The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  But the jester retrieved it, presenting it to the archer with similar fanfare and returning for the third and final apple. This one green, whereas the first two were red, the jester held it up for long moments and Durian got the impression that this one was somehow worth more than the first two. Durian couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle, the traditions in Stillguard just as odd as those in Suriya.

  Sailing high into the air, each archer loosed their arrows when the apple reached its zenith. But all five missed, to the delight of the crowd, and they notched another arrow each and waited for the apple to fall sufficient distance so as not to hit the crowd. Then, one at a time, the archers loosed their arrows, the first two missing, while the third, coming from the archer who had just scored a point, cleaved the apple straight in two.

  The crowd hollered their approval as the third archer was declared the winner and removed his cowl, holding up his bow to the adoring crowd. Durian was surprised to see that the winning archer was the young man who had rescued him from the two thugs.

  Then the tournament proceeded to the next area, the jousting course. Durian moved with the rest of the crowd to the second part of the arena. Already warriors on horseback were practicing maneuvers with long wooden pikes. Most of the jousting poles were tipped with decorative heads of metal, which intrigued Durian greatly. He came up closer to get a better look. One of the poles had a cap shaped in a closed fist. Another was in the shape of a warrior's helmet.

  Captain Cross was seated nearby in the stands, reclining in a covered box at the center point of the action, the best seat in the house. Durian chose a spot far from him, the seats quickly filling up as jousters lined opposite ends of the dirt lot, each squire brandishing the colorful standard of his noble house. And after a slow lap around the perimeter of the arena, knights and squires alike exited through large doors on the far end.

  But two riders remained, facing off as their horses reared up, anxious to be set loose. A horn was blown and each rider surged forward with incredible speed, their long pikes pointed to the sky. But as they neared, they lowered their poles in unison, the moment stretching on until the two poles met their marks in an explosion of noise and splintering wood.

  One rider went flying from his saddle, to the delight of the roaring crowd. The other rider caught only a glancing blow to the shoulder and kept his place. The fallen knight arose slowly from the dirt, battered but somehow uninjured, and both knights returned to their ends for another round.

  Though Durian had heard stories of jousting, he had never imagined it to be so punishing of a sport. The riders met another two times at the center of the arena, and a victor was named, sending another pair to tempt their fate. Durian watched with rapt attention until he saw in his periphery that Captain Cross arose and made for the first arena, converted from an archery range to where the final conflict would happen. Durian's heart beat quickly. The time was nearly upon him.

  The Forest

  Straiah moved quickly and silently through the forest, following the tracks before him as best he could. It was a risk traveling like this, on horseback. He'd be seen by the enemy long before he spotted them. But he didn't care. All his thoughts were on Estrien. Had they harmed her? What if they had killed her?

  Though Straiah had been a skilled woodsman all his life, fighting and hiding from superior numbers, this was more hopeless, he knew, than any scenario he'd faced before. His only advantage was stealth. One man could slip in among them when a party of warriors couldn't. But getting Estrien out unharmed was probably impossible. He accepted the fact that he would almost certainly die trying.

  But a strange peace had come over him since departing from the others, a singleness of purpose. He traveled for the better part of the day, watching the sun descend behind the trees to the west, as a cool darkness descended on the forest. And as he traveled, a question stuck fast in his mind: how had the forces of Corcoran found Estrien and the twins? It didn't make sense.

  What if there were a spy in their midst? What if someone had been whispering lies into their ears? It could only be Bowen. He had arrived out of nowhere with tidings that the giants were ravaging the lands of the Horctura. He had been adamant that it was giants behind the attacks. What if Bowen wasn't who he appeared? How could they even be sure he was a captain in the army of Kester? They'd taken him completely at his word. Straiah's heart beat quickly. Surely Sheabor would come to the same conclusion. Wouldn't he? Straiah couldn't be sure. If Sheabor had one failing, it was being overly trusting. But perhaps Gwaren or Drogan would get to the truth.

