by Curtis, Greg
The only other choice was Lyssa the Goddess of Madness and Rage. The Goddess of Wrath. Lyssa for her followers was the very essence of the berserker. And there was no doubt that she granted them very powerful gifts. She granted them power, strength and stamina. A true berserker could rage day and night, never tire and never give into weakness. But the bond between goddess and follower was absolute. Once the connection was made and the bond fully accepted, there was no end to it save death. Lyssa did not have temples. She was not one of the thirteen. Instead the beating hearts of her followers were her temples. And while she gave with one hand the Goddess of Madness and Rage took with the other. The berserkers might have her divine fury beating in their chests, but they lost all reason. No wizard could ever allow himself to be depleted of his reason. Still, Harl knew that some days he was close to the Goddess of Wrath. Closer than he should be. He had lived on the edge of unreasoning fury for a very long time. But always he knew he could not give into it.
That left him few options. Helios was popular with the wizards of fire. With the might of the sun in their hearts the magic they could cast grew enormously in power. But he was an arcane smith. He could only enchant that magic into weapons, weapons that an army would have to wield. And he had no army.
Dike Astraea might seek to bring justice to the mortal world, and there was no doubt that Harl wanted justice brought. The five kingdoms cried out for it. But her justice did not usually include battlefields covered in blood, and though it was probably wrong, he wanted that. He wanted these false priests to pay for what they had done. He wanted the traitorous wizards dead.
Zeus surely had the power to smash those false temple demon worshippers apart, but he did not answer the prayers of men. He was the father of the gods, and they in turn were his followers. Meanwhile Nemesis who also had the strength was their law. He would only act to right the wrongs done to the other gods.
As for the rest, if you wanted health, happiness, luck or love, they could fulfil your desires. But he needed none of those things. He needed to destroy his enemies.
In fact of all the other gods and goddesses there was only one remaining who could help him win any sort of battle. Or more importantly this battle. And one who, as he finally remembered from his youth, had a weapon that could help him. Artemis the Huntress. Because he knew that the best way to kill a snake was to cut off its head. And maybe if they could cut this army's head off they could kill it.
The irony of that wasn't lost on him. In fact it was so bitter that it left a bad taste in his mouth that he feared might be with him for life. But she had the one weapon that might turn this war back in their favour. Her bow.
He could not pray to her. He could not follow her. He could barely even bring himself to speak her name. But he needed her. More truthfully he needed her bow. With it he might not be able to defeat the Circle's armies. But he could kill the Circle. And a snake without its head still died.
“Artemis.” He went to bow his head and then stopped himself. It was not right. Not for what he wanted or needed from her. And it wasn't honest either. He would never bow to her.
“I am not your follower. I will never be that. But I am your ally. I share your hunt. And I name the demon wizards of the Circle my quarry just as they are yours. I rescued your High Priestess and through her allowed you to reclaim some of your respect. But now she and hers are trapped. The hunt is in danger. The quarry will kill the hunter.”
“But the hunt can still succeed. Your High Priestess needs your most sacred weapon. The longbow of the Huntress. With it the quarry can be brought down even when they come with overwhelming force.”
“Teach me the design, the recipes and the spells and I will craft it for her.”
There was no answer of course. And he knew that he shouldn't really have expected one. Why would Artemis ever come to him? They might no longer be enemies, but they were far from friends and he would never be her follower. Still, Harl was disappointed. For a moment, just a brief one, he had hoped. But hope as always was a rusty dagger in his heart being twisted by life.
Still the prayer had been given. The last of the gods he had any knowledge of had been called upon for aid. And there was nothing else to do save what he had been doing. Craft as many weapons as he could for the soldiers and hope that they helped bring a few more chimera down.
It wasn't enough though. Harl knew that as he slipped away once more into a restless sleep, from which he knew he would awaken again shortly. And he would go through all the doubts and fears and prayers again many more times before morning. It was simply the way of things.
But when he awoke, when the darkness was just beginning to give way to the faintest of blues, Harl discovered something.
He knew the secret to making the Goddess' longbow. And one more thing was there too. He also knew that it had to be done quickly.
Chapter Thirty
Harl was hard at work when the commander came to bother him. Just as he had been for the last three days. For all that time he had not slept or eaten. He had not bathed or washed his teeth. He had not thought about anything except the bow he was crafting.
But that was as it should be. This was a master work. More than a master work. It was art. Divine art such as a man like him had never before known. Art which he would probably never know again. But that was fine by him. It was enough that he was crafting it. That it was forming in his hands. For an arcane smith that was all he could ever ask for.
