“I don't care!”
The boat veered toward the coastline.”
“It's Emri!” said one of the men.
Emri was only two towns north of Suriya, roughly four day's walk. As they neared, tips of flame poked above the scattered hillside. But nothing else was seen or heard. If there had been a battle there, it had already ended.
“Take us back to the current,” the king ordered.
The rest of the night was spent in silence. Would they pass the barbarians by? Or would they arrive in Suriya to find it likewise destroyed? How had it all happened so fast, Straiah wondered?
“You ought to take some rest,” Straiah advised, but King Froamb's countenance remained stoic.
“You've barely slept an hour in three days.”
“I'll be along soon,” said the king.
Straiah bowed and departed for the lower decks. He fell into a cot and asleep nearly that same instant.
The Night Wanderers
Night was upon the plains as the moon rose up from the south. Though now in decline, it still cast enough light for Durian to see his shadow trotting next to him on the ground. The familiar pangs of hunger had once more found him, as the last of their stores had dried up, and days or even weeks of journeying still separated them from the lands of Kester. But that didn't concern him now. Thay Iphilus Forest filled his thoughts and he rode up alongside Pallin and Sheabor, whom he could hear speaking about the forest.
“How long will our journey be through the forest?” Sheabor asked.
“Less than a week, I would venture.”
“Good. That will give us plenty of time to lose the barbarians for good.”
“I wouldn't worry too much about that,” Pallin replied. “Even though the barbarians are seemingly fearless, they rarely stray into the forest on account of the Night Wanderers.”
“Wait a minute,” Baron broke in, surging forward on his horse. “Are you saying that the Night Wanderers are real?”
Baron held a tight grip on his reigns, seemingly ready to bolt. Pallin smiled.
“It's not what you think.”
“It better not be.”
“And I suppose you'd rather face the barbarian horde?” Pallin snapped.
The others chuckled.
“I never took you as one to frighten at ghost stories,” Durian said, recalling Baron's remarks about the woodsmen of Suriya.
“Funny,” Baron replied.
When the fog and perfume first blanketed Thob Forest, one of the first speculations was that the Night Wanderers had come down from the old forests to the southern regions.
“The forest is perfectly harmless, I assure you,” Pallin said. “It may even harbor friends.”
“What do you mean?” Sheabor questioned.
“Some may dwell there who will be sympathetic to our cause. I'm not certain.”
Pallin didn't seem interested in explaining further. After a short while, Sheabor suddenly halted, his gaze fixed on the south, where tiny dots of light had appeared on the hills.
“Are those torches?” Blair asked. “Is that a barbarian patrol?”
“They wouldn't ride with torches,” Pallin said. “It would give away their position.”
“Whoever it is,” said Sheabor, “I'd rather not make their acquaintance. Let's pick up the pace.”
The group rode on heightened alert, Sheabor dropping back to keep watch. Who in the world besides a barbarian patrol would be trekking through the open countryside by night, Durian wondered?
They spoke little until morning and stopped to rest by a reedy brook, where they remained for the bulk of the day. Sheabor found a spot where the brook widened into a pool, and managed to pull a handful of small fish. Eating a few meager bites of food was almost worse than going hungry, but Durian knew it would help keep their strength up.
At evening, they departed westward. The moon rose up a glowing sliver in the south, casting its light over the dark silhouettes of distant trees. By midnight, they had reached the line of trees.
Even from the onset, the trees of Thay Iphilus Forest were larger in height and breadth than those of Thob Forest. Moss covered everything, emanating a damp sourness to the air. It was dark, almost inky black amid the trees, the glow of Sheabor's battle-axe the only light penetrating the darkness. But it did little to aid them. Rather, it kept their eyes from fully adjusting to the world around them. The horses grunted and shot their heads about at the many noises of the deep woods.
“Thay Iphilus is the oldest forest of the continent,” Pallin began as they rode through the black.
