The Godlost Land

by Curtis, Greg

  He'd been happy in the long abandoned smithy for nearly two years now. It had been a miracle finding his home, if only a minor one. The forests were filled with abandoned buildings. Over the years trappers, hunters and many others found little clearings and built themselves shacks. And when they moved on or died, the buildings remained. The miracle hadn't been in finding the house – he'd found many others over the years – it had been in finding one that also had a smithy.

  When he'd found it Harl had moved in immediately. At first he had thought he would remain there for only a few weeks or months and he had hoped that it would be long enough to get the smithy running and craft himself some proper armour. After three years of running, wearing whatever armour he could scrounge from the fallen and using their weapons as well, he had been desperate to once more become a warrior instead of just a refugee with a blunt sword. But he hadn't known if he would have the time. He always moved on when the chimera started turning up. He had to. Once the first one found him the rest sooner or later followed.

  But that hadn't happened this time. Not in his present home anyway. In truth the regularity with which they had been finding him had been decreasing during the previous years. During the first few weeks when he'd been on the run, the chimera had caught up with him almost every day. There had been no rest at all, and he'd been running while carrying some nasty wounds. But as time had passed and he'd travelled further and further from Lion's Crest that had become perhaps once a week and then once a month. It had slowed, allowing him the time he'd needed to heal and rest.

  He was no sage but even he knew why it had changed. It was simply arithmetic in action. There were only so many chimera and as the territory Artemis' armies sprawled out over grew, they simply had to be spread more thinly. Even the Goddess couldn't have her monsters everywhere when the size of her realm grew so greatly. He also hoped that he and the other outcasts had also been contributing to her problems by killing as many of the beasts as they could. Harl had no idea how many of them had fallen to his swords, but in five years it had to be a hundred at least. How he'd survived so many fights he didn't really know. But he did know his skill with the blade had grown enormously in that time. He was a dangerous man. Others he assumed, if they still survived, had to be the same. The outcasts – or at least those that he knew – seldom discussed such things. Even among themselves they kept secrets.

  Whatever ever the reason the chimera hadn't found him in his new smithy didn't matter. They hadn't found him and as the months had peacefully followed one after another he'd stayed. In time he'd even started making it a home of a sort.

  Repairing the shack little by little, patching the walls of the home so the wind no longer blew through it, working on the thatch so that it no longer leaked in the rain. It was only simple stuff, crude at best, and not what he would have done if he'd had the luxury of time and some coin, but he still felt good about it.

  He'd worked on the smithy too. Rebuilding the base so that it stood tall enough for him to work at. Relining the fire pit with white refractory bricks so that it was hot enough. Putting a thatched roof over the top of it to keep the rain out. And even running a few hollowed out logs from the roof to act as channels which would carry the rain to a trough in which he could cool his wares. He didn't have an anvil of course – that would have been too much to hope for. But some large river rocks with the right curves did nearly as well.

  Rebuilding the smithy had been the start of his dream of returning to his trade – a little. In the end he was an arcane smith. It was part of who he was. And he needed weapons and armour. But he needed more than that. He'd discovered that after all the years of running he needed to return to his trade. If only for a little while. Even if he couldn't sell what he made because it would reveal him as a minor wizard, just to start crafting some of the wares he had once made was a blessing.

  In time he'd done more. He'd started crafting himself the weapons and armour that would not just keep him alive, but which were the very peak of the arcane smith's art. Not just simple enchanted wares, but master works. The things he'd been without ever since he'd fled Lion's Crest and which he could be truly proud of.

  So he had an ice blade – a sword that was the equal of any in the land. He had a brigandine and gauntlets to keep him safe in a fight. Knives with the fire blood enchantment on them – weapons that only he could use and which would kill an enemy quickly and with just a scratch. He'd even started enchanting a few rocks with spells of blinding light. It had been an experiment but a successful one. Throw them and his enemies would be helpless.

  And little by little he'd transformed himself from a man who spent his life on the run, into one who could do more than simply defend himself when he had to. One who could fight like a demon and take no more injuries doing it. Injuries had been a part of his life for those first few years. But not since he had returned to his calling. More than a few minotaurs and leonids could attest to that fact.

  And though his new smithy was primitive and not nearly as comfortable as his old smithy in Lion's Crest had been, it had begun to seem almost like home. But the only reason it could become that was because he was so far from Lion's Crest and the Huntress' arrival in the world had been long enough ago that the attacks had diminished in number. The wars had ended; there were no more armies to battle. Now there were only the stray chimera wandering at random in the wilds while the soldiers and the priests kept to the towns. Now he had a life again. As much as anyone had these days.

