“That's close by. Are you sure that's where he was headed?”
“We think so,” said Durian. “But we lost him more than a day ago.”
“Where were you when you lost his trail?”
“Many miles east of here,” replied Durian. “Our course mistakenly turned southwest. We meant to head out of the forest but lost our way.”
“Then it stands to reason that Malfur is still not far ahead.”
Sheabor stared into the fire and pondered.
“What is it?” asked Durian.
“Malfur and the Dungeon Core are building a fort against the northern face of these mountains. They plan to lay siege to your realm. More than likely, Malfur was heading back there. But if there's a chance he's traveling elsewhere, alone and unguarded, we must take the opportunity. It's odd that he would travel to the southward side facing the coast. You're sure he was alone?”
“He was alone.”
“If we could bring you close by, could you find your way to the mountain cleft?”
The three looked at one another and then nodded in affirmation.
“What about Suriya?” Blair demanded. “They must be warned.”
“They will be,” Sheabor assured. “Rest for the night.”
“There's something else,” said Durian. “Malfur may know we're here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not completely,” said Durian. “He concealed his campsite at the edge of Thob Forest. He may have just been using caution. We're not sure.”
Sheabor nodded slowly.
“We'll know soon enough. Rest now. We leave at first light.”
Durian laid down to rest, but his mind was bursting. The poem of King Euthor and the mystical hammer claimed his attention. The stone of the hammer head was called Shade Stone, Sheabor had said. Durian had heard stories that in the palace hall of Eulsiphion, there stood a statue of King Euthor. And in his outstretched hand there lay an orb of darkened stone that was said to be unbreakable. Was it made of the same stone as Sheabor's hammer? Durian was desperate to question him further, but Sheabor had already exited the cave, keeping watch. At length, Durian succumbed to exhaustion and drifted slowly off to sleep.
The Mountain Cleft
Durian awoke to a nudge on his shoulder, with Sheabor crouched beside him. The warm aroma of cooked meat filled the air.
“Make yourself ready. We leave immediately.”
Durian sat up and rubbed his eyes, his head throbbing in protest with the meager amount of sleep he'd gotten. Straiah handed him a piece of rabbit meat and berries. There was little to pack, and the group set off into a forest still overshadowed by starlight.
“So much for first light,” said Baron, yawning.
Straiah chuckled.
“We always leave before the mist gathers, to get our bearings,” he said. “The fog comes down from the northwest at dawn.”
“Why is that?” asked Blair.
“The Dungeon Core are using the Omri stones to blanket the forest with fog, obscuring their comings and goings. The mist spreads out like a thick blanket over the southern end of the forest.”
“What's an Omri stone?” asked Baron.
“We make for the southern edge of the Estees Mountains,” said Sheabor, disregarding Baron's question. “From there, you will be our guide.”
Sheabor descended the mountainside. Baron smirked and followed behind with the rest in tow. Soon they reached the forest floor, Straiah disappearing ahead to scout. They walked at a swift pace in silence before Sheabor finally spoke.
“Long ago, the Omri stones were a gift to the lords of Forthura from the lords of Cavanah. When the Builders had grown in skill at creating different forms of stone, they crafted a special type of stone for the forests of Forthura. The Omri stones were very porous and contained a property that caused them to draw in large amounts of liquid. Being dark, they warmed rapidly in the light of the sun. Placing them in open spaces in the forest, those of Forthura would pour water and fragrant perfumes onto them. The waters would rise into the air of the forest, and then, in the cool of each morning, a fragrant mist would gather. The woodlands of Forthura were once filled with such stones. That is why you detect the faint aroma of perfume in the mist – a visage of faded beauty; a relic from a forgotten time.”
Even as he spoke, the mist crept in around them. It was even more ominous now, knowing that an evil force was using the fog to conceal their workings. The rock of the Estees mountain range was blueish-gray of color, jagged and sharp. Shards of rock were strewn across the forest, fallen from some distant height and shattering on the forest floor. All of a sudden, an arrow struck the face of a tree just in front of them, startling the three Suriyans.
