The other soldier arrived and engaged Sheabor, leaving Durian free to make his move. He sprinted toward Pallin trying in vain to pull him onto his shoulders. But dragging him to the copse of trees, he maneuvered Pallin away from battle. Durian's legs and lungs burned with exertion. If any of the Dungeon Core came at him, he'd be too tired to flee. But he was almost to the treeline.
With exhausting effort, Durian pulled Pallin to a large tree and sat him up against it. Then he collapsed into the forest to catch his breath. After a moment's rest, he used the tree's support to sling Pallin over his shoulder and began moving through treeline. Durian heaved deeps breaths of air, beads of sweat falling down his face. The sound of battle trailed away, now only intermittent death cries piercing the darkness.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on Durian's shoulder. His body tensed and his legs gave way to exhaustion, tumbling him and Pallin to the ground. He turned to find a solitary Dungeon Core warrior standing over him, sword poised. Durian tried to call out, but couldn't stop from heaving in breaths of air.
The Dungeon Core must have overcome Sheabor and Straiah. Durian closed his eyes. But he heard the sound of a rock striking against metal and the yell of Sheabor nearby. Durian looked up to see the warrior turn and block a blow from Sheabor. But Straiah was close behind and struck the warrior dead.
“Are the two of you okay?” Sheabor asked, kneeling down to him and Pallin.
Durian nodded his head, but still lay unmoving on the ground.
“What do you think you're doing?” demanded Baron, and reached down with the help of Blair to pull Durian to his feet. Sheabor was gazing intently into the unconscious face of Pallin.
“They've drugged him,” Durian said.
But Sheabor suddenly glanced over his shoulder to the west. The copse of trees seemed to end at a large cliff overlooking the lands of Forthura. Durian could hear something faintly coming from the direction. Sheabor stood and moved toward it, followed by the rest.
As they drew near, the sounds of battle traveled through the leagues of open air from the lands of Forthura. A vast fog blanketed the plains, covering the place Eulsiphion had stood. Muffled lights and distant yells were all that came to them. The group watched on in silence. Eulsiphion was completely besieged, not just by barbarians, but by Malfur, Keeper of the North Wind.
Just then, a form came and stood behind them. They turned round in surprise to see Pallin.
“It's just as I feared,” said Pallin. “The words of King Froamb have come to pass. Malfur wouldn't dare attack the city with another Windbearer dwelling there. It was all a ploy to get us out from the city.”
Pallin's words hung in the air. What were they going to do now? If Malfur took Eulsiphion, the entire Kingdom of Forthura would fall, including Suriya. Durian's heart beat quickly. He turned to Pallin, who seemed lost in thought.
“Pallin, what are you thinking?” asked Sheabor.
“There may yet be hope,” he replied. “Not for Eulsiphion, but for us. We have only moments to spare. If most of the barbarian forces are down in the lowlands besieging the city, they have likely left not more than a handful back to patrol their borders. If we leave now, fleeing north, we may be able to slip past their sentries and continue westward toward the lands of Kester and the Bearoc.”
“We can't do that!” said Durian. “What about Suriya and the other townships?”
Sheabor glanced to Pallin, who warmly placed a hand on Durian's shoulder.
“Suriya will be safe for now. Now that they've taken Eulsiphion, the barbarians and Malfur will work to fortify their position against Kester and the Bearoc. In a way, Suriya is safer now that Malfur has left Thob Forest.”
But Straiah unexpectedly raised his voice.
“We must go back through the highlands.”
All eyes turned to him in confusion. Sheabor took a step toward Straiah and looked at him solemnly.
“I am sorry, my friend,” he said. “North is our only chance of escape.”
“I will not leave her behind to die alone in that wretched place,” Straiah replied.
Durian had forgotten that Estrien was trapped in the highlands. Straiah was right, they couldn't just leave her there. But Durian could see in Sheabor and Pallin’s eyes that they weren't going to turn back for her. Straiah saw it too. Though none of them wanted to leave Estrien behind, Straiah was unyielding. He seemed to be completely taken with her. None spoke a word as they waited for Straiah to realize what had to be done. For the sake of everyone, she had to be left behind.
