Hemlock And The Wizard Tower (Book 1)

by B Throwsnaill

  Tored moved back to the crest of the hilltop and all of the group who had heard his words seemed to reflect on them, excepting perhaps Safreon, who glanced at the other group members to assess their state of mind.

  Hemlock wasn’t concerned in the least about the impending battle. It seemed to her that winning the friendship of the Tanna Varrans could help her and Safreon in their struggle against the Wizard Guild. She felt sure that Gwineval sensed this as well, although he evidently was not entirely comfortable with it. She still suspected his motives and wondered at Safreon’s faith in the strange Wizard.

  Tored approached again and the group reassembled in a tight circle. Merit was included in the circle, although everyone seemed to understand that he would not be a direct participant in the battle. Still, he wanted to be included.

  "Have you all considered one final time whether to attack the Mathi?" asked Tored.

  Safreon and Hemlock voiced their agreement and nodded affirmatively. Tored looked at Taros Ranvok and he nodded as well. Gwineval gave a quick grunt of assent, eyes downcast.

  Merit spoke haltingly. "The cause seems just, although I am concerned for my friends."

  "Well spoken, Merit. It seems that the choice is made," said Tored. He turned and motioned for the group to follow.

  Merit began to move and Tored, hearing the mechanics of his small legs, turned and gently motioned for him to remain. The gnome stopped with a small whistle from one of his steam operated pistons. Whether this was a coincidence or some expression of emotion on the part of the spirit of the man trapped inside the mechanical body was not.

  The remaining group reached the summit of the hill, where Tored and Taros Ranvok halted.

  Hemlock noted the obelisk in the distance, and the sight of it confirmed everything that Taros Ranvok had told her about it. It had the same appearance as the other obelisk that she had seen: black and smooth on one side and serrated like a cruel scimitar on the other. The hum of power emanating from this obelisk seemed less powerful than the other one that they had seen. She saw some wisps of light being drawn into the obelisk, but they were clearly fewer in comparison to the earlier obelisk.

  "I’m sorry that we cannot fight beside you, friends, but we cannot violate the pact made by our forefathers and the Witches, as we discussed," said Taros Ranvok.

  "We understand. How do you recommend that we engage the beast?" asked Safreon.

  "It sleeps in the caves near the obelisk. We would approach quietly and startle it with a loud call. That should flush it out from the caves," responded Tored.

  The trio slowly began to move out onto the rocky hilltop.

  "This is not our battle Safreon," hissed Gwineval.

  Hemlock saw Safreon stop and turn to Gwineval. She approached to within earshot since they were keeping their voices low.

  "This is not the time for debate," responded Safreon.

  "You realize that the wizards may interpret this as another betrayal by me."

  "Yes, we discussed this. You will say that you went along to further your research on the Wand. They will believe you."

  "I still don’t like this. We didn’t need to do this."

  "Is it not just?" asked Safreon pointedly.

  Gwineval did not respond, but turned away and began moving toward the obelisk again. Safreon and Hemlock turned as well and fanned out to regain some space between them.

  As they got closer to the obelisk, Hemlock noted with disgust that when a wisp of light was drawn over the stone edifice, it seemed to be tortured by the sharp edges of the cruder side. This serrated surface sliced into the balls of light as they moved against it, reducing them to small, darting beams which still struggled to escape, but were drawn back toward the cruel stone. Finally, the smooth black side seemed to absorb the rays of ghostly light with a crackle of electrical energy.

  Hemlock averted her eyes and tried to block out the magical patterns of the obelisk, which her affinity was mapping out, once again, in her mind.

  Soon they were all crouched in positions near a crevasse which yawned before them, directly between them and the obelisk.

  Safreon motioned that he would crawl up to the crevasse first. His visage was cast in shadow, as if the obelisk were emitting a radius of unnatural darkness.

  Suddenly a dark blur erupted before them and a familiar, hollow bird-like cry rang over the hilltop.

