Then he scooped her up and twirled her about, laughing in the joy of the moment. Gazing into her smiling face, Straiah was struck with a feeling deeper and stronger than anything he had felt for another. He had never dared dream that a woman could be as beautiful, selfless and joyous as the one now in his arms, much less that one such as her could be interested in a man like him.
But just then, King Froamb emerged with what soldiers were left. Straiah set Estrien down just as the king clasped both her hands tightly in his own in gratitude.
“Words cannot begin to express our thanks. You've saved us in our most desperate hour.”
Estrien gave a low bow.
“Call in the ships!” King Froamb yelled. “And send word to the East End that Suriya is safe!”
A cheer went up from the crowd and King Froamb shot both arms into the air with a roar of laughter, bringing his hands down on Straiah and Estrien's shoulders. Villagers began bringing water to quench the burning buildings, and the distant sound of music erupted from the center of town.
“You've given us time to regroup and form a plan,” King Froamb said as they walked slowly along. “But the barbarians will return in greater numbers.”
Estrien stopped and grew pensive.
“What is it?” Straiah asked.
“Malfur has left Eulsiphion,” she said.
“What!” Straiah exclaimed. “Where is he?”
“He entered Thay Iphilus Forest a day ago with the bulk of his army. He's nearly emptied Eulsiphion. He's obsessed with capturing Pallin before he reaches the lands of Kester.”
“Then we can reclaim the city before he returns,” King Froamb declared.
Estrien nodded slowly, but her gaze was distant. Why would Malfur be so desperate to capture Pallin? It didn't make sense. But the cryptic conversation Straiah had had with Aravas came suddenly to mind. He must have somehow been responsible for the strange turn of events.
“We may be able to retake the city without so much as a battle,” Estrien began. “We'll use the tunnel behind Siphion Falls. But I fear, when Malfur returns with his army, we'll scarcely be able to mount a defense.”
“We'll worry about that when the time comes,” the king said.
“They may have blocked the tunnel by now,” Straiah observed.
“We have the hammer, don't we?” said the king.
“I'm sure it's around here somewhere,” Estrien said, glancing at Straiah with a smile.
“Come on,” said King Froamb. “We have much planning to do.”
King Froamb set off but the other two lingered behind.
“The planning can wait for one night, can't it?” Straiah said just as the king turned round to find out why he walked alone. King Froamb gave a wide smile.
“Take your ease tonight,” he said. “But tomorrow, your time is mine!”
Then the king departed. Straiah shook his head with a laugh and squeezed Estrien tightly. They set off through town, arm in arm, as fires were lit in many homes. Town square was alive with music and dancers, and from somewhere, the warm aroma of stew filled the air. It didn't matter that it was the middle of the night. They had gone from certain death to victory.
The distant call of a trumpet rang out from shore and the wind came up from the south, whipping across their bodies and chilling them each to the bone. Estrien cradled her arms and Straiah turned to shield her from the wind.
“My goodness, it's freezing here!” she exclaimed.
“It's a good thing too,” Straiah responded.
The gusting passed and the two continued on, Estrien gazing at him incredulously, waiting to hear how such an icy blast could be counted a blessing.
“The barbarians were in such a rush to conquer this place and return north, it gave us the upper hand.”
“Upper hand?” Estrien said, eyebrows raised in a sidelong glance.
“Well,” he retracted. “At least initially.”
“I'll take your word for it,” she said, smiling.
Straiah laughed and brought her back closely to him. The two wandered slowly through the streets of town, bustling villagers scooting past them in all directions. At length, they reached the edge of town, facing southward. Walking another few minutes, they came to a small hill and ascended it.
The moon had risen sometime during the battle and now lit up the dark Bay of Boreol. From somewhere beyond the Frostlands, Corcoran's forces would eventually flood this continent. When that fateful day came, the free peoples of the Eastern Realm might fall to his dominion.
But for now, everything was as it should be. Straiah had never imagined he would find a woman like Estrien. And now that he'd found her, he was going to do things right. They lingered there many moments, seated on the grassy hillside until the cold drove them back to town. They drew near the large fire and reveled with the rest in the music and dancing.
