The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (23 page)

“I’m okay,” he called, able to see the hole he had made in the chamber when he had fallen but little more. It hovered fifteen feet over him, a light blue patch in an otherwise black world. “What happened?”

“The rope frayed on the edge of the opening,” Tala replied. “Did you get the shard?”

“No. There is a stone box of sorts on the wall. It may be in there. I had a hand on it, and heard it start to break away from the wall as I fell, but it held.”

They’ll leave you now
.

“I don’t think the rope that’s left is long enough to reach you,” said Demetrius.

“Tala, could you lift me, like you did the rock covering the opening?”
Corson asked.

There was a pause, long enough to make Corson uncomfortable. “I will need time to regain my strength before I try. And living beings and rocks are different.”

This is your tomb
.

Demetrius called out again. “We can lower someone with our part of the rope to the floor of the upper chamber, then drop the rope to you, then work back up from there.”

“I guess that—” Corson cut himself off, hearing a faint exhale of breath that was not his own. He slowly pulled his sword from its scabbard. “Can someone drop a torch to me? Fast?”

“What’s wrong?” yelled Demetrius, the concern in his voice obvious.

“Something is in here with me.”

A torch came tumbling through the hole, falling into the water a few feet away from where Corson stood frozen in place, the magic glow not quenched by the liquid as a flame would have been. Corson lifted it and saw fiery pink eyes staring at him from only six feet away. Suddenly they lurched forward, two embers propelled by an unseen body. Corson swung his sword up defensively, the blade biting into flesh and bone.

The thing let out an awful, high-pitched squeak, then fell at his feet, dead, the blood from its wound dancing into the water.

“Corson!” Demetrius called.

“I got it. A rat, sort of. A rat-thing the size of a big dog.” He waved the torch before him, seeing other eyes watching. “Apparently it has a family.”

Lucien listened to Corson’s words as they rose up from below, as if they came from some distant dream. He heard the splash of a foot falling heavily in water, the singing of a blade tearing the air, the rising voices of a small host on the attack. Unable to bear simply standing by any longer, he jumped into the pit.

Corson slashed with abandon, dropping rats or just keeping them at bay. The torch had made them hesitate, but they soon felt the lack of heat coming from it, and their fear of the flame vanished. Knowing their advantage lie in their numbers, they raced forward as one to overwhelm their quarry.

The forward movement stopped for an instant as a second hole was punched in the ceiling, and another splash signaled a new entrant into the contest. Lucien was on his feet and attacking even before Corson knew it was him.

Recovered from their shock, the rat-things pressed forward, but now a warblade, expertly wielded, had joined the sword opposing them. The water soon grew thick with their blood.

When it was over, a pile of bodies lay at Lucien’s feet. Corson moved the torch in a wide arc, checking to be sure the area was clear. “I want to say ‘You’re crazier than you are ugly,’ but I think I’ll just say ‘Thanks.’ ”

“You would do same for me.”

You would? He does not know you very well
.

I would
, Corson thought, but his eyes drifted upward, where he could see the others through the hole that Lucien had made. The goblin had made quite a leap.

Demetrius acknowledged Lucien’s call that the foe had been defeated, his voice surprisingly close. He had rappelled down on the remainder of the rope and was now peering down upon them from the floor of the chamber.

“Do you see the stone outcropping?” Corson asked. “Off to your left.”

Demetrius secured his sword and held his torch aloft. Its blue glow had regained some of its intensity as Tala’s strength slowly returned. “I see it. You’re right; it’s hanging half off the wall now. It should be easy enough to bring down. I might even be able to hit it with my sword.”

“A spear would be better,” Alexis called from the crypt above.

“Can you hit it from where you are?”

“No. I’ll drop the spear down to you.”

A moment later Demetrius had the spear in hand, and eyed the stone compartment that hung precariously off the wall.

The two misfits are below. They’ll leave you once they have the prize.

Corson wound the loose end of the rope that was still fastened about his waist in his hands. “Demetrius, I’ll toss up my part of the rope so you can pull us up.”

“Hold there. If the shard falls through one of these holes you can retrieve it.”

Buried alive
.

“But we can—” Corson heard the clack of the spear striking the wall and then rattling to the floor.

“I see you need lessons,” Alexis called.

“Just out of practice,” Demetrius answered. “And the spear is heavier than what I’m used to.”

Buried alive
.

Sweat beaded on Corson’s brow. He looked at Lucien, expecting to see the same apprehension, but instead the goblin simply looked upward placidly, waiting.

Demetrius fired again, the noise this time different, more muffled.

“One more like that and it’ll come down,” Alexis said.