  The Mathi had awakened and surprised them all! Hemlock felt the renewed weight of the terrible creature’s power in her mind as it soared above them. She wanted to cower against the cold rock and hide. The darkness of the Mathi was weighing on her consciousness and she doubted that many would have been able to resist that overbearing weight without fleeing in terror.

  But Hemlock and her companions were not common people, they were two of the deadliest rogues in the City and one of its foremost wizards. Their wills were tested, but not broken and they sprung into action after just a moment of surprise.

  Hemlock deployed her Tanna Varran wings and launched into the air with her two sabres already drawn, stretched out before her.

  Safreon and Gwineval joined her and they surged above the Mathi, even as it beat its great wings to gain altitude in response. Hemlock could tell that the Mathi was accustomed to aerial combat, for it quickly matched the speed of Safreon as he broke outward from the group.

  Surging once more, Hemlock was able to make a flying pass on the creature and rake its back with her sabres. Though they were light weapons, the Tanna Varran enchantment magic that they were now endowed with made them feel as effective as a great broad sword against the darkness of the Mathi. As her blades slashed along the dark form, they left gullies of empty space in their wake, dissipating the force of the dark body. Some of this dark energy splattered on Hemlock, burning her skin where it hit her.

  Enraged, the Mathi turned in mid-air and breathed its fetid weapon at Hemlock, nearly engulfing her in a conical cloud of darkness. But Hemlock reacted just in time and willed herself to surge forward; her wings responded instantly by launching her several hundred feet away and well clear of the breath.

  Hemlock soared in a wide turn to make another pass, trying to orient herself with the path of the Mathi.

  Fighting in the air was still new to her and she worried about her companions, who were less skilled with the wings than herself.

  Safreon had managed to gain some distance from the creature and was turning for an attack, bearing one of the Tanna Varran spears.

  Gwineval was flying slowly below the Mathi, and as Hemlock watched, he fired beams of searing white light from his hands. He was using a different spell than he had in their first encounter with the beast; he had developed it after speaking with some of the more magically inclined of the Tanna Varran band.

  The Mathi screamed as the white beams impacted its body, although Gwineval struggled to maintain his aim as the Mathi turned suddenly and flew toward him. Gwineval was forced to halt the beams and concentrate on his flying again; changing course rapidly in an attempt to avoid the advancing Mathi.

  Hemlock called on her wings to surge again to engage the creature before it reached Gwineval.

  As she approached, Safreon dove from above in another attack on the Mathi.

  The Mathi was aware of him, however, and as Safreon neared, it drew up with a great flap of its wings and swiped a wicked claw at him. Safreon was forced into an evasive turn, stressing his wings. He lost control and began to fall for an instant before regaining control.

  The Mathi took advantage of this opening, breathing its dark energy at Safreon.

  Safreon flew away with a burst, but his right arm was covered in the foul, black mist. His features were contorted in agony.

  "Safreon, make for the ground!" Hemlock exclaimed.

  The Mathi, sensing Safreon’s wound, beat its wings strongly in pursuit, but was stopped short as a pulsing white net suddenly enclosed it, ending in a rope-like bolt of energy extending back to Gwineval. Gwineval held the beast back with s
upernatural strength, though he struggled greatly with the effort and his flight was erratic.

  Hemlock did not hesitate as she flew toward the Mathi, noting with some relief that Safreon had managed a rough landing on the hilltop near the obelisk.

  She knew she needed to kill the Mathi quickly, for Safreon might not be able to defend himself in his wounded state.

  As she approached the beast, she reached that stillness of the spirit which always preceded her most violent outbursts.

  Hemlock reached the front of the creature and pulled up sharply with her wings.

  Though it was constrained, the Mathi was not helpless, and struck out at her from within the net of energy. She avoided the clawing strikes with small bursts from her wings, and began stabbing at the creature between the holes of the magical net. She noticed that her blade accidently strayed against the net and it offered no resistance.

  She disregarded the intervening magical net and began to swing her sabres with great speed through the arms, head and torso of the Mathi. It continued to struggle, but with each slash, it seemed to lose energy.

  Hemlock’s face and arms burned as she was covered with rivulets of black energy, which sprayed from the creature’s wounds like blood.

