Hemlock and the Dread Sorceress

by B Throwsnaill

  Chapter Five

  They doubled back and took the passage they previously decided against exploring. After a while, it began to slope upwards and the wall carvings took on a more martial tone. The large images depicted men in training and forging weapons. Further along, Hemlock noticed the carvings were scored and broken in a way that suggested deliberate destruction.

  “This looks like the work of the Sorceress,” said Hemlock.

  “Perhaps. But it’s odd that she wouldn’t have done the same to the lower tunnels,” said Tored.

  They continued on in silence. Hemlock hurried their pace, fearing for Esmeralda’s parents.

  “I wish we’d gone this way the first time. Now time is short,” she said.

  “Come on,” said Tored, urging her forward.

  They reached a series of guard rooms with staggered doorways and arrow slits. The wooden doors were gone—only a few splinters of wood and their iron hinges remained. The carvings on these walls had been completely defaced, and some had even been scorched with drawings depicting anatomical deformities and perverse acts.

  “If this was done by the Sorceress, there’s something wrong with her,” said Hemlock.

  “These drawings do appear to be the work of an unhinged mind,” said Tored.

  “If she’s crazy, how am I going to reason with her?”

  “Reason with her? I thought you were going to kill her.”

  “Well, I guess that’s the plan. But will she harm the townspeople during the battle? I’m concerned about that.”

  “It does seem to be a risk. We will do the best we can, but there may be casualties.”

  “That’s not good enough! You saw Esmeralda. I won’t be able to face her if anything happens to her parents.”

  “We must hurry.”

  They worked their way through the offset doors and the hallway resumed its upward slope.

  Suddenly, there were flashing eyes and screeching sounds all around them. A mass of bats flew amongst them then took wing along the hallway ahead, receding from view and earshot.

  “That might not be good,” said Hemlock as they jogged up the hall. Tored didn’t respond, so Hemlock looked over at him. He shrugged and shook his head from side to side.

  They saw a large chamber ahead and caution forced them to halt. Hemlock’s magic senses registered strong readings, but they competed for her attention because the contents of the room were visually captivating.

  Torches were lit in the chamber, illuminating a horrifying scene. Several iron devices were arranged around the room. Each contained the remains of a person that appeared to have endured indescribable torment. There was a device with a system of gears and pulleys to stretch a person’s limbs apart. Another was a large iron sarcophagus that sat partially opened. A corpse was draped out of the opening, and the gleam of dense spikes from within the sarcophagus hinted at the fate of that unfortunate soul. There were also glass jars full of bloody flesh. And, worst of all, a table set with dishware, silver and a generous platter that bore a large slab of human ribs and bloody meat.

  They were dumbstruck by what they saw. After a moment, Hemlock recovered from the shock and redirected her attention to the magic emanating from the room. It was strong—nearly all-encompassing. Her immediate impression was that nothing in the room was what it appeared to be.

  “I don’t think it’s real!” she hissed between clenched teeth.

  “I have never seen the likes of this! Even our witches didn’t dine on flesh. And this Sorceress is one of the living. She has no need to feed on her own kind,” said Tored.

  “Did you hear me? I think it’s an illusion.”

  “Magic?”

  “Yes.”

  Hemlock studied the magic more closely. The spells of illusion were complex and interwoven. She thought she detected a real table and some large stones underlying the more horrifying aspects that her eyes observed. There seemed to be strong, localized magic sustained by a distant source of power. She guessed the distant power was the Chalice in the stronghold they sought. The way it projected magical power reminded her of the Wands of the Imperator she’d previously encountered.

  “It can’t be,” she said.

  “What?”

  “It’s like there’s another Wand here. But I know there’s not because I can see all the Wands when I view the celestial realm.”

  “But didn’t your mother say the Sorceress has some type of magical chalice?”

  “She did. Maybe it works like the Wands?”

  She focused on the distant magical power source and realized it did seem weaker than the Wands. But the nature of the illusion brought up even more questions. The illusion was tied to the distant Chalice somehow, and it was a bi-directional flow, though the power was mostly radiating outward from the distant point.

  “Something’s different about this magic. It involves people, somehow. The Wands seem to channel raw elemental power, but this is different.”

  “Why would the Sorceress create a room like this?” asked Tored.

  “I’m not sure. To scare people? To satisfy some strange urges on her part?”

