The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  “Or as menacing,” Straiah commented.

  “Very true,” responded Pallin. “And thankfully so for our sake.”

  “Are there any other weapons like this?” asked Baron.

  “A few, perhaps,” responded Pallin. “But they are lost or hidden. There is so little left from that age.”

  “Hidden?” Baron pressed him. “By whom?”

  “Well, I don't know really,” Pallin said.

  Baron gave him a discontented look. Durian glanced to Blair with a smile. The group journeyed on, up the rest of Ridgewall and back onto the open plains.

  “I know of a well nearby,” said Pallin. “We can rest there till morning.”

  “We don't have much food left,” mentioned Straiah. “And I used the last of my arrows, so hunting will be difficult.”

  “We'll make do,” said Sheabor.

  Though Eulsiphion lay still a far way off, they would reach it well enough. Durian for one, couldn't wait to see the capital city of Forthura, a city from the old world, of which he had only heard fables and stories.

  The morning sun had risen before they reached the top of the Ridgewall, warming their faces and the grasses of the plains. It felt like home to Durian, though warmer.

  “Pallin, what is Eulsiphion like?” Durian questioned.

  Pallin smiled at him warmly.

  “Like nothing you've seen or imagined. Truly.”

  “Do you think they'll believe our story?”

  “We have a saying,” said Sheabor. “Anything that must happen, will happen. They will believe us because they must believe us.”

  “Is King Euthor buried somewhere in Eulsiphion?” Durian questioned.

  Pallin seemed struck by the question.

  “No, I don't believe so. I have pondered that question much in recent days. When you consider what we know, the outcome is quite startling. We know that the Hammer of Haladrin, which Sheabor carries, was constructed after the Great War. We know this because the love poem dedicated to his beloved wife, Sheyla, is inscribed on the hammer.

  Her passing was at the end of the Great War. That would suggest that King Euthor was trapped on the Banished Lands with the House, Cavanah, at the end of the war. And yet, a statue of King Euthor exists in the Hall of Eulsiphion which carries a replica of the Hammer of Haladrin, that same poem inscribed on its side. So the riddle becomes: how did the farewell poem of King Euthor to his wife, Sheyla, end up on both continents?”

  The question filled Durian with intrigue. Though he knew of the orb of Shade Stone in the hand of King Euthor's statue, he hadn't know that a carved replica of the Hammer of Haladrin was also a part of the statue.

  “Sheabor, does your history say anything as to where he is buried?” asked Pallin. “You carry his hammer with you, after all.”

  “We have no record of it,” he replied. “From our earliest days on the Banished Lands, we have had a burial chamber for our noble kings. But King Euthor's tomb is not among them.”

  “I'll need some time in the hall of records of Eulsiphion then,” Pallin concluded. “There may be something in the writings of King Euthor that gives a hint to his life after the Great War.”

  With that, Pallin's gaze grew distant. Durian was eager for more questions to be answered, but he thought it best not to disturb him. Something was building in Durian, a feeling telling him that much more lay waiting for them to discover than any could guess. The dreams, the poem, the hammer...something was unfolding.

  Durian's mind was bursting. He felt so close – on the verge of discovering the key to the mystery. But every time he got close to an answer, it faded again.

  Eulsiphion

  The trip to Eulsiphion was many days through the open plains. And though they traveled the Commonwealth Pasturelands where all were free to feed their livestock, they scarcely saw another soul. Those who pastured cattle had already been driven closer to home by the onset of winter.

  There was little wood for fires, making sleep difficult, and food was scarce. Without arrows, Straiah had made a sling for throwing smooth stones, but his aim was less than proficient, and he rarely struck a rabbit. But the hunger drove them.

  By morning of the fifth day, they came to a large and looming boulder, out of place in the middle of the wide plains.

  “This is one of the ancient boundary stones,” Pallin declared. “We may yet arrive in Eulsiphion by evening.”

