Hemlock And The Wizard Tower (Book 1)

by B Throwsnaill

  Safreon had said that she was a promising pupil, but it seemed that he had understated her abilities. Gwineval again felt his pulse surge at the thought of Safreon and the Wand of the Imperator. If he truly possessed this item, and knew how to use its power, then he wielded a power that could rival the might of the most powerful wizards in the Wizard Guild! These were the Seventh Circle wizards, who aside from their lone representative in the Tower, were said to still exist in seclusion and in defiance of the passage of many more years than a natural body could possibly endure. The Seventh Circle wizards were said to exist predominantly in spirit form and to have lived for centuries. Gwineval wasn’t sure how powerful the Seventh Circle wizards were, beyond their new youthful leader, Falignus. But what he knew of the power of the Wand gave him confidence that their power, no matter how great, could not be very much beyond that of the Wand. His mind began to consider whether the Wand would enable him to defy Falignus and the tyranny of the Seventh Circle and the Crimson Order, but he quickly chastised himself for becoming too hopeful.

  Gwineval considered that he had to get to the top of the Chamber to meet Hemlock. The noise of the machinery would hopefully shield them from unwanted observation. Safreon had warned him that she was headstrong–but Gwineval felt confident that he could reason with her once he called her by name and mentioned her friend.

  …

  Hemlock reached the upper causeway after a harrowing climb. Her limbs were exhausted and she wasn’t sure that she had been very stealthy. She had managed to put some distance between her and the room where she hoped the mysterious, handsome Wizard still rested undisturbed.

  She took in her surroundings: the causeways all led to a sizable room which only spanned a single floor. Several large machines were connected to the huge chains which connected with the cogs and gears on the machines. Though some of the machines clearly were in operation–she could see spinning apparatus and whiffs of smoke or steam being expelled from several of them–she could not hear any noise. The eerie quiet of the lower room, only punctuated by the creaks and groans of the chains, extended all the way up here.

  Moving silently and low to the walkway, Hemlock approached the room.

  As she stepped across the threshold her senses were assailed by the sudden noise of the machines churning and expelling gasses with many a savage hiss.

  This caused a surge in her nerves and she sprung over to a large iron cauldron which held a quantity of a greasy, dark liquid.

  Her eyes discerned motion then, from the opposite side of the chamber.

  A door opened and in strode a figure in a long yellow robe. She noticed something odd about the gait of the individual first: a strange motion of the head with each step forward. Also, there was an unusual structure to the head: a protrusion of the jaw.

  Hemlock realized then that there was not a human figure under that robe–but some monstrous parody of a man.

  She could see the face clearly now, as the beast approached her position. Her pulse raced and she took in the demonically deformed features with the cool detachment that she often felt in moments of true peril. The mouth was large and dominated the face, and it was filled with a row of small, sharp teeth on both the upper and lower jaw. There were two nasal holes, oval shaped and angled, and they were close to the mouth. Two large glassy eyes peered toward her position under the shelter of fleshy eyelids. The complexion was greenish and scaled.

  The creature stopped short and raised its arms as if to parlay. In fact, it appeared to be speaking after some fashion but a loud hiss from one of the nearby machines drowned out the sound.

  In an instant, Hemlock drew a knife and dashed at the creature. She closed the distance of twenty yards in mere seconds and the creature appeared startled as it still was trying to communicate.

  She threw herself upward and thrust the knife with both hands, going for the throat.

  The creature was amazingly quick, however, and managed to throw itself backwards with astonishing speed. Her knife tip caught the point of its lower jaw, but it was an inconsequential wound.

  As she drew her arms down and into her body, the creature’s tail came around and struck a powerful blow to her right shoulder – causing her to careen sideways into one of the machines. She impacted with moderate force, her clothing shielding her flesh from a scalding impact.

  She dropped into a fighting stance and regained her balance as the creature again seemed to be trying to communicate.

  As she prepared to strike once more, she made out a familiar word despite the heavy distorting effect of the creature’s mouth and large forked tongue.

  "…Safreon."

  She paused, but didn’t let down her guard. She analyzed the figure for any lapse in its defenses as she struggled to understand its odd form of speech.

  "…sent by Safreon of the Warrens," she managed to understand as the creature spoke.

  "What about him?" she demanded recalling that lizards usually had soft and vulnerable bellies.

  "Hemlock, I have been sent by Safreon to rescue you from the wizards," continued the creature in its odd, falsetto hisses.

  "Why should I believe that?" she continued in a level tone.

  "Because it is your only chance at survival," replied the creature with a tone of impatience.

  "What are you? You wear a Wizard’s robe–aren’t you a Wizard?" Hemlock asked.

  "I am a Wizard and also a friend of Safreon. We have spoken in the last year about affairs in the Warrens and also events in the Wizard Tower. He contacted me tonight when he deduced your foolish intentions to attack the tower," explained the lizard man in a lecturing tone at which Hemlock inwardly bristled.

