Hemlock And The Wizard Tower (Book 1) (59 page)

She still held the wand, and it still imbued her with strange and inexplicable power. 

She thought back to past magic spells that her power of attunement had allowed her to identify.  Hemlock realized that she could now recall every spell that she had ever encountered in perfect detail.  She could recall and sense every magical pattern vividly in her memory.

It must be the Wand.

Falignus was still watching her as she lay there.

I can’t move.  But my senses are still intact.  And I can speak.

Her mind immediately focused on the one magical ability that she had observed used on the battlefield to great effect, and which had only required the power of speech.  With a thrill of hope, Hemlock recalled how she had recently used the vocal command power of the Witch, albeit crudely, during the battle in the Wizard Tower audience chamber.

She now knew what she had to do–but she knew that she would need more energy.

She focused her mind toward that other realm within her mind, and sought the aid of those consciousnesses who would answer her call.  There were only a few replies and those that answered did so weakly; Hemlock was aware in that moment that her struggle with the demon form of Zaringer had taken a terrific toll on all the consciousnesses that were connected to her.

Hemlock despaired that there was no help left for her.

But then she felt immense gratitude as energy surged into her for a final, desperate attack on Falignus.

"
Someday you will help us as we have helped you
," she heard in her mind, as if it had been spoken by a chorus of inchoate voices.

She returned her attention to Falignus, resolute in the awareness of her plan, yet still affected by the tragedy of their shared circumstances.

The energy of that other space burned within her and she directed it to her voice and specifically to her tongue.  She recalled the Witch’s voice and how she had inflected her terrible commands, which withered people’s minds.

She struggled against the magical bonds to draw in a deep, final breath and hoped that it would be enough to deliver the command forcefully.

"RELEASE!" she cried at Falignus and that cry rang out throughout the entire realm, such was its volume.

She saw Falignus’ eyes quickly transition from sorrow to horror as he involuntarily performed the counter spell to the magical bonds which restrained Hemlock.

Freed, she rose in a flash; and before he was able to prepare a spell, she had connected with a round kick to his head and his body crumpled to the sandy remains of the floor of the chamber.

She quickly pulled the other Wand from his grasp, and when she did so she felt a resistance between the Wands.  The second Wand did not grant its power to her.  She puzzled at this for a moment, but she now possessed both Wands and that was her primary concern.

She stood there for a few moments and looked at the fallen form of her enemy and her lover.  His body still had an unreal quality to it, a repulsive quality, but her affection for him overcame the feeling of aversion.

She now felt the weight of the same dilemma that he had struggled with.

"If I let him live, he will come after me."

Suddenly a sharp tremor in the earth quelled her thoughts and threw her violently to the floor.

A great piece of rock sheared from one of the remaining columns fell.  It landed hard on Falignus’ legs.  He did not stir.

Hemlock’s first instinct was to run to his aid, and she had to catch herself as she made to try and free him.

A cry from overhead diverted her attention.

Looking up she saw that the Griffin was descending from the gray sky.  She heard urgency expressed in its cry.  That urgency triggered a memory of something that Miara had said to her before she had left, "Once the Wand is removed, the desert realm will separate from the City.  You must escape before that happens or you will be lost to us."

The Griffin landed on a large piece of the ivory floor and cried again, urgently.

Hemlock was conflicted as she looked again at Falignus.

Will he live?  Can he live now that he’s corrupted himself?

Her
thoughts turned darker.
Should I kill him?  If I don’t
,
will he become what Zaringer was?

But she thought of Safreon then, of what he had said to her about the future.

"In the future," he had said, "people will settle disputes with words and not swords."

Inspired by the optimism in those words, Hemlock took a final look at Falignus.

"I hope that you find peace in whatever world you travel to next, my love," she said aloud.

The Griffin cried again, and she turned toward it and mounted it, as another tremor shook the desert.

Overhead the sky changed character, and as the sun rose, Hemlock thought that it took on a different hue every time she glanced at it.

The Griffin flew with a vigor which surprised Hemlock.

Soon she sensed something odd behind them as they flew.  Looking behind her, she saw a veil like haze moving toward them in the distance.

But soon, she recognized the outskirts of the City realm ahead of them, in the form of several small villages.

"We made it," she exclaimed to the Griffin, who cried positively in response.

Hemlock walked through the caverns beneath the Wizard Tower in search of the waterfall from Merit’s tale: the waterfall which hid the entrance to the chamber where Safreon had found the Wand of the Imperator.

She carried both Wands in her hands now and had done so since she had returned–going so far as to sleep with them, so greatly did she fear their power falling into the wrong hands.

As she walked, Gwineval, who had recovered with a rapidity that had stunned everyone, Tored, Samberlin, and Merit accompanied her.

"Hemlock, reconsider this, please.  We could make this realm truly extraordinary with the power of those Wands," hissed Gwineval.

