The Godlost Land (45 page)

From where the worst of the destruction began it was only half a league to the city. Still, even that short distance took them many hours. But at least as they walked they could see people ahead. More and more of them were standing on the walls, staring at them. Some were even waving at them as they approached. That brought her cheer. It seemed that many had survived. Perhaps most of them?

In time she realised as they drew closer that she was right. And it was more than just soldiers who were waiting for them. She could see civilians were among them. Peasants mostly, wearing torn and dirty robes. They must have been the city folk. Those who had survived the false temple's reign, the battle and then whatever had happened here a couple of days before.  The sight of them brought her still more hope. If these people could survive all of that then they could survive anything. Her sister surely had to be alive.

Hours later she was given proof of that in the most wondrous way possible.

They had just left the worst of the char behind them to find themselves on a relatively flat almost path like length of bare rock. And she knew that it could only be like that because some of the earth wizards had been slowly transforming the ground into something people could walk on. Clearly their wizards had also survived whatever had befallen the valley and were busy trying to create a path back out of the city. But the best thing about the path was that when she stood on it she could finally stop staring at her feet and the land beneath them to what lay ahead. And what she saw was Erislee standing barely fifty feet in front of her.

It was a moment of transcendent joy for her. Seeing her standing there, alive and well, and smiling. It was something that in her heart she had feared she would never see again. Despite her best intentions tears started rolling down Nyma's cheeks. Tears of pure joy.

Unable to stop herself Nyma ran for her sister and soon had her in her arms. Her baby sister, if only by a year.
By some miracle she was alive and well.

For the longest time Nyma could barely think. The emotion running through her was simply so overwhelming. And by the time any trace of reason had returned everyone else had wandered back into the city and the two of them were standing there alone. No sooner had that happened then Nyma began bombarding her sister with questions. Questions like what had happened? Who or what had destroyed the valley and the mountains? Had the enemy been completely destroyed? And why was Erislee carrying a huge longbow on her back? One that was obviously far too large for her? It had to be seven feet tall!

Little by little Erislee told her what she wanted to know, though the answers only led to more questions. Questions that had no answers.  How could the Huntress have sent her the bow? She resided in the heavens not in the mortal world. And how could the deaths of the three wizards have caused so much damage? Everyone knew that wizards burned when they died. The one that had died in Whitebrook had created quite a mess from what she'd heard. But this? This was so much more than that. This was a hundred times – a thousand times more powerful. The destruction was so great that it was as though the gods themselves had simply come down and smote the land.

And then when her sister told her about the binding and how when the final Circle wizard was killed the last of the magic woven into the deal would be unleashed, she was left with a new question. Just how terrible would that be? It was a question she didn't want to ask – but still she did.

“That's ours to worry about.” Dina Windstrider spoke up suddenly startling Nyma. She hadn't even realised that the wizard was there. “You have a different concern.”

Was she giving her orders? Nyma wondered about that for a moment until she realised the truth. It seemed Dina was. But just when had the wizard become her commander? Still, she knew that this wasn't the time to argue about such things. Not when the Father, the Mother and their daughter had all somehow conspired to return to her such a wondrous gift as her sister still living despite having faced certain death. So instead she just asked the obvious question.

“And what would that be wizard?”

“Harl Elder Fire.”

“Harl?”

That was a name she wouldn't have thought to hear. What had the wizard done now? He seemed to have a knack for creating chaos. But at the same time she owed him for rescuing Erislee from the false temple to begin with. And for the sword he had given her. It was a good weapon. Impossibly sharp and with a wonderful enchantment of sloth upon it. He'd said it would slow the chimera for a few seconds. It didn't. It very nearly stopped them in their tracks.

“He needs protection.”

“Protection from what?”

It didn't make sense. The wizard was at his smithy making weapons. He was a long way from the war. And from all she had heard he could protect himself quite well with that overly large sword of his. Besides, though he was clearly capable in his craft he was far from the enemy's most wanted foe. He wasn't even involved in the battle. The chances were the false temple knew nothing at all about him.