  “If it was the latter, wouldn’t she just indulge herself in reality instead of crafting this illusion?”

  “I suppose. Maybe she feeds off of fear, then.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Until I can see it in action, I won’t be sure.”

  “I suspect you’ll see it in action soon enough.”

  “If she’s using this Chalice, she’ll be weakened if we can destroy it,” said Hemlock.

  “But you said it was not always used for evil. Should we destroy it?”

  “It’s close enough to a Wand that I don’t want to take any chances. We’ll destroy it if we can.”

  They made their way through the gruesome contents of the room. Hemlock found the experience disturbing despite knowing its true nature. The mild look of disgust on Tored’s face confirmed that he felt similarly.

  Once they left the room, Hemlock broke into a run and Tored joined her.

  Soon, the smell of fresh air in their faces indicated they were nearing another exit from the tunnels. They turned a corner, and the blue-black of an evening sky was visible through an arched exit. They cautiously advanced toward it. After determining that it wasn’t being watched, they took in the scene.

  The walls of the stronghold lay about fifty yards in front of them. They were made of granite, splotchy and bleached by the sun and weather. The stronghold was five sided with a slender tower rising from each corner. The top of the walls bent inward, crowned by balustrades which were crumbling and broken in intervals. Shadowy figures moved between the balusters that were still intact. The outward facing portions of the corner towers each bore the remains of carved statues that had been torn down. The great head of one ruined statue rested in front of the nearest tower. Its features were charred and defaced with painted, slanting eyes and large fangs. In the most distant part of the stronghold, a thicker tower keep rose above the rest. Hemlock felt sure that the magical power emanated from there. A wide path, marked by the passage of many people, led toward a gate with a portcullis that was locked in the upward position. The interior of the stronghold was cut off from their view.

  “The magic is coming from there,” Hemlock said, pointing to the keep.

  Tored nodded as a great round of applause rang out from the unseen courtyard. The shadowy figures Hemlock had seen atop the walls bolted into the air, and hundreds of wyverns joined into a loose ring, flying in a circle above the stronghold.

  “We’ll be spotted if we advance,” Tored said.

  Hemlock scanned the stronghold for an alternate entrance. She found what appeared to be one in the form of a collapsed wall in the far corner’s tower.

  “You wait here while I enter the stronghold,” Hemlock said.

  “To what end?”

  “Once I have everyone’s attention, you
run to the wall and get to that opening back there,” said Hemlock, pointing to the crumbling tower wall.

  “So I make for the Chalice while you confront the Sorceress, alone?”

  “Yes,” said Hemlock as the wyverns above the stronghold cried out in unison. The echo of their cry reverberated over the plains below, and then a great round of applause resumed. The wyverns swooped down to the walls and took their places amongst the balusters again. But two of the creatures remained in the air, screeching and flying ever faster in a circle they struggled to hold against the force of their flight.

  “I have to go! Good luck!” said Hemlock, not waiting for a response. She ran across the sandy ground to the side of the ruined statue, making for the open portcullis that led inside the stronghold.

  The two wyverns in the air wheeled and charged each other, breathing lightning and attempting to claw one another as they passed at speed. The lightning hit one, singing its scales and causing the creature to roll for a moment before regaining control.

  Hemlock turned the corner and ran into the stronghold. She saw a wide courtyard flanked by wooden bleachers where the entire population of Ogrun sat in fearful silence. In the middle of the makeshift amphitheater, two men fought desperately. One had a club and the other a long sword. They circled each other, exchanging clumsy blows, and both were bloodied. The two wyverns, which Hemlock judged to be bonded to the pair of men, continued to fight in the air above them. To Hemlock’s right, there was a row of low buildings that flanked the large tower keep at the rear of the courtyard. On a balcony of that tower stood the Sorceress, and beside her rested her unnaturally large bat.

  Hemlock thought of Esmeralda as she saw the men fighting and worried one of them might be the girl’s father. As she hurried forward, the swooshing sound of sand under her feet seemed magnified by the walls of the stronghold. People began to notice her, and a wave of gasps reverberated through the crowd.

  “Stop!” she shouted.

  The two combatants on the ground paused in surprise. Suddenly, all eyes were on her. Even the wyverns in the air broke off and soared away from one another, watching her.

