Free The Godlost Land by Greg Curtis

What I have not seen with my own eyes! I know all that I need to know. I have seen all that I ever wished to see. I have witnessed my fill of Artemis' doing!”
     
    More than his fill. He also had memories no man should ever have to have. That was but one of them. There were many more from that terrible day. Blood flowing in the streets, turning the sandstone paving red as well as many of the delicate fluted columns that decorated the fronts of the important homes and shops. Bodies littering the ground like leaves in the fall. Women crying as they hunted for their loved ones. Beasts descending on helpless people in their thousands. Cerberi ripping them apart with teeth and claws, minotaurs smashing them with horns and hooves. Leonids tearing them apart with ferocious claws and thunderous roars. Even harpies descending on them from above.
     
    And then there were the manticores, monsters that should never have been seen in any land. And over and above all of that there were still a few more memories that he knew would never go away. The cloying stench of blood. The sound of women crying and children screaming in terror. And the disbelieving cries of the men as they kept shouting that the beasts were pouring out of Artemis' great temple. No one could believe that. Then.
     
    But when Rickarial had fallen, a divine arrow through his chest, his body slowly burning up from the inside, that had been the worst memory. It had been the end. For Rickarial had been their most powerful wizard and with his death, their hopes had also died. All their hopes.
     
    Harl's family had died with the wizard as well. Harl knew that. He had not seen them fall – they had been on the other side of the city and he could not get to them in time – but few if any had escaped the attack. Fewer still from the side of the city where his family home had sat. For it was there that the Great Temple of Artemis had sat. And it was from there that the unending armies of beasts had poured forth, enveloping the city. Against them they'd had only one hope. One man. Rickarial. The mage of mages. The unofficial leader of the Circle of wizards. Master of sky and fire.
     
    While he'd stood the people of the city had had hope. His fireballs and lightning storms had covered the entire city. The beasts had fallen to his magic almost without number. But unfortunately it seemed that the beasts had actually been without number. And slowly but surely the beasts had driven them back in the frenzy of battle. The mages and soldiers had fallen one by one as they protected the great mage. Every one of them knowing he had to survive. But even as they had been pushed back they had had hope.
     
    Eventually they had been driven back all the way to the city walls. Standing there on the ramparts that were supposed to defend the city from outside attacks, but being driven back by an enemy who was already inside the city. Their failure was Harl's fault he knew. Or at least in part. Having been taken by surprise he had been unarmed, forced to pick up a sword from a fallen soldier in the heat of battle. Had he been wearing his armour and had his own weapons with him he could have fought better. Lasted longer. But that was only an excuse. As was the fact that he had been wounded.
     
    Then, even as things had been impossibly desperate, as the city streets had echoed to the sounds of women and children screaming, of steel slicing through flesh, of frightened men yelling and beasts roaring, the arrow had struck. An arrow streaking from the temple itself, covering at least a league in the blink of an eye, to strike the wizard through his heart. The Goddess had arrived in the city to lead her armies, and her first act had been to take away their last hope.
     
    He hated Artemis for that. For killing his hope. His family had probably already been dead by then. But while Rickarial had stood with them he had dared to hope. And though that hope might have been false, even false hope had been