“From everyone. From wizards and not just the false temple's ones. From priests of many different faiths. From the false temple of course. And potentially from the gods themselves.”

Dina said it as though it was simply a fact being reported. A report on the weather perhaps. But it wasn't. It was madness. What she was saying made no sense at all. But when Dina explained that he was responsible for crafting the bow Nyma suddenly understood that the wizard might well be right. No one could craft the weapons of the gods. No one. So what he'd done was beyond understanding. Harl would be in danger if anyone ever realised what he'd done.

Every king or queen, emperor, regent or tyrant would want him. They would want his skills. They would want what he could build for them. And they would desperately not want their enemies to have him. Wizards would fall over themselves to learn whatever he knew. Priests would want him to create the symbols of their faith. Even the gods themselves would be looking on. And it was never good when the gods took an interest in someone.

Harl was going to be a wanted man. He was in danger. He was also owed a huge debt. 

Owed twice over now it seemed. Which was why she immediately agreed to the duty. There was a debt of blood owed to him. She would meet that by providing him with protection. If it was possible for a mortal like her to keep him safe he would be kept safe. Of course he would probably object. The wizard was nothing if not difficult – unless it was stubborn and contrary. And she knew he was capable with that iron bar of his he called a sword. He would not take the thought of needing protection well. He would not listen to her. In fact he seemed to find her suggestions about most things amusing.

Still, it had to be done and she would do it.
Whether he liked it or not!
Moreover she would do it well.

But even as she agreed to her duty and prepared to set off, another question occurred to Nyma. Why was there an orange cat on the remains of the first wall staring at her? It seemed to be spying on her. Could cats spy on people? She didn't ask though. It was such a foolish question. Because even in the midst of so many impossible things, cats had not yet become spies. Had they?

Chapter Thirty Five

Harl was sweating. The air was heavy with moisture as Harl toiled, making everything more difficult. The metal took longer to heat, the steel was harder to beat into shape, and his fire didn't seem quite as hot as it had been. To add to his woes everything he made had to be kept oiled. His steel was good and he always added a pinch of chromite into his recipes to make it resistant to water, but even the best steel could rust. And once that happened it was useless.

Rain had settled in for a lengthy stay and Harl was becoming somewhat tired of it. In his cottage and under the roof of the smithy he was dry enough,
but still he had to walk between the two, and every time he did he got wet. He was sick of having muddy feet and this fall for some reason his yard had turned to mud. He suspected it was because he was having so many visitors these last few months that the grass was being worn down leaving the soil exposed to the water. But knowing what was causing it didn't help him solve the problem. What would help was some sunshine. A lot of sunshine.

Still, he worked away at his smithy every day just as he had done for the previous months and continued to produce his wares, keeping everyone happy. He was happy too. Just with the routine of working as an arcane smith again. He didn't need the coin as much as he needed to work at his craft. And the war was once more being won, now that the High Priestess had fought her way out of Midland Heights. Though, according to the bards she hadn't fought her way out so much as been rescued by the Goddess herself. They were saying that Artemis had appeared and simply smashed the enemy to pieces. That absolutely none had escaped her wrath. That even the mountains had trembled with fear.

How true any of that was he didn't know. But as long as people believed it and it brought them hope that was a good thing. And if the priests in the false temple heard it and believed it and discovered a little fear, that was a good thing too. Maybe even a better thing.

When the word had come through a couple of days before he had been overjoyed. Not so much that Erislee had survived. For while he bore her no ill will it was still hard for him to know complete trust in her. To completely accept that she and her temple were not responsible in some way for what had happened. Five years of hatred was not an easy thing to simply put aside. He was however, happy that five Circle wizards were now dead and that the rebellion would continue. If Harl had had his way then soon the rest of the Circle wizards would be dead together with all of their soldiers, demon followers and beasts. They would be wiped from the world completely.

