The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

Bowen gave a wide grin.

  “My uncle had a saying. If you hear about them before they hear about you, they're having more fun than you.”

  Estrien and Straiah chuckled.

  “If we hear about you before you hear about us,” Estrien replied, “odds are, you'll never be heard from again.”

  Bowen threw his head back in laughter.

  “You make an unfortunate point.”

  The group laughed together until duty compelled them to part company.

  “Bowen, it's been a pleasure,” Estrien said. “You're a good man. I'm glad to have met you.”

  Bowen gave her a low bow. Estrien wasn't one for showy displays of affection but she still found ways to demonstrate her regard for those she genuinely appreciated.

  “I'm very happy for you with your new assignment,” Estrien added.

  “A temporary assignment,” Bowen corrected. “You aren't getting rid of me that easily. I'm a warrior, not a politician.”

  Estrien and Straiah smiled and Bowen began descending the stairs but stopped and took a step back up.

  “Don't think for a minute that if something really interesting happens, I won't be up for it in a heartbeat. Just send the word.”

  “Send it how exactly?” Straiah goaded. “None of our couriers are allowed inside their kingdom.”

  “Find a way,” said Bowen and passed below their sight.

  Estrien and Straiah laughed, Bowen mounting a horse at the base of the stairs and riding from the city. Once more alone, Straiah smiled fondly at Estrien until a horn sounded in the distance.

  “The morning watch is over,” Straiah sighed. “I have to go too. I'm sorry. I won't leave the city without saying goodbye.”

  Estrien opened her mouth to protest, but Straiah took her hands in his, staring at them for long moments.

  “I hate that things have been happening so quickly. Corcoran is more spread throughout the Westward Wilds than we had hoped. Things aren't looking good. He's already in position to strike at Kester.”

  Estrien nodded slowly, surprised to feel less anxiety over Corcoran's advancements than for what Straiah had written for her. And he had just praised her for her selflessness!

  She watched Straiah hurry down the steps and into the city until he dipped behind one of the buildings. Then she turned her eyes back over the plains, spotting Bowen who rode toward his own vital mission, shrinking away in a plume of dust.

  It was time Estrien got back in the saddle. Descending the staircase, she made for the council tent to find Sheabor. As she entered, she pushed the tent flap open, finding only Cora standing over the large woven map spread out on the table. Cora didn't lift her eyes to greet Estrien at first and Estrien felt a quick flash of anger. Estrien clenched her jaw waiting, until Cora at last addressed her and seemed surprised to find Estrien standing there.

  “Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. There's just been an endless stream of people in and out looking for Sheabor.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “I've been trying desperately to familiarize myself with the regions of your realm,” Cora continued.

  “I was hoping to find Sheabor myself,” Estrien said.

  “He's meeting with Straiah. They asked not to be disturbed, but I'm sure they'd make an exception for you.”

  Estrien opened her mouth but hesitated, flushing a bit red.

  “No. It's not crucial. I'd just like something to do.”

  “Oh,” Cora responded. “Well I'd be the last one to ask, unfortunately.”

  Estrien opened her mouth to inquire about the meeting yesterday morning, but Cora turned her eyes back to the map.

  “This city was very lucky to have you,” Cora said as she slowly studied the features of the intricate topography. “It sounds like you were the only one holding things together when my husband was grieving. He's romantic to a fault.”

  Cora smiled with warm regard.

  “So is Straiah,” she added, glancing at Estrien with a friendly smile.

  “You seem to know him well.”

  “I was Straiah's friend before I was Sheabor's wife,” Cora said. “Straiah introduced us, actually. I'm surprised he hasn't told you about it.”

  Cora was gazing at the map again, and Estrien couldn't see if the glow of sentiment was in her eyes.

  “So am I,” Estrien replied.

  “I didn't mean it like that,” said Cora. Then standing tall, she abandoned the map and moved toward Estrien. Cora was beautiful in a rustic way, not trained in elegance as those born at court. But she had a knowing smile and keen eyes – not witless as those born to privilege are. Estrien admired that.

