The Godlost Land (23 page)

Chapter Sixteen

“By the gods, not again!”

Harl felt an incredible urge to swear long and loud as he heard the sound of hoof beats in the forest and realised he was to be visited again. Why so soon? Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He didn't even know who it was but he wanted them gone.

Life had been peaceful for the previous few weeks since he had spoken with the woman Marni Holdgood in town. No one had bothered him. The weather had been warm as summer finally settled in to the mountains. And he had started to let the peace settle over him. He had even been doing more of the chores that he should have done years ago. The major ones. The ones that should probably have been done decades before he had moved in.

And top of that list was patching the walls properly – not just nailing in makeshift shingles he'd cut with his axe, and then applying the linseed oil to the wood shingle walls. He had traded a good charmed knife for several jugs of the oil from the general goods store in town, and started work five days ago. Presently the walls were solid once more, the wind didn't whistle through them, and he was on his third coat. Enough to make the old wood sparkle a little in the sunshine and protect it from rot when the rain returned. Enough to make it look as though someone had cared for this place.

For once, at least in his mind, the house looked a little less like the hovel it truly was and more like a cottage. He had even been idly thinking about adding on to it. Nothing extravagant. Just an extra room that he could use for a bedchamber since the one it had was currently filled with his wares forcing him to sleep in the main room. In time – though it would probably be a long time – he had even considered beating down the old path from the smithy to the main track. It would make his journey into Whitebrook a little easier. But that would have to wait until he was finally certain that no more priests of Artemis, real or false, would be wandering the lands with their foul creatures, hunting down and killing people.

There was even a dream he had sometimes, though he doubted it would ever happen, that one day he would be able to return to his old home in Lion's Crest – or whatever remained of it – where he might find his family's remains and give them a proper burial. Perhaps find a priest of Hera to intone a few prayers for them.

But before any of that could happen there needed to be peace. Peace in the world – and the word from the bards in town was that even though Midland Heights had been cut off, the battle for it was still a long way off. He understood that the blockade had been set up, but that the siege hadn't yet begun, though the difference between the two seemed uncertain to him. There was still a full scale war being fought across the entire kingdom between the followers of Artemis and the false followers of Artemis, and a dozen or more nearby towns were yet to be liberated. Some days it seemed to him that the war was growing larger by the week. That they weren't so much defeating the enemy as they were finding more of them to fight on more fronts. Of course he lived in a small cottage several leagues from a small town, and only heard what was happening from the bards, many of whom had different tales to tell. Things could be very different to what he knew.

Meanwhile he just needed to find some peace in his life. Ever since he had learned of the wizards' betrayal he had needed that desperately. The news of their treachery had shaken his entire world apart. Undone almost everything he had believed in. And left him wondering what was true any more. It had broken him in a way he had never imagined possible. And every day that went by he found himself wondering about the same terrible question. Which of his friends had betrayed him? Had betrayed, maybe even killed those he loved? There were no answers.

He also ached, literally ached, to go out and kill those who had destroyed his world. Who had killed his family. He wanted their blood to drip from his blade and pool around his feet. He wanted to wade through their bodies. But he also feared finding out who they were. That he would find himself trying to take the heads of those he had once thought his friends. Maybe even his old master. He feared that more than he could admit.

Could he kill Master Gallowgood? Too often he had found himself asking that same question. If he was with the false temple it would be his duty. It would be justice. But at the same time Master Gallowgood was family. He was almost a second father to him. He had known and loved him nearly his entire life. The thought of seeing his face on the other end of a battlefield was a true terror.

That was truly what had stopped him joining the war. He wanted to fight. But he couldn't be certain who he would end up fighting. And there might be some he would have to face who he could never harm, even though he had to. Even though they had killed his own family. Besides, if even he couldn't trust himself to know what to do if and when that moment came, how could anyone else? He was a wizard after all. And wizards couldn't be trusted. No one would want to stand beside him in battle.

So instead he would stay out of the war. He would keep his sword in its scabbard like a coward. He would pray for guidance from Hera. And he would try to live a normal life, and find a little peace. That meant at least another year or two of not being bothered. But being bothered seemed to be his lot in life lately.

Reluctantly Harl put down his horse hair brush covered in oil and turned to face the forest and his visitors when they arrived. His hope was that they wouldn't stay long. But he doubted he would be that lucky. But neither did he think that they were there to hunt him so that was something at least. The land had been quiet and the nearest of the false temples were gone, the priests and their creatures dead. He'd even heard rumours that unicorns were being seen across the land again. If they were around then he couldn't imagine that any of the chimera would be nearby. Still, if the worst happened he could quickly duck inside and grab his sword.

He didn't have to wait long before they emerged through the trees, but when they did he sighed in relief
– and maybe a little disappointment
. He'd expected that it would be Nyma visiting, since she was the one who continued to visit. Partly it was because his home was conveniently located on the road to Glass River. But partly he suspected it was because he was a wizard of a sort and people wanted to make sure he wasn't up to any mischief. They didn't trust him and he couldn't blame them for that.

Secretly he had half hoped it would be Nyma. He'd also half feared that it would be the High Priestess since he was certain that if she ever found out he was the mysterious soldier she would be less than pleased with him despite what Marni had said. But it was neither. Instead he saw Marni Holdgood. The woman he'd shocked by showing her his immunity to fire. He didn't know anything more about her than her name, but he couldn't imagine that she was very pleased with him. No one was pleased with him these days. She wasn't smiling he noticed.