  The Sorceress rose slowly. Hemlock could see the sneer on her face even at a distance of many score of yards. She was pretty despite the strange markings that covered her face. The great bat engaged Hemlock with a predatory stare and recoiled as if ready to charge. But the Sorceress restrained the beast with her forearm.

  “So!” began the Sorceress in a tone that was equal parts condescension and hatred. “You finally made it to my little party, I see. I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to miss the fun!”

  “This is your idea of fun?” Hemlock said loudly enough for all to hear.

  “The beginning of it, anyway. I have other surprises in store, yet. You’ll see soon enough!”

  Hemlock could sense the tremendous power of the magic item that lay hidden within the large tower. While not quite like a Wand of the Imperator, its power was no less formidable than what she estimated from afar. It was pouring energy directly to the Sorceress. The fear of the citizens fed into the tower keep and directly into the mysterious artifact.

  “Let these people leave. This is between you and me,” said Hemlock, pointing to the two bloodied men who still stood, watching.

  “Oh, I can’t do that. We must have a proper duel, today. And whichever fighter falls will feed the Shadow Man,” said the Sorceress, pointing down with a flourish toward a wooden sarcophagus laying against the far wall, to Hemlock’s left. It was large and crudely fashioned, but its charred surface was covered in cunning, curled runes that made Hemlock’s skin crawl. She could sense confinement magic emanating from the runes, mixed with a malicious spell that suggested torment.

  “Falignus,” she mouthed without speaking the name.

  Next, she sensed a surge of fear coming from the people in the stands, feeding into the tower. When the energy burst reached the Sorceress, her head tilted back and she laughed a terrible laugh before calling out again. “Do you feel how the people tremble at even the mention of my Shadow Man?” She pointed to Hemlock. “I think he will feed on many souls this night!”

  “Let these men go, and I will face you myself. If I fall, I will face your Shadow Man!”

  “You? You don’t understand my laws. Our duels take place on the land and in the sky between two pairs of creatures bound by the soul pact. You are not bound. You are unworthy!”

  Hemlock’s mind began to churn as she tried to think of a way to save the fighters, one of whom she thought might be Esmeralda’s father. She didn’t know whether Tored was close to destroying the Chalice, so she couldn’t rely on that being removed. The Sorceress was much too powerful for Hemlock to fight without risking a lot of collateral damage. Many of the citizens would surely be caught in the wake of her destructive wrath.

  The Sorceress sighed. “I tire of this distraction.” She thrust her arms forward, and a jet of magic hurtled toward Hemlock.

  Hemlock crouched to jump, but at the last moment before her evasive maneuver, her senses recognized the type of incoming spell. It was a confinement spell. Hemlock made a split second decision to allow the spell to strike her in the hopes that it would buy her some time to determine her next move.

  A net of blue magic scintillated around her body. It was significant, but weaker than others she’d faced in the past. She knew she could break free of it by tapping into the energy drawn from the other worlds she saw in her mind’s eye.

  But what’s my next move?

  “You two men, resume fighting or you both will face the Shadow Man!” commanded the Sorceress.

  The two men raised their weapons as their fear appeared to overcome their reluctance to fight. Their blows were clumsy and tentative. Overhead, their wyverns circled one another, but did little else.

  “Fight harder, or I will kill you both right now!” snarled the Sorceress, hurling fire into the field close to the men.

  Soon, the sounds of clanging steel and the crack of lightning filled the arena again.

  “Yes! Yes!” yelled the Sorceress, clapping.

  I’m running out of time. She says I need a beast to stand with me... Penelope! She’s weak, but I can contact her. I just need her to buy me some time.

  Hemlock focused her mind into the strange other space and ripped her arms outward. An outburst shattered the magic spell that confined her and threw dirt for ten yards in each direction.

  She shouted inaudibly in the way the griffin taught her. PENELOPE! I need you!

  There was no response in her mind, but Hemlock hoped that the griffin had heard her and awoken. She had no time to plan otherwise.

  “There is a beast that will stand with me, Sorceress! Will you face me? Or do you fear me?” said Hemlock aloud, stressing the word fear.

  The crowd stirred a bit at Hemlock’s challenge. The Sorceress drew up into an imperious pose. “I should crush you now, you impudent fool! But, wait. You are not what you seem. And you broke my spell.”

