Hemlock And The Dread Sorceress (Book 3)

by B Throwsnaill

  “Yet circumstance suggests there may be one.”

  “This is odd. We never have ghosts in the City.”

  “Remember, Tanna Varra is gone, now. The spirits that linger in this life are no longer drawn there.”

  “Fine, maybe you’re right. But if we don’t find something quick, I think we should come back and go the other way.”

  Hemlock shimmied into the fissure and was followed by Tored. The air was soon sweaty and oppressive, and the twists and turns of the passage made it hard to determine which direction they were going.

  “If this doesn’t widen soon, I think we should turn back,” said Hemlock after several uncomfortable minutes.

  Tored didn’t reply.

  Just as Hemlock felt her reserves of patience running thin, the echoes of their footfalls took on a different character. There was some sort of chamber ahead. Hemlock reached the edge of an opening and thrust her torch through.

  The light revealed an irregular chamber which extended about twenty feet ahead and forty feet above. It widened to ten feet. There was no visible exit.

  “Great…” said Hemlock as Tored joined her in the room.

  But then she noticed a pale light above her. It was about thirty feet up, and seemed to emanate from the rock itself.

  “What do you make of that?” she asked.

  “I’ll check, if you wish,” said Tored, leaving little doubt that he felt she should check.

  “Fine,” she replied, handing him the torch.

  He held it aloft to light her climb up. The face of the rock was rough and the handholds were abundant. In a matter of seconds, she scampered up and saw a roughly circular opening in the rock about three feet in diameter.

  The broad face of the ghost regarded her from deep within the hole. It motioned her forward again.

  “It wants us to follow it into a little tunnel. We’d have to crawl to do it. I don’t like this, Tored. What if the Sorceress sends people into the tunnels behind us? We could never fight our way out of that fissure.”

  “You know my opinion about the spirit. Tell me what to do.”

  “Fine,” she said, convinced that the idea held little merit. But she realized that while their predicament made little tactical sense to her, she felt oddly secure in the decision.

  Tored’s superstitions must be affecting me.

  Soon, they were crawling down the passage with Hemlock in the lead. They crawled on hands and knees then took to a crouching walk when the floor became rough and jagged in spots. It was tiring work after the exertion of their flight up the mountain.

  The passage seemed to be turning to the right, and after several minutes, Hemlock had the impression they turned in the opposite direction from the original path, though she was not at all confident in her sense of direction underground.

  A change in air pressure and sound indicated another open space ahead of them. They reached the edge of the passage where an opening led to a sheer drop, forty feet above a rocky floor. Across from the opening, the regular shape of the cave had been altered by a cave-in. A fifty foot wide space in the ceiling had been opened by the collapse of a great section of rock. The top of the collapsed rock was nearly level with the opening Hemlock looked out from, but was separated by a distance of twenty feet. Above the collapsed section, just at the limits of Hemlock’s torchlight, there appeared to be finished passages on either side. This suggested to Hemlock that the inside of the collapsed section might be hollow—but this was unverifiable from her vantage point.

  “It looks like we’re above that triangular tunnel we saw before,” said Hemlock.

  “If there’s a stronghold on the mountain, perhaps whoever built it dug tunnels, too,” said Tored.

  This is a lucky break. Maybe that spirit did help us.

  Gaining access to the passage held some peril because they hadn’t brought a rope. But Hemlock asked Tored to retreat into the round passage, and she backed up. Crouching, she started a shuffling run and managed a good jump off the ledge. She covered the distance between the opening and the top of the collapsed rock, landing with her forearms on the opposite side. She easily pulled herself up.

  The jump was not so easy for Tored. His additional bulk didn’t allow him to build up much momentum in the round passage, and he was heavier. But his legs were strong, and he was long with his arms extended. Hemlock was able to anchor her feet in a crack in the rocky floor, and caught Tored’s hand as he hit the rock wall hard below her. His weight nearly caused her to lose her grip. She felt her feet slipping out of the crack that kept her from tumbling down with him to the hard stone floor—forty feet below.

