The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (28 page)

“How wind blow in face no matter which way we turn?” Lucien grumbled.

“I’d blame Solek,” Corson answered, “but I’ve seen the phenomenon too often back home. Nature plays its own jokes.”

Opportunities to take shelter were fewer now that they were away from the road, but the dwellings they did find were just as abandoned. The whole world seemed to have fled. Despite how slow they were going, they still took time to find cover and build a fire even for the noon meal, their clothes and cloaks soaked or frozen and not nearly as effective in holding back the cold as they would have hoped. At least the swirling snow hid any sign of the fire and its smoke from spying eyes.

The storm broke the next day, only a few stray flakes drifting to the ground. The sun made an appearance the following day, and although it did little to break the chill at least they were starting to dry out. The snow on the ground had no intention of melting, sun or no, so the horses continued to struggle, but they held their heads high and seemed relieved the worst of the weather had passed.

Day followed day, and they continued to travel east in the shadow of the Aetos Mountains. They melted snow for water, and took what
game they needed, the animals that ventured out into the snow-shrouded countryside easy to track. As they progressed further to the east the temperatures held cold, but the snow pack was shallower, the storm apparently not as fierce here. The horses seemed to gain strength as they had to fight the snow less and less, and although they covered fewer miles than they would have liked, the memory of the blizzard was still fresh enough that they were thankful for the ground they did cover.

At dawn one morning Demetrius woke to find Rowan gone. He rose from a makeshift bed of straw and ventured outside to find the paladin facing the rising sun, down on one knee with his head bowed. When his prayers were finished he rose and turned to find Demetrius watching him.

“I apologize,” Demetrius said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“I’m not offended,” Rowan said with an easy smile. “It is a special day.”

“I wondered about that, to be honest. I’ve seen you pray before, but not usually in such communion with nature. And I know you don’t normally worship the sun, the planets, or trees as some others do.”

“Nor do I do so today. I was simply enjoying the sunrise. It was particularly beautiful this morning. Today is the day I celebrate the birth of the Savior.”

Demetrius let out a short, surprised laugh. “How can you keep track of what day it is? They’ve all blurred together on me.”

“They would for me as well, but I cheat.”

Demetrius raised an eyebrow. “You? You’re the last man I would guess would cheat.”

“I make notches in my belt to note the passing of days—marks actually. Too many notches and I’d have no belt left.”

“Marks, like a man in a prison cell.”

“Except that I count the passing days to know what day it is, not how long I’ve been imprisoned. I am free in both body and soul.”

“Well, I’m sorry I have no gift to give you on this day. That is a tradition of sorts, is it not?”

“It is. And you’ve given me a great gift, as have the others we travel with: friendship. A priceless gift and one I’ll always treasure.”

“In that case, I have to thank you for providing the same gift in return.”

Rowan sniffed the air. “I think I smell bacon. I know I don’t, but one can always dream.”

Demetrius indicated the home they had sheltered in with his thumb. “Maybe someone found a hidden stash. Who knows, maybe it’s a gift to all of us from your Savior.”

Rowan’s stomach answered with a growl. “Let’s go find out.”

Chapter 8: The Abandoned Castle

They reached the Crystal River on the tenth day after they left Arna’s Forge. Where it met the mountain it was shallow and easy to cross. Once on the far side, Tala announced, “We are now in Ridonia, and some fifty miles ahead is the Eastern Forest where my people dwell.”

“If I recall my maps correctly,” said Demetrius, “the most direct path from here to Ludroe’s Keep is through the forest. Might we go to your city and replenish our supplies?”

Tala paused so long that Demetrius thought she might not have heard the question. Finally she sighed and said, “You recall your maps correctly, although the forest is dense and on horse it is quicker to go around. I fear outsiders would not be welcome in Dol Lavaan, the home of my family and many of my people, especially in these times. To admit this shames me greatly, but I can answer no other way. We can shelter in the woods at night, and find sufficient game there as well.” She looked to each of her companions, one after another. “I wish it were otherwise, but we would do well to avoid Dol Lavaan.”

Alexis started forward again, making no comment. Lucien, Rowan and Corson followed in turn. “I’m sorry,” Demetrius said as he fell into line.

“So am I,” Tala replied in a voice barely above a whisper. She hoped Demetrius hadn’t seen the tears that she was fighting to keep from forming in her eyes.

The Eastern Forest had its own dangers, like any place in Arkania, but was no more than a gentle wood when compared to the darkness and denizens of the Great Northern Forest. They saw nothing more threatening than a few lean wolves when they entered the fringe of the forest to forage or camp, wolves that weren’t desperately hungry enough to consider attacking a party so well organized and armed.

