Gwaren handed him the second sword he still carried and he and Drogan moved off. As they went, some of the armed townspeople, thinking they were foes, stood to face them. But seeing Drogan, they quickly let them pass.
Drogan and Gwaren sprinted through the town square, encountering no living Dungeon Core, and arrived at the edge of town.
“How many escaped?” Drogan asked.
But Gwaren didn't know. A few Dungeon Core warriors lay slain in the field, and glancing about, Gwaren saw the Melanorian archer emerge from the treeline, holding the reins to a pair of horses. Behind them, the townspeople were putting out the fires and securing their village. After another minute, the other two of their group joined them, both injured, though neither mortally.
“How many escaped?” Gwaren asked the Melanorian.
“Some.”
“We'll find them on the road.”
“And the third village?”
“We can't get to them in time. Hopefully one of the other groups will. But if not, their sacrifice won't be in vain. The reports of what happened here will pull Kester into action. Let's get moving.”
They found the two remaining horses and moved off, back toward the Westward Wilds. As they rode, Gwaren thought better of his hope that the advancements of Corcoran would pull Kester into action. That's exactly what the enemy wanted. If they struck at Kester hard, it would force them to defend themselves, to act alone and without the alliance's help.
Gwaren couldn't shake the notion that they were falling right into Corcoran's plans. From what Gwaren had seen, none of the forces of Corcoran had made for the villages of Forthura. They had focused their attacks on Kester. Forthurian villages were much more spread throughout the open plains and Corcoran might only be seeking to do the most damage by sending war parties into the more densely populated Kester. But Gwaren suspected something deeper at work.
Corcoran wanted to provoke Kester into an early conflict, keeping the coalition forces too busy defending helpless villages to do anything else. That couldn't be allowed to happen. The coalition needed to strike at the strongholds of Corcoran in the Westward Wilds. They needed to fight back...and soon.
Passions
Estrien awoke early, just before the break of dawn. Arising, she made herself ready and set off. The city was quiet in the stillness of predawn. She still hadn't talked with Sheabor, or even Straiah for that matter – left to wander the city like a haunting specter.
Estrien liked the cool quiet of the morning. But before she had ventured fifty paces, the rest of the city began to stir, emerging from scattered tents to meet the day. Estrien sighed, turning her sights to the west and the fields beyond the city bounds, all green with new life.
Setting her steps toward it, she came to the far wall and passed through the gate, emerging onto the swaying fields of Kester. It was beautiful in springtime, brimming with vitality. The sun finally crept from behind the mountain, warming her back and reviving the plains.
Estrien moved through the field slowly, breathing in deeply a measure of peace. But still her thoughts were restless. Straiah could be leaving this morning. He hadn't said for certain when he'd be departing. But he'd promised he wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. Estrien liked the idea of him having to search for her. It was juvenile and probably wrong, but love is a fool's errand anyway. She sighed and breathed in deeply the rich freshness of early spring.
She knew on some level that how she was acting was wrong. But she had sacrificed everything – had willingly offered her life for the good and noble cause. And what had she gotten for it? Obscurity. Now, the only thing she really wanted was being kept from her like she was some spoiled child grasping for more than she deserved.
A breeze picked up from the south, menacing her arms as she cradled them. Though spring was in full bloom, the last chill of winter still moved in the wind. Estrien felt suddenly foolish for being out here all alone.
But as she went to turn back to the city, she heard someone approach from behind. Stalling, she kept her gaze over the swaying fields. At length, a hand came to rest on her shoulder but she didn't turn. A form came up beside her, he too staring out onto the undulating grasses. At length, Estrien turned to him but he spoke first.
“What are you doing out here?” Straiah asked. “You shouldn't be alone in the wild. Corcoran's spies could be anywhere.”
“Finding some solitude. What are you doing out here?”
Straiah seemed struck by her manner of speech.
“I came to find you,” he replied. “I've been looking everywhere for you.”
“You didn't have to,” Estrien responded. “I would've understood.”
Straiah didn't reply, his gaze turning outward again over the plain.
“You're leaving then?” she continued.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Back to your sandy beach?”
Straiah opened his mouth to reply but something seemed to stall him. Estrien hated that she was treating him this way. She was angry, she knew, but shouldn't be taking it out on him like this. It wasn't his fault. But something in her wanted to see how he would react.
“I promised I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye...” he said at last, turning to her.
Estrien met his gaze but her countenance was cold.
“And I wanted to give you something.”
Though she had been anxious to see what he had written for her, wanting to know the emotions that had inspired it, now she thought the better of it. If it was just some nature piece of his time in the Westward Wilds, he should keep it to himself.
Slowly, he produced a weathered piece of parchment from the folds of his garments. She unfolded it and read. The poem was titled A Shoreline Walk. Immediately her heart sank. It really was just a thoughtful description of his time alone in nature. But she forced herself to read it all the same:
A Shoreline Walk
Whenever her golden hair falls down
And floats against those still green eyes,
I see a shoreline of sparkling sands
By a great emerald sea – and I find
That I would wander that shore forever,
And be lost to something wonderful...