  “Hurry up and grab the edge!” She grunted.

  Just then, the pale, ghostly light returned. Hemlock glanced upwards, expecting to see the ghost of the stocky man, but there was something different about this light. When she looked up, she saw the enraged features of the Tanna Varran warrior, Umra Vyle. The ghost was hovering over Tored, who was visibly quaking. Hemlock feared he would lose his grip on her hand. And she felt her feet slipping even further.

  “Ignore it! Grab the edge!” she screamed.

  But Tored just stared at Umra Vyle’s ghost without saying a word, and his grip on her hand loosened.

  “Tored!” she cried.

  She noticed the green light intensify and risked another glance toward the ghost. The spirit of Umra Vyle was still there, but behind it the ghost of the broad faced man approached. The man looked angry, and it moved as if to push the slighter form of the warrior aside. The push didn’t move Umra Vyle’s ghost like a push by one man on another would. Instead, it was like a wind that blew and distorted part of Umra Vyle’s form. When it coalesced, it was slightly further away.

  The two spirits turned to face one another as Hemlock and Tored stared on in wonder.

  “Grab my hand!” Hemlock whispered forcefully as they both watched.

  Umra Vyle’s ghost sneered and drew its hands back toward its ghostly body while simultaneously bending its wrists and presenting its palms toward the other ghost. Then, it pushed its hands forward forcefully, and some unseen force seemed to strike the ghost of the larger man. The bigger ghost mouthed a silent scream of pain, and the light emanating from it appeared to lose some intensity.

  The larger ghost charged Umra Vyle, but when its lowered shoulder hit the other spirit, it just continued forward. Again, Umra Vyle’s image was perturbed by the passing of the other ghost, but otherwise unharmed. Hemlock saw Vyle’s mouth moving and the expression on his face was one of mockery as he made another quick back and forth motion with palms outstretched. The ghost of the large man screamed again, and its light dimmed even further.

  “He doesn’t know how to fight!” cried Hemlock before she addressed the larger ghost. “Do what he’s doing!”

  The broad faced ghost seemed to hear Hemlock, and looked at her as another strike from Umra Vyle’s spirit struck. Hemlock saw a glimmer of recognition in the friendly ghost’s features even as the pain of the incoming strike distorted them.

  The larger ghost drew its hands to its side and extended its palms like Umra Vyle’s ghost did. Then, it flexed its shimmering muscles and pushed in a snapping, forward motion toward Umra Vyle.

  The strike affected the spirit of Umra Vyle, wiping the smirk off its face. Hemlock wondered at the nature of this unusual battle because the strike from the larger ghost appeared to be devastating. The pale, green image of Umra Vyle began to flicker violently—becoming increasingly warped and distorted with each flicker. Its mouth opened into a scream, and the image of the Tanna Varran warrior jumped and twirled as the mouth became larger and larger—still locked in a scream that seemed without end, though completely inaudible.

  Then, the ghost of Umra Vyle was gone.

  Hemlock looked at the remaining ghost and nodded to it. It nodded back, and quickly faded from view. She returned her attention to Tored, marveling that they both held on in their precarious state through the astonishing, though merc
ifully brief, fight.

  Tored managed to get a good handhold on the rocky wall, which took pressure off Hemlock’s hand. She was able to reset her feet in the crack she was using to brace herself, and together they managed to get Tored up onto the rock platform.

  They both sat and looked at each other in wonder.

  “Umra Vyle’s ghost has been destroyed,” said Tored.

  “Really? Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I can feel a weight removed from my spirit. That other ghost has done me a great boon.”

  “I guess we should trust it.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “So, you’re better now?”

  “I feel better,” said Tored. But then his eyes looked away and his jaw clenched with tension.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You saw something…something I’d rather you hadn’t.”

  “What?”

  “How I reacted to the ghost of Umra Vyle.”