  She was becoming uncertain about the situation and this led to a feeling of extreme discomfort. If she trusted this…monster… to be a friend of Safreon then she was putting her life in its hands.

  Am I ready to do that?

  She felt confident that she could kill it–but it did claim to be a Wizard which would introduce unknown dangers.

  "You obviously know things about me," she replied "but that doesn’t mean that you are an ally. You may well be lying."

  "We don’t have time for this – I fear you have been detected already by others not so friendly as I. There are other watchful eyes in the Tower and they would not treat you as kindly as I will. Safreon has revealed to me that he holds a powerful magical artifact that I greatly desire to learn more about. That is the only reason I am risking my life to try and rescue you from certain death. Safreon made this bargain with me just minutes ago," responded the creature coolly.

  Hemlock always felt secure when she felt that she understood a situation and that she could control it. Her mind was trying relentlessly to maintain a grasp on this encounter but it was like trying to grasp sand with her hands–the harder that she tried to grasp, the more she felt control slip through her fingers.

  "What is the plan?" she asked, stalling for more time to assess the loyalty of the creature.

  "The plan is that we will meet…" began the Lizard Man when Hemlock sensed the opening. Her mind was reeling, she felt powerless and the opening was too enticing–it was like she was drowning and thrashing and then her arm hit a piece of debris floating in the ocean, after a shipwreck. Her mind could not resist trying to regain control of the situation by grasping at the opportunity.

  Her knife left her hand in a motion that seemed almost supernaturally fast.

  The creature tracked it instantly, but the aim was too precise for it to dodge it altogether. The best that it could do was to twist and take the blow in the shoulder instead of the torso. Green blood jetted from the wound as the knife bit deep and Hemlock sprinted in for the kill, another knife from her left leg holster immediately in hand.

  She slashed across her body and then as the creature faded back away from the slash, she caught it with a punch to the belly, which caused it to emit a hissing cry sounding much like one of the machines around which they fought.

  She s
aw its right arm moving rhythmically then and felt the alignment of gathering magical energy.

  Dropping hard to a knee, she thrust up and disrupted the motion and felt the gathering spell energy dissipate.

  She saw fear in those inhuman eyes then. She always saw that when the end was near for an opponent and it always made her try for a mercifully quick end when mortal force was required–as she judged that it would be in this situation.

  The creature began to attack then–slashing with its right claw–but it was wounded already and while it may have been a match for her speed before–it was not in its current condition.

  It used its tail effectively to slow her attacks down, but she was able to dodge it and she knew the creature was beginning to wear down under the force of her withering assault.

  Its robe was half covered in green blood now and pools of blood on the floor were becoming hazardous.

  They traded attacks and defenses, parries and countermoves for several seconds.

  As she feinted upwards and redirected a blow at the creature’s thigh, her eye caught the motion of the tail countering at an impossible angle. It happened too quickly for her to fully register her surprise, but she tumbled to her right to avoid what she feared could be a stunning blow from the tail and a reversal to her fortunes in the combat. She realized, too late, that the tail was no longer attached to the Wizard’s body and that a clawed fist was moving with tremendous force aimed irrevocably at her head. She reached a final conclusion before a flash of white exploded over her senses and then everything went black:

  Somehow the creature has detached its tail from its body.

  Chapter Six

  Safreon turned his head slowly toward the other presence in his ramshackle workshop. Amid the scattered boxes, glass jars, beakers and shelves full of moldering volumes and tomes stood a man–sized porcine figure with lolling eyes and a foaming, bestial mouth.

  The creature stood to its full seven feet of height, fighting, as it did so, against the fatigue that it felt from the great volume of magical energy that had been drawn from it. This energy had powered the spell that had allowed Safreon to communicate with the wizard Gwineval, despite the myriad of magical wards and defenses that enshrouded the Wizard Tower.

  Safreon had a fleeting observation: that it was fortunate that he had summoned a creature as seemingly mindless as this demon, yet with enough magical power to allow him to weave the intricate magecraft required to accomplish the message. All demons were innately magical creatures, but the most dangerous of them could harness their power and cast their own spells.

  Safreon ground his teeth anxiously as he waited for his spell of communication to fully dissipate and watched the Demon grow bolder as it regained its power. Having reached the safe conclusion of the prior spell, Safreon delivered a swift kick toward a wooden stand which released a metal peg at floor level that was tied to a rope. The rope rose toward the ceiling holding a complex system of ropes and pulleys in a suspended stasis.

  Now freed from the restraining force of the peg, two suspended rings of rope, upon which were tied an array of small jars, dropped from the ceiling. Some careened and shattered off of the still oblivious demonic form, while others impacted the floor and shattered with a violent impact. Most of the pinkish liquid content of the shattered jars ended up splattering over the body of the Demon.

  The creature squealed in pain, and alarm. Its cries then turned to anger as it instinctively realized that the spell forming would not allow it to take revenge on Safreon. In moments the creature was enclosed in a hazy, pink, shimmering globe from which it could not move or escape despite its repeated and enraged attempts.