As the boats returned to shore and more piled into town square from the East End, there was scarcely room. The bulk of the kingdom, Forthura, now resided in Suriya. King Froamb stood on a nearby rock, gazing out over the sea of faces.
“Many of you have sacrificed your homes,” he said in a loud voice. “Sacrificed your loved ones. We have defended this kingdom at the cost of many lives. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten, nor will the debt of gratitude we owe to those who came to our rescue.”
Straiah glanced at Estrien warmly. The king opened his mouth to say more but at length, he only breathed in deeply and stepped down from the large stone.
“I remember Durian telling me of a beautiful stretch of shoreline by the bay,” Straiah said with a smile.
“I see,” she responded, eyes narrowing. “Well, do you remember Durian telling you where they keep the winter coats?”
Straiah laughed loudly.
“I'll keep you warm,” he said. “Come on. I want to watch the sunrise.”
Straiah set off, leading Estrien by the hand through the thick crowd. Though their victory here might prove meaningless in coming days, tonight, everything was perfect. They would watch a new day dawn and let hope fill their hearts for a better tomorrow.
A Vendetta Fulfilled
Sheabor stood alone in the middle of a ring of soldiers, his battle axe clenched tightly in his hand. Malfur was fifteen feet in front of him. He was clad in battle armor of the old world, and carried a dual bladed staff, as tall as Malfur from tip to tip. The shaft was white and ornately carved, as though a weapon from Melanor, resembling the craftsmanship of Estrien's bow.
Another man was behind him, hands bound and under guard. His appearance was similar to Malfur's and Pallin's, though Sheabor had never seen him before. The Horctura and Dungeon Core parted to allow Malfur through, but guarded their leader closely. Malfur took a step toward Sheabor, a slow smile growing on his face.
“If you surrender Pallin and the city, I'll let you live to see your wife one last time.”
“Pallin is beyond your reach.”
Malfur's jaw clenched.
“Then he is a fool. With my help, you could have opposed Corcoran. Now what hope do you have? Corcoran will find Pallin. And when he does, his dominion over this world will never end.”
Sheabor was struck by his declaration. How did Malfur know where Pallin was going? Something told him that the other man now bound in irons behind Malfur was somehow involved. Sheabor dashed forward and swung his axe. Malfur ducked the blow and brought his staff down onto Sheabor's shield. A nearby barbarian took the opportunity and came at Sheabor from the side. Sheabor swung his shield toward him with all his might, knocking the assailant back into the crowd.
Malfur sidestepped Sheabor and hooked his staff under Sheabor's leg, pulling him from his feet. Sheabor hit the ground with a thud, the world spinning. But he swung his axe in a wide circle as he arose, pushing back the advancers. Malfur stood just outside the range of his menacing weapon.
“How tragic it must be for you,” Malfur said. “Having abandoned your poor wife to come to a land of deaf ears. C
onquering this realm was easier than I ever dreamed.”
“We are far from conquered.”
Sheabor lunged again, swinging down. Malfur narrowly dodged as the axe head buried deeply in the ground. Malfur swung his staff across Sheabor's chest. But he met the blow with the face of his shield. Some commotion came from the wall of the city. Malfur glanced toward it and Sheabor could see a hint of anger in his eyes. Ogrindal's forces were holding them at bay.
Malfur pushed free of Sheabor's shield and began to retreat. Sheabor thought quickly.
“Your self-importance is staggering,” Sheabor said, axe held pointing at Malfur. “Your three brothers gave up their powers in grief over your death. And here you stand, betraying them and the whole world in simple lust for power.”
Malfur turned and swung across Sheabor's chest. Sheabor ducked and rushed toward him. Malfur caught his blow, with the shaft of his staff, and the two locked for many moments. But Malfur glanced again to the city, and warriors from all around rushed to aid their leader.
Sheabor pulled away and engaged the new assailants. Malfur disappeared into the crowd. The elixir was rapidly wearing off and his muscles burning from exertion. But he advanced into the midst of them, trying to keep Malfur in his sights. A barbarian warrior swung at him with a large war hammer. Sheabor raised his shield and blocked the blow.
