by Curtis, Greg
There was also always the fear that someone betrayed would in turn betray those who had done him wrong. Harl didn't know who had spread that speculation. He suspected it was probably another outcast like him, living in hiding. But he knew that people believed it. He'd heard it whispered from time to time. Silence was the watchword.
So he thought he was safe.
Still, since the attack on the caravan he had to wonder if the soldiers might be more wary of people than before. Particularly of those they didn't see that often. It was possible that if they noticed him they might rough him up a little; ask him a few questions, instead of just waving him through and perhaps stealing any coin he had.
So he was understandably wary as he walked slowly up the street, looking for any sign of the soldiers. He didn't see them though. In fact the town looked surprisingly peaceful.
Whitebrook was a small town. Little more than a village in truth having only a few hundred people. Maybe five hundred. Once, five years before, it had been home to over a thousand. But that was before Artemis. When the Huntress had descended to the world and her beasts had poured forth from her Great Temple in Lion's Crest and scoured the land, everyone had either fled or died. Mostly the latter, as even those who fled he suspected were sooner or later taken down by the chimera.
Lion's Crest had only been the start. From it her armies had poured forth. Beasts and soldiers had streamed out across the five kingdoms, taking over town after town, burning down the temples and shrines, destroying the homes and lives of the magical, killing every soldier, priest or wizard they saw, hunting down any survivors and driving away all possible resistance.
And from what he had heard from other survivors, even before the temple had conquered the lands, their agents had been busy. Assassins had been everywhere, killing nobles and wizards, war masters and of course priests. Some had been human, Est's own corps of assassins according to the stories – though why they should work for the Goddess was beyond him – had been everywhere. Some had been chimera, and furies had been seen in the sky, hunting down those who escaped the others. But whatever they were, all had been effective. By the time Artemis' beast armies had arrived, the towns and cities had already been greatly weakened. They had fallen quickly.
Within a year the five kingdoms had been consumed, the cities falling quickly to the temple's overwhelming forces. And wherever they went they built more temples and sent more priests to dwell in them. The priests came with enough soldiers and beasts from the Great Temple to overcome any resistance, and soon they had erected a new temple in whatever town they had conquered. Meanwhile the cycle continued, and ever more chimera poured forth from the Great Temple in Lion's Crest, to take over the next town and the next. And so the invasion had continued.
Of course capturing the towns was only the start. Once they were done, once the priests were settled in with their armies, they had started demanding tribute. Tribute that he supposed went to paying for their mercenary armies. The invasion was a robbery in progress that paid for itself. And in that way the temples had spread through each of the five kingdoms and all of the towns. The people actually ended up paying to be ruled over by the parasites.
They had been brutal in their conquest, and though Whitebrook had been badly damaged, it had suffered no worse than many other towns. The old fort just outside the town had been overrun in a day – even if there had been soldiers stationed there, there was no way it could have withstood the attack. The town guards had been killed as had anyone who even looked like arguing with the invading army. Still, he figured maybe only a quarter of the townsfolk had been killed. Half of those who had vanished had fled south, choosing to make the long journey into unknown lands rather than face Artemis' forces. Or maybe he just hoped that was so.
Those who remained had bent their knee to the Goddess, even though they hated her. And they had done so simply because they couldn't flee. They were either too elderly, or they had children too young to travel any large distance. Some of them simply had nowhere else to go. Many, he suspected fitted into the last group. In the end the towns were their homes. The only ones they knew.
So they'd stayed. They'd bent their knees. They'd built the temple to Artemis the Huntress. And they'd offered their weekly tribute ever since. Tribute that no longer included the hearts of the beasts the proud hunters had slain, but more often was in gold and silver. In food for their armies. It was usually everything they had and more. Sometimes he thought Artemis' temple was more about theft than faith.
Artemis' temple was the only one in the town. Five years before it hadn't been. It hadn't even been there. Whitebrook was simply too small to have temples. Before the Huntress had come to them, there had only been a shrine to her, as there were to a dozen or so other gods. Actually, maybe a few more. There might be only thirteen gods and goddesses that were officially recognised with temples and feast days, but there were dozens more that people prayed to. But when Artemis had descended the other shrines had all been destroyed, the feast days had been forgotten and her shrine too had been destroyed – something that surprised people. But in its place a temple had been built in the heart of the town. The message was clear. A shrine wasn't enough for her.
The new temple was of course the largest building in town. Artemis had demanded it. It was two stories tall and had a large spire on top of it which towered over everything else. It also had a large barracks attached to it for the two dozen or so soldiers who were stationed there, and most terrible of all, pens for the beasts. The priests kept some of them in town to help with the intimidation of the townsfolk – just in case they ever got the idea of not paying their tribute.