The sureness in his voice calmed the horses and even themselves.
“Like Eulsiphion, Thay Iphilus survived the earthquakes and flooding. Some of the trees may have even been planted by the Woodlanders of that age. And it has relics besides from the First Age, if one knows where to look.”
“What kinds of relics?” Sheabor asked.
“That's difficult to explain unless you know your history.”
Then Pallin turned to the three Suriyans.
“Tell me what you know of the legend of the Night Wanderers.”
“They say that there's a haunted place in the old forest that traps the souls of those who get lost there,” Blair replied. “You feel drowsier and drowsier until at last you can't help but lie down a moment. When you wake up, you're a spirit chained to the deeps of the forest, never to be freed.”
“Some of that is partially true, I suppose,” Pallin chuckled. “Just before the start of the Great War, the different houses of men began working together on creative ventures. The Omri stones of Thob Forest are one example. The Builders were the first to start it. They noticed that some of their creations had almost magical effects, just like the stones Eulsiphion is made from.
A type of stone was discovered that seemed to hypnotize the bearer of it. A project began between the Three Houses. A large mound of the stone was constructed in one of the forests of Forthura. When the forest was filled with the aromatic fragrances of the Woodlanders, the stone was called to life by those of the Breath Givers.
Immediately, all who were there fell into a deep sleep. Their spirits were actually lifted from their bodies for a time, and were able to wander the forest free of physical restraints and boundaries. Those present called it the most extraordinary experience of their lives, and the stone of Thay Iphilus Forest was thereafter called the Soul Stone.
That was just before the Great War started. Once the war had progressed, the Woodlanders of Thay Iphilus Forest were cut off from the rest of their house. Rather than fight a hopeless battle, they sought the Soul Stone. They knew that Corcoran had no knowledge of its existence and that if his forces came upon their bodies, they would appear dead and would most likely leave them be.
They may have succeeded. But the cyclone sent the land into chaos. Now, their spirits are cursed to wander the forest near the Soul Stone. Some have caught glimpses of them from time to time. And from those encounters have sprung the tales which now terrify your minds.”
“What happened to the city the Night Wanderers lived in?” Sheabor asked. “Was it destroyed by the forces of Corcoran?”
“I don't know,” Pallin responded. “Which is why I mentioned earlier that the forest may harbor friends we scarcely knew we had.”
“Or more enemies,” said a voice suddenly from the dark.
Durian nearly sprang from his horse in fright. The voice seemed to come from just behind him. The group froze. Sheabor's hand moved to the hilt of his sword, but he dared not draw it.
“Show yourself,” said Pallin.
A torch suddenly blazed into life in front of them, its bearer, a cloaked figure armed with a bow. The light of the torch illumined the nearby forest, and other cloaked figures could be seen, moving about the trees.
“That was an impressive story,” said the cloaked figure. “I wonder where you learned it.”
But Pallin remained silent.
“Who are you and why
are you in Thay Iphilus Forest?”
“The barbarians have overrun the Kingdom, Forthura. We are fleeing north toward Kester.”
“Fleeing refugees don't carry such weapons and armor.”
“You don't know what things have transpired these past weeks. The ancient enemy is returning. We are on a quest of the highest importance.”
“Ancient enemy? Corcoran is long dead.”
“He is alive. Not unlike your ancestors who still roam the bounds of this forest.”
Pallin's words struck a chord in Durian. Sheabor had said earlier that Corcoran had given up his physical form and had somehow tied himself to the earth. Perhaps something similar to the Soul Stone was on the Banished Lands.
The cloaked warrior was still silent, considering what Pallin had said. But he was looking straight at them now, and Durian could finally discern some of his features. He had long brown hair and piercing green eyes. His chin was sharp and his frame broad and muscular.
“You cannot escape to the north,” he said at length. “Only this evening, a pack of barbarian horsemen rode that way with all speed. They are searching for something...or someone. If you come out of the forest north of the Ruhkan Mountains, they will find you.”