And it was nearly ready. The two shafts of perfectly shaped and dried sapling yew had been fused with the resins and stained. The spells for flexibility and tension had been enchanted into the wood, and the results were perfect.
The grip had been moulded to fit the High Priestess' hands exactly. And the silver and steel cylinders extending from it that would hold the wooden shafts had been adjusted to the perfect angle. Then the enchantments needed to make the bow everything it needed to be had been woven into it. Some of them had been etched into the wood. Some into the metal. The springs that allowed the cylinders and the wooden shafts to be pulled back and released with incredible power had been enchanted. Even the steel string was enchanted for strength so that it would not break.
And the sights were a thing of wonder. The little crystals on the ends of them would bring the face of an enemy into view even a league away. And this bow he had no doubt would then be able to send an arrow flying across all that distance.
As for the arrows, the three score of them that now lay on his work bench were perfect. They would fly straight and true across almost any distance. And when they hit their target the steel heads would tear flesh apart as nothing else could, just before the enchantment for the blood burn turned the victim into a raging bonfire.
There was no doubt that this was a master work. It was the finest weapon he would ever craft. And it would bring down his enemies no matter where they hid. His only regret was that it was not his to use. But then that had always been the understanding. He was the smith, not the archer.
“Harl, are you listening to me?”
Harl became aware of the commander briefly as she shouted at him, and even knew that she had been talking to him for some time. Asking him about something. But it didn't matter. He forgot Marni as quickly as he had noticed her. He had to do the final assembly. That was all that mattered.
It was a simple process. The wooden shafts simply slotted into the silver and steel cylinders, and then he pushed the pins home to hold them securely. A tiny spark of fire from his fingers meant that the locking pins would not come free. A few minutes was all it took before the longbow could be seen in his hands.
“What is wrong with you?” Marni grabbed at his arm as he prepared to start the stringing, and for a moment he saw her standing there. He saw the worried look on her face. But then a growl from behind him made her turn away and let go of his arm and he forgot her again. The griffins were warning her to leave him be. Since they had arrived a few days before they had been very protective of
him.
Harl reached for the steel string and tied one end around the tip of the bow with the knot he had tied especially for the task. After that it was just a matter of tying the other end. And that was easier than he'd expected. The bow was so beautifully supple that it bent easily with one arm while the other end was pushed into the ground.
The weapon was finished.
Suddenly Harl held the completed bow in his hand and felt the magic that flowed through it. He knew the perfection of its form as he did the genius of its design. And above all he knew that it was ready.
He would have loved to have used it. Because he knew that in his hands the seven foot tall longbow would be a mighty weapon indeed. But in the hands it was destined to be held by, it would become something far greater still.
So instead of notching an arrow and thinking about doing something that bordered on the sacrilegious, he reached for the twine on the work bench and started wrapping the bow for transport. Tying the arrows together in a bundle and then tying them to the bow. And when the griffin came to him to accept the parcel he carefully tied it to the beast.
It was difficult tying a huge longbow to a winged lion. But he managed it so that eventually the bow hung beneath the griffin's body well enough that he knew it would not come loose in flight. What was more important to him was that the High Priestess would know what to do with it when it arrived, and over and over again he kept telling the creature that he had to tell her to bless it. She would surely know that, but he had to make certain. He only wished the griffin could speak so he could yell it at her when he arrived.
And then it was done.
Harl watched the griffin take to the skies along with his companion and he knew his work was complete. It was perfect. There was nothing more he could do. And as the two of them became smaller and smaller objects in the sky he suddenly started to feel the weariness of the last three days claiming him. It was more than weariness. It was complete exhaustion. And it wasn't just from the three days and nights that he'd toiled. It was something to do with the magic he had cast. He'd spent everything he had in enchanting the bow and it had drained him. Like a man who had just run a marathon, he had nothing left.
“What was that?”
The commander was speaking to him again, tugging at his elbow, asking him all sorts of questions as fast as she could and he didn't know how to answer her. He didn't even know how he was able to stand by then. Every bone and sinew in his body was crying out for sleep. Begging him to simply collapse there and then. But he couldn't do that. Not on the cold ground. Not when there was somewhere so much more comfortable to rest.
Immediately he saw it burning brightly he knew it was there that he needed to be, and he went to it, somehow levering himself up and then collapsing into the pit. He remembered master Gallowgood doing exactly the same thing many times while he'd been his apprentice. Every arcane smith should sleep in his pit from time to time he'd said. Spreading the burning hot stones around so they shaped themselves to the proportions of his body, all while somewhere in the distance the commander was screaming at him. He wished she'd stop doing that. It was annoying.
And then as the flames burnt his clothes off him he closed his eyes knowing that it was finally time to rest. If only the commander would stop yelling at him. But of course he realised, she wanted her arms.
