Hemlock and the Dread Sorceress

by B Throwsnaill

  Chapter Seven

  Merit was so far from his home in the Wizard Tower that the inner voice that normally plagued him had become confused. Merit had discovered he could cause it to lapse into long periods of silence by asking it difficult questions.

  I must return to the tower.

  No, I have business outside the tower, he thought.

  I don’t know where I am. I must return to the tower.

  I don’t know how to return. Can you direct me there?

  Merit relished the silence that ensued, although a small piston on the back of his head began to pump spasmodically. The creak of the heavy, wooden wheels of the cart that bore him and the occasional emanations from his mechanical body were the only sounds he heard. The wizards walking around him were quiet except for the periodic, soft grunts of effort from the ones in front of him dragging the cart.

  Unfortunately, the lack of conversation in the recent part of the march into the southern farmlands was the result of tension from a prior argument. Gwineval and Renevos were having a difference of opinion on tactics, and it erupted into a shouting match that caused the two leading wizards to proceed in brooding silence from that point on. Their subordinates followed the lead of their betters.

  Merit realized the time had come for him to step in and try to broker some sort of agreement between the two recalcitrant mages.

  “Gwineval, Renevos, I wonder if we might stop for a moment so I can discuss something with you―in private?” he said.

  Gwineval shot him an annoyed look, but then his features softened and he nodded in agreement.

  “Alright,” said Renevos.

  “Stop the cart,” said Merit. The wizards in front of him began to slow, and then stopped, causing a sudden squealing sound of metal on metal from the cart’s axles.

  Merit moved to the front of the cart while navigating past empty crates that posed as trade goods, and pushed a small, hinged stair down from the front of the cart. He proceeded down it, slowly. Gwineval and Renevos stood a few feet away waiting for him, each uncomfortable being near the other. The eight wizards with them moved to the other side of the cart, and the low murmur of their conversations soon drowned out the natural sounds of night in the southern meadows.

  “We’re near Castle Stargis, aren’t we?” asked Merit.

  “Yes, only an hour or two away, by my reckoning,” said Gwineval.

  “You must let me join in the attack, Gwineval,” said Renevos.

  “Impossible! Your impudence has been demonstrated. You will lead a few men in a reserve position and guard the flank of the main attack,” said Gwineval.

  “Gwineval…” said Merit.

  But Renevos talked over him. “What impudence? I told you, Ataros used the teleporting magic when he was too tired. Ask Otticus. If the men obey their training, the runes are perfectly safe.”

  “Even if that’s true, it was your job to deliver that training! Ataros is dead—dead because I had to end the suffering of the chattering mass of flesh he became after using your unproven teleportation magic! You won’t be making any more rash decisions during this campaign.”

  “Gwineval?” said Merit, softly.

  This time he got the attention of both wizards.

  “I saw what Ataros was doing right before he died. He was showing off. I don’t think he paid attention to his training,” said Merit.

  “Renevos selected the man to receive the new runes. Renevos trained him. If Ataros didn’t heed his training then maybe it’s because he wasn’t trained well enough!”

  “I take responsibility for picking the man. Perhaps his temperament wasn’t good for being one of the first to use the new teleportation. But I trained him quite thoroughly, rest assured of that,” said Renevos, folding his arms under his long, braided beard and looking away.

  “When I read about Julius’ assault on the Light Dancers in the old City, he discussed facing these runic obelisks that Jalis and DuLoc now seem to be using. If they’ve build one of them near Castle Stargis, our only hope will be destroying it. Based on what I read in that book, Gwineval, you will need all the spell power you can muster. Julius was able to destroy them by himself, but his lieutenant required assistance. Hemlock told me what Renevos can do—his attack spells are first rate. You’re going to need him,” said Merit.

  The ridges over Gwineval’s eyes flared upward, and he glared—first at Merit then at Renevos, who still looked toward the distant horizon. “Hem…” he began, looking at Merit, but then clamped his jaw shut. He clenched his clawed hand into a fist and slammed it into his other palm. Then he started to walk. Merit feared he was storming off, but he just started to pace back and forth. Gwineval stopped and looked up and to his left for several minutes. When he finally spoke, he grunted as if each word were something distasteful being spat from his mouth. “We’ll attack in two wings. I’ll command the left wing, Renevos the right. Merit will stay behind with Otticus to guard the flanks.”

  “Otticus won’t like being left out of the action,” said Renevos under his breath.