  As evening approached, Pallin led them up a small hill. It struck Durian as odd, since they could have easily gone around it. But as they neared the top, the snowy peaks of distant mountains filled the airy vast. Cresting the top of the hill, a striking scene came into view.

  At the base of the tall mountains lay a castle beside a lake, a waterfall pouring into it from the mountains and a lazy river flowing away. It was Eulsiphion.

  “That is the River Shay,” Pallin said, motioning to the river.

  Durian looked up in surprise, as did Baron and Blair. Shay River flowed all the way down to Suriya, right through the heart of town. Durian had no idea that their quaint stream also flowed down a wondrous waterfall and past the capital city.

  They set off. After an hour, they drew near enough to the city to discern some of its features. Durian's eyes grew wide with wonder at the sight before him. The city's outer wall was brilliant white like polished marble, gleaming in the light of the sun. But each stone had a narrow streak of the brightest red, like a trapped bolt of crimson lightning.

  “I've never seen such stone,” Durian commented.

  “It's called Omnivar,” Pallin responded. “Eulsiphion is one of only two cities ever constructed from it.”

  “It's exquisite,” Durian exclaimed.

  “Yes it is,” Pallin replied. “The stone has a magical property that changes with the hearts of its citizens. Many centuries ago, when the house Forthura came and reclaimed the fortress of Eulsiphion, the stone was a pleasant lemony green. At that time, the barbarians of the north were spreading southward. They became warlike and often battled with the people of the city. After nearly two decades of battles, the Horctura invited Eulsiphion to peace talks. Forthura agreed and took the pass to the east where the mountains lay, through the Squall Highlands and into barbarian territory. But the delegation never arrived at the barbarian lands. They were ambushed in the highlands and killed.

  The king's son was part of the delegation and when news of the ambush reached the king, the stone went white and streaks of vibrant red shot out from his hall and cut through all the white stone in the city. The color has never changed, and Eulsiphion is still at war with the Horctura to this day. They have a vendetta against them. They say that the very walls of the city cry out for vengeance, and they will not rest their swords until justice is done for their murdered ones.”

  The barbarians were mad to attack this city, Durian thought. It was the most defensible structure he could imagine. The walls were at least fifty feet tall and immensely thick. Descending toward the city, the mountains loomed tall above them and the sound of the waterfall wafted on the breeze. The gates were open.

  “Quickly,” said Pallin. “It's nearly sunset and the gates will close.”

  They sped along, Durian's legs and lungs burning from overuse. The group entered Eulsiphion just as the sun set over the distant west. They were allowed access by the two guards posted at the main gate. Durian was astonished at what he saw as he walked through the city. Not only was every structure built with the same beautiful stonework he had seen on the outer walls, but even the ground beneath his feet. Columns lined the elevated buildings, with broad stairways leading up to them. The walkways were bordered with small grassy parks, each containing benches and fountains and many of the citizens had already begun to recline there.

  The palace was up ahead, seated above the rest of the city and containing its own set of walls and towers – a castle within a castle. Lying at the top of a flight of wide stairs, the palace was ornately decorated with columns, each made of a single ston
e that contained streaks of red stretching diagonally upward. Several guards with shields and spears were patrolling on the upper platform, and two waited at the large entrance. The group ascended the steps and came to the large palace doors, which appeared to be solid silver. The guard on either side of the door held out his hand.

  “Halt,” one said.

  “We bring news of a threat to this kingdom,” Sheabor stated. “We must speak to the king at once.”

  “Wait here,” the guard replied. Each guard took hold of one of the large metal rings on either door and pulled. The large doors opened slowly, creaking deeply. One of the guards disappeared inside and returned minutes later, escorting a man in fine dress. He looked them over for moments, judging what to do. But the haggard state of the group, that they had come a long distance, argued their case for them.

  “You will leave your swords and wait in the great hall,” said the man. “I will rouse the king.”

