The Godlost Land (70 page)

“And Harl?”

Erislee had to ask as she watched the silver warrior walking toward the city. She didn't understand what was happening with the smith, but she knew it was madness. And she knew that he was probably going to die. Not just because walking to the city on his own was madness, but because there was a finality in his manner. As if he expected to die.

“I don't know.” The cat looked at her strangely. “I've played my part. Nemesis brought me back from Tartarus and placed me in this body. My task was to watch over him. And to bring him here when the time came. But the rest is not mine. All that is mine is to let him do what he must do, save him if I can, and maybe to keep the rest of you from getting yourselves killed.”

“I don't understand.”

“Neither do I. But I don't have to. And you don't have to either,” the cat told her. “Ask your Goddess.”

And with that he turned and walked away, following the silver warrior towards the city.

For a while Erislee stood there wondering what he meant. But of course she did as he said. She was the High Priestess of Artemis; it was always the first thing she should do. A heartbeat later when she felt the essence of the Huntress fill her she learned that the cat was right. They should not follow. In fact the Huntress directed her and her army to take cover as far away from the city as possible.

“Retreat! To the trees, retreat!” Erislee gave the order and though people looked at her strangely and she had to repeat herself several times, they eventually started doing as she said, retreating back to the edge of the forest.

“High Priestess?”

Dina was curious of course, and Erislee only wished she could explain. But she couldn't. All she had was a tiny piece of knowledge. Not much more than the wizard herself. Probably not even as much as the cat had. Still, she shared it with her as they walked back to the tree line.

“We thought of this as a simple war. As the demons and the wizards declaring war on the mortal races. The five kingdoms. Which they did. But we forgot. These wizards didn't just declare war on the people of the five kingdoms. They attacked the temples. They murdered the priests. They tried to destroy the faiths.”

“How could they ever have thought that the gods would
not
be upset by that?”

But more than that she knew as she saw the trees ahead and wondered if she should hurry; how could they ever have imagined that the gods would not be angry? That they would not answer in kind? What sort of madness had been theirs? Because she knew the gods were going to show a little of their anger this day and that that little would be more terrible than anything Terellion could ever have imagined.

“Erislee?”

“The armour Harl's wearing. It's transcendent metal. The armour of the gods. And he just poured it over himself so that it became his skin.” Artemis had shown her that. And she had told her one thing more.

“Lyssa's wrath dwells inside him. Nemesis walks beside him. Artemis guides his feet. The others are close. This is not our war any longer. We have played our part. Our hunt is over. Theirs has just begun.”

“This is the hunt of the gods.”

Chapter Sixty Six

“Is time.”

The fury announced it as if it should mean something. But it didn't. Not to Terellion as he lay there still chained to the rack, wishing he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. Wishing he had a sword and could simply cut the bitch apart. But he had no sword and he wasn't somewhere else, and all the wishing and the hatred in the world couldn't help him. He'd been there over a week by then, and all the wishes and prayers and curses had helped him not at all.

“Bitch!” Terellion screamed at her as he always did whenever she spoke. But all he got in return was laughter. He was helpless and they knew it. He could scream all day and all night and no one would hear him down here.

He was in pain. Terrible pain. Hurting in a way he had never known before. Never even known was possible. Hurting in places a man shouldn't hurt. He felt weak and vulnerable, because he was those things. His magic was gone, and even though he had more strength now, it was useless against the manacles that bound his arms and legs. He could struggle against his bonds, but it didn't help him. Nothing helped him. Not even begging. She had no mercy for him. She just took him, brutally, again and again and again.

The fury had finally finished with him a few hours after she'd first begun, at least the first time. And he'd known a moment of relief as she'd finally walked away to rest. He'd thought it was over. But it hadn't been over. The suffering hadn't ended. He should have guessed when he was still left there chained to the table. Still helpless and hurting. If she'd finished with him surely she should have either killed him or let him go. And truly at that moment he hadn't really cared which as long as it was ended. What she'd done to him was an abomination. It had been the most vile experience of his life. But he'd soon discovered that it would only be a short reprieve. She just needed a rest. And thereafter it always had been.

She had been insatiable, strengthened by whatever strange magic it was that had given her a male member, and completely determined to impregnate him with her foul offspring. And she was powerful! So strong she could break his bones with a crack of her hands. Several times he'd thought she'd broken the bones in his loins as she'd lost herself in the excitement, and the pain of the broken bones grinding over one another as she had carried on driving in to him had been beyond his understanding. What sort of hatred could beat in her heart to do that to him? And why? He had done nothing to her. In fact he had offered her everything.