Sheabor gave a troubled glance to Pallin. Malfur was certainly going well out of his way to try and capture them, or at least keep them from leaving the bounds of the Horctura. It was surprising.
“If any of what you say is true, the council will want to hear of it,” the man concluded. “You will be granted entrance to Ogrindal. Come, the journey is long.”
With that, nearly a dozen more torches sprang to life, revealing an array of forest warriors scattered about the trees and forest floor. The torches lit the nearby woods, bringing the outer places into an even blacker darkness. Durian had the sense that the torches weren't for the cloaked warriors, but for him and his friends. Warriors like these had been trained to move about a thick forest in darkness.
They went not far before stopping for the night. The cloaked warriors made a small fire and gave Durian and the others some food, which they gratefully accepted. As they sat around the small fire, Durian's mind was fixed on the idea of the Soul Stone.
What if King Euthor had used it twelve centuries ago to trap his own spirit inside the Hammer of Haladrin? Durian didn't know how he knew, but he knew the hammer was responsible for his dreams. And Thalen had told them that the last king of Melanor had disappeared with King Euthor at the end of the Great War. Perhaps he had helped him.
Durian was seated next to one of the forest warriors. Baron and Blair were making ready for sleep and Sheabor and Pallin were standing and having a quiet conversation a stone's throw away.
“If Ogrindal is a city from the First Age, do your people still possess their abilities like the people of Melanor do?”
The warrior turned to him with a stern countenance and glanced up to their commander, who gave him a slight nod.
“Some,” the warrior responded. “But the ability is weak...nothing compared to our ancestors.”
The mention of his ancestors brought more questions to mind.
“Is there nothing your people can do to free the Night Wanderers?”
“Free them?” the warrior asked. “Your friend was wrong about them. During the Great War, King Behlyn knew that Corcoran's forces would come and end the way of life in Ogrindal. Rather than be taken from the forest as slaves, they chose to become the Wineckdin, whom your people call the Night Wanderers. They are not trapped. They became spirits of their own will, so that no one could ever take them from the forest they loved. We are their guardians.”
That certainly was different than the rendition Pallin had told.
“Pallin said this is the oldest forest on the continent – that some of the trees here were actually here before the Great War.”
“Yes, that's true. And in the center of Ogrindal is the last of our Lorimor trees. It was planted just after the war and King Behlyn is buried beneath it. The Lorimor tree has a special fruit with which our people make elixirs, which impart strength and vitality for a short while.”
“Rest now,” said the forest commander from across the fire. “Save the questions for morning.”
Durian assented and curled up next to the warm fire, falling fast asleep. He awoke to a nudge on his shoulder, Pallin standing over him and a faint light overhead. He arose and readied himself, surprised to find the horses were absent.
“The tracks are too easy to follow,” said Pallin, seeing Durian's surprise. “Gwaren assured us we will reach Ogrindal by nightfall.”
“Gwaren?”
“The commander of the Forest Guard.”
In the light of the morning, Durian gazed at the forest around him. The trees were all massive and spaced far apart, having long ago claimed their places, stomping out competition for soil below and sunlight above. In Thob Forest, the trees still grew close together, each one vying for dominance over its fellows in the millennia long struggle.
The group departed, led by the man Pallin had called Gwaren. Durian followed not far behind, and Baron and Blair soon came up to him.
“I wonder if we'll get to see one of the Night Wanderers,” Baron said.
“No,” said Gwaren without turning around to address Baron directly.
“I didn't say we'd go looking for them,” Baron defended. “I just thought we might happen across one is all.”
“No,” said Gwaren.
Durian glanced to Blair with a smile. By midday, they came to an open meadow in the forest. The warming sunlight fell brightly down, banishing for a time, the cold damp of the sheltered forest floor. In the far distance, the snowy peaks of the Ruhkan Mountains came into view. Seeing them made him think of the Estees Mountains and Suriya. Had the barbarians already marched to conquer it? Or were they staying put in Eulsiphion?
