Wildling (34 page)

This time the ancient priest didn't even try to send a lightning blast his way in response. He was too busy patting down the flames on his burning cloak. For some reason they didn't seem to be going out.

“So it wasn't Talos and Dica who destroyed the world. It was you and the high priest for Talos. You betrayed your gods. You somehow arranged for the walls of the lake to rupture knowing that when they did the connection between the gods and the world would fail. And you imagined that with them gone all the power of faith that was theirs would come to you.” The crime was so obvious to him for some reason. Almost as if he'd been there.

“
But it didn't. You thought you would become gods yourselves. But you didn't. You destroyed a world for nothing!”

The high priest snarled at him like a frightened dog but said nothing as he continued patting down the last of the flames desperately. He shouldn't have bothered. The moment he did so Alyssia put two more arrows in his cloak and it caught fire once more. Then he had to start patting them down all over again.

“So you've eeked out an existence ever since. Drawing on what little power you can from your link with the distant gods. Stealing what you can from their worshippers. And trying desperately to hold on to your power and your life by any means you could. Knowing what would happen to you when you died.”

“
And then your worst nightmares all came true. The lake started refilling and you knew the gods would return. Your gods would return. You had to stop that at all costs.”

“
So first you tried to take the wastes. It was a mistake. Better than you have tried and failed. And in your failure you lost power. People doubted Dica and they doubted you.”

“
But it was worse for your only ally. Talos' high priest saw his soldiers lose. They were defeated and the god of war does not tolerate defeat. His followers lost faith in Talos and the high priest lost what little strength he had left. Does he still live?” Dorn didn't wait for the high priest to answer him. In the end it didn't matter.

“
And you – you saw your priests rediscover fear. They lost their faith, and with that you were weakened badly as well. And to add to your woes the other gods' followers were growing again. They were becoming stronger as you failed.”

“
And all the time the lake was refilling. Dica's return was coming closer. You had to do anything you could to stop that.”

“
So you took every priest you had left. Conscripted every soldier you could. And then you marched straight up the middle of the wastes heading to the lake. There was never any thought of conquest. None of strengthening the faith in Dica. It was always and ever only about you. About surviving.”

“
Even then you had problems. You lost soldiers along the way. To the creatures of the wastes. To the goblins in the mountains. And the snap dragons in the central wastes. Then the soldiers got sick. They couldn't breathe properly. The soldiers were scared and you needed all of your priests to control them. To keep them marching.”

“
Then I used the white wrath against your army and thousands were sent screaming in terror. You had them killed, not because they were dangerous to the other soldiers, but because their fear was dangerous to you. It robbed you of more strength.”

“
The ragwort was worse because it meant that the soldiers not only couldn't move while they were sick, but they rebelled against your priests. Priests who were themselves sick. The soldiers lost more faith and the priests too.”

“
And then I tore the faces off fifty or a hundred of your priests while they slept in the camp and your priests lost the last of their faith. They were shown to be weak in front of the soldiers. Vulnerable. That was the end. They asked questions. They doubted.”

“
I'm guessing that the soldiers wanted to go home. And you couldn't let them. Your priests were failing too. Doubting you and failing to command the soldiers. So you resorted to your only remaining weapon, murder. When some tried to leave you had them killed. Desperate to keep the rest in line. But that was a mistake. Instead of cowing them the soldiers resisted. They weren't afraid of you any more. So some fought back and others fought for you and fairly soon the entire army was in tatters.”

“S
oon after that you had no priests. They were unarmed after all. Trying to control soldiers when they didn't even hold a weapon in their hands. The soldiers killed them quickly and you were left alone. You had no army either. And those soldiers that survived I'm guessing, wanted you dead.”

“
So you fled. You had to run. And you had to stop the lake from filling. So you came here in desperation. Hoping that you had enough strength to send us fleeing in fear. To at least stop us from patching the leaks. To buy yourself a little time.”

“
But you didn't even have that much strength left. - And now you don't have any time either. Not any more.”