“Sheabor, we have been friends for many years,” Straiah said. “We have fought side by side from the day our hands could lift a sword. I'm asking you to give me your hammer and let me stay behind.”
His plea rendered the others speechless. All eyes turned to Sheabor.
“Sheabor, if Malfur captures your hammer, this continent will fall,” said Pallin. “Its fate is more important than any one of us.”
Sheabor gazed into the eyes of his long-time friend.
“Straiah knows what he is asking,” said Sheabor to Pallin. “If we cannot trust our friends and put our lives in their hands, what is left worth fighting for?”
Sheabor slowly unsheathed the Hammer of Haladrin and handed it to Straiah. The gleam of the Candlewood filled the darkened trees will a mellow glow.
“Friend,” he said, “you hold the fate of our world in your hands.”
With that, the two embraced. Straiah stood tall in front of his companions and bowed low, knowing he would probably never see them again. Then he departed swiftly toward the ominous mountains. The rest watched him go until he disappeared into the darkness.
“Come on,” said Sheabor at length. “We have a long road ahead of us.”
Part 2
The Descent From the Highlands
Durian and the others watched as Straiah disappeared into the rolling hillside. The battle for Eulsiphion was still being waged. And though they wanted to stay, they couldn't linger here. Time was no longer on their side. No one knew what to expect in this vast realm of the Horctura. None of them had traveled here before, except perhaps Pallin.
Durian took comfort in the words of Pallin. Now that Malfur and the barbarians had captured Eulsiphion, they would care little for conquering distant townships at the edge of the world.
“Pallin, have you traveled these lands?” questioned Sheabor.
“I have traveled every land there is to travel. Though these my eyes have not seen since the days before the barbarian kingdom took dominion of it. They are not kindly toward outsiders and wanderers.”
“How will we avoid detection?” he continued.
“We will travel in disguise if we can manage,” responded Pallin. “My former captors have given us an advantage.”
They wouldn't get far in Dungeon Core armor. It would get them past the first fort perhaps. But Durian was skeptical that Dungeon Core soldiers traveled at large through the barbarian kingdom.
“What are the settlements like?”
“Most are wooden forts, built solidly for war.”
“With Forthura?”
“With each another, more often as not,” Pallin replied. “Many of the tribes are nomads. They are accustomed to taking what they wish and being on their way.”
“Will we reach any of the settlements by morning?”
“I don't know,” Pallin replied. “But we had best get moving.”
“They can't be far,” said Sheabor. “The Dungeon Core were on foot.”
“We saw torches in the distance earlier,” said Blair.
“We saw them too,” said Sheabor. “The barbarians must have been rendezvousing with the Dungeon Core.”
Sheabor set off through the trees, back to where the slain Dungeon Core soldiers lay in the field. Each found a suitable disguise, but none of the Suriyans had ever worn armor and the pieces flopped about as they moved. Sheabor and Pallin helped tighten them as much as possible, and in the end, Pallin, with his long beard
was the most conspicuous of all. This wasn't likely to work. But it was their best chance.
The group left the battlefield behind and made north, careful to watch for the barbarian party sent to meet the Dungeon Core. But after a short while, it seemed as though the barbarians had already gone. Sheabor angled to the east as they jogged. After a short while, Shay River came into view.
“Where are you taking us?” Pallin questioned.
“Any barbarian settlements will undoubtedly be along the river. We'll never escape without horses. We have no choice but to enter one of the forts.”
Durian's heart raced. How could they ever hope to accomplish such a feat? But Sheabor wasn't a fool. He'd form a plan.
The moon hung low in the north, turning orange as it dipped toward the far horizon. Durian's muscles burned from the extra weight of the armor. It had to have been past midnight by now.