  Straiah rode many hours into the night until the discontented grunting of his horse compelled him to stop. Having traveled long without water or food, Straiah set it free at a small spring oozing from the rock of the mountain. The horse drank greedily and Straiah filled his water skin, departing on foot.

  The tracks had grown fresher but were difficult to follow in the inky darkness beneath the trees. But he came to a clearing and was surprised by what he saw in the faint light of the moon. Tracks were ranged all over, as though a meeting of some kind had taken place. Straiah studied them long, until a feeling of danger struck him. He was completely exposed in this clearing.

  Whipping his head round, he scanned the dark treeline, seeing nothing. Were they watching him even now, wondering why he was alone? The tracks he now studied were probably just a ruse set up by the elite force to get their pursuers out into the open. Straiah thought for long moments. They couldn't be far away and if they'd spotted him, they'd have someone track him.

  Straiah had no choice but to double back the way he'd come from and disappear into the trees. He wouldn't be able to track them anymore but it was the only way he could keep from walking into a trap. His only hope was to trust his senses to find their encampment. They had to be close.

  Straiah disappeared into darkness and curved round in a broad arch to the other side of the clearing. Then, pausing, he stood for many minutes, listening to the sounds of the forest, the creeping things awakening to the night. Straiah heard a twig crack from somewhere over his right shoulder, turning to find nothing there. Still he waited, letting his senses blend with the forest. They were out there, he knew, searching for him.

  Straiah had spent his life in the woods and evading pursuers was more about what couldn't be heard or seen than what could. The creatures of the forest respond to the presence of man, growing quiet when a person draws near, an almost imperceptible dullness forming around them, like a pocket of silence. Straiah waited for nearly an hour, listening to the cacophony of the forest. The forces of Corcoran were clever, waiting for Straiah to come to them.

  He set off ever so slowly, the forest creatures having grown accustomed to him, not silencing their calls at his movements among them. Straiah thought he smelled a faint odor of smoke in the air. Had they risked a fire? Clearly they didn't fear him. But if they knew he had come alone, not bringing Baron and Blair, perhaps they'd lose their reason for keeping Estrien alive.

  The thought drove him to risk a quicker pace but he cringed every time his foot fell on a twig and snapped it. He sensed something moving in the forest alongside him, not very close by, but tracking with him laterally through the woods. But he continued on, slithering like a snake for the better part of an hour, the smell of smoke growing stronger.

  Near midnight, a faint glow appeared in front of him, nearly imperceptible at first, but growing brighter with every passing step. Straiah's heart pounded as he approached, knowing sentries would be hidden all along their perimeter. The fire was a smart tactic. Though it gave away their position, if their watchmen were well-positioned with their backs to the light, they'd have better vision than those approaching from the dark.

  Straiah and Sheabor had used the tactic before, and it had saved their lives on more than one occasion. But Straiah had a trick or two up his sleeve. Cutting a small piece of fabric, he tied it securely over one eye, limiting his vision, but keeping one of his eyes from adjusting to t
he light.

  Moving forward as slowly as he was able, he listened intently for sounds that indicated he'd been spotted. Less than fifty paces away, he came within earshot of the camp and stopped, eyes closed, almost in a trance as he opened up his senses. The slight twisting of leather in the nearby distance was the only thing that told him watchmen were near at hand. Staying in the shadows, he was able to come within a dozen paces of the enemy camp.

  Forms came in and out of his vision, warriors moving to and fro within the glow of the firelight. Straiah did his best to gauge their numbers but had no way of knowing for sure. But the sound of Estrien as though in pain and struggling sent a wave of joy and panic through his heart. She was alive but they were hurting her. Were they trying to draw him out from hiding? It was working. Straiah's muscles tensed and all his will power was barely able to stay him from springing through the trees in a rage.

  A row of bushes obscured his view of scattered tents and a small fire. Estrien was somewhere out of sight behind one of the tents near the fire. Straiah clenched his jaw. He would never rescue her without being seen. But he had known all along that this wasn't really a rescue. Maybe with the help of Sheabor and the others...but Sheabor was right to take Baron and Blair to safety. Straiah just couldn't let Estrien die knowing that none had cared enough to sacrifice themselves for her.