Demetrius noticed Tala’s frequent, lingering glances into the heart of the woods. Finally he asked amicably, “Are you looking for something, or just longing for home?”

“I had thought there might be scouts, but I have seen none.”

“You’re concerned by that,” he stated.

“I fear all the elves remain in the city now—total defensive withdrawal.”

“This area is in the shadow of Solek’s realm,” Demetrius reminded her.

“All the more reason for constant patrols.”

For seven days they traveled at the edge of the forest, then crossed a small neck of land to the eastern shore—turning north from there to follow the coast up to Ludroe’s Keep. The sea looked as gray as the winter sky, the foam churned up by the waves washing up endlessly on a barren beach. A damp, chill breeze blew inland in rugged gusts, biting through their meager clothing and sending collective shivers up their spines. They only spent a few uncomfortable hours near the water’s edge before taking an inland path that was slightly more direct to their destination than the curving coastline.

Corson was glad to move out of sight of the sea and said as much.

Demetrius was surprised. “You always loved the ocean.”

“Not so much in winter, but it’s even worse now. The water moves as it has throughout time, but it still seems dead to me. I could hardly bear to look upon it.”

“I think our journey has made you melancholy.”

Corson laughed. “And what are you so chipper about?”

Demetrius shrugged. “Maybe just that we’ve had some time without wondering whether the next moment would be our last. It has been a quiet month.”

“And here I thought you were frustrated at the time the journey was taking. That Solek was up to who-knows-what while we made our way across the breadth of Arkania.”

“I was and still am. But a commander knows his soldiers need a break from battle from time to time to be at their best. Great commanders know even they need rest.”

Corson clapped his friend on the back while he let another hearty laugh escape from his belly. “And only a commander would consider a month of riding through deep snow with little food and scarce shelter to be a ‘break.’ ”

They spent what they hoped would be the last night of this leg of the journey in yet another abandoned farmhouse. The place had been unused for quite some time, the cobwebs thick and rats having cleared out whatever food there was to be had at one time. Before they set the watch and settled in for some rest, Tala spent some time in spell-induced meditation, and when she was done she told them their destination was a castle on the near side of Ludroe’s Keep.

“Not the city proper?” asked Alexis.

“I’m not surprised,” said Rowan as Tala shook her head. “The Keep was one of the first cities to fall to the Dead Legion. A few refugees made it to Delving and told the tale. The city was always on alert for an attack from Solek, but their outposts, of course, had seen no army from Veldoon go through the Saber Pass. The Dead Legion caught them unprepared and the city fell quickly.”

“The rest of us fared no better, even with warning,” said Demetrius.

“Sadly, true. But the devastation to the Keep was thorough, as it absorbed the full force of the Dark One’s newly unleashed wrath. The survivors said the place is no more than a charred ruin now. Not easily defended, not that it would need to be, unless the caretaker of the shard we seek had decided to move in. Tell me, Tala, is the castle we are looking for on a rocky hill, surrounded by a ring of tall evergreens?”

Tala’s eyebrows shot up. “That was the impression I had. Have you been there?”

“No, but the refugees spoke of the place. It was home to various royals in the past, but it fell into disrepair and was reputed to be haunted for the last twenty years or so. The locals steer clear of the place.”

“The timing is right,” said Demetrius, thinking of the years that had passed since the shards were hidden. “The locals may not be far off when they refer to the place as being haunted.”

Morning broke clear, the red disk of the rising sun peering over the horizon with empty promises of warmth and comfort. They ate and mounted up with little discussion, knowing that today they would likely look death, in whatever guise he chose, directly in the eye. Lucien rode in the lead, his battle senses on full alert. Like his companions he used his eyes and ears to great effect, but his heightened sense of smell was an added skill he exploited whenever possible. His frequent sniffs yielded little but the scent of the sea, and under that an odor of death and decay. He commented on it, adding, “Not smell of Legion. More like old battle, where bodies left to rot.”

They arrived at their destination in the early part of the afternoon, and while Tala confirmed it with a spell, the place was unmistakable based on Rowan’s rough description. Evergreens stood sentinel in three concentric rings, the most recent snow still decorating the branches. Behind the trees a hill rose up at a sharp angle, boulders and rocks still showing through the wintry blanket. Atop the hill was built a castle, the large gray bricks that formed its walls showing their age, their surface pitted and scarred, green moss snaking half-way up to the top. The walls rose some forty feet and met at circular towers, which stood at each corner of the square outer wall. The group worked their way around to view the castle’s entry, staying beyond the boundary set by the trees for the time being. Within a stone archway was set a double door, one of heavy wood set behind a thick iron portcullis. The metal bars showed signs of rust, but even at a distance seemed a formidable, unmovable barrier. Along the top of the castle’s front wall was the structure’s only decorative element, a dozen three-foot-tall gargoyles, each in a unique pose, but all sporting ram-like horns, fangs, and stone wings.

