The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  The crew worked frantically to stow him topside, making the turn while drawing Baron on board, then falling into line among the latter half of the vessels. Skull Island was out of the way enough that it was rare for any ship to rescue the castaway and finish better than last place.

  During Baron's rescue, the Lord Gaffney still held position in the middle of the lane, followed closely by Shiffendol and another boat. Though the other boat made a few feeble attempts to pass, Shiffendol's skipper had grown weary of being bullied. He sailed beside the Lord Gaffney, hull scraping on hull.

  Now on the final stretch, the lane was too narrow for both vessels, though neither was willing to drop behind. But another sound filled the air, of wood scraping stone. Gaffney let out a roar and scrambled to turn frantically. After only a few more moments, Shiffendol arrived to shore victorious.

  Baron's boat came in in the middle of the pack. Durian smiled at the man who held his bet and extended his hand, the jubilant clanging of coins filling his pocket. Laughing and breathless, Baron got to shore with hoots and hollering. Through it all, the long flowing horse hair wig had remained atop his head. Durian and Blair came to greet him.

  “Your hair is lovely, madame,” Durian said.

  Baron pulled off his blonde wig with a laugh.

  “Here,” Durian said and extended a handful of coins in Baron's direction.

  “What's that?”

  “You lost. I won. So you're back to square.”

  “Interesting conclusion,” Baron smiled, not reaching out to retrieve the bounty.

  Durian blushed at the awkward exchange but turned to the dispersing crowd, returning the coins to his pocket and shaking his head.

  “What a day,” Baron said, throwing his arm around Durian and pointing the three toward home. “Come on. I'll let you buy me a drink.”

  At Walloway's Tavern

  Darkness took hold of the land, driving the villagers from shore en masse. Within minutes, the huddled group dispersed down the darkened lanes of Suriya, just as the glow of streetlamps sprang into life.

  “I'll meet you both at Walloway's,” Baron said and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Where's he going?” Durian questioned.

  “Home to change, I'd guess. Come on.”

  Time was of the essence. Pushing their way past the shuffling villagers, Blair and Durian arrived at a tavern already bursting at the seams.

  “How in the world?” Blair marveled.

  Durian shrugged his shoulders.

  “Come on,” Blair said, and made for the entrance.

  Hovering at the door, Blair gazed inside to survey the scene. But the doorway was an unfortunate choke point for laughing patrons who slid past them into the open air, singing as they went and splattering drops of ale. Blair caught the worst of it and grabbed Durian's arm, pulling him inside.

  But a large man occupying the lane stalled their progress. Tapping him on the shoulder to no avail, the man relayed a story with great animation to a handful of listeners.

  But something else caught Durian's attention. It was an ornate walking stick leaning against the wall. For long moments Durian studied it. He had never seen anything like it before, which was strange, because it struck him as familiar somehow. The wood was very beautiful and exotic – more so than the varieties harvested in Thob Forest.

  Durian glanced up to its owner and was startled to find the old wanderer staring back. Durian masked his surprise by turning his attentions to the lively banter of the tavern. But a hand grabbed his shoulder, making him jump.

  “Sorry,” Blair said. “Didn't mean to scare you. There's a table open over there.”

  Durian flushed red but nodded eagerly, knowing that a glance to see if the old man still watched him would only incriminate himself. The pair shoved off, and Blair slumped into the small booth and smiled with contentment. Sliding into a chair opposite him, Durian stared at the table, lost in thought.

  “What is it?” Blair asked.

  “Did you see the old man we passed by a minute ago?”

  “Where?”

  “Behind us at the table near the front door.”

  Blair looked around a moment.

  “Wow, he landed quite a spot. Good for him.”

  Durian was confused at his reply, but then it dawned on him. Blair had thought Durian was remarking on the fact that such a frail traveler could occupy one of the prime tables in a packed tavern while they had had such trouble.

  “Have you seen him before?” Durian asked.