Dorn added the last because he suddenly noticed a familiar silver glow surrounding him and he knew what that meant. He knew they had been joined. Finally. Which was why Alyssia had stopped loosing her arrows into the high priest. As had the others. He wondered how long they'd been there. He hadn't noticed them as he'd been concentrating on prosecuting the high priest. Charging him with his crimes. Breaking his will.

“High priests, meet one of your brothers I believe.”

“
Eldin.” The Lady Sylfene identified him, and in a word confirmed everything that Dorn had already guessed. Except that he hadn't guessed. He had known. He didn't know how he knew that the current high priest of Dica was actually the ancient one. But he had still known.

“
Bitch!” The high priest snarled at her, at all of the eleven, a sound that was both weak and pitiful. His hatred was real, but the fear ruled him instead of him ruling it and that stole the last of his power from him. He fell to the ground, suddenly too weak to stand, and started breathing heavily.

“
And where is Prytor?” She addressed the ancient high priest and he gave a surprisingly human answer for someone who had just pretended to be a god. He shrugged. He probably didn't have the strength to do any more than that as he lay on the ground. Prytor, Dorn guessed was the high priest for Talos. And the chances were that he was already dead. He would be lucky to be dead when Talos returned. But even death might not save him from an angry God of War.

Meanwhile Dorn noticed that there were others with the high priests and priestesses. Wildlings and wayfarers, all rushing to tend to the fallen. And quite a few of his fellow shifters were down. Eldin might not be a god as he'd claimed, but he had had some power and enough military understanding to attack while they were asleep. But if they still lived Dorn knew they would be all right. They were shifters.

For a while Dorn wondered if he should kill the ancient high priest. It seemed only right that he die. But at the same time he didn't know why he would want to anymore. Somewhere along the way he'd lost his anger. His rage and his fear. Now what stood in front of him was a three thousand year old man, dying little by little and filled with terror of what awaited him. Dorn didn't hate or fear him any longer. He pitied him. After all that Eldin had done, he somehow pitied him.

In the end the man was nothing more than a coward. And he was doomed.

“Lady, -” Dorn addressed Sylfene, wondering vaguely why he wasn't as overwhelmed by her as he had been, “- the battle is won.”

Though in truth they hadn't actually won the battle. The Dicans had lost it. They had destroyed themselves. But still it had to be said and nobody else seemed to be saying it.

The Dican army was in ruins. Some, perhaps most were still below on the terrace where they'd been stranded for over a week. Some had already fled, heading back through the wastes for home. Those that remained had no war machines. And more importantly they had no purpose. There was no one to give them orders. No one to pay them any coin. They would leave in time as well. And all that would remain would be bodies. The corpses of their brothers in arms who they had killed.

“
We will stay until the lake bed is repaired and to see that the army below has gone. And then we will escort you home.”

Did he have the right to say that? To speak for the others? He didn't know. But it was what they'd been discussing during the long day just passed when the Dican army had been busy destroying itself in front of them and they'd known that the battle was won. Nothing had changed as far as he could tell.

“Thank you.” But the Lady wasn't looking at him. Like the rest of the eleven, her attention was fixed firmly on the former high priest. Perhaps that was as it should be.

“
Are you hurt?”

Dorn looked around to see Sena standing there. She seemed worried for some reason.

“No I'm a shifter. I'm just tired.” And he was tired. Exhausted in a way he never had been before. It wasn't just physical. It was something more than that. It felt like something of the soul.

“
Then what's all this blood?”

She was right he realised when he checked. He'd lost a lot of blood during the battle. Shifting forms healed the injuries, but the spilled blood remained spilled.

“It's just blood.”

“
Fool!” She snapped at him and then from out of nowhere produced a cloth and started hurriedly wiping him down, looking for injuries.

Then, while she was doing that he reached out and drew her close so he could kiss her properly. He couldn't help himself. She was warm and pretty while he was cold and lonely. And her long hair was everywhere, hanging free like a white gold waterfall, while she smelled of flowers in the springtime.

She struggled a bit, batting at him ineffectually with her fists. But not too hard and she soon gave in. Until he stopped. Then she slapped him. Hard.

“
How dare you -?”