  Straiah prepared himself for the end. He'd come as far as he was able without revealing himself to Estrien's captors. Taking a deep breath, he felt a peace wash over him and accepted a warrior's death. But just as he began to rise, a hand came down upon his shoulder. Spinning round in murderous rage, the form of Gwaren was just behind him, waylaying him and holding his finger to his lips. Straiah couldn't believe his eyes.

  Gwaren knelt down beside him, daring not speak but motioning with his hands toward the encampment of Corcoran's elites. Pointing to the tents, he motioned with his hands something Straiah couldn't quite decipher. But then, pointing firmly to various places in the forest, Straiah gathered that Gwaren believed the tents to be just a diversion...that they were empty and that Corcoran's elites were spread throughout the forest. That was clever.

  Straiah was overjoyed at the sight of Gwaren, and that both of them managed to somehow penetrate the perimeter of Corcoran's elites undetected. Straiah felt a glimmer of hope. But Estrien was still in distress. He could hear someone talking to her, asking questions and her grunts of pain at not answering. Straiah felt Gwaren's grip on his shoulder tighten, holding him in place.

  Gwaren motioned for Straiah to wait and signaled that he would go the long way round. Straiah nodded and Gwaren disappeared but the sound of Estrien in pain was maddening. Straiah had to think quickly. With Gwaren, there was actually hope of escape. Straiah moved toward a better position where he could actually see Estrien.

  She was bound to a pole, standing near the fire with two warriors questioning her. Her side was soaked with blood and she looked exhausted and dazed. Straiah waited until he was sure that Gwaren was in position, then began to move silently forward, crouched low in one of the warrior's shadows.

  Straiah drew a knife from his boot, close enough to spring on the man if he had to, but it wouldn't be clean. Estrien opened her eyes and turned, almost as though she could somehow sense he was near her. She saw him, but looked as though she didn't believe what she was seeing.

  “I'll tell you what you want to know,” Estrien said.

  The warrior's interest was piqued. Straiah moved forward again. But the toe of his boot caught some loose dirt ever so slightly. Estrien glanced over and one of the warriors straightened his posture, his hand moving slowly down to the hilt of his sword. Straiah sprang just as the man drew his weapon and turned, Straiah burying his knife in the man's neck.

  But he had to catch the man from falling hard and the other warrior was already upon him, letting out a yell, which was immediately stifled by the hand of Gwaren over his mouth. Cutting Estrien's bonds, she fell forward, burying her head in his shoulder in wearied joy. Straiah felt a rush of emotion. But this wasn't the time.

  “You're hurt,” he said softly.

  She nodded, wincing as he examined her side. The wound wasn't fresh. It must have happened during the battle when they tried to take Baron and Blair. It didn't look like any organs had been hit but if he didn't get her to a source of clean water soon, the wound would fester and she would surely die.

  “Can you walk?” he whispered.

  She clenched her jaw and nodded. Now they needed a plan. Gwaren motioned for the two of them to go out the way they had come. Estrien's weapons were laying on the ground nearby, and Straiah grabbed them. Gwaren hid the bodies of the two warriors and placed them inside one of the tents. Then he drew his sword, the weapon of King Behlyn. Even in the low light, the blade showed an elusive translucent green.

  Estrien and Straiah moved off, out of the firelight and into the darkness. Straiah moved the cloth covering his eye over to the other and immediately the world grew brighter. It was amazing how long it fully took for vision to adjust from light to dark. It was difficult for Estrien to crouch and she couldn't help but wince and breathe heavily. This wasn't going to work and Straiah stopped them in the shadow of a large tree, his heart pounding in his chest. They didn't have much time.

