The archer turned his sights on Durian. Before Durian could react, the arrow was loosed. Durian threw himself out of the way, falling from the boulder. He heard Baron call out his name and fell clumsily into the arms of the twins. But he hit the ground hard and the world went black.
Sheyla
Durian stood atop the moonlit plains, a gentle breeze flowing through his hair and swaying the golden grasses. A woman stood in front of him, facing away and gazing at the moon, her white silken gown fluttering in the breeze. Durian took a step toward her but something gave him pause. She was crying and despondent. Time seemed to stretch on. The breeze continued to blow and the woman turned, clenching her arms for warmth. She didn't notice Durian, only a stone's throw away. She was beautiful. At length, she lay down atop the grasses, becoming motionless.
Another form appeared in the night, riding up on a large white steed. He dismounted and ran to the woman, taking her head in his arms and turning his weeping eyes to the night sky, swaying gently back and forth. He arose and took her body in his arms, riding away into the night.
Durian awoke to the sound of a crackling fire. It was night and the stars shone brightly down from above. His head was throbbing and he raised his hand to rub his temples. But a sharp pain entered his left wrist and he winced and put his arm back down.
Closing his eyes again, he took deep breaths, trying to remember what had happened. He had fallen from the large boulder and must have been knocked unconscious. As he lay there, images of the dream coursed through his mind. It was the same dream as before, though slightly different this time. What could it mean? The lines of the poem replayed through his mind. He felt as though something was still missing...but what? Durian blinked his eyes open and tried to sit up.
“He's awake!” Blair said, standing to his feet.
“Easy now,” Pallin said. “Rest.”
“What happened?” Durian asked. “Where are we?”
“You fell from the boulder. Your arm is hurt but I do not believe the bone is broken. We made it to a hidden fork in the road before the barbarians spotted us. They would have found our tracks, but night fell and allowed our escape.”
Durian felt a sudden and extreme thirst. Glancing around, Pallin guessed what he was after and handed him a water skin. Durian drained it and felt reinvigorated.
“What about Sheabor?” Durian asked, wiping his mouth. “Has he come back yet?”
The three shook their heads slowly.
“Just rest,” Pallin said. “Have some food. You need to recover your strength.”
Durian gazed at his surroundings as he slowly ate. They were in a large hollowed section at the base of a mountain, almost a cave but not deep enough. The trees were thick around them and at times he could feel the light spray of water on his face.
But as he stared into the fire, the visions of his dream kept coming to mind. What was he still missing? He kept seeing visions of the woman standing in the field, waiting for the rider who was too late to save her:
For Sheyla lies on golden plain,
Of Cavanah, the fairest slain;
Who met her last and final day
When all was brought to disarray.
Durian stared pensively into the fire. In his dream, the sweeping landscape was similar to the highland plains of the lands of the Horctura. And he remembered Pallin saying that the barbarian kingdom occupied what was once the lands of Cavanah.
“Pallin, do you know where King Euthor buried his wife, Sheyla?” Durian asked suddenly.
“No, I don't. Why do you ask?”
“Don't you think that's strange? We know he found her after she died. He had her Seer's necklace and her wedding ring, which he put into the orb at Eulsiphion. So he must have buried her somewhere. But why hide her tomb?”
Pallin's gaze grew distant and Durian hesitated a few moments before continuing.
“I was just thinking, we know that King Euthor wrote his poem to help us find his own tomb and the orb containing your powers. But only the last stanza of the poem talked about him. The first part of the poem is all about Sheyla and what happened to her. It talks about the two of them upon the plains after her death:
For Sheyla lies on golden plain,
Of Cavanah, the fairest slain;
King Euthor must have buried her somewhere on the Eastern Realm before going to Melanor and creating the hammer and the second orb. Since the second half of the poem is about his final resting place, what if the first half of the poem is meant to lead us to her tomb? Maybe he left us a way to get back to the Banished Lands.”
Pallin stood to his feet and turned away. He paced for many moments as he thought. Then he turned back to the group.
“I can't believe it!” he exclaimed. “You're absolutely correct.”
“You mentioned earlier that the lands of the Horctura were once a part of the kingdom of Cavanah. Her tomb could be somewhere close by.”
His statement hung in the air. It had been twelve hundred years since Cavanah had owned these lands. Finding a hidden tomb was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Unless it was meant to be found. In that case, King Euthor would have left them clues.
As Durian pondered, he was struck in amazement at the fact that he, a barely grown man from a backwater town, was helping to uncover a mystery over twelve hundred years in the making. Why had he been given the dreams? Were there others having similar dreams? Or had Durian alone been chosen? Durian thought of the hammer that Straiah now carried. He didn't know why but he felt as though the hammer itself was somehow responsible for his dreams. Was it really King Euthor and Sheyla he saw? Or was it the imagination of his mind?
Visions of the woman in the silken white dress and the despair of the rider who carried her away filled his mind. How difficult it must have been to bury her in some hidden, lonely place on the wide open plains – no honors, no burial monument to celebrate her life.
