The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  “That's why we have to stop him,” Durian declared. “Sheabor will attend to the military tactics. He's more than an adequate soldier. But he doesn't know the subtleties that we know. He sees the how, not the why. No matter the armies that gather, or the battles fought, this struggle will always boil down to a conflict between two men. Corcoran knows now that King Euthor is helping us. Coming to the Eastern Realm changed things for him.

  Before coming here, little more than pride drove him...pride that he had outwitted us and would invade the territories of the unsuspecting Houses of Men. Now he knows the truth – that King Euthor set plans into motion twelve centuries ago to stop his return. That knowledge has blinded him with rage. Though he once desired nothing more than the conquest of our realm, now his highest aim is to see the plans and purposes of King Euthor frustrated.”

  Aravas nodded slowly but said nothing.

  “But that's where the details get fuzzy,” Durian said. “It was very clear that Corcoran believed King Euthor could somehow bring himself and Sheyla back to life, though he himself didn't know the means. But is such a thing possible? They've been dead twelve hundred years.”

  “I've thought long over that question,” Aravas replied. “If the means exist, it is a skill foreign to any craft I have seen.”

  “But the Melanorians possess the power to give life,” Durian said. “Something struck me recently. When I visited Eulsiphion the first time with Sheabor and the others, the representative from Melanor told us that King Euthor met with the last great king of Melanor behind closed doors, learning secrets from the fallen star of future events. He told us that after that time, both King Euthor and the last great king of Melanor disappeared, never to be seen again. Perhaps the king of Melanor was the architect of King Euthor's plan for new life.”

  Aravas' brow furrowed deeply.

  “King Taspian was unique in skill among the Melanorians. He helped construct the Soul Stone in the latter days of the Prosperous Age. No one has understood its properties more than he.”

  Durian was surprised by the revelation.

  “Do you know what happened to him?”

  Aravas shook his head.

  “When I first arrived in Melanor, the people dealt with me warily,” Aravas said. “They witnessed the cyclone the Four had loosed and did not know whether to count me an ally. I was still grieving the disappearance of Malfur then, shutting myself into small quarters, which they were happy to accommodate.”

  Durian turned and paced the confines of the small tent. Things were almost beginning to line up. The Soul Stone seemed integral to King Euthor's plan. And now, to find that the man who helped build it had disappeared with King Euthor at the end of the Great War. All signs pointed to the strange reality that King Euthor really did intend to bring himself and his beloved Sheyla back to life.

  “Did King Euthor help build the Soul Stone also?” Durian questioned. “He was the greatest of the Builders, wasn't he?”

  “Yes he was. But he was otherwise engaged, carrying out the legacy of his father, Cithran. Cithran died with the dream of uniting the Houses and bringing back those who had been treated as outcasts. That's why he began the Illian city, a place for two of the Houses to come together in peace. But Cithran passed before the city was completed and King Euthor took it upon himself to finish what his father started.

  Euthor's brother helped construct the Soul Stone. Ironic, since the Soul Stone would live on as the pinnacle of the melding of the Three Houses...the only work produced in the Prosperous Age that blended the skill of all three peoples.”

  Durian's mind was racing. There was so much to think about. How could the Prosperous Age, ended twelve centuries ago, still have so many ties to their current struggle? And why hadn't Aravas mentioned any of this until now? But Durian knew the reason – the tyranny of the urgent. For months they had been in crisis with other things more pressing to discuss.

  “I was hoping you could come and read through the documents from the monastery with me,” Durian said at length. “There's more hidden in those pages – I'm sure of it...things that could change the course of this war.”

  Aravas stared at him with a piercing gaze. So long had he been absent from the affairs of men. True, he had aided them greatly in the fight against Malfur. But that was still a battle between brothers. And afterwards, he had given advice and counsel. But this was something different. Now, Durian was asking him to form a strategy that would bring military victory to the free Houses of Men.

  “I will read through the writings from the monastery with you. But I can promise nothing more.”