“Marni, just a few more days and I'll have the swords ready. I promise.”
Chapter Thirty One
“High Priestess! High Priestess!”
A soldier came running down the stairs from one of the higher terraces as Erislee was meditating on a convenient roof. Trying to remain as one with the Goddess, even when things seemed so bleak.
And they did seem bleak. Just a look across the walls to the valley beyond where an estimated fifty thousand chimera now stood in ranks and waited for the order to attack told her that. Everyone was scared. Everyone knew that when the chimera attacked in such numbers they would not be able to stand against them. And everyone knew they were going to attack. It was just a matter of time. They were just waiting until their army was insurmountable. The hunter had become the hunted. They were all going to die.
And it was all her fault.
She had led them into a trap. They had taken Midland Heights and even while they had been doing that the Circle wizards had been crossing the northern border between the Kingdom of the Lion and the Rainbow Mountains, and heading for them. Then, once they had taken the rift valley pass behind them and blocked their escape they had slowly started massing. Bringing in more and more chimera. Every day it seemed there were more chimera in the valley, the twisted beasts simply standing there waiting to attack. Waiting for the order to be given. There were more soldiers too.
Perhaps worst of all another three Circle wizards had arrived. Geron's old master, Tyriole the Grand was still alive. And with him stood Immelda the Red and Harriss of the Mist. All three were currently sitting out on the far side of the valley, a league and a half away. A full league behind their own front lines. Despite the distance she could just make out their brightly coloured tents. More clearly than that though she could see the wizards themselves as they were being attended to and waiting to give the order. No one else could have seen them. But thanks to the gifts of the Goddess she could. Hunters could always see their prey. But this she privately feared was the other way around. This was her as the prey seeing the hunter. And waiting to be hunted.
Why were the wizards still waiting? She kept asking herself that. And the only answer she could think of was that they were waiting for more to arrive. But how many more chimera still had to arrive? And why? They already had more than enough beasts to defeat them. Perhaps they didn't know that? Or were the awaiting the arrival of a fourth wizard? She suspected the latter.
Erislee didn't care so much about that. What she truly wished was that she knew how the priests were commanding the chimera so that she could find a way to break it. Because their command seemed absolute which was something new. The priests in Midland Heights before they had captured the city, had been unable to control them. Not completely. And there had been failures. But here for two weeks at least the creatures had not fed. They had not moved. They had not done anything at all. Instead they had just sat there and waited as their numbers increased in the valley beyond them, well out of range of their most powerful wizards. All she could think was that they must have brought in extra thralls. More thralls with more charms.
But in the end the “how” didn't matter. All that mattered was that now they were five or six thousand against fifty thousand. One Circle wizard against three. And only a set of broken walls that their few wizards of the earth were desperately trying to strengthen stood between them. As if that wasn't enough the enemy had war machines – their war machines! Because they had not thought to bring them into the city after they'd taken it. But even if they had thought about it, they wouldn't have done it. Machines like that were simply too large to be dragged up endless stairs. And what would have been the point? They'd never thought to be in the city for more than a few days. Just long enough to recover, regroup and plan for the next step in their campaign. It was just that those few days had dragged on and on as they made their plans. As she had struggled to decide which direction to travel in. When in reality all she had really been doing as she struggled with her decision had been giving the army from the Kingdom of the Lion time to trap them.
The thing which surprised her most about the counter attack though was the way the enemy had so casually sacrificed one of their own. It seemed as if it had actually been part of the plan. They had to have known that Maynard the Irrepressible was still in the city when the Goddess' army had come for the city. And they had to have known what Erislee's army would do to the wizard. They could have told him to flee. As Alenda Goldeneyes had fled. Presumably it hadn't mattered to them.
And maybe in the end it hadn't mattered to Maynard either? He had gone easily enough into the cage, frightened but she suspected, n
ot really knowing the fate that had awaited him. But then he wasn't called Maynard the Mad without reason. Though maybe he should have been known as Maynard the Pathetic.
His death, and more so the way they had forced the frightened old man into the cage, still left her with pangs of conscience. It still gave her moments of angst in the quiet times. But as for these three Circle wizards – she thought she could push them in the cage without a moment's hesitation.
Still instead of thinking about such things and giving in to despair she thought she'd better deal with the soldier. It might be important. It might be that finally – although she could see no sign of it yet – the enemy had decided to strike. But even if it was nothing, she knew that the one thing holding her army together was her. Against all reason they still had faith in her. They believed she was going to get them out of this somehow. If they realised the truth – that she was just as frightened and helpless as they were – they'd panic.