Hemlock And The Dread Sorceress (Book 3)

by B Throwsnaill

  “Nonsense!” shouted the Old Mother.

  “Be quiet! I’m negotiating for your life,” chided Hemlock.

  “You see magic? Tell me how this looks!” taunted the demon. It extended its arms and a burst of magic flame erupted around it. The flames were contained by the web of spells that surrounded the demon, but more than a few layers of magic were consumed in the process.

  “Another burst like that, and I’ll take you down!” said Hemlock.

  “I’ll kill the old woman,” said the demon.

  “Wait! No!” cried the Old Mother. Boris bolted for the door, but Tored was quicker than the large man anticipated and more powerful than he expected. Tored landed a well-placed blow with a closed fist, and the large man buckled to the floor, gasping.

  “Let him go, Tored,” said Hemlock.

  “Yes, Tored. Let him go,” said the Old Mother. “Let me go as well. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your face. You sought out my help once, and now I demand a chance to live!”

  Hemlock looked back and forth between Tored, the Old Mother and the demon.

  The demon chuckled softly.

  “We don’t have time for this. Old Mother, use your soul bond to draw strength from the demon. We have to slay it!” said Hemlock.

  “No!” cried the Old Mother, but Hemlock was already leaping toward the demon. She vaulted upwards and kicked with both of her legs as her sabres bit into and tore the deep red flesh near its neck. Her kick propelled her backwards as the demon unleashed another volley of fire. This time, the fire burst through the spells woven by the Old Mother and traveled along the soul binding link between her and the demon. The crone cried out for a moment before her body crumpled and burst into flame.

  “Damn!” muttered Hemlock.

  The demon was loose and charging at Hemlock. Tored interrupted its advance with a spear thrust that tore into its muscular shoulder, splattering the warrior with dark, scalding blood. Tored screamed as his clothes burned off, failing to protect the vulnerable flesh beneath. But the aged warrior held his ground as the demon turned to face him.

  Hemlock circled behind the beast and hamstrung it with two heavy blows to its leg. The demon howled in pain and stumbled toward Tored. Tored wounded its side with another strike from his spear, but had to give way in the face of the sheer bulk of the creature.

  The demon reached the wall and lifted one of the makeshift bookcases, sending books tumbling to the floor. With a roar that shook the chamber, it threw the twenty foot span of heavy timber at Tored. Tored turned aside in a running jump but the rack was too large for him to avoid. Part of the wooden rack struck him in the back and head as it hit the floor and shattered, covering the warrior.

  Hemlock was horrified by the fate of her friend as the demon moved to the next rack and threw it at her. She darted to the side in time to avoid the heavy wood and flying books. Leaping over the remnants of the last ruined rack, she hoped against hope to see movement that would indicate Tored still lived.

  The demon rotated to the next rack and hurled it violently. Hemlock was able to leap over the pit and get to the rear wall as the demon continued to hurl bookshelves at her. The floor became treacherously littered with broken timber.

  She ran to the shelter of a still-standing shelf as the demon hurled another one toward her previous location. She charged the demon, but a leap onto a broken timber went awry when the impact of another rack moved her intended landing point. She was forced to tumble awkwardly to the ground, hitting her head on another plank that fell unexpectedly in her path. Bloodied and feeling slightly woozy, she crouched as the crashing of wood betrayed the charge of the demon.

  She heard a man groan from under the pile of debris as the demon approached her.

  Tored lives!

  The demon was on her in the next instant, filling the air with fragments of exploding wood as it flailed with a terrible rage.

  Tored’s peril triggered a part of her that she now feared. A savage feeling of bloodlust consumed her and she no longer had any doubt or hesitation. All her thoughts were directed toward inflicting pain on her enemy.

  The demon continued to charge her in a rage, but time slowed down for Hemlock as a supernatural strength infused her. There was the beast towering over her, mere steps from rending her limb from limb, but she was eerily calm. She effortlessly lifted an eight foot board that was six inches square and had been broken at the end, leaving a cruelly sharpened extremity. In less than a second, she had placed the board to accept the charge of the unwitting demon.

