The Godlost Land

by Curtis, Greg

  “No one who is not a follower of Artemis the Huntress shall pretend to be one and live! None shall claim her holy name for themselves!”

  “Tell one, tell all! Let the word be known far and wide. The hunt has been called by the Goddess! The hunt of these false priests. And it is declared that the hunt will not end until the last of them and their twisted creatures are dead. That all their false temples are ashes. That their names are not even memories.”

  Did they believe her? Did they even understand? Erislee stared at the towns people and wondered about that. They had heard her words she knew. They had seen the temple burn and the priests die. But she feared that they still didn't understand. Maybe though it wasn't understanding that was lacking. Maybe it was belief. Still, the hunt had begun and she saw a few of the townspeople nodding. A couple of them might even be smiling as they watched the temple burn. It was a good sight.

  “Come friends.” Erislee turned to face the others when the last story of the temple had collapsed into the bonfire and there was nothing left but flames and a column of black smoke rising high into the sky.

  “We're done here. Let us find some food and see if any of these good people will join us in the battle ahead. Because tomorrow we have Silver Falls to free from the grip of these vile creatures!”

  She suspected that food at least wouldn't be an issue as a great many of the townsfolk were standing out in the street, staring at the burning temple. And though none were shouting or cheering yet, most were smiling. Happy people would no doubt be willing to share a little food.

  It had been a good morning's work. A good start to the hunt. But she knew it was going to be a long hunt. A lot of leagues would be walked before it was over. A lot of arrows would be loosed.

  A lot of blood would flow.

  Chapter Nine

  “Sir, sir!”

  A soldier came rushing in as Terellion was enjoying his bath, and he was annoyed. He always enjoyed his bath time, as the warm water of the marble bathing pool eased the aches and pains of his tired joints while the pretty naked women washed him down with soft cloths and promises of their availability. It was a travesty of justice that he was beyond such things now, or most of them would have been bedded that day and every day that followed. But that was simply the reality of getting older. His body was slowly rotting on him. Things no longer worked as they should.

  That was a torment to him. It angered him. Old age was the most vile curse that could ever be laid upon a man. And that it should affect him in the bedchamber was galling. Once he would have had all these women. Half a dozen in a day had been normal. He had been renown as a lion in the bedchamber. People, men had spoken in hushed tones of his virility. Now, age and decrepitude had left him a eunuch in all but actuality. And he knew the people talked about it behind his back. They secretly laughed at him. He hated them for that. These people were nothing to him! None of them. But the thought that they might pity him was still too much.

  But the worst was that while his body might have failed him, his desires hadn't. Instead they had grown. It seemed that the less he could have, the more he wanted. And nowhere was that more true than in the bedchamber. He wanted to be young and vital again. To be a man once more. Though his flesh was weak his desire was overpowering. He would have bedded all these women and a dozen more this very morning if he could have. He would have shown them that he was everything a man was supposed to be, and at the end when they were lying there, shattered and broken, they would have known. They would never have wanted another man again. And they would have begged for more! Not that he would have given it to them. Not the way they would have wanted. His seed was too precious to be wasted on only a few.

  He was beginning to realise that now. When he'd been young a small herd of women had been enough. They were sufficient to satisfy his needs without attracting the ire of jealous husbands, angry fathers and the like. And for the most part he had been concerned only with sating his desires. Expensive wine, good food, luxury homes and all the gold he could ask for without attracting too much of the wrong sort of attention. Those had been his priorities. But these last years since he had made himself king in all but name, he had begun to realise that he liked the respect he was treated with. It wasn't the titles the people addressed him with – they were unworthy to even use them. It wasn't the way they bowed and scraped. It was simply the way they obeyed him. The fact that they ran to do his bidding. That they knew him as their master. There was something in that that he liked.

  Once he had his immortality, he would be more than a man. He would need more than simple respect. More than just a title. He would need to be adored. They already should adore him in truth. It was just that he had not claimed the title of king. He didn't want to expose himself to the world. To make himself a target for the envious and the wrathful. Ever since he had been a child he had known that that could lead to trouble. And that no one – not even him with his glorious gift – was beyond harm.

  But when he had his immortality, he would be beyond harm. None would be able to touch him. Then he would claim the title and all that went with it. All the things he had denied himself out of fear. And he wouldn't have to limit himself to a small herd of women. Kings did not limit themselves. Gods did not limit themselves. They had – they took – whatever they wanted. His harem would contain hundreds of women. The most beautiful across the lands. And they would serve him loyally. They would proclaim their adoration to the world.

  It wasn't just about satisfying his desires. It was about showing the world that he was a king. More than a king. That he was an immortal. And in time, that he was a god. The people would bow down before him in adoration. His enemies would tremble at the mere mention of his name. And above all they would know that he was far more than just a man.