  The group assented and unsheathed the weapons they carried. The man motioned with his head at the handle protruding from Sheabor's tunic. Sheabor produced the hammer and the man's eyes grew wide with surprise. But he didn't say anything. The guard next to the man held out his hand for the weapon but Sheabor shook his head.

  “The king will want to see this,” he said.

  “Leave the hammer with him. But summon a dozen warriors and rouse the commander. Come back quickly!”

  Then the adviser led them into the great hall of the large palace. The large doors creaked to a close behind them. The great hall was very large and rectangular in shape. There were two guards at the other end of the hall, guarding the entrance to the inner court rooms. A large throne of stone sat against the far wall.

  “Stay here,” the adviser commanded.

  Then he walked to the far side of the room and past the two guards. Durian ambled about the room. There were a dozen windows on either side of the hall and between each window hung a finely woven, colorful silk standard. Below each of the standards stood a life-sized statue.

  Durian walked to the western wall to examine them. But as he did, he saw something even more intriguing. It was an arched doorway that led to a flat pavilion of stone overlooking the city and the plains beyond. On the edge of the pavilion was a dark stone streaked with gold and silver. It was the Athel stone!

  Durian changed his course, glancing at the guards to see if they would stop him. But they held their ground and Durian opened the door to the outer pavilion. Moonlight rained down on the large circle of stone, and Durian came to the edge, running his hand along the jagged Athel.

  The wind whipped against his body as he stood in the heights. Cradling his arms, he was driven back indoors. Reentering the palace hall, he saw that the statue directly on the opposite side of the hall held a dark orb of Shade Stone in its outstretched hand. The other hand grasped a hammer resting at the statue's side. Durian came quickly to it, bending down to read the pedestal at the base:

  King Euthor

  His eyes wandered up to the hammer now just in front of him. In the stone was carved the words he knew only too well:

  Dismissing hours as they pass

  Soft upon the windswept grass.

  The hopes of men have come to naught;

  Nothing fair for eyes or thought.

  For Sheyla lies on golden plain,

  Of Cavanah, the fairest slain;

  Who met her last and final day

  When all was brought to disarray.

  Of gladful things now nevermore;

  Now bitter wind, now salty shore.

  The peaceful world bound to unrest

  And darkness looming in the west.

  The world and all its light shall fade.

  I'll stay with her beneath the shade

  And wait until the world's remade...

  Durian's heart beat quickly, as again something inside him surged forward, searching for a voice. But he couldn't put the feeling into words. It wouldn't take shape into thought. Durian stood and gazed into the stone face of the ancient king. His expression touched Durian. His countenance was one of longing and sorrow as he gazed toward the Athel stone on the pavilion.

  Durian's eyes wandered down to the darkened orb of stone, peering deeply into it for any clues to what it might contain. He hadn't gotten the chance to ask Pallin more about it. Turning round to find Pallin, he was surprised to see the whole group standing right behind him. Sheabor was at the head of the group, standing tall and reverently in front of the statue of the greatest of the kings of old.

  “Pallin, you said there's something called a Seer's necklace inside the orb. What is that?”

  “King Euthor made it with a special stone that, when combined with an Athel, would always bring Sheyla's gaze to him. She could see him, no matter where in the far world he happened to be.”

  The door behind them opened, revealing a dozen warriors, headed by a soldier in finer armor than the rest. Soon after, the door on the other end of the hall opened, revealing half a dozen men and the king of their lands.

  Durian and his companions were summoned forward by the man who had initially led them into the room. As Durian approached, his heart began to beat quickly. He had never been in such a room before, nor had he ever expected to be standing in the presence of the king of their lands. His name was Froamb, and Durian had only heard stories of him.

  The king took his seat on the throne, and as he did, all in the room bowed. When they arose, the king was staring intently at them. He was younger than Durian had expected. The hall was silent; the torches flickering lightly, filling the room with a mellow glow.

