The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  The sun was beginning to hang low in the sky, a southerly breeze putting to rest the heat of the day. Though springtime had come, the Frostland winds still fought to keep their hold of the darkening hours. As the crowds filtered in they took their places on the broad pavilion.

  Baron had positioned himself so he would see Ariadra right as she entered the pavilion. He wanted to see how it struck her. But as the time stretched on, he began to hear hushed discussions in the crowd, wondering why they were in the plains instead of town and why there were miniature mountains behind the groom.

  Baron flushed red. Though he had always been the center of attention in all manner of foolish endeavor, now that they scrutinized him more deeply, he wanted to shrink away. His intimate gesture to Ariadra was on display to all on whom the significance was lost.

  Baron closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wasn't going to let anything spoil a day like this. Behind him, the sun was just beginning to dip toward a sky filling with sunset colors. And at last, the bride entered the pavilion.

  Her eyes lit up with surprise as she gazed on all the finery and beauty. Baron had done a perfect job melding nature and architecture. And as she saw him standing there, just in front of the replica of the Ruhkan Mountain range, she broke into a radiant smile, walking down the pathway slowly to him.

  Her long locks of dark hair, curled for the occasion, fell about her olive skinned shoulders, a stark, exotic contrast to her pure white dress. It was the most beautiful he had ever seen her.

  “Baron, it's so wonderful,” she exclaimed.

  “I knew my forest girl wouldn't want to be married in some chilly building in the middle of town.”

  “But the mountains?”

  “You should be careful who you trust with your secrets,” he said with a smile and glance to Marin.

  Ariadra looked over with a laugh. The people took their positions and the orator of ceremonies approached the pair. As he arrived, he smiled wide at the couple, taking each of their hands in his before addressing the crowd.

  “Though at one time, we knew Baron merely as the mermaid castaway of Skull Island...”

  The crowd began to chuckle and Baron heard one voice hollering above the rest. Turning, he found Gaffney and couldn't help but laugh and shake his head. But the orator raised his hands for silence.

  “Now we will forever know him as the man who gave our broken town a new beginning.”

  The people nodded and cheered their affirmation.

  “May we wish you both the same bright new future you've brought to this village.”

  Ariadra wiped a tear away from her eyes.

  “You've made us all believe that even amid darkness, the light of love can shine brightly through.”

  Baron fought back his own tears.

  “My fellow Suriyans,” the orator continued, arms extended. “I give you your newest family.”

  The people stood clapping and hollering as Baron laughed tearfully, taking Ariadra in his arms and kissing her, as the sun set behind the mountains to a deepening, colorful sky. It was a perfect moment. And all who witnessed it, for years to come, would count themselves blessed.

  But Baron then spotted a plume of dust in the distance to the north, knowing what it would almost surely bring. The crowd dispersed from the pavilion back to Suriya. Jaden's work wouldn't be in vain, for the reception would fill the town hall as few had seen.

  They arrived just at sunset, Baron and Ariadra turning to watch the orb of the sun dip below the plains. The town hall soon brimmed with celebrants, the tables not nearly sufficient for all who had come. Baron didn't think it right to exclude any, and it looked as though everyone within a hundred leagues was there.

  But as the townspeople took their places, Baron and Ariadra at the head table, Jaden came to the middle of the room with a long narrow glass in hand. Gazing around at all the people, he flushed a bit red. The crowd came to rest, giving him their attention.

  “Well I haven't known Baron long,” Jaden began, clearing his throat. “But I guess that's really the point, isn't it? I haven't known him long and yet, he already feels like family. That's the mark of a genuine person...you know their quality the minute you look them in the eye.”

  Jaden paused a moment and many raised their glasses with a 'here, here'. But something seemed to strike him and he glanced to Ariadra with a smile.

  “And I think we all know how much Ariadra would've loved her sister to be here to share a few words,” Jaden continued. “But I think I know what she would've said...how much she admires the life her sister brings to every situation...how the world becomes a better place just by Ariadra's presence.”

  The crowd roared their affirmation and Baron turned to Ariadra with a wide smile, which she returned. Baron chuckled to himself, for the crowd of Suriyans were much more taken with Ariadra than the fellow who grew up amongst them.

  “I think it goes without saying,” Jaden said, raising a glass, which the rest mimicked. “We're so glad to be here. This will live on as a day we'll never forget.”

  The crowd hollered and toasted their glasses and the meal commenced. But Baron and Ariadra scarcely got a bite in between well-wishers coming to offer their sincerest regard. At length, one came forward Baron was surprised to see.

  “Baron,” said Tobin. “Congratulations.”

  Baron couldn't help but smile. For even in his congratulations, Tobin still wore a scowl.

  “I'm very sorry about your plow, Tobin,” Baron said. “Things just took an unexpected turn.”

  Ariadra gave Baron a confused smile.

  “Yes, well. What's done is done. Your father's promised to have it finished by early spring.”

  Baron threw his head back in laughter and Tobin scowled, failing to find humor in the statement. Ariadra beamed with entertainment, though none but Baron understood the real joke. Tobin at length departed.