"No, Gwineval," replied Hemlock, "I’ve told you that my mind is made up.  The Imperator and his line must be permanently ended.  This is the best start to that.  We will then continue by detaching the other realms and destroying the Wands that bind them.  By so doing, we will return this realm to what the original Wizard meant it to be."

"You have all these visions, and we just have to trust them?" Gwineval asked.

"Yes," replied Hemlock with a smile.

"You are insufferable," chided Gwineval, with more bluster than substance.

"Tored, how soon will you return your people to their realm?  Can we delay for the passage of several new moons in order to train the people of the City to use magic without the aid of the Oberon?" asked Hemlock.

Hemlock knew that Tored was still uncomfortable in the role of leader of the Tanna Varrans in a time of peace.  She knew that he would find a way to recede into the background at the earliest opportunity.  But for now, he bore the responsibility for and the full faith of his people.

"It is fine, Hemlock, we can wait for a time," he replied.

Gwineval’s hissing voice rang out from behind the group. "I believe I detect moisture coming from this passage."

Hemlock turned and noticed Merit, who had been eager to accompany them on this journey.  He had taken an interest in the history of the realm, and planned to author a volume on the recent and important events that had occurred.  He had said that he didn’t want to miss out on personally witnessing this latest chapter.

Hemlock smiled at him as she passed and the group diverted into the passage that Gwineval had found.

Soon they all could detect the moisture that Gwineval had reported.  Then they could all hear the unmistakable sound of flowing water.

Finally, they emerged into a cavern that bore an unmistakable resemblance to the one that Safreon had described in his tale.

They made their way carefully around the lip of the cavern, all, with the exception of Gwineval, having no desire for an unplanned swim.

Gwineval could not contain himself and declared that he had to sample the waters, despite any danger of beasts that might lurk in the depths.

The more cautious majority proceeded carefully along the narrow path, all the while hearing exclamations from Gwineval on the fine swim that he was having.

When they reached the falls, Hemlock shimmied into the tight space and felt for the rune lock which she had heard described in Safreon’s tale as related by Merit.

Finding it, she took out the sticks which she had brought and arranged them in the pattern that her skills of affinity detected, having carefully placed the Wands into her waist belt, on either hip, before doing so.

As the rune lock unlocked, she was certain to grab the Wands, and once she had them safely secured again, she proceeded into the passage that had been revealed.

It was eerie for Hemlock to walk the same path that Safreon had walked, and to consider the great emotion that he had experienced here.

She hoped that her actions today would bring some closure to that pain, if death hadn’t already done so for her old friend.

Proceeding under magical light, the group reached the chasm where the platform which had originally borne the first Wand had been cast into the deep by the sentinels.

They all eyed these stone figures cautiously, hoping that the presence of the Wands wouldn’t perturb them.

As Hemlock approached the edge of the chasm, she caught Samberlin’s eye.

"What do you make of all this, Samberlin?  You’ve been oddly silent"

"I am just making sure that I don’t miss anything.  This is the first time in my life that I’ve ever seen anyone willingly revoke great power.  Frankly, I hadn’t even considered that it was possible.  Didn’t you mention that Falignus claimed that you are descended from the original Wizard?  Maybe that is why you are doing this.  Otherwise, it defies all explanation. "

Hemlock shook her head and held out the Wands.

"I’ve seen what this type of power has done in people’s lives.  In the hands of some, it might be a great boon.  But after seeing Zaringer and what he had become, and then seeing Falignus heading down that same path, it’s clear to me that so much concentration of power must be avoided, because eventually it will fall into the hands of those who will misuse it."

"But there will always be concentrations of power, Hemlock.  People will always put their faith in leaders and it will build from there.  Those Wands are just an extension and manifestation of this faith – of people’s tribal nature.  This act will not repudiate that basic fact."

Hemlock was troubled by his words, but then she had an idea.

Why don’t I end this adventure the way I started it?  I’ll follow my instincts and let the intellectuals figure out the details later
, she thought to herself.

Without a word of warning, she cast the Wands into the chasm.

She watched their fires burn as they fell, until they became indistinguishable from the glow emanating out of the distant, invisible bottom of the chasm.

The others quickly rushed to her side to try and witness the end of the Wands, and some were annoyed that she hadn’t warned them.

But then there were two bright flashes from the chasm accompanied by strong reverberations.

Hemlock noticed that even Merit looked satisfied.

Being alone in
the inner sanctum of the Wizard Guild–
a secretive a
nd reclusive guild of the most powerful w
izards in the City
–
had never been her
wish
. 

She didn’t then think that she would remain with Gwineval and the wizards, once the three remaining Wands had all been destroyed. 

She wasn’t certain what course her life would take from that point onward.  But she was all right with that, as the group–composed of a wizard who looked like a lizard, a mechanical gnome, an aging Senator, a reluctant leader and a lithe young woman–gathered to return to the Wizard Tower.

