The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  “I have, yes.”

  “And what is your conclusion?”

  “I don't have one, really,” Sheabor replied. “If we defeat his army, he will flee back to the Banished Lands. That's good enough for me. Let him rot in the depths of his continent.”

  Blair considered his words.

  “You once told us that Corcoran exists as a spirit, that he can take physical form as a molten mass of lava and stone, but that he's also tied to the Banished Lands.”

  Sheabor nodded.

  “Well if he can't be killed, then he must be imprisoned. King Euthor has left us the means to do it. If we learn to build indestructible stone, we can trap him forever.”

  Sheabor and Baron were both shocked. Blair was actually claiming that with this Shade Stone, they could imprison Corcoran.

  “But how will you get him to fall for such a trap? He isn't going to stand there while you form an orb of Shade Stone around him. You'll be killed if you even go near him.”

  “Military tactics are your arena. I'm just telling you why King Euthor went to such trouble to leave us the means for crafting Shade Stone.”

  Blair placed his hands on the table and drew in a deep breath.

  “Are you okay?” Baron asked.

  Blair nodded and regained his composure.

  “I'm just weary and hungry from travel. If you don't mind, I'd like to eat some food and take some rest.”

  “Of course,” Sheabor replied. “Anything at all that you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  Blair departed, leaving Sheabor and Baron staring bewildered at the satchel of sands before them. Blair was clearly crazy. But somehow he was also right.

  “Can you believe it?” Baron asked.

  “Not in a hundred years would I have guessed that Blair would find an island full of sands for making Shade Stone. I have no idea how, but King Euthor is helping us win this war. And your brother couldn't have come back at a better time.”

  Baron gave him a questioning look at his last statement.

  “I have suspicions that Corcoran has already begun establishing himself in the Westward Wilds. I've sent Straiah and Gwaren to investigate. If he really is there, then this war will begin sooner than we hoped. Having the right weapons and armor will be of great importance.”

  “Of course,” said Baron. “If we only had a Woodlander working with us, someone who could manipulate grains of wood, like Blair and I do with stone, we could make almost impenetrable armor. Ariadra might one day come to possess the skill. She is a twin after all.”

  Sheabor didn't take his meaning.

  “Dahlgrin, our guardian in Ogrindal, told Blair and me that for whatever reason, the gifts of the First Age run deeper in twins than in normal people. No one knows why. Ariadra and her twin sister, Aerova, worked as seamstresses in Ogrindal. They were able to weave garments that were more durable than ordinary ones. But that's as far as she ever got. If her gift could be developed, she would be a great asset.”

  “We'll explore that when she returns. When do you expect her back?”

  “Another week,” Baron sighed.

  Sheabor smiled and placed his hand on Baron's shoulder.

  “Cheer up. One more week and then you'll never be parted again.”

  Baron gave a polite smile. He hoped that was true. But a sinking feeling had been growing in Baron's heart. He didn't know why, but he couldn't fight the feeling that he wasn't going to see her in another week. He had given orders to the supply caravans to stop at the pathway to Ogrindal and wait for an hour before heading back. One of the supply caravans had just departed a day ago. With luck, they'd be back in a week with Ariadra in tow.

  Baron and Sheabor left the tent together, traveling a short distance until Sheabor found the captain of the caravan he was looking for, telling him about the sands of the island and the vital mission he was about to send him on. Baron followed Sheabor, lost in thought over everything Blair had just told them.

  “When you're traveling through the lands of Kester,” Sheabor said to the caravan captain, “I want you to give any city or fortress a very wide berth. We still haven't made contact with Kester and I don't know how they'll respond to a caravan from our city. I want you to leave at night and do your best to pose as merchants of the Jedra fleeing the lands of the Horctura. That shouldn't raise too much of an alarm.”

  The captain bowed and took his leave to go and find Blair. Sheabor turned to find Baron still hovering beside him and he plopped a hand down on his shoulder.