The words brought a wave of feeling, heightened by her surprise at the poem's content.
“I love it,” she said and pressed the paper to her heart.
But she found that she couldn't raise her eyes to meet his gaze. She could feel his eyes boring into her and could tell that the fire was back in his eyes, the look he'd had the first night they met in Eulsiphion. It was what attracted her to him the most – to feel desired like that.
“There's another poem on the other side,” he said. “When we first got to the Westward Wilds, we each made camp in a different part of the deep woods. It was beautiful and peaceful there and I would often wander after my patrols, gathering firewood, wondering how the rest of you were faring, not knowing if I would even see you again and wishing I could somehow steal you away from duty and trouble to be with me.”
Estrien flipped the paper over:
These Thoughts
Until you are here,
I'll walk among the lonely pines,
Hand in hand with the thought of you.
Until you draw near,
I'll roam about this pensive mind,
And pen these thoughts for you.
These thoughts are like the logs of wood I split –
Splintered and raw – piled there,
Waiting for the fire.
And when the fire comes,
You will see how it blazes.
Estrien stared at the paper as though reading the poem a second time. But her eyes were already blurring with tears. She didn't know what to do. But she dared not meet his gaze. Her hands trembled. Why was she in this position? She had led the defense of the alliance city – had been in command of the most important city on the face of the world. How could the elders of Melanor still be keeping her in such a prison!
Straiah reached out to touch her shoulder. The warmth of his hand sent a sudden chill down her spine in the early morning air. She cradled her arms and he stepped forward, pulling her toward him. They hugged for many moments, but she turned her eyes up at last, gazing into his and couldn't stop herself from kissing him.
They locked in a passionate embrace, time stretching on but neither letting go. But then, he seemed to lose his strength and falter. Estrien caught him turning his cheek to meet her gaze, but his eyes had grown distant and gray. Then, in another moment, he was falling.
“No!” Estrien called out, catching him.
She shook him but her efforts failed to wake him.
“Straiah!” she called out, still shaking him.
But he was unresponsive. Estrien looked around desperately for aid. But she was alone in the field with him. In the distance, some patrolled the wall. Estrien ran to them, waving and calling out until they took notice. Then, returning to Straiah, she shook him again to no avail. At length, two from the city approached, hands on the hilts of their swords, looking around in the fields for danger.
“Help me!” she yelled, pulling one of them down to the ground to help grab him.
With difficulty, they moved through the fields toward the city, all the while, the two soldiers inquiring what happened, to which Estrien remained silent.
“Just get him to the healers!”
As they moved through town, the commotion drew a crowd. Sheabor and Cora were in the distance and came running over just as Estrien reached the healer's tent. The soldiers laid Straiah down on the table as the tent flap burst open, revealing Sheabor and Cora.
“Straiah!” Sheabor said in great surprise at seeing his friend unconscious on the table, rushing forward and shaking him.
“He's ice cold!” Sheabor declared. “What happened?”
Estrien opened her mouth to reply, but was lost on what to tell them.
“Was he attacked?” Cora asked.
“Attacked? No. I...”
But the words wouldn't form. Cora looked at her warily, so much so that Estrien flushed red. She didn't know what to do. Time seemed to stall as all eyes turned on her. At length, she fled from the tent.
“Estrien!” Sheabor shouted, to no avail. “Someone give me some answers, please!”
“I'm not sure yet what happened to him,” the healer said, still looking Straiah over. “But he appears stable – at least for the moment.”
Sheabor moved to chase after Estrien but Cora put her hand on his chest.
“Stay,” she said. “I'll go talk to her.”
Then Cora hurried from the tent, finding Estrien not far away in tears. Coming closer, Estrien turned, a look of anger filling her eyes to find Cora hovering close.
“Leave me alone,” Estrien said.
“Straiah told me something was keeping the two of you apart...that you couldn't be together until after the war. I guess I figured it was some principle of yours or a decision you both had made. I didn't imagine this.”
Estrien took a deep breath, settling her nerves.
“Melanor is an old city with old ways,” Estrien replied. “I violated a sacred law. They only let me go knowing they could force me to focus on my duty and nothing else.”
“I'm sorry,” Cora replied. “Whatever happened, I'm sure it isn't your fault.”
“It doesn't matter whose fault it is. Straiah was about to leave on a crucial mission. Now that's ruined.”
“I can go in his stead,” Cora responded. “I know the resistance better than anyone.”
Estrien felt a flash of fear. If anything happened to Cora out there in the wild, it would be Estrien's fault.
“No,” Estrien responded. “I'll go.”
“The resistance doesn't work with those they don't know. Corcoran has impersonated those of our number, just as he did with your friend Durian. The resistance has grown wary of newcomers.”
Just then, the tent flap burst open, revealing Sheabor.
“The healers don't know when he'll awaken,” Sheabor said. “They don't really even know what's wrong with him. But they've said his condition is stable.”