  When the affliction of impotence had first been laid upon him he had worried. It had frightened him to fail in such a terrible way. But more than that it had been a humiliation. And once he'd realised that it was only going to grow worse with time, that it wasn't just going to be once in a while that he would fail but eventually all the time, he'd panicked. His time in the bedchamber was precious to him. Not just for the pleasure, but even more importantly for his reputation. He was a virile, powerful man – not an impotent wretch. A gelding. Someone people laughed at. Or worse – pitied.

  And women talked. They gossiped. They were cruel, indecent creatures. He'd long thought that they should all have their tongues cut out at birth. So every time he'd failed he'd feared that they would talk. That despite his gift, and his making them believe he'd had them, they knew. And that fairly soon the whole city would know of his inadequacy.

  He was sure he had seen it in their secret laughter, and worse in their sympathy. He couldn't stand that. He had had many killed just for the look of sorrow in their eyes. But the truth was that as great as his gift was, it was not perfect. He could not make a person believe something forever. Not unless he completely dominated them as he had the other eleven of the Circle. And just the effort of commanding so many in that way was exhausting. So sooner or later they would slip out from under his control unless he kept restoring the spell.

  At first he'd tried all sorts of cures. He'd visited every healer he could find and drunk every potion they could offer him. A few had helped. The silver horn root had been particularly efficacious and had brought him another six months of potency. And for a while he'd dared to hope that his problem was over. But nothing had lasted.

  Now he knew there was only one substance in the world that would; living essence. The highest achievement of the wizard of life's art. No one knew what it was. Or how it worked. All anyone could say was that the milky white, sparkling liquid was a miraculous restorer. It healed even serious wounds with a single swallow and brought those near death back to life. It even returned a man's youth – if only briefly. It wasn't immortality, but it was the closest thing any wizard had ever created that came close to it. Terellion had sought out the near miraculous eli
xir for years. He had hunted for it across the world. He had agents in every city in every land. But so far he had not found it.

  The elixir was not in the five kingdoms. It was extremely rare to begin with, as were any healers who could possibly create it. They commanded enormous wealth. None of them would come to a primitive land like the five kingdoms, and any in them that might one day have the potential to create such a miraculous elixir soon left, seeking their fortune in far off lands.

  So he had no elixir, no immortality, and he had no flicker of life where he wanted it. Instead he had to lie there and be bathed, and hope and pray all the while that maybe a flicker would return to his manhood even if only for a moment and he could have one or two of them. And of course he could dream of the day when he was whole again. When he had his immortality. Then these sluts would learn a lesson about what a man was! What he could do. And instead of passing cruel gossip they would speak with awe of him once more. That was his dream. Especially now.

  “What is it?” Terellion snapped at the man, annoyed by the interruption. Even as enfeebled as he was, bathing time was still important to him. He didn't like to be disturbed.

  “The High Priestess has escaped!”

  The instant he said it Terellion's heart almost stopped beating in sudden horror. She'd escaped? How could she? The cage had been warded against all forms of divine magic. And there was no army out there powerful enough to stand against his soldiers. Every trace of resistance had been wiped from the five kingdoms. Now all that remained were the broken slaves who served him and a few frightened outcasts who'd fled into the wilds never to be seen again. But even they were hunted relentlessly by the chimera just in case any of them should ever think of fighting.

  “How?”

  “We don't know Sir. All we know is that when the caravan did not arrive at the check point, a search party was sent out. They found it completely destroyed and there were signs of unicorns around.”

  The soldier looked worried when he said the last, and Terellion understood his fear. It was the same fear he knew. Unicorns on the loose again! The Goddess' riding beasts carrying her hunters into the fray. That spelled death for them. Few could stand against a unicorn. But Terellion knew he couldn't allow that fear to take hold. A few unicorns were one thing. A frightened army was far more dangerous to his plans.

  “So what do you care about an old nag with a pathetic little horn soldier? You're a soldier not a little girl.”

  Instantly he said it the soldier's fear vanished. His magic had completely driven away the man's fear. In reality Terellion knew that the man could never stand in battle against a unicorn. Few could. But now the soldier believed he could. He would stand there with a sword in his hand against an entire herd of unicorns and never have a single doubt run through his head. Not even when they killed him. People were so easy to control. For a while. But while for now the man now believed he was more than a match for a unicorn, in time his fear would return. The High Priestess would have to be recaptured before that happened and the man started spreading his fear. Still one problem was fixed for the moment.

  But Terellion had forgotten that there was always, or too often, someone else listening in.

  “By the gods I'm glad I'm not you! She's free, the demon king will be angry, Artemis furious, and you're getting older and more decrepit all the time!” Maynard piped up in his head unexpectedly, laughing at him. “You haven't got long before the demons start chewing on your bones!”