Following Marni was an older man with a heavily wrinkled face burnt deep mahogany brown from years spent in the sun and a forest of long white whiskers hanging down almost to his belt. Harl didn't know him, but he had the look of a soldier about him. A wizened soldier who had seen too much. He also looked like someone who carried a fair bit of knowledge. But if he was a soldier, why was he dressed as he was in forest leathers and leggings? Where was his uniform?

Harl didn't get up to greet them. He didn't even raise his hand. He just waited quietly until they rode into his yard.

“Again Marni Holdgood?”

“Again Harl of the Elder Fire Forge.” Her words instantly told him that she had been doing some checking, and in all likelihood she'd had someone pull apart a little of the bonds of truth to see his mark in the chain. He hoped she hadn't destroyed it. Not because he wanted to use it on anyone. Simply because it had been a very difficult piece to craft and he had worked hard on it. He had enjoyed the challenge of fastening the special links and casting the spells.

“Did I not say I wanted to be left alone?”

“You did. However there is a war on. The false followers of Artemis are being driven from the realm. And the peoples' help is required. All of the people. You are no different to anyone else in that. So stop sulking like a two year old.” She snapped out the last as would a nanny to an awkward child, or perhaps as would a soldier to a recruit.

She had a point he supposed. He'd been to town only a few days before and seen the wagon loads of grain being sent to the front lines. Not many men from the town had joined up, but then Whitebrook was only a very small town these days and they didn't have a lot of people who could swing a sword. But still, maybe a dozen young men had enlisted. And now no doubt their mothers fretted. Such was the way of things.

“You require some help from me?”

“Of course. As an arcane smith you have a skill we need. We need weapons. As the High Priestess' army grows we need lots of weapons. And armour. But we will pay for them.”

“By the gods!”

Pay for his wares! The words almost knocked Harl over with their power. The very idea shocked him as little else could. But for once it was in a way he welcomed, and not because of the coin. He didn't care about that. She thought she was offering to buy his wares. She wasn't. What she was really offering was the chance for him to practice his trade again – and that was far more precious to him than any mere coin she could offer. It was something he hadn't even dared to dream possible. For five long, bitter years he had been running and hiding. He had practised his skills mostly to defend himself and to keep his link to his past alive. Because once he had been proud to be an arcane smith.

His family had been proud too. None of them had had magic, and to have a son who did was a blessing to them. A gift from the Goddess Hera, Mistress of Home and Hearth. It was because of them that he had been apprenticed at an early age to Master Gallowgood. They had beseeched the aged arcane smith to take him on at just six years of age. And they had pushed him hard to learn his lessons and work diligently. He had done that and had served eighteen years as an apprentice before he was finally well versed enough in his craft to open his own smithy. The day that he had, that he had first hung out his shingle as an arcane smith in front of the old smithy he'd purchased had been one of the proudest of his life. It had been everything. For him and his family.

Scarcely a year later, everything had been taken from him. His family, his home, his smithy and even his trade. He had become nothing but a refugee, occasionally practising his craft in secret because it was the link back to happier times that his soul craved. It was all that he had left. And now she was offering him the chance to claim back a little more of it. He could never refuse that.

“I don't need much coin. What I need is ore. Good iron, some silver, tin and nickel, corundum if you can find some. Anything I can make good steel from.”

Harl interrupted Marni as she started to tell him something about her companion being a quartermaster. She was less than pleased by his interruption and stared daggers at him. But he didn't care. He had work to do! For the first time in five long years he had work to do. He had a client. He had orders to fill. The sheer rush of pleasure he felt at understanding that was overwhelming.

“Also”, Harl continued, “I'll need five men for a day, ranging in size from small to large, short to tall, so that I can craft some moulds from them. And of course some women as well.” Harl carried on giving them a list of his needs, his tongue barely able to keep up with his thoughts. He was simply so excited.

“Come!” He gestured at them to follow him. “I have some pieces in the house that I've crafted these last two years. Only a few unfortunately – my ores here are limited and I've had to work hard to survive instead of simply being able to concentrate on my craft, and only modest works – but they should show you what I can provide you with.”

And regardless of his limitations and small stock he thought they would be pleased. He had several swords with solid lightning spells on them, some with just the more basic spells of sharpness and durability. There were some breast plates as well – he hadn't gone to the trouble of making whole sets of armour since there was no one to buy them – but it had been good practice simply to make them and enchant them. He told them that as he led them inside to the back room. It didn't even bother him that he was leading them into his house that was barely one step removed from a hovel. All he cared about was that he was an arcane smith once more.

The pair followed him through his home and into the back room where he kept his stock. Of course a lot of it was incomplete. He'd crafted much of it simply because he'd wanted to use his skills, and the effort of finishing it off so that it was ready for sale had seemed a waste. So the breastplates were mostly bare, the cuirasses were laced together but there was no final polish on them and most of the chains weren't woven into material or combined with leather. The swords were finished but had no scabbards. Similarly he had only one size of armour since his only mould had been crafted from his own body. He had to explain that to them as they looked through what he had, but also that most of what was in front of them could be finished off quickly.