  “You had better get back to work,” Sheabor said. “Can't keep the architect waiting.”

  Baron smirked.

  “Bowen and I made a better team,” Baron replied. “Have we still not heard from him?”

  Sheabor shook his head and Baron grew concerned.

  “He's been gone for weeks now,” Baron said.

  “It's a big step,” Sheabor replied. “Deciding whether to plunge a country into war. I'm sure their king and military leaders are taking their time. But they'll make the right choice eventually. Until now, Corcoran has relied on stealth. Soon, he won't have that luxury. Kester will come to see that siding with us is their only chance for victory.”

  The Storm

  Durian and Pallin watched in fright as the storm moved toward them, the shapeless mass of angry sky gathering overhead, with claps of distant thunder rumbling. The sea surged in great and terrible swells, thrusting the boat to the heavens and making Durian's stomach leap. Pallin worked frantically to capture the wind and keep ahead of the storm, but within hours, they were engulfed.

  An inky darkness overtook them, made even darker by the blinding bursts of lightning that kept their eyes from adjusting. The driving rain and echoing thunder made it almost impossible for Durian to hear the commands of Pallin, who had given Durian hurried instructions as the storm fast approached. But in the intensity of it all Durian forgot what Pallin had told him. There were ropes and rigging all around him and though Pallin pointed clearly, Durian didn't know which to tighten and which to loosen.

  He tried coming closer to Pallin to hear his shouts more clearly, but he found himself in Pallin's way as Pallin darted about the crowded vessel. But once as Pallin slid past him, he shouted a single job.

  “Durian, mind the line on the main sail!”

  Durian looked up to see the main sail flapping in the wind, starting to come loose from the rigging. If they lost the main sail, they'd lose any ability to navigate and would be at the mercy of the sea. The end of the rope holding down the main sail was fluttering in the wind like an angry serpent. Durian moved away from the railing to grab it, but a swell caught hold of the boat, lifting it high to the heavens, nearly sweeping Durian from his feet who barely managed to return his grip to the railing.

  But as the swell passed under them, Durian sprang forward toward the vagrant line, reaching for it as the whipping wind stung his face. The tail of the rope danced about like a nimble swordsman almost in reach and then gone again. A small wave crashed against the side of the boat, nearly knocking Durian down. But he steadied himself and finally took hold of the rope.

  The gusting wind caught the sail at intervals, threatening to uplift Durian into the air and send him over the side. Durian worked quickly, pulling the rope back to its rigging and tying a simple knot he could only hope would hold at least until Pallin could cinch it down in true nautical fashion. But Pallin wasn't satisfied with that. As Durian finished his work, Palling motioned for him to come to the rudder.

  “Stay this course!” Pallin commanded. “Don't fight the storm! We'll be shattered to pieces!”

  Durian nodded and Pallin dashed to the main rigging, undoing Durian's hasty work and tying it down proper. Durian watched behind as another swell raced toward them. They were being driven headlong by the storm into the unknown. But the storm had approached from the northeast, so if luck held, it might just drive them right to their destination.

  A flash of lightning hit the water just off
their port bow, startling Durian, who jumped in fright. The sound was deafening and it lit up the sky all around them. Durian glanced to Pallin who seemed almost entranced by the power of the storm and Durian was astonished that this man standing in the same boat with him once controlled such a raw and menacing force.

  Pallin came back to the rudder and Durian returned to the railing, grabbing hold of some rope and sheltering himself as best he could, keeping his eye ever on the main sail. He didn't know when day transitioned into night, nor when the night at last gave way to morning. Durian's mind wandered to a lyric he'd heard the sailors tell at the Sea Games one year when he was a boy. He struggled to recall the poem, inventing new lines where his memory failed, and found that the activity took his mind away from the bitter cold and stinging rain.

  Two sailors lone, have clung to hope and sailboat's wooden rail,

  Tossed and blown against the night by wind and rain and hail.