  Hemlock remembered the unusual displays of fear Tored had shown. “Look, you think I’m never scared? Everyone gets scared.”

  Tored did not look her in the eye. “A warrior controls his fear. This is the first lesson of a Tanna Varran warrior. You would think that a person who grew up amongst hostile spirits would have learned to face them courageously. And I have. I want you to know that a spirit bound to a person has a special power over them. That fear you saw in me was supernatural. You need not worry that I will be similarly affected in other dangerous situations.”

  “Tored, we’ve been through a lot together. You don’t need to be concerned that I’m going to think you’re a coward, if that’s where you’re going with this.”

  He looked at her and his face reddened. “A Tanna Varran warrior is never cowardly. We’d rather die than show fear during battle!”

  Hemlock raised her hands as if to restrain his anger. “Alright. Look, just forget about it.”

  “That’s exactly what I’d like to do. We shall never speak of the ghost of Umra Vyle again.”

  “Fine with me.”

  They rose together and took stock of the two hallways that lay at either end of the collapsed section, which they now stood on. The platform had once been the floor of the passage, and had only fallen about ten feet below the remaining, intact sections.

  “Which way?” asked Hemlock.

  Tored walked toward one end then to the other.

  “The air is flowing from that side. If we go that way, we should find an exit from the caves,” he replied.

  “Alright, let’s go.”

  Hemlock boosted Tored up using her interlocked hands at waist level, and the warrior easily found purchase on the higher floor then pulled Hemlock up after him.

  Their torch was still burning as they walked down the hallway. The walls were covered with carved pictures which depicted impossibly tall figures moving among smaller people. The carved images looked familiar to Hemlock, reminding her of the chamber where she confronted the wraith of Zaringer, father of Falignus.

  “I’ve seen this type of carving before. This must be the same world where I left Falignus. The northern desert must have been a part of it before it connected with the City.”

  Tored grunted an acknowledgement.

  As they walked, Hemlock began to perceive light emanating from far ahead in the passage. Soon, they were able to see a turn ahead, and the light coming from that way was clearly visible. They reached the bend, and Hemlock peered around the corner cautiously. There was another hallway that extended about a hundred feet. Beyond this was the bright light of the outdoors.

  “There’s a way out!” said Hemlock.

  They covered the distance to the light in short order, and saw that the passage opened into a cave mouth. They crept into the cave and risked a look outside. It led to a sheer drop, over sixty feet down to the trail they had entered on. There was a wyvern sitting outside that lower entrance. Hemlock narrowly avoided being spotted when the beast suddenly looked upwards.

  She motioned for Tored to head back into the dark passage.

  “There’s nothing here but a sheer drop, and the cave we entered is being watched. We need to find another way,” she said.

  “We’ll try the other direction, then,” he replied.

  They walked back to the fallen passage, lowered themselves down, and climbed up the other side.

  This one quickly came to an intersection of two passages. One led upward and the other stayed level.

  “We need to go up, right?” said Hemlock.

  Tored agreed and began to climb the sloping passage.

  Hemlock continued to notice the carved images. Amazingly, they were consistently present in every passage they traveled so far. The larger figures seemed to be benevolent—helping the people to farm, hunt, and build. She began to sense that an enlightened society had built these tunnels.

  “Whoever carved these seemed to live in a time of prosperity,” she said.

  “They did not seem to be afraid, and appeared to revere these gods,” said Tored.

  “I know. These are so different from the Imperial runes and carvings I’ve seen. I wonder what happened to these people.”

  “Perhaps Merit will be able to tell us once we find some of their books.”

  “Yes, I look forward to that.”

  The passage leveled out, and after several hundred feet, they reached an intersection. There were two ways to go, and Hemlock was undecided on which direction to take. Tored stepped a few feet into each passage.

  “The air is fresher in this one,” he said from the path on the left.

  “Alright, let’s take it, then.”