But the force of it halted him in his tracks and two Dungeon Core warriors sprang forward and slammed their shoulders into the shield, sending Sheabor flying. The elixir was gone. Sheabor lay on the ground, eyes closed, breathless and exhausted.
Warriors quickly overshadowed him. He didn't open his eyes, but waited for the end. He thought of his wife Cora, and felt his heart sink that he would die on this continent, never having rescued her. If only he had done things differently...
Meanwhile, Baron and Blair shot their arrows into the armies of Malfur. The Forest Guard stood in the gap of the wall, trying desperately to keep the warriors from pushing through the bottleneck. Smoke from charred wood rose all around, choking them and burning their eyes. But one thing they saw clearly through the haze.
“Ladders!” Baron yelled, finger pointing.
The archers concentrated their fire on the half dozen ladders popping up on either side of the wall. But they came nonetheless, digging their iron claws into the age old wood. Swordsmen from below ran up the stairs of the wall, ready to meet the attackers. The skilled archers of the wall picked off the climbers one by one. But they were too many.
The first of the climbers reached the top of the wall. A swordsman rushed to engage him while the barbarian was still at the edge of the wall. They sparred for some moments, but the barbarian, having little room to maneuver, fell to the skill of the Forest Guard.
A Dungeon Core warrior appeared to the right of Blair, though Blair was unaware, still firing arrows down into the crowd. The warrior darted for Blair, sword raised. Baron's eyes went wide. He called out in horror, but it was too late.
As the sword stroke fell, Baron felt an arrow whiz just past his cheek. It struck the Dungeon Core warrior and sent him over the wall, plunging to the ground below. Baron snapped his head round to see one of the other archers of the wall pointing his bow straight at them. Blair looked at Baron, face white.
“That was a close one, little brother.”
Baron and Blair were nearly out of arrows, as were most of the other archers. The swordsmen were holding the climbers mostly at bay, but in time, the wall would be overrun.
Baron loosed an arrow, striking a nearby climber. He only had two arrows left. Taking careful aim, he found his mark and sent two others down to the ground below. Baron glanced round for another weapon. He hadn't been given a sword.
Another climber reached the top of the wall to his left. Baron darted to a slain barbarian, grasping his idle broadsword in hand. He lifted it clumsily, rushing at the Dungeon Core warrior who had turned away from him toward one of the archers still firing.
With a yell, Baron pointed the sword out in front of him. The Dungeon Core warrior turned and swung to parry Baron's strike, but the tip of the sword still caught him in the side. With a yell of pain, the warrior swung out with the back of his armored hand, striking Baron in the cheek. The world spun and he fell backward. He faintly heard the sound of Blair calling his name.
Meanwhile, Sheabor still lay breathless and eyes closed on the ground. A Dungeon Core warrior hovered over him, waiting to deliver the final blow. But the trampling of feet and loud clash of metal erupted just above him. He opened his eyes to see Gwaren standing locked sword to sword with the Dungeon Core warrior. And Gwaren wasn't alone. Two others fought with him.
Sheabor arose only to find a barbarian warrior advancing toward him. Sheabor was still exhausted, his muscles burning from overuse. The barbarian raised his broadsword. Just before he swung, Sheabor dashed toward him shield first, throwing the whole weight of his body into the warrior and striking him in the chest. They tumbled to the ground but the barbarian warrior was slow to get up.
Gwaren stepped in and kicked him in the jaw, rending him unconscious. Sheabor and Gwaren stood back to back, the other two warriors with them doing likewise. They were still surrounded by a circle of Dungeon Core and barbarian warriors. Sheabor gripped the axe and shield tightly in his hands.
But then, the sound of a horn filled the air...the signal for retreat. The slowly advancing circle around them suddenly tensed, jarred by the unexpected sound in their ears. But again, the horn blew. The world seemed to freeze. And then, all at once, the tide turned. Barbarian and Dungeon Core warriors began to flee toward the trees. A roar erupted from the wall of Ogrindal.