  And as he did, Baron turned to explain to Ariadra. But the doors to the town hall were thrown open, a gust of cold wind sliding through as a group of persons approached. The gathering quieted at their arrival and the lead man came forward hesitantly.

  “I'm courier to King Froamb,” the man began. “I come from the alliance city with a request from Sheabor for your soonest return.”

  Baron clenched his jaw, sighing and then turning to Ariadra. Fate had found them at last.

  The Archives

  Durian and Aravas had scarcely seen another soul in days, spending all their time in the archival building, examining the documents from the monastery in Kester. Though Durian hadn't known it at the time, while he had been recovering at the monastery, Pallin had helped the monks catalog and sort through many of their documents, especially those pertaining to King Euthor.

  It should have made his job easier now. But it seemed to only make things worse. He and Aravas had gone through all the writings Pallin set apart within the first few days in the archives – studied them over and over for anything new. And though seeing them again gave Durian a window back into the mind of Corcoran and what had convinced him that King Euthor planned to come back to life, he learned nothing new. Durian was convinced that they wouldn't find what they were looking for until they went back to Eulsiphion.

  But Sheabor was dragging his heels. His focus was on the coming invasion, not searching the catacombs of Eulsiphion looking for who knows what. Durian knew that whatever was hidden there was the key to winning this war. But Sheabor was a soldier and a commander of troops. He wanted something concrete.

  There had to be something more here, Durian was convinced. But the documents would take weeks to read through. Not only were there scrolls amid the pile of papers but books with whole histories. Aravas had said little, examining each parchment in silence, at times his eyes narrowing. If any new revelation had hit him, he hadn't shared it.

  Durian paced back and forth in the archival building, Aravas midway through one of the larger tomes. Stopping for a moment, Durian traced his hand along the thin scar in
the white facade of the wall, revealing the layer of Shade Stone beneath. It had almost worked. He remembered the streak of fear when Corcoran realized they had tricked him. The alliance wouldn't get another opportunity like that.

  Durian sighed, coming at last to the open chest still brimming with documents. Picking up a thick book, he cringed. He had spent the last two days reading a grueling account of how the head families of Kester became the ruling monarchies. So much scheming, intermarrying and backstabbing.

  Instead, he dove in to the scattered stacks of documents still unread. As he did, something caught his eye and he immediately took the document in hand. He recognized the handwriting. It was different from King Euthor's but also somehow the same. The hand which penned it seemed more frail, perhaps even shaky. Durian read it slowly:

  Twenty long years has the gentle rain

  Dropped on the stone that hides your face.

  Twenty long years of sorrow and pain

  I have thought of your burial place –

  Thought of your fate in a distant land,

  Dying with none that loved you near.

  They who stole your tender hand

  Turned from the spot without a tear.

  There, beside that lonely grave,

  Violets will spring in the soft May shower.

  There, in the autumn breezes will wave

  The crimson red of the last lone flower.

  Soon will you wipe my tears away.

  All my task in the world is done.

  All of my loved ones, old and gray,

  Slumber beneath the graveyard stone.

  This deep wound that bleeds and aches;

  This long pain, a sleepless pain.

  In sweet time I'll cease to wake

  And feel it, at last, no more again.

  Durian's heart beat faster as he read the words a second time. The sentiment was so sorrowful – a man at the end of his life, lamenting the loss of his love and waiting for the end to come. This had to be a poem by King Euthor to Sheyla. But why hadn't Pallin set it with his other writings?

  “Aravas, what do you make of this?” Durian asked, rushing over to him.

  Aravas took the document in hand, brow furrowing as he read it.

  “Why wouldn't Pallin have put this among the other writings of King Euthor?” Durian asked. “Surely this was penned by him?”

  Aravas was silent for many long moments.

  “The first stanza makes me doubtful, as I'm sure it did Pallin also.”

  Durian glanced again at the document:

  Twenty long years has the gentle rain

  Dropped on the stone that hides your face.

  Twenty long years of sorrow and pain

  I have thought of your burial place.

  “If King Euthor spent his remaining days on the Banished Lands, entombing himself there, then how would this poem, written at the end of his life, have gotten to the monastery in Kester?” Aravas asked.

  That was a good question.

  “It's more likely this poem was written not by King Euthor himself but on his behalf,” Aravas continued. “Poets often take license to expound upon the lives of great heroes. That would account for the similarity but not exactitude in the penmanship. That's the conclusion Pallin must have come to as well.”

  But it didn't satisfy Durian. Something in the poem spoke to a deeper meaning.

  “But how would the poet know about Sheyla's tomb?” Durian questioned. “The poet knew that she was hidden beneath stone somewhere far away from King Euthor.”

  “The location of her burial place may have been more common knowledge then,” Aravas argued. “There are very few histories from just after the Great War and many things have been lost that were once known.”

  That was a reasonable argument. But something seemed hovering just outside his understanding, an answer to a question he didn't yet know how to ask. The poem had the unmistakable feel and style of King Euthor. Durian began to pace and think out loud.

  “I don't know,” said Durian. “It just feels like we're missing something.”

  “But what?” Aravas asked.