Estrien sighed in relief. Sheabor opened his mouth to inquire further, but the stern look from his wife, Cora, told him he was already treading where he didn't belong. As they stood there, Estrien could see in Sheabor's eyes what he was thinking. Without Straiah, who was going to rendezvous with the resistance?
“I'm going to take Straiah's place,” Estrien declared before another word was spoken.
Sheabor glanced to Cora who only wore a troubled look.
“But you've barely recovered and the road is long,” Sheabor argued.
“I'll manage. I've seen worse.”
Sheabor opened his mouth for further arguments but hesitated. They all knew that Cora was best suited for the job. Convincing Estrien of the fact was a moot point. Straiah had only volunteered because sending Cora away on a dangerous mission just after she'd been reunited with her husband seemed wrong. Estrien would honor Straiah's wishes and go in his place.
“You'll need to leave almost immediately,” Sheabor said. “If you're late, the resistance will suspect something.”
“Haven't Gwaren and Drogan already met with them?”
“Yes, but the Westward Wilds is a huge area. If you spend time looking for them you'll miss the meeting. Straiah was set to rendezvous with them at a specific time and place.”
“I don't understand,” Estrien said. “Why aren't Drogan and Gwaren working hand in hand with the resistance?”
“They are,” Sheabor replied. “But they have a different mission. Their job is to contain Corcoran's advancement into Kester and prevent an early war. Straiah's mission was to work with the resistance to determine a counteroffensive.”
“Counteroffensive?”
Sheabor paused, as though choosing his words carefully.
“Straiah and I have been planning for days. It's hard to bring you up to speed so quickly. What we think we know is that Corcoran is going to focus his efforts on Eulsiphion. Though his gaze is now fixed on Kester, he'll change in a moment.
If Durian is right, Corcoran will do anything he can to see the plans of King Euthor stifled. He'll overextend himself and be vulnerable. We need the resistance to be ready when that time comes to strike at Corcoran's strongholds in the Westward Wilds. We'll push him back into the sea.”
Estrien nodded slowly.
“We have very little time,” Sheabor said. “Cora and Straiah gave us a full report of Corcoran's positions in the Westward Wilds. We believe thus far, he's only been able to bring lightly-armed infantry across the divide, forces that can move at speed and cover distance. His siege works and the beasts under his command are still on the Banished Lands. If we can defeat his strongholds now, we can prevent his greater forces from arriving. That's the mission.”
“Understood.”
“Be careful,” Cora warned. “They won't be quick to trust you. You'll have to convince them.”
Pallin
Pallin hid among the cover of trees waiting for darkness to blanket the forest. Nightfall was fast approaching – the only time he dared travel. Unknown forces patrolled constantly and he had made very little headway. And though some whom he hid from were undoubtedly part of the resistance of Cavanah, he couldn't risk revealing himself.
Thinking of Durian as he waited, as he often did, he wondered whether he was alive or dead...if he'd been captured by Corcoran and tortured to reveal what he knew. If that had happened, then all was lost. Corcoran would search for the tomb of King Euthor day and night until he found it. Pallin could only hope that Durian was alive and that the resistance had gotten to him first.
Opening his palm, he revealed the glowing stone, pulsating a vibrant and beautiful blue, still guiding his way. Returning it at length to his pocket, he closed his eyes and waited for nightfall, trying to stay awake. The journey had wearied him to the brink of exhaustion.
&nbs
p; The storm had worn both of them raw and ragged. And coming to land soaked, without food or water, having to hide constantly, unable to hunt, had pushed him harder physically than he had ever before experienced. Berries and edible herbs arrayed sparsely through the forest were his only source of food. A genuine fear was growing inside him that he wouldn't have the strength to make it the rest of the journey.
Night began to fall among the trees, awaking the creeping creatures that shied away from watchful eyes. Pallin arose slowly from the underbrush, scanning the forest for any movements of soldiers. Then he set off but as he departed, he thought he heard the faint sound of leather stretching, as though someone had set out after him.
Halting, he whipped his head round, his eyes narrowing. But nothing came to view and he felt a rush of dizziness from the sudden fright. He brought his hands to his temples and rubbed. But the same sound came again and he dropped his hands, heaving breaths of damp forest air beneath the failing light. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Or had he already been discovered?
Just then, a terrible thought entered his mind. What if Durian had been found and forced to reveal their mission? What if Corcoran's patrols had already located Pallin and were watching him from a distance, hoping he would lead them straight to King Euthor's tomb?
Pallin's heart beat quickly, making his head throb. He had to keep his wits about him. Setting off again through the forest, he moved with greater caution, all his awareness listening to the sounds of the forest.
He had been followed before many times in years past, having been a wanderer among the cities of man, and taken with suspicion. Most recently, he'd been followed by three Suriyans out to Thob Forest, them thinking him a barbarian spy or perhaps worse. Pallin knew how to lose someone in the forest.
The Banished Lands- The Complete Series Page 88
