The Godlost Land (48 page)

Harl felt unclean just standing opposite her. As if he'd been wading through sewers. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to bathe.

But not in water. He was an arcane smith and the cleanest thing he could think of to bathe in was fire. Fire was cleansing. Everyone knew that. And everyone knew that the best way to get rid of a disease was to burn it out.

Acting on instinct he reached into the pit and pulled out a stone. A large river stone that was burning beautifully with his magic. And then he tossed it at her.

Her response wasn't what he'd expected. He'd thought that she would dodge, but instead she reached for it. Acting on some sort of impulse she caught the burning rock, her long taloned fingers somehow wrapping themselves right around it. But then she screeched in fury as it burnt her and threw it away while all her snakes writhed angrily.

That gave him an idea. She couldn't stand the fire. She was under the smithy roof, unable to jump and only able to move from side to side and even then her movements were awkward. She was barely ten feet away. And he had an entire pit filled with burning stones between them.

Harl picked another one up and this time he hurled it at her with all the strength he had. He was certain she wouldn't make the same mistake again and catch this one. She dodged, hopping to the side as fast as she could, but not fast enough and the burning stone caught her on the shoulder, causing her to screech again. And then while she was screeching and trying to brush the stone off her he hurled the next one at her. That one caught her full in the chest and knocked her back a step. It burnt her too and she hated that. It also proved the best of the throws as it caught her in the wing. She'd reacted to the pain of the previous hit by opening her arms wide, and the leathery flaps connected to them and her legs made a perfect target.

After that it was more of the same. He kept throwing the burning stones at her and she kept trying and mostly failing to get out of the way. She kept hissing and screeching at him. And she kept burning.

Soon her skin was covered in scorch marks – an improvement in his view – and her legs weren't allowing her to move even as freely as she had. Worst of all for her, she was slowing down. The injuries were taking their toll on her. If she'd had any sense she would have run. Taken to the skies and safety. Or at least she would have gotten far enough away that he couldn't hit her with the rocks. But she didn't, and he knew that she wouldn't. None of the chimera ever backed away – not for long.
Besides, she was an assassin. She no doubt realised that if she backed away it would give him a chance to grab some armour and a weapon from the rack behind her.
There was no way she could let that happen. It was then that he realised he had the chance to finish her off
.
Harl grabbed a burning stone the size of his fist and hurled it straight at her face.

It hit, a smashing blow that shattered bone and knocked her down. And that was his chance. Even as she lay there on the other side of the pit, screeching and hissing, he leapt into it – a move he knew she could never have expected – grabbed a couple more stones, and ran for her. And then on the other side when he saw her lying there on her back clutching at her broken face, he threw them straight down on top of her.

She screamed in pain – a sound that would have curdled milk – and tried to wave him away. But she couldn't. Something was broken in her. Instead, she just lay there, struggling to get the burning stones off her, but failing. Her body didn't move well when she was lying on her back. Worse for her, her leathery wings acted as nets to catch the burning rocks while she lay there. So he grabbed a couple more of the bigger stones and dropped them on her as well, pinning her to the ground.

Then, when he was satisfied she was doomed, he stood in the fire above her and watched her die. Slowly.

It took time. She kept struggling for what seemed to be ages. But she couldn't dislodge the stones trapped in her wings, and so they kept burning her. Cooking pieces of her while the vipers on her head danced in agony.

Eventually though her fight ended, and she stopped struggling. The snakes stopped wriggling. And the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Coincidentally at about the same time the last of his clothes burnt away, leaving him once more standing in the pit naked. Not that he cared. He was just pleased that she was dead.

In time though he cared about something else as he cleansed his wounds with fire. A question. Was she alone?

Furies were assassins. Vicious and utterly deadly killers that were sent after particular targets. As far as he knew they were only sent out one by one. They had to be. They were very rare creatures among the chimera. Even their cousins the harpies were uncommon. But he remembered hearing stories about the furies being used to assassinate priests and nobles from other lands when the false temple had first appeared in the Kingdom of the Lion. They had been the first wave of killers the temple had sent out, before their other creatures had finally invaded those lands. And there had been a lot of them. Few had survived their attacks.

At the time he hadn't thought much about it as he met up with other refugees and they shared their stories. So many were dying then that the question of what particular chimera had attacked them hadn't seemed important. Gored by a minotaur's horn, slashed by the claws of a leonid, or bitten by the snakes of a fury, in the end dead was dead.

Still the likelihood was that she had been sent alone. He was an arcane smith. Why would anyone bother to send two assassins after him? One should be more than enough.

