The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (15 page)

Lucien told of the task assigned to him by Durst, of journeying into the human-held lands and of how he came to join the company of his former companions. Once his tale reached the point where Alexis helped them defeat the Pit Demon—and as he relayed this part it was obvious Alexis’ own description of the event had been quite humble—the assembled goblins looked upon her with a new respect.

She flushed at the pause and the stares and told Lucien to go on.

“Nothing to add to rest of what you told.”

Ast eyed Lucien suspiciously. “It seems you took on a task far beyond that which your chief required of you.”

“It is fortunate he did,” Durst said.

“Only because things appear to have turned out well so far. But what if these actions bring Solek’s wrath upon us once again. It would be through the recklessness of one goblin.”

“Only I may question actions of Kabrinda pack,” Durst said in a low growl.

“Others may question,” said Ast. “Yours is the role of punisher.”

“Punisher!” Alexis exclaimed. “For what?”

“Disobedience,” Ast replied. “For putting his own desire for personal glory above the needs of the pack.”

Lucien started to rise.

“Enough!” said Durst. “Lucien has acted as I wished.”

“And this is not the matter we have come here to discuss,” Grosh added. “We need to—”

A call came from one of the guards. “Riders! They approach from the west!”

Inside the tent, where nerves were already frayed, tempers neared the boiling point. Chairs flew back as the goblins leapt to their feet, and weapons were drawn, each goblin suspecting the others of some evil design.

“They fly a gray banner!” the guard shouted.

“The Allagon,” Durst said. He lowered his weapon. “I not call them here.”

“Nor did I,” said Grosh, who sheathed his own warblade. “How could they be called? They have no leader to speak for them.”

“Let us see what they want,” Durst suggested, leading the way outside as he spoke.

More than fifty horsed goblins rode toward them, and indeed a standard-bearer was at the front holding aloft a banner with a solid gray field. The riders did not brandish their weapons, and they were not interested in disguising their approach.

Alexis was relieved when Lucien and the others put their warblades away. “Who are these?” she asked him.

“Allagon,” he said. “The packless. Nomads who live near Western Wall, at far edge of our lands. They claim no pack, no chief.”

The riders reined up a respectful distance away from the waiting chiefs and guards. A half-dozen dismounted and stepped forward. “We have come for the council,” one said in goblin.

“The Allagon have no voice here,” Grek replied.

“We have a voice where we are concerned. If goblins are to go to war with the Dark One, the Allagon must decide what we will do as well.”

“Then you await our decision,” said Grosh, “and make your plans from that point.”

“You have not yet decided?”

“No,” said Durst. “But I am curious. How did you know of this council?”

A different member of the Allagon delegation spoke. “We have many eyes and ears. We know much of what goes on.”

“Spies,” Grosh growled.

“The Allagon are all free. None live amongst your packs, if that is what you fear.”

“I fear the meaning of a secret meeting being known beyond those who were to know,” said Grosh. “The leak had to be from my pack, since all the other chiefs were led here.”

“You assume one of your pack has been disloyal. But rumors have a way of spreading, and the five chiefs all traveling at one time is of interest, is it not?”

“Apparently so.”

“Enough of this,” Durst said. “We are here to take council, and we have heard what news of distant lands and deeds we needed to hear to proceed with our deliberations.”

“We have not heard,” pointed out one of the Allagon.

“Nor will you in council,” said Ast sternly. “You have no place here.”

“But while we goblins debate, our guest from Lorgras will be free to do as she wishes,” said Durst. “We must go into the tent, and you Allagon must remain here. But if Alexis of Lorgras wishes to repeat what she has told us, she will. And Lucien, of my tribe, I give permission to do the same.”

This pleased the Allagon, but Ast stormed inside the tent with a furious gesture of his arms. The others eventually followed, Durst being the last to do so. “I do not know how you came to be here, or how you know what it was we were discussing,” he told the Allagon, “but I for one intend to take war to Veldoon and its dark master. I hope you will consider joining us. Packless or no, I have no doubt about your strength of arms.” The Allagon bowed as he wheeled about and went inside.

Alexis and Lucien ended up speaking to all the riders, who listened to their tale intently and without interruption. The guards stayed at their posts but tried to eavesdrop as much as they could, and Alexis and Lucien helped them in that effort by speaking loudly. They had just finished when the goblin chiefs exited the tent, exchanging rough arm-clasps and vows of brotherhood and renewed friendship. Ast spoke a few words to his guard, and they were quickly away. The others came over to where Lucien and Alexis spoke with the Allagon.

“We go to war,” said Durst. “Together. If you wish to march with us, you may do so under your own banner, but if we need to act as a race you must select a leader acceptable to the chiefs, or else do as the council determines.”

