The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard Read Online Free

that he understood. He nodded solemnly.
    “Are you worried about what we’ll find back home?” Corson asked.
    “Yes.” The answer was stark and cold, though there was neither bitterness nor fear behind the word. Demetrius did not waste time mincing words, especially with those he trusted and cared for. Corson had always taken what some perceived as brusqueness as a personal compliment.
    That night they huddled close to the fire and kept the horses close as well—they had taken three. As much as they wanted to rest, they knew they had to keep a watch through the night. They had just finished a modest supper and were reminiscing about years gone by when Demetrius suddenly held up a finger.
    “Is it back?” Corson whispered.
    Demetrius nodded, then motioned with his head to Corson’s right.
    The moon was just shy of full, and it cast a ghostly blue light over the landscape. Some fifty yards off, the grass rustled gently as something slithered through it in short, quick rushes. As it closed to thirty yards, the horses whickered, sniffing at the air. The grass grew still but for the subtle, breeze-driven waves that constantly stirred it.
    Demetrius held up an open hand so that Corson would stay where he was, then slipped silently away from the fire. Carefully he circled around to where their visitor had last been spotted. Before he was halfway there it made its move, darting forward.
    Corson rose up and unsheathed his sword in one motion. If the thing was coming for him it recognized the weapon and the act of preparation. It sprang sideways at one of the now terrified horses. The steed took the initial blow easily—its attacker was far smaller than it was, no more than four feet in length and two in height—and spun away, pulling on the rope that held it to the other mounts. The three horses had started in opposite directions and the rope had negated their attempts to flee.
    Before the creature could fully recover Demetrius and Corson were upon it. Demetrius’ sword cracked against a chitinous plate, which absorbed the blow with a loud crack. A claw-like appendage swatted at the sword, while a dozen legs scrambled for purchase on the ground. After fixing Demetrius with its black, soulless eye, the thing sprang away, quickly vanishing into the night.
    Demetrius watched it go—although there was nothing to see after a couple of seconds—while Corson calmed the horses. After the horses were settled, Corson moved beside his friend.
    “Any idea what that was?” he asked.
    “No,” said Demetrius. “And that bothers me a great deal.”
    *          *          *
    Rowan gazed through a light morning fog while dawn broke in the east. He could just make out the outlined peaks of the Trawnor Mountains in the distance, although the foothills were still shrouded.
    “I don’t like fog,” he said, speaking to himself. “Makes it hard to see where you’re going and what’s coming at you.”
    Tala overheard him. “Nothing for it but to press on. It will lift soon enough.”
    “I know. But it’ll slow us down until then.”
    They picked their way carefully south, the Great Northern Forest at long last receding behind them. They had traveled within sight of it for a full week since their separation from Demetrius and Corson, and the whole group had used it as a guide for nearly a fortnight before that. It was a parting utterly devoid of sorrow. The woods remained as dark and foreboding as ever, and at night shadows eyed them from just inside the tree line, and of late from beyond it. There had been no attacks, but the horses had been nervous and jittery, and Rande now carried Jazda’s extra knife—just in case.
    Jazda was a jovial enough companion, but the boy was quiet and detached. He spoke when spoken to, and helped with building fires and tending the horses, but he rarely smiled or laughed. This morning he had taken his usual spot in line behind Jazda, and seemed content to study his mount’s mane.