The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (31 page)

The last vestiges of the acid rain were gone well before they reached the end of the pass, so when Deron stepped into Veldoon proper, he surveyed the place with Tala and several others by his side. A rocky path wound its way from the end of the Saber Pass into the heart of Veldoon, an ancient road formed by nature, which split a scruffy field of grass. It surprised no one that the grass itself was a vile yellow, oddly bright, like an active infection. They were hesitant to step on it, wondering what it might leave on their boots and feet, wondering what kind of foul crop might grow in such a land. The air held a bitter, acrid smell.

The elves continued down the path, but it soon narrowed and then vanished all together. Deron dropped from his horse, kicking at the grass with the toe of his boot. It had a wet, spongy feel to it, but he determined it would do them no harm. “More of the sickness we have seen,” he stated.

“Just closer to the source of the disease,” Tala added. She dismounted as well and led her horse into the sallow field. She was relieved that he followed her willingly.

Once the mouth of the pass was a mile or so behind them, they began to fan out, following their plan to move in a straight column only when forced to do so, knowing attacks could come from any direction at any time. The elves stayed front and center, but the others formed to the left and right, though slightly more to the rear with each new group, such that from above they moved in the rough shape of an arrowhead, with the elves at the point. These positions had been taken up while the sun drifted lower in the west, and they would spend the first night in Veldoon camped in the formation in which they planned to travel.

Word of what had happened in the pass—the danger of the rain and the salvation provided by the protective bubble—now found its way throughout the assembly. Rowan was the first of the leaders to arrive at the elven camp and inquire about the elders. He had spoken to Demetrius personally, so he had been given a first-hand account of what had transpired, and though he was told their was little he could do to help the elven mages, he prayed over them, and looked each in the eye as he offered his thanks.

Tala watched him from a distance, only approaching as Rowan moved away from the stricken elves. “There is power in your words,” she said. "I could see the life slowly returning to them, even as you spoke.”

“The power is not in the words or in me,” he said in humility. “If I can serve as a vessel, though, I am honored to do so.”

Uncertain how to respond, she changed the subject. “Casualties?”

“None in my group,” he said. “A few burned feet here and there I’ve heard. A few broken bones from trying to settle the horses was the worst of it.” He paused, then added, “Thanks to your people. I don’t want to think about what condition we’d be in now if not for these mages.”

“Then do not. We are in this together. Our skills, if we are lucky, will compliment one another’s. It is our best hope for victory.”

Alexis arrived then, unmistakable on her great white Lorgrasian horse. Lucien rode behind her, a constant escort now. They paid their respects to Deron and the exhausted elders, Alexis with words and Lucien simply by his quiet presence, and then joined Tala and Rowan.

“We survive another day,” Alexis said, “at what appears to be little cost to our main force. But what of your mages? Will they live?”

“I believe they will,” Tala answered. “The greatest danger is past.”

“Will we have their services again?”

“When they are able. They are spent now, but Solek must be equally drained.”

Alexis was not so certain of the truth of that, but considering that they stood here in Solek’s territory and spoke to one another in perfect health, she was not going to gainsay it. “Are we completely without magical defense? You have—”

Tala stopped her. “I have the skill of a child. My father has some of the art, as do a few others, but none planned for this to be a mage battle. We knew the Saber Pass was a grave danger, and a likely spot for an attack of some sort. It was mainly for that purpose that we wished the elders to be present, and we were fortunate. They have seen to our safe passage to this point, and have bought us time.”

“That they have,” Alexis agreed.

“Elves still need to march first?” Lucien asked.

Tala pondered that. “I will speak to my father. It made sense in the Saber Pass. Here in the open…we still have keen eyes, and strong bows.”

“But here we can use mounted scouts to great advantage,” said Alexis. “Perhaps we should take the point when we are ready to go forward in the morning. The flanking armies should send a cavalry screen out as well. Let us go speak to Deron.”

*          *          *

Demetrius and Corson sat with a small group around a modest campfire. They had no concerns about giving their position away—all were sure the Dark One knew exactly where they were. The question was what was he going to do about it, and when. They had cleared the pungent grass away as best they could, though any attempt to burn it was quickly aborted—it simply tried to kill the fire and gave off a thick, rancid smoke. They had made a small meal, no one needing to be told to ration the food or water. They were reasonably well supplied, somewhat by their own hands, more so by the stores of the elves, but no one knew if they would find acceptable food or drink while they were in Veldoon.

The talk around the campfire was muted, the darkness oppressive and the mountains which now rose to their rear like a giant gate pressing in on them. They talked little about what had transpired or what was to come. The more one thought about those deadly drops of liquid, held at bay only by an invisible barrier over their heads, the more chills went down the spine and the mind questioned what they were doing here. It made them feel overmatched and helpless. Instead they talked of home, of happy times past, and of their hopes for the future.

Corson let his eyes drift across the night sky, seeing the same constellations he had known since he was a young boy. He chuckled to himself.

“What is it?” Demetrius asked.

“The stars. Guess I thought they’d be different here, like Solek would have changed them too. I mean, I didn’t really ‘think’ it—I knew they’d be the same. But some deeper part of me just sort of assumed something would be different.”