  The beast’s momentum was so great that it impaled itself through the abdomen and fell heavily to the floor in an explosion of bloody gore. Hemlock calmly leapt to the side, but the burning red ochre covered her. The viscous fluid got in her eyes and clouded her vision. In that darkness, a familiar vision seemed to surface. It was a great, black, leathery wing stretching into flight. Hemlock used her cloak to wipe the burning liquid from her eyes and then the rest of her. Mercifully, the vision faded quickly and her normal sight returned. She had managed to clear the vile blood from her eyes before it did serious damage.

  “All debts come due eventually,” said a voice in her head. She thought it was Safreon’s voice. She struck her head in an attempt to reset her bearings as she took stock of the situation. The demon was still struggling, though it appeared to be mortally wounded, and its midsection was slowly melting into crimson goo.

  Suddenly, she felt a force impact her, but it wasn’t a physical force. She had a sudden, sharp headache. Her head pounded, and the demon’s voice whispered to her from inside her mind.

  Yes, you’ll do fine.

  She began to swoon, and a strange tingling sensation started in her fingertips.

  “Oh no you don’t!” she cried, regaining her footing.

  With an act of sheer will, she thought of her mental communications with the griffin and compared it to what she now felt. She was able to perceive the magical channel through which the demon was reaching out to her, and she directed her will along that channel, lashing out with something like a mental shout.

  She felt the force leave her mind as the demon howled with rage and tried, unsuccessfully, to rise.

  “Tored!” she shouted over the crackle of flames from wood that burned all around her.

  “Here!” he shouted, sounding stronger than she’d expected.

  She was by his side in an instant.

  “The boards—too heavy!” He coughed as smoke started to fill the room. Her burst of strength had not wholly passed and she tossed the pile of thick planks aside with some effort.

  “Can you walk?” she asked.

  “My leg is broken, but I think I can manage.” He cried out in agony as he tried to rise.

  She helped him up as the room became an inferno. Miraculously, the path to the stairs was clear.

  “Hemlock!” cried a familiar, youthful voice from behind.

  She turned, still supporting Tored. There, under several planks and still chained to the floor was Jasper, the thief. “Help me!” he cried.

  But Hemlock sensed that a change had come over Jasper. His aura was decidedly different, more powerful and more sinister.

  “Can we save him?” shouted Tored over the din of the fire.

  “No. And it’s just as well,” said Hemlock.

  “Hemlock!” cried Jasper. “Something’s happened to me. There’s a voice in my head. It says to tell you that I’m still me even though it’s in me now. Hemlock, I don’t want to burn alive. Please! I want to see my mum again. Hemlock!”

  Hemlock set Tored against the standing remnants of a bookshelf.

  “I’m sorry, Jasper,” she shouted. Kneeling, she picked up Tored’s spear and cast it at the adolescent. Her aim was true and it struck him between the chest and the shoulder blade, killing him instantly.

  There was a great howl, then. As Hemlock helped Tored up the stairs, she saw a deep red cloud of energy leave Jasper’s body. Drawn into the pit, the red light—som
ehow visible despite the fire—drew in upon itself and receded with a pop.

  “He died like a warrior—struck from above and over the shoulder. It was an honorable blow,” grunted Tored as they climbed away from the conflagration below.

  “He was just a stupid kid,” said Hemlock.

  “Fate is often unkind, but you eased his passing.”

  “Thanks.”

  They were met on the street by a fire brigade and a detachment of the watch. Hemlock explained what happened as Tored was placed on a litter, against his will, and returned to their apartment where Mercuria’s healing powers awaited.

  There was no sign of Boris at the scene. Hemlock did not subsequently seek him out, suspecting that he was, more likely than not, an unwitting pawn in the misguided schemes of the Old Mother.

  All debts come due eventually.

  The phrase echoed in her mind as she considered the motives of the Old Mother and the recurring dark vision of a dragon that she continued to experience.

