The fields were covered with grass as green and long as any had ever beheld. Flowers added splashes of yellow, white, purple, and blue. Birds passed overhead, calling to one another, and the trained eye could spot rabbits and deer in the meadow. “The poison of the Dark One recedes from Arkania,” Deron said, daring to speak aloud what they all hoped.

The company remained together two more days—as long as they could without anyone detouring far from the shortest route home—but when dawn broke on the third day they knew the first of their partings must come. The Ridonians and elves would travel southeast, the Lorgrasians, dwarves, Westerlanders, goblins, and wolves west, and the Corindors and Delvish southwest. There were many tears and promises of eternal friendship, and the morning grew late before the different factions set out on their own courses. As if by unspoken agreement, Corson, Demetrius, Lucien, Rowan, and Tala lingered to exchange their farewells, the group together for what none would call but all believed was the final time.

“So,” said Demetrius, “we’ve come to the end of a long road together.”

“One could not ask for better brothers and sisters in war,” said Rowan, “or better friends.”

Lucien drew his warblade and saluted the others with it. He pounded his chest three times with his fist. “Goblins no good at sad talk. But you all friends. Need help, send message. Lucien come.”

“I’m sure you would,” Rowan answered with a grin. He added the traditional goblin wish of good life, “May you and your children have many great victories.”

Tala wrapped her arms around the goblin in a hug, which Lucien returned awkwardly. Somewhere beneath his green flesh he flushed red. “Thank you,” she told him.

As soon as Tala stepped aside, Corson made as if to give Lucien
a hug as well. The goblin held up his warblade to ward him off.
Corson laughed deeply. “Have no fear, my sensitive friend. If I wanted to embarrass you I would draw my sword and teach you how to fight.”

Lucien tried to feign insult but failed. He flashed his toothy grin. “Practice small one. Maybe someday you fight as well as goblin child.” Then to the surprise of all, Lucien did embrace Corson, a quick gesture that touched them all, especially Corson. This done, he gave them a final wave and departed.

Tala hugged Demetrius and Corson in turn, and then looked to Rowan. The two men from Corindor stepped away, as if suddenly interested in studying distant mountains.

Rowan and Tala embraced for a time in silence, then Tala whispered, “The elven wood is a place of healing. If your burden is heavy, you will find rest there.”

They parted and he saw the tears in her eyes. “I must winter with my own people. There will be much to do. But when spring blooms, I will come.”

She smiled, knowing Rowan was always good to his word. “I will be waiting.” She turned and went to her father, who waited a short distance away at the back of the elven procession. He saluted Rowan and then wrapped an arm around his daughter’s shoulder as they began their final march home.

Rowan let his gaze linger on them a few moments, then shook himself from his reverie. “My friends,” he called to Demetrius and Corson, “it appears I have the good fortune of your fellowship for a while longer.”

“The good fortune is ours,” Demetrius said as he started to move towards him. He looked back and saw Corson fixed to the spot where he stood, watching the elves march off. “What is it?” Demetrius asked.

“Nothing,” Corson said with a short laugh. “Just thinking how odd life is. We’ve known little but trial and sorrow since we met Tala and Rowan, then Lucien—and Alexis—and yet at our parting I feel only sadness.”

“As do I,” said Demetrius. “Friendships formed through trial are held the closest in the heart.”

“So they are,” said Corson. “Guess we did okay, for a ragtag little group.”

Demetrius smiled. “Come on,” he said, starting off again. “Let’s go home.”

The End.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dave Adams lives in central Pennsylvania with his wife, daughter, and son. He has had over twenty short stories published in various magazines, mainly in the genres of fantasy, science fiction, and horror. This is his second novel.