Hemlock And The Dead God's Legacy (Book 2)

by B Throwsnaill

  “Practically everyone by now, I suspect. Jalis says he discovered the eggs in the archives. He’s been talking about the discovery to anyone who’d listen this morning.”

  Hemlock slumped back into her chair. “…and who isn’t holed up in their chamber reviewing endless stacks of paperwork.”

  “Miss Hemlock, Jalis plans to keep the eggs and hatch them himself.”

  “That doesn’t seem right to me.”

  “Me neither.”

  Hemlock thought for a moment. “What if we return them to the Mountains? Maybe Penelope the Griffin would know what to do with them. Would they need parents?”

  “I don’t know,” Merit said contemplatively.

  “I’ll see Gwineval about it, but I have no desire to see Jalis exploiting these eggs for his own gain. They should be hatched in the wild.”

  Merit nodded and then changed the subject. “Your sister asked me to ask you if you want to dine with her tonight.”

  Hemlock straightened and broke into a smile. “Mercuria? When?”

  “She pulled me aside after her magical training. She said that you can join her around sundown in her apartment.”

  Against Hemlock’s wishes, Mercuria had moved back to the Warrens after being freed from her protective captivity in the Wizard Tower during Hemlock’s confrontation with Falignus. Despite Mercuria’s affection for the adopted Elite family that Falignus had provided for her, she had ultimately decided to go back to her old life. Hemlock didn’t like her being exposed to the dangers of the Warrens, but felt powerless to stop her sister without causing more damage to what Hemlock now considered to be a fragile and strained relationship.

  This could be a step forward for us.

  “Thank you, Merit. That final piece of news does brighten my spirits. And I’m in the mood for some of Mercuria’s venison.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Hemlock. I will be going now. I will see you soon,” said Merit.

  “Goodbye, Merit.”

  Merit showed himself out, leaving Hemlock alone again with the stack of papers. She clenched her jaw, and started in on them. It was saddening work to read accounts of people struggling to come to grips with a lack of magic across the City. Hemlock knew that some of the reports were likely fraudulent, but that barely blunted her feeling of responsibility for what these people were going through.

  For another year? But Merit’s potion idea should help. How much, though?

  As she neared the end of the reports, she began to feel drowsy. It was early afternoon, so she decided that she had time to lay down for a nap before her dinner plans.

  As she eased into the comfort of her bed, she thought about Mercuria and the venison dinner that she would soon enjoy.

  Sleep came quickly, and dreams soon followed. They were troubling, though.

  She dreamt of her night of passion with Falignus. She was there with him in his bed, after the night that they had attended a ball. Though she re-experienced some of the pleasure she had enjoyed that night, she felt distracted.

  Becoming somewhat lucid, she wondered to herself: This dream again! Why do I keep dreaming about this? And what is that light that I always see?

  She looked down at Falignus. His eyes were closed as his hands caressed her. She began to forget about her distraction, but then…

  There it is again!

  A dazzling light assaulted her eyes as she moved. It was gone and then returned as she rose with the rhythm of their movements.

  The dream began to fade, as it always did. But this time, she noticed something.

  The light was coming from the night stand!

  The character of her dream shifted. The scene with Falignus was gone. She was adrift in a sea of stars, floating in the void that separated them. A force was calling out to her and to anyone who would listen. She became conscious of other spirits. Some of them answered the call, some did not.

  She became aware that it was a person calling to her, and she felt a compelling affinity with whoever it was.

  She acquiesced to the attractive force of the call, and it pulled her with an alarming speed, causing the stars around her to streak as she sped between them.

  She reached a world, and then a continent and then a country. Soon she descended into a mountainous area that was rich in plant life. Her consciousness began to merge with the Other that she aided.

  She became dimly aware of a wide circle of dancers, their limbs wrenching back and forth almost spasmodically, as if they were trying to evoke something vicious and violent. She saw faces gripped in furious exertion—wide faces with dark skin.

  She sensed that she was a part of this dance.

  It was a dance of desperation, of anger… of exorcism.

  A wide and dark structure loomed between the dancers. It was made of rough stone, which jutted out and recessed inwards in a natural and irregular fashion. But the color of the rock was incongruent with the rest of the surroundings.

  The dance took place on a plateau that extended from the side of a vast cliff face. The plateau was reached by a series of treacherous paths that led up from the floor of a long, sinuous canyon. The canyon stretched from horizon to horizon. The climate was temperate: lush foliage and great, broad-leafed trees dominated the perimeter of the plateau. Nothing grew near the dark stone.

  Hemlock sensed the thoughts of the Other, as the latter danced.

  We should have destroyed this tower long ago. Now something has taken refuge in it and will not come out. It slays our people and threatens our canyon.

  Hemlock again sensed the force of the magic of the dance. It was powerful magic, and it was exerting a tremendous energy of expulsion toward whatever was in the tower.

  As the dance continued, Hemlock noticed that the Other kept looking at a shadowy recess on one side of the vertical surface of the dark stone.

  It appeared to be a doorway.

  The next time that Hemlock saw the doorway, a heavy wooden door thrust open from it.

