The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (14 page)

He bowed in acquiescence, but his face was shadowed with doubt.

“Something more troubles you,” the duchess said.

Seeing Rowan hesitate, Tala spoke. “I have a fool’s errand of my own. I must return to my own people, to ask that they fight as well.”

“It has been long since elves have taken an interest in the affairs of men,” said the duchess. “Present company excepted.”

“And I fear it will remain so, even if we share your doom. Rowan had agreed to come with me, to speak for men and to try to convince my fath—my people, to help.”

“This is a worthy task, and one to be undertaken by someone of status. The leader of the Delvish army would seem a good choice.”

Rowan protested, “But there is much to do here, to prepare a march, to—”

The duchess stopped him. “I will not lead an army into battle, but I can see that one is prepared. My days have been filled with listening to grim reports from scouts and endless requests for things I cannot hope to give. If you name your lieutenants, I will set them to work.”

“I would only ask for those who lead men now.”

“They lead men and boys, and women as well. Many have learned to wield sword or bow in our need, and if we are going to strike at Solek, we will strike with all we have, though to him it may seem no more than the bite of a fly.

“The hour is late,” she said. “Think on this, and in the morning we will choose the day to march north. You will need to have your journey to the elven wood completed by then.”

“Thank you, m’lady.”

“The thanks go to both of you, and those who went with you, living or now deceased. You have kindled a flame of hope within me, although it is frail, likely to be quenched by the slightest breath of wind. If my words have been heavy, so has been my heart and the weariness I feel. Rest well, and I will try to be of better cheer with the dawn of a new day.”

They spent the next day making what plans they could for the mustering of a Delvish army. The people were scattered and could not be gathered until they were ready to move north—if then—since Solek would likely strike at any massed group. Much as they wanted this time to be delayed, it was in fact what they were proposing to do, to march openly to war and draw the enemy into a prolonged battle, but if they did so before the appointed time they would not last long, allowing Solek to fight the Delvish alone.

The few leaders who could be reached and brought to the camp were all the evidence Rowan needed to see how dire the situation had become. They were all good men, courageous and willing enough, but young, asked to take on great responsibility before their time. He had said as much to the duchess after a meeting with three who were barely old enough to shave.

“So many have fallen, and these have had to grow up quickly,” the duchess told him. “There are others further south with a few more years under their belts, but not as many as we might wish.

Rowan’s authority was accepted with little protest beyond the occasional raised eyebrow. He was unknown to some, but the slight graying of his hair around his temples testified to his years, his sword had clearly seen much use, and the duchess’ orders were not usually questioned. Those who looked upon him saw something in his face that stirred them to action, and garnered their quick respect, as if he wore the battles with the Dark One’s minions like badges of honor. Rumors of his adventures soon spread throughout the camps, growing with each retelling, until many of the youngsters looked upon him with reverent awe.

When they had set things in motion as best they could, they took their leave of the duchess, Rowan promising to return within three weeks. “If it is longer than that, choose another to act in my place,” he told her.

They left the extra horse as a gift to the duchess, then wearily set out again, feeling the weight of the task ahead, and the subtle drag of having no place to call home, having gotten little rest, and having little hope of getting much in the near future. But there was no feeling of self-pity over such things, as all around them were the homeless and tired, and most looked only to the ground as the riders passed, so bereft of hope had they become.

They decided they could brave the road, trading stealth for speed, thinking that if pressed they could simply try to outrun whatever might oppose them. Rowan took a long look at Tala, and then let a small laugh escape his lips. “I doubt you will look this dour when we march on Veldoon. Does the thought of seeing your father again fill you with more dread than facing the Dark One?”

Tala smiled and shook her head. “I though I was hiding it better than that.”

“You’re not, and you didn’t answer my question.”

Tala thought for a moment. “I am afraid, I suppose. For my people and for this world. I do love my father, and he has led well for many years. I do not wish to defy him, but I have to say what needs to be said. I am afraid, Rowan, that emotion will interfere with the message, and maybe the decision. If the fate of so many rests on this coming battle, I cannot allow that to happen.”

They rode on in silence. To the north, dark clouds covered the sky like a portent of coming doom.

*          *          *

Alexis found little rest in the goblin camp. Certainly she was at her ease, and the looks she got were more curious than hostile. The food was bearable and the weather mild. But uneasiness was growing inside her, and as the days passed with no apparent progress toward their goal, she found herself pacing restlessly in the night as much as the day. It was a great relief to take to the road again as they headed to the council, and the stories Durst told of days past helped the hours go by.

Grek and Blage had arrived in the Kabrinda camp soon after Durst’s summons, and they traveled with Durst’s group now, each with a personal guard, as Grosh had specified. They often smiled or laughed at Durst’s tales, but said little themselves. Alexis they regarded with a cool detachment, an outsider that must be with them for a time, and Krast, their guide, was an enemy whom they were forced to follow and trust. If the two goblin leaders appeared uneasy, Alexis did not need to question why.