Even more difficult still to depart from her and entomb himself on the other side of the broad world, himself too, forgotten for centuries. What a sacrifice it must have been. The poem struck him now as it had never done before.
I'll stay with her beneath the shade
And wait until the world's remade...
For the first time, the poem struck him as a plea...a plea from King Euthor for someone, someday to reunite him with his beautiful Sheyla. Durian felt in that moment as though the poem were speaking directly to him, he being the one who had deciphered its hidden message. He felt charged by the great king to find their graves and bury them side by side. Durian vowed silently in that moment that if it was the last thing he did, he would find a way to reunite King Euthor with the woman he loved – that they would be together again, if only in death.
Durian's mind was put at ease. Pallin still stared intently into the fire, wondering, of all places in the barbarian kingdom, which one King Euthor might have chosen to lay his beloved wife to rest.
“Do you think the barbarians are still searching for us?” Durian asked at length.
“I'm sure they are,” Pallin replied. “And by now they're growing impatient. I doubt they set out well provisioned. Though they have water, their archers may shoot a rabbit or two – hardly enough to feed them all.”
“Then we'll hide here until they leave?”
“No,” Pallin replied. “We'll keep moving. But not until you're better rested.”
Durian nodded slowly. He had lost a lot of blood and was undoubtedly very weak. And at length, he fell asleep. But it felt like only a few hours had passed when Pallin tapped him awake. Durian rubbed his eyes open and was greeted once more by starlight.
“I'm sorry, but we must be going.”
Baron and Blair helped Durian to his feet. The pain in his forearm was the same as before, but his head at last felt normal.
The group moved off, Pallin stepping cautiously in the lead. Coming down from the shallow cave, they descended a stony embankment to a level, sheltered alcove that split the rocky hills.
Pallin crept toward the exit, peering outward. Then he turned to the group.
“This is a parallel valley to the one from yesterday. So far, it looks as though the barbarians haven't discovered it. But be cautious. Do not speak unless you must.”
The glow of dawn appeared beyond the mountain rim. After a time, Pallin found a relatively shallow descent down into the ravine, where they would be more out of sight. Though they stepped lightly, small pebbles and clods of dirt heralded their descent, making slight commotions that weren't likely to be heard.
Sounds of flowing water came to their hearing while they were yet a few hundred paces from the valley floor. As they came closer, whitewash and large stones filled their sight.
“Do your best to walk atop the boulders,” Pallin said. “It will make tracking us more difficult.”
“Why won't they just wait for us at the far side of the valley?” Blair questioned.
“They may well be,” Pallin answered. “But as I said before, the barbarians aren't known for their patience. When their provisions run out, they'll likely return to their fort.”
The four ambled from boulder to boulder. Each time they arrived at a narrow spot in the river, Pallin would jump across to the over side of the stream and continue forward. That was clever; it made tracking them even more difficult, perhaps impossible.
But near sunset, Pallin left the river for a sheltered alcove where the hillside recessed a bit, and thick trees grew up round, keeping them safe from prying eyes above. The valley was still quite steep, but the area was forested enough to gather wood for a fire and leaves for bedding. But they waited till well past sunset to risk a fire. Though the scent of the fire would undoubtedly carry, the dark obscured the ribbon of smoke rising up to the heavens.
They sat in silence, eating what little they had left of their stores. Was Sheabor really gone? Would the rest escape this place alive? With little food and nothing to hunt with, their options were slim. Even so, Durian felt hope and excitement for the future. He didn't understand how, but King Euthor was in some way looking after and guiding them. Would they really find the tomb of Sheyla? Had King Euthor planned it this way so many centuries ago? Durian knew they would. They would find her and reunite her with her beloved husband. If it was the last thing Durian did, he would see it done. He had found his destiny.
Melanor
The sun was setting behind the mountains of the Squall Highlands. Straiah and Estrien, with the group of refugees from Eulsiphion, approached Melanor with caution, for the gates had yet to open. Estrien went in front of the group, hands raised in submission and stood before the walls.
The city was silent for some time, the light of the setting sun giving way to darkness. King Froamb waited beside Straiah, growing agitated at the long delay. The people began to murmur. Surely Melanor wouldn't turn them away. After the better part of an hour had passed, King Froamb departed Straiah's company and marched the short distance to Estrien.
“Would it help if I knocked?”
“No, good king. They are in deliberations.”
“Do they understand that while we're lingering here idle, the Horctura are ravaging my kingdom?”
“Just give them some more time.”
“That is unacceptable! I'm the king of these lands. I will not be denied entrance to any city within my bounds.”
King Froamb broke toward the city gate before she could stall him. Estrien turned round to Straiah with eyes pleading for help to stop him. Straiah dashed ahead, but just as he did, the deep creaking of wood sounded out in the night as the gates of Melanor swung open.
A great sigh went up from the people, all hungry and exhausted. Straiah and Estrien caught up with King Froamb and the three entered the city, followed at a distance by the rest. Immediately, they were met by Thalen.
“The elders require your presence,” Thalen said to Estrien.
She bowed and departed. Thalen gazed at King Froamb for a long while as though trying to work something out in his mind, but at length, he extended his hand toward the interior of the city.