###

Read more about Hemlock’s adventures in “Hemlock and the Dead God’s Legac
y” (The Maker’s Fire Book II).  Available now! 

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007ONIDIC

Please read the following excerpt from Book II.

The character of her dream shifted.  She was adrift in a sea of stars, floating in the void that separated them.  A force was calling out to her and to anyone who would listen.  She became conscious of other spirits.  Some of them answered the call, some did not.

She became aware that it was a person calling to her, and she felt a compelling affinity with whoever it was.

She acquiesced to the attractive force of the call, and it pulled her with an alarming speed, causing the stars around her to streak as she sped between them.

She reached a world, and then a continent and then a country.  Soon she descended into a mountainous area that was rich in plant life.  Her consciousness began to merge with the Other that she aided. 

She became dimly aware of a wide circle of dancers, their limbs wrenching back and forth almost spasmodically, as if they were trying to evoke something vicious and violent.  She saw faces gripped in furious exertion—wide faces with dark skin.

She sensed that she was a part of this dance. 

It was a dance of desperation, of anger… of exorcism.

A wide and dark structure loomed between the dancers.  It was made of rough stone, which jutted out and recessed inwards in a natural and irregular fashion.  But the color of the rock was incongruent with the rest of the surroundings.

The dance took place on a plateau that extended from the side of a vast cliff face.  The plateau was reached by a series of treacherous paths that led up from the floor of a long, sinuous canyon.  The canyon stretched from horizon to horizon.  The climate was temperate: lush foliage and great, broad-leafed trees dominated the perimeter of the plateau.   Nothing grew near the dark stone.

Hemlock sensed the thoughts of the Other, as the latter danced.

We should have destroyed this tower long ago.  Now something has taken refuge in it and will not come out.  It slays our people and threatens our canyon.

Hemlock again sensed the force of the magic of the dance.  It was powerful magic, and it was exerting a tremendous energy of expulsion toward whatever was in the tower.

As the dance continued, Hemlock noticed that the Other kept looking at a shadowy recess on one side of the vertical surface of the dark stone.

It appeared to be a doorway.

The next time that Hemlock saw the doorway, a heavy wooden door thrust open from it. 

She saw a cloaked figure emerging fitfully, but then the eyes of the Other were drawn away from the spectacle by the path of her violent dance, which had not paused and had not changed in intensity, despite the apparent change in circumstances.

Hemlock realized that she was somehow still able to sense the emergence of the cloaked figure, whose brown hooded garment completely obscured all features from view.

Then the figure pulled back its hood, revealing male features and eyes that shone with a brilliant yellow light—as if they were small suns somehow captured in his head.   He wore a bold tricorne hat that barely contained beautiful, curly, blond locks of hair.  The cloak opened to reveal blue raiment beneath, in the form of a collared waist cost, with a dark vest, and dark brown knee-length pants, which were met at the knee by soiled, white hose that culminated in heavy leather shoes with prominent gold buckles.

Hemlock had never seen anyone dressed like this, except for actors in her City when they put on dramas set in time of the Imperator.   But those costumes were far less elaborate than these clothes.  Hemlock was impressed by the man’s stately appearance, even as she beheld him in a state of obvious distress as he was being drawn, inexorably, from the interior of the black stone tower.

The dance continued, and the Other seemed to be more determined than ever to continue, though Hemlock sensed that the dance would likely end in the man’s death.

“You will stop this barbarous magic immediately!  This is not a legal assembly!  Ignorance of the law is not an excuse!” cried the man in a shrill voice that projected easily over the plateau and the chanting clamor of the dance.

The Other did not respond.

“It is true that I have taken some of your people—a necessary evil, for I partake of efforts that you would not be able to comprehend!  It was all done lawfully, I assure you!  And I have rid you of that old crone who dwelt here in secret and murderous isolation.   That is just compensation for your lost ones!” the man cried again.

The figure was nearing the ring of dancers, and Hemlock sensed that this line represented a peril for him.

“I warn you, if you do not cease this dance and parley with me, I will be forced to defend myself!” the man cried with increased urgency, as if he was aware of the imminent threat.

The Other continued to dance.

Suddenly the man revealed something from under his cloak: something that bathed the entire plateau in a fiery light.

“I’m afraid that, by law, you must be slain in order to stop this,” cried the man, as if speaking directly into the mind of the Other.  Hemlock, attached to the Other, heard the threat.

Hemlock experienced a jolt of recognition.  The object held by the man was familiar to her.

“What is this?” asked the high voice. Did he sense the magical link between Hemlock and the Other?  She doubted that this was possible, yet the impression remained.

In the next instant, the link between her and the Other was broken: shattered into a thousand shards, which painfully reassembled into Hemlock’s consciousness.

She was in her bed in the Wizard Tower.

She grasped the sheets of her bed in balled fists, as she considered the final thing that she had seen before the link had been broken.

The strangely dressed figure had wielded a Wand of the Imperator.

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