The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (37 page)

Corson shook his head. “I’ll give up a night of sleep to avoid the dreams. Can’t do that every night, but I figure we’re close enough…”

Demetrius eyed Lucien. “What about you? Plagued by nightmares too?”

“Yes. Not real, but make angry with no enemy to fight when awake.”

Demetrius nodded, deciding not to ask if bad dreams could leave a goblin shaken or frightened, as they often did to a man. He guessed the truth, and that such an admission would not pass Lucien’s lips. “Where is the wolf I’ve seen you with?”

Lucien pointed to Krellos, who stalked slowly back and forth some distance away. His black fur made him difficult to see, but his yellow eyes flared with reflected fire light whenever he turned his head toward them.

“War makes for strange friends,” Corson commented. “I thought you two would just as soon kill each other as fight together.”

“Krellos brave fighter. Not good joke like you. Tonight I need joke, so come here.”

Corson laughed softly. “Glad I’m bringing some value to our little expedition.”

The goblin saw something in Corson’s face or heard it behind the words, a defensiveness under the carefree mask. “I joke too. You good fighter. Lucien has seen.”

Corson inclined his head in silent thanks.

“We’ll all need to be good fighters tomorrow,” Demetrius said. “And maybe a bit lucky. I hope Rowan is praying hard tonight.”

“I said a few myself,” said Corson.

Demetrius lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you believed in the Savior.”

“Not sure I do, but an extra prayer won’t hurt. Depending how things go, maybe I’ll end up being a convert.”

“Sounds to me like your trying to bribe a god,” Demetrius said with a smile. “Give us victory, and I’ll believe in you.”

Corson shrugged.  “We do what we can.”

“What about you, Lucien? Do your people worship a deity?”

“Some. Most honor ancestors and dead warriors.”

“And what do you believe in?”

Lucien smiled and held forth his warblade.

Corson said, “Let’s hope it gives you what you want tomorrow.”

Lucien’s smile grew more feral, much like Krellos’, as he pictured bloody victory in his mind.

*          *          *

Rowan had not given a lot of thought to what weather he would desire as they reached Citadel. He had never seen the place, had no sense of the ground or how they would attempt to attack. He was happy for the thickening though sparse trees, which would provide wood to build ladders if needed, and perhaps a bit of cover, though he thought that pointless, at least as far as hoping they might sneak up on Solek. When morning came with a light overcast, he accepted it, just as he would have any other condition that seemed natural. What they had been dealt would allow them to see but be easily seen. It would not allow them to attack with the sun behind them and in the eyes of their enemies, but would not make them toil under its blazing heat. It would not give them the cover of heavy rain, but would keep the road dry and easy to traverse. All-in-all he was pleased, especially by the fact that Solek had not chosen weather of his own liking. He spared a few seconds to muse on how much the single bout of acidic rain—and the story Demetrius and Corson told of their first encounter with it—had affected him. He had not seen the two men from Corindor in several days, and even then was only able to exchange brief greetings. He prayed for them, and for all assembled here, who today could face their ultimate test. He prayed for victory, if it be God’s will, trying to push away the insistence in his own mind that it
must
be his will. How could it not be? But Rowan had learned that God sees much more than man, and that even in a situation such as this, when the fate of the world seemed in the balance, God might see some future events that deemed Solek should carry the day. An unbidden question flittered through his mind: Was Alexis’ death what God wanted? If it served the greater good, perhaps it was. Could he, Rowan, have made that choice? He doubted he would have had the strength to do so. But he was only a man, not God. With an effort, Rowan kept his heart open to the Savior’s will, and asked only that he, a simple man, might be his vessel.

The Arkanian Army had been battered and abused, but they stepped off spryly that morning, as if they were just starting out on their journey. The promise of peace lie at the end of this day, either in victory or in the endless sleep of death. As had become the norm there was no laughing or singing, and the fear was still there in each of them, gnawing at the mind, but for the most part they were composed and the look on most faces was one of grim resolve.

The forests beside the road remained, thickening in places but still just dead wood. The road grew wider and smoother, and only turned to the right or left on rare occasion. The sickly, pale grass had few spots to grow, only an odd patch here and there being visible.

They had covered several mile since breaking camp when a low, distant rumble came, not so much audible as felt in the bones. Deron held up a hand and the army came to a halt, silent without needing to be told. The air about them felt heavy, a portent of a coming storm. All about them was still. Even the insects, if any were about, were quiet.

Rowan looked at Deron, a silent question.
Should we continue on?

Deron held up a finger.
Wait a moment.

Time stretched out, and a sense of unease grew. Something was coming. Deron shook his head, shrugged, and pointed down the road. His horse stepped out and the army followed.

They passed an uncomfortable half-hour, booms and deep groans emanating from somewhere ahead, coming louder and more frequently. “I think if I don’t soon know the source of those sounds, I’ll go mad from what my imagination is conjuring up,” said Zald.

“You will get your wish soon enough,” Tala said. “We are drawing nearer to it.”

“If it’s some sort of creature or demon,” Rowan observed, “it must be an awfully big one.”

Zald shook his head and laughed. “Your imagination is working too, I see.”

Their progress became slower, a natural caution growing inside them as the noise grew louder. From behind the leaders, amongst those that traveled on foot, came an exclamation. “The ground shakes!”

