Hemlock and the Wizard Tower

by B Throwsnaill

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Hemlock was still lost in thought about the implications of Merit’s tale about Safreon when she realized that the small gnome had finished.

  He looked at her with what Hemlock interpreted as a warm expression.

  And then she saw a curious change come over Merit's features.  In a combination of movements that she hadn't seen him make before, the gears, pistons and levers of his face formed into an expression of unmistakable mirth.  He was smiling.

  Perhaps seeing that makes all of this suffering worthwhile, she thought to herself, bewitched by Merit's simple expression of joy.

  "It has been good to see you again, Miss Hemlock. I must go, now that my mission is complete. Please consider Gwineval’s words, and this tale about Safreon. I am not a great thinker, but I know that it must be important. Farewell."

  Hemlock smiled as Merit quietly left her chamber.

  Hemlock returned to her bed and laid in it uneasily.  The tale that Merit had told her about Safreon troubled her despite her wariness that Gwineval had intended it to do just that.

  What if Gwineval is telling the truth? she wondered over and over in her mind.

  She wasn't aware of a clear transition to sleep, but soon she was conscious of floating over the Wizard Tower, looking down at the City.  It was a clear night and she could see many people still moving about on the streets below her.  She noticed that something was odd about them though.  Concentrating on them, she was able to discern the glint of metal on their limbs.  At first she thought that it was jewelry, but something in their gait was familiar to her.  It was a gait that she had seen often in the past few weeks and as recently as tonight, when Merit had crept into her room to tell his tale.

  "The City is full of automatons!" she gasped.

  She floated higher until she could see the hills of the Witch Crags to the west, the mountains to the East, the fertile farmlands to the south and the barren desert to the North.

  Higher still she floated until she could make out the veil which marked the borders of the outer realms of the City. 

  Beyond the veil, she could see other lands.  Hemlock perceived that they were different than the realms of the City, appearing raw and primordial by comparison.

  She continued to rise, until she saw the course of the City through the lower realms mapped out as a flickering trail.  The trail, traced out in many more than three dimensions, was somehow comprehensible to Hemlock.

  And the form of the trail spoke to her talents of magical affinity in a way that she couldn't express.

  She gasped to herself again.

  Is this what Safreon saw?  Did he know?

  By observing the form of the magical path of the City through the multiverse, Hemlock knew instinctively what the plan of the first Wizard had been when he created the City.  It hadn’t been intended merely as a retreat or a refuge for a reclusive Wizard, it had been meant to be a means to help troubled souls to find the peace of the higher realms of consciousness.

  This realization revealed the treachery perpetrated by the Imperator and the later wizards in its full extent.  They had perverted a land which had been created with the highest sense of moral purpose.  Their actions had transformed the byproduct of an act of compassion by the original Wizard, and had redirected it to a malicious purpose of exploiting the very souls that the City had been devised to aid.

  Hemlock then became conscious of the blood of the first Wizard resonating in her veins.  Somehow she knew that she was descended from his line, although she did not know how this could be possible.

  Her eyes opened.

  She still lay in her bed in a secured chamber in the Wizard Tower, but she knew that she was now a different person than the one that had recently descended into slumber in that very bed.

  …

  When Hemlock rose from her bed the next morning, she felt certain that the events of the night had not been just a dream. She felt different in a subtle, but significant way.

  She did some stretching and exercises, bathed and dressed, following the routine that she had established since her confinement. Then, for want of anything else to do, she sat down to continue reading another book from her bookshelf, which proved to be only a barely adequate relief from her growing boredom.

  Just as she had settled into a state of comfortable distraction, an unexpected early knock came at her door.

  When she answered, instead of Falignus, she saw the doddering Professor Grubbins waiting, peering down his nose and past his circular metal rimmed glasses at her with undisguised contempt.

  "Lord Falignus demands your presence in the audience chamber," he said formally.

  "Well, let's not keep him waiting," Hemlock replied, pushing past the bookish old man roughly.

  As she moved quickly through the halls and down the central stair, Grubbins, who could not match her pace, was shouting behind her, "You cannot travel unescorted!"

  She ignored him and quickly arrived in the audience chamber, entering through the side door used by the wizards, which was accessed by a wide circular stair from the second floor.

  "Ah Hemlock, please sit," instructed Falignus, slightly more aloof than usual to her.

