Hemlock And The Wizard Tower (Book 1)

by B Throwsnaill

  "Last night was just a glimpse of another life that we could have had, if this world wasn't so ugly and full of pain," she said.

  "It can be more than a glimpse. That was a foreshadowing of the life that we can build together," he insisted, spreading his arms wide.

  Again she shook her head. "I’m sorry."

  She felt his eyes on her as she walked to the door and let herself out.

  …

  Siros gazed out over the valley below, watching nervously as several units of Tanna Varran lancers moved along the valley floor, moving in and out of the trees in the wooded terrain. He had recently returned from the Wizard Tower, still reeling from his tense meeting with Falignus, and was fulfilling his resupply mission for the front line units.

  He felt somewhat overmatched by his new responsibilities as commander of the field units of the First Circle. He knew that he was a good leader of men, and felt very confident in that regard, but the tactical and strategic decisions caused him great worry and sometimes panic. He secretly wished that he could be demoted, but he didn't feel that Falignus would ever have faith in him again if he expressed this sentiment.

  Siros' body still felt like it was being pricked by pins and needles–a sensation resulting from his recent teleportation from the Wizard Tower.

  Another teleporting brass cage had been built by the wizards at a great cost of time, manpower and magic. Teleportation was essential to the command and control of remote operations and logistics, and therefore its construction had been a priority after Gwineval and his companions had commandeered the original. Siros wished that they were able to build more of the odd devices, but the cost was simply too great, given the many responsibilities of the wizards as the administrators of the Oberon supply in the City, their recent casualties in the battle of Tor Varnos and the pressures of ongoing battles with the Tanna Varrans.

  Siros looked over the First Circle field army, which had been reduced by battle casualties to three platoons. The force was now guarding one of the two remaining Oberon extraction obelisks, this one closest to the small Tanna Varran town of Tor Trios.

  The week before, Siros had led an assault on Tor Trios, but had been repulsed when the Tanna Varrans were able to bring a ballista to bear and prevent him from attacking under the cover of the remaining harvester under his command. He had attempted several long range bombardments of the Town, hoping to set it afire or score a lucky direct hit on the siege engine. Unfortunately for Siros, the process of amplification which the wizards used to achieve the range required made the fireballs employed inaccurate, and the bombardments had been unsuccessful.

  The Tanna Varran units had not attacked lately, but Siros could see that they were clearly on the move and likely preparing an assault. He became increasingly tense as he watched their forces move before him.

  He saw Quilog, his second in command, seem to note his contemplative demeanor and approach to discuss tactics.

  "Sir, I have kept our forces on this hilltop as you ordered," the man reported. Siros noted, with some alarm, how dirty Quilog's wizard robe and red sash were, and how drawn the man's features were.

  We've met our match in these Tanna Varrans, especially since that fiend Gwineval gives them such powerful magic resistance with his accursed counter spells.

  "Distribute some quick rations from the supplies I've brought back. I don't want any of the men leaving their posts though; they must be ready to fight at a moment’s notice," Siros ordered.

  As Siros turned his attention back to the Tanna Varrans moving across the valley, his instincts screamed out to launch an attack.

  The enemy forces were moving closer to the hill adjacent to the one upon which his wizard unit was encamped and which bore the precious harvesting obelisk. The distant hill was slightly smaller than the obelisk hill, and almost two miles away. Siros knew that the Tanna Varran wings would not be able to fly that distance without landing for a recharge. That thought gave him some comfort.

  This is a secure defensive position.

  Still, he felt sure that if he attacked now, the Tanna Varrans would be routed. He envisioned that if he advanced a line of wizards with ranged spells at the ready, that the Tanna Varran units would be caught moving across the wizard's line of fire. It would be a slaughter.

  But the angry words of Falignus played back in Siros' mind. He had been the victim of misdirection more than once, and he feared that Falignus would slay him outright if he made the same mistake again.

  I will stay put this time. But why are they moving to that hill? he wondered with renewed anxiety.

  Several minutes passed as Siros continued to watch the Tanna Varrans on the move.