He suspected she was going to say more, and he didn't want that. There was only one thing to do, and so he grabbed her and kissed her again before she complained any more. He was tired of the complaining. He was tired of the cold and the war and everything else. All he wanted was to have a beautiful woman in his arms.

“Why you -!” And she tried to slap him again.

Dorn figured that that was his cue and kissed her a third time, and this time she finally gave up struggling. She just melted into his embrace. Of course it probably didn't help her mood any when hearing other people chuckling away. His fellow shifters. A couple were even clapping. But let them he thought. It had been a difficult time for them all. They deserved some fun. He deserved some fun.

“This is very rude. Not what a gentleman should do.” She protested some more when he finally let her lips go free. But she didn't try to slap him again and when he released her he noticed that for all her protestations she wasn't pulling away.

“
I'm not a gentleman.”

“
It's not what a poet would do either.”

“
I'm not a poet either.” Sena sighed noisily, obviously realising that she wasn't going to win the argument.

“
And I am not some artless village girl you can simply have your way with.” But she wasn't trying to pull away from him. And behind her indignant protests he thought lay a smile.

“
I never imagined that you were.”

“
Then you know there will be no more of this. No more pawing at me like an animal. No more nakedness when you hold me. There will be respect. Proper dinners and meetings of families. Courtship.” And then she wrinkled up her nose a bit which he thought made her look impossibly pretty.

“
And there will be bathing!”

Chapter Forty Nine.

It was fall. The green growth of spring and the riotous colours of summer had given way to the reds and browns of Autumn. But he liked the way the fallen leaves lay on the green grass. And he liked the fact that from somewhere the priests had dragged out a large stone table and some benches so that he could sit out in the afternoon sun in the courtyard and simply enjoy the gardens. It might be a fort and a shrine, but it was also a pleasant place to enjoy a mug of tea.

Dorn had to admit that he liked what the priests had done with the gardens, both the small vegetable garden on the roof and the main one in the courtyard. They had an eye for beauty as well as function. A better eye than him.

And maybe in time when they'd rebuilt the fort and there were others living there with him, he would enjoy the company too. After so long living alone it would be a change. But he was already coping with the priests. Actually they were pleasant to speak with, they had some books of their own to share with him and they were quiet the rest of the time. They were good neighbours.

He wasn't so convinced that their work in opening up the path from the track to the fort was such a good thing. Not when it meant that everyone passing by knew that there were people there and that the fort was being rebuilt. But the Dicans were gone, their churches had been emptied out and most of the surviving black priests had vanished. Run away as they feared the wrath of those they had once terrified.

Similarly the dusky elves had just lost a massive war and the survivors were regrouping in Tellur el Ve, and probably starving. They would be no threat for a long time to come. Secrecy wasn't such a concern as it had been. It was safe enough these days to be a wildling in the wastes. He guessed that in time it would become more so.

It was embarrassing having his neighbours from Little Rock visiting as they seemed to want to do every few days. Now that they felt safe there. It was even more embarrassing to have to admit to them that he was the reason the Dicans and their soldiers had been sent running. Twice. And the reason that the fort had such a bad history these last few years. The history that had kept brigands and treasure hunters away. And that had kept them away as well. He was at once a hero and a pariah. But at least Veria finally knew who had killed the harpy and so someone was glad to see him when he went to town.

Still, the previous couple of months had been good ones for the world. The wars – all of them – were ended. The surviving soldiers had returned home and everywhere people were going about the business of rebuilding their lives. It would not be an easy thing for many, the pain and loss would be hard to get through, but at least it could finally happen. There were no dusky elves in any part of the wastes any longer. The Dicans were gone completely. Their temples had been abandoned and most of them had been burnt to the ground. If there were any followers remaining of the God of Fear, they were in hiding.

His people now had a realm to call their own and with it a sense of pride. Of community and family. And best of all a future that didn't involve hiding and running. They were busy establishing a presence for themselves throughout the wastes as well, trading with the towns in the northern wastes as they gradually rebuilt Terris Lee. And they seemed to be doing it at speed. From what he'd heard there were now perhaps as many as thirty thousand wildlings in Terris Lee. More than he had ever imagined possible. With the Dicans gone many more were finally finding the courage to admit the truth of their existence to others. To the wayfarers mostly who were now known as the sun elves once more and who were acting as guides to his people. Helping them find their way to Balen Rale.

