The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (36 page)

They reined up out of sight of the city sentries, and Tala checked on the location of the shard they sought. “Another thirty miles beyond the city, on the shore. I do not believe it is being moved.”

“We could by-pass the city,” Corson suggested. “Our supplies will hold for some time.”

“We told Sawdel we would speak to the duchess,” Rowan pointed out.

“He asked us to do that if it didn’t delay us too much.”

“I think we can spare the time to tell the duchess what we know, and what we seek,” Tala said. “Allies are to be greatly valued. But we should not tarry here. I sense the Legion moving this way.”

“I didn’t know you were a diviner,” said Demetrius.

“I am not. Call it female intuition.”

Alexis smiled. “That can be more powerful than divination at times.”

“Let’s seek out the duchess,” Demetrius said, “and stay the night if we can to rest the horses. We’ll be away before the sun rises, and a good number of days ahead of the Legion still, assuming they travel from the north through Bellford.”

“They not rest at night and we ride slow,” Lucien said. “They may be close. One night, no more.”

“There is one other issue,” said Rowan, struggling to meet their eyes. “We should not expect admittance to the city with the Mist tailing us. It could learn much of the city’s defenses.”

“It can do that regardless of whether we go in or not,” Alexis pointed out.

“But it stays with us because of the Sphere. If the Sphere remains here, so will the Mist. And when we move south we can take a wide path around the city to keep it away.”

“You are right,” said Demetrius, “and you have to be one of the group that goes ahead into the city.”

Rowan nodded. “It would not seem right to accept a bed when my companions sleep on the ground.”

“Ground no softer when you next to me,” said Lucien with a toothy grin.

“Lucien, Tala, and I will stay here,” said Demetrius, finality in his voice. “You three take the horses and see if they can be tended to. We’ll meet you here in the morning.”

After unpacking what the campers needed for the night, Rowan led Alexis and Corson to Upper Cambry. They were stopped and searched well outside the city’s northern gate, but the letter they carried and the fact that two of the men on duty recognized Rowan gained them swift admittance. One of the men that knew Rowan, Galdo, was dispatched to escort them to the duchess.

They rode in silence through the gate and down the town’s main thoroughfare. The citizens glanced at them with wary, untrusting looks. There was no hostility there, but rather a fear of what was to come, and these worn and weary travelers were a simple reminder of the strange days in which they now lived.

The duchess had taken up residence in the castle, and the captain of her personal guard read Sawdel’s letter twice, looking them over between every other line. “She’ll want to see you, no doubt,” said the man, rubbing the back of his hand against the stubble that covered his chin. “But she has much to attend to.” He addressed Galdo, “Take them to the barracks for some rest and food. I’ll have someone see to their horses. We’ll send for them when the duchess is ready to see them.”

The wait was nearly four hours, enough time for a meal and to speak to Galdo about their traveling companions who would be spending the night outside the city. Galdo told them he would arrange for a couple of tents and a warm meal to be sent out to them, explaining that he did so because he could trust Rowan as a friend, a fellow Delvishman, and a fellow man of faith. When a young servant boy came for them, Galdo escorted them as far as the castle door, then said he would wait there until given other instructions.

A half-dozen guards formed a loose perimeter around them and escorted them into the castle proper. The duchess received them in a small room off the main hall, and quickly waved the guards away. A hint of former beauty peeked out from behind the worn, haggard look on her face, and despite the rumpled clothing and hair that had not been tended to the normal standards of the duchess, there was a sharpness in her eye that indicated she was composed and in charge, and was holding up under a burden that would task any leader.

“Please be at your ease,” she said, indicating the wooden chairs opposite the desk behind which she sat. “I’m sorry my hospitality can offer so little. You were fed?”

“Yes, m’lady,” Rowan answered. He introduced himself and his companions, then said, “I am sorry for your loss. I knew Duke Onsweys. He was a good man.”

She nodded her appreciation. “And a good husband. Too many good husbands have fallen before the Dark One’s army. Too many wives and children as well.”

“It is the same in Lorgras, m’lady,” Alexis said.

“And in Corindor,” added Corson.

“We had heard as much. How can we help one another when the Legion attacks us all at once?”

“Perhaps we cannot band our armies together,” said Rowan, “but we have another way to attack Solek.”

The duchess leaned forward expectantly as Rowan began the tale. When he finished, she fell back into the chair and sighed deeply. “I had wondered in my private thoughts if we were doomed to fail no matter how well we stood and fought, like rock carved by a river over time. But if you can assemble this Soul Sphere…perhaps we fight to give you time.”

“Our quest has been long, and may be longer yet,” said Rowan. “I do not think the Sphere can save Upper Cambry with the Legion already on the march.”

“I had not dared to hope so,” said the duchess in a reassuring way. “We will fight and fall back, as we have done before.”

“But where will you go from here m’lady?” asked Corson.