“They're retreating?” Gwaren asked.
“Malfur knows Pallin has fled the city. He's losing too many warriors trying to conquer it. He's going to destroy it.”
“Then we must stop him! Quickly! To the trees!”
The four warriors set off north, perpendicular to the retreating forces, exchanging blows with them as they cut through their path. But before long, they came through them into the open clearing and turned west toward the treeline. Their only chance now was to flank them and somehow come around behind Malfur, catching him by surprise. But would they have the time?
A biting chill suddenly gripped the atmosphere. Dark and inky clouds swirled into life above the tattered city, a deep rumble echoing off the face of the mountain. Flashes of lighting lit up the sky for brief moments, and gusts of biting wind struck their faces.
But soon the four warriors were safe beneath the trees. The gusting wind chilled them to the bone, nearly forcing them to seek shelter behind the trees. But the growing storm also gave them cover to move closer to Malfur undetected.
A bright streak of lightning struck the face of the mountain, sending a chunk of rock downward to the city below. The four warriors moved forward, the wind roaring all around them. They advanced largely undisturbed, the armies of Malfur also in disarray as both sides huddled against the raw power of the north wind. A few warriors noticed and engaged them, but Sheabor and his band made quick work of them. The wind intensified all the more, and still no sign of Malfur.
“Where is he?” Gwaren yelled.
“What?” Sheabor called back, hand to his ear.
The wind was deafening in the trees, and they could barely keep their eyes open in front of them. Gwaren set off again. Another flash of lightning hit the face of the mountain, sending rubble down in chunks onto the city.
A hand dropped forcefully down on Sheabor's shoulder. He turned to find Gwaren pointing off to their left. There stood Malfur, just inside the clearing at the edge of the treeline.
The group sprang forward, but just as they set off, a large tree in front of them uprooted and fell toward them. They jumped back, but the tree limbs struck them, burying them in leafy foliage. Sheabor dragged himself free and searched about for Gwaren, who hadn't yet emerged. Sheabor groped through the leaves until his foot kicked a motionless form.
; Pulling the leaves aside, he found Gwaren nearly unconscious below, a piece of tree limb protruding from his shoulder. He was alive, though could be badly injured. Sheabor had no choice but to leave him.
Trees all over the forest were starting to fall. Sheabor ran toward Malfur, but the biting wind gusted into him, keeping him at bay. He raised his hands in front of him and forced himself forward. Malfur was only fifty paces from him now.
But the closer he got, the harder the gusting vortex surrounding Malfur hit him. Sheabor trudged forward, battling for every step. He reached the back of a large tree and huddled behind it, exhausted. Glancing around, he scanned the forest for a bow or spear or anything to strike at Malfur. But he saw nothing.
Sheabor peered around the tree, hand in front of his face. Malfur stood alone in the clearing, the trees surrounding him felled and strewn about. Even his own guards had deserted, none able to contend with the ferocity of the north wind.
But what he saw next he almost couldn't believe. Someone was approaching Malfur from the forest. He was an old man, and he seemed little affected by the power of the wind. He was holding a sword.
At his approach, Malfur turned, as though he sensed his coming. For many moments, the two men stood there motionless. But the second man rushed at Malfur, striking out with his blade. Malfur blocked him with his staff and swung across his attacker's chest, which he ducked.
The two men fought for long moments, all the while, the storm raging around them. Malfur struck with both ends of his staff, the other man parrying narrowly. He continued his advance, striking low with the tip of his blade, then hitting the man in the forehead with the middle of his staff, knocking him backward to the ground.
Malfur stood above his now motionless assailant. He raised his staff for a deathblow. But before he could deliver it, the other man sprang upward, piercing Malfur through the chest with his sword.
Malfur fell to his knees, the wind suddenly subsiding. Sheabor ran forward, reaching the two men in moments. Malfur held the handle of the blade in both hands, gazing at it in disbelief. But he turned his eyes upward to the other man's.
The Banished Lands- The Complete Series Page 27