  Gwineval snarled. “But he’s got your precious teleportation runes so he’ll be able to move the fastest if we’re surprised.”

  The logic of the statement silenced Renevos. He nodded to Gwineval to continue.

  “If we spot the enemy, your wing will hold fire until I select a target. Once I strike, you will back me up with secondary strikes. If there’s an obelisk, that will be our primary target. Half of each of the wings will be armed with the Tanna Varran blades. If the Seekers are here, that should enable us to deal with them. Otticus should have one of these blades, as well. Any questions?”

  Merit thought about the plan. Having one man in reserve didn’t seem adequate, but he feared raising the issue and inflaming Gwineval in the process. “It makes sense,” he said.

  “I agree,” said Renevos, with a hint of petulance.

  “Fine, I’ll brief the rest of them,” said Gwineval.

  “HALT!”

  The cry had come from the front of the wagon and the assembled wizards. Merit recognized Otticus’ voice as the one who had cried out the warning.

  Merit looked down the path and spotted a dozen cloaked figures approaching. They didn’t heed the warning and continued to walk calmly down the dirt road.

  “Form up!” cried Gwineval.

  “They look like Seekers!” said Renevos as he ran awkwardly forward.

  Merit was left alone and moved toward the back corner of the wagon.

  The lead figure raised his forearm and the distant group halted. The evening was bright enough to allow the figures down the road to be seen fairly well. The lead figure pulled his hood back, and Merit relaxed a bit when he saw a full head of brown hair topping the flesh of a living man’s face.

  “What are a bunch of wizards doing on Stargis lands?” called the man.

  Merit heard Gwineval murmuring then Otticus’ voice rang out again. “We are merchants. We seek counsel with Jan Adaya at Castle Stargis.”

  “If you’re merchants, then I’m the Maker himself! I am Jan Adaya. State your business!”

  Gwineval spoke again and Otticus replied, “It’s not conversation fit for the road. Might we meet under a warm roof and talk at length?”

  Jan Adaya turned back and conferred with his men. Merit noticed that the men seemed unusually tall, and remembered this was a common trait of the noble lines of the southland.

  “Follow us. There is a large farm about a half mile down the road. We will meet there, and you may camp there for the night, if you wish,” said Jan Adaya.

  Gwineval agreed, and Merit clambered back into the cart. Soon they were underway, shadowing the southern men at a distance of fifty yards. Every so often, a southern man turned back to inspect the wizards, and his eyes invariably lingered on the cart where Merit lurked amongst the crates for fear of other eyes that might be on the caravan. The men were all fair skinned and long of limb. T
hey had pronounced chins and long, prominent noses. They looked so similar that Merit wondered if they were all from the same family. But there were twelve of them of similar age, so this seemed unlikely.

  When Gwineval moved close to the cart to make a comment to Otticus, Merit motioned to him.

  “Why do the men all look so similar?” he asked.

  “The noble families of the south are close knit. They aren’t inbred, but neither are they bred amongst a wide swath of the population. The field laborers look different, and seem to descend from a different stock. They are slighter in stature.”

  Gwineval looked tense, so Merit allowed the serpentine wizard to return to his thoughts. They reached the farm in about half an hour. The southern men all gaped as Merit dismounted from the cart and joined the wizards.

  The man known as Jan Adaya stepped forward, his elegantly embroidered green coat was hooded and extended down to his knees. The leader of the southern men was heavily armed with a long sword at his waist, and a long bow and full quiver strapped to his back. He led the wizards and southern men to a nearby barn, lit with lanterns. Merit noticed two men and a woman scurrying away from the barn as the groups approached. These were shorter than the southern noblemen, and their simple attire marked them as peasants. Merit noticed the awestruck looks they cast his way before disappearing around a corner.

  Simple, wooden chairs had been placed around the interior of the barn, and Jan Adaya bid all present to sit. The peasants appeared again, and presented each man with a piping hot cup of tea.

  Gwineval pulled his hood back as a peasant farmer offered him a steaming cup, and the man cried out, dropping the cup onto the hay strewn floor. The peasant pardoned himself, retrieved the cup, and urged his companions out of the barn in haste, leaving the nobles and the wizards casting appraising looks at one another.

  “So, Gwineval, you have made the journey yourself, I see,” said Jan Adaya.

  “I have. Thank you for inviting us here,” said Gwineval.