  It tried to breathe on her again, but with little force.

  Hemlock surged and struck, swinging away from her body and rotating the sabres in her wrists repeatedly. She sensed that her wings were losing power, but still she continued.

  Gwineval’s magical net finally dissipated, but under the force of Hemlock’s attacks, the Mathi was losing a coherent form. Within the remains of its huge, dark torso, Hemlock began to discern a smaller, man-like shape in the outer darkness. This inner being was writhing in pain, eyes and mouth visible in a glowing, dull red.

  Hemlock pressed her attack as the Mathi began to fall. Gwineval flew near the melee, but so great was the speed and force of Hemlock’s attack, that he did not enter the fray.

  She slashed the beast over and over with renewed ferocity as it fell.

  The man-like form was all that was left of it now, and as it fell, Hemlock soared and turned, trying to strike out at it.

  Still alive and struggling, the dark form of the Mathi, now diminished, struck the hilltop with great force, causing the earth to tremble, seemingly for miles.

  Hemlock and Gwineval landed beside it.

  The Mathi moved low and quickly as it scrambled for the cave from which it had ambushed them.

  Hemlock proved to be too quick for the beast, however.

  Wherever it dashed, she met it there and raked its body with a ferocious slash.

  Soon, the Mathi was unable to move and lay dissipating on the rock of the hilltop.

  Hemlock was poised over the dark form, which still had a presence of great malice, even in its helplessness.

  Safreon approached. He was clearly in great pain, but was still able to walk. Gwineval supported him as Hemlock was poised to finish the Mathi.

  "Hemlock, stop. I will bear the burden of slaying the beast," said Safreon, pushing off Gwineval’s help and striding forward with the Tanna Varran spear which he still grasped with his left hand.

  "Believe me, it is no burden," responded Hemlock, and before Safreon could intervene, she slashed the Mathi with her rapiers one final time. With an echoing cry, it dissipated completely.

  "Hemlock!" Safreon yelled weakly. He dropped the spear and grasped her violently.

  "Haven’t I taught you anything? Don’t you understand the burden that you will bear for the rest of your life when you kill? Never rejoice in a kill, it will weigh on you over the years and be an even heavier burden!"

  "That thing almost killed you, Safreon! I feel no sympathy or guilt. I’m sorry but I don’t!" Hemlock screamed in response and looked angrily at his hand which still grasped hers. But she did not struggle.

  Safreon let go of her like one would cast off garbage, and he glared at her.

  Suddenly, the group was distracted by light near the rocky ground at the point of the Mathi’s passing. A pale light was forming there. At once, a bright point of light rose unerringly skyward and bolted into the stars above.

  "So passes Bradrun," said Tored loudly and looking skyward. The Tanna Varrans had approached but had remained around thirty feet away.

  After a moment, the Tanna Varrans came closer and tended to Safreon and Hemlock with a salve. The salve eased the many spots where Hemlock’s skin still burned from contact with the darkness of the Mathi.

  Safreon was laid down on the rock and tended by several Tanna Varrans, including Tored.

  Hemlock and Gwineval stood at a distance observing, feeling that Safreon was in capable hands.

  Taros Ranvok approached Hemlock.

  "How bad is he?" asked Hemlock.

  "His right arm was burned badly by the Mathi’s breath. He is developing a fever and he will be sick for a while. The Mathi’s breath has killed many of our people according to Tored, yet he says that Safreon’s spirit is strong and that he will be ok by the look of it. He’ll need some time to recover."

  "Like I said, this was never our fight," said Gwineval, with a note of scorn in his voice.

  Taros Ranvok regarded Gwineval and Hemlock before responding. "You have acted bravely and we will not forget this. Return with us to our town. Safreon can heal there and then you can return to the City. We should leave this area soon."

  "What’s the hurry?" asked Hemlock.

  "The Witch will soon learn of the passing of her minion. We are close to her Ziggurat now and we should return to the safety of our town."

