The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  “Straiah, lead them on,” Estrien said. “I must close the pass behind us and erase any tracks that might lead Malfur here.”

  Straiah pushed his way through the crowd and found King Froamb near Estrien. Motioning for him to enter first, he glanced up to Estrien, who wouldn't meet his gaze. King Froamb stepped into the narrow passageway.

  After less than fifty paces, the corridor opened up into a green and spacious valley, a stark contrast to the stony mountains. The road leading into the valley cut along the mountain face. It was narrow and the drop steep.

  A warm breeze arose with the sun, and after an hour of walking, they had left the mountains behind and had found a broad and lush meadow.

  “We will rest here for a time,” the king declared.

  The people were overjoyed. They were overtired and hungry. Straiah had in mind to try his luck at hunting, but to try and feed this many people...Estrien appeared through the crowd.

  “Your lands are beautiful,” Straiah commented. “I can see why you fight so hard to protect them.”

  Estrien glanced with a nod and then addressed the king.

  “We can rest here a short while. But we still have many leagues to travel before we reach the walls of Melanor.”

  Then she departed again. King Froamb invited Straiah to sit with him in the shade of a large tree. Straiah did, but failed to give the king his attention, as his gaze wandered the pleasant valley, himself lost in thought. A slow smile grew on the king's face.

  “You are a noble fellow,” he said.

  Straiah turned to him.

  “Both you and your companion, Sheabor. I'm sorry I was not cordial to you in the palace. I can see now that Eulsiphion needs men like you if she ever hopes to rid herself of the scourge of Malfur.”

  “Thank you,” Straiah replied. “Once we reach Melanor, we'll form a plan. Perhaps with their help, we can outwit the schemes of Malfur.”

  The king nodded pensively, then laid down to rest. Straiah could sense what the king was wondering. Would the Melanorians help them? And how would they react to a large group of refugees arriving at their walls? The people of Eulsiphion were spread all over the grass of the meadow, basking in the warm sunlight. The mountains behind them did a remarkable job of blocking the roving wind of the plains. It nearly felt like spring here. Straiah likewise laid his head down, but sleep was slow to find him.

  Near midday, Estrien came and awoke the king. He likewise, roused his people and they made the slow descent down the valley toward the coastline. Estrien and King Froamb traveled together, but Straiah hung back amid the crowd. There was much talk and much excitement over seeing the hidden city.

  The sun began to sink behind the mountains of the Squall Highlands and to the places far west. He thought of Sheabor and the others, streaking through the barbarian kingdom. Were they still alive?

  They reached the coastline and headed north, turning inland again into a different wooded vale. Just as sunset took hold of the land, someone shouted, “I see a city!”

  Lights gleamed through the trees, and after a few moments, the group entered a broad meadow upon which a large, walled city lay. A trumpet blast filled the air from the walls of the city. It was Melanor. They had arrived.

  The Seven Secrets

  The group trotted at a brisk pace toward Mt Skultira. They would reach it within the hour. So far, the nearby fort hadn't spotted them. Once they did, they would wonder why the group of Dungeon Core were turning west instead of heading back to the fort with their barbarian escort and the Windbearer, Pallin.

  But for now, the rolling hillside kept them from prying eyes. Within the hour, the hillside gave way to a flat and rocky basin of bare earth. Sheabor paused, glancing to the north to gauge the distance to the fort.

  “What are our options?” he asked.

  “We need to buy as much time as possible,” Pallin replied. “The gap is perhaps five hundred paces wide. The barbarians have towers on either side to rain down arrows on intruders. But they're largely prepared for a large force, not a few fleeing trespassers. If we get inside the gap before they begin firing, we may yet escape them.”

  “How do you propose we manage that?”

  “The barbarians will not be quick to fire on the Dungeon Core,” Pallin replied. “If we can cast enough doubt into their minds as to our true identities and purposes, they'll hesitate.”

  With that, Pallin dismounted his horse and removed his Dungeon Core armor. Then, climbing atop Sheabor's horse, he sat back to back with him, as though a prisoner.

