But he couldn't do so with a brightly glowing jewel in his hands. For the time being, he'd have to travel without a guide and could lose precious ground. But it was a risk he'd have to take.
Moving quickly through the trees, he stepped on stones and roots where available, making his tracks as difficult to follow as possible. It wouldn't fool a trained forester like Sheabor or Straiah, but if the minions of Corcoran were just common soldiers, it would confound them easily enough.
He traveled for nearly an hour, all traces of his pursuers vanishing into dark. But as he halted and scanned the black of the forest, he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He could almost hear the sound of breathing in his ear, as though a face were just behind him, no matter where he turned.
A faint light seemed to glow in the distance. Pallin waited. Slowly the light grew and Pallin knew a patrol was coming in his direction. Searching the vicinity, he hid where a boulder lay amid the brush. Pallin closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest, battling the fatigue that sought to carry him off to sleep.
Soon, the sound of armored footsteps entered his hearing. What were the patrols searching for so ardently? Was it the resistance? Or was it him? Pallin stayed deathly still as the patrol came near him and passed him by, the lights of a dozen torches traveling swiftly.
They went without incident but seemed to halt a few hundred paces beyond where he hid, the light no longer diminishing just a stones throw beyond. But as he lay there, Pallin thought he heard hushed voices speaking.
Had the patrol encountered another group just beyond where Pallin hid? His heart beat quickly. Had he not lost them at all? Or was his mind playing tricks on him? Pallin felt another spell of dizziness hit him and he closed his eyes, stilling his anxious thoughts.
When he opened his eyes and sat up, all was darkness again in the forest. No more soldiers and torches. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.
Pallin set off again at a swift pace, listening all the while for sounds behind him. Traveling a few hours more without event, his legs grew heavy and his head started to spin. He hadn't come across a stream for days, his canteen bone dry.
It felt so foreign to be a stranger in a strange land. For centuries he had wandered the Eastern Realm – had discovered all its secrets and made his home more than once at every hidden lake and meadow. He had visited places that no other eye had seen. In that way, he was much like Madrigan had been in his early days.
But here, on the Banished Lands, he had fared very poorly, too concerned with evading patrols to hunt for provisions. It was costing him dearly now. Pallin didn't know how much longer he could go on this way.
But as he traveled, something triggered his senses and he turned round, startled at the glow of torches coming from the near beyond. Pallin moved away quickly but tripped on an idle root, falling to the damp forest floor and landing hard.
His world began to spin. Pushing himself up only worsened his condition and he slumped back down closing his eyes and waiting for the dizziness to pass. But sounds grew dull and the dizziness only intensified. The last thing he felt before falling unconscious were hands grabbing his arms and feet. Then he was asleep.
Pallin awoke to the popping of wood in a fire. Opening his eyes, he found himself bound hand and foot with ropes and lying beside a pile of coals. Walls of stone surrounded him but cool air was blowing in from behind him. He must be near the mouth of a cave. Struggling to no avail against his bonds, he glanced about for his captors. But he couldn't see into the recesses of the cave. The pale light of the embers afforded a meager view of beyond.
“We got to you just before the patrol did,” a voice declared from behind. “We've been following you for days.”
Pallin turned to see a gruff looking man with ruffled brown hair and a beard, clad in leather armor and standing at the mouth of the cave. He struck Pallin as vaguely familiar somehow. He was holding the glowing jewel in his hand.
“What manner of thing is this?”
“Please, you must set me free,” Pallin said.
The man smirked.
“So you can wander into the willing arms of Corcoran again?” the man mocked.
“Then you're with the resistance?” Pallin asked.
“Answer my question old man. Why does this jewel glow more brightly when pointed toward the north?”
Pallin opened his mouth but hesitated. What if it was all a ploy? What if this man wasn't with the resistance at all but only pretended to be to draw out information from Pallin? If he told them the stone's true purpose, it could lead Corcoran straight to the tomb of King Euthor.
“Please,” Pallin said. “I can tell you nothing. I'm on a mission of vital importance from Sheabor.”
“You lie, old man. Sheabor isn't even on this continent.”
“I know that. He's waging war against Malfur on the Eastern Realm.”
“Wrong again. Malfur has been slain.”
“Slain?” Pallin said, his voice betraying his surprise, and grief. “When?”
“If you were among the followers of Sheabor, you would know that.”
“No, we left months ago, my companion and I, traveling through the country of Kester and boarding a ship to reach this place. Our boat was splintered against the rocks in a storm and I lost my companion. I don't know whether he's dead or alive.”
The man's eyes narrowed at Pallin's statement. Pallin's heart sank. The fact that he was being treated with such suspicion told him that the resistance must not have found Durian. If they had, surely Durian would have told them to be looking for a man of Pallin's description. But then, a glimmer of hope hit him.
“If you've learned that Malfur has been defeated, then the resistance must be in contact with Sheabor. Surely you've been told about my mission here.”
“We've been told nothing.”