But then he realised there was another matter to consider. If she was an assassin of the false temple as he knew she was then that could only mean one thing. The temple knew about him. What they knew was the question. Because despite the warning Erislee and Dina had given him, he somehow doubted that it had anything to do with the bow he'd crafted. No one knew he'd crafted it. He hoped. But a lot of people knew he was an arcane smith. That he was crafting spelled weapons for the High Priestess' army. And these days they knew where he lived.

It seemed that there was an informant in town.

In the morning he decided, he was going to have to walk into town and give the commander the news – assuming that she was willing to see him. Ever since seeing him craft the bow and then the subsequent visit of Erislee and Dina she'd been keeping her distance, sending her soldiers in her place. Which reminded him of something else. Who had yelled out the warning? Was there a soldier somewhere nearby?

Desperately he looked around for the man, thinking that he must have taken shelter somewhere. From memory he hadn't sounded like a young man, so maybe he wasn't a soldier. But try as he might, Harl couldn't see anyone there. Not around the smithy. Not around the house. And when he called out to the man he got no answer. No matter how many times or how loudly he called.

Had the man run off? Dashed for the safety of the trees perhaps? It made sense. But at the same time Harl had to wonder if he had, why he was no longer in ear shot.

Still in the end he decided after calling out and looking for the man as much as he could from the pit. That was going to have to be a riddle to answer another day.

This afternoon he was going to be busy setting up some wards around his home. Things he should probably have done long ago. He hadn't done it then because he had thought living so far away and being hidden from the road would be his best defence. Plus there were some people who could spot a ward and because of that would know to hunt him down. Now the fact that so many knew where he lived and what he did, whether they could spot a ward or not didn't really matter.

First though, he had to get dressed. In whatever clothes he had left. Then he had to bury the body of the fury. Before Nyma returned because he was certain that if she found out about the attack that somehow this would all end up being his fault. Most things were his fault. She was very clear on that. And this time he suspected she would not be distracted by a little bedding. Nor even by a lot of it. There was no doubt that Nyma was enjoying their time together as much as he was, but that wouldn't stop her doing her duty, and her duty as far as she was concerned, was keeping him safe. She would demand that he accept some guards the moment she had some evidence that he was in danger and thanks to his visitor she might find some.

He would get no sympathy for being wounded either. Instead she would just ask him why he hadn't been wearing his armour. And if she found out he'd left his sword in the house there would be much telling off.

Getting dressed and burying the body therefore had to be his priorities. After that he could think about other security measures. The things he had failed to do before because they had seemed unnecessary. Even though he'd promised Nyma that he would. Now that it seemed that the false temple had finally found him, those things had had just become very necessary indeed. And first on the list would be creating some wards. All the standard enchantments that would keep others away. Confusion, dizziness, fear and – considering he had just been attacked by a fury – unsteady air. He thought Nyma would be happy about that. After all, she'd been talking to him from the start about setting some up. And each time she mentioned it and found he still hadn't got round to it she had gotten upset. Now at least she wouldn't be upset anymore. About that anyway.

Harl jumped down from the pit and headed into the house, thinking mostly about what wards to place and where, while keeping an eye on the skies. But when he stepped inside it was to find his next unwelcome surprise of the day. The cat was on the table staring at him defiantly, looking almost smug about the rabbit bones scattered around him.

He sighed. That was something else he also wouldn't mention to Nyma. She was unhappy with the cat already. He just wished he could find the gap where the damned animal was squeezing its way in and out of the house.

But however the ball of orange fluff had managed to make his way into the house one thing was certain. Lunch it seemed was finished.

Chapter Thirty Nine

Early the next morning Harl set off for town, perhaps just a little relieved that he could. The scratches in his shoulder had been deeper than he realised, and there had been a lot of time spent bandaging his wound the previous day. It had started to hurt too, once the excitement had worn off.

The fury had been buried in the woods, not as deep as he would have liked since the ground was so hard but far enough away that he hoped Nyma wouldn't find it. He wasn't sure what he was going to tell her if she did. Luckily he didn't think many scavengers would be interested in its remains and so lead her to it. Not something that venomous. It was also far enough away from his home that if anything did come for it, it wouldn't bother him. So there was hope. But at the same time he knew she was skilled in the ways of the woods. And she would see the scratches on his shoulder. He wasn't sure how he was going to be able to explain them.

Maybe he should just tell her? Maybe she wouldn't be that upset? And maybe the sun wouldn't come up in the morning!

Of course she would be upset. Both because she cared and because he'd got hurt. And also because it was her duty to protect him and he kept making things difficult for her. He really didn't like the idea of what she would say when she found out. Still, he disliked keeping secrets from her. And even if he did try to hide it, she would eventually hear about the attack from the Commander. Then again, surely she would be pleased that he had done most of the things she'd asked him to do since the attack? That had to count for something.

