The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (11 page)

Grosh waded in immediately, not bothering to name the others present. “I am told you, Lucien, were sent on a quest to find allies to fight Solek, and that Alexis and her people you would so name.” His command of the common tongue impressed Alexis.

“Found allies. Fighting I return to speak of. Lorgras prepares. Others go to Corindor and Delving. I must see if goblins will fight.”

The large goblin growled at what he took as an insult. Grosh hushed him. “I take your meaning well enough, Lucien. Will we fight as one race? The problem is that we now battle one another. A sudden alliance may be much to ask.”

“But ask I must.”

Grosh smiled. “I doubt Durst has given you current authority to seek out alliances with the other packs, if you have been away as long as I am told.”

Lucien bowed ever so slightly. “Apologies. I do not mean to treat for Durst without approval, and conflict between packs started after I gone.”

“Tell me your tale, Lucien. Then I will decide what should be done.”

Lucien did so, with Alexis’ help. The large goblin’s eyes grew as they spoke of various battles, and the smaller listened without expression, no doubt searching for any detail by which he might catch them in a lie of some sort. Grosh leaned back and took it all in like he was being entertained by the pack storyteller. When they finished he said, “Interesting,” and then he took some time to ponder what he had heard. No one dared break the silence until Grosh deemed it was time to do so himself.

“So,” he said at last, “all Arkania is to rise up against Solek. Men, elves, dwarves, and goblins together. A final battle, as it were.”

“That is idea,” Lucien replied

“A fascinating concept for an alliance. But who will rule when it is finished, assuming Solek can be defeated?”

“Each their own realm, as before.”

“And Veldoon?”

“Not considered that. Not for me to decide.”

“But others will consider it, and will have their own ideas. Some among our kind, assuming we can unite against this common foe. I doubt all would agree to one solution.”

“But if Solek wins we all fall, every pack. By comparison goblin squabble seem petty.”

Grosh laughed. “Spoken like one who has been away on
a great quest
.”

“And what packs fight over this time? Insult to honor? Access to watering hole?”

The large goblin bristled at this challenge and started to rise, but Grosh waved him back to his chair. He regarded Lucien coolly. “Honor, power, money, land. Wars have been fought for many things. We fight for survival. This land cannot support us all anymore.”

“I guess all packs not reach this conclusion at same time.”

Grosh shrugged. “Every war has its first attack. It matters little who started it once the battle has been engaged. Your blade has tasted blood. You know this.”

“I do,” Lucien said. “I not here to question why packs fight, though I wish it were not so.”

“You do not wish to be here at all. The question is, now that you are, what should be done?” He leaned back, slowly licking his lips. “At the least, you need to let Durst know of your progress against your mission, and the plans for an assault on Veldoon.”

Lucien nodded that this was so.

“But I’m certain both of you understand my difficulty here. There is no way to verify the truth of your tale, and relations between our packs are…strained. If it turns out you are a spy…”

“I would think my presence would convince you otherwise,” Alexis said.

“Who knows what alliances might have been made. You both claim you have forged one to fight Solek. Perhaps the first part is the truth, but your plan is actually to join Durst in his battle here.”

“I tell truth as best I can,” Lucien said. “If decide I lie, there is little I can do to change mind.”

Grosh stared at Lucien long and hard. Lucien stood perfectly still under his withering gaze, showing no sign of discomfort or any pressing need to speak further. “I will think on this,” Grosh declared. “Tonight you stay as guests, although a war camp offers few comforts. Your weapons you will leave with my guards, and you will stay wherever you are directed to eat or sleep. At the least a message will be sent to Durst, but whether it is you or your tale—or simply your head—I will let you know with the rising of the sun.” He gave a dismissive wave and turned away from them to discuss some other business.

They were given a small square of land in the camp on which they might sleep, and provided with water in worn tins. The food they had already been given was all they were afforded, and their cloaks would be their only shelter. As night fell the campfires were extinguished, the only light provided by the pale, quarter moon. The night was cold, but still they counted their blessings—the sky was clear.

“So, how much of Grosh’s last comment was idle threat and how much was real?” Alexis asked.

“Most idle, at least for you. If thought we were spies, I already be dead. He would question you more, and weigh whether killing you or letting you go was larger risk.”

“You still don’t look confident he will do as we hope.”

“Know not what drives Grosh, or how he want to use us.”

“ ‘Use’?”

“He look for advantage for himself in his decision. More important to him than goblins or even world.”

“A brutal assessment.”

“Correct one. Only hope it serves him to help us.”

“And if it doesn’t? It may mean your death.”

Lucien shrugged. “Much I have done since left pack might have meant death. This not different.” He smiled at her. “I see you look death in eye and not flinch.”