“Get down,” Sheabor whispered.
“What is it?”
“Straiah is warning us that danger is close.”
Sheabor peered round through the mist, watching and listening. He slowly withdrew his sword from his sheath. The three looked around them. There was nowhere to hide.
“Do not move an inch,” said Sheabor.
The three huddled close in fright, hearts pounding in fear of the unknown. Sheabor crept forward and stood with his back against a nearby tree. The sound of clanging armor filled their hearing. Then they saw forms in the mist, about a dozen warriors. Sheabor's eyes were closed as he waited for the right moment.
As the warriors passed him by, Sheabor swung with his sword and hit the man closest to him in the chest, dropping him to the forest floor. Just then, an arrow pierced the chest of another of the warriors. By the time they stopped and drew their own swords, Sheabor had already killed another. And then came the second arrow. Sheabor advanced against a group of three men to his right. The group to his left came up behind him. Another arrow found its mark as Sheabor parried and then struck down a sixth warrior.
The warriors advanced against Sheabor, blows coming from multiple directions. He narrowly parried them, falling back. But as the warriors advanced against him, another two arrows found their targets, leaving only four facing off with Sheabor. But even with such odds, the remaining soldiers turned and fled. With Straiah somewhere out in the darkness, the warriors knew they couldn't win. Sheabor let them go.
The three Suriyans arose from their hiding spots and wandered the battlefield in a state of shock. None of them had ever been to war or seen its aftermath. Though they had witnessed a brief battle the night before, they had been so apprehensive of Sheabor and Straiah that they hadn't paid attention to anything else.
“Quickly, we must be moving,” commanded Sheabor.
“What about Straiah?” asked Blair.
Sheabor smiled at Blair's concern. Straiah hadn't reappeared. But Sheabor set off at a faster pace than before. The fleeing warriors would soon be reporting in. The group raced along the forest floor, skirting the mountain looming overhead.
“How much farther?” Sheabor asked.
The three Suriyans looked at each other, not knowing how to respond.
“We don't know exactly where it is,” said Durian. “None of us have traveled it. Suriyans stopped using it more than five years ago.”
“How did you find it initially?” Sheabor asked.
“An outcropping of boulders at the edge of the forest marked the trail head. It was hard to follow. The forest has nearly grown over it.”
“Straiah,” Sheabor called out muffled into the fog. In another few moments, Straiah arrived.
“We need to find a pathway not used for some years. Scan the forest south of here.”
Straiah nodded and jogged off. Sheabor went in the opposite direction, crouching low and scanning the forest for signs of an abandoned pathway. The three stood silently waiting.
“Sheabor,” they heard called out from the mist.
The three moved off toward the voice, and Sheabor came up behind them.
“Straiah,” Sheabor called out.
Durian marveled how the two men could send a hushed whisper across a grea
t distance and how they moved quickly and stealthily though the forest. When the group reached Straiah, he motioned to his left, where the faint groove of a trail snaked through the woods.
“That's it!” said Baron. “That's what it looked like on the other side of the forest.”
Taking the trail toward the mountain, they found the route upward. The first bit of the journey was more climbing than walking, but after that the pathway leveled off. Sheabor drew his sword and led them with caution.
All of a sudden, the scene brightened and Durian felt the warmth of the sun on his back. Turning round with the others, they saw a sea of mist stretching out before them, with scattered treetops poking through. They watched it for only a moment and set off again.
Durian thought of his brief encounter with the old man. Something still wasn't adding up. Though he was mysterious and secretive, he didn't seem evil. Could he really be the leader of an impending invasion? And did they really hope to find him here?
They ascended over a hundred paces above the forest floor. At length, the pathway flattened and the deep blue of Boreol Bay appeared in view. They had found the mountain cleft.