  Blair shook his head.

  “I wonder what he's doing here,” Durian said.

  “He came for the Sea Games, I'm sure.”

  “That's what I thought, too. But how could he have gotten here so quick before the rest of us?”

  “You don't think he was at the races?”

  Durian shook his head slowly. Just then, Baron entered, still wearing his blonde wig. Skull Horn raised above his head, many turned and cheered. But he glanced slowly round the room until seeing Durian and Blair.

  “Evening gents.”

  “Well aren't you a fetching barbarian princess,” Blair observed.

  Baron ignored the insult and sat down.

  “Why don't either of you have a drink?”

  “We're trying to work something out,” Durian responded. “That old man there...The first time I noticed him was during your race at Skull Island. He was apart from the crowd and then wandered off alone while the races still ran. And now we come here and somehow he's got the best table in the house. How could he have gotten from the races here before the rest of us? But if he wasn't there, why come all the way to Suriya during the Sea Games just to ignore them?”

  Baron's eyes shot like a hawk toward the old man.

  “It's probably nothing,” Blair offered.

  “There's something else,” Durian said. “His walking stick isn't made from any wood I've ever seen before.”

  The significance was lost to the two brothers.

  “Thob Forest stretches the whole length of the kingdom, right?”

  They nodded.

  “So if the wood didn't come from there, then where could it have come from? We don't trade with the barbarian kingdom. It's illegal. And there haven't been trade caravans from Kester since the barbarians cut off the routes.”

  Their only neighboring kingdom was a band of barbarian tribes, currently at war with their own kingdom, Forthura. Baron eyed the old man narrowly.

  “I'm probably making something out of nothing,” Durian concluded. “But I just can't shake the feeling that something bigger is going on around here than anyone realizes.”

  “You're not talking about the forest are you?” Baron asked. “How could the old man have anything to do with that?”

  “I don't know,” Durian said, shaking his head.

  A slow smile grew on Baron's face.

  “Then lets find out what the old codger is up to.”

  And with that, Baron set off to the old man's table before either of his friends could stall him.

  “I'm off to Echlin tomorrow on business,” Baron announced as he arrived.

  The old man only stared at him blankly.

  “I need supplies for the shop,” Baron explained, but the blank stare remained.

  Close on his heels, Blair and Durian had also heard the announcement and Blair didn’t keep his confusion to himself.

  “Echlin? What in the world...”

  “Why don't we travel together!” Baron blurted out, cutting Blair short mid-sentence. “Now that the Sea Games are over I assume you'll be heading back north to, where did you say you were from again?”

  “No. Thank you,” the old man replied.

  “It's always safer to travel in groups,” Baron said, taking a seat. “Everyone knows that. Surely you're passing through Echlin. It's on the way to everywhere from here.”

  The man was silent, a hard stare scrutinizing Baron. Durian smiled at the exchange, for Baron made a convincing simpl
eton.

  “My business takes me elsewhere,” the man said with a courteous smile.

  “Elsewhere?” Baron returned in feigned surprise.

  “Yes,” said the old man, now standing to his feet. “This is a wide world my young Suriyan. You will find in time that not every road you mean to travel passes through Echlin. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

  He arose and made for the door, grabbing his walking stick. It was the first chance Durian got a good look at it. Ornately carved in great detail, it even boasted an iron end cap, quite worn from travel. It struck Durian again as familiar. He stared at it until it was out of sight, convinced now more than before that its wood was of a kind he had never seen. The three occupied the now vacant table, suddenly pensive amid the tavern roar.

  “Where in the world could he be going?” Baron wondered aloud.

  There was nothing south or east but the sea, and Thob Forest sprawled across the west.

  “I'm sure he's going north through Echlin,” Blair said. “Could you blame him for lying to avoid a two day journey with you?”

  Baron smirked. The old man would probably set off early, hoping to leave before Baron stirred from bed.