  “He cares for you deeply,” Cora continued. “Everyone can see it. Though he seems simple and straightforward, I've found him to be...more complicated.”

  Estrien nodded slowly.

  “When you see your husband, please tell him I came by.”

  “I will.”

  Then Estrien departed. But she halted just outside, unsure where to go from here. She didn't like the feelings now coursing through her veins. Why was she jealous? It didn't make sense. There was nothing between Straiah and Cora. Estrien hated herself for it, but she wished that Straiah was more desperate – the same man who risked the fate of the alliance city to keep her safe in the forest from Corcoran's elite forces.

  Estrien took a deep breath and banished her restless thoughts. Things would work out in the end. They had to.

  Movements in the Dark

  The waves crept cool along the forgotten sands of the southern coastline of Kester. The midnight torches rained a pale light atop a force, two dozen warriors strong, waiting in the salty ocean spray. In the distance a faint glow illumined a small village, ripe for plunder.

  The warriors, long hidden in the Westward Wilds, had finally been dispatched. Moving outward, they jogged from the sandy beach and into the swaying fields. It was hardly a fair fight. The village would fall with ease. That was good, for they needed provisions. The time for war had finally come.

  But as they approached, they noticed something – a looming figure near the edge of the town. It was large and unmoving in the moonlight. It had to be a statue – some hero of old to Kester no longer able to protect his people. But the statue seemed stationed against them somehow, as though awaiting their approach.

  They drew closer, but something like the howl of a wolf sounded to the east. Fixing their gaze and halting for the moment, little appeared in their sight. Then, turning again to the village of Kester, the warriors noticed something frightful. The statue was gone.

  The group stalled, glancing about for threats in the dark. The leader of the Dungeon Core waved them forward and they moved cautiously. Had Kester summoned its forces against them? Noises in the dark – the howl of a wolf or the hoot of an owl – were natural enough. But something seemed to be stalking them.

  The town was only a hundred paces off now, a single patrolman passing between sparsely lit torches. Those same torches would light fire to this pathetic encampment, driving its residents from their homes like rats.

  The warriors drew their swords and hastened their pace. But just as they entered the pale of the dim light a form landed in their midst – huge and clad in battle armor. It was one of the Bearoc! The giants had always been a myth among the Dungeon Core. Some of the newer men froze, seeing a legend in the flesh. Others moved in.

  “Engage enemy forces!” shouted the leader of the Dungeon Core.

  But before the words had even escaped his lips, without warning, an arrow pierced his chest and he collapsed to the ground. This village of Kester was ready for them! But the lone night-watchman on patrol in the village was frozen in shock – genuinely unaware of their imminent invasion. Someone else was protecting this place.

  The Bearoc giant engaged the lead warrior, swinging his large broadsword. The warrior blocked his blow, but the force of it still cast him to the ground. From behind, a spearman lunged at the giant's chest. But just as the spear
tip neared him, another arrow sailed through the dark, sending the foeman to the ground.

  The Dungeon Core had its own archers, one letting fly an arrow at the massive form in their midst. It struck the Bearoc clean in the torso from a range no normal armor could withstand. But the arrow bounced from his chest and fell idle in the field. The giant turned with a deep growl.

  The eyes of the Dungeon Core went wide. Another arrow sprang from the darkness, killing another of the warriors. Some of the Dungeon Core began disbanding, fleeing toward the beach. The coalition forces went in pursuit, a few more arrows finding their marks.

  “Stand down,” came the sound of Gwaren's voice, who had come up beside the Bearoc giant.

  “We should pursue them,” argued Drogan.

  “No,” Gwaren replied. “It will be good for them to report what they saw – a Bearoc warrior clad in impenetrable armor. It will make their commanders think twice about sending out raiding parties.”

  “They still outnumber our forces ten to one.”

  “They don't know that,” Gwaren replied. “Hopefully fear of you will exaggerate their report of what happened here. We're letting over a dozen escape. They can't justify that kind of retreat to their commander unless our forces were overwhelmingly stronger. Our five men have just become fifty.”