  “This should buy us some time.”

  “They'll send a party from the fort to question us.”

  “That is a risk we must take,” Pallin said. “Baron, take the reigns of my horse and tow it behind you.”

  Then Sheabor set off, keeping a quick pace but not enough to tire the horses. Less than a league from Mt Skultira, its form rose above them into the heavens. Its walls were sheer and smooth, and the gap was wider than Durian had imagined, showing the intensity of the earthquake that had rent it asunder eons ago.

  Pallin's gaze was fixed on the barbarian fort to the west. So far, they had yet to stir. The group was halfway to the mountain.

  “Sheabor,” said Pallin. “The gates are opening.”

  Sheabor glanced back. At least half a dozen barbarians on horseback were making for them at full gallop, though still a few leagues away. Sheabor picked up the pace, not enough to raise the alarm, but enough to reach the gap first.

  Durian noticed objects in the distance, objects scattered by the barbarians no doubt – spikes of wood and boulders to push trespassers toward the arrow towers on either side.

  Minutes passed. The group was nearly in range of the towers. Mt Skultira loomed hundreds of feet overhead. Durian glanced behind him. The barbarians were halfway to them, closing fast. They were close enough to the towers now to see movement. The soldiers there were getting into position to rain down death if the order was given. But nothing so far.

  The group entered the arena obstacles. Sheabor maneuvered around them, keeping close to the center, but not so close as to arouse further suspicion. Durian could hear the galloping riders behind them. His heart was racing.

  They entered the gap on the right hand side. The towers were poised to strike and watched them silently go. Another minute passed. Durian kept himself from looking behind. But the pounding of horses hooves was growing.

  “Baron,” Pallin said with a nod. “Come ride alongside us.”

  Baron slowly changed direction, veering just beside Sheabor. Pallin sprang onto it and took the reigns, a horn erupting from the near tower. Sheabor didn't react but remained calm. What was he doing? Durian's heart beat wildly. But just after the volley of arrows sailed into the heavens, Sheabor burst forward with a yell.

  “Come on!”

  After a few moments, the arrows struck the field behind them, about a dozen shafts protruding from the ground they had just occupied. The towers were sparsely manned, just as the fort was, and the array of obstacles pushed them in and out of the range of the tower.

  Sheabor and Pallin pulled their horses with skill around the clusters of spikes. Durian and the twins followed as best they could, inexperience drawing them further and further behind. The barbarians knew where the choke points were and covered them with arrows.

  The trio lingered just outside the range of the tower, waiting for a chance to make their dash around a cluster of spikes. But there was scarcely a second gone by without an arrow landing somewhere in front of them. Baron grabbed his reigns tightly, springing forward with a yell, two arrows narrowly missing him. Blair went next, darting around the corner, just in front of an arrow.

  Durian glanced back. Three barbarians were only seconds behind. He sprang forward. But two arrows landed just to his right and pushed him toward the spikes. As he made his turn, one of the spikes scraped into the side of the horse and it reared up, throwing Durian to the ground with a yell. Sheabor heard him and sw
ung round, a stone's throw ahead.

  “Get back against the spikes!” Sheabor yelled.

  Durian scrambled backward as two more arrows hit the spikes just above him. The barbarians came round the corner, the trampling of hooves kicking dirt into Durian's face as a broadsword cleaved the tip from the spike nearest his head. The barbarian's horse kicked at him as the warrior raised his broadsword for another strike. But Sheabor rode into the midst of them and attacked them before the stroke fell.

  Pallin and the twins rode free of the obstacles. They turned round and hesitated, unsure what to do.

  “Pallin! Keep moving,” yelled Sheabor.

  One of the three barbarians broke to pursue the others. Durian was pressed tight against the spikes, the two barbarians attacking Sheabor and pushing him back, giving Durian some space. He pushed against the spikes and stood, but felt one of the spikes move under his weight. It had gotten knocked loose in the commotion.

