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

by B Throwsnaill

  The group moved forward into the canyon cautiously. The material underfoot became increasingly soft, which slowed their progress, and threatened to nauseate some of the warriors.

  When they were fifty yards from the creature, its eyes bolted open. It tried to adjust its position with great flippers that seemed too frail for its massive bulk and struggled to move it, sending ripples through the rolls of fat. Streaming pools of waste were also set into motion by the creature’s struggles.

  As the group waited, the creature rolled itself onto its stomach, bringing it within twenty yards of the group.

  “Run!” cried Tored.

  Hemlock kept her eyes on the beast as she ran. She was able to move more quickly than the others and had little difficulty with her balance in the deep muck.

  She watched in amazement as spiked spines rose from the creature’s back.

  A sudden thud in front of her diverted her attention. The thing had swung out a sickeningly elongated tail in an attempt to block their passage. It landed hard, showering the group in waste. The tail nearly extended to the near wall of the canyon.

  “Go around it!” cried Hemlock, noting with dismay that Renevos had fallen to the ground. But Otticus was soon there to lift him, and the two continued their flight unhindered.

  Hemlock turned back to check on the disposition of the beast. The barbs rising from the creature’s back were now sickeningly elongated. She swore that some of them seemed to be quivering.

  Suddenly two of them burst into the air in quick succession. As Hemlock cried out a warning, four more of them launched into the air, followed quickly by the remainder. Hemlock tried to follow their progress, but the obscuring mist made it impossible.

  “Attack from the air!” she cried.

  The group was just rounding the extended tail when Hemlock saw the barbs emerge from the mist above them. The huge projectiles rained down on the group and a dark haired wizard and a young Tanna Varran were impaled as they struck the mucky ground.

  It was apparent that nothing could be done for the two slain members, so they were left behind as the group continued to run.

  Renevos halted his wizards and the three that had helped heal Tored began casting a spell. Lightning burst from their fingertips and scorched the fleshy beast. It began to quiver and roll, and they were unable to focus their fire on a particular point.

  Hemlock paused to cover the wizards, but as she did so, she noted that most of the barbs were missing.

  She turned to fully survey the scene where the barbs had landed. She noticed the final barb as it bent and then extricated its sharp head from the muck with stubby limbs, and finally dove into the muck with small legs.

  Those things are alive!

  The wizards, who had concluded that their lightning attack had been ineffectual, resumed their flight.

  The group was making slow progress toward the exit from the canyon, but Hemlock could see that some of the barbs were climbing back into position on the spine of the creature with an astonishing speed.

  They will strike again! And the mist conceals their approach.

  “Stop!” she cried with a sudden inspiration. “Those barbs will soon launch again, and they will cut more of us down unless we stop them. Watch for their approach in the mist. When they land, attack them. They have small arms and legs. Perhaps they can be slain!”

  Tored and Acron Gallus both cried out their approval.

  Just then, the barbs quivered and launched into the air again.

  “Watch Renevos!” Hemlock screamed, her eyes locked on the mists above.

  Her heart pounded out the moments as they waited for the barbs to land. Hemlock saw a blur of black above her and tumbled to her side. She had plenty of time to avoid the attack, but she feared that Renevos lacked the speed to react in time. And she realized that his knowledge of teleportation was the key to the mission.

  The weakest among us is the most important.

  The barb landed beside her with a screech. She was close enough to smell the creature and see small, aberrant limbs extend from its black body as its lidless eyes stared.

  She stabbed at the soft flesh under the armored carapace of the monster’s torso, but the creature swiveled to deflect her attack with its hide. She drew her other sabre and began to strike toward the pale mottled skin again and again, but the creature defended with a surprising deftness of movement.

  Defying her attempts to skewer it, the monster finally toppled itself back into the disgusting muck at Hemlock’s feet and began to squirm away. As it did so, its leering stare seemed to mock Hemlock’s efforts.