When the morning of the council dawned, it seemed to Alexis that the air was fresher and that a weight that had been slowly building had been lifted from her chest. Lucien, on the other hand, clearly grew tenser as each day had passed, the time and leisure with his mate now a fading memory, and a debate that would determine much inexorably approaching.

“Just tell what you have seen and experienced,” Alexis advised. “You can do no more beyond that. They will make the decision based on what they deem best, not on how well-spoken your argument might be.”

“That good,” Lucien said. “Argue better with warblade than words.”

They had been moving mainly north, through fields of long grass and light brush. The sight of an open tent on the horizon was their first indication that their journey was drawing to a close. As they neared, they could see that if any treachery was planned, it would have to be carried out by those present. Anyone approaching over the open plain would be seen at a distance, allowing plenty of time to raise the alarm.

Grosh and Ast came out of the tent to greet them, and the goblins shouted and slapped each other on the backs like old friends, not leaders of warring factions. The tent flaps had been pulled back so the interior would be plainly visible, allowing the new arrivals to see that no others waited inside. In this way Durst and company had no need for surreptitious checks or reason to chance openly insulting their hosts in order to ensure their own security.

“We have a small meal prepared for all,” Grosh said. “Then we will post our guards at the corners of the tent and take council.”

They ate in uncomfortable silence, the weight of pending decisions pressing on them and squeezing any joviality out of the atmosphere. There was a palpable sense of relief when they finished and the guards and Krast were excused to wait outside.

“I think,” Grosh said, “that it would be appropriate to give our guest from Lorgras the honor of speaking first.”

Alexis looked to Durst, who motioned for her to proceed. “Thank you,” she said to Grosh. “My tale and Lucien’s start apart, but quickly join.”

“We will hear him soon enough,” Grosh stated. “Please go on.”

Alexis began the story, describing the coming of the Dead Legion to Lorgras and the decision to set out on the quest to reassemble the Sphere, which gave a glimmer of hope for victory in a very dark time.

“Your High Queen had a piece of the Sphere?” Ast asked. His common was as smooth as Grosh’s.

“She did. She was there when Solek seized power, and loosed the Dark One.”

“And she kept it hidden and secret all these years, then suddenly entrusted it to you?”

“Myself and the party I set out with.”

“Do you have it now?”

Durst interrupted. “Let them tell whole tale as they would. There will be time later for questions. Much of what you ask will become clear soon enough.”

Ast leaned back with a scowl. “As you wish. But I deem I have just received the answer I sought.”

“I no longer have it,” Alexis confirmed. “But it is not lost to us.” She went on, and the goblin chiefs, though they often started to rise with questions or other exclamations as the story unfolded, restrained themselves until she was done. After she revealed the plan to march what arms they could raise to Veldoon, and of the breaking of the party and the coming of Lucien and herself to the goblin lands, she fell silent.

“Is Lorgras committed to battle?” Blage wanted to know.

“They are. The Queen has spoken. Preparations are being made now.”

“You mentioned companions in Delving and Corindor, and even an elf from the Eastern Forest, and that all are making the same request of their people,” said Ast. “But you have not spoken of the Westerland.”

“I made the same point myself when I first heard this tale,” said Grosh. “I believe you plan to speak to Duke Fallo as soon after this council as possible.”

“That’s correct.”

Ast shook his head. “If he will not fight, and maybe even if he does, I say he will not let us pass the Watch Wall.”

“I cannot speak for him,” Alexis admitted. “And the way around is long. But you can pass through Lorgras.”

“You have been given authority to speak for your people in this matter?” Grek asked.

“I have.”

“And can you also treat with us on what we might demand to fight alongside you?” Ast wanted to know.

Alexis’ eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

“We fight amongst ourselves because the land does not support us. Would a pack or more be given access to Lorgrasian land, or be lent aid in taking territory from the Westerland if Duke Fallo refuses to join us, once Solek is beaten?”

Alexis was taken aback. “I do not seek mercenaries, to be paid for services rendered. We are all threatened alike by Solek. We wish allies in this coming fight, nothing more.”

“It seems to me that Lorgras and the Westerland stand between Veldoon and our realm. Why should we march to fight his strength, when he would have to fight many battles to reach us?”

“The Dead fight where their master wills,” said Durst. “You have felt sting of their blades, Ast, as we all have.”

“In times past, yes. But where is his army now? Haunting others it would seem. If he has looked to other lands, I say—”

“Please,” said Grosh. “We will all have to face Solek’s forces in time. The question before us is should we do so as one, or individually?” He spared Ast one brief, hard look.

“You speak wisely, Grosh,” Durst said. “But before we decide, we should hear Lucien’s part in story.”

“Of course,” said Grosh, adding a wave that might be dismissive or supportive.