  She saw a cloaked figure emerging fitfully, but then the eyes of the Other were drawn away from the spectacle by the path of her violent dance, which had not paused and had not changed in intensity, despite the apparent change in circumstances.

  Hemlock realized that she was somehow still able to sense the emergence of the cloaked figure, whose brown hooded garment completely obscured all features from view.

  Then the figure pulled back its hood, revealing male features and eyes that shone with a brilliant yellow light—as if they were small suns somehow captured in his head. He wore a bold tricorne hat that barely contained beautiful, curly, blond locks of hair. The cloak opened to reveal blue raiment beneath, in the form of a collared waist cost, with a dark vest, and dark brown knee-length pants, which were met at the knee by soiled, white hose that culminated in heavy leather shoes with prominent gold buckles.

  Hemlock had never seen anyone dressed like this, except for actors in her City when they put on dramas set in time of the Imperator. But those costumes were far less elaborate than these clothes. Hemlock was impressed by the man’s stately appearance, even as she beheld him in a state of obvious distress as he was being drawn, inexorably, from the interior of the black stone tower.

  The dance continued, and the Other seemed to be more determined than ever to continue, though Hemlock sensed that the dance would likely end in the man’s death.

  “You will stop this barbarous magic immediately! This is not a legal assembly! Ignorance of the law is not an excuse!” cried the man in a shrill voice that projected easily over the plateau and the chanting clamor of the dance.

  The Other did not respond.

  “It is true that I have taken some of your people—a necessary evil, for I partake of efforts that you would not be able to comprehend! It was all done lawfully, I assure you! And I have rid you of that old crone who dwelt here in secret and murderous isolation. That is just compensation for your lost ones!” the man cried again.

  The figure was nearing the ring of danc
ers, and Hemlock sensed that this line represented a peril for him.

  “I warn you, if you do not cease this dance and parley with me, I will be forced to defend myself!” the man cried with increased urgency, as if he was aware of the imminent threat.

  The Other continued to dance.

  Suddenly the man revealed something from under his cloak: something that bathed the entire plateau in a fiery light.

  “I’m afraid that, by law, you must be slain in order to stop this,” cried the man, as if speaking directly into the mind of the Other. Hemlock, attached to the Other, heard the threat.

  Hemlock experienced a jolt of recognition. The object held by the man was familiar to her.

  “What is this?” asked the high voice. Did he sense the magical link between Hemlock and the Other? She doubted that this was possible, yet the impression remained.

  In the next instant, the link between her and the Other was broken: shattered into a thousand shards, which painfully reassembled into Hemlock’s consciousness.

  She was in her bed in the Wizard Tower.

  She grasped the sheets of her bed in balled fists, as she considered the final thing that she had seen before the link had been broken.

  The strangely dressed figure had wielded a Wand of the Imperator.

  Chapter Two

  Faces came into focus around Hemlock. She saw Gwineval, Tored, Miara, Samberlin, and Merit standing around her bed. She realized that she was wearing one of the brown linen tunics that she favored for daily activity, but the strong light of early morning assailed her groggy senses.

  "Hemlock, are you all right? You did not arrive at council this morning, and when we at last became concerned, we found that you could not be roused."

  "Yes, I'm OK." Here she paused and considered what to tell the assembled group about her unusual dream. Many thoughts ran through her head.

  If I tell Gwineval about the Wand I saw, then maybe he will agree to take over the Guild. But will he lust for the Wand? And will other wizards hear of it, like Jalis? How would they react?

  Hemlock realized that her pause was reaching a length that might imply a lack of candor regarding her recent condition, so she decided to tell a partial truth: "I was called by the others in my mind to lend aid in a battle. It seemed mere minutes in the dream."

  She saw Gwineval nod in response, as if he had already suspected such a turn of events. Miara gave her a compassionate smile. Samberlin regarded her with one of his typical analytical stares. Merit and Tored both looked concerned.

  “Hemlock, your sister Mercuria was here with us as soon as she received word. She took her leave when it became clear that you would awaken. She asked us to tell you to stop by her apartment when you have the time,” Gwineval stated.

  I missed our dinner! Heavens, no! Will Mercuria be angry again? We were just making progress with one another.

  “There is another matter. Tored arrived from the Witch Crags this morning, Hemlock. When should we reschedule our meeting with him?” asked Gwineval.

  “I must interject, with your pardon, that any further delay will play into the hands of Jalis and his band of rabble rousers,” said Samberlin, stepping forward as he spoke.

  “And weren’t you seen talking with Jalis soon after this morning’s council meeting, Samberlin?” said Miara, reddening slightly.

  Hemlock saw Gwineval’s posture tense up and then he started to reach toward Miara. But he seemed to have second thoughts, and retracted his hand.

  So, he does feel something for her after all.

  Samberlin looked surprised, but then seemed to relish the accusation. “It is true. For doesn’t the shepherd take stock of the wolves before deciding where to graze his flock?”

  “But what if the shepherd is himself a wolf?” Miara quipped.

  “Indeed, that would be a dire situation. But could a wolf pass so easily for a shepherd? And is the flock so foolish that they could not tell the difference?”

