Hemlock And The Wizard Tower (Book 1)

by B Throwsnaill

  "Hemlock," spoke the image of Falignus haltingly, and as if at a great distance from her, "I am imprisoned inside. A terrible evil is in there. You must help me."

  Hemlock made to respond, but an exclamation of pain from Falignus interrupted her.

  "Beware of his words, Hemlock. Do not heed them. You must help me to defeat him. Otherwise all is lost for both of us."

  The image faded away before Hemlock could say a word in response.

  What is happening? she wondered, grasping the Wand of the Imperator more tightly in her hands.

  She waited for several seconds to see if the image of Falignus would appear again, but it did not. A low rumbling thunder originating from the building before her was the only sound that punctuated the howling wind.

  Hemlock strode forward toward the building and vaulted over one of the balconies, noting the remains of cunning scroll work which had once adorned it, but which was now almost worn flat.

  As she entered through one of the open portals, the blowing sands abated and revealed a fine marble floor whose beauty was little diminished by the storms without.

  Stepping down a passage and around a corner, Hemlock entered a large chamber, which seemed to occupy the entire interior of the structure.

  Hemlock’s eyes quickly adjusted to the comparative darkness of the interior, and she beheld a chamber that was lit dimly by a number of red lanterns.

  In the center of the chamber was an altar, above which a second Wand of the Imperator hung in a dark red field of magic. Seven stone sculptures that had been fashioned after human arms reached out from that central altar, along the floor and spaced evenly around the circumference of the chamber; and each ended in a huge, finely sculpted hand. Each of the hands held a beautiful onyx sarcophagus, raised slightly above the floor. Deep blue sparks radiated out from the suspended Wand and down the length of one of the arms, into the dark vessel that was borne by the hand.

  Near one of the sarcophagi, Hemlock saw two forms locked in a magical struggle.

  One was Falignus. He was enclosed in a defensive magical field.

  The other figure was something that Hemlock had never seen before.

  Hemlock could only consider the creature that struggled with Falignus as the absolute antithesis of the Griffin. Hemlock thought that no being could have had a more terrible appearance than that of the Witch, once her illusion of magical beauty had been pierced, but the disembodied creature which menaced Falignus seemed to embody the malice of every jealous thought, the sorrow of every shattered dream and the fear of every nightmare.

  Its limbs were terrible shadows of despair, molded through some infernal process into the semblance of a mortal form. Its legs seemed like they were cast from the grief of every funeral procession. Its head was the shadow and reflection of every fear and desire that might torment mortal man. Its body had the appearance of having been a vessel for every affliction, malady and degenerate excess that could ever exist.

  A surge of fear and an unquenchable desire for peace ripped through Hemlock as she beheld this creature, which was an abomination beyond anything that she could have ever conceived. Even the bizarre creature that Safreon had summoned below the Tanna Varran town had been less disturbing to Hemlock than this amalgamation of decayed flesh.

  She reeled under the horror of the creature’s visage, and nearly dropped to her knees.

  Only an abstract realization that Falignus was at risk of being killed snapped her out of her dark reverie.

  She wasn’t sure what to do, but instinct took over. She knew that whatever threat Falignus represented was easily eclipsed by that of this dark creature.

  Mastering herself, she saw that the creature was emanating a dark ray and that the magical barrier that Falignus had erected was failing. She could see Falignus, his face contorted in agony. His eyes met hers, and she saw a desperate hope ignite in them.

  Falignus did not speak to her, could not. But his eyes clearly communicated to her a single emphatic message: "HELP!"

  Just then a voice rang out in Hemlock’s mind, unbidden. She experienced this voice like the embodiment of every dark fear that she had ever had found a voice and was now speaking to her: "Bow before me, girl!"

  Hemlock felt like her mind was being torn asunder by the voice. It was all she could do to remain standing under the force of its power.

  "You meddle in powers that you do not understand. You cannot stop what has been set in motion. We will be eternal. We will travel the multiverse as Gods. How many voices have cried out to the heavens and received silence in response? Soon we will answer. You will be a part of it: our little dark princess who will laugh at the groveling of the weak. You were born to do this, daughter of the Wizard."

  A vision was thrust upon Hemlock then. She saw herself dressed in a dark, shimmering gown that was composed of entire worlds. The cries of the suffering were wrapped around her form like an intricate sash and brought her great pleasure as she caressed its length.

  It took all of Hemlock’s will, even buoyed by the power of the Wand in her hand, to approach and strike out at the creature.

  Her rapier passed through its dark form, and it did not seem aware of the striking. But where her blade had passed, its form became less dark and there was a flicker of light, which, though brief, seemed to perturb the beast.

  Without warning, it cried out, and turned on Hemlock. Hemlock, later in life, would always be haunted by the eyes of the beast as they determined to extinguish her life force. They were dark: so dark that they hurt her eyes.

  Hemlock felt powerless as the creature enclosed her in a deathly embrace. She felt that her life was draining from her like water draining from a pierced flask.

  But the Wand that she held burned brightly, and she felt life force pouring into her from that secret place which she had recently discovered. Whether the help was being given willingly, or taken, she could not tell. But the creature of malice before her, try as it might, could not seem to pull out the last glimmer of life from her body.

