The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (22 page)

“The goblins are getting strung out,” he reported. “The tail packs have actually lost contact with the others, and they moved quite slowly today. We won’t be able to cover them if they don’t speed up.”

“Or the lead packs slow down,” said Zald, “which we don’t want.”

Zald found Durst, who listened to the rider’s concern with growing alarm. “What next?”

“I was going to ride back to speak to the pack leaders—Grosh and Ast, right?”

“Yes. I go with you. Lucien!”

The three rode back, skirting the edge of the goblin camp. When they reached the area where the gap should have been, they found something worse—no sign of the Omwee or Salesh. They rode on, studying the ground for signs. A few miles on Zald spotted trampled grass off to the north. If the two packs had been moving slowly earlier, they had apparent discovered a reserve of energy—they were now nowhere in sight.

“We can overtake them on horses,” Zald pointed out.

“Too dangerous,” said Durst. “Wait until morning, and take more men. Goblins, too.”

“Only horses for men and twenty goblins,” Lucien noted.

“You expect a fight?” Zald asked, looking from one goblin to the other.

“Not know,” Durst answered. “But I think yes.”

Zald nodded gravely. “I’ll have my men ready to go out at dawn.”

*          *          *

It took half the next day for the riders to reach the rear of the wayward goblins. They noted that the column was moving with great speed, but was strung out. It was another twenty minutes before they reached the front and stood their mounts in the goblins’ path.

For a moment it seemed the goblins would simply try to run through them, but finally Grosh yielded, raising his hand and ordering his lieutenants to rest the pack for a few minutes. He strode forward boldly, eyeing the fifty mounted warriors before him. When he spoke it was to Durst, in the goblin tongue. “Get those riders out of the way, Durst. Mounted or not, fifty won’t be able to stop us.”

“Where are you going?” Durst asked, ignoring Grosh’s command and the implication of what might result from such an affront.

“This is for goblins only,” he replied, glancing at Zald and the other Westerlanders.

Durst saw Ast approaching. “Let us speak alone then,” he said. He called for Lucien.

“You would have one of your lessers join a parlay of chiefs?” Grosh asked, annoyed.

“He comes with me if you wish to speak.”

“I only asked you to get out of the way.”

“Give me a good reason to get out of your way, and I will.”

Grosh laughed at that, a nasty biting noise, and made an effort to restrain himself. His right hand had a mind of its own, reaching for his warblade. His will won out over his pride and the hand fell to his side. “Bring Lucien then, if you must. It matters not to me.”

The four goblins separated themselves from the others, so they could speak unheard.

“I told you we should have discussed this as soon as we crossed into Lorgras,” said Ast, addressing Grosh.

“Perhaps,” Grosh replied. “I think you will soon see otherwise.”

Durst folded his arms and said nothing. Lucien stood a few paces behind him, his senses alert.

“We have a wonderful opportunity here,” said Grosh, his tone confidential. “The sort we were hoping for when we agreed to set out on this march.”

“ ‘We’?” Durst repeated.

Grosh glanced at Ast. “Those of us that are thinking of the survival of our own race.”

Durst ignored the slight. “So what is this opportunity?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The Lorgrasians have gone off to make war on Veldoon. Only scattered patrols have been left behind, and even these few are likely to ride off to fight with the High Queen. We will go to the capital city of Lumia and take it, and claim a portion of this realm as our own.”

“You only have leave to be in the High Queen’s land due to our word that we go to fight with the Lorgrasians. You lack honor.”

“I don’t recall a blood pact with the queen.”

“There should not need to be one,” said Durst with a snarl. “And what do you think will happen when she returns? That she’ll simply let you live unmolested in Lumia?”

“Highly unlikely. But you’re assuming she will return at all, and her army with her. Even if they do, what strength will they have left? Enough to take a walled city defended by a goblin army?”

Lucien interjected for the first time. “The Legion hit Lumia hard. You may find it easy to take, but it would be just as difficult to hold.”

“Then come with us,” Grosh said. “Together we outnumber them. This land is ours for the taking. It is the answer to our problems.”

Now it was Durst’s turn to laugh. “Solek is our problem. How will this make him go away?”

“He will be weakened by the armies marching to face him,
or even defeated if they are lucky. Durst, you said yourself that it was
foolishness for the packs to war with one another, that we needed to unite against common foes. Now is the time to do so.”

Durst shook his head. “In this you speak the truth, but you would have us unite against those who would befriend us.”

“We are here as foot soldiers, not friends. If there was no war on Solek, we would never have been allowed to pass into this land. At least not without a stern fight.”

“But there
is
a war. And new alliances can be made that might last well beyond the last battle.”

“You’re a fool, Durst. Why am I wasting my time talking to you? Go. March off and die with your ‘friends.’ ”

“Not until you go back to our land, or decide to come with us.”

“I’ll do neither,” Grosh spat. “You know that.”

“You’d have our realm to yourself. Why fight here?”

“Our land is sick, hunted out. You know our people need more space. I am taking it. You should thank me.”

“I’ll fight you instead.”

Grosh’s eyes narrowed. “You? Who spoke of the foolishness of pack fighting pack? You will fight now, against your own kind to protect the land of the humans?”

