The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere (34 page)

Demetrius grabbed the rope and followed the others around to the side of the castle where they had climbed the outer wall. Seeing that the horses still waited safely in the trees below, he muttered a “thank you.” As he was doing so he heard Rowan whisper thanks to the Savior for the same thing. Demetrius watched Rowan finish and couldn’t hide the bemused grin on his face.

Rowan met his gaze evenly. “Well, I suppose I’d rather be thought amusing than drawing anger for my prayers. That’s happened before.”

Demetrius shook his head and smiled more broadly. “I was laughing at myself. I had just given thanks for the horses as well, but I have no idea to whom or to what I was speaking. It struck me that at least your prayer had a point.”

Rowan studied Demetrius for a moment, their eyes locking. “Not that that’s enough to make a believer out of you.”

“I have trusted too long in my sword and the strength of men. But you’ve made me think. Perhaps that is enough for now.”

“Maybe so.” He turned to survey the white landscape. “I did not miss the snow. My feet were just beginning to feel warm again.”

“At least the horses will keep our boots off the ground. When you thank the Savior for that, add my gratitude as well.”

“I will,” Rowan said.

Once to the horses, Tala asked for the shard Demetrius carried, then re-fused it with the Sphere. The glow it emitted as it bonded had an added brilliance, a reminder that they were free of the castle’s magic. While the others prepared the horses, she walked a short distance off into the trees, wanting to cast her finding spell while she was alone. A troubled shadow crossed her face, but her features quickly regained the calm the spell usually required and induced. When she was done she returned to the others, who waited with expectant looks. “To the far south,” she announced. “The next shard is in Delving, near Upper Cambry.”

Alexis looked at Rowan. “Home for you.”

“And not good news, if a piece of the Sphere is there,” he replied.

“At least that far south we’ll be warm again,” said Corson, trying to sound cheerful.

Rowan laughed. “There is that.” He took a deep breath and mounted his horse. “Another long journey, which gets no shorter until the first step is taken.” He started off and the others followed.

Chapter 9: The Dead Paladin

Corson was trying hard not to think about the cold, the endless blanket of snow, the long trip ahead and what would be waiting for them when they arrived. He laughed at himself, thinking if he could push all of the things he was trying not to think about out of his mind there might be nothing left.

The miles did drag on though, and the covering of snow the ground wore only added to the sameness. The day was clear at least, and the sun crossing the sky gave some indication that time was passing, and therefore the miles must be passing as well. They rode single file and mostly in silence, forsaking the pleasure of conversation for the ability to hear an enemy’s approach. Corson had just rotated to the back of the line, and one of his backward glances revealed that they were being followed. He had his horse move up next to Lucien, who rode just in front of him. “The Mist is back,” he told the goblin in a low tone.

Lucien only nodded, fighting the urge to turn and look. “Tell others.”

Corson worked his way up the line with the news. As the word spread the group tightened up the line, riding more closely together.

“Is it close enough to hear us?” Demetrius asked.

“Not if its hearing is no better than ours.”

“I can think of no reason to let it follow us,” Rowan said. “Once we stop to rest it will have a chance to reveal our position to the enemy, and a night watch will avail us little if the Dead Legion descends upon us in numbers.”

“I agree,” said Demetrius. “I say it has gained all the information it will be allowed for now. But our tracks in the snow will make it almost useless to chase it off. It will pick up the trail with ease if it wants to.”

Despite the logic of the point, they determined to rid themselves of the spy. As one they turned, facing the Mist. It hovered twenty feet in the air, perhaps a hundred feet behind them, and even when it was obvious that their collective gaze fell upon it the creature showed no sign of trying to hide or flee.

“Be gone, foul shadow!” Alexis shouted. “Go back to your dark master!”

The Mist remained where it was.

Lucien drew his warblade and advanced toward it. “Be off!” he growled in his most menacing tone. He added some further words in his native tongue, the meaning lost to the others but the message clear enough.

The Mist held its ground.

“This is different,” Tala said quietly. She drew an arrow, took a leisurely aim and fired. The arrow passed through the Mist and fell harmlessly in the snow some distance beyond it.

“I don’t think it’s going to be persuaded,” Rowan said. “It appears to be as stubborn as some of us.”