  “I say we keep tabs on him,” Baron declared. “I'll wake up early and see if he's really heading north. Can't be more than one or two inns he's staying at.”

  “Just what are you hoping to find?” Blair asked.

  “Whatever there is to be found. Look, he's either lying or he's telling the truth. If he really does set out north, then big deal. I woke up early for nothing. But if he sets out toward the forest...”

  Baron let the suspense linger in the air.

  “Then what?” Blair asked.

  “Then we'll know something's up.”

  “And?” questioned Blair.

  “And what?”

  “We already know something's up,” Blair said. “We just don't know what. That's the problem.”

  “We'll alert the Magistrates,” Baron said.

  “You really think they'll send the Town Guard to the forest just because we said we saw an old man heading west?”

  Blair was right. There was nothing they could do. It didn't matter how the old man might or might not be involved. Nothing was going to be done.

  “Then we'll have to set out after him,” Baron declared.

  That was a strange idea. And definitely out of the question for Durian – to go out adventuring when his business was on the verge of failure.

  “I'm not going to Thob Forest,” declared Blair.

  “Why not?” demanded Baron. “What are you so afraid of? Old wive's tales of ghosts and monsters?”

  “How about going out of business? Need I remind you that work has already been piling up in the shop?”

  “Everything slows down after the Sea Games. The town takes a whole week to recover.”

  Durian smiled at Baron's persistence. Though he didn't fully understand Baron's interest, he suspected the Sea Games had produced in Baron a taste for adventure he couldn't quite shake – a restless need for something more than the humdrum of normal Suriyan life. Just then, an idea struck Durian.

  “I'm willing to go,” he said, to the utter shock of Blair.

  Even Baron was surprised and gazed with intrigued pleasure at Durian, unsure but hopeful that an explanation was to follow. But Durian kept his thoughts to himself and merely smiled. If Baron wanted to drag them all out to Thob Forest, and if Durian happened to have a full sized axe with him brought for 'protection', he could get his own timber with the help of Baron and Blair. No more relying on the graciousness of the woodsmen.

  Felling a full sized hardwood tree was arduous business, not to mention quartering it into manageable pieces for hauling. Durian couldn't accomplish it on his own. But if Baron and Blair just so happened to already be at the forest with nothing but time on their hands...

  “This is complete nonsense,” said Blair exploding to his feet as if to show by action how revolting the conversation was. “What's wrong with the two of you?”

  But Durian disregarded the question and turned to Baron.

  “Once you make sure he's not headed north, we should leave just after him. Make sure we get to the forest by evening of the second day.”

  “That's the spirit!” Baron exclaimed, slapping Durian on the back.

  Blair hovered there speechless as the two continued to plan. After many moments, Durian and Baron looked up at him to see what he would decide. Blair shook his head and then nodded, and at length sighed in frustration.

  “Alright,” Blair resigned and resumed his seat. “It's not like it'll matter anyway. I'm sure the old man will head north. But if he doesn't,” he added to Baron. “You get to explain to father.”

  Baron smiled, confident in his ability to concoct some clever story to assuage their father.

  “And you get to fix Tobin's plow this year,” Blair continued.

  The smile turned to disgust. Baron opened his mouth in protest, but Blair intervened.

  “I'm not staying behind to slave away while the two of you go out adventuring. And I'll be hanged before I explain to Tobin why his plow is rusting in our shop while you're off following some old man out to who knows where. If we're going to Thob Forest, then that's the price.”

  After a moment, Baron offered up a defeated nod. Durian wore an impressed smile. It was rare for Blair to universally rout his brother. In the end, Baron had wound up with the short end of the stick. Durian and Blair stood and moved toward the door.

  “Where do you think you're going?” Baron said, dropping a hand down on Durian's shoulder.

  “Home to sleep,” replied Durian, brushing Baron's hand free from his body.

  “The night is young!” Baron complained.