It had taken the people nearly a year to build the temple. It took time to quarry all that stone, carve the oak beams, saw the planks and hire all the artisans, masons and carpenters needed to build it. In the end Whitebrook was a farming town. They had plenty of farmers about. And if you needed one there was a seamstress, as well as a few shopkeepers, a blacksmith and plenty of people to brew the ales and meads the town was famed for. But there were no capable artisans and all the houses and shops in the town were small affairs of wood and brick. Huge oak beams, stone columns and spires were far beyond what they could do. So they'd had to bring the artisans in from other towns to build the temple.
Harl hated the temple. Not just for what it was but for what it represented. The heel of an oppressive goddess pressed firmly down on the throats of the people. And the building was the perfect example of that.
It was massive where everything else around it was small. It was built of materials that were expensive and which required skilled artisans, where every other building in town was built out of materials they could source locally, and which local tradesman could fashion. It was in perfect condition, washed and looked after, the gardens tended to, while all around the rest of the buildings were run down and slowly decaying. It even had good quality glass in its windows where those houses that did have glass instead of just shutters, had stuff that was of such poor quality it barely let any light in. The temple had been built from the blood, sweat and tears of the people. And it was exactly the same story as in a thousand other towns.
But this day as Harl walked in from the south side along the main track leading to town, he discovered that things had changed. And the changes began with the temple. The temple with the massive spire that no longer stood tall and proud at the heart of the town.
Someone had burnt it to the ground!
Harl stopped and stared when he saw that, wondering how it could possibly have happened? The fact that it had burnt he understood, it was in large part wood after all – certainly the barracks attached to the back of it was. But who would have allowed the temple to burn? And why were the people of the town wandering around with stupid smiles on their faces? He would have expected them to be miserable as the priests who called the temple home would be in a rage and demanding that it be rebuilt. He also would have expected the soldiers who carried out the priests'
bidding to be beating the people as they hunted down anyone who might have had a hand in the temple's destruction. And the beasts should have been everywhere, terrifying them. After all, their pens had also been destroyed.
But none of that was happening. In fact the priests, their soldiers and the beasts were nowhere to be seen.
In time as Harl wandered further in to the town, he noticed other unaccountable changes. It began when he realised that people were carrying weapons. That wasn't allowed under Artemis' rule. No doubt the priests had been worried that they might one day use them on them. They knew they weren't liked after all. But now the men were carrying bows and axes openly. All of them. In fact the only one who wasn't armed was him. All he had on him were a couple of knives, both of which were carefully hidden. Whenever he wandered in to the town for supplies he always dressed as what he pretended to be. A poor trapper, down on his luck, wearing cheap furs and carrying skins to trade. The sort of person no one cared about. It was safer that way.
A hundred paces on he discovered the next wrongness. Yarl the blacksmith had new wares. Normally the blacksmith spent his days shoeing horses and sharpening farm implements. Now he had swords hanging from his walls instead of hoes and scythes. How could that be? Why had the priests not spoken to him? Or taken him out and had him executed? That was the usual penalty for making trouble of any sort.
But as if that wasn't enough, across the way in the alehouse he could see people drinking. Drinking ale in the middle of the morning instead of tending to their fields and their flocks! The priests would never allow that. Especially when some of the patrons were lying in the street, clearly having imbibed too much of Konig's heady brews. Some were snoring. Others were actually singing. Drunken tavern songs he didn't know the words to. But then clearly neither did they.
That was wrong in so many ways. Normally the people worked during the day and hid in their homes at night. In some respects that was no different to before the Goddess had descended. People had always worked hard and retired early. Especially in the towns and villages. However after the Goddess had descended what had been a usual thing had become law. No one wasted any time in frivolities. The inns and alehouses were mostly empty. Workers might come in for an ale during the midday meal, but they didn't return in the evening to drink until the moon was high. And they didn't ever get drunk. Not when the punishment would likely be death. And when they were in an alehouse, conversation was muted, words were whispered if they were shared at all, and everyone spent their time looking for the temple soldiers.
That was perhaps the worst change between what had once been and what the five kingdoms had become when the Goddess had descended. The air of silence and fear that her armies had brought with them. But suddenly that had changed again. To see people singing openly and falling down drunk in the streets was unbelievable. Harl kept looking for the temple soldiers, wondering where they were and why they weren't dragging people away to the pens to be killed. But they were nowhere to be seen. And when he thought about it, the pens were gone.
Further on Harl came across Hel the seamstress, sitting in her front yard in front of her house, spinning woollen thread for her garments. That was normal enough. Most mornings she did the same. But this morning she was spinning coloured thread. That was far from normal. Normally she spun the thread she needed to mend clothes. Whites and browns for the most part. Coloured thread was for coloured garments surely. Not work clothes. He decided to ask.