Wards had been crafted and set. First he had created a dozen for unsteady air just in case any more furies or harpies came for him. They would find flying somewhat difficult anywhere near his home. That was bad for them and probably the bird life that usually nested in the trees around his home in spring, but good for him. It would also upset the griffins that had taken up residence in the forest somewhere around his home he expected. But creating a basic ward was easy enough. Creating one that would only target certain people or creatures was much harder.

As for those chimera that might come for him on foot, he'd ringed the clearing with wards of sloth. They weren't lethal – he had to allow for the fact that others might come and be slowed by them – but they would make whoever or whatever came for him harmless. Nyma would have to be happy with him about that surely – though she'd also be suspicious about why he was finally doing what she'd been asking him to do after all this time. She was a very sharp woman.

Meanwhile he was wearing his full armour and an array of charms he'd prepared as well. Just in case. It had occurred to him as he was crafting his wards for the house that there was no reason he shouldn't be just as well protected. It had also occurred to him that as the fury was an assassin, that there was someone out there who wanted him dead. Not just in general, but specifically him. And that that person had to be somewhere nearby if only to know where he lived. It wasn't as though he could have instructed the fury to go to such and such a castle. So someone from the false temple was in town. If they would send one assassin they might send others. And not all of the false temple's assassins were furies.

With sword in hand he could defeat a human assassin, and he could probably kill the thralls just as easily. But some could be wizards. He could not fight a wizard duel when he couldn't cast. That was always an arcane smith's weakness. And as the sages said no wizard of any sort was without weaknesses. Only the gods were. But with the charms he hoped he would be able to resist whatever magic they had long enough to send his sword slicing through their neck.

He walked quickly, conscious of the fact that Nyma was due back shortly, possibly even that very afternoon, and he wanted to be ready for her with some good food. A nice berry jam, fresh bread and butter perhaps – if he could find a way to keep the damned cat away from it. What sort of cat liked bread and butter anyway? And why didn't he like mice? That was getting very annoying.

He also needed some new clothes. He was forever needing new clothes. Life for an arcane smith's clothes was tough to begin with, but when he kept burning them up in the fire that just made things worse. Clothes and food, and not much income. Harl just hoped the coin in his pocket would be enough to pay for everything.

Half an hour into his journey though, Harl stopped worrying about such things as he came across something unexpected. A faun was wandering up the track toward him.

A faun! It had been a long time since Harl had seen a full blooded faun. They normally didn't come anywhere near the five kingdoms. Satyrs were more common, but satyrs also looked more like humans. They just had hairy legs and tiny horns on their heads. Fauns had shorter fur covering their entire bodies, and even on their faces where it looked like velvet. Their legs were also thinner, and bent backwards at the knees. Strangest of all they had hooves instead of feet. But where would a faun have come from?

The closest of their lands that he could think of was Harvas Greens, far to the north west of Vardania. It was a land not of forests but jungles and marshes. There it was said they made their tent like homes in thousands of little clearings, and never allowed a single track or trail to be built between them as they regarded such things as violations of the world and the word of their god. Pan it seemed was very concerned that the world should not be violated. But then they didn't need such things. They were lithe and fast, and could weave their way between even the most densely grouped trees with ease. The land was perfect for them. And they seldom left it.

In fact in all his life Harl had only ever known one faun to leave his home and trade it for the five kingdoms. There were some traders of course, and few travellers, but they never stayed. They almost without exception carried out their business and left. Save for one. And when he looked at the faun approaching him Harl suddenly realised it was him.

“By the gods!”

It had been a very long time since Harl had seen him, and truthfully he had always had trouble telling one faun from another – the fur tended to make things difficult. But he knew that mocking grin. He had seen it before. On the face of White Tail as he'd walked away from one of his jests as he called them. A bad one.

In that case the jest had been one where he had convinced a local tanner that his wife was actually a man. That she'd tricked him into believing she was a woman. And that he was in actual fact sleeping with a man. No one had died at least. But the tanner had nearly lost his mind. He had beaten up his wife to the point where she could easily have died and then attacked the guards when they tried to pull him off her. And the reason for White Tail's jest? He had believed the tanner had overcharged him for a pair of boots.

“Is there a problem soldier?” White Tail had obviously noticed his staring as they came closer.

