The Banished Lands- The Complete Series

by Benjamin Mester

  She scarcely ate that day, her nerves raw. She waited on the pavilion, occasionally entering the palace hall to greet the various attendants as Sheyla undoubtedly would have. But as day passed to evening, the city fell asleep.

  The air grew cold in the heights and a breeze picked up but still no sign of Sheabor or the Windbearers. Had he forgotten? Ariadra stilled her restless thoughts. She knew there was much to do.

  Gazing up at the sky, the moon was full among the scattered clouds, obscuring it from view. The lamps were still lit below in the city and she could see indefinite forms milling about. She waited until time seemed to blur.

  But as the city finally quieted, a worry filled her heart. The moon had long been obscured from view as the clouds had gathered in the night watches. It would appear only for moments and was quickly descending toward the far horizon. If they were going to do this, it needed to be soon.

  Ariadra turned round, surprised to see a man dressed in white standing behind her – more so that that man was Faigean and not Aravas. He hadn't been watching her, but with eyes closed, seemed to be feeling the cold wind across his face.

  Ariadra took a step towards him and he opened his eyes but something in his gaze made her wary to approach and he walked toward her and the Athel stone.

  Faigean stopped beside the stone, placing his palm atop it for long moments, his eyes closed and the moon hidden behind the growing layer of clouds. But as the clouds parted, he opened his eyes and extended his other palm toward hers.

  “Give me your hand.”

  “Wait,” she said. “Can't you teach me how to use it?”

  “No.”

  Ariadra clenched her jaw, grasping the necklace of Sheyla firmly in one hand and giving Faigean the other. This isn't what she had wanted. But as her fingertips touched Faigean's, the world suddenly changed.

  She felt as though floating, her spirit free from her body, able to wander the silvery sphere of the ethereal realm. It was exhilarating, so much so that she wasn't prepared for it. Everything seemed to beckon to her, the swaying plains, the distant forest, and the towering mountains behind her.

  But thinking of Baron and bringing the necklace close to her heart, the pair quickly flew to the southwest, leaving the city behind and flying in spirit over the plains. The city, Dagron, came and went, and the dark forest appeared beneath them. Ariadra saw another set of mountains rise up, obscuring a structure hidden among the trees.

  It was a fort and they quickly penetrated its walls. Dungeon Core troops were everywhere, most asleep, but many on guard and on patrol. Slowing as they floated through the walls, they came to rest inside a bed chamber with a solitary occupant. It was Baron!

  Ariadra rushed to embrace him. But she stumbled as her form passed right through him. Standing up, she came round and knelt in front of him, waving her hand in front of his face and trying to get his attention to no avail. Baron sat on his bed, clutching the pendant he had made for her in his hands with tears in his eyes. Beside him lay a long dagger. What was he doing?

  “Baron!” Ariadra tried to scream.

  But nothing passed from her lips. She watched motionless and helpless, her heart filling with terror. At length, Baron took the dagger in his hand and raised it above his head. Ariadra yelled with all her breath, but nothing would bridge the gap between her world and his.

  Then, as she watched, everything dimmed before her eyes and she felt herself being dragged backward. Suddenly, she was back in body and standing on the pavilion in Eulsiphion, the clouds having fully obscured the moon. Ariadra collapsed in tears by the Athel stone. After many long moments, Faigean placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “I'm so sorry,” he said. “I wish you hadn't seen that.”

  But Ariadra didn't respond. Nothing Faigean could say could erase the images of Baron with the dagger pulsating in her mind. It couldn't be. But she couldn't deny what she had seen. Baron had clearly been captured by the enemy. And rather than let his abilities be used for ill-purpose, he had decided to end his own life.

  Ariadra wailed against the Athel stone, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Please!” Faigean said. “Please, you have to stop. You'll wake the entire city!”

  But Ariadra couldn't stop. Images of Baron with the dagger raised above his head kept passing through her mind. Had he really done it? Was he dying even now? The questions brought even greater waves of anguish.