  Gwineval nodded once and Hemlock agreed. Safreon was borne to the hillside by the Tanna Varrans and once there, a litter was constructed for him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hemlock had knelt between two barrels, which had easily concealed her ten-year-old stature as she had watched the strangest sight that she had ever seen. A boat was sailing up the river, garishly colored, with no oarsmen and only a smallish sail that had flapped uselessly in the slight breeze. Hemlock had wondered at how the boat had glided smoothly through the oncoming current toward the docks as if twenty men had been rowing it. Behind it, two more vessels had entered her view; they had used the same mysterious source of locomotion as the first boat had used.

  A jubilant man dressed in a long, rich yellow robe and wearing a red bandana on his head exited the first boat and approached the local townsfolk. Hemlock heard him asking for a merchant. Behind this man, less ornately adorned men and women began to move on the decks of the boats and loaded carts with goods that they brought up from the cargo holds. Hemlock caught a glimpse of some exotic clocks and other larger items, the likes of which she had never seen. The men and women on the decks all moved with an apprehensive quickness, as if they feared something. Many stole a look back downriver as they moved down a gangplank, pulling carts laden with goods. They hurried into the village, moving in the wake of the yellow-robed man.

  Hemlock waited until the other two boats unloaded their cargo in a similar fashion, and then approached the first boat, which was unmanned, save for one fellow of dim-witted appearance. He was carrying an imposing scimitar tucked into his belt, however, and looked the part of one who had used it.

  As she knelt on the dock, concealed behind two barrels, Hemlock thought back to her stepfather and the strange feral look that had been in his eyes the night before as he had entered her room; Hemlock also recalled how he had beaten her Mother when she had intervened. It made Hemlock physically ill even to think of it. She needed some time away and some time to think. She even considered the possibility that she could start a new life somewhere else, far away from her stepfather.

  After she wrestled her way through a long period of contemplation, she crept up the gangplank and onto the boat, and then skittered down into the hold, easily evading the gaze of the dim-witted watchman.

  It was dark and damp in the hold, lit only by several open portholes. She felt a thrill as she realiz
ed that she was free there in that dark place. She knew that nobody was aware of her presence, and she was content to sit quietly and enjoy that feeling for a while, careless of the world around her.

  After a time, she heard a booming voice that she recognized as the man in the yellow robe, as he concluded his dealings with a local merchant. She also heard the shuffle of feet and the loud clatter of carts being pushed over the staggered planks of the dock.

  "No, my friend, where we return to, you cannot follow–unless you intend to never return to this place," she heard the man in the yellow robe say in response to someone, which he quickly followed with a belly laugh.

  Hemlock considered that remark with some concern, but the pain of recent events was too great for her to reconsider her decision. Yet some part of her protested that she had made a momentous decision when she had decided to board the boat.

  She moved to the rear of the cargo hold as the sailors and laborers descended into the hold and loaded goods from her village into it. Hemlock could see that they had traded for grain, cloth, and even some iron ore. Around her, Hemlock noted barrels and crates of strange objects. Fine weapons were visible there as well as strange tunics and fine robes like many of these men and women on the boat wore. There were also ornate children’s toys. If these were the goods that these men had traded to her village, Hemlock realized what a stir this would cause.

  Suddenly she had a pang of regret: she desperately wanted to see the look in her sister's eyes when she saw these wondrous toys. She thought fondly of her younger sister, and then an image entered her mind uninvited; an image of the animalistic look in her stepfather's eyes directed toward her sister. Hemlock shuddered at the thought. Almost crying out, she leapt up and began to run for the ramp leading up to the deck, heedless of the danger of being detected by the strange crew of the vessel.

  "Hemlock!" a voice whispered to her urgently.

  Hemlock quickly ducked behind a crate and turned toward the voice. Sitting behind a barrel near the exit from the hold, with one of the oddly crafted toys in her hand, was her young sister. Hemlock thought that she had never seen something as beautiful as her sister was to her in that moment, even clothed as she was in a coarse and dirty tunic. Her sister’s hair was blond and curly; her eyes were blue and innocent, framed as they were in a face of flawless skin. The look of unbridled joy in her sister's eyes made Hemlock's heart swell.