  Drogan smirked.

  “We need to get moving,” he said. “We have a lot of distance to cover. This was only one of three groups that left their stronghold. Two other villages are in danger.”

  An archer of Melanor appeared from the shadows, collecting arrows from his slain victims. Though it had taken him some practice with these new arrows crafted by Blair, they were incredibly effective. Now that he didn't have to aim for weak points in the armor, he could hit targets effectively hundreds of paces away.

  “Good shooting,” said Gwaren.

  The Melanorian gave a low bow. The two footmen who had pursued returned. One was from King Froamb's army and the other was one of Sheabor's warriors, a member of the resistance, newly arrived to the Eastern Realm.

  “We make for the next village,” said Gwaren.

  Bowen had detailed as much as he could remember to them about the villages and towns spread throughout southern Kester. The group made for a copse of trees on the other side of the village. Watching from beneath a torch was the nightwatchman of the village, mouth still gaping.

  As they approached the treeline, they could hear the neighing of horses, upset to be on duty in the midnight watches. Mounting, they rode toward the setting moon. An alarm finally sounded from the village, the nightwatchman at last gathering his wits. Gwaren smiled to himself.

  Drogan ran beside him, easily keeping pace. They both knew what these raiding parties were – a distraction while the enemy gathered its full might in the Westward Wilds. The coalition forces were being pushed to the brink to defend the helpless villages. But where was Kester? They should be the ones patrolling their own homelands.

  Kester still hadn't committed any forces to the war, undoubtedly still deliberating the events relayed by the commander of K'venneh. It could take weeks or even months for the bureaucrats to come to a decision. Kester was overrun with men of talk. It could end up costing them this war.

  They rode for many hours until wilderness led to a small dusty cart path. They were close. Moving along it, Gwaren began to hear things in the distance – vague shouts and screams that intensified all the more. The battle was already underway and this time, they wouldn't have the element of surprise.

  Riding round a bend, the village came into view. Some of the buildings were already on fire. It was larger than the last village, undoubtedly having some kind of town watch to help fight the Dungeon Core.

  “Spread out,” Gwaren ordered. “We'll each move in on our own and blend in with the townspeople. The Dungeon Core won't know someone's attacking them.”

  Then he turned to Drogan.

  “You try and blend in too.”

  Drogan huffed and the rest of the men chuckled. But they broke formation, Drogan sprinting to the north and two others making south. The Melanorian archer hung back behind Gwaren who rode straight into town.

  “Defend us as best you can,” Gwaren said to him. “But prevent the Dungeon Core from escaping.”

  Then, dismounting in the field, he entered the town on foot, sprinting in the direction of the screams. Some had taken arms against the Dungeon Core. He could hear the sound of metal on metal. Gwaren drew his sword, the sword of King Behlyn. It shimmered green against the glow of the flames.

  Coming around a cottage, he entered the chaotic town square. Villagers were running this way and that, Dungeon Core warriors pursuing them. The Dungeon Core had broken formation. It was clear they had encountered little resistance.

  Gwaren bolted to his right, where a warrior stood, sword raised over a helpless villager. He lunged toward him, piercing him from behind before the warrior could deliver his blow. Gwaren helped the man to his feet.

  “Take his sword and save your family.”

  The man nodded, though still dumbfounded that he hadn't been killed. Gwaren spotted something in his periphery – another warrior coming swiftly to engage him. He had undoubtedly seen what Gwaren had done to his comrade.

  Turning, Gwaren blocked the warrior's blow and then another. The warrior went for a third but Gwaren sidestepped and swung. The warrior blocked it weakly and Gwaren advanced, swinging a second time. Now off balance, the warrior blocked his second blow and then swung to try and halt Gwaren's advance. But Gwaren ducked the blow and felled him.

  But two more were already upon him. Gwaren needed to get out of the open. He had lost all element of surprise. One of the two warriors was wearing more ornamental armor than the rest, clearly their commander.