  Hemlock turned toward the assembled people. “Don’t fear her! She feeds on your fear.” A sudden thought struck her, then and her magic sense confirmed it. “You think she cast a spell on your wyverns to take them from you? You’re wrong! The spell she cast is on you—a spell of fear. If you conquer your fear, your wyverns will return to you!”

  The Sorceress sneered. “You think they can overcome their fear? You overestimate them. They are a brainless lot. And listen to you—so sure of yourself. What do you really know? Have you seen the great sea beyond space and time? Have you realized our world is just the dream of a slumbering god?”

  “My father was the Red Wizard himself. Don’t lecture me about knowledge. I know more than you ever will!”

  “Is that so? Well, have you seen the great sea, then?”

  Hemlock ignored the Sorceress and turned toward the people. “Don’t be afraid! Try to reconnect with your wyverns. You
can do it!”

  “BE SILENT!” cried the Sorceress, grabbing her giant bat and mounting it.

  “Run!” screamed Hemlock as she ran away from the people, hoping to spare them.

  The bat rose under powerful beats of its wings, and squealed at a tremendous volume that made all present cover their ears.

  Hemlock crouched as bursts of fire crackled through the air and landed all around her, making her cover her head. The intense heat burned her arms and legs, and singed some of the hair off her head.

  A bitter laugh from above indicated that the Sorceress and the bat had risen into the air to a height of about fifty feet and now circled the stronghold. The Sorceress rained more fire down on Hemlock.

  The citizens of Ogrun left their seats, and were streaming across the open field toward the gate. Hemlock needed more room to maneuver, but dared not leave the corner of the courtyard for fear of putting the fleeing people at risk. She darted toward the tower farthest from the gate, and fire fell all around her, burning her when it hit too close. The side of the field where she evaded had become an obstacle course of flaming embers and smoking craters.

  Hemlock was running with her head low and heard a heavy thud in front of her. She drew back expecting to see the great form of the engorged bat in front of her, but instead she saw, to her great relief, the slightly bedraggled bulk of the griffin beckoning her to mount.

  I came as quickly as I could.

  “Thanks,” said Hemlock, panting.

  The griffin burst into the air as sheets of fire landed where she had just been. Hemlock saw the Sorceress and her bat bearing down on them from above. The bat had its claws extended, preparing to rake the slightly smaller griffin.

  “Watch out above us!” shouted Hemlock. In an instant, she felt the muscles in Penelope’s back knot into a rigidity that felt like she was suddenly riding atop a piece of iron.

  A warning from the griffin filled her mind. HOLD ON!

  Hemlock grabbed onto the golden mane of the beast and clamped her legs as the griffin reared back spectacularly. The next sequence of events seemed to proceed in adrenalized slow motion. The great bat squealed again, disorienting Hemlock. The dark beast was so close that she could see the raised, red ridges on its long, black claws and smell the fetid odor it gave off. She could see the bloodthirsty visage of the Sorceress peering down at her expectantly.

  Then the tension of the griffin was unleashed in the form of an unearthly, loud roar accompanied by a gale force wind that seemed to follow the sound. The vast bulk of the bat was blown aside like a child’s kite, and the leathery flesh of its huge wings was torn in many places under the strain of the torrent of air. The force of the blast was so great that the tattered pennants that remained atop the distant keep were blown whip-straight and parallel to the ground.

  As the wind subsided, Hemlock saw the bat and its rider topple to the ground in disarray, both landing heavily on the pockmarked earth.

  “Down!” said Hemlock. Penelope wheeled and landed some thirty yards from the bat and Sorceress, both of whom seemed little more than enraged by their fall—with the exception that the bat appeared to be grounded by the damage to its wings.

  “I’ll give you a chance to leave here with your life,” said the Sorceress. “One chance!”

  “I’m not going to leave you here to torment these people any longer!”

  “That’s what I figured you’d say. You care so much about these people? What are they except a bunch of ignorant louts? Another pointless herd in this pointless enterprise we call life. So what if I have a little fun with them? What’s the harm?”

  “You’re wrong about everything. This isn’t pointless, and they are worth more than you think!”

  “Oh well, it won’t matter in the end. Your foolish sentiment will avail them nothing!”

  HEMLOCK!

  She turned just in time to see a dark form at her flank, and realized the error she had made. The sarcophagus in the distance was open. The Sorceress had been stalling, and now the Shadow Man, whom she immediately recognized as the corrupted and bestial remnant of her lover, Falignus, was upon her.