“And if we refuse these conditions?” asked one.

“Then you stay or march as a separate group, and any spoils of war going to the goblins will not be shared with you.”

“We do not go to war in order to claim spoils.”

Grosh laughed. “Do you presume now to speak for the Allagon? Are you the chief?”

The goblin who had spoken seemed abashed. It was another that answered. “None of us do, individually, but what Madel says is right. We will take our own council now. When do you march?”

“One week from today if we can,” Durst answered. He looked at Alexis, who had been receiving translated summaries of the discussion from Lucien, and said in the common tongue, “We will start to move toward Westerland. Quickest path. Will you go before us and try to open passage?”

“I will.”

“Good. Lucien go with you. If you need provisions, you can return to our camp.”

“It would be best if we started out immediately, without supplies if we must. We have traveled as such before.”

“We have food we can spare,” said one of the Allagon. “Enough for two.”

“Thank you,” Alexis said. Lucien and Durst bowed their thanks, but the other goblin chiefs remained motionless.

Durst addressed the Allagon again. “And what will you do?”

“We will return to our people and let each decide. Some certainly will join you.”

“Then you best go swiftly if you need to travel into the far west and have time to join us when we set out. Farewell, my brothers.” He raised his hand in salute.

The Allagon were surprised by this simple act, done as it was by a chief. They returned the salute, mounted up and departed.

Grosh took his leave next, saying some of his pack would return for the tent, table and chairs, just as they had come earlier to set it up. His horse kicked up a fine spray of dirt as he raced away.

Alone now with his original allies, Durst asked for a moment alone with Lucien and Alexis before they left. The three walked a few paces before he spoke. “Agreement to go to war was swift,” he said. “Too swift for my liking.”

“Meaning?” Alexis asked.

“Grosh and Ast up to something. I do not trust them.”

“Will you still march to Veldoon?”

“Yes, side-by-side with both of them. But will keep an eye out for some intrigue on their part. I do not think they will interfere with your task at this point, but once we begin to move into other lands…”

“Treachery against any in human lands will be repaid against all goblins,” Lucien said.

“Not in my land, if I can stop it,” said Alexis.

“You said ‘if,’ ” Durst pointed out with a knowing smile.

“I’m afraid I need that word in there, to be honest. And if something happens in the Westerland, there will be little I can do.”

“But path that way is much shorter,” Durst said. “We must risk it. But we must all be vigilant.”

“It seems we have enemies on every side,” said Alexis.

“It does,” Durst agreed. “That is why we need to cover each other’s backs.”

With that they bid each other farewell, and Lucien and Alexis rode east toward the Westerland, unsure what kind of greeting they would receive there, and uncertain whether the army they would be requesting safe passage for could be completely trusted.

*          *          *

Demetrius rose slowly, shaking the sleep from his head. As he gained his feet, he stood still for a few moments, making sure he had his balance. Such an effort, he mused, for something normally done without thinking. But at this point he was happy to be able to rise at all.

It had been nearly three weeks since he had come to the camp. It had been close for the first night and day, death lurking so near, and after that his health had returned grudgingly. Now each day brought improvement, and his mind often wandered to Corson, and to what was happening to the south. He felt time slipping away, and wished he could go in search of his friend, but that would only result in more delay as he searched aimlessly. As much as he hated it, he had to simply wait, regain his health, and hope for news.

He went outside, and inhaled cautiously, his ribs barking a protest as his lungs expanded. He let the breath out, frustrated. He couldn’t possibly get better fast enough. It was an hour past dawn, and gray clouds covered the sky, driven by a mild easterly breeze. The camp was quiet, the dawn patrol departed and the night watch in their beds. A few men made a small breakfast over the dwindling campfire. He returned their wave and went back in his tent for his sword. Once back outside, he went to the far side of the tent, away from prying eyes, and slowly unsheathed the weapon. With both hands he held it before him, comforted by the weight of it, the balance he could attain with only light pressure from his hands. He allowed it to fall to the left, then slashed the air, only a half-strength blow. He winced at the pain in his side.

“I’d say you could wield it at need.” Granos had circled around the tent. He held up his open hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Demetrius said with a wan smile. “I miss the feel of a sword sometimes.”

“I know what you mean. And I understand how frustrating it must be to be unable to act, especially at times like these. But you are of more use to us once you are healed, and you heal faster when you rest.”

“The body, perhaps. I’m not sure about the mind.”

“I did try to take that into account.”

Demetrius studied the other man’s dour expression. “You will not let me go on patrol,” he stated flatly.

“Not yet. I’m sorry, Demetrius. A wounded man in the field endangers himself and his fellows. You know that.”

“I do,” Demetrius said with a sigh. “And if I was you, I would make the same decision.”