The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (6 page)

“Solek is still only a man, regardless of what possesses him,” Corson stated.

“True,” Demetrius said. “But if Solek is killed, the Dark One will simply move to a new host. That is why we need the Sphere to truly defeat him. His weakness, for now, is that he does not know a piece is missing, that we have it, and that we quest to find the other shards.”

“Why do you say ‘for now’?” asked Corson.

“The Dark One bonds to many of his servants, and most likely has done so with the guardians of the Sphere shards. If we find and take the piece for which we now search, he is likely to know—not necessarily of us, but at least that it has been taken.”

Tala smiled. “You are well versed in the lore Demetrius.”

“King Rodaan shared many things with me.” He glanced at Corson, who wore a somewhat pained look. “He asked me to keep such talk between us and the prince, unless the time arrived that it was necessary to speak of it openly. Now seems like that time.”

“If we fail to take this piece,” said Rowan, “we must be certain one of us escapes with our own shard. It cannot fall into the Dark One’s hands.”

The group looked as one to Tala. “You are the logical choice,” said Demetrius. “Your magic—”

“Others have the same ability, some far greater than mine.”

“None here,” said Rowan. “And we do not know how the war goes elsewhere.”

“Besides,” added Demetrius, “you fight with a bow, and perhaps with magic. The rest of us use swords and warblades. We need to be in the front to be more effective.”

“Corson has a bow,” Tala pointed out.

“And a sword,” Corson replied.

“My life is no more important than any other,” Tala said, looking each of them in the eye in turn. “But you are right about the need to protect the shard. I will direct from the rear, if that is what the group desires. Under protest.”

This new arrangement slowed them even more, particularly as the marshy ground became less prevalent than the knee-deep water. An hour before sunset, Tala suggested they stop. “It will not be long now, and I would rather arrive with the light of day to aid us.”

They ate and set a watch, thankful for clear skies and the pale light of a half-moon that chased away some of the darkness. Most of the night two or three kept watch, as sleep came hard.

Morning broke gray and chill, a stiff northerly wind whipping their
cloaks about them. Tala was anxious to get started, edging away as if to take the lead. Rowan reminded her of what they had agreed to the day before and she gave in with a reluctant nod and a finger pointing northeast.

They spent more time in water now than on land. They kept their eyes moving as much as their feet, and their hands remained close to their weapons at all times.

By mid-morning they were soaked to the waist and beyond, each step accompanied by the sucking sound of their boots pulling free of mud and their legs splashing through the water. Lucien, Demetrius, and Corson had fanned out in the lead, Rowan between them and Tala so he could react in any direction. “Call out for the rope if you feel the swamp bed pulling at you,” he reminded them.

Corson called out toward Lucien. “Did you scare all your relatives away?”

“What mean?”

“The snakes, frogs, alligators we saw earlier seem to be missing today.”

Lucien laughed. “You funny, little man. Your smell scare them off.”

“Considering the way the swamp smells, you might be right. My delicate aroma is different from the normal stench. As a matter of fact—”

His words ceased as he plunged headfirst into the water. After a tense pause, he righted himself. “Stupid root,” he muttered while shaking the water and mud off.

Lucien roared with laughter, joined by Rowan and Tala and eventually by Corson himself. Only Demetrius remained stone-faced. He studied the area with unconcealed intensity.

“What is it?” Tala asked. The others quieted at the concern in her voice.

“There
is
no life here. And it is far too silent.”

Tala quickly consulted the shard using her magic. “Our target is moving.”

“Away?” asked Rowan.

“No, closer.”

They each took a few steps backwards while they drew weapons. There was no sound or motion about them in any direction.

“My foot!” shouted Corson.

“The root again?” Demetrius asked while moving toward him.

Corson struggled for a moment, then winced in pain. “Something is tightening around my ankle.” He hacked at the water a few times, his sword losing momentum as it plunged beneath the surface, unable to find or damage what held him.

Suddenly he was down again, this time falling backward as something pulled him under. Before his companions could manage a half-dozen steps in his direction the swamp seemed to explode upward, covering them in water and slick mud. Wiping the grime from their eyes, they sized-up their foe.

It towered some twenty feet tall, an ever-changing thing made of filth and slime, a hill just born that sprouted muddy appendages that formed and then disappeared back into the main body again, roots and vines writhing out of it like vipers. By one of these it held Corson aloft.

For an instant a rudimentary face was there, a gaping, hungry maw and two black eyes that glared at them with bottomless hate. The mouth was gone before they heard the words, a rumble like thunder that said, “All die who come here!”

Lucien was the first to strike, his warblade flashing, cutting wicked grooves in the beast that were gone almost before he finished each stroke. The creature swung Corson at him like a flail, forcing the big goblin to retreat a few paces even as Demetrius and Rowan moved in on its flanks, both slashing away at it with no apparent effect.

Tala loosed two arrows, then lowered the bow slightly as she saw them melt into the creature's body. She nocked another, took careful aim and let fly.

