The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  He felt a pair of hands grab his tunic and pull him upward. A slap of pain to the face jolted him out of his daze. But the jolt was fleeting and he slipped away again. He thought he heard the neighing of horses. Then things went black.

  The sound of a distant yell woke him and Durian found himself lying on his stomach on the back of the horse. The sky had lightened with the faint promise of dawn. He must have been unconscious all night. He heard what sounded like the hammering of metal and the sawing of wood in the distance.

  As time passed, he was able to catch a glimpse of a large structure, seemingly still under construction beside a small mountain. As they neared it, the forest abruptly ended, and a bare, charred clearing surrounded the fort. They'd harvested the trees for lumber and burned the rest to create a defensible position, safe from sneak attacks.

  Durian and his captors were granted access to the fort by four soldiers standing guard at a large wooden gate. They passed to the fort's interior, the mountain looming high in the background. One of the soldiers from the fort came over and grabbed Durian by the back of his tunic and pulled him from the horse to his feet. Durian opened his mouth to say something, but the soldier tugged him hard and then shoved him forward.

  Durian's heart beat quickly as he and the soldier moved toward the mountain. Durian's eyes darted about, desperate for any clue to what was happening. No one had told him anything. He saw an opening to a cave at the base of the mountain, which was under guard. They seemed to be making for it. Inside the cave was only ominous darkness.

  As they closed the distance, the soldier with Durian was given a torch by one of the guards. And without a word, the pair plunged into darkness. Durian's heart raced. Where were they taking him? Would they torture him for information? Durian resisted the soldier, who only tightened his grip. The passageway snaked about and grew tangled and narrow as they plunged toward the heart of the mountain. They began to pass by doors of iron, which were locked, undoubtedly housing miserable tortured prisoners.

  They passed them all by and at the end of the long corridor, a final room sat, an open door of thick iron awaiting them. Durian struggled against the soldier, who shoved him forward with all the more fervor, pushing Durian into the solitary room, which was empty but for a low-lying stone table in the center with lettering carved into it.

  The sight sent a chill up Durian's spine, as though it were used for some sort of dark ceremony. The soldier cast Durian to the ground and turned, walking away, shutting the large door and locking it. As he disappeared, the light of his torch vanished, leaving Durian in pitch darkness. Durian scrambled to the side wall as far from the table as possible. Then he waited.

  Hours passed and Durian fell to sleep. He awoke hungry and thirsty, but didn't dare move. Instead, he stood and walked about the perimeter, along the wall, feeling for anything. There were torches hanging on the wall, but none were lit. Why had his captors left him alone for so long? Why hadn't they been back to question him or torture him?

  The hours stretched on. Durian lost conception of time. He scarcely knew if it was day or night. But a glow appeared, growing brighter. Durian's heart beat quickly. At length, a soldier appeared, unlocking the door and stepping inside. Even the meager light of the torch was blinding. The soldier made for him and Durian held his hands up in surrender. But the soldier lay a plate of food down beside him and a water skin.

  Then he was gone again, leaving Durian in darkness. Durian ate and drank, recovering his strength and lay back down against the side wall in shivering cold until another glow roused him from slumber. Durian's joints ached as he slowly stood, expecting another plate of food. But he was surprised to see that, once the door opened, a man in a flowing gray robe entered, escorted by a soldier. The robed man eyed Durian for long moments, who didn't meet his gaze but cast his eyes to the floor.

  The soldier accompanying him began to light the torches in the room. The light was dazzling and Durian shielded his eyes. Another pair of soldiers entered, carrying a large rock. It was jagged, white in color with bluish streaks. It was laid beside the stone table. What was happening here?

  The robed man began speaking in a melodious language, reminding Durian of what Estrien sounded like when calling something to life. Durian felt a strange thickness in the air, as though a haunting presence were in the room. The soldiers stepped forward, taking Durian in hand and shoving him down onto the table, tying him there.

  He glanced to the large chunk of stone now laying beside him and a thought struck him. Was this the piece of the Soul Stone that had gone missing? He remembered back to the first time he'd seen the Soul Stone, and the obvious section on it that had been broken away mysteriously. Had it been taken by Corcoran and used for his ill purposes? Durian gazed at it with wide eyes. But as he did, he felt a strange confusion wash over him, as though he had just awoken from a dream and was remembering what was real and what wasn't.

  One of the soldiers made for Durian. Grabbing him by the tunic, he drew his sword and thrust it toward Durian. Durian felt no pain but heard the ripping of fabric and felt the shirt and vest ripped off of his person. Durian waited in terror, his heart pounding in his chest. A strange red glow seemed to enter the room, pulsating as though alive.

  “The resistance has taken up position in the forest, my Lord,” the soldier suddenly reported, seemingly to the air. “We've engaged them, but they've fled like rats to their holes. We've driven them from the coastline. The invasion can continue as planned.”

  The room seemed to draw in about Durian and he felt the sensation of fatigue, as though he would faint, but not from exhaustion. He had to fight from losing consciousness and felt as though something was growing in the back of his mind, something he couldn't quite define. It felt powerful and malevolent and it was actively pushing at him, trying to force him aside.