  Hemlock sank to her knees, and the dark form dropped with her. She began to feel like she would not be able to sustain the volume of energy that was passing through her without being torn apart. Her muscles had all tensed up and soon she became aware that she was having a seizure on the floor, and had dropped her blade. The Wand somehow remained in her hand, however. She felt its power still protecting her and allowing the aid of the other dimensions to reach her.

  Then everything went black.

  Hemlock awoke with a start. She still lay on the marble floor, but the fell apparition that had attacked her was gone. Great boulders of stone and piles of sand were all around her, and where there had been a stone ceiling above her, she now saw the dark clouds of the stormy desert, now illuminated by the first rays of dawn. The fury of the storm seemed to be waning.

  Hemlock realized that the ceiling had given way as she rose, feeling curious that she had survived. She could not imagine that anyone or anything could have survived the wrath that had been directed at her by that nightmare creature.

  Hemlock noticed that the magical altar in the center of the room had been shattered, and that the great stone arms were strewn about the remnants of the chamber, in pieces.

  Then she saw another figure rise amongst the debris, some distance from her.

  "Falignus," she thought, with a mixture of relief and dread.

  Falignus gave her a forced smirk, though he was clearly in pain.

  Hemlock moved toward him through the rubble and he did the same. As they got to within several paces of each other, she noted that they both walked gingerly, although both appeared unhurt save for where the impact of a few falling pieces of rock had bloodied them.

  Hemlock realized that Falignus now bore the other Wand of the Imperator and that she still carried hers, although she had not been conscious of it.

  "What happened?" Hemlock asked, able to speak more easily as the storm lessened in intensity.

  "When Zaring
er attacked you, I was able to free the Wand from the altar. When I did that, his power source was extinguished and he was destroyed. His passing was a bit…violent, as you can see."

  Hemlock considered his words. "Zaringer," she mouthed.

  "Yes; that was Zaringer, my old teacher and mentor. I must thank you. He surely would have slain me had you not arrived."

  Hemlock did not reply. She was trying to get her mind around the concept of Falignus being taught by that foul creature.

  "I’ll start at the beginning. I came here to retrieve the Wand, as you have no doubt guessed; and I sought to slay Zaringer, whom I knew would resist being destroyed by the removal of the Wand," Falignus continued.

  "I crept into the chamber and began to cleanse the sarcophagi. I did not have the power to cut off the flow of power from the Wand to them all at once, so I was forced to do it to them one by one. I cast the necessary spell and removed the power from the first sarcophagus. I then threw the cover aside and cast a lightning bolt into it, incinerating the occupant. You can imagine my trepidation when I saw that the victim was not Zaringer–for the others were now so old that they could pose no threat. But Zaringer's malice still burned darkly, as you saw.

  "I continued to the next crypt, and then to the next one. Still, I had not found Zaringer, and my fear and anticipation were getting worse. I felt sure that at any moment he would burst forth from one of the undisturbed vessels and confront me."

  "Sadly, my worst fears were realized. As I dispatched the occupant of the fifth sarcophagus, I heard the sickening sound of stone grating on stone; and in a moment, he was upon me," said Falignus, his voice trailing off oddly as his tale reached its conclusion.

  "But there are seven sarcophagi." noted Hemlock haltingly.

  "I know. The final one was meant for me."

  Hemlock looked at Falignus questioningly. She then noticed something odd about his appearance. Though his recently evidenced wings were now gone, he was now slightly fuzzy and insubstantial, and she thought that he bore a skeletal appearance when viewed from the corners of her eyes.

  "What's happened to you?" she asked, horrified.

  "I had to take certain...measures when you turned on me. I had to invoke powers that have a steep cost."

  "Why?"

  "I had to know what path to take. It's an ability that I have; you might call it a family heirloom. I can view the future, or a set of possible futures. But there is a cost, as you can see," Falignus explained, sounding unusually strained.

  "You said family," Hemlock muttered, more to herself than to him.

  Overhearing her, Falignus replied, "Yes, I did say family. Zaringer was my father, Hemlock. I am descended from an unbroken line straight from the Imperator himself."

  "It's not possible," Hemlock whispered.

  "It is. All of these," Falignus swept his arm across the set of ruined sarcophagi, "were my forebears. My father sought to corrupt the Wizard Guild, and in doing so, to restore the full power of the Imperator to our line. But he realized that the Senate was too powerful, and that it would not be accomplished in his lifetime. So he founded the Seventh Circle of magic in secret, delving into research that the other wizards had treated as forbidden."

  As he spoke, Hemlock again considered that Falignus was now holding the Wand that had been mounted in the apparatus that had been feeding the crypts. An inner voice again cautioned that he might be unstoppable with that Wand, but she quickly quelled the fear that rose within her.

  "Near the end of his ability to retain a normal mortal form," Falignus continued, "he staged a bloodless coup and instituted the Seventh Circle as the de-facto leaders of the Council, shrouded in secrecy. Near death, he had himself perpetuated in this place, along with his ancestors, who he had sought to preserve and one day restore to some semblance of life. He destroyed this entire realm by drawing the magical power from it to sustain his dark arts."