The ledge was wide and broad, and remarkably level. At least fifty paces long and jutting out over the airy distance, it provided a beautiful view of the coastline and the vague form of the Frostlands beyond. Out on the very edge sat a large stone, roughly the same height as Durian, a mound of dark rock that seemed out of place. The rock was of a different color and texture to anything surrounding it, clashing starkly with the smooth grayish-blue of the mountain. The mysterious stone was streaked with silver and gold running diagonally up from its base to the tip. Sheabor and Straiah came to it immediately.
“This is an Athel stone!”
“What's an Athel stone?” asked Baron.
“If one has the skill, they can use it to see great distances. The golden streaks harness sunlight and the silver streaks, moonlight. These stones were built by one of the men of Cavanah in the last age. None now knows how to use it. But a Keeper of the Wind would. This must have been what Malfur was after.”
“There's one of these in the palace hall of Eulsiphion,” Durian declared. “But no one's ever known it had magical powers.”
“Eulsiphion,” said Straiah, alarmed and dumbfounded, turning to Sheabor. “The city still stands?”
“Yes,” said Durian. “It's the capital city of our kingdom.”
Durian had forgotten that Eulsiphion was a city built in the First Age, that the kingdom which now inhabited it wasn't its architect. Just then, pebbles rolled down the face of the mountain in the corner behind them. The group spun round. There was a form, barely perceptible in the shadows.
“You there,” said Sheabor. “Reveal yourself.”
An old man emerged slowly. They had found him at last!
“That's him!” Baron announced.
Silence followed as Sheabor studied him. The faint howl of the wind slid through the lonely corridors of the mountain. The old man eyed them narrowly, no one yet voicing his thoughts.
“This is not Malfur,” Sheabor said.
“What?” exclaimed Baron.
The old man's eyes grew wide at the mention of the name.
“What do you know of Malfur?” the old man inquired with a step forward.
“Who are you, old man?” Sheabor demanded. “And what are you doing in Thob Forest?”
“Please, if you know of the whereabouts of Malfur, you must tell me!”
“His whereabouts?” Sheabor said, taking a step forward himself. “His whereabouts are in Thob Forest, where he and the cursed Dungeon Core are building a fortress from whence to make war against this Eastern Realm.”
“Dungeon Core?” asked the old man. “He is a prisoner then?”
“Prisoner?” Sheabor exclaimed. “He is their leader.”
“No, I don't believe you,” said the old man and turned around away from them, facing southward toward the distant coast and the Frostlands, far beyond.
“Who are you, old man?” demanded Straiah.
The old man remained motionless for many moments, a pained expression on his face, his chest heaving as he drew in long breaths of air. At length, he straightened his posture and took a final deep breath, turning round to face them.
“I am of the Four,” he declared. “I am Pallin, Keeper of the South Wind. As for my presence here in this forest, I am searching for that same Malfur whom you now seek, one whom I have always known as friend and brother, whom you now declare is my enemy.”
Sheabor gripped the hilt of his sword and clenched his jaw.
“You are in league with him then?”
The question seemed to strike the old man and he grew thoughtful.
“No,” he responded gently. “No, I am not.”
“Then why are you here?”
The old man sighed and looked pensively at them.
“I feared that Malfur was in distress,” he said warmly. “I have not seen him in over twelve hundred years. We had thought him dead, Aravas, Faigean and I. For an age, I have wandered this world, watching it darken and diminish from its former splendor, the harsh chill of winter and scorching drought of summer driving mankind from all the lovely places they once treasured. But then, after centuries, I felt the presence of something I almost couldn't believe. I felt the subtle power of the north wind on the breeze; the power of Malfur.
I was in Eulsiphion at the time. I felt the north wind waft up with the nightly breeze from the southern peninsula of Forthura. I quickly traveled there, not knowing what to expect. I came as far south as Suriya, to the edge of the known world, only to find that the power of Malfur was coming from somewhere even further south, from the Frostlands at the edge of the world. But then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone again. I felt nothing more.