She smiled. “Back to Lower Cambry for starters. I know it has been destroyed, but our ships wait to ferry us across the bay. Once the Dead approach we will send all those unable to fight on before us. If the city cannot be held, we will follow. The Legion takes our cities, but until they raise a fleet they will struggle to take our people.” She turned to Rowan. “And you go further south.”

“Yes, m’lady. The next shard waits for us on a beach near the tip of the peninsula.”

“And from there?”

“We do not know. Tala, the elf I spoke of, will cast a spell to find the next piece when the time comes.”

“I wish I could spare warriors to help you.”

“Perhaps we do better with a smaller group,” Rowan replied with a shrug. “Your soldiers are needed here. If the day comes when strength of arms might help defeat Solek, we will ask for what aide you and Delving can give.”

“The hour is late,” the duchess said, “and I have much yet to do. Will you stay the night?”

“With your leave,” answered Rowan.

“It is given. Your friends are taken care of?”

“Galdo saw to it.”

“A shame the Mist trails you, but you were right not to bring it here. May your Savior be with you Rowan, and with your companions. The hope of Arkania goes with you.”

Rowan rose and bowed deeply. “Thank you, m’lady. And I will pray for the delivery of our people from the coming storm.”

*          *          *

By noon the next day they had worked their way around Upper Cambry and ten miles further south. The trees and bush thinned as they neared the sea, which nearly made up for the fact that the road stopped at the city. Harking back to the snows in the north, Alexis reminded the group of how good the traveling conditions really were.

They paused for lunch in the early afternoon, knowing they were getting close. As always, Corson tried to lighten the mood with a few attempts at humor, but even he soon fell silent. His mouth was dry, and the food seemed especially difficult to chew and swallow.

“What do we know?” Demetrius asked Tala as they prepared to re-mount.

Tala understood his meaning. She took the Sphere into her cupped palms and cast the finding spell. “A few hours’ journey. It is on the beach, and I am nearly certain it is above ground. It seems to be in a very open area.” She added nothing else.

“Too simple,” Rowan said. “Something buried, like the swamp creature?”

Demetrius shook his head. “Possibly, or any of a hundred other things. We’ll just have to approach cautiously and act based on what we find.”

Lucien grunted. “Magic. Sneaking around. Mist spies on us. I ready for enemy to fight with warblade.” He climbed upon his horse, sheathing his blade hard, as if disappointed it might not be tasting blood soon.

Alexis leaned close as she rode by. “Be careful what you ask for.”

Lucien furrowed his brow.

“You might get it,” she finished. “An old human adage.”

“Strange race,” Lucien concluded.

*          *          *

The sun was just touching the horizon as they crested the last hill before the grass of the mainland gave way to the sand of the shoreline. A few lonely gulls called over the crash of the waves, the sounds muted by the low moan of a stiff ocean breeze. The beach was empty save for the lone figure of a man who knelt facing the ocean. He was arrayed in the garb of a Delvish warrior, the red-and-white visible beneath the cloak he wore, which snapped with each gust of wind. His brown hair, which fell to his shoulders, was tangled and matted. His sword he had drawn and driven into the sand beside him. The exposed portion of the blade was stained the deep red-brown of dried blood.

Tala answered the group’s unspoken question. “He has it.”

They dismounted and approached on foot, fanning out and forming a semi-circle, weapons drawn and ready. If the man heard them approach, he gave no sign of it. Slowly, Rowan worked his way around into the man’s line of vision.

His face might have been handsome once, but now it was split from above the right eye to the jawbone on the left cheek. The wound was a half-inch deep and bone was visible above the destroyed eye and at the jaw. The good eye had a glazed look and stared out at the ocean, oblivious to all else. Rowan noted the man wore the uniform of a paladin, but that the cross on his tunic had been replaced by a roughly cross-shaped scorch mark, as if the symbol had been burned off. The man’s hands were pressed together in front of his chest in a pose of prayer.

Rowan waved a hand, got no reaction, and then cleared his throat to speak.

“I know you are here, Rowan of Delving,” a deep, strong voice said. The voice had a hollow tone to it, as if the man was empty inside. The man’s lips made a faint effort to mouth the same syllables, but so far were the movements from the timing of the words that it was more disconcerting than if his lips did not move at all.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Rowan replied, an unsteadiness in his own voice betraying him.

The voice laughed. “Come, now. Surely you know your enemy.”

Rowan glanced at his sword. The metal remained a dull silver, showing no hint of the white light that emanated from it when a demon was present.

“That toy,” said the voice, “will only work in the presence of my physical form. Although…”

Suddenly the sword flashed, the white blinding in its brilliance, forcing Rowan to turn his head until his eyes could adjust. Then as swiftly as the light appeared, it faded and vanished.

“Perhaps not my complete presence then,” the voice said to itself. “Souls are interesting things.”

Rowan again found his voice. “And are of different colors.”

“You would deem mine black, no doubt. What of your soul, Rowan? White as a morning dove?”

“No,” Rowan said, standing as tall as he had the moment before. “That will not happen until the end day. Only one can claim perfection.”