  Hemlock was not surprised that Falignus was reacting to her refusal to remain his lover by distancing himself from her. In fact, she was somewhat relieved that he seemed to be expressing his emotions genuinely. It gave her some hope that he planned to continue to trust her–at least insofar as her purported goal to kill Gwineval aligned with his identical aim.

  Hemlock sat beside him in the row of seating meant for the wizards.

  Falignus rotated in his chair to face her. "The time is ripe to move against Gwineval," he said.

  Hemlock paused for a moment before responding. She realized that she was beginning to feel disconnected from memories of Gwineval–and of Safreon. She had to quickly reassure herself that she could still form a mental image of Safreon's face. Satisfied that she could, she replied, attempting to couch her remarks about revenge against Gwineval with a level of enthusiasm. After last night, she found this was increasingly difficult. "Good, the wait has been interminable."

  "There is now only a single Oberon harvesting obelisk intact, near the border of the Witch Crags. Gwineval will know that we will have to defend it at all costs; he will know that he can cripple us by destroying it. It is a logical site for a final battle between us," said Falignus, fixing Hemlock with a penetrating gaze.

  Hemlock averted her eyes away from his stare, immediately regretting a missed opportunity to appear resolute."It makes sense. When do we leave?"

  Falignus turned away and looked into the hall reflectively.

  "Hemlock, I'm concerned about Gwineval's use of the Wand. I have been studying the properties of the Wand of the Imperator over these weeks. I know that it is very potent, but also seems to require some time to perfect its use. Your old comrade used it to great effect against us in the battle of Tor Varnos."

  "Yes, I think Safreon had the Wand for quite a while–maybe he understood its powers better than Gwineval does," Hemlock said.

  "I can't underestimate Gwineval though–especially after the brilliant campaign that he and the Tanna Varrans have waged against us these past weeks. My commander, Siros, though a bit dull, is reasonably capable. Yet he's been outwitted repeatedly; and more importantly, he’s been outfought by the Tanna Varrans, aided by Gwineval's magic. Gwineval was one of us; he knows our methods of battle. That is an advantage for him. Also, he is a brilliant scholar of magic and also a gifted practitioner. I have some reason to believe that he had done some study on the Wand prior to defecting from the Tower and I fear that, even without the resources of the Tower, he will be able to decipher all of the mysteries of the Wand."

  "I do know that he and Safreon spent a great deal of time discussing the Wand in the days prior to your attack. I think you have reason to be worried. I think Safreon trusted Gwineval," Hemlock offered,
hoping that this would demonstrate her loyalty to him.

  Falignus rose from his ornate chair and strolled into the hall. He turned to face Hemlock.

  "It is possible that I could locate another Wand to oppose him. But it would be risky and it would take time."

  "You know of another Wand?" Hemlock asked, surprised.

  "Each outer region is bound to the City with a Wand. It is possible that I could retrieve one of those. But it would be costly, and those in that region might not... appreciate losing it."

  Hemlock considered this. "Could the City survive without one of the outer regions? Doesn't it need the Witch Crags for Oberon, the farmlands for food and the mountains for resources? But that leaves..."

  "Precisely," replied Falignus.

  "What is the purpose of the desert?"

  "Perhaps I'll explain it to you sometime. Suffice it to say that under certain dire circumstances, it could theoretically be sacrificed."

  Falignus began to pace, looking lost in thought. Hemlock did not interrupt him. Finally, he stopped and faced her, with a hand on his chin and a distant look in his eye.

  "Hemlock, do you have any other observations that might help our cause?" he asked.

  "I'm afraid that I don't," she responded.

  Falignus walked toward her, and reached his arm out as if to help her up. But then he made a quick gesture with his hand and a spray of colored lights burst forth from his palm, enclosing Hemlock in the familiar shimmering magical field which the wizards employed to constrain her powers.

  Hemlock darted upright and attempted to flee, but Falignus restrained her forcibly; her powers of speed and strength were effectively blunted by the magical field.

  "Why are you doing this?" Hemlock asked, still struggling in Falignus’ grasp. She felt that she might be able to overcome the magical field if given enough time. She determined that she would try to buy herself some time by talking. "Is it because of our night together?"

  Falignus’ expression changed from anger to cold amusement. "So, it has come to this, has it? You’ll say anything to try and get free now."