I feared the worst, that he was in danger or lay helpless somewhere, captive to an evil will. So I set off from Suriya toward these Estees Mountains, where this Athel stone lay, showing a clear view of the Frostlands beyond. But I saw nothing more than ice and snow. I feared to leave this mountain cleft, not knowing what strange force was inhabiting the forest.”
“You cannot be one of the Keepers,” broke in Straiah. “The Three died at the end of the Great War. If Pallin, Aravas and Faigean still dwelt here, this Eastern Realm would be a lush and beautiful paradise.”
The man looked pained as Straiah spoke the words.
“In a way we did die,” he replied. “In a way I wish we had died.”
His words and his tone carried a brokenness that struck the five listeners. But his expression darkened and he looked up at them angrily.
“Believe me,” he said. “If we had known what darkness would creep into the world in these latter days, we would never have made our foolish choice. We had no concept of drought then, of famine or widespread deserts. We had thought the world would go on much as it had always done, once the Three were gone. We were very wrong.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Sheabor.
“We only wanted to keep the forces of Corcoran at bay! Wanted to show them it was foolish to advance any further against the peoples of the peaceful lands!”
The man seemed almost frenzied as he spoke.
“At the end of the Great War, nearly twelve centuries ago, Corcoran was marching onward, conquering city and village and town. Nothing could stand in his way. Nothing! The world of men was nearing its final hour. The Four came together high atop a mountain to watch and to wait. The House of Cavanah had gathered its remaining forces to oppose the armies of Corcoran. But they were too few.
So the Four loosed their combined powers onto the plains between the two forces, and loosed a cyclone right into the midst of the battlefield. Man and beast fled in terror. For no power on the face of the world can withstand the strength of the four winds. As the two armies fled, we congratulated ourselves on a great victory and waited for the cyclone to dissipate. Our warning had shown the enemy that his conqu
est would not be permitted.
But as we watched on, the cyclone continued to swell. Once it had taken form, it seemed to take on life as well. It ripped through the plains, splitting tree, rock, and earth. It was all we could do just to hold it in place. If we hadn't, it would have torn the whole world apart.
No one knows how deep it dug. The Four summoned winds from every corner of the world in a vain attempt to contain it. But then it happened. With a snap, something broke within the deeps of the world. An earthquake followed. The world was rent in two. And as the earth shook, waters flowed out from the deeps – bitter, salty waters that now surround every land. What the earthquake did not destroy, the flood consumed. Almost nothing of that time now remains.
The mountain on which the Four stood was toppled from its place. We were separated. When we came together again, we found that we were only three. Malfur was gone. Fearing him dead, or else forever trapped beneath the rubble of a shattered mountain, and seeing the utter destruction we had loosed, we vowed to banish our powers forever.
With the aid of King Euthor, we gave up our powers, locking them into an orb of Shade Stone, never to be freed again. That is why this Eastern Realm has not felt the power of the Keepers of the Wind the whole of this last age. That is the choice that I have come to bitterly regret.
I had no concept then, how the long years would draw out before me – that I would wander this world as one cursed, useless and purposeless. The world I once clothed in plenty now lies waste, diminishing into dust and decay, and I left to wander it as a specter, I too reduced to shadow and dust.”
Pallin leaned against the nearby rock wall, unable to continue. Durian felt pity for him.
“Why have you not tried to reclaim your powers?” Sheabor asked.
Pallin shook his head.
“They are lost beyond recovery.”
“I do not believe that,” Sheabor said. “Nothing is ever lost beyond recovery.”
Pallin clenched his jaw but didn't respond. Sheabor glanced to Straiah, wearing a very troubled look. Their own situation had grown far worse. Pallin and the other Keepers of the Wind had ended the Prosperous Age. The Three had given up their powers, thinking their brother Malfur was dead. And now it seemed, only Malfur remained with the power of the wind at his command. Things had just become very dire for the Eastern Realm.
The Banished Lands- The Complete Series Page 7