Tala was the first to dismount, the other following in kind. She put a hand and an ear to the ground and waited. As a low growl sounded in the distance, she rose with a nod. “It is coming from below, all right. And the ground does tremble.”

“What we do?” asked Yola his voice dark and angry. The goblin preferred enemies that could be fought with a warblade.

“What can we do?” Rowan replied rhetorically. “We cannot pass easily anywhere but this road. Those woods, though dead, would slow us and spread us out.”

“And make us easy targets,” said Deron. “A single strike of lightning would soon set the whole thing ablaze.”

“Then the road or turn back,” said Tala. She jumped on her horse again and pressed onward. Another boom came, loud, echoing across the landscape. Her horse started at the sound, but she soon steadied him with a caress and a few whispered, soothing words. She kept her head forward, afraid to look back lest someone see doubt or fear on her face. The die was cast, and this road would lead them to their fate.

The sounds continued to grow louder, though no more frequent. No longer was it necessary to be on foot to feel the ground move; even those mounted could feel the vibrations. The horses became more and more unsettled, and soon the riders were all on foot as well, leading their disturbed mounts by the reins.

As the miles slowly crawled by the sounds no longer came solely from before them. Although not easy to distinguish, those with better-trained ears pointed out that the various rumblings sometimes came from the right or left of the road, and even from the rear of their current position.

“Is it too much to hope that it is some natural phenomena, and that we will soon be past it?” Rowan asked.

Deron said nothing, simply looked down the road ahead, perhaps to a place beyond where the world spoke in a deep thundering voice.

Tala replied, “We can hope,” but her tone betrayed her true feelings.

As if in reply the ground shook furiously, bringing her to her knees and throwing the army into chaos. Only a few had experienced an earthquake before, and none had lived through one of this magnitude. Where they could keep their feet the horses began to run wild, and many of their two-legged companions wanted to do so as well, overcome by an urge to flee, but none knowing where to flee to. It seemed as if the world was coming to an end, and all anyone could do was cling to the ground and hope it would soon be stilled.

Demetrius lay prone but kept his head up to see what he could. Corson had dropped next to him, his face with a look that said “Now what?” Demetrius gave him a reassuring pat on the arm, a human touch that said “I’m here, and we’ll get through this together.” Suddenly Corson grinned, pointing. Demetrius followed the gesture to see Lucien some distance away, standing stubbornly with his warblade’s tip planted in the ground, using the weapon to help him keep his balance. Krellos crawled near the goblin, his ears flat and the fur on his back standing on end.

“I’m not sure whether I want to see him keep upright or fall on his rear end,” Corson shouted to be heard over the din. “Think all goblins are as stubborn as him?”

Demetrius sought out the green-skinned amongst them and found many, like Lucien, trying to keep their feet. He wondered if they all had tried to do so, and it was only those with the best balance who remained upright, winners of a morbid game. “I’d say Lucien’s pretty normal,” he replied, hoping Corson could hear him.

A great rending sound tore the air, and the ground beneath them jerked convulsively. Trees and rocks were hurled upwards in places and in others sank and disappeared. The earth was torn asunder some hundred yards in front of where Rowan lay, the road and woods vanishing and a gout of flame rising to take their place. The dry wood of the trees that remained soon caught fire, and Rowan knew it would spread quickly given their dryness, and in so doing would envelop the Arkanians on both sides. He wheeled about, opening his mouth to call for a hasty retreat, but his voice caught in his throat. Some short distance behind the rear elements of the Arkanian Army there was another great tear in the land, from which poured flames just as hungry as those to the front. He looked right and left, seeing fire had sprouted back in the woods on either side. He had no doubt the chasm had completely surrounded them.

He found his feet, the ground no longer trembling. The noise had abated, but this change went mostly unnoticed due to the roar of the fire that sprang from the bowels of the earth, and the pop and crackle of the trees as they were consumed. Deron and Tala were soon with him.

“This gorge has opened all around us,” Deron said.

“I know,” Rowan replied. “Do your elders possess any magic that might quench the flames in the trees?”

“I do not think so,” Deron answered. “Tala, ask them what they might be able to do.”

“They are not yet recovered from the battle with the troll-men and the Mists,” she reminded him.

Deron nodded, his face calm and patient despite all that was happening around them. “The question I wish posed still remains.”

Tala raced off to search for Adiel and Roldon, to see what hope they might be able to give.

Rowan shouted an order to any who might hear. “Cut back the nearest trees! We need as much space here as we can make!” Soon most were at work, trying to pare back the forest, working with an effort born of fear and desperation. The dwarves’ axes were of great value in such a task, and the wood gave readily to the sharpened steel, but the fire spread rapidly nonetheless.

“Going to get a little hot in here,” Deron said.

Rowan thought to add “like an oven” but he stayed himself. He stepped forward to peer over the edge of the newly formed canyon, Deron following close behind. It was at least two hundred feet across, but it might as well have been a mile. They could not hope to leap or fly across such an opening, and even if they could, the flames which rose from unseen depths would likely cook them alive as they traversed the divide. The fire occasionally flared so strongly that it formed a solid wall, and even when the raging blaze took a momentary respite, waves of searing heat made the air shimmer. Through this the ground across the divide appeared to be a mirage, a safe haven conjured up by fever dreams.