“So be it,” said Alexis, turning back toward their destination and taking the lead. “As long as it’s there, all it can do is watch. I’ll be more concerned when it leaves.”

*          *          *

Five days later they reached the Crystal River, and the Mist had remained their constant companion, like a wild dog tagging along at a distance, hoping for scraps. It never drew near or moved far away, and when they paused or stopped, even for the night, it simply hovered a short way off from their camp. The first and second nights they set the watch with two on duty, so one could always keep an eye on the Mist, but it apparently had no mission of ill-intent to take up while they slept, and it simply waited patiently until morning and then followed once more when they set out. It watched them, wanted them to know they were watched, and for now that seemed to be enough. The weather remained cold, but no snow fell and for that they were grateful. For the most part the sky had been clear, occasional gray clouds threatening a storm but swiftly passing to the east without delivering.

The Crystal River flowed rapidly as it neared the sea, and only a thin layer of ice had formed on the surface, not nearly thick enough to support them or their horses. They followed the river west, planning to cross at the first intact bridge they could find. Ridonia and Delving had existed in peace beside one another for as long as anyone could recall, and while no major road had been constructed to connect large cities, several small roads did exist and a string of bridges joined the two kingdoms. The first bridge they came upon only reached a few feet out into the river before ending in charred stumps.

“Either the Legion passed this way and burned it to keep the kingdoms from supporting one another, or the locals torched it to keep them from crossing,” Demetrius speculated.

“War is an odd thing,” Tala mused. “Both sides might contemplate the same act of destroying a lifeless object in the belief it will benefit their cause.”

“Buildings, castles, bridges,” Demetrius replied. “Tools that can be used, but if you no longer need them and the enemy might find them advantageous, it is best to take the option of use away from them.”

“Well, someone,” said Alexis, “be it friend or foe, has taken this option away from us. Let’s move on, unless we aim to build a raft from what little wood is left.”

If anyone had any thought about making a boat, they kept it to themselves.

A few miles further on they found another destroyed wooden bridge, although this one had been much smaller than the first, a few planks wide with ropes strung at chest-height to steady oneself—a small footbridge.

“Just as well,” Rowan said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t have trusted this one to hold the horses, and our journey is far too long to go on without them.”

They proceeded on, progressing only a few feet before Corson called out in a tone of mock disdain, “Will you look at that.”

Keeping the same distance as in days past, but now with a river between it and its marks, the Mist gazed at them from across the river.

“Well,” Corson continued, “we know it can shriek, but I bet it can’t laugh, otherwise it would be mocking us right now.”

“If only we could fly as it does,” said Tala.

“Any chance that you’ve been working on that levitation spell while we slept?” asked Rowan.

Tala laughed. “Even if I had, I still would not be able to lift a horse.”

“Or Lucien,” Corson added.

“If cut Corson into little pieces, maybe can send him across” Lucien answered. He pulled out his warblade and checked the sharpness of the edge.

“It would take too much time,” Tala said. “And I am not certain I could do a good job of reassembling him. The only incantation I know that might help is this one.” She spoke aloud to her mount, and it set off in search of the next bridge.

Another two hours’ journey brought them to a stone bridge, intact and undamaged. Whatever group had destroyed the wooden bridges had either decided doing the same to the stone one was too much effort, or had simply not ventured this far west. The group crossed quickly, as if concerned the bridge might tumble down at any moment. Once safely on the south bank of the Crystal River, Corson gave a mock salute to the Mist.

The party gathered together, and Demetrius asked Rowan, “Do you think we can move south from here, or should we go east first, since we had to take that little bridge-related detour?”

“South, without doubt, and even a bit more west, since we didn’t reach the confluence of the Crystal and Little rivers. If we’re fortunate, we’ll strike the main road around Humbold Bay, which goes through Bellford and then to Upper Cambry. The road will probably be snow-covered this far north, but the further south we go, the better chance we’ll have to use it.”

“Paved?” Alexis asked.

Rowan indicated it was. “Large stones and quite flat as well. Easy for horse or foot travel, or for drawing a cart for those who have them.”

“As long as that Mist follows us, none of our movement will be secret,” Demetrius said with a resigned sigh. “A road would be a nice change, and might shorten the trip somewhat.”