  A deputy wanted her to report the incident to the Senate but Hemlock refused. Her recent authority, and the force of her spirit, prevented the deputy from daring an attempt to detain her. But she did give a full accounting of the tale, twice, and with many witnesses present.

  Gwineval will blame me for this, no doubt. The sooner we leave the City, the better.

  When she arrived at their apartment, Mercuria had already treated Tored, and he was resting quietly. She entered his room and pulled up a chair before he could offer any resistance.

  “Hemlock, he should rest,” cautioned Mercuria, looking weary from the process of healing.

  “So should you. Leave us,” said Hemlock.

  Mercuria looked puzzled, but complied.

  “So…” said Hemlock.

  “Yes?” said Tored.

  “The Old Mother knew you. How?”

  Tored shifted in bed as if to create distance, but then turned back to face her. “It is probably best that you know the truth, though it is a point of great shame for me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Remember when I visited the City before we left on our quest to disconnect the Witch Crags from the City?”

  “Yes.”

  “The problems between Taros Sundar and Umra Vyle were already boiling over during our journey to the City. I could tell that Umra Vyle had something planned, and he intended to move on Taros Sundar. It was only a matter of time. As you saw, I couldn’t get through to the boy. He remained oblivious to the threat.

  “When we reached the City, I despaired and confided in a friend who lived here. He knew of the Old Mother and her magical abilities. I met with her in secret and asked her for a spell that would rid me of Umra Vyle. She gave me a potion that would summon a beast to kill the man who drank it. I emptied that potion into Umra Vyle’s waterskin.”

  “The rainbow cat!” said Hemlock.

  “Yes. My hands are stained with the blood of my comrades in arms because I couldn’t accept that my adopted house would be dishonored by Umra Vyle. My vanity and pride has brought more shame upon me and that house than Umra Vyle ever could have.”

  “Now I understand why you got so distant. I wish you would have come to me first.”

  “We didn’t know each other as well, then. And I was so set upon my course that it may not have mattered if we did. I’ve been a fool, Hemlock.”

  Hemlock grasped his hand. “We’re all foolish, sometimes. We both have wielded power and made bad decisions. We have this in common, you and I. You have to pull yourself together. If you give up, it means I should too. I’ve got a lot of blood on my hands.”

  “But you’re young, Hemlock. Youthful indiscretions are more easily forgiven by those that sit in judgment and also by the harshest judge of all—ourselves. But I am an old man, fully formed and with a lifetime of experience. Yet, I still made this terrible error in judgment. I have to be honest with you, I no longer trust myself. I will understand if you choose to part ways with me.”

  “Are you kidding? Do you see me overflowing with friends? I’ve got my sister, Merit and you. That’s about it. If you can’t forgive yourself for your own sake, please do it for my sake. I need you at your full powers and fully focused. We still have to face DuLoc, after all.”

  “My spear will always be at your command. But council—maybe you should seek that elsewhere.”

  “Nonsense. I trust you above all others. And I’m not leaving your bedside until you forgive yourself.”

  “That will be a long wait. I can’t promise that, Hemlock. I won’t lie to you. I may never forgive myself.”

  “Well, you’re going to be a barrel of laughs on this trip, aren’t you? Seriously, just work through it. Talk to me. Talk to Mercuria, even. You seem to get along with her.”

  “I won’t burden her with this.”

  “She’d want to know, Tored.”

  “Please don’t tell her. If I decide to do so, I’d like it to be my decision.”

  “Fair enough. Now, rest up and try to put this out of your mind. We have another quest to begin come morning.”

  “I will try.”

  “One last thing. Does this have anything to do with the ghost of Umra Vyle?”

  “I think so, yes. His malice, combined with my guilt, probably allowed his spirit to bind with me.”

  “So you’ll continue to be haunted by him?”

  “Unless I am able to forgive myself—which is very unlikely. This is another reason why I think you should reconsider traveling with me.”

  “No way. We’ll deal with this ghost. Together.”

  Chapter Three

  Hemlock, Tored and Mercuria walked together in the crisp morning air as the sun, still low in the morning sky, cast long and ominous shadows.

