The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  “You may stay and await the spring,” Whinden continued. “You will be our welcomed guests.”

  “That is very gracious,” said Sheabor. “But I'm afraid our mission is too vital. If the pass over the mountains is blocked, we'll have no choice but to venture north.”

  “If that is your choice, know that we will not accompany you.”

  His words hung in the air. Just then, the doors of the chamber opened and a young girl entered. She was young, in her early twenties, with long brown hair and wearing a flowing olive gown. She was beautiful. Durian saw Baron stir in his peripheral vision and glanced over to see him standing tall and proud, trying his best to belong in the armor he wore.

  Durian stifled a chuckle. The girl also glanced over, seeing Baron and offering a slight smile. But she walked to the council members on the other side of the room. One of them, a man, smiled warmly at her as though she were his daughter, and the girl came and whispered something in Whinden's ear.

  Then the girl departed, glancing again at the three Suriyans and smiling at Baron, who nodded to her dutifully. Durian couldn't help but smile. It didn't do Baron any favors that his own twin brother standing next to him was giving the opposite air that Baron was trying to project. And the smile the girl wore seemed to be one of amusement, as though she had worked out just what Baron was up to.

  “The evening meal has been prepared,” Whinden announced. “You will join us.”

  The group began to disperse from the chamber. Durian was surprised at the response from the council. They didn't seem overly concerned that the barbarians were hovering now just outside Thay Iphilus Forest, eagerly seeking to capture those who had now taken up residence in Ogrindal. Pallin had said earlier that the barbarians rarely entered the forest on account of the Night Wanderers, but Durian could only assume that Malfur had similar information to Pallin. He wouldn't easily frighten at ghost stories.

  The group left the chamber. Outside, darkness had taken hold, and in the distance, the large Lorimor tree was lit up by mellow points of light. As they made their way closer, Durian couldn't believe his eyes when he realized that the glows were actually the pieces of fruit scattered through its limbs.

  After passing the tree, the group turned right toward a sheltered, grassy park, where two large rectangular tables housed many guests. Baron was gazing intently around the tables, craning his neck as he walked for a better view. Durian opened his mouth to question him but realized with a laugh that Baron was searching for the whereabouts of the girl from just before.

  “Even at a time like this?” Durian asked.

  Baron only smiled wide. Sheabor, Pallin and the three Suriyans were given seats and the meal began. It smelled like venison stew and was delicious, made more so by the fact that it was the first home cooked meal they'd had since the banquet at Eulsiphion. The three Suriyans devoured it and were served another helping.

  “Make sure you get the recipe for this stew, little brother,” Baron said between slurps.

  “Get it yourself,” Blair shot back.

  But just then, a commotion seemed to break out at the other end of the table. A group of the Forest Guard were running up to them, out of breath. Durian and the others were near enough the council members to hear the report from the warrior.

  “A force of thousands from the barbarian kingdom is approaching the forest. Their intent in unmistakable.”

  Whinden's gaze shot to Pallin.

  “You have doomed us all!”

  War Preparations

  The boats reached Suriya at first light, weighing anchor in Boreol Bay. The breeze from the south menaced their skin, making it difficult to move from the deck onto the smaller craft. By the time they arrived on shore, King Froamb and his men were already chilled to the bone.

  But they were met by some from town who had seen the ships from afar. It was mostly a band of villagers armed with pitchforks, but a few soldiers between them. They came to meet the new arrivals, unsure of what to expect.

  “Who are you?” demanded one of them.

  “King Froamb. We are here to see to the defense of Suriya.”

  The townspeople glanced at one another gravely, clearly not ready to believe his claim.

  “Take us to the town magistrate,” the king said with a step forward.

  But the group remained on guard. King Froamb flushed red.

  “Step aside, or be removed!”

  Enough of King Froamb's forces had landed now to clearly outnumber the townspeople who had come to shore. They assented and led them from shore back to bounds of Suriya. It was a quick hike through the open plains.

  On arrival, most who had gathered were near the center of town, in a bare spot that seemed recently vacated. Scattered fires provided little heat from the cold. Straiah was surprised to see so many out of doors in the early morning. But with all the refugees from the northern townships, there was nowhere to house them.

  Though some took an interest in them, most huddled together with loved ones against mounds of snow, which provided little shielding from the wind.

  “It's the king of Eulsiphion!” someone shouted.

  The call rang out and they who had paid them little heed arose and drew near, crowding heavily around them.

  “Someone find the magistrate and bring him here,” King Froamb commanded. “Please, make way. We have much work to do.”

  Just then someone shouted: “When does the rest of your army arrive, good King?”

  King Froamb paused and looked the man straight in the face.

  “You are the rest of my army.”

  An eruption of murmuring ensued, as the reality of the situation sunk in. King Froamb had brought less than a hundred warriors. That, combined with however many were already here was all that stood between them and the barbarian horde.

  “Someone find the magistrate!” King Froamb shouted. “And have everyone else gather in the middle of town. We will assign you tasks according to your skill.”

  The people began to disperse. The king turned to Straiah.