And as the high priests continued their work in relighting the path the old faiths were slowly being restored. Eleven of them anyway. In time the high priests seemed to think that the world would return to how it had been. They had hope for the people as well.

Eldin was rotting in a prison somewhere, completely powerless and living in terror of the day when Dica returned fully to the world with the rest of the thirteen. It seemed an apt fate for him. That he should know the same terror he had inflicted upon so many for so long. Until his doom finally claimed him.

These had been good months for him as well. The first three weeks in the heart of the wastes with little to do except wait while the wrights set about their work had been wonderful. The air was thin, the land cold, and he'd been exhausted. But none of that mattered when for the first time in his life he hadn't known a sense of fear. He hadn't had to hide. He hadn't had to worry about the black priests coming for him in the middle of the night and burning him alive. He hadn't had to worry that others knew what he was.

He had his family back. Lady Sylfene hadn't spoken to him a lot during that time as the eleven were busy with other priestly things. But a couple of times she had brought him reports about them. Little things, such as the fact that they were doing well and thinking of him. After six long, bitter years without them, that was a miracle.

Sena had been there too, and as he'd hoped she did like him in that way that a woman liked a man. Though as she'd told him quite clearly there would be no easy conquest for him. He had to court her properly. Something that involved flowers, long walks, bathing and shaving, clean clothes, and strangest of all, poetry. But he was happy with that. More than happy. When she smiled it was as if the sun came out.

Those weeks had flown by as had the next few while they and some three thousand other wildlings had walked slowly out of the central wastes. An army in truth. But one with no war to fight. And he and Sena had spent most of that time walking hand in hand, while his fellow shifters smirked.

After that they'd been forced to part for a while. The Lady Sylfene had duties for Sena and her brother to attend to in Balen Rale while he had been ordered to return to his home. He wasn't quite sure why. After all, as far as he knew he was free to go with her to Balen Rale. But the Lady had been insistent, Sena had agreed with her and he had been left with little option. At least it had only been for a short while.

Still, a week later he had arrived back at the fort to discover that the priests had been making good progress. That they were slowly but surely bringing the old fort back to life. Cleaning and polishing the walls and returning the stone's natural lustre. He liked that. There was something about the sight of the fort gleaming in the sunshine that had brought an immediate smile to his face. It was home.

Ever since then he had been simply relaxing. Reading a little poetry when the mood was on him. Helping the priests when he felt up to it. And simply recovering. All the months of fighting and running had taken a toll and he had lost a lot of weight and condition. He needed to eat and to rest. As he kept telling them, cats needed their sleep. Dorn wasn't completely sure that they believed him any more than his mother had when he was a child.

Until this morning of course when the wayfarers had finally turned up, bringing with them both Sena and his family. After that it had been a whirlwind of activity as he helped unload the wagons – why did they have five wagons with them anyway? He then ushered people to their rooms, though only a few of them had windows in place so far, and helped to move tables and prepare the afternoon tea. He was spared the task of helping with the horses for obvious reasons.

And then finally, after sneaking a few quick kisses, he'd been able to sit down at the table with the others and enjoy the food.

The tea was good; it was some sort of sweet mint herb that cleansed the pallet and the breath. The fresh bread and sweet berry jam was even better. It had been a long time since Dorn had eaten so well. And for once he was glad that the wayfarers had come, even if their wagons were clogging up the courtyard and the horses were eating his new gardens. Mostly he was glad because they'd brought his family with them of course.

Now that they'd completed their first couple of months in Balen Rale and their training they were planning on heading into Terris Lee and starting their new lives there. But before they took that step they'd asked to come and see him. They were worried that they might not see him again, a fear that he understood. So he was grateful to Sena and Eris for bringing them, even though he expected there would be a price. The wayfarers worked for Lady Sylfene and with her there was always a price.

