The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  With that, Malfur paced back and forth before the throne, lost in thought. Aravas watched him carefully. At length, Malfur descended the throne and took Aravas by the collar.

  “Tell me where he's hidden your powers!”

  Aravas smiled.

  “I will not tell you anything more until you swear to me that you will help your brothers to reclaim what it rightfully theirs and not allow our powers to fall into the hands of that madman, Corcoran. If he found the orb first, his dominion over this world would never end.”

  “I swear it. I will not allow your powers to fall to the hands of Corcoran.”

  “Pallin alone knows the location of the tomb of King Euthor. I assume you've been watching him?”

  Aravas motioned with his head toward the Athel stone on the pavilion.

  “Only once, as he and his party fled from Mt Skultira. But I've had many reports concerning him. We will retrieve him in short order.”

  “I would move quickly,” Aravas replied. “If he makes it to Thay Iphilus Forest, you'll lose him for good.”

  “Leave that to me,” Malfur replied. “Now tell me where you've hidden the hammer.”

  “In plain sight. It's heading toward the last village of Forthura, a town called Suriya. Its bearer plans to flee toward the Westward Wilds and reunite the hammer with Pallin and his companions in the lands of Kester.”

  Malfur turned to one of the barbarians.

  “Summon your commander, Belagur. And rouse Bolgrin of the Dungeon Core. Bring them to me immediately.

  “And what of him?” another barbarian asked.

  “He will accompany us on our quest for Pallin. You will keep watch over him and see that he doesn't flee.”

  “There's no need for that, brother.”

  Malfur turned to Aravas with a look of contempt.

  “Brother? What bond can there be between a mere man and a Keeper of the Wind? But I will keep my promise to you. I will not allow your powers to fall into the hands of Corcoran. Now take him away.”

  The barbarian grabbed Aravas and began to drag him away.

  “Malfur! Do not forget who you are! You are of the Four. No one man can have that kind of power.”

  But soon, Aravas and his captor had reached the palace doors. Malfur sat back on the throne of Eulsiphion, a surprised but contented smile on his face.

  “Aravas the wise,” he chuckled to himself.

  But something seemed to strike him then, some sudden thought. His brow furrowed and his gaze grew distant. He glanced to the door through which Aravas had just passed and his eyes narrowed.

  But just then, the doors opened once more. Two men in different garb approached the throne. One was a tall barbarian with long blonde hair and thick furs. He wielded a large axe and a heavy broadsword. The other was, Bolgrin, leader of the Dungeon Core. As they approached the foot of the throne, both men bowed and awaited their address.

  “I have just received word that my brothers, the three Windbearers, are no longer a threat,” Malfur began. “But it is imperative we capture Pallin the Wanderer before he leaves the bounds of the Horctura. He has information that will be vital to us. If he enters Thay Iphilus Forest, we will tear the forest down. The Ruhkan Mountain range will block him from escape.

  Belagur, you will send a detachment of five hundred warriors to Suriya, along with your second in command, to reclaim the Hammer of Haladrin and destroy what remains of the House Forthura. You and the rest of your forces will accompany Bolgrin and the Dungeon Core in search of Pallin. We leave within the hour.”

  “As you command,” said Belagur.

  The two warriors bowed and departed, leaving Malfur alone to his thoughts. Aravas had changed everything. Only one question remained: was Aravas really such a fool to blindly trust Malfur? Or was he playing at something deeper?

  At length, Malfur arose from his throne and strolled to the statue of King Euthor, bending down to read the poem inscribed on the hammer. Was it really as Aravas claimed? Was the hammer made to break the orb containing the powers of the three Windbearers? Malfur had seen the hammer on occasion before, most recently in the hands of the new lord of Cavanah, Sheabor. Sheabor, like his fathers before him, had proved an effective nuisance.

  Malfur looked to the open and empty hand of the statue then glanced to the circular divot in the floor where an object had been pounded there only recently. But at length, he returned to his throne and waited. After nearly an hour, Belagur and Bolgrin returned and bowed.

  “Everything is ready, my Lord.”

  “You know your orders,” Malfur replied. “Carry them out precisely and mercilessly.”

  “As you command.”

  Then the three walked to the end of the palace hall. Hundreds of soldiers were assembled and waiting. Emerging from the palace, Malfur stopped and addressed them.

  “Our victory is at hand. Tonight will see the end of the House, Forthura, and the end of the lord of Cavanah. In one swift stroke we will put an end to all resistance.”

  Shouts and roars went up from the two armies. Aravas was brought under guard to the side of Malfur.

  “Aravas, good you've come.”

  “I hope you've had time to reconsider your thinking. Pallin will die before telling you where our powers are hidden if he knows you have a will of evil.”

  “Then perhaps Pallin should die. If the riddle to King Euthor's tomb is something you've so readily deciphered, then perhaps it isn't as well hidden as you think.”

  Just then, a very large brass weapon of some kind was rolled into the streets on large wheels. It resembled a very large horn used to call for battle, though more ornately decorated. Malfur glanced to Aravas, a smile forming on his face at Aravas' obvious concern.

  “It is my own design,” Malfur said. “It has proven most effective against the rabble of the House of Cavanah.”