Of course it was beginning to look as though the world might be destroyed with them, if the words of the bards were to be believed. Whole mountain ranges levelled? That beggared belief, though it seemed it had happened. Because he was coming more and more to the view that Dina was right and it was a true binding. It had to be. Because despite what people thought, the bow itself couldn't have done that. And the deaths of the three Circle wizards of itself couldn't have done it either. But if the binding had been broken three times in quick succession and it held as much power as Dina feared, that could do it.

The sound of a horse cantering up the trail made Harl forget about such things as he realised he had a visitor. He looked up, curious. He had a few visitors these days, but he was never completely sure whether he wanted them.

This one he did though. When he saw her emerge from the trees and canter in to his yard, he knew she was welcome.

“Nyma! You're alive!”

He was surprised to see her, but it was a good surprise. Even though she'd probably come to tell him off about something and maybe lecture him about his many failings, it was good to know she still lived. And she seemed to have the same thought as she dismounted and then approached him, more cautiously than usual. That struck him as odd. Nyma was never cautious. She strode proudly. This meekness was not like her.

“Wizard. Honour is given and a living debt is acknowledged.”

“Is everything well?” He asked because she did not seem herself. And there was an odd look on her face. And what debt? She owed him no debt that he knew of. Certainly no living debt whatever that was. “Your sister is well?”

“She is well as you've heard. Thanks to you.”

Then she did something unexpected. She reached out with her hands, took his head in them and bent him forward a little. Just enough to kiss him on the forehead. He guessed what debt she meant then. But how did she know? And
how much
did she know? He was sure she wasn't supposed to know anything. Dina and the High Priestess had been very clear on that. No one was supposed to know. And he was absolutely not allowed to tell anyone what he'd done. After they had visited him they had visited the fort and explained the same to the commander. He had not seen Marni Holdgood since but he gathered she did not want to see him any time soon – if ever. Not since the  visit of the High Priestess and Dina.

“I thank you Tree Mother, but truly I've done nothing worthy of such kindness.”

That however didn't mean he didn't want to be. Her lips had felt nice on his skin, her hands good on his face.

“But –” She let his head go so that she could look into his eyes. “– you have done something that passes all understanding. Something never before done. And something no mortal should do.”

“Done? Me? I've done very little except make weapons for the soldiers.”

He didn't know exactly what she knew. But clearly she knew too much. And that knowledge worried her for some reason. She would not be easily turned aside by his denials.

“You have crafted a weapon of the divine. But you are not of the priests. You are not of Artemis' flock. You are not of the divine at all. And even the most foolish child knows that when mortals become involved with the gods it never works out well for them.”

That was true. The stories of the priests and the sages were always clear on that. It didn't matter which of the gods was involved or what the contact was, it always ended badly. Usually they died. He had thought about that a little in his quiet moments. But if he died then at least he had died after finally striking a blow against his enemy. That was something he could be happy with. To have died after nothing more than five years of running and hiding would have been far more terrible.

“I did what I did for my own reasons. Your sister and the army had to be saved because the false temple has to be defeated. No debt is owed for it. Not by you, nor by anyone else.”

“Besides, I'm not completely sure I did anything at all. It was as if another used me.” Looking back on those days it seemed more and more to him as though it had been a dream. Someone else's dream that he had simply been a part of.

“And you're also not supposed to know about it. No one is.”

But he guessed her sister had told her, despite having instructed him in the clearest terms to never tell anyone anything.

“In any case I feel fine. I'm safe here. And I do follow Hera as did my family.”

For some reason he felt he had to add the last. He was not a man completely without faith as some seemed to think. Perhaps he might not hold out a lot of hope that the gods would ever do anything useful, but he still made his offerings and recited the ritual prayers from time to time. And truthfully, having had Artemis work through him had boosted his hopes in the gods a little. Maybe from time to time they would do something? Not enough of course and seldom in time, but something.