  The sleet battered, tattered sail, flaps helplessly and torn

  Through darkness of the vagrant night and through the gray of morn.

  The once swift pace of time is now a single hour of pain –

  Of unrelenting, savage gales and silent drops of rain.

  The current below, with unseen hand, drives all fears anew,

  Swirling around and round and round; piercing through and through.

  The dead and drowning hopes of men lay strewn about the sea,

  Churning round the hardened wood in quiet misery.

  The mist pursues their every joy. It feeds on every dream.

  It tricks their minds and makes all things be not what they seem.

  But in their thoughts forevermore are pebbles of some distant shore;

  And pebbles of some distant shore consume their thoughts forevermore…

  The last two lines were the only ones he remembered distinctly from the original poem, and those were what now haunted him. What if they were driven off course and never found their destination? Durian could already feel the creeping insanity gnawing at his mind, the thought of spending days or even weeks trapped in a driving storm and unable to flee.

  The nights found them sleepless, and the dawn, delirious. They were exhausted from shivering, with no reprieve from the wind and the rain for days. But one morning, the rain abated for a short while and Pallin arose from his sheltered corner in the bow of the boat, hobbling to a long strand of loose rope knotted at ten foot intervals. Placing his palms against the forward rail, he scanned the distance. Durian watched him silently, wondering what he was doing, for he'd never asked Pallin what the long, knotted rope was for.

  With frozen hands and joints, Pallin bent down and grabbed the bundle of rope as though to throw it into the sea. What was he doing? Durian arose slowly to help him.

  “Take hold of the end of this rope,” Pallin said. “Help me toss the rest in the water.”

  Durian did as he was bade without knowing why. When the larger mass of the rope was in the sea, Pallin took what was left from Durian, pulling it up slowly. It was only then Durian realized that this rope, knotted in ten foot intervals, would help them take a sounding of the ocean depth. Were they approaching land? Durian's heart began beating quickly. They'd be dashed to pieces long before they ever reached a shore.

  But Pallin sighed in great relief when the rope failed to reach the bottom of the sea and Pallin motioned for Durian to follow him.

  “We need to eat something,” Pallin said. “Keep up our strength.”

  Pallin hesitated to open up their store of dry goods, which had survived the storm mostly undrenched. So seizing some strips of dried meats and handfuls of nuts, the pair forced them down. But the chilly water was nearly impossible to swallow down the throat of an already shivering body.

  Around what must have been evening, Pallin arose again suddenly and took hold of the sounding line. Durian came to help him, and a streak of fear hit him when the line touched bottom at ninety feet. With every flash of lightning, Durian's eyes shot wildly about, his mind producing images of jagged coastlines and shoals they'd soon undoubtedly be shattered against.

  “Pallin! What are we going to do!”

  “Just keep calm!”

  But an hour later, Pallin took another sounding, this time only sixty feet. They were speeding their way to the Banished Lands, or some desolate island, faster than they ever dared. But if it wasn't the Banished Lands, if it was just some landmass off in the middle of the ocean, they would meet their demise, either by the ocean waves or by the slow pains of hunger.

  Pallin began rigging up the main sail to steer the boat against the storm, and Durian went to help him. Though the main sail wouldn't last long in such winds, they couldn't afford to be driven by the storm any longer. And as they unfurled the main sail into the gusting wind, they felt a surge of motion.

  “Help hold the rigging!” Pallin shouted.

  Durian nodded, though knew he couldn't hold for long. Pallin hurried to the rudder and pulled against the storm and Durian heard a tear start to rip almost immediately through part of the sail. But a flash of lightning in front of him suddenly showed a glimpse of a wooded hillside faint and far off. Was it real, or the imaginations of a terrified mind?

  “Pallin! I see land!”

  Durian heard the tear on the sail lengthen as part of the rigging broke free and fell about his feet. Durian looked with wide eyes to Pallin who was pointing at something and shouting. Another tear sounded and the loud snap of a rope, and the main sail tore free from its housing, the long horizontal pole of wood nearly decapitating Durian as it swung back and forth.