  But Terellion was in no mood for his quips. So he simply informed the summoner that he was talking to himself again and that his mind had finally broken, and heard him scream before he fell silent. In the end it was easy to break the summoner. Maynard's greatest fear was that of losing his mind. So all he had to do was keep telling him that he was. That he could no longer tell what was real from what wasn't and Maynard crumbled. Each and every time. Still, he shouldn't have to keep doing it. Why couldn't the man just stay broken like the rest of the eleven? It was as if he had been put in the world simply to irk him. Along with the damned High Priestess.

  “Send out the hunters! Track her down and kill her.”

  It was probably a mistake to have her killed. She had value when she was alive and restrained. And she would have value as an offering to the demon king. Dead she had no value and there would be some wild unicorns and griffins returning to the lands. But free and causing trouble for him was much worse. Better that she died. He would deal with the other problems as they arose.

  After all she was just a woman. One with pretensions. And it was a mockery of the natural order that women should seek high station. Or any station other than at a man's feet. It annoyed him that there were some he had to deal with because they had magic. That, he suspected was Prometheus' doing. The trickster god was always up to mischief. Even when the priests claimed he was bound in Tartarus for eternity having his liver pecked out daily, he was making trouble. But then he'd always suspected that the fauns and satyrs were right. That Prometheus was truly Pan, the satyr god.

  As for the High Priestess, she had the gall to not even be the High Priestess for a respectable goddess like Hera. But instead she was the High Priestess to Artemis – a goddess who had the nerve to think herself a huntress! Women didn't hunt. Killing the bitch would simply be restoring things to the way they were supposed to be. It would be justice.

  “Yes Sir!” The soldier spun on his heels and made to leave the gold and marble bathing chamber, before Terellion remembered the other matter.

  “And find out how the bitch escaped! Who helped her!” He bellowed it after the man. After all, she couldn't have escaped by herself. And if she had had help then he had another enemy to hunt down and kill.

  “Yes Sir!” The soldier was quickly gone leaving him alone in his bathing pool with the half dozen naked women washing him. One in particular he decided looked particularly attractive this morning. A blonde haired beauty with large breasts and ample curves. By the gods how he loved buxom women. And how he wished his body still worked as it should.

  When he'd been young he had had women like her all the time. He had used his magic to seduce them one after another into his bed. No one had ever said no to him. No one could. Life had been an endless joy. No doubt he had many bastard children from those years. But time had robbed him of so much. And though he wanted her then and there as he wanted nothing else, he simply couldn't have her.

  Anger suddenly possessed Terellion. Anger and bitterness. Someone would have to pay for all the vile crimes that had been committed upon his person. And there was only one person close enough. Without a thought he turned to the big breasted woman he so wanted and couldn't have and whispered a single word to her.

  “Old.”

  Immediately the woman put her hands to her face, and stared at them with growing horror as she saw the thought he had given her. And then she screamed in absolute terror. She had the natural fear of all the young of growing old. The only true fear anyone should know in his view. And then she ran from him, splashing the water of the bathing pool in all directions before she clambered out the far end and ran screaming down the hallways.

  The sight made him happy. All that lovely flesh bouncing and jiggling as she ran. And the knowledge that he had absolute power over her was joy. He didn't even mind the sound of her screams. They were like cries of submission to him.

  He might no longer have the flesh he needed to bed her properly, but still she was his. They all were. And no one else could have them.

  Chapter Ten

  Three weeks after he had freed the High Priestess, Harl took his usual trip into the town of Whitebrook to buy his provisions.

  As always he was nervous as he walked down the road. The priests didn't usually bother him as he always came into town unarmed and dressed as a trapper – which was how he made his living after all – and he made sure to always grovel appropriately whenever one approached him. He hated doing it, but there was no other choice. He had to look like the
other villagers. And if the soldiers accosted him as they sometimes did, he would have an offering of a few coins for the temple ready. That usually seemed to be enough to satisfy them. At no time did he give any hint that he had magic. That would have been a death sentence. To them he was just another frightened villager. Broken and cowed. Someone who would not give them any trouble. They never thought to check where he actually lived, simply accepting that he lived on the edges of the town where the other trappers did. That he had come from Meadton only a few leagues away because the trapping here was better.

  For two years that uneasy lie had held. None of the townsfolk had given away the fact that he wasn't a local. But then half of them probably didn't know anyway. A lot of the people who had previously lived further away from the town had since made new homes for themselves on the outskirts of the Whitebrook when the Goddess had sent forth her beastly armies, and they weren't well known by the townsfolk either. It was simply a part of life since the temple had come to Whitebrook. Town after all was the safest place when the chimera roamed the wilds. The other half of the town didn't care that he was a stranger. And he guessed wouldn't tell the soldiers. While they were in general good people, even the best could be susceptible to a bribe. However there was no reward offered for betrayal. In fact the chances were that simply approaching one of the soldiers or the priests would earn them a beating. For the most part if the priests or the soldiers approached, people just bowed their heads a little lower, concentrated on their work, and hoped they'd leave soon.