  Soon, lights erupted in scattered windows as the people began to stir. The pavilion overlooked the main portion of the city and Ariadra's inconsolable weeping carried to the furthest corner of the wall. Faigean glanced behind as the palace hall, too, sprang to life. The guards were running to the far end to see to the king.

  This had turned into a disaster. But Faigean only took a deep breath. There was little to be done now. What would be will be. Soon, a crowd of attendants and persons of state had gathered in the palace hall, the king and Sheabor chief among them. Holding up his hands, Sheabor forestalled them from approaching, glancing to the king for help.

  “Please, let us return to our bed chambers,” the king commanded. “Nothing to see here.”

  Sheabor entered the pavilion, Cora coming alongside and taking him by the hand. Faigean stood beside Ariadra who still lay clutching the Athel stone in tears. As they approached, Cora knelt down beside Ariadra, saying nothing, but embracing her.

  “What happened?” Sheabor asked Faigean.

  “The young man, Baron, I presume. He was being held inside a fort in Thob Forest. He took his own life rather than help the enemy.”

  Sheabor was shocked at the news.

  “You're sure? You saw it?”

  Faigean nodded gravely. Sheabor looked down to Cora, whose eyes had begun to fill with tears, though she didn't yet know the cause. But suddenly, Ariadra sprang upward, almost as though startled from a dream.

  “I can't...I can't stay here,” she said, her voice hurried and desperate.

  “Please!” Sheabor said, hands extended to forestall her.

  The crowd in the palace hall had barely yet begun to disperse and before she could bolt, Sheabor stepped forward and took her in his arms. She crumpled into him, losing control as he himself struggled to maintain his composure. Only weeks had passed since he had thought his own wife, Cora, had perished. The pain of it was still so fresh in his heart.

  Ariadra wailed upon his shoulder. Cora also came and wept with her, though she was a stranger to the cause. That was what Sheabor had always loved about her. She felt so deeply for the loss of others. Sheabor could recall, on many occasions, when news of tragedy had come to the house of Cavanah, Cora would stay with the family for days. She was the perfect princess. She was greater than Sheabor would ever be, and yet, in humility she deferred to him. And in this moment, he remembered again, as for the very first time, how lucky he was to have her.

  But his realization made the pain Ariadra now felt more bitter in his heart. How could such a thing be? King Euthor had brought her back from the dead. Surely he hadn't done so just to make her suffer.

  Sheabor glanced into the palace hall at the people standing watching them. This couldn't be explained away. If Corcoran's spies were among their number, their facade would quickly end. Sheabor didn't know what to do. He knew it was wrong to try and usher Ariadra back to her room away from the public scene. Whatever was to come of this, he would let it happen and trust that somehow things would work out in the end.

  Overtaken

  Baron sat on the edge of his bed, dagger poised above his head, his heart beating quickly. So many thoughts passed through his mind – Ariadra, the life they could've shared and the little town of Suriya where he had left as a simple blacksmith on a bold and brazen adventure and ended up immersed in the greatest story of their age.

  It seemed so odd, in the light of it all, that this was his only option. But he had dealt a fatal blow to the plans of Corcoran by crippling the armor he'd helped construct. There was no turning back now. So, taking a deep
breath, he thought of Ariadra's smiling face and felt a wave of peace come over him.

  But as he plunged the dagger toward his chest, something loud and forceful hit it, ripping it from his hand and sending it to the far side of the room.

  “You didn't think I'd let you go through with it, did you?” said the sneering form of Corcoran, stepping out from the darkness, crossbow in hand. “I've been seeing the wheels turning behind your smug little eyes for days now, taking me for the fool as you spouted out lies. I wanted to work with you, Baron. I thought we were kindred spirits.”

  Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing Dungeon Core warriors in full battle gear.

  “Take him.”

  Many hands grabbed Baron by the arms and legs. Trying desperately to resist, it availed him little.