  Durian took a moment to gather his thoughts.

  “Let's just say for the sake of argument that King Euthor really did write this poem at the end of his life. These are hardly the words of a man hoping to bring himself and his beloved wife back from the grave.”

  “True,” Aravas replied. “Which is further evidence that Euthor was not the author.”

  “But for argument's sake, let's say he did write it. Ever since I first learned the plan of King Euthor to bring himself and Sheyla back to life, it just felt wrong somehow. No one can live forever. Trying to grasp for more than your time is the mark of a tyrant. It never sat well with me. You yourself didn't even believe it was possible.”

  “Granted,” Aravas replied. “If that is the case, then what you're saying is that even though King Euthor knew it was impossible to bring himself and Sheyla back to life, he wanted Corcoran to believe it to lead him down a path of folly.”

  “Yes,” Durian replied. “Finding out that King Euthor is helping us has blinded Corcoran with rage. He'll stop at nothing to see that King Euthor never returns.”

  “Which gives us the upper hand.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then by your line of reasoning,” Aravas continued, “if this poem really was penned by King Euthor, it would be safe to assume that nothing of further value to us is hidden in Eulsiphion. It's all a ruse to lead Corcoran where we want him to go.”

  “Yes,” Durian said. “Now we know he'll bring all his might to bear against Eulsiphion, which helps us to plan. And he'll spend every resource to ensure he finds the tomb of King Euthor before Pallin does.”

  But as Durian said the words, he felt a streak of fear for Pallin's safety. Why in the world would King Euthor do something so perilous like hide the powers of the Windbearers on the Banished Lands? Durian paced back and forth for more long moments until a revelation swept over him.

  “What if there is something hidden in Eulsiphion?” Durian asked. “What if the orb containing your powers is in Eulsiphion and not on the Banished Lands? What if King Euthor only wanted Corcoran to believe it was on the Banished Lands to send him in the wrong direction?”

  “But Pallin saw him buried there underneath a mountain.”

  “True. But that doesn't mean he hid your powers there. The only reason Pallin assumed that was because King Euthor told the three Windbearers that he would take your powers with him to his grave. But we don't have any evidence beyond that that the real orb is with him.

  If King Euthor really did see the future, he would know that Corcoran would overtake my body. And if Corcoran figures out Pallin is on the Banished Lands, he'll do everything he can to try and find the tomb first. What if King Euthor set everything up to keep Corcoran from finding the real hiding place of your powers? Would King Euthor really have been foolish enough to entomb your powers on Corcoran's continent?”

  Aravas' eyes narrowed as he stood, pondering.

  “Perhaps,” he concluded. “But it still doesn't answer the question of how the monastery of Kester could've acquired a document written by the hand of King Euthor two decades after the world split.”

  “But we know he traveled back and forth between the continents in the early days,” Durian argued, now pacing the room. “He made the Hammer of Haladrin in Melanor after the war, taking it ultimately to the Banished Lands. The gulf between continents was smaller then. He must have found a way to cross between them, perhaps even two decades later.”

  Aravas' brow furrowed. Durian knew that what he was saying was a long shot. Aravas didn't seem convinced on his line of reasoning or that the poem was even genuine. But if this poem really had been written by the hand of King Euthor, then everything had changed.

  “And King Taspian who helped construct the Soul Stone?” Aravas asked. “You were beginning to believe that he was somehow connected to King Euthor's plan
for new life.”

  “I'm not saying I have all the answers,” Durian replied. “We need to find Sheabor and get to Eulsiphion as quickly as possible. If something's hidden there, we need to find out what. We won't know anything for certain until we search every inch of that city.”

  Aravas nodded slowly. But even as they spoke the door to the archival building opened, revealing Sheabor. He had come every few days to check on their progress. Durian had been lamenting his next visit, having still no success to show, until now. Durian hurried to meet Sheabor, document in hand.

  “What's this?”

  “We're not entirely sure what to make of it yet,” Durian replied. “But I think this might be the last thing King Euthor wrote before he died.”

  Sheabor seemed surprised at his declaration and took the poem in hand, reading for long moments, his gaze growing troubled at the poem's somber content.

  “What does it mean?” Sheabor asked. “It's clearly about Sheyla, but how does this help us?”

  “We can't be certain and it's a long explanation,” Durian said. “But there's a chance the powers of the Windbearers might actually be buried in Eulsiphion. I think King Euthor wanted Corcoran to believe that he was bringing himself and Sheyla back to life. He knew how much it would enrage Corcoran, making him take foolish chances.”

  “But I thought you had determined that King Euthor was planning to bring himself and Sheyla back to life?”

  “I think I was wrong.”

  Sheabor pondered for long moments.

  “But then why did King Euthor encase Sheyla in crystal, preserving her from decay?”

  Durian paced back and forth, gathering his thoughts.

  “This struggle has always boiled down to a conflict of two men in love with one woman. I think King Euthor wanted Corcoran to see what his hand had caused. He wanted to preserve Sheyla undecayed, knowing that Madrigan would one day come to visit her crypt. He knew what pain it would cause him to see what his own men had done to her.”