  On a whim, he turned back to inspect the Oberon obelisk, which pulsed with power. Near the obelisk, laboring wizards directed a series of glass tubes which were joined with a flexible metallic material into a long length; this stretched from the open foot of the nearby Harvester golem into the caverns beneath the obelisk, where the harvested Oberon accumulated. The tubes shone with a dull green which was emitted from the Oberon plants that flowed from the caverns into the waiting harvester. Siros realized, with a start, that his wizards were still loading the harvester and that it was not battle ready.

  "Quilog!" Siros shouted.

  The second in command, who had been directing subordinates in their efforts to distribute rations as ordered, sprinted across the hilltop to Siros.

  "That harvester should be in battle drill!" Siros raged.

  "But Sir, what about the Oberon quota!?" cried Quilog, snapping to attention under the wrathful gaze of the larger and more powerfully built Siros.

  "There'll be no delivery at all if that harvester is destroyed! The Tanna Varrans are on the move!" Siros raged.

  Suddenly a cry of alarm rang out over the hilltop.

  Siros turned and saw that the first units of Tanna Varrans, which had reached the distant hilltop, were launching into flight.

  "Get that harvester prepared for battle!" Siros screamed at Quilog, cuffing the man roughly out of a surprised reverie, and then pushing him off.

  Siros always felt better once a battle started. His anxieties melted away as the fireballs, spears and energy bolts began to fly.

  His stomach and spirits dropped, however, as he realized that the Tanna Varran lancers had not landed between the hills as he had felt sure that they would have had to. They were soaring across the intervening valley and were poised to arrive directly over the hilltop where he stood, in battle formation.

  Siros cursed and looked over the disposition of his wizard units on the hilltop. They were dug in at the lip of the hilltop, ready to repulse an attack from below. If they didn’t reform into squares in the center of the hill, there would be a chance that the Tanna Varrans could rout them.

  "Form up on the obelisk!" Siros shouted as he began to run around the perimeter of the hill. He was shouting and pulling wizards out of their entrenched positions and throwing them toward the obelisk and the harvester as the first Tanna Varran lancers passed overhead, landing directly in the vicinity of the unprepared golem.

  The Tanna Varrans, who were suddenly more numerous than the wizards near the obelisk, killed many of the wizards around it who were still trying to stow the Oberon harvesting equipment.

  Siros joined a group of wizards in a charge directed at the Tanna Varrans near the obelisk. As they met the first unit of lancers, Siros felled three with a burst of lightning from his Staff.

  The tattooed battle mages beside him glowed with power as they charged into the Tanna Varrans, some falling, impaled by the spears of the blue warriors.

  Siros began to realize that things had gone from bad to worse when he saw the great figure of the harvester golem buckle and fall over under the pull of cunning ropes employed by the Tanna Varrans who had taken control of the center of the hilltop.

  The golem lurched in a way that was sickening to Siros, and it fell directly onto the obelisk, causing a great explosion and a shower of m
etal shrapnel, which caused casualties on both sides.

  Siros cursed sharply. The obelisk was destroyed. More Tanna Varrans were flying into the battle, and the remaining wizards were unable to assume their carefully drilled formations which made them so effective in battle.

  Siros remembered the teleportation cage. It had just been used, but Siros recalled ordering it to be recharged upon his arrival. Had that been completed?

  He didn’t know, but he was close to the cage and he decided to find out.

  He fought his way through three more Tanna Varrans before managing to enter the cage. He rang the bell and hoped for the best.

  As the surroundings of the hill melted away, he felt a surge of relief mixed with great shame at abandoning his men. He also felt a terrible fear at how Falignus would react to his defeat.

  …

  Later, in the days following the ball, a wizard came to Hemlock’s door and told her that Falignus had summoned her.

  As she followed the wizard through the tower, she prepared herself for what Falignus might intend to discuss with her. She was feeling some self-loathing for the night of pleasure that she had experienced with him. It felt, to her, like a small betrayal to the memory of Safreon to have conducted herself as she had.