There was a hillside ahead. Sheabor made for it. By the time they ascended, the moon had disappeared below the horizon, the sky now awash with stars. Standing on the crest, the landscape was a sea of black in all directions. Sheabor's hand extended, finger pointing to the north.
“There, do you see it?”
Barely perceptible was a glow emanating from somewhere below the hilly landscape to the north.
“You four will rest here,” Sheabor continued. “I will enter the fort alone and bring back horses.”
Durian was taken aback. How in the world did he hope to manage that? Then he turned to Pallin.
“If I don't return, your best hope might be to try and find Melanor to the east.”
“You will return,” Pallin replied.
“Get some rest.”
Then Sheabor descended the hill and blended at length with the pervading dark. The group laid down to rest at the base of the hill and quickly fell to sleep. The mellow glow of dawn awoke them. It was quite cold and Durian's body ached as he arose. He made his way slowly up the hillside.
A sweeping view came into focus. Surprisingly, far to the east, he saw a sliver of coastline through the mountains. North was a mixture of grassy and rocky hillsides. And to the west were a pair of ominous mountains that looked once to have been a single massive boulder shaped almost like an armored loaf of bread cleaved through the center as if by some earthquake long ago.
“That is not a natural mountain,” said a voice just behind Durian.
It was Pallin.
“Not a natural mountain?”
“That is Mount Skultira,” said Pallin, “Through the Gap of Skultira is where we make our westward turn toward Kester and the Bearoc. It was once a single mountain. But the earthquake at the end of the Great War undoubtedly split it in two. This whole region was once the land of Cavanah. The Builders went through a phase in their creativity in which they sought to mimic the natural world. They created piles of boulders, river rapids, and even small mountains. This whole region is rife with their work. Mount Skultira, as it is named by the Horctura, was one of their constructions.”
Durian couldn't believe it. The thought was almost beyond comprehension.
“Why did they do that?” Durian asked.
Pallin smiled.
“Why do painters paint, or poets compose lays of epic deeds? It is in man's nature to explore the depths of his creativity.”
What a wondrous place the old world must have been, Durian thought. But then his mind drifted back to Sheabor.
“What do you think Sheabor will tell them?”
“What they want to hear,” Pallin responded. “I'm sure the barbarians have been instructed to give the Dungeon Core full cooperation.”
Then the pair were silent. The breeze from the west came warm as the sun broke the far horizon behind it. It made Durian think of Suriya and the baneful wind from the south that arose from the Frostlands each morning in winter.
“Suriyans are a hearty people,” said Pallin suddenly. “They will flee and survive the rule of Malfur – perhaps to Thob Forest, or beyond Boreol Bay to the Frostlands for a time to wait out the darkness.”
Durian nodded and smiled. Then he resolved to put his worries behind him for good.
Meanwhile, Sheabor jogged toward the wall of the large fort. Though the sky was just beginning to lighten, the stars overhead still held sway. Wooden spikes jutting from the walls and ground were all that greeted him. Archers patrolled the low wall, paying him no mind as he came to the main gate and pounded hard. A small window was opened in the gate and the face of a guard appeared.
“What news do you bring?”
“We have captured Pallin the Windbearer,” Sheabor said. “We require fresh horses.”
“A squadron came to meet you,” declared the guard. “They reported you never arrived. Where is the rest of your detachment?”
“They've hidden in the Squall Highlands,” Sheabor continued. “We were tracked by a group from Eulsiphion – the two from the Banished Lands and many others. I was sent ahead to acquire horses for our escape. The group tracking us is on foot.”
“Where are they now?”
“Just north of the Squall Highlands, waiting for us to emerge.”
“We'll send a detachment.”
“Do you have men to spare? I was told that all the fighting men had gone to Eulsiphion.”
“We can give you half a dozen men. That should be more than a match for whoever followed from Eulsiphion.”
Sheabor bowed but said nothing. To refuse would look suspicious. A half dozen barbarians was more than he could handle on his own. If Straiah were here, that would be one thing. But three Suriyans and an old man...