  Pulling with all his might, Durian yanked it free. It was heavy and awkward in his hands, but he ran up beside one of the barbarians and thrust it toward him. The barbarian turned in anger and pain, grabbing the spike and ripping it free from Durian's grip. Sheabor took the opportunity and struck him dead.

  “Durian, your horse!” Sheabor yelled.

  Durian sprinted to his horse a short ways down the gap. Sheabor was still engaged with the second barbarian and more were pouring riding in.

  But just as Durian climbed atop his horse, an arrow struck it in the hind quarter. The horse reared up in pain and threw Durian backward. He hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from his lungs. Sounds grew dull and his vision narrowed. He faintly heard someone calling his name.

  Fighting the growing dark, he felt a pair of hands grab his shirt and lay him over the end of a horse. His lungs burned and his head swam in nausea. The next set of warriors were nearly to them, and archers were setting out from the tower in pursuit also.

  Durian and Sheabor were nearly clear of the gap. Durian finally sat up just as the dazzling light of the sun hit them, while Sheabor glanced round for signs of Pallin and the twins. But they had already disappeared into the sweeping hillside.

  The region was tightly clustered with bare hills and stony mountains, growing lightly forested in the outlying areas. Sheabor set off along the base of the hills, scanning the ground for tracks. The sound of their pursuers faded.

  “There's still a barbarian warrior following the others,” Durian said.

  Sheabor was well aware.

  “Pallin is clever. He will find a way to elude him.”

  But just as he said the words, they heard a muffled yell and a thud from up ahead. Sheabor quickened their pace and came around the bend to find a barbarian warrior on the ground, Pallin hovering over him on horseback, a large club of wood in his hand.

  The barbarian was stunned and slowly pushed himself up. But Sheabor quickly dismounted and struck the warrior with the hilt of his sword, knocking him unconscious. Mounting the warrior's horse, Sheabor headed away. Pallin abandoned his makeshift weapon and set out after Sheabor. Durian rode up to his two friends.

  “That old codger has a trick or two up his sleeves,” said Baron.

  Then they set off. They spent the morning snaking the winding hillsides until midday brought little copses of trees to view. Durian could hear a flowing stream somewhere nearby. The horses seemed to hear it too, for they glanced to their left on more than one occasion with a longing grunt.

  Sheabor veered toward it. None of them knew how far behind the Horctura were, but they wouldn't get far without water. It was a risk they'd have to take. Finding the stream, they dismounted and filled their water skins. The horses drank ravenously, grunting in delight.

  Flowing at the bottom of a short but steep slope inside the treeline, the ankle deep stream was crisp and cold. Pallin walked it slowly, lost in thought.

  “Pallin where do we go from here?” Sheabor asked.

  “If I'm not mistaken, this stream flows down out of the highlands and into a series of mountain valleys called the Seven Secrets. It was once a refuge for raiders before the Horctura wiped them out. There are many hidden pathways in and out and tracking us will be difficult.”

  “Staying down here is too vulnerable,” Sheabor replied. “If the Horctura discover us, we won't stand a chance.”

  “Much of the barbarian kingdom is barren and desert. We should keep to water as long as we're able. And in the places ahead the walls grow too steep for horses to descend. Though they might find us, they'll not be able to pursue.”

  Sheabor gave a whistle to the others to make ready. Before long, Pallin's prediction had come true. It grew cold as the ravine slope rose up around them. The stream, though small, had cut a deep channel through the rich, loose dirt of the region. No horse could now descend it. But archers from the towers had also set off after them and could rain death down from above.

  They quickly realized that the severity of the slope was a double edged sword. For every fallen tree of the past decade had tumbled down the ravine and now lay strewn across the river. Some were easily navigable, but most took minutes of prying and pulling to get around.

  Durian could hear the sound of hooves pounding above and distant shouts. Sheabor held up his hand for them to halt.

  “Pallin, how much farther?”

  Pallin looked to the sky, but the sun was obscured through the trees. It must have been late afternoon.

  “Not far,” he replied.

  Sheabor set off on a slow trot through the shallow stream. The horses were on edge, sensing the anxiety of their masters, their eyes darting about in search of danger. Just then, a loud call erupted from the ridge line above. Sheabor burst forward, followed by the others.