  “You thought you were taking the noble way out,” Corcoran continued. “If you made enough trouble for me, I'd be too busy to think about taking my vengeance on an insignificant fishing village in the corner of the world. I promise to keep you alive long enough to see the folly of your choices.”

  Baron was speechless, mouth gaping, as the Dungeon Core warriors dragged him down the hall and away. Corcoran had suspected him all along. This was the worst thing that could possibly have happened.

  Baron gave up his struggling and abandoned himself to despair. Before long, the Dungeon Core warriors led him into a room with a single table in the center. Shoving Baron onto it, they strapped his hands and feet with leather bonds. Was he to be tortured?

  It didn't matter. He had failed everyone he had ever cared about. Instead of crippling Corcoran's advance, he had given it its greatest advantage. How had he so underestimated Corcoran? He had been so angry and Corcoran had used that to blind him to the real truth.

  The Dungeon Core warriors departed from the room and Baron was left alone, strapped to a table and unable to move. His heart pounded with anxiety, worry and dread. How had things come to this? His only solace was that he'd successfully crippled the armor he'd made for Corcoran. It would be useless to them.

  The room lay vacant but for Baron for what seemed like an hour. Corcoran must have been checking on the state of the armor Baron had crippled. Baron tried to prepare himself mentally for what Corcoran would do to him when he learned how useless the armor was. If Melfon had been a stronger Builder, he could overcome what Baron had done. But Melfon had barely scratched the surface of what was possible.

  Baron hoped he had done the right thing. But what else could he have done with the choices before him? Before long, the lock on the door turned and it pushed open with a flood of light, revealing the person of Corcoran. He walked up to Baron slowly with a pleased smirk on his face.

  “Look at you, Baron. You could've been a king.”

  “I don't care what you could've offered. You murdered my wife and countless others.”

  “It was quite clever, I must say, the little scheme you concocted. Just not clever enough. I'm afraid Melfon hasn't been fully honest with you, Baron. His ability is far more powerful than he let on. If you'd ever blended your powers together with his, you'd have seen that. But in your efforts to stifle his growth, it was easy for him to play the weakling. He's already begun repairing the damage you've done.”

  “You're lying.”

  “Am I?” Corcoran asked with a slow smile. “You had to be so careful didn't you...crippling the armor without letting the damage be seen? It was so subtle, just a crack here, a hairline fracture there. You'd have sent my best troops to the slaughter. But instead, you've helped us accomplish what we never could've on our own.”

  Baron's head throbbed from too much emotion and too little sleep. He opened his mouth but could find nothing more to say. The fact was was that he had horribly underestimated Corcoran and many innocent people would pay the price for it.

  “Just kill me and get it over with.”

  “No, Baron. I meant it when I said that I had better things in store for you. You're going to help me overthrow Eulsiphion whether you like it or not. I've sent the bulk of my army into Kester. But I've saved the best of my warriors for something special. Outfitted with the armor you've constructed, they will be the deadliest force the world has ever seen.

  Both remaining Windbearers are in Eulsiphion. Once they're gone, I'll unlock their powers. After that, we'll see if I let Kester surrender peacefully. My warriors have been promised a war, after all.”

  Baron felt a tear slide down his cheek at such a bleak future. What chance did the Eastern Realm stand? But a strange peace washed over him. For he remembered not long ago feeling the same hopeless fear when backed into a corner at the tip of Malfur's sword. Somehow, beyond their doing, things had worked out in the end.

  “It was the same with Malfur, you know,” Baron said. “He arrived to our realm and thought it weak, committing all his strength to an early war before he'd established himself. King Euthor lured him just as he's doing with you now. And you will come to know the might of the Eastern Realm just as Malfur did.”

  “I think not, my friend,” Corcoran replied. “You forget that I am immortal. Your companion's single chance was to somehow capture me. Your brother tried and failed. Only with your help could they have succeeded. Now, they'll soon be forced to kill you and their failure will be complete.”

  Baron didn't take his meaning. But Corcoran stepped back into the shadows and waited. Before long, the door to the room swung open, two men dressed in robes carrying a stone on a large wooden platter. What was going on here?