  “Archulus has told me that you bear news of the creeping darkness that has come to our realm, and that you carry something of great importance,” the king said. Sheabor was the one to respond. He stepped forward from the group.

  “Yes, sire. A force more than a thousand strong now dwells within Thob Forest in the places few venture – warriors that move under the cloak of fog and night. They are the Dungeon Core, servants of Corcoran, come from the Banished Lands to make war against this Eastern Realm.”

  With that, the hall was blanketed in quite. Froamb didn't answer, but leaned forward as he scrutinized them. Then he held up his hand and the room grew silent. He leaned back in his chair and spoke.

  “Forces from the Banished Lands have come to the Eastern Realm? What you say is folly and cannot be true.”

  “It is true,” Sheabor insisted. “Please stay your judgment, until the whole tale is told. We have all been betrayed. You do not know the things that have transpired upon the Banished Lands these last centuries. Corcoran was not killed in the Great War, nor in the cataclysm that followed. Many centuries ago, when the world was still flooding, Corcoran realized that his entire realm was moving further and further west away from the continent to the east. He was filled with rage and refused to rest until he could find a way to change his fate.

  Somehow beyond our understanding, many centuries ago, Corcoran gave up his physical body and bound himself instead to the Banished Lands. He delved deep underground, searching the lower realms for a means to control the motion of the Banished Lands. No one knows how, but he found a way. Ever so slowly, he began to change the direction of his continent's drift. Imperceptible to those who lived upon its surface, the Banished Lands began to angle south, then southeast, and at last east. His continent has been moving toward your lands for the greater part of this last age. They are coming, and they are close.”

  “Impossible!” declared the king.

  The hall was filled with an eruption of hushed voices and worried whispers. King Froamb rose to his feet. The hall again filled with voices and Sheabor raised his hands to quiet them.

  “I have not yet told you the whole of this evil. In recent years, Corcoran has gained a new ally, Malfur, Keeper of the North Wind. Three months ago, when the Banished Lands still lingered far off, Malfur left from there with a thousand Dungeon Core. Malfur summoned the bitter wind ahead of them
, freezing a passage of ice for them to walk across the seas. They walked for weeks before finally stepping across, coming to the southern end of the Frostlands. Straiah and I set out after Malfur a day behind, using their passage, which had already begun to rift and splinter. I am Sheabor, last of the lords of the noble House of Cavanah, keeper of the Hammer of Haladrin, and leader of the free peoples of the Banished Lands.”

  With that, he took the Hammer of Haladrin from its sheath behind him and held it high above his head for all to see.

  “Then it is true!” exclaimed Froamb. “The Hammer of Haladrin has been found.”

  “It was never lost,” replied Sheabor. “It is the birthright to the lords of Cavanah in hiding on the Banished Lands, of whom I am the last. We have forsaken the defense of our homes and cities to come and warn the Eastern Realm. Have we risked such a journey only to meet with deaf ears? Have we come through ice and death only to find a land of fools? The giants watch the west, and Forthura's eyes are fixed upon the barbarian hordes of the north. Who among you watches the south? Who among you knows what lingers behind the borderlands of Thob Forest? Who from any of your lands has set foot there in a hundred years?”

  “You are an impostor! Where you found the Haladrin Hammer I do not know. But you have used its legend, along with a cleverly invented story to try and earn a birthright that is not rightly yours. You are stirring madness into the hearts of my people, and I will suffer it no longer. Guards, seize them!”

  With that command, many men from the crowd stepped forward, swords drawn. Durian couldn't believe what was happening. But then, he heard a powerful voice call out.

  “Stay your ground,” Pallin commanded, looking up sternly at the king. “I knew your father, Froamb, and he was not nearly as stubborn a king, nor as senseless.”

  “Who are you, old man?”

  “I am Pallin, Keeper of the South Wind.”

  “The Keepers of the Wind are a myth! You are this man's cohort.”