  “Our highest priority will be the wall on our three borders,” the king said. “If the barbarians get here before we've sealed the town, all hope is lost.”

  Straiah didn't know how to respond. As the bearer of the hammer, he was the logical choice to put in charge of the wall project. But Straiah still had his sights set on the Westward Wilds. He thought to slip away unnoticed. But that hope was slowing fading.

  “Whatever it is, we have no time to waste!” he continued. “I need you to take a survey of the entry points and form a plan to barricade them. Take as many men as you need.”

  Straiah clenched his jaw and bowed.

  “I need a dozen able bodied men,” Straiah called out. “Some preferably from Suriya.”

  Some men stepped forward from the crowd.

  “We'll need access to stone,” Straiah continued. “Is there a quarry nearby?”

  The men shook their heads.

  “Where do you get the stone for the cottages?”

  “It's field stone mostly,” one of them responded.

  That wouldn't work. Unless the fields were incredibly rocky, collecting scattered stone would be far too slow. They could cave in some of the buildings onto the roads, but with so many refugees already homeless, destroying what few dwelling places remained should be a last resort.

  “Go to Tobin's field,” one said and motioned to a nearby man whose fists were clenched and whose face had turned bright red. “He's got rocks for fifty walls.”

  Straiah gave the man, presumably Tobin, his attention. After a few more moments, the man's fists unclenched and he sighed.

  “We'll need a plow,” the man resigned. “Mine's stuck in that confounded blacksmith's shop, Baron. The rocks will be frozen fast in place.”

  “Baron?” Straiah questioned. “Twin brother to Blair?”

  Tobin nodded, but somewhere in the crowd, someone called out.

  “You've seen my sons?” A moment later, a ma
n pushed his way forward to stand before Straiah.

  “Yes,” Straiah responded. “Both them and their companion Durian. We found them in Thob Forest weeks ago.”

  The man sighed in great relief. It was clear he had thought them dead.

  “Where are they now?” the man asked.

  “Traveling to the lands of Kester with Sheabor, Lord of the House, Cavanah.”

  The man was taken aback, his mouth opened as though to inquire further. But answers would have to wait.

  “I'll show you the way,” Tobin said, motioning to the far side of town.

  “No, take some men with you,” Straiah said. “I must make other preparations. Which way is your field?”

  “Not far.”

  “Good. Then bring whatever stone you can harvest to the north wall.”

  King Froamb was still delegating responsibilities as Straiah turned to leave.

  “When the barbarians come, we'll need to get as many women and children out of the city as possible. How many boats do we have?”

  One man in the crowd answered him.

  “One and a half dozen,” he said, “but none so fine as mine, the Lord Gaffney. Send the wee ones with me. If the barbarians set sail after us, I'll dash them to pieces against the rocks.”

  “You will command the exodus then,” Froamb said.

  That was the last thing Straiah heard before he and his men moved out of earshot. They ran through the streets of Suriya, Straiah taking note of all the points through which the barbarians could gain access and flank them.

  After a minute, they came to the town square, which was far too open a space to hope to block. Wherever they hoped to make their southern wall, it would have to be north of this place. Straiah was wary of boxing themselves in too tight. If they did, the barbarians could just surround them and wait them out.

  But perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea after all. The barbarians wouldn't likely have the patience for a drawn out battle. And what army would be willing to make camp outside a place like Suriya in the dead of winter? Perhaps a tightly boxed encampment was just what they needed.

  Straiah stopped and surveyed the scene. Many of the buildings here looked official. Though they could be used to house refugees, these would be the logical choice to demolish first. Straiah needed to survey the rest of the town, but nearly a dozen men now stood waiting for a task to perform.

  Straiah went to one of the nearby buildings. Swinging the Hammer of Haladrin, he tore a chunk clean out of the building’s corner. Making other careful strikes, he brought the building down in short order, crashing in a plume of dust.

  “Fill in all the roads north of the town square. Start at the river and work your way west. I'll return shortly.”

  Straiah set off alone to the northwest. Coming to the edge of town, he lingered there a moment, eyes peering out onto the open plains. Only the swaying of golden grasses in the mid-morning breeze. The barbarians could arrive at any time. But they weren't here yet.

  Straiah turned his attentions back toward town. He thought to demolish the corner building to save the workers the energy of hauling stones to the far reaching corners of town. But he stopped short. With a little careful planning, he could create something of a maze on the streets of town – keep the horsemen frustrated for as long as possible.

  Straiah set off through town, running and making mental notes of where streets connected and ended. If he blocked only a handful of choke points, he could keep the horsemen riding largely in circles through town. But that would only work if the barbarians launched a full attack without even taking time to scout the town. Would they really be so foolish?

  Straiah hesitated many long moments, knowing that his decisions here, now, could determine the outcome of the battle. Tactics were never his strong suit. That was Sheabor's arena.

  He had to make a decision. But his heart raced as he stared down at the hammer in his hands. He hated being responsible for the fate of so many. How did Sheabor do it? How did he make decisions that would cost lives? It was so much easier being a soldier and following orders.