“I will. As will Zald and his men, if my guess is correct.”

“I would venture to say that Duke Fallo might even be stirred to action by your treachery,” Lucien added. “It would certainly confirm his suspicions about goblins.”

“Fine,” Grosh growled. “Ride back. Turn your pack around, and chase us, so your leg-weary troops can then give us battle on ground of our own choosing. You will die, your pack will die, and your precious Lorgrasians will wander off blindly to be destroyed by Solek.”

“No,” said Ast, with quiet steel in his voice.

Grosh wheeled on him. “What?”

“No. I will go along with this no further, Grosh. Durst is stubborn enough that he will turn and fight, probably with the other packs and the Westerlanders at his side. Even if we win the battle, it would be with great loss. Would we have the strength to then take Lumia and hold it, as well as some portion of Lorgras?”

“A strong goblin would,” Grosh snarled.

“There is strength in knowing when to fight,” said Ast.

“And who to fight,” Durst added.

Grosh turned to each of the goblins in turn. Seeing he had no ally, his shoulders sagged. “So that’s it? I should put my tail between my legs and go home?”

“Come with us,” said Durst. “We need the Salesh. We need you.”

Grosh paused. “It would have worked,” he said in hushed tones, the words a lament. “If only you could see it.”

“We see it,” said Durst. “But this is not the time, nor Lorgras the place.”

“Let’s be off then,” said Grosh. He looked to the southeast, as if measuring the miles they would need to cover again to catch up with the other goblins.

Of the four goblins present, Grosh was the oldest, and in the poorest shape. If he had challenged any of the others to hand-to-hand combat, he knew he would likely be the one to fall. But where speed, strength, and skill might fail, deception and surprise often succeed, and he had not lost all the fighting talent of his youth. His warblade was unsheathed as the others turned to go, and it lashed out, a lightning-quick bite.

The blade struck true, entering between the shoulder blades and driving deep inside. As the blade was withdrawn, Durst fell to his knees.

Lucien’s mind wanted to go black with rage, but some part of him fought it off, if only for a moment. His warblade out in a blink, he leapt over his fallen chief, taking a defensive posture.

Grosh raised his warblade to hack downward, to finish his act of treachery. It was likely that Lucien had moved quickly enough to stop the blow, but it never fell. Grosh grunted, grimaced, and then looked down to see the tip of a warblade protruding through his stomach. He dropped his weapon and lurched forward, freeing himself from the blade that had pierced him, his hands trying to hold in place the blood and guts that were oozing out. It was a losing effort. He staggered a few steps, then fell, rolling onto his back. Ast stood over him, his weapon stained with Grosh’s blood. “Traitor,” he managed to say hoarsely. He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting his own blood.

“You struck first.”

“At an enemy.”

“We left that behind once we marched as one. I accepted your plan to move on Lumia, but not to move our goblin war to Lorgras.”

The nearest goblins had been watching the conversation with half-interest—arguments between chiefs were nothing new. But when the warblades had been drawn and used, they were fully alert. For a moment they stood still, stunned, but when one broke into a run toward the chiefs it was as if a dam had burst. The mounted riders reacted in a similar fashion, and now the entire host closed on the two fallen goblins and the two who stood over them.

Lucien saw the danger first. He grabbed Durst under the arms and pulled him toward the approaching riders. Durst winced at the pain the motion caused him, and Lucien took hope in the sound—Durst was still alive, at least for now.

The goblins created a volatile situation, two former allies, now sundered by the sight of one chief wounding the other. They raced ahead wildly, warblades ready.

Ast stepped behind Grosh so he could see them. Grosh’s Salesh pack was going to arrive first, but his Omwee were coming hard. He raised his hands and shouted “Hold!” His voice held the command and confidence of one who has led for many years. The Salesh continued to advance, but they slowed. Good, he thought, if he could just speak to them, draw their new leader out and explain that he had done what he had to do to stop needless destruction…

As usual, Grosh had his own ideas. His life was ebbing, the world starting to go dark. He could see those from his pack looming over him now, looking on him both in pity and barely restrained rage. He could hear Ast behind him, trying to calm them, trying to explain. He tried to speak but only a gurgle escaped his throat, a bubbly mix of gas and blood. He could feel the warmth of his own blood as it flowed over his hands, and the coldness inside that was growing by the second, icy death coming to claim him. He cleared his throat and managed one last utterance before he succumbed. “Kill them all.”

The world exploded. It was over for Ast in an instant, the Salesh mowing him down. Lucien lifted Durst now, no longer concerning himself with the damage it might do. If he didn’t flee, they would both die. They would have anyway, if not for the Westerlanders and the Omwee. The Omwee flew into a fury at Ast’s death, pouring their destructive anger into the Salesh. Zald and his men wanted no part of the fraternal goblin conflict. They rode between Lucien and Durst and the battle to shield them, lifted them onto mounts, then rode a safe distance away. Zald bid his men keep an eye on the fight, so as to be ready to flee if the energy of the combatants was suddenly directed at them. It was an unnecessary command, as his men were already fixated on the goblin war, which was a thing of breathless terror and brutality. He managed to tear himself away from the sight, and helped Lucien settle Durst onto a soft patch of grass.