The Soul Sphere: Book 01 - The Shattered Sphere by David Adams Page B
Authors: David Adams
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doomed,” agreed Lucien.
Chapter 3: Under the Mountain
Two days later morning broke colder than any since they had set out, a harbinger of winter’s approach, still some sixty days away. While they were still a mess to behold, they had escaped the swamp, and had been able to catch some small game and find a few streams that provided drinkable water.
“It is time,” Tala said, responding to the unasked question on each of their minds. Without another word she walked apart from the others, taking out the Sphere piece and settling into a meditative state.
The others let her have her distance, but they watched intently, worrying over the occasional grimace that crossed her face. Whether these pained instances were from an effort of concentration or a foreboding of what they might face next, they did not know, nor would they ask.
Once finished she rose, her legs unsteady beneath her. Demetrius was nearest and lent her an arm.
“I will be fine in a moment,” she said. “Perhaps I had not recovered from the battle with the swamp beast as completely as I thought.”
They waited patiently while she composed herself. “We must travel next to the Stone Mountains, west of High Point, but not as far as Steeple Rock.”
“Corindor,” said Demetrius, glancing at Corson. “Our home.”
“What is the best way to travel there?” asked Rowan.
“I would go west from here to the Snake’s Tongue River, then follow it north to High Point. There is a decent road from High Point to Steeple Rock, so we can use that as far as possible. This is all assuming the Dead Legion allows us to travel in the open.”
“Good way to start,” said Lucien.
They reached the Snake’s Tongue three days later, having accepted the hospitality of a few of the farmers that remained in the sparsely populated area. They had cleaned themselves and their clothes as best they could, now had enough food and water to last a week or more if they were careful with it, and some extra clothing and blankets to fight off the biting wind that swept down from the north. Of the events elsewhere in the world they heard little—rumors of the Dead Legion overwhelming all of southern Corindor, and attacks in the Westerland and Lorgras. The land here seemed reasonably healthy and the locals had not been harassed. Some were dismissive of the rumors and wary of the travelers, eyeing Lucien with undisguised distrust or fear, but others were more in touch with what was happening and realized that even in these areas distant from civilization they would not remain safe forever.
A farmer who had identified himself as Toppin listened to their story with a stony expression but had offered them shelter and a meal. In the morning he had surprised them with a gift—a strong, black colt. “He’ll carry one of you, or your supplies,” he said simply. “Sorry I don’t have much else to give.”
“You have given much,” Demetrius told him.
“Might as well give it those who mean well. I see your weapons, and I know you could take the horse and more—not that I’m saying you would. You seem honest enough. My boys went off to join Rodaan’s army two years back, and I see two of you wearing the colors, and I...” He took a moment to compose himself. “I figure the best chance of seeing them again is by helping to fight the Dark One. I’m not much with a sword, but I’m guessing you are, and the horse will help you get where you’re going, that’s all.”
They traveled northeast, following the river, which flowed swiftly in the other direction. Demetrius and Corson had told them boats would do them little good—not that they had easy access to such transportation—and they were proven correct.
Lucien eyed the river as they turned north, guessing it was a quarter mile across. “To cross, where is bridge or ford?”
“The bridge at High Point is the only true bridge,” said Corson. “There are a few places where one can get across using rocks and
Chapter 3: Under the Mountain
Two days later morning broke colder than any since they had set out, a harbinger of winter’s approach, still some sixty days away. While they were still a mess to behold, they had escaped the swamp, and had been able to catch some small game and find a few streams that provided drinkable water.
“It is time,” Tala said, responding to the unasked question on each of their minds. Without another word she walked apart from the others, taking out the Sphere piece and settling into a meditative state.
The others let her have her distance, but they watched intently, worrying over the occasional grimace that crossed her face. Whether these pained instances were from an effort of concentration or a foreboding of what they might face next, they did not know, nor would they ask.
Once finished she rose, her legs unsteady beneath her. Demetrius was nearest and lent her an arm.
“I will be fine in a moment,” she said. “Perhaps I had not recovered from the battle with the swamp beast as completely as I thought.”
They waited patiently while she composed herself. “We must travel next to the Stone Mountains, west of High Point, but not as far as Steeple Rock.”
“Corindor,” said Demetrius, glancing at Corson. “Our home.”
“What is the best way to travel there?” asked Rowan.
“I would go west from here to the Snake’s Tongue River, then follow it north to High Point. There is a decent road from High Point to Steeple Rock, so we can use that as far as possible. This is all assuming the Dead Legion allows us to travel in the open.”
“Good way to start,” said Lucien.
They reached the Snake’s Tongue three days later, having accepted the hospitality of a few of the farmers that remained in the sparsely populated area. They had cleaned themselves and their clothes as best they could, now had enough food and water to last a week or more if they were careful with it, and some extra clothing and blankets to fight off the biting wind that swept down from the north. Of the events elsewhere in the world they heard little—rumors of the Dead Legion overwhelming all of southern Corindor, and attacks in the Westerland and Lorgras. The land here seemed reasonably healthy and the locals had not been harassed. Some were dismissive of the rumors and wary of the travelers, eyeing Lucien with undisguised distrust or fear, but others were more in touch with what was happening and realized that even in these areas distant from civilization they would not remain safe forever.
A farmer who had identified himself as Toppin listened to their story with a stony expression but had offered them shelter and a meal. In the morning he had surprised them with a gift—a strong, black colt. “He’ll carry one of you, or your supplies,” he said simply. “Sorry I don’t have much else to give.”
“You have given much,” Demetrius told him.
“Might as well give it those who mean well. I see your weapons, and I know you could take the horse and more—not that I’m saying you would. You seem honest enough. My boys went off to join Rodaan’s army two years back, and I see two of you wearing the colors, and I...” He took a moment to compose himself. “I figure the best chance of seeing them again is by helping to fight the Dark One. I’m not much with a sword, but I’m guessing you are, and the horse will help you get where you’re going, that’s all.”
They traveled northeast, following the river, which flowed swiftly in the other direction. Demetrius and Corson had told them boats would do them little good—not that they had easy access to such transportation—and they were proven correct.
Lucien eyed the river as they turned north, guessing it was a quarter mile across. “To cross, where is bridge or ford?”
“The bridge at High Point is the only true bridge,” said Corson. “There are a few places where one can get across using rocks and
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