  The words of Samberlin had also had an effect on her, however. She had begun to ponder the concept that there could be compelling, alternate points of view to the moral code of Safreon. But that didn’t change how Hemlock felt about observing and respecting the memory of her mentor, no matter whether his teachings proved to be wholly true or just part of a greater body of truth. She knew that some part of him would always be with her, provided that she did her part to honor his memory.

  Hemlock realized that she was being led to the audience chamber.

  Upon entering, she saw Falignus seated formally in the throne of the head of the Guild. He motioned to her to sit beside him.

  As she did so, Falignus motioned to the wizard who had escorted her. That wizard moved along the length of the hall, exited, and after a few moments escorted a familiar figure though the far entrance.

  Hemlock watched as the wiry senator, Samberlin, walked proudly along the length of the audience chamber. He seemed nonplussed by the elder wizards that were depicted in two ranks of statues that he passed between as he walked. Hemlock thought that it was more than just familiarity with the chamber; pride seemed to ooze out of the man in a palpable way.

  "Samberlin, what an unexpected surprise," Falignus called out loudly and sarcastically. "I've invited Hemlock to sit in on our little chat," he added.

  Samberlin bowed to Hemlock briefly. "The latest shipment of potions was not sufficient."

  "Samberlin, this is a time of war. We must all tighten our belts," Falignus responded lightly, inspecting his fingernails. Looking at Falignus, Hemlock felt that a large portion of his former grace had passed away at some point since she had last seen him. He looked drawn and irritable.

  "Be that as it may, honored sir, we have trouble on our hands now. These last weeks of light shipments have depleted our reserves of potions. We've already cut back on non-critical deliveries to our merchants," Samberlin responded with an acidic tone, his eyes dark and almost feral.

  Falignus made a mocking gesture of sympathy mixed with chagrin in response. "What's a wizard to do? We'll have to tell the people that magic is going to be rationed for a time until the City is safe again. We'll impress an army to join us in battle against Gwineval."

  "I don't think you fully grasp the situation," replied Samberlin. "Your strict control of magic has been unpopular. Certain covert elements have resisted this control. Per your counsel, we've chosen to suppress the nature of this conflict with Gwineval from discussion amongst the people. We can't simply reverse course now without risking an open revolt. It will take weeks upon weeks to condition the people to accept this type of situation, and even then, success would be far from certain. This conflict cannot continue – the risks are too great. You must sue for peace."

  Falignus laughed a shallow laugh which ignited into an angry outburst. "I will never sue for peace with Gwineval! He will be utterly destroyed!"

  "He has control of the Oberon now. Your situation is untenable," responded Samberlin, unrepentant in the face of Falignus' anger.

  Falignus stood with a start and his arms rose above him. Sheets of roiling fire burst forth and encircled Samberlin, crackling dangerously close to the loose fitting tunic which the Senator always wore.

  Samberlin, for his part, retained his impassive look despite the deadly display of force. Hemlock, again, found herself impressed with the old Senator.

  "I have made arrangements, Falignus," Samberlin shouted over the fire. "Were I to meet a mysterious end, certain letters would be opened by various parties. I think it would set off a chain of events you’d find most unfortunate."

  Hemlock could see Falignus struggling with the competing forces of his emotion and his reason. She grasped his arm and he looked down at her sharply, rage and hurt in his eyes.

  Pulling away from Hemlock and looking back at Samberlin, he lowered his arms and the fire dissipated as quickly as it had been conjured.

  "So Samberlin, I refuse your request to sue for peace. Where does that leave us?" Falignus asked coolly, all traces of his former rage suddenly gone.

  Samberlin did not hesitate. "I’m afraid that I must resign as your councilor and partner in policy. I will have to prosecute an inquiry into your conduct and the Oberon supply. I will do what I can to delay or blunt any rash action on the part of the Senate, but I will no longer be able to take these private meetings with you."

  Falignus sighed. "Fine. Fine. Samberlin, I’m curious: do you really feel that this is in your best interest? Do you feel that I will be defeated by Gwineval?"