  "Despite their horrible nature, how could you set out to do this to them–to your family?" Hemlock asked.

  "Their sins repulsed me. I sought to extricate myself from them as a youth, but I realized that if I had wavered from the path that he had set, then my Father would have killed me and sired another. If I had done so later, then he would have taken another in my place, even if it had temporarily broken the bloodline, a Steward, if you will. And he would have found a way to conceive a true heir. No, I had to do this,” Falignus replied, darkly.

  Again Hemlock eyed the fiery wand that Falignus held, identical to the one that she wielded.

  "Falignus, we must destroy these," she said at last.

  "No," was his simple reply.

  "Why? You had to destroy your family; well, these are the legacy of your family," Hemlock pleaded.

  "True enough, but I can change my family's legacy. In fact, I fully intend to," Falignus replied, his voice seeming to go out of phase for a second and then snap back.

  "How can you say that? Have these wands ever done anything besides spread authoritarian control and violent exploitation of the weak?"

  "They are a tool–that is all. They do not corrupt, they merely magnify. They can be a force for change–positive change."

  "Look at yourself, Falignus, you are already corrupted. Don't deceive yourself," Hemlock said, weeping gently.

  "Will you stand against me, then?" Falignus responded in a melancholy voice.

  Hemlock considered this question.

  "Everything in my life has built up to this one question. Everything that Safreon taught me. I see now that it was needed to prepare me for this," she thought.

  She considered her love for him, the only romantic love that she had ever known, and marveled at it. She still didn’t understand the connection that she felt with him, but its force was undeniable.

  But Hemlock recalled Merit’s tale and the path that Safreon had taken. She now felt a new force of responsibility compelling her to make a choice that transcended her personal desires.

  "Yes, I will stand against you," she finally responded.

  Falignus did not seem surprised.

  "I suspected as much. I have foreseen it. Despite our love for one another, we cannot be together. We are polar opposites, you and I. I used to fantasize that you were descended from a royal line similar to my own: a Princess from another world. But I saw differently in my recent visions and it became clear to me. You are descended from the original Wizard; the founder of the City. That is where your powers originate from, and why you seem imbued with the chaotic nature of the City. My line and your line, we have always battled. I suspect that we fought even before the City existed. It is very ironic that we love each other as we do. It is perfectly tragic."

  "It can be different, Falignus."

  "Sadly, Hemlock, seeing the future curses one with a cold pragmatism. It can't be different. I know that it can't," he said softly.

  She saw his features harden, then, in an instant, and the fire within his Wand flared violently.

  Suddenly a green barrier surrounded her, impeding her movements.

  Even thusly impaired, her speed was well beyond that of a normal mortal, and she darted behind a fallen column.

  The green field moved with her, however.

  Falignus called from where he had been standing, "I had plenty of time to consider how I’d approach this battle, although I feared that the Wand might require some study to use. I can see now that my fears were unfounded. I thought about how I could fight someone with speed and strength greater than my own."

  As he boasted, Hemlock leapt out from the cover and jumped in his direction.

  She cursed to herself as she saw that the green magic had cut down her speed just enough to allow Falignus to dodge her flying sidekick.

  She landed hard, and before she got back under cover, he cast another spell. She now saw a red field surrounding her legs, layered outside of the green field.

  "My legs are burning with fatigue," she thought to herself, cursing again.

  "I realized th
at by using the Wand I could imprison you in a series of permanent wards," he continued.

  Hemlock tested her legs and with the level of magical fatigue and artificial slowness, she wondered how she could now fight Falignus.

  She heard him attempting to circle around her position, seeking an angle to cast another spell on her.

  She was able to look through a hole in the broken column before her and saw that he was moving toward a spot where she might be able to take cover behind a piece of one of the sarcophagi.

  Relying heavily on her upper body, which was still not affected by the fatigue magic, she vaulted with superhuman strength over the fallen pillar.

  A spell rang out from Falignus, but it missed her.

  She landed as she had hoped, behind the fragment of the obsidian tomb and within striking range of Falignus.

  She heard him curse and shuffle backwards.

  Grabbing the top of the sarcophagi, she launched herself again, but this time Falignus aimed his spell true as she soared downwards toward him.

  She did land on target, despite being struck by the magic, and was able to deliver a powerful blow to his face as she landed. But she realized, to her horror, that a red field of magic now encased her upper body as well, magnifying the terrific fatigue which her legs had already been subjected to and bathing her arms in it as well.

  She fell over under the strain of the cumulative magical effects on her body.

  She saw that Falignus had also fallen under the force of her heavy punch, but he had remained conscious.

  He rose unsteadily, and blood poured from his nose and mouth.

  Still, he managed an obscene grin as he beheld the results of his spellcasting.

  Hemlock was now nearly paralyzed under the weight of his spells.

  Falignus was cautious, though. He cast another green field around her and outside of that another red field around her upper and lower body.

  The spells were so powerful that she became aware of her heart struggling to beat, and the simple act of breathing became a heavy labor for her.

  Falignus looked at her calmly, a sad expression gradually coming over his face.