  More shouts and more barbarians appeared, though none dared venture into the steep ravine. An arrow struck the dirt just beside Durian. Startled, he whipped his head in the direction only to find another arrow loosed his way. Durian hunched forward, hooking his arms around his horse's neck. But the barbarians disappeared from the ridge line.

  “Pallin! They're trying to head us off,” Sheabor called out.

  “Keep to the path!”

  They had the good fortune of meeting with few additional obstacles. At length, the stream emptied over a twenty foot waterfall and into a broad valley. They had arrived. Searching in vain for a way down, Sheabor finally dismounted his horse.

  “Come on.”

  Pallin was hesitant, knowing they'd never traverse the whole of the barbarian kingdom without horses. But the group wouldn't survive the next hour if they tried to keep them. Climbing down the slippery rock of the waterfall, the group made it at length into the valley.

  Coming away from the crashing waters, shouts and pounding of hooves could be heard from the other side of the steep incline beside them. The barbarians were searching for a way in. Their footpath ran along a narrow strip of land, the stream continuing down the valley along a steep decline, now hundreds of paces below them.

  The landscape grew rocky, scraggly trees groping outward through the crevices of boulders. Coming around a corner, the narrow trail led directly into a large, steep boulder. Sheabor stopped in his tracks and turned round, seeing where best to traverse it.

  “Come on!” he shouted, and ran for the boulder, using his hands as a step and beckoning Pallin and the others to ascend.

  The rock was smooth and slippery, with little to use for handholds. But the three Suriyans supported Pallin's other leg and pushed near enough to the top to pull himself the rest of the way.

  “After you, little brother,” Baron said.

  Soon, Blair was with Pallin at the top of the boulder. Baron joined them, and as Durian began, the barbarians appeared on the path a hundred paces out. Durian's heart raced.

  “Go!” Sheabor commanded, lifting Durian's foot with all his might.

  Durian's outstretched fingers barely met with the twins' but their tight grip pulled him to safety.

  “S
heabor!” they called out, and he turned to make a leap.

  “Watch out!” said Pallin and pulled Baron away forcefully just as an arrow shot past him.

  “Pallin!” Sheabor yelled. “Take them out of here!”

  Sheabor ran for the cover of a large tree, unsheathing his sword just as two arrows struck the tree. Another arrow sailed just over the heads of those on the boulder. Pallin laid down and stretched his feet over the opposite side, Baron and Blair lowering him down by his hands. Letting go, he fell a few paces and landed firmly on the other side. Blair followed.

  There were at least a dozen warriors on the trail only a stone's throw from Sheabor. Durian's heart raced. Sheabor didn't stand a chance. But the pathway was narrow, so he couldn't be surrounded. The lead barbarian rushed Sheabor with a shout, swinging a large axe across Sheabor's torso. He ducked and the axe fastened itself firmly in the tree.

  Sheabor stabbed the warrior in the gut, sending him tumbling down the ravine. Baron and Blair were descending the other side of the boulder. The second warrior came in, broadsword raised high. But Sheabor lunged forward foot first, grabbing the axe handle and swinging under it, striking the barbarian squarely in his chest and into his comrades. He and one of the archers sailed down the ravine, tumbling amid grunts and shouts. But more barbarians were on the trail.

  “Durian!” his friends called from below.

  But he couldn't leave Sheabor. He might try to make a jump for Durian's hand. The next barbarian also carried a broadsword and made powerful swings across Sheabor's torso. He parried and ducked them, but was being pushed back. His movements were limited by the barbarian only a few paces back ready to loose an arrow at the first opening.

  But Sheabor dodged a blow and then struck him dead, slamming his back against a nearby tree just as an arrow flew past. The next warrior came in while Sheabor was still off balance. The archer notched another arrow. Sheabor dodged and parried but he never regained his balance. One final blow sent him tottering toward the edge. The archer aimed squarely at his chest. Sheabor dove toward the ravine.