  Jan Adaya nodded to Gwineval. “Please allow us to observe our tradition,” he said then bowed his head toward the floor, reverently. The other nobles followed suit. “We honor the Maker and ask for his favor on this assembly. In his name we gather.”

  “In his name,” said the other nobles.

  “Gwineval and wizards, welcome to Stargis lands. We regret the unusual location of this meeting. But, then, these are unusual times, aren’t they?” said Jan Adaya, motioning to the barn around them.

  “Indeed they are,” said Gwineval. “We have come to discuss a matter of great importance with you. It concerns recent news out of the eastern mountains.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard some of this news. Does it also concern the rogue wizards who recently left your tower?”

  “Yes, it does. Have you had contact with them?”

  “We have. In fact, they are our guests at Castle Stargis right now. When I heard a caravan was approaching and they were only seen traveling at night wearing concealing cloaks, I hoped it would be a delegation from the City. Is that what you are? Or do you only speak for the Wizard Tower?”

  “I carry a scroll signed by Samberlin. I speak for the City as a whole.”

  “Good. Let’s get into it, then. What have you heard, and what is your take on it?”

  “The rogue wizards, led by one known as Jalis, have taken control in the east. They have entered into an alliance with a long departed… Well, we’ll call him a wizard, I suppose. His name is DuLoc. He claims to be a lieutenant of the Imperator.”

  “The Imperator? The enemy of the Maker? Interesting. It so happens that Jalis is also among our guests at the Castle. His description of DuLoc is quite different. He says DuLoc is interested only in liberating people from the domination of the City.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Jalis is a liar.”

  “If he lies, he has chosen his lie well. It’s a message that many find appealing.”

  “He is familiar with you and your concerns. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he has come up with an appealing lie.”

  “Well put. So, assuming what you say is true, then we have a group of heretics camped outside our castle. This is dire news, indeed.”

  “What has Jalis been doing, exactly? Did you reach an arrangement with him?”

  “Yes. We agreed to allow them to install a magical tool outside the castle. Apparently it allows their golems to function, and they have offered the golems to help us work the fields more quickly and plant greater acreage.”

  “Is he building a stone slab—an obelisk?”

  “Built. Yes, he’s just completed it with his cohorts. In fact, we are scheduled to see a demonstration of the new golems tomorrow morning.”

  Merit shook his head. He had hoped that Jalis hadn’t had time to complete an obelisk. Their mission had just become much more difficult. Merit glanced at Gwineval, and saw the strain on the wizard’s features. He hoped Jan Adaya wouldn’t notice it.

  “Is it only the one obelisk? Or are there more?”

  “It’s only the one. It took them quite a while to build it. They worked around the clock to complete it.”

  “That’s because they plan to use it to control Castle Stargis and everyone in the area. It’s a base of power for them.”

  Jan Adaya sat back in his chair, looking increasingly concerned—like Gwineval.

  “What can they do with this thing?”

  “Based on reports from the east, they can see and hear things that happen around it. And they can kill a man with it. Perhaps many men. We don’t totally understand what it can do.”

  Jan Adaya reddened. “Those bold devils! Is this why there are reports of strife in the east? Is this what they did to the miners there?”

  “Yes. And when some miners rose up against them, they killed them all. Men, women and children—entire settlements have been wiped out. This is what you are facing. You are in great peril!”

  Jan Adaya’s skin tone returned to normal, and his eyes waxed philosophical as he looked into the air. The man beside him whispered something, but Jan Adaya bade him to be quiet.

  “So, you’ve come here and inflamed us—told us that Jalis and his wizards are no less than agents of the ancient evil one. But it’s not like you City-folk have been great friends of ours. We’ve been alright because we’ve towed the line with you over the years. You’ve allowed us to run our own affairs, but we’ve always known you’ve done so because it’s been expedient for you. If our food production ever faltered, you would have destroyed our way of life and taken control yourselves.

  “Now you have a rival, and they have offered us an alliance that will compromise your hold over us. If I were you and I wanted to destabilize things, I’d drum up a similar story and come here sowing seeds of doubt. Do you deny this?”

  “Most assuredly! You’ve heard the reports from the east. Did we make them up?”

  “Perhaps you orchestrated them, somehow. Perhaps there’s been battle between you and Jalis and that’s the source of the unrest.”

  Merit saw Gwineval beginning to tense up. He feared the wizard’s temper would get the best of him. But Gwineval turned and pointed at Merit.