At length, the large gate opened and four men on horseback emerged, dressed in leather armor for battle. Sheabor sighed in relief. They must have been more shorthanded than the guard had let on. The four barbarians carried six additional horses in tow.
The barbarians were large men, muscular and mostly golden of hair. They wore boots of leather and fur, and fur vests beneath their leather armor. Their arms were unclad and their legs wore only thin leather pants. They descended away from the fort and down toward the river. Sheabor could only hope the others would see them from a long way off.
Pallin and Durian stood atop the shallow hillside, the morning sun creeping above the western horizon. Their thoughts were turned to Sheabor, wondering when he might return, if at all.
But something caught their attention. In the distance, a barely perceptible plume of dust was rising. Moments passed and the plume dissolved. But Durian thought he heard the whinnying of a horse.
Another plume of dust closer to them. Then the unmistakable galloping of horses. Pallin darted down the hill, followed by Durian.
“Quickly!” he said. “Arm yourselves. Sheabor is not alone.”
“What? How do you know?”
But Pallin crept toward a nearby boulder at the base of the hill, sword drawn. The Suriyans glanced about for cover. The galloping grew louder. Durian and Blair darted to another boulder on the opposite hillside, while Pallin picked up a stone and handed it to Baron, now behind him.
“When I tell you, throw it with all your might.”
Pallin leaned against the large boulder, eyes closed. The pounding was loud all around them. Baron tensed and took a step forward. But Pallin grabbed him by the arm and stalled him. The riders would be past them any moment!
Just then, Pallin released his grip from Baron's arm. He sprang round the boulder and leaned back, throwing the rock squarely at a barbarian warrior not more than five paces away. Hitting him in the chest, the barbarian fell backward off his horse, landing with a thud.
The other warriors were just to Baron, about to ride over him. But Pallin pulled him to safety by the collar of his shirt. Sheabor struck another of the barbarians from behind, just as they halted and turned round.
The Horctura unsheathed their weapons. They each carried a large broadsword, and turned on Sheabor. Sheabor parried their blows but weakly, the barbarians clearly more proficient at horse-borne war
fare. The three Suriyans picked up more stones and hurled them at the pair of barbarians. One of them broke and rode for Durian and Blair.
Coming fast he swung across their chests, sending both their swords flying and each of them to the ground. Turning for another pass, Blair and Durian ran behind a nearby boulder to keep from being trampled. Sheabor was still locked in combat. He ducked and parried his blows, but couldn't get close enough for his own strike.
The barbarian reared up for another strike, but Sheabor kicked his horse, closing the distance between them and met the barbarian's blow mid-strike, locking their two swords. The barbarian was powerful, pushing against Sheabor with all of his might.
Sheabor, losing the battle of strength, ducked back hard, watching the slash pass just over his head, then rolled from the back of his horse, hitting the ground on his feet but subsequently falling down. The barbarian also lost balance and nearly fell from his horse. But he began to right himself as Sheabor stood. He lunged for him, grappling with the barbarian and pulled him from his horse. Each stood to his feet. Sheabor advanced, making swift strikes. The broadsword was very effective on horseback, but not as much on foot. Frustrated, the warrior struck back at Sheabor who ducked his blow and then buried his sword in the man's torso.
Meanwhile, Blair and Durian, having been disarmed, retreated up the hillside. The barbarian still on horseback made for Pallin and Baron. They were no match for him and retreated up their own hillside. He dismounted and pursued them.
He caught up with Pallin quickly and hooked his arm round his neck, pulling off his helmet to the realization that this was the man whom Malfur wanted captured. Pallin struggled in vain as the barbarian drug him down the hillside. Once more on the valley floor, the barbarian now squared off with Sheabor.
“Halt, or I will kill this man.”
Sheabor was only a few paces from him. Blair and Durian now joined him. Sheabor advanced quickly toward the warrior. What was he doing?
The Banished Lands- The Complete Series Page 15