  The group walked en masse to the edge of the city. The gates were opened and the battalion broke in two, the bulk of the barbarians headed south, with Malfur and the rest set to tear the whole of Thay Iphilus Forest down in search of Pallin.

  Onward to Suriya

  Straiah leaned on the rail of the large boat, gazing at the dark woods that obscured the city Melanor, nestled against the mountains. The three ships weighed anchor near midnight, making east toward the open ocean before turning southward.

  The ship moved with remarkable speed, more than what Straiah would have expected. The Melanorians told them of a swift current that ran just at the edge of the divide where the waters deepened into unfathomable depths. As the men made the last sounding at sixty fathoms, they felt a subtle but definite tug southward. The current would bring them to Suriya swifter than any horses.

  That was good. They needed as much time as they could get if they had any hope of combating the barbarian forces. The women and children had been allowed to stay behind in Melanor, and what remained was a force fewer than a hundred strong. What resistance would that pose to the entire barbarian horde?

  Straiah knew it was hopeless. But worse than hopeless was the thought of fleeing away just before the battle. They would have women and children in Suriya, even the families of the three who had become their companions. What would Straiah tell Durian, Baron and Blair when he saw them next? Would he have the heart to tell them that he had abandoned the defense of their families, all for the frail hope of finding the powers of the Windbearers?

  Straiah clenched the hammer tightly in his hands, gazing into the deep translucent Shade Stone. He felt trapped by it, shackled to a duty that prevented him from doing what was right and noble. But he had made Sheabor a promise.

  “I meant to ask you back in Melanor,” came a sudden voice from behind.

  Straiah turned to find King Froamb standing close by.

  “How did you come to possess the Hammer of Haladrin?” the king continued.

  “I asked Sheabor to give it to me back in the Squall Highlands.”

  The king was intrigued.

  “That
's quite a request,” said the king. “I'm surprised it was granted.”

  “So am I,” said Straiah, chuckling.

  But then he sighed. It truly was remarkable that Sheabor agreed, in the light of what Sheabor himself had sacrificed. It was clear the king awaited the rest of the story.

  “I needed it to rescue someone.”

  “Would that be the fair Estrien?”

  Straiah nodded with a smile.

  “I still can't believe he gave it to me, especially since...”

  “Since what?”

  Straiah opened his mouth to continue, but halted, not being one to openly discuss other person's concerns. But the king was looking at him expectantly.

  “Since he had to leave the princess, Cora, behind...imprisoned in the fortress of Malfur.”

  “Sheabor is married?” King Froamb said in great surprise.

  Straiah nodded and his countenance turned dark, recalling the events leading up to their departure from the Banished Lands.

  “Things have grown dark for us in recent years,” Straiah said. “Malfur and Corcoran hit us hard, knowing they'd soon be setting their sights on your Eastern Realm and wanting little resistance from us once Malfur left. We think they must have persuaded a traitor for information, for their raids were precise and severe.

  One of their last raids captured the princess, Cora and she was taken to the fortress of Malfur. We think that's what they had been waiting for, for only days later, Malfur set off with a contingent of Dungeon Core for your shores. They undoubtedly thought that Sheabor would be so consumed with rescuing Cora that Malfur could slip away.

  But some of us saw the bigger picture. We knew we had such little time. If we didn't set out after Malfur immediately, all opportunity would be lost. It took every man we had to restrain Sheabor from taking the Hammer of Haladrin and smashing Malfur's fortress to the ground. But the captain of our resistance forces swore an oath not to rest until he had set Cora and the others free.”

  “I'm sorry,” said the king.

  Straiah nodded slowly.

  “Do you think they'll find a way to free her?”

  “I don't know. It's all we've been able to do just to survive.”

  King Froamb gazed into the darkness of the vast sea. The wind blew against their faces as the gentle swells heaved the boat and dropped it.

  “I confess,” the king said. “I still know very little of you and your companion, Sheabor. I'm sorry for that. Truly.”

  “Thank you,” Straiah replied. “But it's your kingdom we should be talking about. This town, Suriya, have you ever been there?”

  Froamb shot him an offended glance.

  “It's part of my own kingdom,” the king replied.

  “Well I've never actually set foot in the town,” he continued. “But I've seen it from a distance while visiting the Shelengol Glades.

  Straiah lifted his head back in laughter. The king smiled, glad for his amusement.

  “What kind of town is it?” Straiah asked. “Is it fortified?”

  King Froamb shook his head.

  “There has never been a battle there. And only a handful of Suriyans have ever seen open combat. They live on the edge of the world. We leave them largely alone. They pay their taxes and nothing more is required of them.”

  “How many do you think have fled there from the northern townships?”

  “It's impossible to say,” King Froamb said, shaking his head. “You have largely the same information as I do.”

  Straiah was surprised by the king's demeanor. He seemed genuinely hopeful and optimistic, even in the face of such odds. From what little Straiah knew of him, he had rather expected to find a brooding man, lamenting the loss of his throne and privilege. But even on the cusp of the fall of his kingdom and perhaps his own death in battle, he was a humble and thoughtful man. King Froamb saw Straiah analyzing him and gave him a slow smile.