Pallin was speechless. How could that be? Was Sheabor protecting him, keeping his mission secret in case some in the resistance were captured and interrogated? Or was this man not with the resistance at all? Pallin didn't know what to do. His head pounded from dehydration and his thoughts were dull from lack of food.
“Will you please give me some water?”
The man stood unmoving for many moments. But at length he unsheathed a long knife, coming over to Pallin and loosing his bonds. Then standing, he dropped a water skin in the dirt beside him. Pallin grabbed it and drank greedily, the man watching intently.
“Thank you,” Pallin said at length.
“Tell me. Why would Sheabor send one as frail as you into the wild?”
Pallin kept silent.
“If you won't give me answers,” the man continued, “perhaps I'll send one of my own men with this stone to see just where it will lead.”
Pallin knew he had to say something. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he trusted himself to fate.
“It leads to the tomb of King Euthor,” he said with a sigh. “His final resting place.”
“King Euthor?” the man replied, greatly astonished.
“Yes,” Pallin said. “The weapon I was carrying was made by the hand of King Euthor himself, its head constructed of the same Shade Stone you've seen on Sheabor's hammer. It will allow me entrance to his crypt.”
“Where did you get the weapon?” he asked. “And why go to his tomb?”
“We found it in the tomb of Sheyla, on the Eastern Realm. Poetic that a weapon buried in her crypt will gain us access to his. King Euthor has buried something with him, something vital to our victory in the war against Corcoran.”
The man's eyes grew distant as he considered Pallin's words, as though trying to remember something he had heard long ago.
“Very well,” he said at length. “I will take you to the tomb of King Euthor.”
“No, I must go alone,” Pallin said.
“Alone?” the man responded with a laugh. “The one thing that makes me believe your story is how pathetically you've fended for
yourself in our lands. You've wandered close to nearly half a dozen streams and lakes without finding a single one. And you're half starved to death.”
Pallin opened his mouth in reply but only chuckled with a nod. It had been centuries since Pallin had been lost, knowing every place there was to travel in the Eastern Realm.
“We should set off immediately,” Pallin said, standing to his feet.
“You're in no shape for a long journey. Morning is only an hour off. Get your rest. Then we'll have some breakfast.”
Pallin nodded, fatigue striking him powerfully now that his nerves had settled. The man turned to depart. But a thought crossed Pallin's mind.
“Wait,” Pallin said. “What about my companion? Do you know what happened to him?”
The man turned and shook his head slowly.
“We found the wreckage of a small boat on the shore and soon after, we captured a young man. It may have been your friend.”
“Then he is in your custody?”
“No. Our party was ambushed by one of the patrols and only a few of our men escaped. It's possible your friend was able to flee. If not, he has been captured.”
Pallin's heart sank and his eyes closed in deep grief.
“You should know something else,” the man said. “In the last few weeks, Corcoran's patrols have intensified. He's sent less ships across the divide and has moved his remaining forces inland. His siege works he's still moving toward the coast, but all his lighter infantry are patrolling throughout the countryside.”
Pallin sighed deeply. It could only mean one thing.
“They must have learned about my mission here from my companion. They're undoubtedly searching for the tomb of King Euthor to find it before we do.”
The man nodded slowly, then turned to leave. Pallin felt tears forming in his eyes over the news of Durian. He opened his mouth but almost couldn't bear to ask the question.
“Do you think we'll be able to rescue Durian?”
The man halted, turning to Pallin with a stern gaze.
“Your friend is surely dead.”
The Rendezvous
Estrien rode with a small contingent from the alliance city bound for the Westward Wilds. Already three days in the countryside of Kester, they'd encountered not a soul, but plumes of cottage smoke in the distance or cattle ranging in the springtime pastures testified that the people of Kester were near enough.
The rendezvous with the resistance was set for the end of the week. But Estrien's thoughts drifted back to Straiah. The healers assured her his condition was improving. But how horrible it must be for him, a warrior lying in bed while all his friends and loved ones are off in battle. Estrien cursed herself that her own insecurity had done that to him.
Pulling the weathered piece of parchment from her pocket, she read once more the words he had written for her. Though they didn't rhyme as he had so sheepishly confessed, they were more beautiful to her than any of the eloquent sonnets a trained poet could recite.
But putting the paper away, she focused on the mission. From what Cora had shown her, Corcoran had three forts in various defensible positions in the Westward Wilds guarded mostly by Dungeon Core. As far as any of them knew, Corcoran hadn't yet been able to bring anything more significant than light infantry across the divide.
But Estrien was troubled. She understood the alliance needed to do something – stop being reactive and start going on the offensive. But no one really knew how much information Corcoran had gleaned from the mind of Durian. What if Estrien and her band were wandering into a trap?
After another two days, the hilly grasslands gave way to a rocky landscape, with thick groves of trees standing tall in the valleys. Cora had marked out a route for her that would lead Estrien to the resistance, warning her not to stray from it. Something in the deep woods had already attacked and killed several resistance soldiers. The descriptions of it sounded similar to the beast Straiah had told her about in Thob Forest. Those kinds of encounters were the main reason no one ever tried settling the Westward Wilds.