“If this place is defended,” said Rowan, “they are keeping out of sight.”

“We could try the gate and door,” suggested Demetrius, “although it would be no different than knocking. If anyone is inside they’ll know we’re here.”

“But they’ll have to reveal themselves sooner or later, or else let us walk away with what we want,” said Corson. “And we do need to get inside.”

“That we do,” said Tala from behind them. They turned to see her tired, drawn face. “The shard we seek is somewhere within these walls, but where I cannot say. There is a warding spell upon the place that will not allow my gaze to penetrate it, nor will it brook the use of magic within the walls I would wager.”

Lucien uttered a goblin curse and spat. “More magic. Rather face hundred warriors on top of wall.”

“Your strength and your warblade may yet be of use here,” Demetrius told him. “Let’s try that gate. Tala, cover the battlements above us with your bow. Shout out if you see any movement.”

Tala took up a ready position on the inner edge of the trees while her companions worked their way up the hill. The snow actually made the task of gaining the top easier, its depth adding stability to their steps that the loose pebbles underneath never would have allowed in warmer months.

Lucien eyed the iron gate for only an instant, sizing it up in his mind. He bent and grabbed one of the lower crossbars with both his powerful hands, gathered himself and lifted. The only result was an angry grunt issuing from his throat. The gate did not budge.

Alexis, Corson, Demetrius, and Rowan fanned out beside the goblin, taking their own handholds on the gate. Alexis counted to three and they strained as one, but the gate remained stubborn. After two more tries they stepped away, backs and arms sore, the barrier still unchanged. Lucien slapped at it angrily with his warblade while he choked off a frustrated scream of rage.

Demetrius looked up the face of the wall. “We’ll have to try some rope.”

“I’ll get it,” said Corson. He scrambled back down the hill and into the trees where the horses waited. The longest length of rope they had was coiled and fastened to the saddle of Demetrius’ horse. With a nod at Tala, whose eyes only flicked off the battlements atop the castle long enough to acknowledge him silently, he worked his way back to the others.

Demetrius nodded for him to proceed, knowing his younger friend to be better with ropes and more agile than he. Corson’s fingers suddenly minded the cold, fumbling to tie a secure knot. Once convinced he had a loop that would hold, he gauged the distance to the top and set to lassoing one of the gray stones that capped the wall. His third try met with success. Giving the rope a pair of hard pulls, he tightened the loop and pulled it taut. He spit into his hands, and then gripped the rope, flipped his feet up onto the wall, and started climbing.

Corson’s ascent was quick and unopposed. Once on the battlements, he scanned the walls, which were empty. “It’s clear,” he shouted.

Demetrius was second up, and after he thanked Corson for the helping hand over the top, he too took stock of the place. While Corson remained in position to help the others, Demetrius crossed the wide wall and looked down into the interior of the fortress. As he did so, his breath caught in his throat.

The four walls of the castle surrounded an ice-blue plane, which shimmered like frozen glass but gave no sense of depth or surface. Demetrius thought it to be a void or perhaps a portal, but to where he could not guess. His eyes never left it as he was joined by each of his companions in turn.

“What is it?” Corson asked.

“I do not know,” Tala replied. “But I do not doubt its source is not of this world, and that falling into it would have dire consequences.”

The sound of cracking stone came from behind and below them. As one they wheeled, seeing nothing but the solid wall upon which they stood, the battlements, and the snow-covered trees and land beyond.

Lucien crept toward the outer part of the wall, his warblade before him. Slowly he leaned over the stone façade to peer downward.

He leapt back, swinging wildly, as blurs of green and black swooped up and over the wall. He caught one with his blade, cleaving off a wing. It spun like a shot bird to crash on top of the wall, then scrambled to its feet and sprung at Demetrius, who was closest. As it impaled itself on his sword Demetrius could see that it was one of the gargoyles past which they had just climbed, their stone coverings having fallen away to reveal living, breathing terrors. The creature hissed and spat while thick, dark blood spilled from its mouth and wounds, and its claws clacked and scratched on the stone while it snapped and bit, trying to get at the man whose sword held it just out of reach. Even as it died its black eyes remained open, staring at Demetrius with rage and hate.