Since the crisis was over and the wars ended, the wastes were once again becoming safe for those who knew how to live in them. Safe to travel. Well, safer at least. And maybe in time they would become safer still. Once the world was returned to rights. For the moment though it was enough that there were no Dicans and no elves wandering through the land.

Of course they were only there for a brief visit. The wastes weren't their home and they would be heading back to Balen Rale in due course. After that they would be joining the others in the restoration of Arrol Der Terris. They could of course return to Alador and their homes in River Vale, but they had said no. River Vale was where they had fled to after Lampton Heights. A refuge not a home. Arrol Der Terris was the future of the wildlings. They wanted to be a part of that rebuilding. They wanted their children to have a future as more than just wildlings in hiding. Arrol Der Terris was the hope for a better life. Which was why more wildlings were still travelling to it every day. Even with the Dicans gone and the elves broken. It wasn't just fear that drove them north. It was hope.

“
So what happens now?”

It was an important question Dorn thought which was why he asked it. But he knew that the others didn't know. Not the priests. Not the wildlings. Not the wayfarers. Not his family. And not him. None of them had a clue. The only thing they did know was that the lake after the stonewrights and waterwrights had spent weeks repairing it and pronounced it strong again, would refill in time. And with it the gods would return to the world after an absence of three thousand years. The temples would become once more the living, vibrant places they had originally been.

He wondered some days if the wildlings might start finding their new, or rather their ancient strength. If shifters like him could once again master three shapes instead of two. If the wood elves might start building again and the sun elves might start breeding. If the dusky elves might find their reason and compassion returning. Or if they would start breeding true elves once more, returning the ancient race to the world. But he had no answer. No one did.

Maybe everything would be set right. Maybe it wouldn't. For his part he was just happy to be back in his home. Especially now that he had his family there. And Sena sitting beside him.

Sena shrugged as did some of the others. The rest just stared blankly at him and one another. The high priests might know. But if they did he doubted they'd tell them. From what he'd heard the eleven had made themselves fairly hard to find of late. The thought was that they were communing with their gods now that those gods were slowly returning to the world. As for the other two, they were probably praying for mercy. Eldin at least. No one knew if Prytor still lived.

“
What happens?”

Dorn looked up, startled as Lady Sylfene's voice came from somewhere to his right. He hadn't known she was there. Neither had anyone else by the looks of things. Sena had actually spilled her tea on her pretty dress. But when he looked closer he realised the high priestess wasn't really there after all. It was just a ghost like image of her. How was that possible?

“Why we work to bring this world back to health brothers and sisters. To heal the lands, and heal the people. And as part of that we will continue to relight the path. To restore the faith. There is a lot for us to do. But already you can see that the work is progressing.” She held out her transparent arms as if to show them herself and he realised he had his answer as to how she could be standing in front of them even as a ghost when she was surely many leagues away. It was something to do with the relighting. Her powers were growing as Xeria was being restored to the world.

“
Or did you mean what happens to you young poet warrior?” The lady stared straight at him, her ghostly eyebrows raised in question. Dorn didn't know what to say, but he also guessed it didn't matter. She wasn't planning on listening anyway. Not to him. But he did quite like the title of poet warrior. He didn't know what one was and whatever it actually was he was quite sure he wasn't one of them, but still it conjured up fascinating images in his thoughts.

“
No not really.” He hadn't been thinking of himself. For his part he thought his life would return to the way it had been. In fact he'd been hoping for it. Rebuilding ancient cities didn't appeal. Fighting, running and hiding were no more attractive. But the life of a simple trapper, making enough coin to live on and to buy a few books to read was. He had been happy as Dorn the trapper. Satisfied. He could be again. He could be happier. Especially if Sena was going to become a part of his life.

“
Nonetheless you should have an answer. You will continue with your atonement of course.”

“
Atonement?” Dorn was caught off guard by that. He didn't know he was atoning. He didn't remember agreeing to atone for anything.

“
Of course. Both the Mother and Zylor have heard your prayers and accepted your confession of wrong doing. And you have started well in your mission to atone. But there will be many more years of service required before you can truly be said to have returned to the path.”