Corson started to search. The rat-things had come from somewhere. This place he had fallen into was apparently some sort of ancient sewer, the walls made of simple stone blocks. He took a few steps and paused, noticing a subtle breeze from the left.

“You have to hit it with the spear,” Alexis said with a laugh, as Demetrius missed and mumbled curses to himself.

Buried alive
.

Corson found a hole in the wall. He touched the stone around it and found that it crumbled easily in his hands. The torch revealed only a dark tunnel beyond, but the fresher air he smelled was a promise of escape.

Buried alive
.

“Got it!” shouted Demetrius. The stone enclosure shattered on the floor of the chamber, its weight not enough to puncture through as Corson and Lucien had done. Demetrius grabbed the spear and sprang to the rubble, finding the crystalline shard with ease. “It’s here! I have it.”

“Corson?” It was Lucien’s voice. “We need rope.”

Buried alive
.

A distant rumble met their ears and the earth began to move. Everyone went to ground as stone started to crash against stone.

“The place is tearing itself apart!” Tala shouted. “Hurry!”

“Throw up the rope!” Demetrius yelled. “I’ll pull you up!”

Run! Flee! Too late! Too late! Buried alive!

“No!” Corson roared, defiant. There was something of a perverse pleasure in the tone of these last thoughts that revealed its true source. Corson now understood that the thoughts were not the verbalization of his own doubts, but rather the voice of the phantom they had encountered upon entering the Lost City.

“The tombs are shaking loose!” Tala warned. “We are out of time!”

Corson sniffed the air once more, ignoring the calamity all around him, just to be sure he hadn’t been mistaken. What he was considering was an awful risk.

You removed the keystone! Buried alive!

Corson called out. “I’ve found another way out! Jump down here!”

The others hesitated, unsure what to do. The only reply was the horrible grinding sound of the world continuing to crash down around them.

“We’ll never make it past the traps!” Corson shouted, trying to reason. “We have to try this way!”

The reminder of the traps was enough for Alexis. She could see the way the tombs were rocking, and that cracks were appearing in the ceiling. Any instant those bars might be triggered… As Lucien had done, she leapt into the pit. Rowan and Tala, their decision now made for them, followed.

All the dropping bodies made the floor of the chamber more hole than stone. Demetrius took one last glance upward, unable to see anything but hearing the tombs start to come smashing down, and beneath that a more distant rumble—that of the Lost City crumbling as well. He dropped into the sewer.

Corson herded everyone into the opening he had found. “Weapons ready,” he ordered. “There could be more of those rat-things. Move swiftly.”

Demetrius gave him a smile and a nod of approval as he passed into the hole. “Well done, Corson.”

Buried alive!

I believe you are
, Corson thought. He followed Demetrius into the hole in the sewer wall.

Lucien led the way through the passage, the walls of simple mud. He saw a small den to the right, baby rat-things which were already the size of small dogs cowering in the corner behind two protective females. He ignored them and kept on.

The tunnel sloped upward past the den, and Corson had just reached that point when it sounded like the whole world collapsed behind them. A rumble like thunder sundered the air, and a wave of dust and dirt flew around them. After a moment all was still except for the choked coughing that escaped from every throat.

Corson had to fight to open his eyes as they watered from the dust. Once moderately able to see he went back a few feet, just enough that the torch could confirm there would be no retreat. Ground-up hunks of stone filled the sewer right up to the entrance of the rat-things’ lair. He noted with some satisfaction that the voice he had had in his head was blessedly silent.

It was Demetrius’ voice that interrupted his brief reverie. “That was good thinking, Corson. We owe you our lives.”

Corson could not suppress the smile that played on his lips, but he knew they were far from saved. “Let’s just hope these creatures burrowed to the surface.”

The tunnel was uncomfortably small—they were forced to either crouch or crawl—and was as dark as everything else they had encountered in this forsaken forest, but their spirits were lighter, the second shard held in these woods now theirs, another test passed. They knew they were heading out now, even if that journey might take days—they were heading out.

The tunnel meandered a bit from time to time, but its progress was steadily upward. A sense of claustrophobia naturally pressed on all of them, confined as they were with no retreat, but they spoke not of it. In less than an hour Lucien was pushing aside the mat of sticks and other woodland debris that served as a covering for the hole, and then was helping his companions one by one out of the tunnel.

“Wow,” said Corson, looking first at his hand and then at the trees beyond. “This place is like a sunny day compared to that underground city.”

They rested then, but only for a brief time. Being free of the underground city might have been cause for celebration elsewhere, but the deep gloom of the forest reminded them that they were not yet free of its danger.

Demetrius started to feel the itch to move on building within him. He handed Tala the shard he had recovered. “Which way now?”