The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (21 page)

“It was nearly a half mile,” Tala reminded him. “We just got started.”

“Sorry. Dumb question.”

No less than they’d expect from you. The group clown. The weak one.

“I bet I could lift more than Tala,” he said to himself. He hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but his words were audible, if only as a whisper.

“What’s that?” Demetrius asked.

“Nothing. Whistling past the graveyard.”

Weak in the mind. That’s the problem. Although any of the others could take you in a fight, Tala included.

He listened to the gentle sound of the torches burning, and studied the serious, focused faces of his companions. Demetrius walked next to him, sword drawn, eyes alert, ready for anything. A friend of which one could be proud.

But could he say the same about you? If you weren’t friends as boys, would he have wanted you along? Would he put up with you? Does he really want you here now?

Of course he would
, Corson thought. “This place makes me jumpy,” he said.

“That means you’re alive,” Demetrius told him with a wan smile.

For a moment that pushed Corson’s doubts away. He listened to the way their footfalls echoed dully, the steps muffled by the dust and dirt from ages past which covered the stone road. He glanced back, the dead city fading to black behind them as they drew away.

Tala slowed as she checked the Sphere, took a dozen steps forward, and then three to the right. “Down from here,” she said, kicking at the debris on the road.

Rowan knelt at the spot, holding a torch close. He brushed away the dust and played his fingers around the stones that formed the road. He worked an area some four feet in diameter, trying to pry and push the stones, but found no give in them. “We either need to break through, or find another way. Are you sure this is the exact spot?”

“Definitely,” said Tala. “But straight down may not be the way to get there, as you just implied.”

“What if buried under fifty feet rock?” asked Lucien.

“Then we need to hire some dwarves,” Demetrius replied. “Let’s work in teams of two. We’re looking for a well, a stair, a trap door—anything that might give us access to a lower level. We’ll need to look in the buildings as well. Lucien and Tala, try forward and left, Rowan and Alexis to the right. Corson and I will go back and check the rear.”

He needs to keep you close, so you don’t do something stupid
.

Corson hesitated, staring at his friend. The flickering torchlight played tricks on Demetrius’ face, making it seem to be some living thing, changing with each instant. Sometimes the shadows fell in such a way that it seemed this face Corson had known for more than three decades was hiding a sinister secret.

“What’s wrong?” Demetrius asked.

“Nothing,” Corson said, stirring as if waking from a dream. “Let’s go.”

They stood close as they searched, sharing the light, listening for a call of distress or discovery from their companions. Wary of the buildings, they decided to search the streets and the outer walls of the city first. Other than the main road, the streets were narrow and irregular, and were often lost amidst fallen debris.

“Nothing but ruins,” Demetrius announced after they had spent a fruitless time picking their way through the streets. “Let’s follow the city walls.”

They made their way back to the entrance, and Corson let out a relieved breath when he saw that it remained solidly in place—no trick or trap apparent.

You should leave now. Better to brave the forest than this tomb. You have the torch…just go and they will follow.

Demetrius let his hand slide along the wall, finding intricately carved stone. He stepped back and looked at the patterns, which were detailed but decorative only—no particular image had been left there. He moved to the right, not taking notice of the fact that Corson hesitated before deciding to follow.

The wall stretched on nearly a half mile until it reached the corner of the city. There a smaller structure jutted out, a ten-foot-high rectangular box. On each face was carved the image of a king, each tall and powerful and gazing upon them with empty gray eyes.

Demetrius studied it closely, then ran his fingers along the corner nearest him. He blew away the dust and called for the torch. “There is a seam here. It may be a door.”

“Looks like a tomb stood on end.”

Your tomb.

A loud boom shattered the silence, echoing from some distant part of the city. Corson held his breath as the reverberation faded, and thought he could almost hear his racing heartbeat.

“Found it,” rumbled a voice in the distance. Lucien. “Far left corner of walls.”

Corson and Demetrius traveled the perimeter rather than trying to pick their way through the heart of the city. Demetrius heard Alexis answer Lucien’s call, and he did the same, his voice amplified as it echoed through the underground city. Even along the walls they had to be cautious, and it seemed a long time until they finally arrived.

Lucien stood by a small structure just like the one they had found in the opposite corner, except that a slab of stone lay face down in the dirt, broken over rocks that might have lain there undisturbed for centuries. “Stairs,” he announced, pointing into the newly-made opening.

“We found a similar structure,” said Demetrius. “I thought it might actually be a door.”

“It is,” Tala said with a soft smile, touching the place where ancient hinges stood broken. “Our powerful friend here just pulled a bit harder than necessary”

Lucien flashed his toothy smile. “You want open. I open.”

“At least we don’t have to worry about it closing behind us,” said Rowan, pushing past Lucien to thrust his torch into the opening. Stone steps spiraled down into the darkness, and the walls were carved with hexes and dire images. “Wards and warnings. A crypt most likely.”

