The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (11 page)

“Very well,” said the king with a dismissive wave. “I am told you wish safe passage through my lands. For what purpose?”

“We battle Solek.”

“As do most in the world. But that is not the reason for your request. You can battle Solek’s forces in your own lands.”

“Might we speak in private, your majesty?”

The king stared at Rowan for a moment, studying him, then said, “Guards, wait outside.”

“But, your highness—” the red-haired dwarf protested. He was stopped cold by a simple raised finger from the king.

“You may stay, Beldring. But the guards will now obey my command.” The guards took this cue and filed out quickly.

“We are as alone as I will allow us to be,” the king said to Rowan.

Rowan cleared his throat and went on. “We are attempting to gather the pieces of the Soul Sphere.”

The king barked out a short, harsh laugh. “The stuff of legend. Is that your only hope to defeat Solek? If so, you may as well yield to him now. Strong arms and heavy blades are the answer to his army, not magic and myth.”

“We have seen the results of Solek’s magic,” said Tala, “or should I say the Dark One’s. It is real and far more powerful than any weapon.”

“It has not given him the courage to assault this fortress,” the king scoffed.

“With time it will.”

“Solek is well-trained in the skills of war. He would not be so foolish as to attack this stronghold, and we have ways to withstand a siege.”

“Your majesty,” said Demetrius, “I am a military man myself, and I served under King Rodaan for more than twenty years. I could not take Arna’s Forge even if I was given five thousand men. But I have faced Solek’s magic and his army, and if he turns his eye to your hall, it will fall.”

The king blew out a breath, making the hairs of his mustache flutter. He saw the earnest look on Demetrius’ face—on all their faces—and calmed himself before he responded. “I sense you intended no insult, so I will take no offense at what you have said. No one wishes for war, and even though I think he would break himself in the attempt, I will not wish for Solek and his forces to throw themselves against this rock. But you did not come here to debate the safety of these walls. Why do you think this Soul Sphere really exists, and why in my lands?”

Tala stepped forward and showed the piece of the Sphere she possessed. “We have fought for two shards already, and they were indeed guarded by the Dark One’s servants. These shards mended themselves when placed together, just as legend foretells. The Sphere is real, and it retains at least some of its magic—we hope all. Solek feared it enough to hide and guard the shards. That alone makes it worth pursuing.”

“And do you expect me to help in this foolish game? To send dwarves on a merry chase outside these walls?”

“No, your majesty,” said Rowan, “though your help would be welcome. This is a task for a small group that might hope to move unnoticed, not an army. We ask only that we be allowed to travel unhindered through your lands as we continue our search.”

“Unhindered it will be, and unaided as well. I will do nothing to aid either side in a war I am no part of. Beldring will bring you a letter with my seal, guaranteeing your safety as long as you do not threaten dwarves or their homes.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” said Rowan with a bow. “We came seeking nothing else.”

“And that is what you will have. Trouble me no more.”

Beldring led them from the throne room, the king’s withering stare never leaving them until the door closed behind them. The guards resumed their duties keeping watch over the visitors, while Beldring went back into the throne room. When he returned, he bore a letter bearing the king’s mark.

“Thank you,” Rowan said as Beldring handed him the scroll.

Beldring nodded. “I wish you well on your journey. May your gods be with you.”

An hour later they were being greeted by Alexis. She studied the letter with a look of relief. “I feared he would not allow it.”

“He is overconfident in his stone walls,” said Demetrius, “and feels the fight is not his. He did give us his leave though, if grudgingly.”

“We should ride out of sight of the city. If the horses are recognized as being from Lorgras, he may change his mind.”

“The foothills to the west should provide enough cover for us. We can go north for a time before turning east.” He turned to Tala. “We are going east, aren’t we?”

She took a moment to use her magic, as always holding the piece of the Sphere. “I sense great distance. Alexis, let me hold your shard.”

Alexis dug it out and handed it over to Tala, who had placed the first piece back in her pouch, not wanting the two shards to come into contact. Again she cast her spell, taking a bit longer this time, concentration etched on her face. “It is to the east, in the Garden Valley. Near where the Aetos and Trawnor Mountains come together.” She gave the piece back to Alexis. “I still want to keep these apart. Demetrius has the other.”

The sun faded and night fell as they made their way carefully around Arna’s Forge and turned east. They traveled near the northern foot of the Aetos Mountains. North spread the Garden Valley, lush land that yielded bountiful crops, though the dwarves themselves did not tend the fields. Humans dwelled there and traded with the dwarves, just as they did with their own kind dwelling west in the Westerland and north in Lorgras. The great Wandering River split the Valley, its source the y-shaped intersection where the Trawnor Mountains met the Aetos.

“A beautiful land,” remarked Corson. “It seems even greener than it might, considering the blight elsewhere. I wonder, though, why Solek has not struck here.”

“There are no cities in the Valley,” said Alexis. “His focus is on population centers. Arna’s Forge will eventually be targeted, and I don’t doubt this land will be made to suffer as well.”