  Feeling began to fade from his body. His vision narrowed and sounds went dull. Durian resisted, glancing around the room to the others present, who only watched and waited. Something was overtaking him. Durian felt his arm suddenly swing without him meaning to. His feet kicked of their own accord and his eyes squeezed shut. One of the men said something further but it was muffled as though heard from behind a closed door. Then everything went black.

  One of the soldiers stepped forward and swiftly cut Durian's bonds. Then he immediately knelt down before him, as did the others. Then suddenly, Durian arose slowly from the table, looking about his surroundings. He stared down at his hands and turned them over, marveling. As he looked up, a smile appeared on his face and his eyes flashed subtly red.

  Meanwhile, Bowen paced back and forth within the confines of his small room inside the fortress K'venneh. He hadn't been summoned in over a week and he was going stir crazy. The commander of K'venneh, still formulating his response to the threat of the alliance city, didn't feel the need for Bowen's advice. When he was at last summoned, he walked into the room and was surprised to see not the commander of K'venneh, but the two diplomats who were in the room before.

  “Hello, Captain,” one of them said.

  Bowen gave them each a bow but didn't address them, for he still had yet to learn their title.

  “We're sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but our friend, Commander Rovak, is quite keen on his plan to overthrow your friends in the alliance city. We've been stalling him for time and formulating a plan of our own.”

  Bowen didn't know exactly what to make of their declaration. They were surprisingly generous with their admissions.

  “Needless to say, our presence here is...unwanted,” one of the diplomats said, glancing to the other with a smile.

  “I know the feeling,” Bowen replied.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  Bowen obliged and sat in a chair opposite them.

  “Have you heard the old saying, 'When you're a catapult, every problem is a wall'?”

  Bowen smirked.

  “Well our friend the commander is quite an effective catapult for bludgeoning
the foes of Kester. But he lacks the finery for situations of a more delicate nature. He sees your friends in the alliance city as a wall, whereas we see the possibility of an open door.”

  The man halted to gauge Bowen's reaction before continuing on. Bowen nodded in agreement but said nothing. The lead man glanced to the other, as though looking for approval to continue on to something more secretive, which intrigued Bowen.

  “Do you know of the archival project on the Bearoc begun by King Roshan?”

  Bowen shook his head.

  “I didn't expect that you would,” the man returned. “It was begun by the great grandfather of our current king, just after the Bearoc sealed their borders completely from the outside world. He was quite an eccentric man, obsessed with growing myths of the lands to the north. The project began as a simple knowledge archive, something to store and contain all known information on the Bearoc. Any tall tale, any wanderer's rambling, any sailor's story of having visited the lands of Aeleos, these went into the royal archives. And though the stories were rife with embellishments, a thread of truth was contained in them all. The lands of Aeleos are an island paradise interconnected with vast arrays of bridges and walkways. Their architecture and engineering far exceeds our own...things not seen since the First Age.”

  “So you're librarians then,” Bowen jested.

  “Not quite. What began as an archival project transformed into an ambassadorial one, with full authority on any dealings pertaining to the giants. The giants were quite effective at shutting out the outside world. And since no one but our organization had any real knowledge on them, we were given full authority on any dealings with the Bearoc.”

  That made sense. Though commander Rovak was assigned the task of countering the threat of the alliance city, ambassadors superseded military men in dealings with foreign nations whom they weren't actively at war with. Since Sheabor had become involved with the Bearoc, there was a division in authority on how to deal with him. It made Bowen smile to think of how much of a nuisance these two men must be to the commander here.

  “What is it exactly that you want from me?”

  “An audience with the Bearoc.”

  Bowen raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Their request was problematic.

  “Commander Rovak isn't just going to let me walk out the front door to go and find Drogan.”

  “No he isn't. So now you see our dilemma. We seek an audience with the same people whom the commander has cut off all contact with.”

  “Well then, what do you propose?”

  The lead man glanced to his companion with a smile.

  “In exchange for an audience with the Bearoc on their home soil, we can guarantee that K'venneh won't attack the alliance city.”

  Bowen was surprised at their confidence in their promise.

  “Of course, actions such as these could be seen as treason, ambassadors of Kester making deals with hostile foreigners,” he continued.

  “Ah,” Bowen replied. “You need someone to broker the deal for you. Planning to smuggle me out of the fortress are you?”

  “At least you'll be free.”

  “And a condemned traitor.”

  “If what you told Commander Rovak is true, war is about to come to these lands. If we win, you'll be heralded a hero in the end. If we lose, then what will it matter anyway?”

  The point struck Bowen. He could see in their faces they didn't really believe the story that the ancient enemy, Corcoran, was on the verge of invasion. Or if they believed it, they were too entrenched in their own affairs to care. Their offer intrigued Bowen but he didn't like being the puppet of other men's schemes.

  “What guarantee do you have that once I get out of the city, I'll keep my end of the bargain and set up a meeting between you and Drogan?”