  He swung down at Gwaren with a powerful blow. Gwaren blocked and maneuvered to keep the other warrior from getting to him. The commander could see his tactic, and swung to force Gwaren to expose himself to the other warrior's attack. Gwaren blocked a high swing from the commander and a low swing from the other warrior.

  Gwaren moved with skill, but all his combat training had been among the trees of the forest that he could use to his advantage. Never had he fought in open spaces. The commander made for another powerful swing. He was attacking Gwaren with ferocity, seeking to push him off balance.

  But Gwaren took the advantage and closed the distance, blocking his blow before he could fully swing. Now in close, Gwaren lunged with his shoulder at the other warrior, striking him in the chest and knocking him to the ground.

  But little did Gwaren know that a third warrior had advanced up behind him. Gwaren saw the commander's eyes glance up with pleasure and Gwaren at last heard the sound of shuffling from behind. By the time Gwaren whipped round, the warrior's sword was already raised to strike. Gwaren put up a weak defense and just then, he felt something whip by his face and a loud pop.

  The new warrior staggered back, an arrow protruding from his chest. The commander growled, kicking Gwaren as he turned to reengage him. Gwaren stumbled but stayed on his feet. The commander picked up the sword of his fallen comrade.

  Now, instead of powerful swings, he came in at Gwaren with a flurry, followed by the second warrior. Gwaren blocked and dodged them all, but with three swords now attacking him, he was being pushed back. Gwaren dodged a high swing and lunged in at the warrior's chest.

  The commander dodged to one side, both of his swords between him and Gwaren's. Then pushing Gwaren's blade away from his chest, he came in again, pushing Gwaren nearly to the northern edge of the square. Two more warriors were coming in from the other side of the square. Gwaren needed to disappear.

  Just before the other warriors reached him, Gwaren heard another pop of an arrow and saw the commander's eyes glaze over. As he fell, Gwaren bolted north into the cover of the buildings. Everything was a flurry. The screams of villagers and sounds of battle were all around.

  Other buildings in various places had caught fir
e and Gwaren could hear some of the braver villagers had stopped their retreat and were yelling for others to come help put the fires out. Gwaren came round a corner and straight into a villager holding a sword from one of the fallen Dungeon Core, which he raised against Gwaren.

  “I am with you,” Gwaren declared, holding his arms out wide.

  “Who are you?”

  “Commander of the coalition forces of the alliance.”

  “Whose alliance?”

  “The one saving your town. Come on.”

  The man followed Gwaren at a distance.

  “I'm with the town watch. I was asleep in bed when they came. Who are they?”

  But darting around a corner, a Dungeon Core warrior was just ahead. Seeing the pair, he turned, raising his sword. But Gwaren lunged forward, swinging high, locking swords overhead, while the second man felled him. Gwaren took his sword, which was stained red in blood, before moving off.

  “When did the attack come?” Gwaren asked.

  “I don't know. I awoke to a scream.”

  The sounds of battle were erupting loudly ahead. Darting round a few corners, they found Drogan, engaged with a handful of spearmen. The man following Gwaren went stiff at the sight of him, sliding to the ground. But Gwaren came up behind one of the spearmen and struck him dead as he turned.

  Drogan roared and swung at the three other spears. Gwaren ran toward the next, glancing his spear to the side and coming in for a death blow. Two now gone, Drogan advanced on the remaining two, who stood little chance against him. The townsman with Gwaren finally scrambled to his feet, still wary to come near the Bearoc giant.

  “We have them on the run,” Gwaren said. “But none can escape.

  “What about the third village?” Drogan asked.

  “We barely got here in time,” Gwaren said.

  Drogan clenched his jaw.

  “It's possible one of the other coalition groups will get to them before the attack,” Gwaren encouraged.

  “What in the world is happening?” the townsman demanded. “Who are these warriors?”

  “Kester is being invaded by the enemy of the alliance. Perhaps now your leaders will listen to us. Send a representative from your town watch to tell the story of what happened here. And be on your guard. The enemy will return.”