  “Durian!” he heard Pallin call his name.

  Durian reached for the flailing sail to try and stabilize it but a swell suddenly hit the boat from the side, nearly capsizing it. Durian grabbed hold of the horizontal pole for support, but it swung away toward the railing, flinging Durian, to his horror, over the side of the boat and into open water. Cold silence enveloped him and Durian thrashed desperately toward the surface. Terror seized him as long moments ticked by, his lungs burning. But at last, he broke through the surface, filling his lungs with breath.

  But after only a moment, he saw the towering form of a wave crashing toward him, plunging him down in the depths. Durian clawed against the churning waters, which spun him and pulled him with an irresistible will. But he broke through the surface, nearly fainting from exhaustion as he breathlessly tread water, hopeless to find the shore. He heard something then which both invigorated him and terrified him – the sound of wood splintering on the the rocks. Pallin had struck land somewhere in the distance and the sound was closer than he expected.

  Lightning lit up the sky around him and Durian saw in that moment, a large swell coming toward him. He prepared himself with deep breaths as the wave crashed down, sending him to the murky depths. Durian didn't struggle, letting his body go limp and swirling about, holding his breath.

  But after the churning abated, he swam upward, breaking through the surface easier than before. Recovering his breath, he could see forms of various shapes and sizes floating nearby atop the water. Swimming to one, it was a plank of wood adrift in the storm, no doubt from their recently destroyed vessel.

  Durian clenched it tightly in deep relief, looking about frantically for Pallin. There was another shape in the distance, larger than the rest, bobbing aimlessly amid the tempest. Durian made for, reaching it just as another wave crashed over him. But he clenched the spar of wood firmly and it pulled him upward through the churning waters.

  Part of the rigging was still attached to the section of boat he clung to and Durian wrapped it round his arm, feeling himself giving way to utter fatigue. Durian looked round one last time for any sign of Pallin. Then he succumbed to exhaustion.

  Durian awoke to cold water splashing against his cheek, his head pounding as he returned to consciousness. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and brought his hand up to his throbbing temples, the pounding intensifying into nauseous dizziness as
he lie there unmoving. He was desperately thirsty. But the storm had abated. He even felt the warmth of the sun against his skin.

  Then, in the distance, he heard a familiar sound he'd not heard since his departure from Suriya – the squawk of a sea bird. Durian raised himself up slowly and opened his eyes in the direction of the sound. Less than half a league away was land. Durian couldn't believe it.

  Turning over onto his stomach, Durian paddled his spar of wood clumsily toward shore, making little headway. Durian's muscles were burning, what meager strength he had left doing little to bring him closer to shore. He was so close, but it felt like an impassable gap lay between him and the beach. So he laid there breathless, the rolling swells inching him ever closer, until within an hour, he entered the shelter of a broad sandy bay, the swells now lightly crashing whitewash over him.

  On the sands, scattered debris from the ship was strewn about. But no sign of Pallin. Had he survived? The awful sound of splintering wood was still fresh in Durian's mind and now in the daylight, he could see the jagged shoals against which the boat had met an untimely end. Seeing the remnants of their vessel sent a streak of fear into his heart, for if the wreckage hadn't already been investigated, it soon would be.

  So Durian departed his wooden spar and swam the rest of the distance to shore, standing at length in waist deep water, gazing about for signs of friend or foe, and especially for Pallin. Was this the Banished Lands? It felt so ordinary – just the sandy shoreline of a broad bay, which rose steadily to a wooded hillside. He didn't know why but he'd expected something more.

  Durian felt completely alone. If this truly was the Banished Lands, he'd landed on the remotest shore of the continent. If not, if this was just some derelict island in the midst of the sea, Durian would undoubtedly live out the rest of his days trapped here alone with no hope of rescue. Only time would tell.