  “You seem in very high spirits.” Straiah observed.

  “I've never been one to fret. We will do our duty and what will happen will happen. Every king should be tested. Those who aren't become tyrants. A kingdom should be reborn with every king.”

  “Not a very friendly proposition for the peoples of the kingdom,” Straiah said with a chuckle.

  “No,” Froamb replied with a sidelong smile. “I suppose not. But as the saying goes:

  Each man's life is but a breath.

  Man is a mere phantom as he goes to and fro;

  He bustles about, but only in vain;

  He heaps up wealth, not knowing who will get it.

  What better way to spend one's life than to forge a kingdom?”

  Straiah nodded.

  “I've never been one for philosophy,” Straiah said.

  “Nor I,” Froamb replied with a smile. “This is my father talking.”

  Straiah was again struck by the transparency and even vulnerability of the king of Forthura. He was grateful for it. For only a level headed man had any hope of surviving the coming battle. A brooding king, out for vengeance, would waste the lives of his men in a vain attempt at glory. In light of that, Straiah thought best to speak on other matters.

  “We should use what little time we have to form a strategy for fortifying Suriya.”

  “Agreed,” said the king.

  “If only we had one of the Suriyans with us,” Straiah declared.

  “No,” said the king in excitement. “We may have one better. Suriyans aren't warriors. They know their town but not how best to defend it.”

  Then King Froamb turned round.

  “Has anyone here been to Suriya?” he called out.

  The men on deck glanced about, their eyes falling on a young man in his early twenties.

  “I've been there twice, my Lord,” the young man said, stepping forward.

  “What is your name?”

  “Deneck, sire.”

  “What can you tell us about the town?” Straiah asked.

  “Nothing you'll want to hear, I'm afraid. Suriya is little more than a large village. Many of the homesteads are spread throughout the plains, and the village itself has no walls. Its only redeeming quality perhaps, is that the cottages are mostly made of stone. We can harvest them for walls if time permits. But when the barbarians come, they'll be able to attack from any direction.”

  King Froamb nodded slowly, gazing at the deck and pacing in a tight circle.

  “What are you thinking?” Straiah asked him.

  “By now, the barbarians will have sent scouts to Suriya,” Froamb responded. “Without walls, they know they'll be able to ride horsemen into the city from any direction at any time. If it were my force attacking, I would send footmen to engage the front line and send the horsemen up from the back to flank them.”

  Straiah nodded slowly.

  “That's what I would do as well,” he replied. “But how can we stop it?”

  “Shay River runs through the center of the village,” Deneck spoke up. “It splits the town in two. If we burn the bridges, we can use it as an eastern border. One less direction to defend from.”

  “That still leaves three exposed sides,” Straiah said.

  “We'll have to use pikemen on the south and west,” said the king.

  “I would not recommend splitting your forces. The barbarian foot-soldiers are fearsome. We'll need every last man to meet them on the front line.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “We have the hammer, don't we?” Straiah responded. “Why not cave in some of the buildings to block the southern and western roads.”

  “The barbarians will come with ropes and grapples. They'll pull the walls down.”

  “If we do a good enough job, we'll be able to fend off the horsemen with only a small force of pikemen.”

  King Froamb nodded slowly. That was a good plan.

  “What are we going to do with the women and children?” Straiah asked.

  “We'll put them on ships and send them into Boreol Bay. If the battle goes
ill, perhaps they can make for Melanor.”

  “There will be hundreds of them,” Straiah continued.

  “I know.”

  Straiah opened his mouth to say more, but he knew it would only dishearten the listeners around them. Even with all the fishing boats of Suriya, they'd barely manage to fit even half the refugees. And the Suriyan boats were made for fishing, without the sails and rigging to make a long voyage up the coast. No. Suriya is where they would make their stand. But one more question tugged on Straiah's mind. He leaned in close to the king's ear and spoke softly.

  “What do we do if Malfur is with them?” he asked.

  The king turned to him gravely. Malfur. Even if somehow beyond reason they managed to defeat the barbarians tonight, the Dungeon Core would return with Malfur at their head. They would make quick work of their tattered band of soldiers.

  But just then, the cryptic message of Aravas flashed through Straiah's mind. Straiah didn't know where he had gone or what he had done, but he chose to hope and breathed in deeply the salty night air. And almost as if the world itself responded, the first glow of dawn appeared on the far horizon.

  They were now somewhere off the coast of the lands of Forthura, skirting the shoreline at a gallop's pace to the town at the edge of the civilized world. As dawn lightened into day, the crew congregated along the western rail of the boat.

  Few features were discernible beyond the rolling hillsides of the plains. But very thin bands of smoke seemed to rise in the far distant places. The barbarians were undoubtedly raiding the open countryside. King Froamb and his men took heart. It meant they stood a chance of getting to Suriya before the barbarians did.

  Afternoon darkened into evening with scarcely a word uttered between the men. But with the failing light, a glow seemed to rise in the west. Too bright for torches and too far away, it could only be one thing. One of the villages.

  “Captain, bring us in closer!” yelled the king.

  “That will take us outside the current, sire.”