  The smithy was in a good location, but it was a very long way from his former home. Three hundred leagues south from Lion's Crest, it was almost at the edge of the five kingdoms and as far away from the Goddess' seat of power as he could get without leaving everything he had ever known. Far enough away that the temples to the Goddess in the nearby towns were small, crude affairs and her beasts only occasionally wandered out this far. But not so far south that he was in the wilds where there were no towns and people.

  Others he was sure had fled further south than him, out into the wild lands beyond and then on to the frozen southern lands where the Goddess' beasts did not yet roam. But for that safety they had had to pay the price of living in a land where no one spoke their tongue and where everything was strange. Where the people worshipped different gods, had different laws and different customs. And where they might not be welcome. And even if they were, they might never be able to return to their true home.

  That was why he had chosen not to go any further when he'd found the abandoned smithy hidden away in the forest. He had reached the furthest limit of the five kingdoms. But he had gone no further. Because despite the constant danger, he couldn't quite bring himself to abandon his homeland. And here, where he currently lived, was still a part of it. The people here spoke the common tongue of the five kingdoms, even if they had a broad accent, and they lived much as did the people of the Kingdom of the Lion. He understood them. He could move among them and not be noticed. And he did just that since no one could simply live in the wilds forever alone.

  From here he was close enough to the track that he could walk to the nearby town of Whitebrook in only a couple of hours. And he did. The track would also take him past a number of other outcasts' homes along the way. Shacks more or less like his where they hid. He was far from the only one hiding in these remote parts. And though he knew only a few of the others, it was precious to him to know that others were there. It was useful too. He could trade with them if he wanted to avoid the dangers of the town, and in particular the temple priests who lived there. He liked to do that when he could.

  Whitebrook was relatively safe. The local priests were quiet, choosing to keep their heads down for the moment, but they watched, and he was sure they knew that some of the survivors of their Goddess' vicious attack were living out here. He would guess that they reported back some of what they saw, and that they sent their chimera after some of them. But really it was a small temple, all that such a small town could support, and their
pens were small as were their barracks.

  There was also a nearby mine where he could quarry some iron ore and a little chromite for smelting when his supplies ran low, and a river bank where the best clay for bricks could be found. It had also provided the smooth river stones he used in the pit. His pit was of course no ordinary pit. He didn't burn coal. He used magic to enchant the rocks themselves that filled its flat circular base, and from them gained a perfect smokeless fire. The perfect fire for smelting the best steel and crafting the finest wares.

  Best of all about the location though was the fact that the smithy was hidden from the track. Well hidden. There had once been a path leading to it from the main south track, but that had long since become overgrown after the ancient smithy had been abandoned at least fifty years before. And if there had been a sign pointing in its direction, it had long since disappeared. Now, the only way to the track was by weaving your way through the thick forest, and not many people would do that. Not many would even know to do that. After all, as they walked the track there was no sign that there had once been a path leading off it.

  But apparently that had changed. Someone knew where he lived and was coming and there was no point in regret as they said. So, instead of indulging in it he put down his hammer, tossed the half finished blade he was working on into the cooling trough, and reached for his sword. He even tossed his apron to one side. As an arcane smith he didn't need to wear one – fire held no danger for him – but he chose to wear it all the same to keep the soot and char from staining his clothes. They weren't elegant clothes, but they were still the best he had. And even though his pit used flaming stones instead of coal, it was a dirty business.

  Then he stepped out from behind the pit and stood ready to face whoever was coming.

  It wasn't one of the Goddess' twisted beasts. He knew that long before he set eyes on his visitor. He had never known the beasts to creep anywhere. The minotaurs and leonids would smash their way through the forest without a thought to get to their prey. The harpies would screech as they flew overhead. And the cerberi would howl as only two headed hounds could. It seemed that no matter what unholy fusion of man or beast the Goddess created, none of them had the mind of a man. None of them understood stealth. Not even the leonids who as part lion he would have expected to be able to creep up on their prey. None of them understood words either, which made it difficult for him to understand how the priests could command them. But that was another matter.

  Hand on the hilt of his ice blade he stood there waiting and soon enough, he could make out a little of his visitor. And he was surprised.

  For she was a woman. Few women went out alone in the wilds. And none visited him. Of course she couldn't be a normal woman. This far out in the wilds, and surrounded by the huntress' beast army, there were few normal people. Not outside of the towns and villages where humans survived by bending their necks in worship to the Goddess at the local temple.

  Out here everyone who lived outside of the control of the temple of the huntress did it through some sort of skill. Most of them were skills that the normal townsfolk didn't have. There were a few wizards, mostly less powerful ones like him who had learned the value of hiding over fighting. Those who had chosen to fight, no matter how powerful, had perished. Rickarial had taught him that.

  There were quite a few trappers and foresters around, some of them were only one small step removed from barbarians and brigands. People whose skill included finding their way around forests in complete silence, and using any number of weapons. Longbows, especially spelled ones, were a favourite, and he sometimes got requests for spelled arrow heads from those few of his neighbours who knew what he could do.

