The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (19 page)

“I have lived in these woods a long time,” Ballthor said. “I can’t claim the friendship of all that dwell here, but I have learned to co-exist with most. That ‘nest,’ as the Wolf King so aptly calls it, was placed soon after the Dark One escaped his prison. It was simple enough to guess its purpose.”

Rowan sighed. “I sense we will have no secrets under your roof.”

Ballthor laughed. “I am no sorcerer. Just a simple druid. But if one pays attention to what one sees and hears, much can be learned.” He started to apply the paste he had created to Tala’s injured leg.

Demetrius cleared his throat. “Do you know of any other pieces of the Sphere?”

Ballthor glanced at him with a mischievous smile, then went back to his work. “I’m glad to see the rest of you are not mute. There is another shard in this wood, several days journey to the north. It is buried in an underground city of sorts.”

“What awaits us there?”

“I cannot say. I have little interest in trying to retrieve the shard, but great interest in preserving my own skin. If the Dark One’s minions have placed two small pieces here in this wood, I will let them be.” Ballthor finished applying the salve and then gathered up the used bandage Rowan had applied earlier. “I will burn this, and then apply a poultice to the wound. After that we can only wait while she rests. I offer you what little hospitality I can—a warm place to sleep if not a bed, and food and drink.”

“We thank you,” Rowan said. He followed Ballthor back outside.

The Wolf King asked about Tala as Ballthor set the soiled bandages in one of the braziers. It was quickly consumed, giving off a lazy curl of black smoke. “She is resting,” he told the great wolf. “I think you brought her here in time.”

The Wolf King turned his yellow eyes to Rowan. “We will take our leave now.”

“We owe you a debt,” Rowan said.

“Payment for exterminating the insects,” said the Wolf King. “The debt was mine, and it is paid. Farewell.” He gave a howl that seemed to shake the very ground, then dashed into the wood, his pack sending up an answering call and then following. The black wolf paused for a moment, eyeing Lucien.

“I hope we meet again, goblin.”

“ ‘Lucien’ is name. If meet, know whose shoulders your pelt will warm.”

The wolf’s eyes twinkled. “And I am Krellos. You will likely make a vile meal, Lucien, but I will taste your flesh regardless.” He flashed his teeth, the white standing out against the black of his fur and the woods beyond, then darted off to join his pack.

“Well, that was pleasant,” said Corson with a smile. He patted Lucien amiably on the back. “You really have a way with people—and wolves.”

“That why I prefer to talk with warblade.”

Back inside Ballthor’s home, the druid busied himself preparing a stew for dinner. Alexis asked how he came to have such a dwelling.

“I have always loved nature. As I grow older, the ways and things of man interest me less and less. The more we create, the more complex things become, and in the end there is more pain and destruction. Oh, to be sure, much of it springs from the evil some men harbor in their hearts, this Solek being a perfect example. But I decided years ago to live simply and at peace with as much of the world around me as I could. This forest is rarely traveled and provided a safe harbor.”

“How did you come to find safety here?” Demetrius wondered. “From the wolves and the other things that dwell here?”

“I was fortunate to find a she-wolf in need of healing. One of her litter was Denosis, now the Wolf King. The pack has afforded me much protection as has keeping fires lit outside. Most of the creatures that dwell here will not venture near, and many, over the course of long years, have learned that I will be a friend if allowed. If not, they can be certain I will do them no harm.”

“And those insects?”

“Ah, yes. Skezis, they are named. None here will weep at their passing. Brainless for the most part, but quite deadly if one stumbles upon them unawares. Luckily they never stray far from their pit. They killed several wolves before I learned how to deal with the poison.” He took a pot and placed it on his small table, then rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “I’m afraid I not only have but one chair, but I have only two bowls. You’ll have to eat in turns.”

“We are grateful for your hospitality,” said Alexis.

Demetrius settled comfortably against a wall, the aroma of the stew and the warmth of the fire making him sleepy. He dozed for a short time, until Lucien woke him to take his turn at the stew. It was bland but warm and filling. If only he had a soft bed to fall into… He smiled at the thought.

“What is it?” Corson asked, settling beside him with the other bowl in hand.

“Just thinking how nice a bed would feel right now. There are muscles I forgot I had letting me know their displeasure about recent activities.”

“I know what you mean, although it must be far worse for someone of your advanced years.”

“You're lucky I’m hungry, or you would be wearing this stew,” Demetrius said with a laugh. “Besides, I’m less than three years older than you.”

“True, but you’re over forty and I’m not. You’ve moved to the downward slope of life now.”

“In that case I thank you for coming along on this journey, to protect me in my feebleness.”

Corson gave a mock bow. “My pleasure.” His look grew more serious as his eyes fell upon Tala. She had remained motionless on the bed since they had arrived. “I hope she pulls through.”

“I think she will.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Demetrius met his friends searching look with one of steel. “Then we will bury her, mourn her, and go on. There is little else we can do. For now, though, we have food and shelter and she is being tended to. We hope and wait.”

The waiting continued for more than a week, but Tala improved each day. She had awoken on the third morning, the swelling gone by then and the bruising that had stopped at her hip fading to a still ugly but definitely lighter shade of purple. She had been able to take nourishment soon after, and had tried a few tentative steps on the sore leg by the fifth day of their stay.