  Hemlock’s heart sank as she realized that he would not be easily fooled. It sank further as she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and then saw other wizards enter the room.

  Falignus retreated into the hall, looking reflective, as she heard magical incantations being muttered by two voices beside her. She saw the muscular brute, Siros, and the winged wizard, Kraven, looming over her. They were strengthening the magical field which enclosed her. Once they had completed their casting, they grasped Hemlock’s arms and forcibly returned her to her chair. She did not resist.

  Falignus strode even farther down the hall and then turned, strode back toward her and regarded her with a sideways glance. "Hemlock, I was uneasy last night and didn’t sleep. As I lay in my bed, I realized that something was troubling me. Earlier in the evening, as I had walked in the lower floors of the Tower, I had seen two of the small mechanical gnomes together. This seemingly minor occurrence is actually highly unusual, and I made a note to mention it to Grubbins today, and thought no more of it.

  But then, laying there, still unable to sleep, it hit me: hadn’t I seen one of these custodian gnomes enter the teleporter with you and Gwineval on the night of our first encounter?"

  Hemlock knew she was in trouble. She started to frantically consider things to say to Falignus. But she knew that it wouldn’t help. She knew that she had lost his confidence.

  "I realized then how clever Gwineval was in taking that insignificant gnome. He clearly must have sent it back to the Tower to bring some message to you. His plan would have worked brilliantly, but for my chance observation," Falignus continued.

  He looked at her and Hemlock did not try to conceal her disappointment and complicity.

  Falignus nodded to himself as he saw the guilt play over her features. "I was encouraged for one reason though. I knew that this would give me a perfect opportunity to determine your loyalty–and at a critical time. So I summoned you here today, hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst, as you can see. Sadly, it seems that you are not loyal to me. But you do have a chance to redeem yourself. Tell me what message the reptile sent–give me information that will defeat him."

  Hemlock decided to tell the truth, since it didn’t seem that it would affect anything. She knew that Falignus would probably not believe her anyway. "The message he sent was nothing that you would understand. It was a story about my friend, Safreon. It was a story of how Safreon’s wife died."

  Falignus’ hands met at his nose and Hemlock noticed that they started to tremble. A rage came over Falignus and he lashed out in her direction, pointing at her violently.

  "So you are telling me that he used this great advantage of his to deliver you a message in secret to tell you a tale of that old fool’s past? Do you expect me to believe that? Hemlock, it’s no secret that I’ve cared for you. I never wanted to hurt you, but if you persist in this pointless deceit, I’ll throw you back in that hope forsaken prison of ours that I’m sure you remember well!"

  A wave of terror came over Hemlock as she considered that prospect. But she controlled it and replied as calmly as she could. "I knew you wouldn’t believe me. It’s the truth though. It’s all I’ve got."

  Falignus looked at her and this time she held his gaze. His eyes were angry but also had a pleading quality to them. When he saw that her expression was set, he shook his head in frustration.

  "We’ll see how forthcoming you will be after a day in that cell," he said darkly. He motioned to Kraven and Siros, who lifted Hemlock roughly from the chair and led her up the stairs and out of the room.

  …

  Gwineval motioned to his nearest accomplice to advance, as he walked through the streets of the Warrens and stopped in the shadows at the corner of a small shop. 

  He noted that the man, as he emerged from the shadows, was wearing a long dark cloak and moving with what Gwineval knew was a practiced air of nonchalance.

  Gwineval hoped that the network of Tanna Varran agents, which Tored had organized over the past weeks, were all mobilizing together at this instant: the hour and minute that had been chosen for the attack on the Wizard Tower.  It was a sleepy night in the Warrens since it was the evening of the first workday after a three day celebration of the Spring holiday of planting.

  It had been several weeks since the battle of Tor Varnos, where Safreon had fallen, Hemlock had been captured, and Gwineval had obtained the Wand of the Imperator.  Since that time, Gwineval had learned that Hemlock might be collaborating with the wizards and more specifically, that she blamed him for Safreon's death. 

  It is an understandable conclusion, he considered, as he saw two more Tanna Varrans cross the street to his left.  Gwineval felt a great deal of guilt for failing to save Safreon, yet he knew, in his heart, that he had not intended for the man to die, or to seize the Wand for himself by force.