She was cruel. Not just brutal, but vindictive. She didn't just bed him, she bit him. Not with the daggers in her mouth, but with the vipers. Each and every time. She seemed to think it was fun. And he'd always known when the biting would come. Just as she did. It was a pattern. Every time she gave him her seed, she had hissed with pleasure, a sound that could melt metal and crack stone, and then there had been a frenzy of uncontrolled biting. It was part of the pleasure for her. He feared her climax as he feared little else. Others enjoyed it.

Her sisters had cheered her on each and every time. All of them had watched and celebrated each time she had had him. And she had had him so many times. How many he didn't know but it had to be in the hundreds.  He didn't even know how many days he'd been down in this dungeon, screaming for help that never came. No one would help him. Not here. In fact each time she had raped him not one of the other furies who had watched it happen had shown the tiniest shred of sympathy for him. Instead they hissed and clapped their hands and encouraged her to do it again. And Varrious had cheered with them. At least the first few times.

Then after she had finished with him she would tell him how much she had enjoyed it and then would get off and leave him for a few hours. Never once did she forget to tell him how lucky he was to be taken by her. The bitch was crazed! And he truly hated her. If he could have freed his arms he would have strangled her. But he knew she was being honest. She had enjoyed mounting him. For her it was pure pleasure. And if he suffered for her pleasure that didn't matter the tiniest bit. It was all about her! He hated that. He hated her as he had never hated anyone else in his life.

After she'd finished that first time he had been left there for a while, broken and bleeding and in terrible pain from what she'd done to him. Believing that he was going to die from her disgusting perversion. But he hadn't. His flesh refused to die. Instead it healed. The bones mended, the bleeding stopped and the venom drained slowly from his system thanks to the elixir. And though he had wanted to be sick from the obscenity she'd just performed on him he hadn't been. It had been the same each and every time that followed.

It was a nightmare. That a beast like her should ride him. That she should keep riding him. It was humiliating and degrading. And he could do nothing about it. Nothing save lie there and be raped repeatedly.

The worst of it was knowing that she enjoyed it. Seeing the smile on her face as she rode him. She laughed and hissed and smiled as if what she was doing was somehow fun. And he supposed for her it was.

And it wouldn't end. She had bitten him so many times. She had broken his body again and again. Her strength as she took him was inhuman. Her talons had raked him so many times that he was covered in scars. But nothing she did could seem to kill him. Some days he wished it would.

It was the living essence. Burning through him, healing his wounds as she tore him apart. Refusing to let him die. So instead he healed. Which meant that she could have him again.

It had taken him a while to understand. But he had eventually realised that the elixir wasn't the blessing he had dreamed of. It was actually been a torture device. It hadn't just ripped out his manhood and turned him into a woman. It had robbed him of his magic leaving him completely helpless. And perhaps worst of all by healing him it allowed her to rape him over and over again. That was why he'd been given it.

He wouldn't have thought that even the demons could have dreamed up such a terrible torture. But someone had. Maybe Nemesis. The cursed furies seemed to worship him after all. But more likely it was Xin.

This was Tartarus. Tartarus in the living world. He was sure of it. Xin had somehow got a head start on torturing him. And she was a demon. Her sisters were demons too. They watched and they laughed and cheered her on each time. While he had to lie there and listen. And he had to listen to Varrious too, as he found the entire thing amusing. The thrall seemed to spend most of his time these days laughing at him. Terellion would kill him for that. When he got his power back. If he got his power back.

That was a terror for him. That this might be it. That he would be chained to this rack and raped for the rest of time. That he might never regain his magic. That this accursed living essence might have robbed him of it forever. Just as it had robbed him of his manhood. Of his very masculinity. Because now he was a woman. He had breasts. Large ponderous breasts that fell all around and flopped about as he lay there on the rack being raped. Nipples that hurt when she bit them, and she bit them every time. And there was something wrong with his hips. They were too broad and they didn't move as they should. His legs had become shorter, and from where he lay he could see they no longer had any hair or muscle. Even his facial hair had fallen out.

He had been transformed into a bitch!