“Well, let’s hope this isn’t one of those times for either of us.” She looked about casually, counting at least four goblins watching them from the shadows. “Not that we could leave here now even if we wanted to.”

“No,” he agreed. “Our necks extended. Tomorrow we find out if warblade falls.”

She laughed ruefully. “Pleasant dreams to you, too.”

Despite such grim thoughts, they slept well. Regardless of what the morning might bring, they knew they would be unharmed that night, and surrounded as they were by well-armed goblin warriors, they took their ease with no need of setting a watch. When they were roused at sunrise, they felt as rested as they had been for some time.

“Grosh see you now,” said the goblin that had nudged them awake with his warblade.

“He doesn’t waste any time, does he?” Alexis said.

When they were escorted into his tent, they found Grosh alone. The guards remained behind them, their weapons held at the ready.

The old goblin was eating a small breakfast. He took his time, savoring each bite, while his guests stood before him. “What would you say,” he asked with his mouth still full of food, “if I offered to bring the leaders of half the packs to a council to discuss your news and your proposition?”

“I be greatly pleased,” Lucien replied.

“Could you deliver the others?”

“Durst, I believe. Do not know what alliances remain to speak for others.”

“Even so, I will leave that to you. I am not wholly convinced of your story, but if what you have told me is true, it is time for the packs to act as one again.”

“You speak wisely,” Lucien said, adding a bow.

“Maybe not as wisely as you would think or hope. You have provided me with information. And information is power, if used properly.” He wiped a bit of grease away from his lips with the back of his hand. “I will send one of my scouts with you. He will guide you to your pack, and then to the council, which will be at noon, ten days from today. Each Chief can bring a single guard, if he so desires. You and Alexis should attend as well, so that all may hear what you’ve told me, and question you as they see fit.” Grosh took the knife he had used to cut his meat, wiped the blade on his pants, then drove the point of it into the fleshy part of the palm of his hand and gave it a quick twist. Blood welled up as he tossed the knife to Lucien. “You have my word of honor that they will be safe for one day after the council.”

Lucien used the knife in the same way, then the two goblins slid their palms past one another’s, allowing their blood to mingle.

Once this was done, Grosh called out and another goblin entered the tent. He was of medium build, and his uniform was unadorned beyond the standard purple and green of the pack. “This is Krast,” Grosh said, “one of our better scouts. I have explained his task to him. Take food now, and then reclaim your weapons and horses.”

“Thank you,” Lucien and Alexis replied in unison.

Krast led them outside and indicated two small plates of food. “Be off as soon as you ready. I get horses and weapons. I return shortly.”

“Will the journey be long?” Alexis asked.

“A few days or longer. War camps moving targets and we maybe run into other things.” With that he departed, leaving them to their meal.

“What do you think?” Alexis asked between bites. “Can Grosh be trusted? It seems he has something in mind, something that might differ from what we seek.”

“You right. But I trust him as far as council meeting and safety of guests. Goblin blood pacts have deep meaning to us.”

They departed within the hour, and soon found Krast to be a capable guide. His horse was not as swift or strong as those from Lorgras, but he rode well, and kept them out of sight as often as possible, staying off roads and keeping to trees and spaces between hills most of the time. Every now and then they stopped, as he deciphered some hidden sign that someone had passed that way recently.

That night they camped with no fire, but found their packs had been replenished with goblin food and fresh water, for which they were grateful. “We need to set watch,” said Krast. “Best not be surprised, though any that find us consider one friend and one enemy. I go first if you wish.”

They agreed, and then settled under their cloaks. “He seems to trust us,” Alexis whispered.

“As far as trust can be given at time like this. We all armed. If any wish to do harm, need not wait for darkness and sleep to act.”

The next morning broke cold and gray, and they started off just before full light. Krast led them with a calm resolve, although he freely admitted he did not know where the Kabrinda, Lucien’s pack, was with any certainty. “Have scouted their camp several times. We find it.”

*          *          *

It was passing toward evening, the first shades of purple appearing in clouds on the eastern horizon, and while they had seen no other living goblin that day, the signs of recent passage were now as apparent to Lucien and Alexis as they were to Krast, and they all felt they had made good progress. Suddenly Krast held up a fist, calling them to a silent halt. From under the trees through which they were riding he pointed skyward, shifting in the saddle to get a view through the spring foliage. “See it?” he asked in a whisper.

For a time they did not, then Alexis let out a sudden gasp. She looked at Lucien, who met her gaze and nodded grimly.

Krast sensed their recognition, although his trained eyes never left the object he was tracking. As it disappeared away to the south, the direction they were traveling, he turned to his companions. “You see it before?”

“It is called a Mist,” Alexis answered. “They are servants of the Dark One. Spies. We have been haunted by several in our travels, but not for some time now.”

“Does it seek you?”

“What we once carried. But we do not have it here with us.”