  Hemlock felt her alertness returning, although there was a certain fatigue hanging over her that she had only felt once before, when she had aided another entity in that other place. She wanted to run to her sister, but she felt that duty dictated that she meet with Tored and his Tanna Varran delegation first.

  And if we meet now, I’ll be able to go to Mercuria sooner.

  “Enough of this. Don’t reschedule. We’ll meet in one hour. I just need to eat and see to myself.”

  “Hemlock, no. You should rest for a few hours at least,” cautioned Miara.

  “Really, Miara, it’s OK. I was sleeping all of that time. I don’t need to rest anymore, and all we’re going to do is talk.”

  Everyone agreed to hold the meeting as Hemlock suggested, and they left her alone in her chamber to prepare.

  Hemlock had Grubbins fetch her breakfast. Before Falignus’ fall, he had been in charge of training new wizard recruits; now he had been reduced to chief cook. She enjoyed ordering him to do menial tasks, for he still treated her with thinly veiled contempt.

  She ate quickly, bathed, and then the hour was up. She descended down the inner stair to the audience chamber. She arrived through the side door and took her place in the foremost chair: Falignus’ chair—at least that’s how she felt about it whenever she sat in it.

  The members of the wizard council were in attendance for the meeting, as were Samberlin, Tored, Merit, and eighteen Tanna Varran warriors, who were distinctive in their blue chalk and comparatively simple attire. There was also an audience of approximately fifty senators and influential people from the Elite district. Hemlock was sorry that there were no representatives present from the Warrens, but her project to create a governing body for the district had not yet been started.

  As the leader of the wizards, Hemlock was responsible for opening the meeting.

  “Greetings from the City, Tored, and welcome to you and your men. I’m sorry that I was unable to greet you when you first arrived.”

  “Greetings to the wizards from the land of the Tanna Varrans,” stated Tored flatly.

  “What news do you bring from the past months?”

  “We have hunted the witches and toppled their Ziggurats with our battle magic. The sister of the one you slew fell in battle some weeks ago. There is still another witch who fled before us. But she has abandoned her Ziggurat, which was her source of power, and will therefore be weak. Our campaign, while not over, is advancing well.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, Tored. I’m sure your people rest easier now, knowing that the threat of the witches is almost ended.”

  “Surely it is so, Hemlock.”

  “Good. Our preparations for returning your land to its original realm beyond the veil are progressing. It will be a difficult transition for us, but we are preparing.”

  “This is well. We have news related to this. As you suggested, we have been looking for information on where the Wand that binds our land to the City may be located. A scroll has been found in our archives. It documents the journeys of a lone wizard through our land. We believe this to refer to the wizard Julius, who history says was responsible for bringing our land to the City.”

  Tored paused, waiting for acknowledgment from Hemlock. “This lone wizard was spotted journeying to the western part of our land, where there is a vale surrounded by impassable mountains. This vale is legendary amongst our people. Tales passed down for generations say that entry to this vale is certain death. Yet it was written that this wizard was seen entering it, and later returning. We believe that he might have used the Wand somewhere within that accursed place.”

  Hemlock felt a thrill of excitement.

  Here is the excuse I’ve been waiting for. Gwineval will be forced to agree to allow me to accompany Tored to recover the Wand, and release the Witch Crags from the City.

  “Tored, this is an important discovery. I would like to lead an expedition of wizards to journey to this vale and determine whether the Wand is there or not.”

  The room was silent for a
few moments before Tored responded.

  “We agree to this idea. Though many of my people fear this vale, the group that has accompanied me has agreed to follow me there, should that be required of them.”

  “I do not fear the curse. And we must determine whether the Wand is there or not,” said Hemlock.

  “There is other news.”

  “Yes?”

  “Our leader, Pan Taros, who was sick for many months, has finally passed on.”

  “Tored, we are sorry to hear this news. Is there anything that the City can do to help your people?”

  “No, no help is necessary. Since the Battle of Tor Varnos, I have been acting as Steward for the crown, as you know. Soon the elders will decide on a new King from amongst the noble families. This process may take several months to complete. During this time I will remain Steward.”

  “Understood.”

  Tored was silent. Hemlock took this as a signal that his formal presentation was over. She was about to adjourn the meeting when Gwineval nudged her softly from the adjacent chair.

  I forgot to open the floor for questions.

  “Do any other council members have questions for Tored?”

  Gwineval was the first to speak up: “Tored, can you elaborate on the danger that is said to exist in this Vale?”

  “It is an ancient legend, and many adventurers have doubted the warning and decided to journey there. To a man, none have returned. Because none have returned, we do not understand what the danger is.”

  Gwineval grunted in response, giving Hemlock a pointed look.

  “I have a question,” said Jalis from Hemlock’s left.

  Tored nodded to Jalis.

  “Would you agree to allow us to do a temporary Oberon harvest before your land is released from the City?” said Jalis.

  Some senators and business people in the audience cheered in approval of Jalis’ question.

  Hemlock turned and glared at Jalis. The porcine features of the man were smug and defiant. He did not recoil from her stare.

  “Tored, please do not answer that question. Our policy, which this council member has apparently forgotten, is to no longer harvest Oberon,” said Hemlock.