“The Mother,” she corrected him without thought. And he supposed that from her place Hera was similar to the dryad goddess. But she wasn't.

“Hera, Goddess of Home and Hearth.”

Nyma didn't answer him for a while, choosing instead to stare intently at him from all of six inches away and no doubt wonder if he was correcting her. Which he supposed he was. Harl just hoped that they weren't going to end up arguing about something so unimportant as gods. Especially not when he just wanted to celebrate the fact that she had survived.

“You humans and your gods. So many when all know there are but three. A family above as below. It seems that every time something strange happens you dream up a new one. I suppose that that's why your people will never achieve true greatness.”

Suddenly it was Harl's turn to stare at her and wonder if she was jesting. He thought that she might be. But not completely. Humans were one of the three dominant peoples in the world. But each people thought they were the greatest. The dryads valued their songs and thousands of years of recorded history, their wilderness civilization and their knowledge above all else. The satyrs considered their artistry and science, and especially their love of freedom as the things that made them great. While humans had farms, armies and great cities. Probably the fauns and the nymphs had similar thoughts. It was probably just natural for people to think that way about themselves. And it was likely they would never agree. Besides, after what his people had done to themselves, it was hard to argue their greatness. It was better to make light of it he decided.

“Ahh but you miss the true wonder of having so many gods! Because every god must have a feast day. Sometimes it seems that every week has a feast day for one god or another!”

Not for the past five years of course, but it had once been so, and even those like him who doubted that the gods would ever get involved in the affairs of man could enjoy the feast days. Especially, as he recalled, the feast days of Dionysus. Wine, women and song. Those had been some wonderful days for a young man to enjoy being alive. In fact as he recalled, he had required nearly an entire week to recover from those feast days.

“Men!” Nyma did everything but bury her face in her hands in despair, and it made him laugh. Maybe a little more loudly than he should have. But then he had reason to be happy. And maybe for apologising for what he'd said to her before. Even though it had been the right thing to say he had undoubtedly said it badly.

“I'm glad to see you alive Nyma. For a while I was worried that I wouldn't see you again and the world would have been a far sadder place for that.”

“As it will be if you pass from it. Which is why I was sent.”

“I have no plans to pass from the world Nyma.”

But he still felt a slight chill down his back. He didn't feel as though he was in any great danger. But probably most people who were in danger didn't feel it either until it was too late. And had she just said that she'd been sent? He gathered from that that she thought he was in peril. Was he? Did she know of an actual threat to his life? Or was this just more of Mistress Windstrider's worrying?

“And I have none of allowing you to.” Suddenly Nyma became once more the assertive, confident soldier she was. “We will begin with why you are dressed as you are. Why you do not have a weapon at hand. And when was the last time you checked your perimeter.”

They would begin there Harl realised as she began outlining her ideas for his protection, but they wouldn't end there. And she wasn't merely sharing her thoughts either. She was giving him orders. When had she suddenly decided she was in charge of him? But even as he wondered that, Harl knew the answer. She had simply assumed it right from the beginning.

“Nyma I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for five long years.”

Nyma stared at him for a moment as if wondering what he was saying. Or if he even knew what he was saying. And then having decided he was simply babbling she carried on with her plans as if he'd said nothing at all. And it was then that Harl realised she wasn't going to stop. She wasn't going to listen to him at all. She was just going to order him around. So he kissed her.

He didn't mean to. He didn't think about it at all – if he had he might have thought twice. But she was there, standing so close to him, and it seemed like the quickest way to stop her talking. That and the fact that he wanted to.

The kiss certainly shut her up.  And when she eventually started protesting he kissed her again.

This time he held her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her in close and letting his lips explore hers. His tongue too. And he didn't stop. He wouldn't stop – not until she said no, and she wasn't saying no. She was protesting a little bit, mostly whenever he let her go. Certainly though she wasn't saying no and she wasn't pulling away.