  After a minute of walking, the ornate runes suddenly stopped and the walls became rough stone. They didn’t get far before Hemlock started having doubts about the direction they had chosen. But they soon turned a corner and were encouraged to see light ahead.

  “The torch is burning out,” said Tored.

  “Alright, let’s see where this has taken us and then head back,” said Hemlock.

  The passage opened onto a broad stone shelf that looked out over a distant desert.

  “We’re on the other side of the mountain,” said Hemlock.

  “Truly. So there is a desert nearby. This area has abundant water, though.”

  Seeing no sign of wyverns overhead, they risked walking close to the edge of the shelf to see below them. The river flowed close to the mountain with several miles of diminishing green around it. Further away, a region of dusty steppes began and ran for a few miles. Beyond that was the desert.

  Hemlock wondered whether that desert was the same region that had been a part of the City, and if Falignus found his way to this peak from that desert, somehow.

  A sudden memory of being in his arms assailed her. She looked at Tored, hoping she hadn’t appeared lost in her thoughts, but the old warrior did not seem to notice.

  “Let’s double back,” she said.

  “The upper passage probably led to the stronghold. This must have been their network of scouting points. It would be difficult to approach this mountain undetected if these lookouts were patrolled.”

  “Yes, I was thinking the same thing,” said Hemlock, noting the sun lying low on the distant horizon. “It will be dark soon. We have to get to that stronghold.”

  Chapter Five

  They doubled back and took the passage they previously decided against exploring. After a while, it began to slope upwards and the wall carvings took on a more martial tone. The large images depicted men in training and forging weapons. Further along, Hemlock noticed the carvings were scored and broken in a way that suggested deliberate destruction.

  “This looks like the work of the Sorceress,” said Hemlock.

  “Perhaps. But it’s odd that she wouldn’t have done the same to the lower tunnels,” said Tored.

  They continued on in silence. Hemlock hurried their pace, fearing for Esmeralda’s parents.

  “I wish we’d gone this way the first time.
Now time is short,” she said.

  “Come on,” said Tored, urging her forward.

  They reached a series of guard rooms with staggered doorways and arrow slits. The wooden doors were gone—only a few splinters of wood and their iron hinges remained. The carvings on these walls had been completely defaced, and some had even been scorched with drawings depicting anatomical deformities and perverse acts.

  “If this was done by the Sorceress, there’s something wrong with her,” said Hemlock.

  “These drawings do appear to be the work of an unhinged mind,” said Tored.

  “If she’s crazy, how am I going to reason with her?”

  “Reason with her? I thought you were going to kill her.”

  “Well, I guess that’s the plan. But will she harm the townspeople during the battle? I’m concerned about that.”

  “It does seem to be a risk. We will do the best we can, but there may be casualties.”

  “That’s not good enough! You saw Esmeralda. I won’t be able to face her if anything happens to her parents.”

  “We must hurry.”

  They worked their way through the offset doors and the hallway resumed its upward slope.

  Suddenly, there were flashing eyes and screeching sounds all around them. A mass of bats flew amongst them then took wing along the hallway ahead, receding from view and earshot.

  “That might not be good,” said Hemlock as they jogged up the hall. Tored didn’t respond, so Hemlock looked over at him. He shrugged and shook his head from side to side.

  They saw a large chamber ahead and caution forced them to halt. Hemlock’s magic senses registered strong readings, but they competed for her attention because the contents of the room were visually captivating.

  Torches were lit in the chamber, illuminating a horrifying scene. Several iron devices were arranged around the room. Each contained the remains of a person that appeared to have endured indescribable torment. There was a device with a system of gears and pulleys to stretch a person’s limbs apart. Another was a large iron sarcophagus that sat partially opened. A corpse was draped out of the opening, and the gleam of dense spikes from within the sarcophagus hinted at the fate of that unfortunate soul. There were also glass jars full of bloody flesh. And, worst of all, a table set with dishware, silver and a generous platter that bore a large slab of human ribs and bloody meat.