  Baron gazed long at the stone. Something about it struck him as familiar but he didn't know what. Corcoran approached the stone, gently caressing its jagged features as though it was very special to him.

  “It's an odd thing,” Corcoran said. “This stone represents the culmination of the efforts of the Three Houses – their greatest work. It's what has given me the chance to wage my endless war against their corruption. Ironic that their greatest work would be the key to their undoing.”

  Then it dawned on him. It was a piece of the Soul Stone! Baron remembered how a piece of it seemed to have been missing but had forgotten that detail until just now. This is what Corcoran used to tie his spirit to the Banished Lands! But why had he brought it here?

  Just then, two other men in hooded robes entered the room. Baron struggled with little success against his bonds, though he still had yet to understand what was happening. But then the two men began speaking in a flowing language that reminded him of what Estrien sounded like when she had activated the Soul Stone to free the Night Wanderers.

  Baron felt something change in the atmosphere, as though the walls of his enclosure began to stretch away. Sounds grew fainter and he felt the powerful urge to suddenly fall asleep. Just then, Corcoran stood over him, his eyes pulsing red.

  He reached his hand out to touch him and as he did, Baron felt the sensation of falling. His vision narrowed and he felt a malevolent force suddenly enter his mind. Thoughts not his own flooded in, and then all at once, everything went numb. Baron felt as though a mere watcher. He could see and hear but had no use of his body.

  “Release me,” he heard himself say.

  Two soldiers bowed and immediately unstrapped the leather holding him down. Baron felt himself rise up and glance at the bewildered young man he had known as Corcoran before.

  “Take him,” he felt himself say.

  Two other guards rushed in and grabbed the young man by the arms, removing him from the room. Everyone who remained was now bowed low before him. Baron opened his mouth to give them a command, but nothing happened. He tried to sprint from the room and leave this place behind, but to no avail.

  “Stop it, you fool,” he heard his own voice say.

  But Baron struggled all the more, trying to will his body to obey him. Then he felt a shift in the dark presence controlling him, a shift he couldn't describe. It was as though he had ceased working externally and was now within the inward confines of Baron's mind.

  Baron felt h
imself stop breathing. He was paralyzed. He fought all the harder until his lungs began to burn. His head pounded and swam with dizziness, but still, no air would fill his lungs. And then, suddenly, he took a deep breath.

  But Corcoran threw his body to the ground. Baron was back in control. He arose and went for the door but something tripped his feet and he landed hard on the cold stone floor. He lay there a moment, breathless. But an idea struck him.

  Softening the stone beneath his palms, he sank his hands into the floor and solidified them. But he felt the sensation of falling again and the numbness return to his limbs as Corcoran retook control.

  Corcoran struggled against the stone, ineffectually pulling at his arms, frozen fast in place. Baron smiled to himself in satisfaction, resolving that Corcoran would have to kill him before forcing him to free them.

  But something happened that Baron couldn't believe. The stone floor beneath him began to soften. It was a slow and labored effort but within moments, his arms were free and he was again standing on his feet.

  “I had the skill of a Builder too, you know, once upon a time,” Baron heard himself say aloud. “It came from my mother. But my gift was muddled, they told me – my father, a Woodlander. The Builders thought it unseemly to train me. The Woodlanders, likewise, told me my Builder's blood made me unfit to learn their ways, leaving me an outcast.

  I quickly learned how petty and corrupt their system had become. And so I left, wandering the beauty of the wide world. I let the trees and mountains teach me their secrets. They had grown proud and tall without the help of man and so would I. I roamed for years, scarcely encountering a soul, my abilities growing as I composed my beautiful verse.”

  “You destroyed that world,” Baron said in his mind. “The world you claimed to love in your poetry.”

  “Not I,” he said aloud. “It was the Windbearers who took the Prosperous Age away from us. But we will restore it to a place greater than before and will take from them the power to ever destroy our home again.”