  “So, Hemlock, I didn’t realize we were literally walking back to find Mother,” Mercuria quipped.

  “I wish we could,” said Hemlock, “but our home world won’t intersect the City for a few more years.”

  As soon as she said this, Hemlock regretted it. Since she was the only one who could perceive the movements of the worlds through the great void, she disliked bringing attention to her ability. It made her feel different and strange, even though her other unusual abilities didn’t affect her that way.

  Hemlock still hadn’t discussed the matter of Falignus with Tored or her sister. She had been waiting for an opportune time, but none had presented itself, so far.

  Now is the time.

  “Look, I need to tell you both something. There’s another thing I’m hoping to do on this trip. I’ve sensed that Falignus is still alive and living on the same world as Mother. I plan to try to bring him back to the City to help us fight DuLoc.”

  “Do you think that’s wise?” asked Tored.

  “Falignus is still alive? The man was a monster!” cried Mercuria.

  “No, he wasn’t a monster. I…I’m not sure what he is now, but I hope to find him and see if he’s still…a man.”

  “Assuming that he is, how do you know that he will help you against DuLoc? Remember, he’s descended from the line of the ancient Imperator. We’ve all listened to Merit’s histories. He is your mortal enemy by blood, isn’t he?” said Tored.

  “Our relationship was complex. He believes in something I don’t. We both want to help people, but he believes in helping people by controlling them. I believe in helping them to help themselves. But I’m sure he would disapprove of DuLoc wanting to control and harm people. He will help us—if he’s able to.”

  “Do you still have feelings for him?” asked Mercuria.

  “I don’t know,” replied Hemlock, realizing it was a lie only after she had finished speaking.

  “Is that what this trip has really been about all along? I thought you were finally focusing on your family over your work. Now I realize this is just more of the same, Hemlock. It just so happens that Mother is on the same world. Otherwise, you’d be searching for Falignus and leaving Mother and me to fend
for ourselves.”

  “That’s not true! I became certain about Falignus only after we decided to go. I wanted to do something to make you happy and I need to resolve things between Mother and me.”

  “I’m not buying it, Hemlock. I know you too well,” said Mercuria.

  Hemlock couldn’t muster the strength to argue any further. Plus, she had a sinking feeling that her sister’s accusation might have been closer to the mark than she wanted to accept.

  “How can four of us travel back on Penelope? I understand that she will struggle to take three between the worlds,” said Tored.

  “I have a plan for that. Just wait a few minutes and you’ll understand.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of controlling people?” said Mercuria.

  Hemlock was content to let the question remain unacknowledged.

  The trio walked in silence. Hemlock directed them toward a small bluff that overlooked the City. The white-washed buildings of the Elite district were pretty in the glow of dawn, looking even more clean and perfect in the sanctity of the morning light. She felt a pang of guilt because she hadn’t accomplished more to alleviate the poverty of the Warrens in recent months. But she had grown tired of politics and found the issues underlying the poverty were more complex than she’d anticipated.

  I’ll put that all behind me for now. We are leaving for a while. These problems will be here when we get back, and we’ll solve them then.

  “Look,” said Mercuria without enthusiasm as the graceful form of the approaching griffin was cast in a stark outline as it flew from the top of the distant Wizard Tower. Hemlock considered going to the tower to meet Penelope, but fear of another stressful encounter with Gwineval dissuaded her from that. She’d asked Merit to deliver a message to the griffin for her instead.

  The trio was transfixed by the sight of Penelope’s approach.

  “There’s someone on Penelope’s back,” said Tored.

  “Good eyes for an old man,” said Hemlock.” It’s Renevos. He’s come to see us off.”

  A few more minutes passed before the griffin landed softly on the hillside. Renevos, looking more disheveled than usual after the short flight, made a clumsy dismount then bowed in greeting. Hemlock was used to seeing the wizard, but something had changed about his appearance as of late. Since he had returned from the quest to the Witch Crags and taken his place on the Wizard Council, he began wearing his beard braided. It seemed to be an unusual point of pride for the old wizard, even though the remainder of his appearance did not benefit from a similar focus.