  Three nights ago he had sent Merit to infiltrate the Tower and to deliver a message to Hemlock that he hoped she had understood and that he hoped would inspire her to regain her trust in him. Gwineval knew that if Hemlock joined with Falignus, they would be nearly unstoppable.

  The prior night, Gwineval’s agents had observed Falignus and a strong force of wizards leaving the Tower with the unassembled parts for one of their giant Oberon Harvesters, which they had transported on large carts. Gwineval knew that they would assemble the Harvester outside of the City, and then march on the Witch Crags, for what Falignus probably believed would be a final campaign against the Tanna Varrans and Gwineval himself.

  Gwineval felt the reassuring weight of the Tanna Varran wings on his back as he moved forward to a small bakery which was located in the final row of cottages short of the moat which surrounded the Wizard Tower.

  He spotted the man behind him and to his left, and nodded to him. The man began walking across the street, moving into position in the
neighboring block. Gwineval looked to the South and motioned to another figure, which also moved into position.

  Gwineval then looked at the tower, which stood looking darkly majestic and imposing in silhouette against the night sky. It was dimly lit from within, light emanating irregularly from the many heavy glass windows, some of which spanned multiple floors, giving the building a stately appearance. He knew that those windows were magically impervious to nearly everything–stronger than the stone which surrounded them. Looking to the top of the Tower and to the glass atrium, he considered its magical strength as well. His entire plan hinged on a secondary mission that Merit had accomplished three nights ago–unlocking and disabling the wards on the upper doors of the atrium.

  Gwineval knew that Hemlock had not been spotted with Falignus’ departing army. This gave him a great hope that his message had worked and that she would no longer seek revenge against him. But he still had doubts. What if Hemlock had been left in command of the Tower in the absence of Falignus?

  Gwineval grasped the warm length of the Wand firmly. He hoped that he had mastered enough of its secrets to carry him through this night.

  His plan was to take control of the Tower, cast out any Crimson Order sympathizers and then negotiate with the Senate, which had long hoped to one day emerge from under the shadow of the wizards. If his plan succeeded, it would eliminate the supply lines for Falignus’ army. If Falignus stayed in the Witch Crags, the Tanna Varrans were under orders to engage him in hit and run tactics and starve him out. If Falignus returned to the City, he would have to face the combined forces of the wizards loyal to Gwineval and Miara as well as the Senate Knights and the small, but elite fighting unit of Tanna Varrans which now surrounded him, led by their general, Tored, who had no equal on the battlefield, save for the most potent of wizards.

  Gwineval felt secure in his decisions, in this final moment before the attack. He felt sure that the City would be a better place–a place of free magic and free people–if he succeeded. If he failed, perhaps his actions would set an example for those that would come after him. His magically altered features smiled a toothy grin as he considered how completely Safreon’s plans for him had been realized.

  His mind reached out to Safreon. Here I am, about to lead a coup against the Wizard Guild. Congratulations, friend. Maybe I’m just a puppet, and you are still pulling my strings from beyond the grave, but know this–I’m now a willing puppet. I’m sorry that you had to lose your life before I realized how much you meant to me.

  Gwineval stepped into the road that hugged the edge of the Wizard Tower moat. He looked up and down the street and saw a hundred cloaked figures waiting. He knew that one of them was Tored, and this brought him confidence. He wished that their numbers were greater, but the need to remain undetected in the City and the demands of the magical enhancement required for each man to have a chance to survive the attack, had enforced a practical upper limit to the size of the force.

  Gwineval turned back toward the Tower and raised his arms, the Wand showing brightly in his hand. A low shuffling sound behind and beside him told him that the rest of the force had moved into position beside him in a semicircle, hugging the edge of the moat.

  Gwineval closed his eyes and turned inward. As he cast his spell, he interwove it with the flame in the head of the Wand, and he thrilled at the extra power that it gave to his incantation.

  A dull glow sprang from each of the hundred beside Gwineval, enclosing them in a protective haze which had the side effect of making their features difficult to discern.

  His spell now complete, Gwineval cast aside his cloak and unfurled his Tanna Varran wings. He heard the sound of the scores beside him doing the same.

  He looked to his left and right, over the ranks of warriors, who were the finest of the Tanna Varrans. Then he hissed and hoarsely cried, "ATTACK!"