Alexis thought of the specter that had confronted them earlier. “Maybe we’ll see where our headless friend rests,” she said. She glanced at the spear in her hands as if it had changed into an overgrown twig. “If he and others like him walk here, our weapons will not be of much use.”

“Spirits such as that one can haunt but not slay,” Rowan said. “But we have all seen the dead walk in bodily form. Keep your weapons ready.” He led the way down.

The stairs spun down some thirty feet before reaching a floor of polished black stone. Rowan stepped away from the foot of the stair and held his torch aloft.

Neat rows of marble crypts were stacked to the ceiling, in numbers beyond counting. Sentinels stood guard in each row, some of granite, others of armor, all armed. These tombs showed little of the disrepair of the city above, the images carved on them intact, dust and crumbled stone not littering the floor. What did lay strewn about was of more concern.

“Bones,” said Rowan.

Even here in the crypt the bones were out of place. They were too numerous and lay at too many odd angles. There was no respect or honor or finality in the way they were arranged—the living had simply fallen there, and now the dead bones were all that was left.

Demetrius crouched down to study those closest to them. “Many of these people fell from wounds. Perhaps all.”

“The sentinels?” Lucien asked, his eyes playing over the guardians. They held many different weapons—swords, spears, maces, hammers, and staffs. Neither wood nor metal showed signs of rust or decay.

Demetrius pulled a hand over his face and blew out a breath. He shook his head. “Maybe. But as far as I can tell, there are no severed limbs and fewer broken bones than I would expect if they were hacked to death.”

“I would still be reluctant to pass before those waiting weapons,” said Rowan. “And look, further on the bones are fewer, as if this area right before us is the place one cannot pass safely.”

Demetrius took a torch and slid along the wall, taking great care, his eyes never ceasing their movement. He checked three other rows of tombs and then worked his way back to his companions. “Each row is the same. Bones near the first few stacks of crypts.”

Speed is the trick. Those who move cautiously are struck down.

Corson took a step forward, then caught himself. He studied the lines of armed guardians on each side of the path. “Do you think if we ran we could get past before the weapons fell?”
“If it’s a trap and they’re all triggered at once, there is little chance of escaping them all.”

“But some traps are overcome by haste,” said Tala. “If the weapons fall as one passes, it is better to be a step ahead.”

“We seem to be agreeing it is a trap,” Rowan said. “The question is what kind and how do we get around it.”

“The best way to answer that is to trigger it,” said Demetrius. He picked up a skull, turning it over in his hands as he studied the puzzle before him. Finally he tossed it ahead about twenty feet. It bounced with a sharp crack that echoed in the giant chamber, bounced and rolled, and then came to rest at the foot of a sentinel that held a spear. Nothing moved.

“Not enough weight?” Rowan offered.

Demetrius shrugged. “Or one of a dozen other reasons.”

“Could we climb up and pass over the tops of the tombs?” Tala asked, lifting her torch high.

Demetrius and Rowan did the same. “It’s hard to tell how near they are to the ceiling,” said Demetrius. “The light makes shadows that trick the eye.”

“I’ll check,” Corson said. He stepped to the nearest stack of sarcophagi and made his way up.

Climb like a monkey. It’s good you have some use to them.

Corson grunted and pulled himself higher, six tombs, seven, eight. The tenth rose to within an inch of the ceiling, which was a smooth, polished black, just like the floor.

Useless. As usual.

He went back, disappointed at having to give the unhappy news that they could not pass above.

“We could try another entrance,” suggested Alexis. “Perhaps it will be different there.”

With no other good options, they made the journey, going back to the upper level, trying the staircase opposite—after an appropriate and far less noisy opening of the stone doorway—but found a sight so familiar that they could have been convinced they had descended the same stair.

“The other problem is we still need to go down further,” said Tala. “And if there is a path or stair or some other way down, it is somewhere amongst these tombs.”

“A most interesting puzzle,” Rowan observed as he sat on the floor with crossed legs, as if he planned to ponder it for some time.

“Aggravating,” said Lucien through gritted teeth. The knuckles of his green fingers grew pale where he held his warblade in a crushing grip.

“An effective trap,” Demetrius mused, “is one that is hidden, and one that strikes all who try to pass.”

“A quick one,” said Corson.

“Quick and possibly large. If a group sees one of its members caught, the others learn, but if they are all taken at once…”

“From the number of bones, this one seems to be doing that quite effectively,” said Rowan.

“In which case…” Demetrius found another skull, made sure his companions were well back from the aisle and the point where the nearest bones lie, then hurled it much further than he had thrown the first. Like its predecessor it smacked against the floor and bounced forward.

In the blink of an eye the room changed. Black metal spears shot from the floor and ceiling, lifting and scattering the bones. The poles formed a grid with only twelve inches of space between them, those going up three-inch cylinders with tops that had been impossible to see in the smooth black floor, those coming down tapering into sharp points that halted a mere three inches from the ground. The speed and weight of the spears left no doubt about the fate of anyone caught in them.