  “This automaton is not just a machine. There is a man imprisoned within it. His kind have served us in the Wizard Tower for generations—since the days of the Imperator. It is only recently that we learned he is more than a mere machine. An injury revealed the man within the machine. He has become an expert in history since he was revealed to be a man. In this short time, he has read more books on Imperial history than any wizard I know. It’s all he does—and he doesn’t sleep. I’m going to let this man who had everything taken from him by the magic of the Imperator describe what these obelisks are, and what they’ve done in the past. Merit?”

  Merit stood up uncertainly. He expected the voice inside of him to denounce him, but there was only a comforting silence in his head as
he began to speak.

  “In the time of Julius, there were obelisks throughout much of the City—remnants of the Great War that followed the death of the Imperator. At that time, they were used by leeching monsters to give them sustaining energy. The obelisks radiate magical laws. People who control the laws can harness the power of the obelisks. But people who disobey or simply don’t understand the laws can be attacked by the obelisks. The Imperator created the obelisks to control people. During his time, people’s lives were totally controlled by them. Do you know how they are made? The Imperator corrupted and trapped a bit of the Maker’s Fire and mounted it atop each obelisk. The laws enforced by these obelisks are based on a rejection of everything the Maker stood for.

  “I’m not sure if Jalis has managed to build this type of obelisk, but I’m sure what he’s built is related to it. DuLoc was around during the time of the Imperator, and he understands how the original obelisks were built. I’m certain his intention is to subjugate you.”

  As Merit struggled to regain his seat, he caught Jan Adaya’s eye. He saw a look of pity and wonder in the man’s face before Jan Adaya composed himself and returned his attention to Gwineval.

  “I must admit to being somewhat convinced,” muttered the man.

  “Then you’ll help us?” said Gwineval.

  “No.”

  Gwineval’s eyes flared, but Jan Adaya raised his hand in a conciliatory gesture as he continued. “But neither shall we hinder you. As I mentioned, there is a demonstration of the new golem planned for tomorrow. All the wizards will be in the valley outside the castle in the hour after dawn. At that time, you will appear atop the hill overlooking the valley. When we see this, the gates of Castle Stargis will be closed.”

  Gwineval exchanged a grave look with Renevos before replying, “We only brought a small party to avoid being spotted by Jalis before we reached you. There are only ten of us plus our mechanical friend, Merit. If you don’t help us, we’ll be outnumbered.”

  “There are only sixteen wizards with us, including Jalis, so your numbers are not that far from theirs. And you must be worth three or four of their lot yourself, Gwineval,” said Jan Adaya.

  “It may be so, but they have their obelisk,” Gwineval grumbled, no longer concealing his derision.

  Jan Adaya rose, and his men rose with him. “This is our offer,” he said. “If you do not appear above the valley within the hour after dawn has broken, we will consider our offer refused. If you attack after that, you can consider it an act of war which will force us to aid your enemy.”

  “Why would you do this?” cried Gwineval. “They mean to destroy you!”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps living under their shadow would be little different than living under the shadow of the City. When our agents return from the east, we may learn more. But, in the meantime, I’ll not risk my kingdom to intervene in a quarrel between wizards,” said Jan Adaya, sticking his jaw out and looking inclined to brawl.

  Gwineval shook his head but didn’t do more to inflame the southern lord. He rose and the wizards rose with him. Both groups filed out of the barn, and Jan Adaya led his men down the road to Castle Stargis without another word.

  “Do we accept their offer to camp here?” said Renevos as they watched the departing men.

  “Do we fear treachery from them?” said Otticus.

  “No, I don’t think they’ll betray us. Jan Adaya is pig-headed, but I don’t think he’s that impulsive,” said Gwineval.

  “But if they do intend to avenge years of feeling subjugated by the City, what better way to have their revenge? I think we should withdraw back to where we first met them. We’ll camp outdoors and post a watch,” said Renevos.

  “Fifteen wizards and the obelisk—can we do it?” said Otticus.

  Gwineval turned on him hotly. “We must do it! If we don’t, then who will? If we lose both the east and the south, the City will be choked off. And our best routes for river trade across the veil are through the south. We must hold this realm at all costs.”