Of course Harl suddenly realised, White Tail didn't know him. If he had ever seen him it would have been only in passing and at the time he would have been much younger and only an apprentice.  Not important enough for a member of the Circle to remember. And of course he would never have seen Harl dressed in armour and carrying a sword. Wizards didn't wear such things. They wore brightly coloured, festive clothes designed to show off their status. So White Tail wouldn't recognise him. He just thought a solider was reacting to the fact of his race in the Rainbow Mountains. 

Harl knew he had to make sure he continued to think that. After all White Tail was a wizard of the mind. A trickster. And a powerful one. The charms Harl was wearing would only grant him limited protection against his magic. If White Tail guessed he was a wizard and that he had some protection against his magic, he would be able to overcome it. He was a Circle wizard, not just a journeyman caster.

“That there should be a faun in the Rainbow Mountains.” Harl managed a passably rough accent that would probably fool someone from the Kingdom of the Lion, but not a local. Fortunately White Tail wasn't a local.

“But I'm just like you.” The wizard managed an ingratiating smile as he said it and at the same time Harl could feel the charm on his chest getting warm. Just as it would if the wizard was trying to deceive him with his magic. And he knew his best chance was to pretend it was working.

“Just … like ...” Harl shook his head a little as if he was confused. “That is … I don't know.”

“Are you all right soldier?” White Tail smiled some more and Harl's charm became hotter. How much more of the wizard's magic it could take before it burnt out he didn't know. But he thought it couldn't be a lot. Especially when he could already start to see White Tail's form starting to shift. Starting to change into whatever he wanted him to see.

“I … I … don't know.” He did his best to look completely bewildered. As if he was under White Tail's spell. “I'm sorry. For a moment I thought you were … that is … I'm sorry. I don't know.”

“That's quite all right soldier. But perhaps you could help me.” He smiled some more but this time Harl's charm didn't get any hotter. He suspected it meant that the wizard believed he was completely under his spell. That he was seeing exactly what White Tail wanted him to see.

“Of course.”

“I'm looking for an arcane smith who lives in these parts. Some friends of mine said he was out here somewhere.”

“You mean Harl.”

Harl named himself, hoping that White Tail didn't realised he had. He also hoped that the charm had stopped burning because White Tail had stopped trying to twist his thoughts. But he also knew that the charm might also have stopped getting warm because its magic had burnt out. In which case he could already be seeing whatever the Circle wizard wanted him to see. That was a frightening thought.

“He lives further up the road, maybe twenty minutes' walk.” And as he said it Harl pointed in the direction of his home. “There's a track to the side by a huge blackberry bush. You can't miss it.” he told him the truth of course – the wizard might guess if he was lying.

The charm didn't become hot again and the wizard seemed to relax a little. Even smile a bit more broadly. Perhaps he had pulled it off. Harl could only hope so.

“And tell me does he do private work?”

“Some I think. But mostly his work goes to the High Priestess and her army.”

That drew a response. A very quick grimace of anger that the wizard immediately covered up. Harl pretended not to notice. But he was glad that he did notice. Surely that had to mean that he wasn't yet under White Tail's control?

“Thank you soldier. And where may I ask are you heading this fine morning?”

“Whitebrook and the fort. There's some new recruits that need training.”

If he looked like a soldier and the Circle wizard thought he was one, then Harl decided he might as well pretend to be one.

“So you help with the training?” White Tail smiled knowingly at him and instantly Harl's charm grew very hot once more. “That's very noble of you.” The wizard stepped closer to him and Harl immediately knew that he was going to try and get him to do something incredibly stupid. Probably something that was going to get him killed. That was White Tail's way.

“But tell me, do you know that there's some of those nasty chimera just over there.” White Tail pointed to some bush off to the side of the road. “If you hurry I'm sure you'll be able to find them and kill them all.”

“Where?” Harl pretended to be completely under the wizard's control.

“Just over there in the forest. I'm sure if you hurry you'll find them. And if they're not there just keep going. After all, we don't want them to get away.”

“Of course not.”

Harl drew his sword as if he was preparing to go charging off into the forest exactly as the wizard wanted him to. And no doubt with his magic still ringing in his ears he would have kept running on and on until he got completely lost. But he had no intention of obeying White Tail. Not when the wizard had so foolishly stepped into range.

Instead he spun all the way around sword in hand and let the tip of his weapon slice though White Tail's shoulder.

The wizard screamed in shock and clutched at his arm, and at the same moment Harl's charm suddenly cooled. White Tail had forgotten his magic as he discovered the pain of his injury. But he would remember it quickly enough if he wasn't stopped. Which was why Harl stepped forward and kicked him hard in the gut, doubling him over and driving the air from his lungs so he couldn't speak. Then he punched him – hard – straight in the face.