  But clenching the hammer tightly in his hands, he turned with a yell and swung into the side of a nearby cottage. Stone exploded upon impact and the thatch roof sunk toward him. Swinging again in key places, he turned the structure to rubble.

  Then he set off again. For better or worse, he was choosing misdirection and confusion over a solid wall. If luck went their way, the barbarian horsemen would be so busy riding through the city looking for entrance that the bulk of the men could engage the forward line. That was their only chance.

  Straiah spent the next few hours smashing key structures and moving on, marking the places for the men to block the road. By midday, exhaustion and hunger drove him back to the center of town, where a meal, though meager, was being prepared for the masses. He was quickly spotted.

  “Sir, the northern wall is well underway,” said one of the workmen.

  “Good,” Straiah continued. “I've begun blocking off choke points on the west and southern ends of town. When the northern wall is complete, take the men and block off the roads completely. It's imperative that no weakness be found there. If any of the blockades fail, the barbarians will ride down on our forces and destroy us.”

  “Sir,” he responded with a bow.

  Straiah went for a bowl of soup, gazing around the crowded masses. King Froamb was nowhere to be seen. Straiah set off for the north of town. King Froamb was with the men there, supervising the construction of the northern wall, since there the brunt of the attack would fall. The construction was coming along nicely, just enough of a barrier to keep horsemen from riding them down.

  “Straiah, good,” the king began. “How are the other fortifications coming?”

  “Good. We hope to be done by nightfall.”

  The king nodded pensively.

  “Have we sent out any scouts?” Straiah asked.

  “We have,” the king replied. “They haven't returned, which is good. The barbarians are still some way off. Once they do, we'll know the strength of their position.”

  That was good news. Straiah could finish the wall and then slip away under cover of nightfall toward the Westward Wilds. It would be the hardest thing he'd ever do, run away from a losing battle, leaving brave men and women to their fate. But he had no other choice. If the hammer fell into the hands of Malfur, the war would be lost in an instant.

  He still hadn't told King Froamb. Perhaps it was better that he just slip away. He glanced up to find the king gazing intently at him. Straiah was visibly conflicted and the king seemed to sense what he was thinking. Straiah opened his mouth to tell him, but the king turned his gaze north and spoke first.

  “It's foolish, I suppose, for us to make such a stand here in this place. This battle, after all, will hardly determine the outcome of the larger war.”

  Straiah nodded slowly.

  “If we can't fight for our homes and families, what is there left worth fighting for,” Straiah replied.

  Just then, they saw a rider appear on a distant hillside to the north.

  “Is that one of the scouts?” Straiah asked.

  But the king didn't respond. The rider made for town with all speed, others congregating around the king at his approach. The rider reached them and dismounted.

  “Sire, the barbarians are sweeping in from the northwest, cutting off access to Thob Forest. They will be here by nightfall.”

  Straiah's heart raced. Why were the barbarians cutting off escape to the forest?

  “How many are they?” King Froamb asked.

  “It's difficult to say,” the scout replied. “The barbarians are spread throughout the plains. There could be as many as five hundred.”

  “Five hundred?” replied Froamb. “That's hardly the bulk of their forces. Are you certain?”

  The scout hesitated.

  “We'll know more when the others return,” he replied.

  King Froamb shot an excited glance to Straiah, wh
ich he scarcely noticed. For he was confounded as to what the barbarians were doing. Why were they cutting off access to Thob Forest, for one? And why did they send so few warriors? Perhaps they knew they would meet with little resistance. But even with five hundred warriors, they would still outnumber their own fighting force two to one.

  “What do you think?” the king asked.

  Straiah glanced up in surprise to see King Froamb gazing at him.

  “I don't know,” Straiah replied. “If they've only sent five hundred warriors, they're clearly overconfident.”

  “That will be to our advantage.”

  “I was thinking,” Straiah continued. “I haven't yet destroyed the bridges across the river. Those who can't fit onto the boats we could send to the other East End of Suriya during the battle. It won't save them for long, but will at least keep them out of danger while we face the invasion.”

  “Very well,” the king replied.

  Straiah bowed, then departed. His mind was still a jumble. What was he going to do now? He could try and fight his way through the barbarian line. If they really were spread throughout the plains, he might only have to face a handful between him and Thob Forest. But if the barbarians had really only brought five hundred warriors, King Froamb just might stand a chance.

  Straiah ran throughout the town, finding the scattered piles of stone now blocking the various lanes. Testing them, he found them all secure. The horsemen would eventually break through with their ropes and grapples, but if they could just hold them for a little while, it might make all the difference.

  Coming to the center of town, many of the villagers and refugees were busy turning planks of wood into long spikes. There were dozens of them piled in the center of the group. Straiah took one in hand and swung it through the air.

  “Make these more narrow,” Straiah said. “At least at the hand holds.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Straiah set off for the East End. Two bridges ran across the river, connecting the two towns. Straiah stood there for many moments, gazing at the easy flowing river, trying to determine if horses could cross it, even if the bridge was destroyed. That was a risk they'd have to take.