  Merit looked over the assembled wizards as the weight of Gwineval’s words sank in. Brannor, leader of the First Circle wizards, did not recoil. His lanky frame rippled with muscles that weren’t lessened by the shadows of his long robe. Merit knew he had trained for years for that moment. He had not been present at the battle of Tor Varnos, and was eager to prove himself. Caetor, aging leader of the Fourth Circle, stood beside Brannor and looked far less certain. His graying mustache twitched with anxiety as he looked between Gwineval and Renevos. Otticus looked as eager as ever. Merit knew he just was very excited about trying his teleportation runes in battle. Renevos looked nervous. He, too, had never seen a battlefield, though his recent quest with Hemlock had proven his mettle in smaller combats. The handful of other wizards stood in the shadows and seemed to be hanging on every word spoken.

  “We will withdraw as Renevos suggests. Otticus, I always find you lingering around the tower when you should be asleep. You will take the first watch,” said Gwineval.

  The short warrior seemed to stand a bit taller upon receiving the order, and Merit thought he looked fearsome in his determination.

  As they left the farm, Merit looked at the abundance of farmland surrounding the road for miles in every direction. It was a bounty that had sustained the City for centuries.

  Gwineval is right. We can’t let DuLoc control this.

  Merit didn’t know what his part in the upcoming battle would be, but he prepared himself to play whatever role he could.

  The night passed without event. Merit stood with Otticus during his watch, but the young warrior wasn’t in the mood to talk. Gwineval took the next watch himself. Merit tried to start a conversation several times, but got the same reaction he had from Otticus—a gruff acknowledgement, and little else.

  “I wish Hemlock were here,” Merit said after a time. As soon as he saw the look of consternation on Gwineval’s face, he immediately regretted saying it, though he knew the wizard shared his sentiment.

  When the first bird song rang out, Gwineval had the wizards up and marching toward Castle Stargis. They marched in the dark for about forty minutes before the deep red of the impending dawn disturbed the dark sky ahead of them.

  After another half hour, Otticus told the group to look above the trees ahead. Merit could barely make out the silhouette of the tapered towers of Castle Stargis in the distance. As they continued to walk for several more minutes, three towers rose before them. They were shaped like frozen drips of water, tapering to a point at the top and flaring steeply down into a broad egg-shaped bottom, met by conventional stone blocks. The tops were painted a bright red and tipped with a gold spire in the shape of a flame.

  “Amazing,” said Merit. Nobody replied.

  Soon, they reached a copse of trees and the road cut through it. Gwineval led them to the edge of the trees. They could see Castle Stargis to their right, though the sun rose directly behind it, making it difficult to see it in detail. The great gates were open.

  “There,” said Gwineval, pointing to some tents at the top of a hill to their left. “It’s Jalis’ campsite. We’ll take Jan Adaya at his word that the rebels are in the valley, below.”

  “The smoke is still rising from their cooking fire,” said Otticus.

  “It’s what you’d expect,” said Gwineval, pointing to Renevos. “Take your men and fan out. We’ll pull Merit up to that campsite and leave him there during the battle.”

  “Can’t we leave him in the woods?” asked Otticus.

  “You are our reserve, Otticus. You will guard him!” snapped Gwineval. “Advance!”

  Merit rarely regretted his lack of a mortal body, but he did in the ensuing moments. A feeling of hopelessness began to weigh on him as he watched his friends marching to face their foes.

  In the distance, the gates of Castle Stargis closed with a gentle thump. Not a soul was seen moving within the Castle or on the
walls. Merit didn’t doubt that many eyes were glued to the scene of the spectacle that was about to unfold, but they were careful to conceal their interest and maintain their air of neutrality.

  They crested the hill and entered the small encampment. There was a cooking fire, several tents, and various sundries like trunks and a great cauldron. A quick search showed the camp to be empty. In the valley below, Merit saw Jalis and the rebel wizards. They were dressed in unusual garb that reminded Merit of the way Hemlock described DuLoc. They wore waistcoats with buttons down the middle and long tails, along with flared pants that looked ill-suited to the rigors of travel.

  The rebel wizards were gathered around a stone golem that stood about ten feet tall. It was simply rendered in the form of a man, though it still managed to look vaguely fearsome despite the lack of detail. Beside the golem was the object they had come to destroy—an obelisk covered with glittering runes and topped with a glowing sphere. Merit immediately noticed something unusual about the obelisk. Everything he had read led him to expect the glow to be red, but it was blue. He wasn’t sure of the meaning of this difference.

  Merit took his eyes off the valley and saw that Gwineval left Otticus and him alone in the camp. He realized Otticus was cursing sharply and continuously.