  “Thank you,” Durian replied. “Are you coming to the council meeting this morning?”

  Aravas nodded, and nearly that same instant, a horn rang out, signaling the meeting. Aravas motioned to depart and the pair joined the masses streaming toward the council tent. When they arrived, much of the city had already gathered, and they made their way with difficulty inside.

  Sheabor stood at the far end with Cora by his side. Straiah and Gwaren were on either side of them. Durian didn't see Blair or Estrien. But the battle they had fought and her previous injury had strained her to the brink. She had all but collapsed and retired to bed under orders from the healers.

  In the middle of the room was a large table. Spread atop it was a woven map of a region Durian didn't recognize. It was undoubtedly a rough approximation of the Westward Wilds. Atop the map were miniature carvings of strongholds and troops.

  Once the tent was full, the flaps were rolled up and tied for those still outside. Durian gazed around the room until his eyes spotted Blair. He was in the corner on the opposite side. Durian had barely spoken two words to Blair since Corcoran had left him. Durian moved to go and meet him, but Sheabor, seeing the bulk of the city had come, began the meeting, halting Durian.

  “My friends, it has been a long and difficult road. I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for believing in the alliance, even when I myself had given up hope.”

  Sheabor gazed slowly around the room. Durian couldn't help but admire him. He was everything a leader should be – strong but unafraid of his weaknesses, relying on others in his failings, and humble in his mistakes.

  “We've received new information that changes our strategy,” Sheabor continued. “Durian of Suriya has uncovered a key to the enemy's plan.”

  With that, Sheabor nodded to Durian. He blushed a bit, not expecting to be called upon.

  “Well, we don't, um, we don't know exactly what to think yet,” Durian began. “We know that Corcoran believes King Euthor is planning to somehow bring himself and Sheyla back to life. We're not sure yet if that's even possible. But if it is, the means to do so are most likely hidden somewhere in Eulsiphion. That's where Corcoran will focus his efforts. We'll know more once we study the rest of the documents from the monastery.”

  “Very well,” said Sheabor. “It sounds like you have a lot of work ahead of you.”

  Durian nodded, emphatically so, then glanced to Aravas who motioned for the two to depart. All eyes turned back to Sheabor.

  “Our plan is twofold. Cora and Durian have detailed the locations of the enemy's forces and positions in the Westward Wilds. Kester and the Bearoc have agreed to a loose alliance. The first step of our plan is to form a new coalition of forces, elite teams of warriors from each member of the alliance to patrol the Westward Wilds and hold the forces of Corcoran at bay.

  Gwaren of Ogrindal and Drogan of Aeleos are in command of the coalition forces. Blair will outfit our forces with armor and weaponry of the old world, using the sands provided us by King Euthor on the island off the coast of Kester.”

  With that, Sheabor gave the floor to Blair who stepped forward, turning around to grab hold of an elegant suit of armor. The breastplate was a seamless piece of dark, translucent stone with an equally elegant set of arm plates and gauntlets. It looked like the Shade Stone of Sheabor's hammer, but with a subtly different pattern.

  �
��We've designed an armor twice as hard as iron and half the weight. This will allow our battle groups to move at speed throughout the Westward Wilds. They will hold the forces of Corcoran at bay, preventing raids into the lands of Kester and Forthura.”

  A roar erupted from the group. Sheabor held up his hands.

  “Our goal is to keep the forces of Corcoran at bay long enough to discover what's hidden at Eulsiphion and formulate a final strategy. If we can dictate the terms of our encounter with him, we'll have the upper hand.”

  Another roar ensued. But as the group gloried in their newfound hope, someone was pushing his way through to get to Sheabor. A lone figure emerged before him, wearied from travel and somewhat embarrassed to find himself in an important meeting of state. He glanced about for some moments, but then produced a scroll from a leather pouch, handing it to Sheabor.

  “I am a courier from King Froamb,” he said. “Some time ago, we received a dispatch from Suriya – an update on the rebuilding efforts there. King Froamb asked that it be forwarded to you. He thought you would find it...interesting.”