Ballthor was an excellent host, who declined offers from his guests to make good on the food they ate, insisting that the plants he cooked with were plentiful and that he rarely needed to hunt for meat—the Wolf King and his pack saw to his needs. As if making up for years of solitude, Ballthor thoroughly enjoyed the company of his guests, being of good cheer and telling and listening to stories with equal vigor. As for the group, they had rest they had not known since before their journey began, partaking in warm food and having a certain sense of security in his cozy home, not to mention the fact that his braziers and the house’s walls allowed them to forgo the nightly watch.

Alexis had asked on the third day if they should consider pressing ahead and then returning for Tala after they had recovered the next shard, but she had no argument to counter Rowan’s concern that without Tala’s magic they would have trouble locating it—Ballthor had said that he only knew where the entrance to the underground city was and that the shard was somewhere within, nothing more. So they waited for Tala to get better, and in truth Alexis was happy for the chance to recover her strength, just as the others were. Her mind drifted often to Lorgras, and to her friends lost under the Aetos Mountains, and she grieved for them with unshed tears.

The waiting was hard on Lucien. He was a goblin of action and spent many hours pacing around outside Ballthor’s home, burning off excess energy, the cold air invigorating. He knew the delay was necessary, and even when Alexis raised the possibility of action, he remained silent while Rowan, Demetrius, and Corson counseled patience. As much as his heart and spirit wanted to move on, his mind knew they were right. The humans passed much of their time discussing changes and happenings in the outside world, much of which was met with looks of wide-eyed astonishment by Ballthor. Lucien either took his exercise outdoors or stood silently during these discussions, answering questions tossed his way as amicably as possible for a goblin. In quiet times Demetrius and Corson often huddled together, as one would expect friends to do, and Lucien noticed Alexis and Rowan passing many hours in private conversation as well. He felt no sense of being left out, preferring as he did the solitude of his own thoughts, and he took refuge there often.

Tala had awoken before the others on the ninth day of their stay with Ballthor. She was tired and restless from too much time in bed, but her thoughts were clear. She had dreamed of the creature that had bitten her, dreamed of Solek and of the Dark One, of the Soul Sphere, and these nighttime illusions were filled with images of dark despair that melted together in what seemed a long, ugly fever dream as she fought the poison. She rose from the bed, stepping quietly around her companions and toward the door. Once outside, she paced around Ballthor’s dwelling. The leg was tender, but she thought she could manage the pain easily enough.

“I’ll return this,” Demetrius said, startling her. He held the partial Soul Sphere out toward her.

She took it, turning it over once. “You added the latest piece,” she observed with a smile.

“It heals itself once the pieces are placed properly. You told us that once before, but the way my hands trembled when I did it, I guess… Maybe I wasn’t sure if I trusted it, or myself.” He gave her a searching look.

“Great power went into its creation, and great power broke it apart. But the old power is what binds it again, nothing that I or anyone else could hope to do.”

He nodded. “I’m still happier to have you carry it. Just watch your step from now on.”

“That I will,” she answered.

Ballthor served them a final meal and provided more food and water for their packs, as well as a dozen torches and three thick blankets. “Winter is coming,” he told them when he was first refused. “I have a fire and enough other blankets to stave off the shivers, not to mention four walls to stop the wind.”

Each thanked him in turn for his hospitality and healing, Tala clasping his hands and saying that although she could never repay him, she would give anything in her power if he asked it. “Be safe,” was his only request. Rowan was last and tried one last time to convince him to join them, something he had spent a great deal of time failing at during their stay.

“No, and no again,” Ballthor said, his voice stern but his lips and eyes smiling. “I have forsaken the world you know and my place is now here. I wish you well, but I cannot accept your gracious invitation.” He added with a wink, “Regardless of how many times the invitation is extended.”

Rowan bowed once, a formal surrender. “Then we will trouble you no longer.”

“Two days journey to the north,” Ballthor said, taking the cue and pointing the way. “The entrance to the Lost City is easy enough to find, but what lies within few that live can say. If any have entered and come out again, I have yet to hear their tale.”

Lucien smiled, his great teeth flashing as they always did, making the look far more sinister than it truly was. “If meet again, we tell of it.”

Ballthor laughed and clapped Lucien on the back. “I don’t doubt it, my green friend. Whatever is there should tremble at your approach.” He raised an open hand, as if calling down a blessing on the group. “Farewell.”

They set out at a slow pace, some unspoken agreement becoming apparent to Tala as one after the other her companions stole peeks at the steadiness of her gait. Realizing verbal protest would be useless, she stepped to the front and moved to a faster beat, showing them she was capable of keeping up. Rowan took the lead thirty minutes later without slowing, saying “You made your point,” as he passed Tala with a nod of respect.

Corson was pleased to see the mood was light as they set out, his wit earning him more laughs than he was accustomed to with this crowd. But as they drew further away from the sanctuary they had enjoyed for a time, the gloom of the wood and the thought of what might lay ahead penetrated mind, heart, and soul, and a heavy seriousness settled over them. Corson dropped the one-liners, his guard going up as he looked for threats in the dire wood.