  Down in the valley, Jalis and the rebels noticed the two groups of tower wizards on the hilltop. They yelled and pointed, and soon formed into a line behind the obelisk and to the side of the golem. In another moment, a shimmering blue shield appeared in front of their position.

  Then a voice reverberated at a deafening volume over the valley, and Merit realized it was Jalis’ voice. “JAN ADAYA! PEOPLE OF THE SOUTH! RISE TO MEET THE INVADERS FROM THE CITY!”

  Merit saw the flicker of blue shields from both friendly flanks, and knew the battle was about to be joined.

  Jalis’ voice rang out once more. “RISE! INVADERS FROM THE CITY!” And, as if to accentuate the point, he conjured a great ball of fire that floated over Castle Stargis.

  A great crackle echoed over the valley and a jagged bolt of lightning hit the rebel shield. It was the signal from Gwineval. Immediately, the tower wizards began to bombard the distant blue shield. Bolts of lightning seared the air, and sheets of fire dripped flames onto the intervening grass as they screamed toward their target and impacted the rebel shield with a massive display of pyrotechnics.

  Then the rebel wizards answered with their own battle magic. All of their fire was directed at Gwineval’s detachment. Merit almost lost his footing as a cacophony of fire, lightning, ice and hail rained on their position. As the smoke and debris cleared, Merit’s spirit leapt as he saw the glittering blue of Gwineval’s shield had endured. Merit looked at Renevos, hoping to see him offering some aid to Gwineval. Instead, he saw Brannor and two other First Circle wizards had left the safety of Renevos’ blue shield and were charging the rebels, tattoos ablaze with magical force that gave the fighting wizards superhuman speed. Merit knew their tattoos would provide limited protection against battle magic, but he marveled at their courage, nonetheless.

  “That should be my charge!” cried Otticus.

  As if in answer, five First Circle battle wizards darted to the side of the rebel position and charged out to intercept Brannor and his two fighters.

  Merit involuntarily covered his head as another round of massive explosions rocked the valley. The rebel shield still looked strong, but Gwineval’s was wavering. Then a massive flash dazzled Merit’s eyes, though they had seemingly become used to the incessant flashes of light. He saw a great bolt of lightning leave Renevos’ position then fork out into six separate bolts as it hit the rebel shield. There was a heartbeat’s worth of silence before the accompanying shockwave shook the valley. Nearby tents collapsed, and Merit feared Castle Stargis itself might crumble to ruins under the force of the blast.

  The castle stood intact, but many of the rebels fell to the ground, although their shield held strong. Merit was shocked to see the rebel protection held. Then he remembered the obelisk that pulsated behind their shield and stood unscathed. All of the rebel wizards regained their footing, save one who lay unmoving. Merit strained to see if Jalis was the one who had fallen, but was unable to identify him.

  Brannor, his men and the rebel fighting wizards joined in the melee. Sword swings and counter swings were exchanged so quickly that Merit could barely track them. Blazing tattoos and screams of exertion abounded, but the outcome remained in doubt.

  Merit saw the terrible snaking of Imperial magic lurching out along the ground from the obelisk. He saw a stout figure beside the stone slab and knew that Jalis himself was directing the runes. The glowing, blue runes advanced toward the fighting wizards in fits and starts, but they came quickly nonetheless.

  Merit knew they had only moments. He tried to yell for Brannor as loudly as he could. What he ended up doing was overheating one of his boilers and causing a great shriek of escaping steam to resound across the grass. But it was enough to get Brannor’s attention, and he noticed the runes approaching. He yelled to his men to disengage and backpedaled in a fighting retreat. One of the tower fighters could not break free from an opponent’s grapple, though. In the next moment, the runes were washing over the unfortunate man. He barely had a moment to cry out before his body erupted with disintegrating flame and his smoldering skeleton fell to the ground.

  Brannor had slain two of the rebel wizards, so his retreat was tenable, though his pace was desperate because of the advance of the runes. A smaller, blue shield appeared behind Brannor. As he and his companion passed through, it solidified and prevented the rebels from advancing. A rebel fighter took a fireball in the face as he struggled against the shield. The remaining rebels retreated to the shelter of the oncoming runes, which deflected additional spells from Renevos.

  “Otticus, the runes will force Renevos to retreat. And Gwineval’s shield is almost down!” cried Merit.

  The young wizard got a wild look in his eye. “I’ll take care of it!” he shouted, and ran off in the direction of Brannor.