  A few priests survived in the wilds, the gifts their deities granted them often helping them to remain hidden. But they were probably the most highly prized enemies of Artemis' temple and accordingly the best hidden. Even among the other outcasts they kept their nature secret.

  Last of course there lived here a number of mixed blood. Those who had some satyr or dryad blood. Even some he understood with faun blood. In a strange twist of fate those of mixed blood who had always lived apart from normal humans in the five kingdoms still did. The realms of the other peoples surrounded the five kingdoms and within them he guessed things would be the other way around. It would be those with some human ancestry that chose to live apart from the others. There was no actual danger to them though. No one would cause harm to those of mixed blood simply because of their ancestry. But still, he guessed that they had always felt unwelcome, and the wilds outside of the cities and towns had become their home. Strangely, nothing had changed for them, even though the dryads at least worshipped Artemis as one of their principle goddesses. Even now that the Goddess had descended and her priests ruled the five kingdoms, they still found themselves unwelcome by the temple and the wilds were still their home.

  But their mixed blood often granted them abilities that helped them to survive in the wilds. The ability to remain unseen was the usual one. Satyr's and dryads were naturally good at that. Fauns were too, and more than that they were fast. He had once seen a faun run, every bit as fleet of foot as a deer. A strange thing when they walked so awkwardly.

  He discovered when he first got a good glimpse of her that his visitor was a dryad and was tempted to draw his blade there and then. Dryads were seldom seen in the five kingdoms. They had their own realms further away, the closest being Inel Ison which lay far to the east. It was in fact so far that to get to it not only would you have to travel across the eastern border of the Rainbow Mountains where he lived, but then traverse the entire Enteria Regency to the east of that as well. That was four hundred leagues at least. A very long journey for someone on foot.

  The realms of the other peoples of the world were even further away. By some perverse act of Tyche the five kingdoms were completely surrounded by the realms of the satyrs, dryads and fauns. Not that that was a bad thing or that the humans had any trouble with the other peoples. But generally the races didn't have that much to do with one another. There was some trade, some diplomatic contact, but not much more. So only those of mixed blood were normally seen in the five kingdoms – though he understood that in Vardania to the west there were some faun villages. Of course, Harvas Greens the nearest realm of the fauns was just north west of Vardania. But it wasn't the dryad's race that bothered him. It was her allegiance and the reason why he had wanted to draw his sword.

  When the Goddess had first descended and brought death to the cities of the five kingdoms, many had asked the dryads for help. Many had fled to their lands, Inel Ison to the east and Pariton far to the north. They had asked for them to intercede. They had begged. After all, the dryads were known to be worshippers of Artemis. If anyone could placate the Goddess they thought it would be them.

  But nothing had come of their pleas. From what he understood the dryads had expressed sympathy but not much more. And they hadn't accepted any of the refugees. But then Artemis was one of their goddesses and they only had three; the Mother who some said was their name for Hera, the Father who many thought was really Zeus, and their daughter the Huntress. They simply could not be enemies of the Goddess even when she had transformed from a well loved deity into a monster. They might not be Artemis' allies in this monstrous attack she had unleashed upon the five kingdoms, but they were still friendly with her. That made the dryad unfriendly with him. It might make her an enemy.

  She was a strange looking woman. But then, dryads were a strange looking people. Not that he had seen many during his days. There weren't many of them in the five kingdoms. A number of mixed blood, but not many pure bloods. And the difference between their half blood children and them was as always greater than he was prepared for.

  Her skin was like living bark. It moved and bent like flesh but it was the colour of a pine tree's trunk and filled with cracks and lines. It made him wonder if it would peel off the same way as bark did from a tree trunk. Her eyes were brown and green, t
he colour of leaves and trees. And her hair was a long tangled mess of vines, twigs and leaves that hung down her back. She really did look as if a tree had somehow come to life. And yet despite the strangeness, she was attractive. Long and limber, svelte of form and with enough curves to please a man. There was a reason that there were many people with some dryad blood flowing in their veins. She was also surprisingly tall for her people. He stood six feet in his bare feet, and she was barely an inch shy of that. He liked that, even if some might find her a little intimidating.

  Even more troubling than her nature was her attire. She was dressed in wardwood, the traditional armour of her people. It was a strange mixture of wood and leather strips woven into a coarse linen. Her people claimed it was more protective, lighter and more flexible than leather, and maybe it was – he didn't know. But it was a strange looking affair. It looked messy with tails of the wood and leather strips sticking out everywhere, and it fitted her far too tightly, showing off her womanly figure in an almost indecent way. It was almost like an undergarment in that respect, and definitely not the more modest attire that women should wear.