  Sheabor didn't know what to make of such a statement and unrolled the scroll in hand, reading while the rest waited.

  “Baron and Ariadra are in Suriya,” Sheabor announced. “They're rebuilding the whole town. Ariadra has unlocked her Woodlander ability.”

  Sheabor continued, a smile growing on his face.

  “They're to be married without delay.”

  He lowered the document and handed it back to the courier, turning to Blair.

  “Now we finally know where Baron ran off to. Do you have any idea why he would've gone home?”

  Blair only shook his head. Sheabor smiled wide.

  “That brother of yours is quite unpredictable.”

  “Not really,” Blair replied. “You can always count on Baron to do whatever inconveniences you the most.”

  “Can't wait to meet him,” Cora said, which brought a general clamor of laughter.

  “I'd wait as long as possible.”

  But Sheabor addressed the courier.

  “Dispatch a message with all speed requesting Baron and Ariadra's soonest return,” he said. “Hopefully by the time it reaches them, they'll have had ample time for a proper wedding.”

  The courier turned to depart.

  “Actually, wait,” Sheabor corrected and thought for long moments. “By the time Baron and Ariadra get here, we'll probably already be bound for Eulsiphion. Tell them to rendezvous with us at the tomb of Sheyla. And take an armed escort with you. They're very important to the alliance.”

  The courier bowed again and exited the tent.

  “I'll see that he gets what he needs,” Straiah said.

  Sheabor nodded and turned to Blair.

  “If you need to go with them, Blair, I completely understand. You might make the wedding in time.”

  Blair shook his head.

  “I'd love to be there for him. But under the circumstances, it wouldn't be right. It would cost lives. Baron wouldn't want that.”

  Sheabor placed his hand on Blair's shoulder.

  “Thank you. I promise we'll find a way to make it up to you. How many suits of armor do you think you can construct from the remaining sands?”

  “We've already made several dozen and still have most of our supply. I would guess over fifty more.”

  “Remember to save some sands in case we get another opportunity to trap Corcoran.”

  “I'll still need Baron's help for that. I can't construct true Shade Stone without him.”

  Sheabor nodded. Then he turned his attentions back to the crowd.

  “Friends,” he began. “There is much to do. But for the first time in a long time, all our peoples have hope.”

  The meeting continued on as Sheabor dispensed orders to the hundreds gathered. At length, the group dispersed into the now bustling city. But as the meeting ended, the familiar figure of Jaithur entered the tent, bowing low to Sheabor.

  “I thought you were off visiting family in the lands of Kester,” Sheabor said.

  “Indeed I have been. Before the crisis that drove us from the lands of the Horctura, Sorren and I hadn't set foot in Kester in over a decade. We were surprised to find the welcome lacking. The recent problems in the town of Stillguard have created enmity between Kester and many families of the Jedra.”

  Sheabor recalled Jaithur's story of Pallin and Durian under the thumb of Captain Cross.

  “I have come on official business from the Jedra,” Jaithur declared. “We request membership in your alliance.”

  “Oh,” Sheabor said, unable to think of another reply. “Well the Jedra aren't really a country or city.”

  “We operate as such, with rulers and subordinates. What does it matter that we don't have a patch of dirt to manage our affairs upon?”

  Sheabor considered the idea for a long moment. Jaithur and Sorren had been indispensable. He wouldn't be coming to Sheabor unless their need were genuine.

  “Consider it done,” Sheabor said. “It'll be tricky in the wording, but we'll make it happen.”

  “Thank you,” Jaithur said with a low bow.

  “We'll draft up papers you can take to Kester, documenting your membership in the alliance.”

  Jaithur turned to leave but stopped.

  “There's something else,” Jaithur said. “Before fleeing the lands of the Horctura, we began receiving scattered reports of a force moving under the shadow of night. At first we paid no mind. But then the first village fell. And the second. Soon the whole of the barbarian kingdom was on the alert.”