“Are these the lands in dispute?” Demetrius asked.

“The river divides Lorgras and the Westerland. Meldros claims Arna’s Forge and all the land of the Valley. Duke Fallo’s holdings in the Westerland are such that he pays little heed to Meldros’ claims. They have made a peace of convenience. Live and let live. Our Queen has long held that Meldros has no claim to the land north of the river, but since his dwelling is in the Westerland there has been little more exchanged than harsh words.”

“But those words have been said, one party to the other?”

“Enough that neither people are welcome in the homes of the other. It seems a petty thing now, considering what Solek has done. But old grudges die hard.”

They continued on well past dark, taking advantage of the clear sky and the light of the moon. Near midnight they decided that a nearby grove of dense trees would make a likely camping spot. Lighting a small fire to ward off the night chill, they set the watch and tried to get some rest.

Lucien had the night’s third watch. He circled slowly through the trees, his eyes always moving, always alert, his warblade drawn and ready. The night was still and quiet, only the gentle buzzing of insects and the soft crackle of the fire marring an otherwise perfect silence.

Suddenly he froze, thinking he saw a dark shape in the trees just at the edge of his peripheral vision. He turned slowly but saw nothing, the flickering light and rustling leaves playing tricks on him. He counted his companions and found them all safe by the fire, then did the same with the horses.

“I must be getting jumpy in my old age,” he mumbled to himself, using the goblin language. Despite his own dismissive words, he remained tense during the remainder of his watch.

He woke Corson when his watch was through, hesitated a moment, and then said, “Thought I saw shape in trees. Not there when looked. Saw and heard nothing.”

“Might have been a trick of the light from the fire. And we’ve been through a lot. Get some sleep.”

“Be careful.”

“I will,” Corson answered, stifling a yawn. He laughed at himself and at the scowl the yawn drew from Lucien. “I will keep a good watch.”

He was as good as his word, and even though Corson saw nothing, he warned Demetrius in the same way. When morning came they discussed what had taken place, and Lucien felt led to apologize for a false warning.

“It is better to be cautious and alert,” said Tala, even as the others started to tease the goblin in a good-natured way. “The Dark One has many servants.”

“Did you see something as well?” Rowan asked her.

“No. I slept soundly. And if something was there, there is little we can do about it now. Lucien, how big was the shadow?”

“Size of goblin or man, but not like either. Not see well enough to say more.”

Tala pondered this for a time. “We should all stay on our guard. If anyone thinks they see anything, day or night, let me know.”

“What do you think it might be?” Rowan asked.

“I’d rather not say unless we see something again. It might be nothing.”

The day was gray, clouds rolling in from the west and bringing a hint of snow. As the group rode east the Trawnor Mountains seemed to loom up out of the misty distance, and as the two ranges between which they traveled drew closer together, it gave them the unsettling sensation that they were moving toward a dead end.

While the Garden Valley was mostly open fields, the mountain foothills were often wooded. They kept near the trees as much as they could, for the added shelter from the wind as well as for concealment. Occasionally they saw farmers or peddlers in the distance, but mostly they passed through the Valley alone and unseen.

They were crossing through a more dense section of forested land when a gruff voice demanded that they halt. Ahead of them a rugged-looking dwarf stepped into their path. “You have leave to pass through Meldros’ realm?” he asked, his tone all challenge.

“We do,” said Rowan. “I have a letter here with the king’s mark.” He unrolled it and held it up, written side toward the dwarf.

The dwarf squinted at it. “Can’t see it from here. Don’t know why Meldros would allow such a crew as what I see to pass…elf, goblin, Lorgrasian.”

Rowan dismounted, holding the letter before him like an offering. “The king has heard our reasons for being together, and of our quest. His approval has been granted. I did not know his subjects freely challenged his decisions.”

“Who said anything about that?” barked the dwarf. “I just need to see the letter. Keep your hands away from your weapons and your horses still. Those white creatures of yours can outrun me, but not the bolts in our crossbows.” At these words at least a half-dozen dwarves revealed themselves in part, behind rocks and trees, crossbows trained on the strangers to their land.

“We wish only to pass in peace,” Rowan said as he delivered the letter to the leader.

The dwarf read the letter from top to bottom three times, as if looking for a loophole, then finally returned it to Rowan with a harsh glare. “It seems to be in order, though with what’s happening elsewhere I’m surprised that King Meldros would want such as you here. It can only bode ill.”

“I hope it is not so, for your sake as well as ours.” Rowan remounted and waited patiently for the dwarf to step aside.

“Take care while you are in the realm. King’s orders or no, I’ve been instructed to keep the peace here, and I have leave to do so as I see fit.”

“We will cause you no trouble, that much I can promise.”

Unable to come up with any reason to delay them further, the dwarf finally moved from their path and waved them on. “Make sure that’s the case. I will be watching.”

They moved at a casual pace until they were well away from the dwarves, and even then only urged their horses to a gentle trot. Lucien slid up next to Rowan.