  With a final leap, Hemlock thrust her sabre into an inky, dark eyeball. The creature squealed in agony, and a dark fluid jetted from the wound. The small limbs went limp.

  A piercing cry arose from the tusked mouth on the huge body of the distant beast, as if in response to the death of the barb.

  “Kill these barbed things—aim for the eyes as they swim away!” Hemlock shouted.

  Hemlock rushed to dispatch additional barbs as they frantically tried to swim back through the muck. Several cries from the distant hulk followed as more barb monsters met their demise at the hands of the group. It proved to be relatively easy to stab the creature’s eyes when they settled into the mud to swim away, so with the support of the rest of the group, not a single barb managed to escape.

  The great creature began to tremble, and then it shuddered violently. Its agony shook the entire mountain, and Hemlock feared that boulders might fall from the heights. But the agony of the beast was short-lived. Soon it lay still, its eyes frozen and vacant.

  “Wait, it could be a trick,” cautioned Acron Gallus.

  After a few minutes had passed, and the group had verified that they had suffered no additional casualties beyond the first two, a group of Tanna Varrans and wizards approached the great monster.

  Hemlock and Tored joined the group as Otticus boldly stepped forward and slashed at one of the beast’s flippers with his sword, opening a great wound.

  There was no reaction.

  “It must be dead,” said Hemlock.

  But then Otticus spoke. “Quiet for a moment!”

  He approached the filth covered belly of the beast and placed his ear against it.

  “I hear a heartbeat,” he said.

  “Truly?” asked Hemlock.

  She hacked at the flipper that Otticus had damaged, and slashed it until it fell with a sickening thud onto the floor of the canyon.

  The beast did not stir.

  “What do we do?” asked Acron Gallus.

  “We can’t let this thing live,” said Hemlock.

  “I agree,” said Tored.

  “Well, how do we kill it?” asked Otticus.

  “We must carve through the filth and flesh to stop the heart,” said Tored.

  “I’ll do it!” said Otticus.

  “Wait, Otticus,” said Hemlock.

  “Renevos, can your wizards focus your magic and burn a hole in this thing?” she asked.

  “Our lightning might have the desired effect now that it lies still,” replied Renevos.

  With the group standing back at a good distance, the three wizards again focused their magic and showered the beast with lightning bolts that leapt from their fingers. A repellant stench of seared flesh filled the canyon as the wizards halted to survey the result of their gruesome work.

  A twenty foot opening in the side of the beast demonstrated their success, but the heart still beat deep within the creature.

  “Well, we don’t have all day,” commented Renevos.

  He extended his arms violently and a bolt of lightning cracked from his palms toward the hole in the side of the monster. As a veritable thunderclap echoed through the canyon and beyond, Hemlock watched the searing bolt tear clean through the monster and impact the rock wall on the far side, burning away the filthy residue to char the clean rock beneath.

  “Well done, old man,” said Hemlock.

  “Tha
t got it!” cried Otticus, after climbing partially into the smoking wound to confirm the kill.

  “Surely the world will be a better place for want of that monster,” said Acron Gallus.

  “And a cleaner place,” quipped Hemlock.

  The elder did not seem amused, although Otticus laughed heartily until Renevos demanded he stop. “Silence! There are dead to be buried!”

  Hemlock was about to ask Renevos about his unexpected display of wizardly talent when she noticed that he was sweating profusely and trembling.

  “I’ve never used that much power before,” he said with a note of regret in his voice. Otticus supported the older, taller wizard with his shoulder, helping him to walk.

  “You carry the stench of the beast!” complained Renevos, but he did not recoil from the aid of the younger wizard.

  The group gathered themselves and the bodies of the two fallen members and exited the canyon. They located a nearby clearing that had a few plants and a relative abundance of top soil. They dug as far as they could, interred the bodies, and covered them with earth. They topped the graves with a set of the small rocks that littered the area.

  After a brief ceremony, they continued to climb along the path.