  Sheabor didn't understand his meaning.

  “The same thing has been happening again.”

  “Corcoran has been gathering his forces in the Westward Wilds,” Sheabor responded.

  “Yes,” said Jaithur. “But he will not linger there long.”

  “We'll be ready for him when the time comes.”

  In Suriya

  Baron walked the misty lanes of Suriya in the brightening glow of dawn. The streets were narrower than when he had last seen them, with snows piled high against the cottages, blanketing against the Frostland winds and crunching beneath his boots.

  And though he had walked these streets before, the world he once knew seemed foreign and strange. His fellows were all out early, building up their kingdoms, hoping in some small measure to better their condition. Off to fetch the market price for corn or the latest catch of fish, they were slow to want the price of a genuinely loved moment. Industrious men, working an honest day, all while keeping up the winter wood, but somewhere forgetting to wonder if life could ever be something more – something wondrous.

  Baron had once held similar aspirations, working to establish himself in the blacksmithing trade and perhaps provide a better home for a family than the one which reared him. Now, he felt a strange and growing yearning for a life of the barest simplicity, almost as if to demonstrate to Ariadra that if he had her, he could want little more. When today lacks no good thing, how could one live for a better tomorrow?

  Baron had watched his own life shatter around him, seemingly beyond repair – and then, watched it suddenly be put back together again. In the wake of it all, a deep sense of well-being had arisen, occupying his moments of solitude. Whatever was to come, he knew the worst was behind him.

  And though Suriya would always be his home, as he observed his fellow man, busy about so many trifling things, he felt as though an ambassador from a far away kingdom. A stanza from the poem of King Euthor struck him:

  They rest while we alone roam free,

  Beneath our vast eternity;

  Above the city, gazing down,

  Strangers at the edge of town.

  Baron felt that same magical remoteness – of being alone even in a crowd of people; a mere watcher of the bustling world; a man no longer hoping for a better future, but striving to hold each moment before it passed.

  Baron smiled to himself. He had always looked down on day
dreamers and philosophers – he being a man of action. But he had since learned a sacred truth: there was so little in life really worth doing. Most of his fellow's efforts boiled down to better forms of survival. But Baron couldn't live like that anymore.

  He felt overwhelmed at the strange course his life had taken. Having watched everything taken from him imparted a humility he had never before experienced. Now that his life had been restored to him, he was filled with a compassion he scarcely believed was real.

  There were so many in the kingdom who had lost everything. The boy at the inn in Ilich, whose town had been ravaged and father killed was only one of countless examples. Baron resolved that with Ariadra by his side, he would scorn his own petty needs and work for the betterment of those who never got a second chance like he did. There was a strange and unexpected beauty in losing oneself in service to others. And now that Baron had a taste of it, he wanted nothing else.

  What astonished him even more was discovering that Ariadra felt the same. She had written him a note, which he carried with him everywhere, a single line purveying the sentiments that filled his own heart:

  How do the rest live without a love like this?

  Her words carried the thread of compassion he felt in his own heart. How had they two been so much more fortunate than nearly the whole of Forthura? Ariadra, like him, had watched her life crumble. And though she had left from Ogrindal in tragedy, she still felt a swelling gratitude just to live the life she'd been given.

  Baron walked until he reached the northern edge of the city, the plains now salted with a blanket of white. Lingering there a moment, he felt the starkness of his solitude, wishing Ariadra were here with him.

  And so, returning to his family home, he paused outside to see if Ariadra had already arrived. She'd been staying nearby in another cottage, but came early every morning to have breakfast with them before work.

  Baron heard laughter from within, taking a minute to discern the voices of both his mother and Ariadra. He hesitated there, smiling and listening. In the past, he'd brought Suriyan girls home to meet his mother and father. But Marin had never taken to any of them and Baron had come to suspect that his mother's disapproval of his romantic prospects had more to do with her son's propensity to wax poetic, forming strong but shallow attachments, than it did with any fault with the girl in question.