Delving was a land of gently rolling hills here in the north, with most of the land being open, occasional copses of oak or poplar dotting the landscape. It took six days for them to reach the road, a wide, deep depression that snaked along the shore of Humbold Bay. The bay itself was visible in the distance, its surface glazed over with a thin layer of ice. Demetrius asked if it could be crossed in winter.

“A man can walk out a short way in the northernmost part of the bay,” Rowan replied, “but it can’t be crossed. The winter here is rarely severe enough for that, and the ocean currents bring warmer water into the southern outlet. The bay doesn’t freeze over at all in the south.”

The road showed signs of recent use, densely packed footprints of both men and horses denting the snow. Demetrius dismounted to inspect the footfalls. “Both men and horses were properly shod. It doesn’t appear to be the Legion.”

The tracks made the road even easier to follow, and they did so for several days. The further south they ventured, the less deep the snow, and the night wind lost some of its bite even though it often howled with fury. Late one afternoon Lucien noticed Tala squinting to see something in the distance. “What is it?” he asked.

“A small party moving on the road, I think. Going south. They march on foot, so we will overtake them soon.”

They approached cautiously, and when they drew within shouting distance Rowan called out, indicating that they were friends. The others turned at the call and held their ground, but they did so with weapons drawn.

“They wear the red-and-white,” Rowan said, his shoulders sagging with relief. He tossed back his cloak to show he wore the colors of Delving just as they did, and then rode forward to meet them.

There were six men in the company. Their uniforms were dirty—they actually wore dull red-and-gray—and they had a gaunt, hollow look about them. But they were also well-trained soldiers, and there was a look in their eyes and a stiffness in their spine that indicated if battle was desired it would be given. At the sight of Rowan’s uniform the shortest of the group stepped forward, lowering but not sheathing his sword.

“You travel with interesting company, sir,” the man said, letting his gaze play across the riders behind Rowan.

“Good and loyal friends, all,” Rowan told him. “To myself and to Delving.”

The man took that in, rubbing a hand through his curly black hair. “Well, you seem alive enough.”

Rowan smiled. “We are not of the Legion if that’s what you fear, though we’ve been on the road long enough that we might smell like it.”

The man laughed at that, as did his companions. “We’re not likely to be of better aroma. What brings you—”

“Look!” one of the men shouted, gesturing with his bow at the Mist that had just become visible to them after drifting over a small copse of trees.

Rowan turned almost casually to regard it, then addressed the leader once again. “A Mist. A servant of the Dark One. It has been following us for nearly a fortnight.”

“I know what it is,” said the man, his voice tense. “We’ve seen a half-dozen at least.”

“When?” asked Rowan, alarmed.

“A week ago, at most. They are the vanguard of the Legion. When you see the Mists, the Dead are not far behind.”

“This one only tracks us. We have seen no sign of the Dead, except for some bridges over the Crystal River that were burned. That may have been their work.”

The man shrugged. “I can’t speak to that. All I know is the Dead took Humbold, Whiton, and Lower Cambry months ago.”

Rowan face took on an ashen pallor. “I was there at Humbold and Whiton.”

“Then you know we fought valiantly, but had not the strength to break them. We held out at Lower Cambry for a short time—long enough for many to escape across the bay. Once we knew we couldn’t hold the remainder of our forces crossed and then went north. There was a force left north of Bellford, and the rest of us went around the bay to Humbold. The place was a ruin, but even rubble can be defended better than open plains. For a time we thought the Legion had gone elsewhere, or perhaps had simply crawled back into their graves, but then our advanced scouts said they were massing and moving back through Whiton.” The man stopped for a moment, glancing back at his companions. They nodded for him to continue. “Kylers, Orstead, and I were in a small force a mile or so down the road from Humbold. They came at dusk, the Mists screaming and howling. Lesser men would have run just from that sound, the way it works into your spine and makes you shiver. Then the Dead came up, their numbers bloated by all whom they had killed. Likely many a man I had fought side-by-side with were now in that host. We had no chance. We went back to Humbold to raise the alarm, and held for only a short time before the captain ordered a hasty retreat. We fought in the darkness at Humbold against an enemy that cares not whether they strike friend or foe, and a large part of their number wore the red-and-white. How could anyone hope to win such a battle?” He looked at Rowan, his eyes both pleading and defiant.