The Godlost Land (7 page)

But when Rickarial had fallen, a divine arrow through his chest, his body slowly burning up from the inside, that had been the worst memory. It had been the end. For Rickarial had been their most powerful wizard and with his death, their hopes had also died.
All
their hopes.

Harl's family had died with the wizard as well. Harl knew that. He had not seen them fall – they had been on the other side of the city and he could not get to them in time – but few if any had escaped the attack. Fewer still from the side of the city where his family home had sat. For it was there that the Great Temple of Artemis had sat. And it was from there that the unending armies of beasts had poured forth, enveloping the city. Against them they'd had only one hope. One man. Rickarial. The mage of mages. The unofficial leader of the Circle of wizards. Master of sky and fire.

While he'd stood the people of the city had had hope. His fireballs and lightning storms had covered the entire city. The beasts had fallen to his magic almost without number. But unfortunately it seemed that the beasts had actually been without number. And slowly but surely the beasts had driven them back in the frenzy of battle. The mages and soldiers had fallen one by one as they protected the great mage. Every one of them knowing he had to survive. But even as they had been pushed back they had had hope.

Eventually they had been driven back all the way to the city walls. Standing there on the ramparts that were supposed to defend the city from outside attacks, but being driven back by an enemy who was already inside the city. Their failure was Harl's fault he knew. Or at least in part. Having been taken by surprise he had been unarmed, forced to pick up a sword from a fallen soldier in the heat of battle. Had he been wearing his armour and had his own weapons with him he could have fought better. Lasted longer. But that was only an excuse. As was the fact that he had been wounded.

Then, even as things had been impossibly desperate, as the city streets had echoed to the sounds of women and children screaming, of steel slicing through flesh, of frightened men yelling and beasts roaring, the arrow had struck. An arrow streaking from the temple itself, covering at least a league in the blink of an eye, to strike the wizard through his heart. The Goddess had arrived in the city to lead her armies, and her first act had been to take away their last hope.

He hated Artemis for that. For killing his hope. His family had probably already been dead by then. But while Rickarial had stood with them he had dared to hope. And though that hope might have been false, even false hope had been better than none. But she had taken that away from him.

“You were there?” The dryad sounded surprised, almost shocked. He could understand that. There weren't many who had been there and still lived. In fact he knew of no others, and some days he feared he might actually be the last. “How did you survive?”

“Misfortune. When Rickarial died he detonated. The explosion as his magic and that of the Goddess' arrow met tore half the wall apart. I was thrown clear along with at least fifty others. But most of the beasts were shredded. After that the horde came for us, bursting out from the hole in the wall and we could not stand against them. We fell back again and again. And finally we fled.”

He wasn't proud of that. In fact it was something that shamed him to his very soul. But there had been nothing that they could do. The beasts that had burst from that hole in the city wall had been unstoppable. Minotaurs and leonids without end. Cerberi too. The City's most powerful defender had been killed. And the mages and soldiers had been outside the city walls. They could not force their way back against the flood of beasts. They could not even hold back the flood. They could only be driven before it. Kicking and screaming but still carried away in the flow of biting, clawing bodies. Taking injuries even as they tried to resist.

It had been a terrible time. He had fallen back again and again, and had hated himself with every step. Chimera had fallen to his borrowed blade, and their blood had covered him, but still he and the others had been driven back. And they had taken injuries. Many injuries. He had been gored and scratched but somehow had remained on his feet. Too many others had not been so fortunate. Still, had it been possible he would have chosen to keep fighting. Until the end.

“That would seem like fortune to me.”

Harl didn't respond to that. He didn't think he needed to and he certainly didn't want to. She might regard it as a good thing to have survived. But for a long time he hadn't. It was his nature that had let him live. Some primitive impulse within him. His inability to stop defending himself as the creatures tried to kill him. His rage as it had forced him to kill the monsters that attacked him. But it hadn't been because of any desire to live. And when he had seen the city burning, the flames leaping high into the sky, the smoke lifting for the clouds, he truly had wanted to die. Knowing all that he had lost it had seemed the only thing left to do. Especially when he'd been wounded. But try as he might he simply could not stop defending himself. It seemed that some parts of the human spirit were simply too strong to be overcome by mere will. So, instead of dying an honourable death he had fallen back and back again, fighting until finally he had known there was no hope and he had limped away, bloodied and exhausted.

“Why have you come?”

He wasn't sure he'd get an answer, or if he did that it would be truthful. But it didn't matter. In the morning he would be gone. He would have to move on. Now that a dryad had found him he knew the Goddess' beasts could not be far behind. Best to be gone before they arrived.

Unless she was telling the truth and they had become enemies. But surely that was impossible?

“The current temple has finally turned on our people. They have pushed forth into our lands and now we have to act. The false priests long ago took my sister Erislee. They have held her for years in a cage in the southern wastes. But now they seek to carry her north to Lion's Crest in a cage like an animal, there I believe to be sacrificed. There is only one path they can take. They will pass by the track near your home early in the morning. And you are a wizard.”

She laid it all out like a simple plan. But it wasn't simple. It wasn't really a plan at all. It was a prayer – one that could not be answered. Not by him at least.

