He was stuck in an upright position. Nothing impeded his progress yet his body quaked and shivered as if in the grip of spasms.
"Merit, what's wrong?" asked Hemlock, increasing her speed to a trot until she stood beside him.
She reached toward his shoulder to try and coax him back to responsiveness but was surprised when she found herself unable to move her arm. She was now immobile and her body struggled against some sinister and invisible bonds, much as Merit's did.
Her eye caught some motion from a small defile in a rocky formation some ten yards in the distance. An arachnid form flitted out of the shadows and moved quickly toward them. The black spider was unnaturally large, being about two feet in length. Hemlock could see that the spider looked partially insubstantial and its eyes shone with an alarming red glow. The dark legs of the creature moved in a steady blur as it approached.
The strange spider made straight for Hemlock and eyed her cruelly with its glowing eyes. Hemlock was still unable to move as the spider reached her and it began to crawl in a circular motion from her ankles up to her waist. As it did so, Hemlock felt the constraint of additional magic confinement, like an invisible web wrapping around her.
Merit managed to shudder, and the spider crawled down Hemlock’s leg, and then over to Merit. It began to wind its way up his body.
Hemlock ceased to struggle against the force and began to attune her mind to the magic of the spider. She sensed a childlike, almost playful magic mixed with an unquenchable yearning to feed. But she also felt some overarching power and dominance that had a palpable, fear-driven grip on the simpler spirit.
Hemlock thought that she knew what it was in that dominant power: witch magic.
This was the first time that Hemlock had felt their power. Their magic was partially preservative but corrupting, as if it entangled souls with a promise of a retention of a mortal existence, but instead delivered a cruel and corrupting mockery of that existence. Hemlock shuddered once again for the dweomer, though weak, spoke of a magic no less fell and evil than that of the Seventh Circle wizards and their Emerald Stair.
It was now clear to Hemlock that the Witches possessed magic power that could be just as dangerous as any Wizard.
Before Hemlock could weigh the impact of that realization, her attention returned to the urgency of her current situation. Merit appeared to have damaged himself in the process of trying to escape. His frantic struggling had led to a number of oil and steam leaks which seemed to have sapped his strength. He stood in silence now with the exception of the hissing steam that burst forth from a handful of burst copper pipes.
The spider had returned to Hemlock’s feet and now continued another slow and purposeful ascent, this time projecting strands of magic between her and Merit as it rose. Slowly, methodically, Hemlock felt the grip of the magic tighten again. She continued to focus her mind on the nature of the power of the magic. She was surprised to detect a verbal component to the spell that bound the childlike spirit and the arachnid. It was a series of words sung to a tune. Hemlock felt sure, in that instant, that if she could match the tone of a portion of that song, but in a certain harmonic offset, that she would be able to free herself.
With a tremendous focus of will, Hemlock was able to muster the energy to hum three notes in succession. She sensed, rather than heard, a great cacophony of sounds then, which she could only compare to the sound of a lattice of glass breaking into shards.
She was able to move again and the Spider fell to the ground on its back, its legs curling in death. Hemlock disassociated her senses from the magic at once, not caring to be attuned to the expiration of the strange creature. The spider shrunk markedly and writhed on the ground. Then it simply disintegrated with a sound like the rustling of leaves. Hemlock concluded that it apparently had no mortal form without the formative witch magic to sustain it. She noted the voices of Gwineval and Safreon calling for her in the distance. The entire encounter had taken only a few moments, but evidently they were being cautious and searching for her.
She looked down at Merit and sighed. He was still leaking oil, but at least the steam had subsided and the leaks looked to be slowing. Still, she had no knowledge of the physiology of the mechanical gnome or any idea of the extent to which these injuries might have harmed the automaton. Merit was still immobile and unresponsive.
Hemlock called to Gwineval and Safreon as they crested a grassy hill about fifty yards away. She motioned to them and they approached in response in a brisk jog.
Gwineval, moving faster than Safreon, reached the scene first and took stock of the situation before speaking. Safreon arrived soon after and Hemlock quickly related the tale of the attack of the spider. She was vague about the details of her escape from the magic and Gwineval seemed to take note of this part of her tale. He did not press the matter, however.
"How serious are his injuries?" Hemlock asked.
"I am unsure without some time to perform various small spells to diagnose the problem," responded Gwineval, his tongue moving to and fro as he seemed to still be in thought.
"The problem is that we do not have the luxury of time. We must take advantage of this day to try and locate some Tanna Varrans and seek shelter with them." stated Safreon.
"Agreed," responded Gwineval. "I will carry the automaton," he continued.
"Really?" asked Hemlock with a note of mild surprise. "I don't want to leave him, but won't that slow us down?" she asked Gwineval.
"He might have information that could harm us if he fell into the wrong hands, I think," stated Gwineval.
"Perhaps," responded Hemlock. "We can take turns carrying him, if you like. I am glad that we are able to do this for him."
"Let's go. We should head north. We need to climb that hill over there. Safreon and I agree. It's our best chance to locate a Tanna Varran town" said Gwineval, as he pointed to the North at a hilltop that lay some miles distant. It rose to a considerable, but not insurmountable height. Broken patches of trees were visible along its height and there appeared to be varying terrain; some gentle slopes were interspersed with ridge lines that looked difficult to navigate.