It made Durian's heart beat faster. The one comfort he took was in Gwaren's words that the barbarians had sent a party of horsemen ahead of them to the north. The more Malfur focused on capturing them, the less he would care about a little fishing village at the bottom of the world.
Durian was eager to see Ogrindal – a city of the old world. They could become a powerful ally in the fight against Corcoran. He would soon get his wish. As they journeyed on, Durian found the man he had been speaking with the night before.
“Do your people still use the Soul Stone?” Durian asked.
The warrior shook his head.
“The knowledge has been lost to us. And we don't even know if it still functions.”
“Why is that?”
“It has been damaged,” the warrior replied. “Perhaps by King Behlyn himself to keep others from bringing them back to their bodies. And some of it seems to have been taken.”
“Taken?” said Pallin from nearby. “By whom?”
“We don't know. It happened long ago.”
Durian's heart raced. He glanced up to Pallin but Pallin's gaze had grown distant. Had King Euthor taken part of the Soul Stone? Had Corcoran? Durian was lost in thought. He scarcely noticed the sunlight wane and turn to evening, nor the lights of Ogrindal gleaming through the trees.
But soon, Durian found himself in an open grassland between the forest edge and the city, Ogrindal. Nestled against the towering mountains, its fifty foot wall seemed to be made of a single piece of wood. Durian was taken aback by the sight of it, for only a moment ago, he had been consumed with his own thoughts.
The group approached just as the evening stars began to appear in the sky. As they neared, a gate in the center of the wall opened. But as they entered, Durian studied what he could of the outer wall. Its grain flowed in long horizontal swirling lines, like the polished bowls he used to sell in Market Town. He marveled at how such a thing could ever be done.
But soon the group was in the city. The people were beginning to gather around them, descending from the many buildings, all made of wood. They seemed in awe of the weapons and armor the group carried,
so much so that Baron and Blair grew embarrassed. They wore armor of the First Age, and the people were gazing at them as though they must have been the finest of warriors. It made Durian smile, for he rarely got to see Baron mousy and shy.
In the distance ahead, a massive treetop spread broadly over the city. Approaching, Durian surprised to see the tree still bore its fruit, though sparsely, even in winter. They passed beneath it, Durian reaching his hand out to touch one of the many round, orangy-red fruits.
“No,” said Gwaren, powerfully enough to startle Durian.
He shot his hand back to his side, Baron and Blair chuckling beside him. They came to a building built against the mountain face. It was larger than the rest, ornately carved and well-lit. The building doors were under guard.
“This is the council chamber,” said Gwaren. “They are waiting for us.”
The doors were opened and a large room revealed. Inside, four men and two women, all clad in the same flowing green robes, stood waiting for them. The lead man joined them to sit at the large circular table. Sheabor and Pallin sat, while the three Suriyans elected to stand at the fringes.
“I am Whinden,” the man began. “This is the ruling council of Ogrindal. We have been told that the lands of Forthura have been conquered by the barbarians. It has also been said that you believe that somehow, the ancient enemy has aided the barbarians in their conquest.”
“Yes,” said Pallin. “But we do not expect you to believe our words alone. The weapons and armor we bear are from the last great king of Cavanah, King Euthor, hidden until the days when the ancient enemy would again threaten our peoples.”
The council members seemed surprisingly stoic at the tidings of Pallin, and Durian couldn't get a read on whether or not they believed them.
“It is imperative that we reach the lands of Kester safely,” Pallin continued. “Is there safe passage over the Ruhkan Mountains?”
“The passage is nearly closed,” Whinden replied. “The snows grow thick atop the mountains.”
Pallin considered his words. With the barbarians now patrolling north of the forest, taking the pass over the mountains was their best option. But they could just as easily freeze to death in the heights.
The Banished Lands- The Complete Series Page 22