“I know what you mean.” He looked up at the summer sky, the blue-white stars blinking back at him. “Maybe it’s a good sign. Solek’s reach isn’t infinite.”

“He’s not all-powerful either. He didn’t want us to collect the pieces of the Sphere, and he doesn’t want us here, yet here we are. The closer we get, the better I like our chances.”

Demetrius nodded, but added, “Keep in mind the closer you get to the sword arm, the more dangerous the sword.”

Corson laughed softly. “Always the optimist.” Seeing Demetrius rising to the comment, he held up a warding hand. “Don’t bother defending yourself. I know you’re right. But if our goal is to take the sword from his hand, we have to get close. We know it, and he knows it. He keeps trying to stop us, but we keep coming.” They sat in silence for a while before Corson asked, “Think he’s scared?”

“Solek? No. At least not like men get scared.”

“But he is a man. At least he was.”

“He was. If the Dark One left him, assuming he could even live without the dark spirit, yeah, he’d be scared. But the being he’s become… Angry maybe. Annoyed. But not scared. Not yet, anyway.”

“What about you?”

“I’m past that. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been scared plenty before, but I’ve gotten kind of numb to it. Almost like I’ve accepted death is part of this game, and if it’s my turn, it’s my turn.”

“Well, I’m scared, but I’ve bottled that part of myself up and kept it buried. I do feel better with all these armies about, though. Don’t know that I’m ready to die just yet.”

“Very few are. I’m not. I want to see a ripe old age and bounce your kids on my knee.”

“What about your own kids? Don’t you want to settle down when this is over, find a good woman and a nice little plot of land somewhere?”

“Haven’t thought that far ahead. I’ve always thought you were more the marrying and raising a family sort. I’d settle for a comfortable chair and a good tale by the fire.”

“Well, if we get through this, you won’t lack for tales to tell.”

“None of us will.”

Overhead a shooting star blazed briefly and then died out, the fiery arc pointing the way to Citadel, Veldoon’s fortress city and Solek’s lair.

*          *          *

One day of blue skies was apparently enough for Veldoon. The morning was gray, and a chill wind swept down from the north, though it felt only pleasant considering the temperature was normal for June, that is to say comfortably warm. The movement for the day had hardly begun—the Lorgrasians going to the point while the elves fell back to their left rear, when the riders who probed ahead as scouts raced back into camp with shouts of warning. From her perch on her steed Alexis peered toward the horizon, seeing there a dark mass of figures which appeared out of the dawn dimness. Mounted and on foot they came forward, and their line stretched from left to right as far as she could see. They moved as men do, and for that she gave quiet thanks. The spear in her hand felt solid and real, a useful weapon against a foe that would bleed just as she and her people.

She formed her lines, wanting to gauge the enemy better before deciding whether to charge, stand, or try to flank them using the speed of her horses. The steeds whickered and pawed at the ground, knowing what was coming, while their riders waited with spears in hand and steel in their eyes.

The advancing army stopped within sight but out of bowshot. Their banners rippled and snapped in the breeze. The flags were not the Veldoon black and tan Alexis had expected, but rather were solid black with a blood-red tear—or was it a drop of blood—affixed on the center of the field. As she watched she could see that only the center portion of the army had stopped, the right and left flanks continuing forward, the marchers swinging as if on pivots from time to time so that their force could envelop the invaders. As strong and large a force as Alexis and her companions had managed to bring to Veldoon, this army was unquestionably larger.

As they neared she could see that indeed they were men, the men of Veldoon they would have been called in years past. But like the land the Dark One’s reign had changed these men. They had grown large and strong, but they were stooped as if burdened with some tremendous weight. Their brows were low and their hands gnarled, their helms, armor and clothes dark and worn. She wondered what she would behold when she looked into their eyes—a spark of rage and hatred or a dull lifelessness. She was uncertain which she would prefer.

“Warblades taste blood today,” Lucien said.

Alexis thought she heard a touch of eager anticipation in his voice. “As will spears and swords,” she replied. “Theirs as well as ours.”

Rowan saw what the Veldooners were doing and got his forces into line and tight against the Lorgrasians, angling his troops to try to refuse his line to the attackers. The riders from the Westerland had been in a flanking position on this end of the Arkanian Army, as the assembled group had started to call themselves, and Rowan had flagged Zald down, told him how he was planning to array his troops and asking him to relay the information to the goblins who were to his right and rear, so that they might form one unbroken line. The Westerlanders would ride on past the goblins, forming the very end of the line, holding it if need be, attacking if they could, always looking to exploit any advantage they might gain from being mounted. Rowan saw the goblins falling into proper position and allowed himself a small smile. He saw their flags—black and red, brown and orange, black and gray, purple and green, and the solid gray of the Allagon—and spared a moment to find Delving’s red and white. A young girl held the flag of his land, straight and true. She couldn’t be more than fifteen and had to be terrified, yet he didn’t doubt she would stand fast when the battle started. He felt his throat tightening and looked away, focusing on the banners again—the silver and white of the elves, the green and gold of Corindor, the blue and gray of Lorgras. Only the Westerlanders and the dwarves carried no standard, but the latter carried their axes and a smoldering fire in their hearts. A shame, he thought, that only in war could they all find their way clear to stand as one.