  “Otticus!” cried Merit as loudly as his depleted boilers would allow. But it was no use. In the next moment, the strange new tattoos on the young man’s arms flared, and he blinked away. Merit thought his eyes were deceiving him under the constant distraction of explosions and thunderclaps, but he remembered the new teleportation runes. He scanned the battlefield and found Otticus on the far side of the valley. He was near Castle Stargis, and outside the advancing Imperial runes. His tattoos flared again, and he ran down the hill, into the valley and toward the unprotected rebel flank.

  The imperial runes were only fifty yards from Renevos’s shield when Otticus burst into the rebel position. He beheaded two wizards before they knew what had hit them, and soon was engaged with another battle wizard.

  The Imperial runes faltered then faded away. Merit saw Jalis run behind the other rebels in the face of Otticus’ enraged charge. The volleys of rebel magic stopped, and all attacks from Gwineval’s position also halted.

  Merit turned and saw Gwineval step forward near the edge of his shield. He looked like he was weaving something into the ground around him then he stretched his arms aloft. Merit was transfixed as Gwineval’s scaly arms began to quiver, and it seemed like he was having some sort of fit. A great rumbling was the first sign that something unusual was happening. A sudden darkness was the next. Merit could scarcely believe his eyes as he looked skyward and saw an onslaught of dark storm clouds rushing toward their position at an impossible speed.

  Merit gasped.

  Is it possible? Is Gwineval attempting the Defiler’s Wrath spell? But that’s an Imperial spell!

  It was a legendary battle magic spell that had only been cast by the greatest wizards of the past—all descended from the Imperator’s line. According to the books Merit read, Julius had cast it once as had the Imperator himself.

  The great magic came on too quickly for
any additional consideration. The dark clouds that now completely obscured the sun belched out a roiling bolt of white-hot energy at the rebel shield with a ferocity and scale that defied description. The blast tore Merit from his feet and sent him tumbling. Nearby tents flew aloft in the wind, and the great iron cauldron rolled at least twenty feet.

  After a few moments of disorientation, Merit scampered to his feet. The sun was pushing through dispersing darkness above, while below, in the valley, the smooth stone of the obelisk stood unprotected. The rebel wizards around it attempted to gather into some semblance of a formation. Otticus was among them, immediately fighting for his life as he ran in avoidance of rebel battle magic. He disappeared in a blink only to reappear close to Renevos’ shield.

  “Gwineval!” came a cry from Merit’s left. Gwineval was face down on the ground with Caetor attending to him.

  Merit’s concern for Gwineval was mixed with a sudden sense of urgency. “The obelisk!” he cried, but his weakened voice didn’t carry.

  All he could do was watch and hope Renevos understood the dynamics of the situation. In the next moment, it became clear he did.

  Renevos unleashed a bolt of lightning directed at the tip of the obelisk, followed by another, then another. His companions joined him in a ferocious bombardment of the apex of the runic slab. Merit knew the damage they were meting out was prolific, but the obelisk still stood. Worse yet, Jalis was reforming the rebels.

  Just as Merit’s hope gave way to despair, there was a flash. An odd, shrill whine came from the obelisk followed by a shower of sparks. Several rebels were burned by the sparks, and they lost their footing again as the stone slab cracked in two with the force of an earthquake then melted into nothingness in the next instant.

  “NO!” cried the unmistakably piercing voice of Jalis.

  It didn’t take long for Renevos to direct fire and lightning at the prone rebels, but amazingly, they managed to get a shield up in time to protect themselves. Brannor ran toward the retreating rebels, who now numbered only six.

  But Merit noticed something was wrong. The great golem, which had stood motionless during the entire battle, was now moving. It bore dozens of marks from deflected fire and lightning, but seemed no worse for the wear. And it was moving toward the group struggling to care for Gwineval.

  Merit’s boilers were still empty so he could do little more than wave his stubby arms and hope to get someone’s attention. But the next moment, he heard a footfall behind him, and something shoved him to the ground, violently. He managed to roll onto his back, and got a good look at the person who had kicked him down. The man was portly, of medium height, and he wore the same garish waistcoat as the rest of the rebel wizards. His beady eyes, black rimmed glasses and greasy, food-flecked mustache were all too familiar to Merit.

  “Grubbins! Are you mad? You’ll be killed if they find you here!” Merit managed, noticing footprints leading from the great cauldron to where Grubbins now stood.