“And what? You think I could get her back for you? She will be protected by many. I am only an arcane smith and a man with a sword. One man against far too many. If Rickarial were here, maybe he could do it. But he is gone. The strongest of us have all gone. What remains behind are only the dregs. Those who can run and hide. And there are not so many of us. Besides, even if I could do something for her, why would I? You are no friend of mine dryad. You are a friend of she who has murdered my family and friends. Destroyed my home and driven me from my land. If she has turned on you it is no concern of mine.”

It was harsh and ignoble. But it was also true. And she had to have known it would be his answer even before she had come. No one would help her.

“You are the only wizard nearby. And I can pay.”

“And what need would I have for coin? There is nowhere I could spend it. Nothing I could buy with it. No one who I could even give it to. And dead men have no need of coin!” That wasn't completely true. Coin still had some value in Whitebrook, but mostly he bartered for what he needed. Furs for food.

“My sister is an innocent.”

She tried again, seeking to play on his heart. To appeal perhaps to his honour. But he had neither heart nor honour left. And her claim was wrong. It had been wrong for five long years.

“There are no innocents left. Not you and your people. Not your sister. When the Huntress came upon us and murdered our people, you did nothing to help us. You did not intervene with the Goddess. You did not protect the innocents as they fled. You did not offer them shelter or food. You did absolutely nothing when we were dying in our thousands and tens of thousands. Now, when those who still survive are either enslaved by her murderous temple or fleeing her armies you ask for help from us? From me?”

“The innocent are gone.  They perished while you stood by and watched, uncaring of their plight. All that are left are the guilty.”

And Harl included himself in that. For he was guilty of failing. Of being unable to save his family, his friends, his home. Guilty of being unable to defend the great wizard. At the very least he should have thrown himself in front of that arrow. He should have at least seen it.

The strange thing was that as he said it he wasn't angry. He wasn't even bitter. He should have been. He was sure of that. And he had every reason to be. But time had robbed him of those emotions. All he had left was fatigue. A malaise of the very soul. Five years of sleepless nights and bad dreams when he was foolish enough to close his eyes. Five years of grief and sorrow. Five years of constantly looking over his shoulder and jumping whenever he heard a noise. Five years of running and hiding. There was simply nothing left.

“There are innocent everywhere. All you need do is open your eyes to see them. And if you can use your magic to free my sister she will tell you the same. And when she's free she may finally be able to do something to set things to rights. To restore the temple to how it was.”

There it was again. This strange talk about the current temple being different to the old one. And maybe it was in some way. He didn't know. Nor did he know how she could claim the Goddess was not responsible for the beasts and everything else her temple had brought to the lands. Or for that matter what exactly her sister could do if she was free. But in some strange way it would explain why the Temple of Artemis the Huntress had suddenly turned against the people. An explanation made of the barely plausible lies that a bard might use to hold an audience as he spun a tale of fancy.

Harl didn't believe it though. And even if there was a grain of truth somewhere in her words, it didn't really matter. So what if there had been a new wash of priests through the temple? Maybe even high priests? He wasn't familiar with the history of the Temple of the Huntress and he knew little about how it operated. But one thing he did understand was that every temple followed a deity. If the deity had said let's kill everyone, that was what they did. No mere priest was going to give that instruction of his own initiative. No one would obey. And even the highest priest, the head of the order, couldn't go against his goddess' instructions. So if the Temple of Artemis had changed so drastically, it could only be because their deity had decided it should. She had changed her mind and started hunting people instead of animals.

But the dryad had one weapon in her arsenal of arguments that he had not expected and could not counter. Tears. A huge one unexpectedly rolled down one cheek, and even though he suspected it was an act, it was hard to stay either angry or firm against it. But he had to. And he had cause to.

“Then I will show you more care than you and your people ever showed mine. Here – ,” he reached across the pit and grabbed a small knife from the rack where it was hanging and tossed it to her. “ – Take this shadow knife. It will allow you to strike with deception.”

The dryad caught the small knife and then stared at it in disbelief, no doubt wondering what she should do with it. But he understood that dryads were mostly peaceful. It was why he hoped, he was going to have time to flee this place before the beasts arrived. And in honesty no one woman with a single spelled knife and a sword could go against an armed patrol and expect to survive. But his odds didn't seem that much better. And yet again he reminded himself; her people had done nothing for his when they needed it. Tears could not change that.

“You will not help?” She sounded broken, and for whatever part of that was his fault he felt shamed. But she would remain alive. And so would he.

“I cannot help you. I am not the wizard you seek.”

That must have been enough for the dryad. Probably too much. She turned her back on him unexpectedly, put the knife on a workbench, and started marching off into the forest. Back to her horse he guessed. He knew she had to have one though he wasn't sure where the animal was.

“You're wrong you know.” Half way across the yard she turned back to face him unexpectedly. “Not that you would care as you clutch your pain and your anger to you like a burning ember to replace your heart and keep you warm at night. After the attack we did try to speak with the new temple. We tried to intercede on your behalf. To learn why they had done this thing. Those who tried were killed. They did not return. And we also have taken in many of your people. But there is a price for their coming to live among us, and it is that they must live as us. Many are not willing. Still, that is how we learned what little we did. These priests do not follow Artemis. They lie. They sit in a false temple and they are false priests.”