  Durian smirked and headed off nonetheless. Baron, unwilling to abandon his fellow celebrants, stayed on in the tavern while Durian and Blair exited. They reached the outside air and Blair turned to Durian.

  “This had better be worth the trouble.”

  Durian only shrugged his shoulders. The idea seemed ludicrous – an old man making a two day walk to the forest just at the onset of winter. Durian was nearly convinced that nothing would come of it.

  Arriving at his cottage in short order, he took the coins in hand he had won at the race, smiling again at his good fortune. It wasn't a lot, but it would help him get by. Tonight was a night for a warm fire. Grabbing a handful of kindling and hay, he struck his flint rock and blew gently on the growing glow.

  Adding a few goodly logs, he reclined in his favorite chair, glancing at the shifting shadows sporting about. The day had begun so poorly. He could scarcely believe it had ended so well. If he were lucky, he and his two friends would procure enough lumber to satisfy the whole of his winter endeavors.

  After the fire had matured, Durian retreated to his bedroom, kneeling down by his bed and producing an item wrapped in cloth and twine that he hadn't examined in years. It was his father's axe. Durian unwrapped the item slowly. The blade was still sharp and slick with a thin coating of oil. In the first days of his adulthood, his father, Doran, had begun his business with nothing, bartering much of his worldly possessions for the axe which Durian now held. He had spent two whole weeks felling an oak in Thob Forest, quartering it and hauling it back to Suriya on his own.

  Durian felt a swell of pride. Though life had taken a hard turn, he had met its course in stride. He would persevere in the fashion of his father. But what would he find in Thob Forest? An intense feeling of mystery filled him. The townsfolk had spoken of much concerning Thob Forest these past months – of beasts and ghosts, and old things long forgotten.

  Durian returned to his main room, to his chair in front of the fire, laying the axe down beside him. As he sat, Durian took a moment to drink in the night – the firelight dancing and casting deep shadows on the recesses of his home. And something rarely felt these past years began to rise in his heart: a longing to live his life to the full and find his true purpose
– to do heroic deeds and make his life matter.

  He opened his book and began flipping slowly through, perusing stories of the lost House of Cavanah, who according to legend disappeared at the end of the Great War, twelve centuries ago. Suriya belonged to one of the two remaining Houses, the House Forthura, which occupied the southern peninsula of the continent. To the north were the scattered tribes of the Horctura, the barbarians. And to the northwest, over a thousand leagues away was the House of Kester.

  Durian turned the pages until coming to the story of the last great king of Cavanah, who reigned until the time of the Great War that ended the Prosperous Age. King Euthor was one of the Builders – those who could mold stone as though clay in their hands, and create new forms of stone with stronger properties – even magical ones. He had wrought great works in the latter days of the Prosperous Age, but had tragically lost his wife, Sheyla, just before the last battle that changed their world, over twelve centuries ago. After her death, he disappeared along with the rest of the House of Cavanah, never to be seen again.

  Durian recalled the dream he had had this morning and slowly read the poem before him:

  Dismissing hours as they pass

  Soft upon the windswept grass.

  The hopes of men have come to naught;

  Nothing fair for eyes or thought.

  For Sheyla lies on golden plain,

  Of Cavanah, the fairest slain;

  Who met her last and final day

  When all was brought to disarray.

  Of gladful things now nevermore;

  Now bitter wind, now salty shore.

  The peaceful world bound to unrest

  And darkness looming in the west.

  The world and all its light shall fade.

  I'll stay with her beneath the shade

  And wait until the world's remade...

  Durian closed the book and laid it down for the night. But something suddenly tugged on the strings of memory and he took the book back up again, not quite sure what he was looking for. But the pages came to rest on a picture he had forgotten about until just now – a simple sketch of a cloaked and featureless figure standing atop a windswept hill. Nothing of his face could be seen, like an other-worldly specter. In his hand was an ornately decorated walking stick with an iron cap, and behind him, dark storm clouds were gathering. Below the picture was a single description: Windbearer.