  Safreon looked on with satisfaction, still conscious of his luck that this Demon didn’t appear capable of casting the spells required to break his magical snare that would soon send the Demon back to its infernal home plane.

  Casting a wary eye toward the Demon periodically, Safreon quickly moved to a shelf and pulled out an iron shod chest that was about two feet wide. He made a motion with his hand and uttered a single syllable and the chest opened with a click.

  Behind him the Demon was becoming even more twisted with rage as the inside of the pinkish globe was alternatively filled with fire, lightning and even gushes of lava. The Demon was so mindless in its rage that it had torn its own arm partially out of socket and the arm hung lamely from the beast’s left side, as it flailed in doomed agony.

  Safreon placed the open chest on a work table and reached inside toward a vast number of small glass vials, each about the size of a man’s thumb. Grasping one and then opening it, he drew it forth and held it, arm outstretched, toward the pinkish globe and the trapped demon.

  He grabbed a flask from his pocket and opened it, dripping a small amount of a fizzling pink liquid into the small vial he held.

  As he finished, the large pink sphere containing the beast began to swirl more violently. Safreon noted that a bright point of light shone out from within the large pink orb and the creature recoiled in terror from it. The light seemed to draw part of the beast into it, and then with a loud popping sound, the entirety of the beast and the pink globe were drawn into the small, bright pink globe. The small pink globe, shining brightly, floated over to the small bottle held by Safreon, and slid into the neck of it.

  Safreon deftly corked the top of the bottle and turned in a practiced motion and threw the bottle into the fireplace, where it burst with a loud bang and emitted a foul smoke–the majority of which mercifully floated up the open flue and into the chimney.

  As he completed his work, Safreon reflected on the price of using the Wand of the Imperator as a magical power source. The risk of unleashing an uncontrolled demon was high, unless the Wand was expertly used in controlled conditions. When one used the Wand as Safreon did, it called forth a demon to the mortal plane which could be easily exploited for magical power during the period soon after its summoning, because the creature was weak and disoriented from the journey from its home plane. After a time the demon would strengthen, and unless proper precautions were taken, it would then be unleashed to wreak havoc upon mortals other than the user of the Wand and those he directly protected with special corollary spells. For those of evil inclination, this rampaging demon was merely a chaotic side effect of the Wand’s use. But for one who had devoted his life to ridding the world of evil, this was something that had to be avoided at all costs.

  Safreon believed that he could use the Wand in relative safety as long as his luck and skill in controlling the type of Demon that he summoned held out. He also counted on his ability to control the environment in which the summoning took place. He needed to have his intricate alchemical tools at his disposal to ensure his safety and the safety of those around him when he attempted to harness the considerable power of the Wand.

  His thoughts darkened as they turned to the bargain that he had made with the reptilian wizard, Gwineval. He had promised to deliver the Wand to him for inspection in exchange for aid in rescuing Hemlock from the Wizard Tower. The exact terms of this agreement had not been discussed, but he assumed that Gwineval would demand access to the Wand–at least temporarily–in exchange for Hemlock. He believed that Gwineval was a well-intentioned being. But could he be trusted with that much power? Safreon was briefly overcome by a dark thought: would Gwineval attempt to seize the Wand if it was shown to him?

  As the final traces of the foul smoke that had been emitted from the explosion of the jar in the fireplace dissipated, Safreon considered his path forward. He had to go to the Wizard Tower in the hope that he could gain the safe return of Hemlock. What would happen during the rescue was not clear to him and he knew instinctively that no divination spell in his power would reveal the answer to that question.

  …

  Falignus strode slowly among the great iron spheres in the chamber known as the Room of Measurement, looking around in slow measured sweeps. He knew that it was foolish to make such a visual inspection, but it was the onl
y thing that he could think to do–because he had lost the trail of the young thief.

  Again, he moved his arms in arcing motions from an extended position toward his eyes and muttered an incantation. This simple detection spell should have revealed her position quite easily–especially since he now possessed the dirty rag which she had left in the Room of Meditation.

  Something was preventing him from getting a reading.

  Cursing under his breath, he considered his options. If she was captured by another wizard or killed outright it would be regrettable.

  Even though her capture or death would meet his political objectives of startling a complacent and ancient Guild out of what he considered an irresponsible withdrawal from the affairs of the outside world, it would mean the death of an individual who interested him more than any other that he had ever met.

  Her powers were obviously impressive despite the fact that she was so young. If he could form an alliance with this girl, she would be the perfect person to run an intelligence organization for the Wizard Guild.

  Falignus weighed whether the girl was important enough to risk his own reputation in an attempt to secure her safety. He knew that if he was observed trying to facilitate her concealment that it could be dangerous for him. Furthermore, he reasoned that it potentially could even jeopardize the reputation the Crimson Order, the political faction which he led, and perhaps even his membership in the Wizard Guild itself–and by extension his very life. Of course, if he was discovered, there would be a good chance that he could make it look like he was in the process of subduing her. But there would still be a slim chance that some uncontrolled occurrence could implicate him.