If Estrien continued south without stopping, she would eventually reach Thob Forest and the broad southern peninsula that Forthura occupied. There was once a road leading through the Westward Wilds between Kester and Forthura. But enough merchant convoys went missing over the years that the road was abandoned over a century ago.
They traveled another day and the landscape grew rockier still, tall peaks of jagged stone channeling their path into narrow valleys or thin channels on the sheer mountain faces. Estrien kept her guard up. If Corcoran had planned an ambush for them, this would be the spot.
But by the next morning, the landscape smoothed and descended toward a pleasant valley. Estrien peer outward and thought she saw the far coastline, many leagues in the distance. But the day brought a soaking rain, turning the ground to mud and making travel largely impossible.
The rain extended into the night, drenching everything. It was a warm springtime rain and brought a humid heat to the next day. Estrien didn't know how many hundreds of leagues they had already traveled, but the climate was different here...almost tropical. Everything remained soaked throughout that day. But the nearer they came to the coast, the more a fresh breeze blew through, drying their drenched clothes and provisions.
But the rain had stalled their journey and she was now late for the meeting. They were close now and Estrien was certain the resistance already watched them. As the group descended the shallow hill, they drew near a small copse of trees.
Estrien could hear faint shuffling in the trees and even her horse snorted softly as though he sensed danger were near. Ordinarily, Estrien would have prepared for battle. But the resistance would only reveal themselves if they thought they had the upper hand.
Soon after the group entered the treeline, Estrien heard the sound of many bowstrings tightening. She slowed, as did the others and lifted her hands in peace.
“We're from the alliance city,” Estrien said. “We've brought new suits of armor for the coalition forces.”
“We don't know you,” came the voice of one who stepped forward from the shadows. “Leave the armor and go.”
“I'm here on behalf of Straiah to meet with the leader of the resistance. I'm Estrien of Melanor.”
The man's eyes narrowed.
“And where is Straiah?”
“He was injured and unable to travel.”
“What happened to him?”
Estrien flushed red. She'd thought for days on what to tell them but still had come up short.
“I can't tell you that until we're behind closed doors,” Estrien replied.
The man gazed at her for long moments.
“Take them,” he ordered at length.
Soldiers approached with ropes. Estrien nodded for her soldiers to cooperate and soon they were being led bound and blindfolded toward the coast. Within minutes, Estrien found herself tied to a wooden pole inside a tent.
Estrien waited for someone to come. But what seemed like an hour passed by and then another. This was ridiculous. What in the world were they deliberating? Her being here wasn't exactly what the resistance had been expecting, but who else could they think she was?
Estrien grew impatient. Struggling against her bonds, she found them securely fastened. But then she remembered that the soldiers who bound her had dropped her weapons on a nearby table. Estrien calmed her thoughts and began speaking to them in the old tongue.
Drune would always return to the one who held his other half. Though she held neither in her hand, she was still its master. Calling the weapon to life, she opened her hand and commanded it to return to her. She heard the dagger slide across the wooden table a bit, but it only moved closer to the sword.
Estrien continued speaking to the weapon in her melodic language, commanding the dagger to her waiting palm. She heard it inch closer to her until finally, it flew from the table and came to her. She cut her bonds and ripped the blindfold from her eyes. Then, taking her sword i
n hand, she emerged angrily from the tent.
The leader of the resistance and three others stood nearby, almost as though expecting her. The leader smiled and began clapping.
“What is this?” she demanded.
“A test,” he replied. “We knew if you were really Estrien of Melanor, you'd be able to escape the bonds we placed you in. Straiah has told us much of your abilities.”
Estrien clenched her jaw but at length nodded and sheathed her weapons.
“Come,” the man said, hand extended.
There were tents in various places, nestled among the trees. But the encampment seemed largely empty. The resistance clearly had its hands full. Soon, they approached a larger tent, entering it to find a woven map spread out on a circular table. The man approached it.
“For over a month Corcoran's forces have been building three forts in the Westward Wilds. Here, here and here.”
Estrien watched him trace his hand along the map.
“They're in defensible positions and won't be easy to overthrow. From these forts, he's sent raiding parties into Kester, which the coalition forces have largely managed to curtail.”
The man seemed to issue the last statement with surprise.
“What is it?” Estrien asked.
“The enemy has been making unexpected moves,” he replied.
“In what way?”
“For a long time, enemy ships were steadily landing on the shores of the Westward Wilds, immediately digging in and forming defensible positions. But then, suddenly, about a month ago, the ships stopped arriving. No new troops or supplies. We now think that many of the raiding parties into Kester might merely have been to seek provisions.”
“That doesn't make sense,” Estrien said.
“No, it doesn't. Which makes me suspicious.”
Estrien didn't know what to think. Corcoran wouldn't send forces across the divide, establishing bases in the Westward Wilds, only to abandon his position.
“What's your honest assessment of the situation?” she asked.
But the man only shook his head.
“It's either a trap or the best opportunity we've had so far.”
The Banished Lands- The Complete Series Page 89