  “Commander Rovak will be furious when you've gone. We can either make the evidence point to your friends in the alliance city, or to your own cleverness. If we don't hear from you within the week, we'll supply evidence to the commander that your friend Sheabor was responsible for setting you free. The attack from K'venneh will be immediate.”

  Bowen was struck with the irony of the situation. All this maneuvering and posturing. All these separate agendas. If the peoples of these lands would just work together, none of this careful scheming would be needed at all. If the Bearoc would just open their doors and Kester relax its stance, everyone could have what they wanted.

  “I will think on your offer.”

  “Don't think too long. We can only stall the commander for a short while. In the end, he will attack the alliance city.”

  The Wait

  Baron stood atop the city wall, the sun just beginning to rise over the plains of Kester. He had slept very little the night before, for today was perhaps the day of Ariadra's return. It had been two weeks – the longest two weeks of his life. Though the convoys were sometimes either a day early or late, they were generally right on time.

  Baron couldn't quiet the restless nagging in his heart. He trusted that everything was fine, but couldn't fight the growing suspicion that something had gone amiss. What if the convoy had been attacked by the Horctura or the forces of Corcoran still at large? Baron hated not knowing.

  The convoy would be along in due time and Baron climbed down from the wall and resumed his work on the interior buildings of the city. Blair had taken over construction of the outer wall, for his skill still greatly surpassed that of Baron, and he could build harder stone. Baron's work was mostly for decoration. The stone needed to be strong, but not nearly as durable as the outer wall.

  He was nearly finished with the outer columns for the main meeting hall, having taken all week to get them up to the architect's standards. And even though the man was a self-absorbed pain in Baron's side, Baron had grown to appreciate him. With the architect's aid, this city would truly be remarkable. Baron couldn't wait to show Ariadra what they'd accomplished so far.

  He worked until noon and then sped off toward the center of town to inquire after the caravan. Though it hadn't arrived yet, one of the scouts reported seeing it leaving the lands of the Horctura and entering the kingdom of Kester. Baron was overjoyed, stifling the urge to leave this very moment and ride off to meet her in the field.

  He grabbed a quick bite of food and then returned to his work, painfully watching the hours pass by. But at length, the sun began to dip to a reddening west and Baron couldn't wait any longer. He sprang from his work site toward the center of town, surprised to learn that the caravan had already arrived some thirty minutes prior. He scanned the scene for signs of her. She might have gone off looking for him but that was unlikely. She'd have known he couldn't wait to see her. Baron spotted the captain of the caravan just a stone's throw away and he ran to greet him.

  “Has Ariadra returned with your caravan?” Baron inquired, grabbing the man's arm and nearly spilling his plate of food.

  The captain was flustered, and took a moment to realize who Baron was and what he was asking.

  “I'm sorry, sir,” the captain said. “We waited, as instructed, at the edge of road leading into Thay Iphilus Forest. None came and after an hour we departed.”

  “An hour?” Baron asked. “That's hardly time enough.”

  “I apologize, but we couldn't linger. It was out of our way already and night was fast falling. She'd not have arrived any later.”

  Baron's heart beat fiercely and he stared down at the ground. The captain placed his hand on Baron's shoulder for comfort and after a few moments, departed. Baron worked to calm his thoughts. She must have just been delayed. All the planning of a wedding would surely take more than just the few days. But why not send word? She'd have to know how anxious he'd be, wondering if she was safe. Why hadn't she at least come to meet the caravan and tell them she needed to stay longer?

  Baron didn't know what to think. The only comforting thought was that he knew for certain she had at least gotten to Ogrindal safely. Whatever was keeping her there couldn't be life thre
atening. Baron had no choice but to wait until the next caravan. He stood there in the evening sunlight, fists clenched and staring at the ground. Not knowing was almost too much to bear.

  That same day, Estrien had gone to visit Aravas and the two had quickly departed, en route to see Sheabor, when a great commotion arose at the main gate. An unknown party of visitors was approaching and seeking entrance. Aravas and Estrien changed their direction, knowing that Sheabor would be heading that way.

  When they arrived, the visitors had already been admitted, and Sheabor was just beginning to greet them, giving the two main visitors a warm embrace. Neither Estrien or Aravas recognized them, but clearly Sheabor did. They had the look of traveling merchants. Blair was also there, standing alongside Sheabor. At the approach of Estrien and Aravas, the leader of the caravan turned and seemed struck by Aravas, almost as though he recognized him. But his attention swiftly turned back to Sheabor.

  “Where is Agur?” the man demanded.

  The question caught Sheabor off guard. Had he come all the way here just to inquire about his horse?

  “He's being stabled with the rest of the horses,” Sheabor replied.

  “The rest of the hors...” the man stopped short and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling sharply.

  Sheabor should have chosen his words more carefully, for Agur represented hundreds of years of careful breeding.

  “Have you run him enough?” Jaithur inquired. “He's very fond of the open plain.”

  Sheabor smiled and nodded.

  “I won't lie and tell you it's my top priority, but I make sure a horse as grand as Agur gets the best of care. I promise you, he is being very well taken care of.”