"Wait, don't the witches and evil spirits reside on the hilltops?" Hemlock asked, assaying their surroundings as she considered what threat that might pose.
"Yes, they often do," responded Safreon. "But in this case, we need to risk that in order to locate a Tanna Varran town. Hopefully we'll find one without having to climb all the way to the top of the hill. But if we don't locate the Tanna Varrans today, we will be under siege by worse spirits than what you just faced, come nightfall. Far worse," he cautioned.
"I concur then. Let's be off," Hemlock replied. She inspected Gwineval's physique. "Can you run long distances?" she asked.
"Yes, provided that we can find regular supplies of water, I will be able to maintain a greater speed than you or Safreon would be able to without magical enhancement," Gwineval replied.
Hemlock replied with a skeptical look, but she gestured for Gwineval to lead the way. Although Safreon had a large pot belly, she knew that he could run like a horse when pressed.
Chapter Nine
One evening Hemlock and Safreon sat at the top of a chapel tower looking down on the Warrens. Hemlock was young, having only recently taken to working with Safreon.
"What can you tell me of the City, Safreon?" Hemlock asked with the suddenness that often accompanies youthful inquiry.
Safreon regarded her warmly and began to speak.
"Our City, San Cyra, is old but not ancient. We know that it was built some ten generations ago by a great Wizard and a group of outcasts who arrived here from various places."
"From beyond the veil?" Hemlock asked with a tone of reverence.
"Yes, indeed. At that time, people must have begun to appreciate the properties of the City: how the lands surrounding it constantly change. Those who stayed here either did so to escape their previous circumstances and start a new life, or they wandered into this land in
ignorance and became stranded here when the lands shifted," responded Safreon.
"It is easy to get stranded here, isn’t it?" asked Hemlock.
"Yes, because tradition holds that our City is unique in its property of shifting through different lands. Although who can say for sure?" Safreon mused.
Hemlock looked at the streets below their vantage point, over toward an open square where several neighborhoods met. In that spot stood the largest marketplace in the Warrens. It consisted of acres of makeshift stalls where vendors peddled wares as commonplace as the foodstuffs grown on the farms which surrounded the City, and as exotic as a number of hairless felines that had arrived yesterday with some Merchants.
Hemlock and Safreon monitored the busy market, keeping an eye out for criminal activity, which was all too commonplace.
"To the East, in the mountains, the delvers mine Ore and gems from the earth. This area has remained near the City for our entire history, and these materials were used to build our City. The areas beyond the Mountains are ever changing, marked by a hazy veil that exists at the border between our lands and the outside, changing lands. It is said that if you look eastward through the veil from the mountain tops, that you cannot help but daydream. And when you take notice of the view, after a time, you'll see that it has changed; but you will never see the change occurring. It is a very strange phenomenon, and is under study by the Wizard Guild."
Safreon pointed north toward a great desert plain. "That Desert has bordered the Mountains for as long as we can recall as well. Yet people disappear in it if they venture too far. Stay away from it, Hemlock. There is no reason to go there."
"To the south lie the fertile plains where most of our food is grown and tended. It is said that these lands are safe out to a distance that can be seen from the top of the Wizard’s Guild Tower, but no further. Beyond that the lands change with time," Safreon continued.
"To the west lie the Witch Crags. This region, alone, extends for many miles beyond the horizon, yet does not change. This is the source of the Oberon powder that fuels our magical powers in the City. Despite this region’s stability, it is a dangerous area, populated by monstrous creatures. Fortunately these creatures seem to be confined to the Witch Crags and do not attack the City," Safreon explained with a cautionary tone.
"How are they confined?" Hemlock queried.
Safreon mused for a moment and then answered, "It seems that these creatures are bound to the Witch Crags. There are evil forces that hold sway there, and the creatures are bound to these forces."
"What of these forces?" Hemlock asked, turning to him.
"I’ll say no more now. Suffice it to say that we are lucky that their power seems to be held in check. I suspect that the wizards are involved. But none seem to know for sure," Safreon answered, making it clear that he had no intention to elaborate.
Hemlock glanced at him and he did not meet her glance. She could see that his jaw was set as he looked down into the Marketplace.
"What happens to people that travel beyond the veil and cannot return to the City?" Hemlock asked.
"None can say for sure," Safreon responded, "but judging by the accounts of those who make the journey out of the City and return, these people enter lands where the surroundings do not change."
"Don't you want to find out? You know, what lies beyond?" asked Hemlock.
"I am curious, as are many here, I think. But would you give up your life here and everything you know to find out? Most are unwilling to do that–as am I."
"I'm not willing to do it now, but I feel like there may come a time when I am ready to make the journey–perhaps even to try and find my home again," Hemlock responded slowly, her eyes downcast as she appraised herself.
Safreon responded with a casual grunt that seemed to Hemlock to belie the gravity with which he seemed to regard that remark.
Hemlock decided to press her luck and continue her questions. It wasn’t often that Safreon obliged her questioning this freely, and she intended to take full advantage of it.