  "I fear that there are significant risks that you will be defeated, yes; not the least of which is the young woman seated beside you, if I may be so blunt."

  Hemlock was angry at the old Senator, for his words shone with the brilliance of truth. She feared that Falignus would feel the same way–and that he would offer to sever ties with her for fear of losing his alliance with Samberlin.

  She glanced at Falignus, and was relieved to see that he did not appear moved by Samberlin’s analysis.

  "Samberlin, I am troubled by your conclusions, but I can only conclude that you’ve finally lost your edge after all of these years. Gwineval will never defeat me. I’m not even concerned about it," boasted Falignus coyly.

  Samberlin replied with a bow to Hemlock and then a bow to Falignus, which he accented with a theatrical sweep and crack of his robes. The gesture was unmistakably defiant.

  Falignus chuckled as the old Senator withdrew from the Chamber.

  Once Samberlin had gone, Falignus turned to Hemlock. "Ready yourself, for the battle with Gwineval nears. Samberlin doesn’t understand Gwineval like I do. I knew that Gwineval would never confront me until he feels that he understands the Wand and has a clear advantage over us. I suspect that that point is now very close at hand. I’ll admit that the military prowess of this Tored has taken me off guard, but it may actually play into my plans. Now there is only a single Oberon obelisk remaining. It is the only place left to defend… and to attack. It is there that we will soon travel to kill Gwineval."

  Hemlock felt bloodlust surge in her veins. It was an unfamiliar feeling–having been dormant for many days.

  She nodded and stood.

  Falignus rang a bell which sat beside his chair. The attendant wizard returned and escorted Hemlock back to her room.

  As she walked, Hemlock’s mind was dark with a renewed fury at the thought of confronting Gwineval, that seemed more intense than it had been prior to her recent joyful evening. It made the joyful memory of the ball seem even more remote and dreamlike.

  Hemlock lay in her chamber that night and stared at the ceiling. The events of the day had left her uneasy. The exchange between Falignus and Samberlin made her realize how
tenuous her position in the Wizard Tower was. She again contemplated escape, but she felt weak within the Wizard’s force field which surrounded her room and she feared that Falignus would retaliate if he suspected her to be disloyal. She remembered the Wizard’s prison room and the suffering that she had experienced there. It made her feel world weary. With these troubling thoughts in mind, she drifted off to sleep.

  She dreamed strange dreams of other worlds and of Safreon. He appeared in her dream and spoke to her in her old home in the Warrens.

  "I don't know what is happening Hemlock," he said.

  "Safreon, I feel strange, I have great power, yet I'm scared," she responded.

  "Hemlock, I've seen writing in the clouds portending doom," he stated, also seeming scared. This was doubly alarming to her because she had never seen him scared in life–only resigned in the face of danger.

  "Take courage, I've seen no such signs in the sky," she said, in an attempt to reassure him.

  But then he gestured outside, and she walked to the window and looked out and up toward the sky, with some concern. She was relieved to see nothing unusual beyond a pale azure sky filled with luxurious white clouds. As she looked, however, a great black line began to roll slowly across the sky. As the line passed across her view, the blue sky seemed to be engulfed, leaving only a deep black void flickering with stars.

  Hemlock fell to her knees, unable to take her eyes off of the incredible spectacle.

  "SAFREON!" she cried.

  Hemlock somehow knew that a great tempest was engulfing the world, and that it would be only moments before she was swept away in the tumult. Everything faded to a quiet white as she closed her eyes and the black line travelled overhead. She remained conscious in her dream state.

  She experienced a strange force in that whiteness, vast and almost terrible in its power, which washed over her mind in waves of textured purity so sharp that they made her cry out in pain.

  With a start, she awoke in her bed, deeply troubled. She sat up and rested her feet on the wooden planked floor of the room. The sensation of the wood on her feet gave her an odd comfort, although the troubling feel of the dream seemed to linger for several minutes as she again reclined in bed and tried to return to sleep.