  Estrien looked into his eyes, sensing his thoughts. Straiah knew if they went any further, they'd be discovered by the sentries on the perimeter. His eyes turned downcast and he opened his mouth to say he was sorry but she placed her hand on his cheek, lifting his eyes to hers and gave him a warm smile. She'd tell him to go and escape without her but knew he wouldn't. They gazed into each other's eyes for long moments and Straiah felt peace once more washing over him. This is the way he'd always pictured his death and he had no regrets.

  Scooping her up in his arms, he set off. He had a vague impression of where the watchmen were stationed in the trees and did his best to approach them in stealth. What was Gwaren thinking and doing? Surely he'd try to aid their escape but how? They had the advantage against the elites now, approaching from behind. But the elites were scattered throughout the trees.

  Straiah moved quietly forward carrying Estrien. Already, she'd begun to fade from exhaustion. But a clamor of sounds erupted in the nearby places, a struggle and a muffled cry. Straiah froze, crouching low and placing her in the shadows. Then he waited, listening for any movement. A slight rustling in the underbrush nearby gave away the position of one of the warriors moving to investigate.

  Straiah went to intercept, approaching with all caution, his heart racing, unsure that what he heard was even a warrior at all and not some animal scurrying about the forest floor. He waited, letting his senses again attune to the forest. Something moved again, away from him and toward Gwaren's position. Waiting another few moments, he returned to Estrien feeling a glimmer of hope.

  She had lost consciousness and Straiah bent down feeling for her pulse. Her skin was cold to the touch and her pulse barely there. Fear gripped him. She couldn't keep pressure on her wound while asleep and he had to carry her. Making some quick bandages and tying them as tightly as he could, he picked her up once more and set off through the forest at a quick pace. They had a short window of time for escape and Straiah was going to use every second of it. But with Estrien in his arms, his tracks would be easy to follow. They might clear the camp of the enemy but would soon be followed.

  More noises erupted in the night, the sound of a struggle and voices from the encampment where Estrien had been held. Straiah set off at almost a jog, unable to see where his feet fell and making a commotion. But they were a few hundred paces away now and he was out of options.

  Stumbling on a root, he nearly came crashing with Estrien to the ground. He couldn't travel at speed like this. As gently as he could manage, he put her over his shoulder, then moved off. Roots and mosses atop the ground convinced him he'd made the right decision but her wound could easily reopen being carried this way. With the extra weight, Straiah's feet sank deep wh
enever he landed on the spongy moss, leaving a footprint even a child could follow.

  They needed a place to hide. Straiah's mind raced, trying to recall any hidden nooks he'd passed along the way. Movement behind him made him tense. Laying Estrien down gently on the forest floor, he crouched beside her, sword drawn. Another sound, this time closer. Straiah waited. Seconds passed and nothing more. Had they spotted him?

  But then, just a stone's throw away, he saw the frond of a fern move slightly to one side as someone slid past it. Straiah crept forward, soon catching sight of a warrior in dark armor moving diagonally out toward the forest. Straiah could get the drop on him but if their swords clashed, he'd have at least a dozen more warriors on him in seconds. So Straiah sheathed his sword and advanced toward the warrior, knife in hand. When we had come within five paces, the warrior caught sight of him and Straiah sprinted forward the last few steps.

  The warrior swung diagonally downward toward Straiah, who barely escaped the swing, darting to one side. The warrior stepped back and swung again, across Straiah's body. Instead of jumping back himself to safety, Straiah lunged forward, catching the hilt of the warrior's sword in his side, a slice of the blade cutting through his leather armor. But Straiah plunged his knife under the warrior's arm, killing him.

  The warrior slumped to the ground and Straiah did his best to quickly hide him, then set off to Estrien, examining his side. His ribs were bruised but they didn't feel broken, and a cut was seeping blood slowly. Finding Estrien still unconscious on the ground, he put her on his shoulder and set off into the trees as fast as he could manage.

  But as he traveled, he felt something that made his heart sink, a warmth on his shoulder where Estrien rested, flowing down his shoulder and onto his chest. The wound on her side had begun to bleed. If they didn't soon stop for the night, she wouldn't make it till morning.