"Tell me of the Elite part of the City. Why do they look down on us?" she asked.
Safreon again considered her question for a time before responding. "Throughout history, people have organized themselves into functional groups in order to allow them to act in concert. The Elites to the east of the Wizard Tower lead lives of contemplation and ease. They have time for drafting laws and holding courts of justice–things that are hard to do when you have to break your back in the fields every day. Yet they are important for our society."
He paused again and then he continued.
"The Elites manage the economy and implement the laws and policies set forth by the Senate. This structure is something of an amalgamation of the ways of our collective forbears from across the veil."
"The other two thirds of the City, our Warrens, are where the workers live. I believe that we have lost something along the way, or that part of the philosophy of our civic traditions has been lost. I believe that in an ideal society that the higher tiers recognize that they exist to serve the lower. Therefore, the Elites should really be the servants of the Workers and not the other way around. That concept of selfless service has been lost," Safreon concluded, shaking his head mildly in disapproval.
Hemlock looked up into the afternoon sky and gazed at the clouds, as her mind consumed the information that Safreon had told her. She wasn't sure what it meant to her or whether it really meant anything to her at all. She was consumed by a restless energy and scanned the street below.
A motion caught her eye. It stood out and was incongruent with the rest of the scene below. A woman who Hemlock assumed was an Elite Citizen, judging by the cleanliness and color in her garb, had been boldly walking alone in the market. Hemlock had seen the Citizen bolt upright suddenly and a black robed figure had fallen in smoothly behind her. Hemlock recognized the gait of the robed figure as the swift and smooth motion of a practiced thief at work.
Safreon let out a soft whistle of surprise. He had seen it too.
The woman began to move listlessly to the north with the robed figure staying close behind her.
Hemlock tensed as she prepared to descend to street level in pursuit. She felt Safreon's grasp on her arm, restraining her.
"Wait. I want to follow this one back to his hideout. This one is experienced; did you see how subtle the take was? An average person wouldn't have noticed that thief do anything unusual even if they'd been standing right alongside," Safreon intoned in a low voice filled with some measure of respect. He then motioned to an adjacent roof which she leapt to and he then gained more clumsily by rolling over a ledge, a few moments after her.
Together, they watched the woman and the man moving north toward a shanty section of the Warrens. The Thief moved slowly and blended well with the crowd, managing to stay close to her without looking suspicious. The Elite drew the normal attention that a Citizen usually did in the Warrens. Hemlock and Safreon had no trouble identifying her as she moved.
As Hemlock and Safreon shuffled along the rooftop in a relaxed pursuit, Safreon glanced at Hemlock.
"So why did you do it? Why did you agree to work with me?" he asked with a casual air.
Hemlock glanced back at him.
She considered her answer carefully.
"I want to change things," she said.
"What do you want to change?" He motioned her toward a wooden ladder that protruded above the roof line to the north. They had reached the end of the roof on this block and their targets continued to move north. They would have to continue the pursuit at ground level.
As they climbed down, Hemlock responded, "I want my sister to be able to afford the potions and spells she needs for her digestive condition. I want people to be able to live and work and not have to do so in fear of crime or the Wizard Guild," she concluded.
"A noble answer," he responded with an exhale as he landed solidly on the ground and began to move into the crowd with Hemlock. It was a harder pursu
it now, but their practiced eyes were still able to track their quarry. "An idealistic answer, too," Safreon added.
"Meaning what?" Hemlock asked with a sidelong glance toward him as she slipped between two farmers.
"Meaning that you should remember these ideals once you gain the power that you seek," Safreon responded with undisguised gravity.
"Of course I will," she responded.
"Of course, indeed," he replied. "It’s sometimes harder to do that than you would think."
Hemlock chose not to respond. He was right, in a sense. She did seek power and made no pretense with Safreon to pretend otherwise.
Ahead, the Thief darted into an alleyway; the Elite followed in short order.
Safreon and Hemlock knew the area well. The Badger Guild, a Thieves Guild of some notoriety, operated from here. They were mostly common cutpurses, but their numbers and their control of the marketplace district made them powerful. It was rare that one saw such a high level of ability as they had seen from this man that they now tracked. That he was apparently a Badger was a surprise to both of them.
"He must be high in their Guild," whispered Safreon as they approached the alley. "He’ll be bold and careless at first, but beware, Hemlock. Once he recognizes us, he’ll be very dangerous."
Safreon walked past the alley discreetly and cast a glance down its length. When he passed the alley he quickly stopped and hugged the wall. Hemlock did the same on her side of the alley.
They both knew that a Badger lookout would have spotted them by now. Now it was a matter of time and communication.
"How quickly will they get word to their people and respond in force?" Hemlock wondered.
Hemlock and Safreon had moved against Badger members before, but in those instances they had been more junior members, and the Guild had decided to look the other way rather than confront Safreon. Hemlock was concerned that this time might be different.
Without warning, Hemlock had a vision. She imagined a great Black Dragon rising from inside a Mountain, its wings beating strongly and lifting it up into the heavens. The vision passed as quickly as it had come.
Hemlock And The Wizard Tower (Book 1) Page 12