  “So, the little machine thinks it feels compassion? I’m going to end this charade here and now!” snarled Grubbins, raising a rolling pin over his head. The vengeful wizard smashed Merit over and over again. Although Merit didn’t exactly feel pain, he was conscious of the potentially fragile tether to existence that his body represented. Luckily, his body didn’t seem much affected after several blows.

  “You’re tougher than I thought! I’ll grant you that. But we’ll see how you fare against this knife!”

  Grubbins dropped his rolling pin and pulled a long, thin cooking knife out of his waistcoat. He knelt on Merit’s chest and began piercing his body. Merit instantly knew this damage was more serious. He felt the sensation of steam lines getting cut, and one of his boilers was pierced. Suddenly, Merit’s sight went dark as he heard a momentary buzzing sound all around him.

  He saw—or rather felt—strange movement in the ensuing moments of darkness. First he became aware of a great power surrounding everything, and then three other powers that rested in juxtaposition to it. He realized in an instant that these were the forces of elemental magic—the Maker’s Fire and the earth, air and water that offset it. Above these forces were the chromatic dimensions of light, and the essential forces of life and death. Intermingled with and bordering these were the conceptual entities of speech, numbers and language. His centuries of service in the Wizard Tower gave him a unique perspective on his newfound sensibilities, and left him completely certain of their meaning.

  I’m a wizard!

  Merit’s vision returned in a slow dissolve. He saw Grubbins rising and immediately noticed that his waistcoat was smoldering.

  What happened?

  He had a clue in the next moment when he tried to get up. His body didn’t respond with much more than a few fitful twitches. He knew he was seriously hurt.

  “So, guess I hit something important, there! What’s wrong? Are you paralyzed? Alright, then. Let’s finish it!” said Grubbins, retrieving his knife as he rose.

  Merit’s wonder at realizing he was a wizard, but also paralyzed, instantly gave way to a palpable fear that the next strike from Grubbins might actually kill him. The many years he’d spent with the wizards flashed before him in his mind’s eye. Did he remember any spells?

  All I need is one spell. And it has to have a somatic casting because I can’t speak!

  It came to him as Grubbins straddled his prone body. The rune of repulsion could be traced in the air to achieve a small burst of negative force. And he remembered the movement from one of Gwineval’s recent classes. But would his body respond?

  As Grubbins drew back, Merit managed to gain control of his arm. It moved somewhat erratically, but Merit traced out the rune with his arm as he focused his mind in the elemental realm of air and on the color red.

  Grubbins shrieked as he was thrown twenty feet into the air and flew back, out of Merit’s field of view. Moments later, Merit heard Grubbins land on the ground with a hard thump, and he thought he heard the snap of a bone. Grubbins howled.

  “Impossible! You can’t use magic! You’re just… just… It can’t be!”

  Then Merit heard retreating footsteps breaking into a run. He’d managed to scare Grubbins off.

  Merit lay for several more minutes. He heard some sporadic battle magic in the distance, and many shouts that sounded like they came from where Gwineval had fallen.

  Merit tried to rise again several times, unsuccessfully. Though he regained a modest level of control over his body, he still lacked the strength to fully rise. And, every so often, his vision would fade to black again, only to return gradually a few moments later.

  He heard someone approaching.

  “Merit!” cried Otticus, leaning over him. “Are you okay?”

  “Hurt,” Merit managed.

  Otticus looked around and got an angry look on his face. “I see a rebel wizard making for the tree line. Did he do this to you?”

  “Let him go,” Merit wheezed.

  Otticus looked crestfallen. “Why? He nearly killed you by the look of it. I’ll make him pay!”

  “No!” Merit said more forcefully.

  Otticus seemed momentarily subdued by the remark.

  “Gwineval?” Merit asked.

  “He’s hurt really bad. Did you see that spell he cast? What was that? I’ve never seen anything like it! But he hurt himself doing it.”

  “The golem?”

  “We destroyed it—just in time.”

  “Jalis?”

  “Escaped! Renevos pulled us back to deal with the golem.”

  Merit reclined on the ground, content in the knowledge that their mission had been a success. Jalis was still alive—but so was Gwineval.

  They’ll be able to heal him. They always do.

  Then he remembered what he had read about the Defiler’s Wrath spell, and the effect it had on Julius after he cast it for the first time. It had started his descent toward the dark path hi
s father, the Imperator, had walked. Merit tried to assure himself that Gwineval would resist whatever the long term effects of the spell would be, but a shadow of doubt lingered despite his best efforts to ignore it.