“Mistress Hel.” He greeted her with what he hoped was a polite smile. He was out of practice in the social arts. But then he only came to town perhaps once a moon and never stayed longer than he needed to, to sell his furs and pick up his supplies.
“The temple is burnt, men are lying drunk in the street and the priests and their soldiers are nowhere to be seen. What has happened?”
“A miracle, that's what!” Hel smiled as he had never seen her smile before. “One of Artemis' priests rode through town accompanied by a small patrol, half a dozen unicorns and a flock of griffins. They rode up to the temple, killed the beasts, the soldiers and the other priests, threw their bodies inside and then burnt the lot to the ground. The Huntress it seems is upset with her servants and their beasts. She says the beasts are demon spawn.”
But even if the Goddess had been upset with her servants she couldn't have been as upset as everyone else had been with them. Something he could see only too clearly in the smile on Hel's face. A smile that seemed almost too large for it.
“That's … that's...” Harl struggled to find the right words and failed. The Goddess' own priests were killing one another and now they were burning her own temples? It was madness! But it was wonderful madness.
“It's more than that. The same has happened in both Twinford and Meadton. Other towns too so they say.” If anything the seamstress' smile grew broader. “The Goddess has returned to the way she was, and the unicorns have returned to the world.”
The unicorns had returned! She was right he realised, though until just then it hadn't occurred to him. Even though he had recently seen one himself. Once, before the Goddess had descended, there had been unicorns aplenty in the forests while griffins flew in the skies. They were the symbols of her divinity. And they had been a welcome sight. But for five long years as the beasts had wandered the land he had seen few of them. In fact he couldn't remember seeing any at all in all that time. It was as if they had gone away. Now they were back. What did that mean?
“The temples are burning and the demon creatures and their masters are being driven out of the land. Your home town was freed even before us. You can go home and see if you have any kin remaining there.” She meant Meadton he realised, much as he might have wished that she meant Lion's Crest.
“Tis a glorious spring!”
“It is.” Harl felt a smile begin to grace his face as well. He couldn't help it. And underneath the smile there was a joyous question bubbling up in his heart. Could this have something to do with him? Could his freeing the High Priestess be somehow involved? After all it had only been three weeks before. And suddenly the three towns nearest his home had been freed of the tyrant's yoke. And the High Priestess had claimed that it was all lies. That this was all demons' doing. Maybe someone had finally been telling the truth. For the first time in years he felt the beginning of a new emotion stirring in his heart. Hope.
Harl nodded to the seamstress and carried on his way, wondering for a bit if this could actually be real. But everywhere he went it was the same. People were happy. They were out in the streets doing all the things they could never have done before. And no one seemed to be working. There were no soldiers in the streets. The twisted beasts were gone as was the temple itself. And there was hope in the air. It was as if a bad dream had passed and people had just woken up.
In the trading house things were slow. Not because people weren't busy – they were. But because people couldn't be bothered doing the routine things of life. They were simply too happy. So the stock boy who examined and counted his furs kept stopping to speak with other customers and having to start again. The same was true for the assistant who counted out his coin and gave him his goods. No one wanted to do business. They wanted to chatter like excited children. Chatter about things they couldn't normally even speak about in private. Little Nemia's naming day was the main topic of conversation in the trading house.
It was the custom in the five kingdoms for children to be officially named on their first birthday. It was at that age that parents finally had the hope that their child would grow to adulthood. Too many children died before the age of one to have the ceremony any earlier. So Nemia the daughter of Vittus the innkeeper and his wife Tera would finally be given her name in public. There would be a celebration and of course the blessing by their family priest. They were followers of Dionysus, the God of Fertility and Wine, so there would likely be plenty of ale to go with the festivities which was why half the town was thinking of attending. Vittus made an excellent malted ale f
or his guests, while whatever was left over was sold to the alehouse.
But for five long years that had been something that simply didn't happen. Naming days if they happened at all were held in private. Celebrations of any sort weren't allowed. The festivals of the gods had been banned. And the priests of Dionysus along with those of the rest of the gods and goddesses had all been hunted down and slaughtered. The very fact that they could even be thinking of having a naming day seemed like a blessing from the gods. And it was the reason the other half of the town was thinking of attending. The people simply wanted to revel in their newly rediscovered freedom.
Harl could understand that. He barely knew the family and the child but he wanted to attend just the same.
Of course the other topic of conversation was what would come next. It seemed that the townsfolk believed that the hard times were over. They all thought things would somehow return to how they had once been. That the town would grow and prosper once again. That the school would reopen along with the apothecary and the other alehouses. That the traders would return, bringing luxury goods and coin.