The arrow found its mark, slicing the vine that held Corson, sending him headfirst into the swamp. He came up sputtering, grasping blindly for his sword in the murky water around him.

The creature struck at them with the vines, using them like whips, forcing its attackers to flinch but doing little real damage. It was simply a momentary diversion, but it was effective. Behind the three standing enemies now closest at hand, it had snaked other vines, which probed upward, searching for the necks of its prey.

Lucien wore no cloak, and felt the vine moving up his back in time to whirl about and hack it to pieces with his warblade. Demetrius and Rowan were not as fortunate, both grabbed in a vise-like, strangling grip and then pulled under water for good measure.

Corson, his muddy sword now in his hand, joined Lucien in racing to the aid of their fallen comrades. Tala looked for a good target for her bow, but found none.

The beast added a new assault, beating at Lucien with fists of mud, which protruded from its body in lightning-quick jabs, then withdrew, only to come again from a different angle. The sheer weight and speed of the blows bruised the goblin and sent him sprawling backward.

Demetrius managed to right himself and find purchase on the vine that held him. He hacked once, futilely, then freed himself with a second slash of his sword. He fell back, pulling the end of the severed vine off his neck and gasping for air.

Corson veered away from Demetrius upon seeing this and headed for where Rowan had been pulled under. He spotted a leg kicking above the swamp’s surface, then charged forward. He dodged three mud punches, his agility of more advantage than the goblin’s strength had been. He got an arm under Rowan and managed to lift his head out of the water, but before he could attack the vine that held Rowan a blow from the creature caught him on the side, an audible crack from a breaking rib punctuating the force of the blow.

Rowan reached feebly for the vine that held him, the world starting to go black. His hands went slack, his sword falling from one while the other gave up searching for the vine. He started to topple forward.

Tala finally had her target, her arrow flying true and severing the cord that bound Rowan to the beast. It was not enough to keep him from dropping face first into the water.

Demetrius, recovering now, grabbed him by the waist and hauled him up and back. He yanked the restrictive remains of the vine from Rowan’s throat, and thought he felt a faint breath leave Rowan’s mouth. Then the beast, literally, was upon them.

It had charged forward, covering ground faster than its enemies could retreat here in its swampy home. Tala’s position was far enough in the rear that she remained clear, and Lucien had been driven in another direction by the muddy punches, but Demetrius, Rowan, and Corson were swallowed up inside the thing’s ever-changing, boggy torso. The monster distorted here and there, keeping its flailing victims completely enclosed.

Lucien drew back his blade as if to strike, then stopped himself, realizing that he would do more damage to his companions than the creature with his warblade. With a scream of rage he plunged forward, reaching into the creature, hoping to grab one of the three held within.

“Back, Lucien, or it will have you as well!” Tala shouted.

He lunged away, just avoiding the fate she had described. The swamp monster advanced toward them, but more slowly, needing to keep the others contained.

“Ready your blade,” Tala said, her face grim, then slowly relaxing as she closed her eyes. Her lips moved, mouthing ancient words.

The swamp beast came at her, ignoring Lucien, who stood to one side, poised to attack. It sent a hammer-like column of mud at Tala, which slowed and then hung in place mere inches from Tala’s serene face.

“Now Lucien!” she cried.

The goblin struck the protrusion, his blade slicing through and sending it falling into the swamp. The creature howled, whether in anger or pain it was impossible to tell.

It lunged at Tala, as fast as it had moved earlier. The quickness of the motion freed the three men it had held, its focus on the one it now feared.

She spoke words again, only a whisper, bringing the full power of the spell to bear on the creature. She remained in place, eyes closed again, all her concentration on the spell. She could not retreat and attack at the same time.

It was a simple race between beast and sorceress. To Lucien, the moment stretched out as he watched the drama unfold before him, unable to act until one of the combatants prevailed over the other. But it
was
only a moment, for that was all the time that Tala had.

Lucien could see it, the hardening of the monster’s body, the solidifying that would allow his warblade to damage the creature again. He moved swiftly, unsure how long she could hold on, raining one crushing blow after another upon it.

Where the blade fell, the creature’s body remained gouged. As slices crossed in its foul flesh, pieces of it fell away, dropping back into the swamp from which the monster had been formed.

Like an experienced lumberjack felling a tree, Lucien bore down upon his task, forming a wedge in the thing’s side and then working the opening.

“Hurry,” Tala whispered. She struggled to remain upright.

Lucien could go no faster, but his work was efficient. Chunks continued to slough off the beast. Demetrius joined him, having regained his senses enough to add his sword to the effort.

Muddy water began to seep from the wound like blood. They reached the thing’s breaking point, a soft creak indicating the beast was ready to topple.

They leapt away after each took one last murderous swing at the monster. The top half of it leaned toward them, closing the gouge they had carved, but extending a tear completely across its body. The top continued on, falling with a splash and covering them anew with mud and foul water. Both halves began to melt away, and after a few seconds it was gone from sight, the surface of the swamp growing still.