He understood that his magic had gone. That the elixir had stolen it from him. He understood that every time he reached for his five remaining Circle wizards and could make contact with none of them. Every time the guards came down and he tried to control them, but couldn't. He understood that he was a prisoner being tortured. He understood that only too well. And he understood that he had little hope of escaping and taking his vengeance on these foul creatures. Every time he struggled impotently against his chains he understood it only too well. But he could not understand that he had been made into a lowly bitch. He could never understand that. Nor the thought that he might never be a man again.

Because when he was once more a man, this was how he was going to kill these foul things. He was going to rape them to death. He was going to do to them what she had done to him. But he was going to do it a thousand times worse. He was going to hear them scream. All of them. He was going to hear them beg. And then he was going to kill them. Every last one of them. There would be no more dreams of an army coming from their wombs. No more thought that these winged bitches were his assassins. There would be only torture, rape and death. That was his promise to them. He had to cling to that dream because he couldn't live with the fear that this might be his future. That he might be stuck like this forever.

But there was yet a darker fear that he refused to acknowledge. The true terror that he could not stand. That no man could stand. But which she constantly insisted was coming. That she had planted something in him. Her abominable offspring.

Each time after she'd finished with him and he lay there bleeding and broken, she'd laid her hands on his belly and rubbed it, checking for any sign of a swelling. Sometimes she'd laid her ear on it, listening for something. And each time she had turned to him and promised him one thing with a sickening smile on her face.

“Soon.”

He hated that word. He feared it more than any other.

For the longest time he had tried to tell himself that it was impossible. That he was a man and it simply couldn't happen. That she was crazed. But his big, fleshy hips said otherwise. His child bearing hips. And his breasts that he knew would feed a baby.

He wasn't a man. Not any more. The changes the elixir had caused had slowly continued over the long days he had been trapped down here.

To all intents and purposes he was a woman now – pathetic and weak, worth nothing except as something to mount. A brood mare. And women had babies – that was their purpose. Worse, he knew that furies and humans could have offspring. He had seen the evidence growing in their bellies. And in time he feared he would see it growing in his.

“She says it's time. You should be ready.” Varrious spoke up suddenly, catching Terellion by surprise.

The thrall had been quiet for a while. A very long while. Sometimes he'd spent time laughing at him. Sometimes instead he'd spoken to the furies in whatever tongue it was that they spoke. But mostly he'd remained quiet in his little corner of the cell. Especially these last few days. That had been a mercy. The only mercy Terellion had been shown.

For some reason the thrall was still chained to his bars. The furies could have freed him, but they hadn't. And strangely Varrious had never asked to be freed. He just sat there, or stood there, or often enough lay there, and said little. He certainly didn't beg for his freedom. But neither had he been eaten as Terellion had hoped he would be. The furies had enough food. He didn't know where they got it from, but every so often some of them had gone out and returned with great armfuls of vegetables and meat which they would add to a huge cast iron cauldron in the centre of the dungeon. Then they would set fire to it, adding firewood that they also gathered from somewhere, and lighting it with the torches from the wall and prepare a stew. It wasn't good but it was nourishing.

They had the guards under their control as well. Whenever they came downstairs to do their daily inspections one of the furies would sit on Terellion and shove a rag in his mouth to prevent him from crying out. Several more would physically block the guard's view of him chained as he was to the rack. And shortly the guards would leave never realising that he was there.

Varrious had also been instrumental in keeping them from discovering that he was down here The man was a consummate liar. But Terellion was beginning to suspect that the true reason he had been so successful wasn't because of his skill. It was because the guards were brutishly stupid.

Varrious had told the guards the very first time they'd come down that he'd left when his business was done. That he'd satisfied himself with the fury and then gone on his way, happy. Naturally chained to the table, held down and gagged, Terellion had been able to do nothing to prevent the lies being spread. And the more he tried the harder they hit him.

It was a pathetic story, but for some reason Varrious' lie had been enough for the guards. They had left without so much as a question, believing the thrall's every word. Terellion would kill the guards for their laxity! For not checking the cells properly. For not at least asking some more questions. When he was free he would make those guards suffer a truly terrible fate.  Maybe he would have them tear out each other's eyes. And Varrious would suffer far worse! For his help in covering up this crime he would learn what true pain was. The months the man had spent being tortured were as nothing to the lifetime of agony he would suffer. But of course with his magic gone, he couldn't escape. He couldn't control the guards. He couldn't call out to his pet wizards either. And no one else had come.