Made of a whitish stone, the city was large and beautiful. Low-lying metal bowls on stone pedestals contained burning oils and lit the walkways.
“I'm sorry for the loss of your city, good king,” said Thalen.
“At the rate we're going, soon you'll be sorry for the loss of my whole kingdom. Where are you taking us?”
“To see Aravas.”
“What's going to happen to Estrien?” Straiah questioned.
“I don't know.”
“Speculate.”
Thalen stopped and turned to the pair with a sigh.
“She will be imprisoned for abandoning her mission and for leading you here. Her actions may have spelled doom for this city.”
“There's a war raging around you,” Froamb roared. “And you would imprison one of your finest soldiers just to save your pride?”
“A war, which less than one week ago, you yourself refused to believe in, nearly arresting Sheabor for bringing you tidings of Malfur in Thob Forest. Be careful who you accuse of pride, good King.”
The two men held one another's gaze for long moments.
“Please, this arguing is pointless,” Straiah declared.
“Agreed,” said Thalen, once more extending his hand.
The roads of Melanor were curved, with grassy hillsides and overhanging trees and buildings. Its layout led one's mind to imagine the city was larger than it could have been. At the end of the road was a building ornately decorated with columns, seated atop a flight of broad stairs. Ascending, an attendant opened the door at their approach and they entered to find a handful of persons seated around a large circular table.
“May I present King Froamb, of Forthura, and Straiah of the House, Cavanah.”
The pair gave a bow and those seated at the table arose to show their respects. They invited the two to be seated but King Froamb elected to stay standing.
“So Pallin has left in search of the orb containing our powers,” one of the men said.
It was Aravas. An elderly man, something in his countenance made it seem as though he was an older brother to Pallin. Straiah nodded.
“Has he forgotten that it was because of our role in this very situation that we chose to banish our powers?” Aravas continued. “Why is he so presumptuous as to assume that Faigean and I will willingly take up our powers again, if he discovers the orb?”
Straiah was somewhat taken aback by his line of questioning. It wasn't what he had expected.
“Pallin assumes that you and Faigean will do what is right,” Straiah responded.
Aravas looked at him and smiled.
“Indeed we will,” he said. “Though in your eyes it may seem like folly.”
“Will it seem like folly in Pallin's eyes as well?”
Aravas didn't respond but gazed at Straiah thoughtfully for a few long moments.
“Enough of this,” King Froamb said. “We have more pressing matters. What is going to be done about Malfur? We need to form a strategy against him.”
“Strategy?” said another of the men. “The strategy you refer to may not exist. Malfur's stroke was powerful and swift. Now that the Horctura occupy Eulsiphion, it may be years before the city is retaken, if at all.”
Froamb clenched his teeth and fists but didn't respond.
“The barbarians have already begun to spread into the outlying areas,” Thalen said. “The northern townships have begun fleeing south. You must have a mind of escape, good King, not of vengeance. The barbarians will grow quickly weary of a long campaign southward at the onset of winter.”
“What are you saying?” roared the king. “Run away south to Suriya and hope the barbarians just lose interest? No. My people will come here to Melanor. From here we can mount an offensive against the barbarians and Malfur. From here we can stem the tide.”
The room was silent.
“I'm afraid that isn't possible,” said Aravas. “Melanor cannot become
a way station for the kingdom of Forthura.”
“You refuse to stand with us?” King Froamb said, shaking with fury.
“I am truly sorry,” Aravas replied. “But you do not have the larger picture in mind. Patience is our only chance of survival.”
King Froamb stormed from the building. Straiah remained behind, his mind racing. What in the world was he going to do? If King Froamb left for the southern townships, would Straiah stay behind in Melanor? Maybe he could leave the hammer with them and aid King Froamb. But Sheabor needed it returned to him.
“Do not lose hope,” said Aravas, gazing warmly at Straiah and breaking his ruminations.
“What are our options?” Straiah asked.
“For the moment,” began Thalen, “to survive. At least until word can be sent to the other kingdoms. Kester would be a powerful ally and the giants will surely rally once news reaches them that the ancient enemy has returned.”
But the thought didn't give Straiah hope. He remembered back to just days ago, the welcome they received from King Froamb when they brought tidings of Malfur and Corcoran. Why would the rest react any different?
“What about the hammer?” Straiah asked. “It's imperative I get it back to Sheabor. If he's going to travel with Pallin to the tomb of King Euthor, the mission will be in vain without the hammer. I never should have brought it here.”
Thalen glanced to Aravas.
“There is one path you could take,” said Aravas. “But it is fraught with dangers. The Kingdom, Forthura, occupies the whole of the southern peninsula of this continent. To the north are the Horctura, and west of them are Kester and the Bearoc. Today, the only route connecting Kester and Forthura is through the barbarian kingdom. But there was once a pathway through the Westward Wilds, starting in the south, through Thob Forest and beyond, in the places none now travel. With luck, you could meet the others in the lands of Kester.”
The Banished Lands- The Complete Series Page 18