  “That was too easy to be the Demon that DuLoc spoke of,” ventured Hemlock after enough time had passed that the funeral ceremony did not seem uncomfortably recent.

  “Yes, it did. That was a curious creature. I sensed witch magic imbuing it,” Tored said.

  “Me too. Could there be more witches here?”

  “I fear that very thing. Our party is small for such a campaign, if there is another coven here.”

  “We can handle it. I’ve killed two already.”

  “Yes, you have. I shall have to think of some title for you that honors that accomplishment.”

  Hemlock turned to confirm the sarcasm she thought she had heard in his voice.

  “It seems that the battle has lifted your spirits.”

  “I can’t deny that. Whether that is a vice or a virtue, I can’t say.”

  They continued to climb until the mist became so thick that they feared a loss of footing would propel them to a long and fatal fall. Their only encouragement was the unmistakable perception that the ascent was slowing.

  Soon the path had clearly leveled off, and then it rapidly began to descend. The group’s spirits began to rise as the mists began to thin.

  As they rounded a corner after a difficult part of the path, each of them stopped to take in the newly revealed view.

  The vale they saw below them was like an expression of some raw, divine passion: primal in its execution and ethereal in its result. None that laid eyes upon it were unmoved. Some were brought to tears. It affected them all differently, but fundamentally, with a force comparable to the infinitely life affirming power of the milk suckled from a mother's bosom.

  There were high cliffs from which descended a multitude of playful cyan waterfalls. These graceful arcs of water fell into serene pools, which themselves culminated in smaller falls that fed still lower pools. The water descended in this fashion, layer upon layer, down to a central lake, which was ringed in reddish sand that quickly gave way to a border of lush green foliage. The sky, now visible over the vale, was a perfect blue, accented artfully with heavenly white brush strokes of cotton.

  Small, naked figures relaxed in the many pools, their voices and laughter carrying on a sweet and pleasant breeze. Large, delicate sailboats glided with the wind in many places across the lake, their gaily colored pennants flapping joyously.

  Hemlock thought that the newly audible sounds of the place could not have been more elegant if the greatest band in the City had been playing their finest minuet: the water burbled triumphantly, the birds and insects made a frolicking melody, and many of the people themselves sang together in a tune that seemed interwoven with the laughter and other sounds of the place.

  None of the explorers was able to speak a word for several minutes.

  “This is the accursed vale?” Hemlock finally managed.

  “It would appear to be so,” replied Tored.

  Hemlock felt reassured by his matter of fact tone. It was like a lifeline back to her normal reality, when all of her senses were suggesting some alternate reality lay before her. The fact that the vale seemed incredibly pleasant did not make it seem any less alien.

  “Let’s go explore it!” cried Otticus.

  “Wait,” cautioned Renevos in a voice that did not sound completely convincing.

  “Let’s proceed, but remember that there is rumor of a curse here. Could a deception be more artfully prepared than what we see before us? Be cautious!” said Tored.

  His words seemed to sober the group somewhat, but spirits were high as they descended at what Hemlock thought was a reckless speed.

  As the perfection of their destination came increasingly into focus, Hemlock became more aware that the group was still covered in the filth of their recent battle.

  When they entered a clearing with a hot spring, Hemlock urged a delay so they might quickly bathe. Even Tored considered this a good idea, once he had carefully surveyed the pool and detected nothing unusual.

  Once they emerged clean, they continued their descent. It was clear they had been spotted, because many of the revelers below were gathering at the foot of the path, and all of the boats had docked.

  A final, small peak blocked the group’s view of the vale as they neared the bottom of the path. When they finally rounded it, the full splendor of the people waiting for them was revealed.

  Hemlock’s eye was first drawn to a woman of stunning beauty that stood before those assembled to meet the group. She met Hemlock’s gaze, and smiled at her. Her smile was like a melodious chord struck on a harp. And the woman’s golden hair, woven crown of flowers, shimmering, sheer gown of light, and scepter of woven roses were wonders that her senses could not fully register. The only beauty she could compare this to was the hideous, cold beauty of the first witch she had slain. But this woman was free of any hint of taint or decay. Rather, she emanated a sublime purity.

  Hemlock wasn’t sure how long she stood and stared at the woman before she gradually became aware of the man standing beside and slightly behind her. He was taller than the woman, and darker. His face was thin and long, and artfully arrayed. His curly hair was wet, and his eyes locked with Hemlock’s. He looked at her with a gaze that suggested an invitation to pleasure without breeching good taste or decorum. His body was toned and muscular. But this was an unremarkable trait amongst those that greeted them, for they all shared it. The man’s only attempt at modesty took the form of a small bouquet of angular red and orange flowers that he held in a careless attempt at concealment.

  “Welcome to our Vale. I am Cassandra, Queen of the Ishawn. I greet you with pleasure,” said the woman, after what Hemlock feared had been minutes of awkward silence. But then she suddenly considered that a silly thought, and didn’t concern herself with it.

  Nothing is awkward in this place.

  “Hi. My name is Hemlock. We are here from the City.”

  “Welcome, Hemlock,” said Cassandra, and a chorus of relaxed welcomes reverberated from the revelers.

  “Thank you.”

  Cassandra pointed toward the sky. “Look, the mists are receding. What a wonderful boon—to see the sky again is so precious.”

  Hemlock looked up and then behind her. The mists were clearing over the mountain pass.

  “It must have been that creature that we killed,” she said.

  “We wondered how you passed the Groolnak. It has kept us trapped here for centuries. And few have managed to enter in that time. We heard a great thunder-clap, and wondered at its source. Then we saw you descending into the Vale as the mists receded. I hoped for a miracle such as this, but I can scarcely believe it’s true!”

  “Why did the Groolnak imprison you here? It wasn’t that hard to kill. “

  “The Groolnak was designed to be an impossi
ble foe for us, for we are not warriors. Our only weapon, if you can call it that, is to fulfill sensual appetites and dispel aggression. But the Groolnak, as you saw, was a creature with insatiable appetites and boundless malice. It was created by our Bachawn sisters to imprison us here.”

  Hemlock heard Acron Gallus stammering behind her. As she turned, he found his tongue.

  “Witch… She is a witch. She is a witch!” he said with increasing passion.

  The Tanna Varrans brandished their spears as if waking from a dream. Even Tored appeared to be on the edge of violence.

  Screams of fear broke out from the Revelers and many of them burst into tears.

  “Wait!” cried Hemlock as she positioned herself between Cassandra and the Tanna Varrans. She saw that Tored had composed himself, but Acron Gallus and the rest of the Tanna Varrans were still impassioned.

  Otticus rallied the First Circle wizards around Hemlock and they helped her to restrain the Tanna Varrans.

  “Beware her tricks! She may be different than her sisters, but she’s just as deadly! Don’t underestimate her!” screamed Arcon Gallus.

  With a lightning stroke of her sabre, Hemlock sliced the tip off of the spear that Acron Gallus brandished. Getting the attention of the Tanna Varrans, she called out in a loud voice: “Lower your weapons! Look at these people. They aren’t warriors. We will be wary of them, but we will also hear them out.”

  “You’re a fool!” said Acron Gallus, throwing the remnant of his spear down in disgust.

  Hemlock ignored him and turned back to Cassandra, who, along with the striking man at her side, was consoling the crying revelers around them.

  “Please, my people are more sensitive than most,” Cassandra pleaded.

  “I’m sorry,” said Hemlock, “but the Tanna Varrans have suffered greatly at the hands of the witches. Is it true that you are also witches?”

  “We call our race the Witchawn. But we are different than our sisters. Where they sustained themselves by causing suffering, we are interested only in peace. Amongst our people, they are known as the Bachawn. We are known as the Ishawn. We are related, but very different.”

  Cassandra looked at Acron Gallus. “There is no need for enmity between us.”