Hemlock And The Dread Sorceress (Book 3) (14 page)

This one quickly came to an intersection of two passages.  One led upward and the other stayed level.

“We need to go up, right?” said Hemlock.

Tored agreed and began to climb the sloping passage.

Hemlock continued to notice the carved images. Amazingly, they were consistently present in every passage they traveled so far.  The larger figures seemed to be benevolent—helping the people to farm, hunt, and build.  She began to sense that an enlightened society had built these tunnels.

“Whoever carved these seemed to live in a time of prosperity,” she said.

“They did not seem to be afraid, and appeared to revere these gods,” said Tored.

“I know.  These are so different from the Imperial runes and carvings I’ve seen.  I wonder what happened to these people.”

“Perhaps Merit will be able to tell us once we find some of their books.”

“Yes, I look forward to that.”

The passage leveled out, and after several hundred feet, they reached an intersection.  There were two ways to go, and Hemlock was undecided on which direction to take.  Tored stepped a few feet into each passage.

“The air is fresher in this one,” he said from the path on the left.

“Alright, let’s take it, then.”

After a minute of walking, the ornate runes suddenly stopped and the walls became rough stone.  They didn’t get far before Hemlock started having doubts about the direction they had chosen.  But they soon turned a corner and were encouraged to see light ahead.

“The torch is burning out,” said Tored.

“Alright, let’s see where this has taken us and then head back,” said Hemlock.

The passage opened onto a broad stone shelf that looked out over a distant desert.

“We’re on the other side of the mountain,” said Hemlock.

“Truly.  So there is a desert nearby.  This area has abundant water, though.”

Seeing no sign of wyverns overhead, they risked walking close to the edge of the shelf to see below them.  The river flowed close to the mountain with several miles of diminishing green around it.  Further away, a region of dusty steppes began and ran for a few miles.  Beyond that was the desert.

Hemlock wondered whether that desert was the same region that had been a part of the City, and if Falignus found his way to this peak from that desert, somehow.

A sudden memory of being in his arms assailed her.  She looked at Tored, hoping she hadn’t appeared lost in her thoughts, but the old warrior did not seem to notice.

“Let’s double back,” she said.

“The upper passage probably led to the stronghold.  This must have been their network of scouting points.  It would be difficult to approach this mountain undetected if these lookouts were patrolled.”

“Yes, I was thinking the same thing,” said Hemlock, noting the sun lying low on the distant horizon.  “It will be dark soon.  We have to get to that stronghold.”

Chapter
Five

They doubled back and took the passage they previously decided against exploring.  After a while, it began to slope upwards and the wall carvings took on a more martial tone.  The large images depicted men in training and forging weapons.  Further along, Hemlock noticed the carvings were scored and broken in a way that suggested deliberate destruction.

“This looks like the work of the Sorceress,” said Hemlock.

“Perhaps.  But it’s odd that she wouldn’t have done the same to the lower tunnels,” said Tored.

They continued on in silence.  Hemlock hurried their pace, fearing for Esmeralda’s parents.

“I wish we’d gone this way the first time.  Now time is short,” she said.

  “Come on,” said Tored, urging her forward.

They reached a series of guard rooms with staggered doorways and arrow slits. The wooden doors were gone—only a few splinters of wood and their iron hinges remained.  The carvings on these walls had been completely defaced, and some had even been scorched with drawings depicting anatomical deformities and perverse acts.

“If this was done by the Sorceress, there’s something wrong with her,” said Hemlock.

“These drawings do appear to be the work of an unhinged mind,” said Tored.

“If she’s crazy, how am I going to reason with her?”

“Reason with her?  I thought you were going to kill her.”

“Well, I guess that’s the plan. But will she harm the townspeople during the battle?  I’m concerned about that.”

“It does seem to be a risk.  We will do the best we can, but there may be casualties.”

“That’s not good enough!  You saw Esmeralda.  I won’t be able to face her if anything happens to her parents.”

“We must hurry.”

They worked their way through the offset doors and the hallway resumed its upward slope.

Suddenly, there were flashing eyes and screeching sounds all around them.  A mass of bats flew amongst them then took wing along the hallway ahead, receding from view and earshot.

“That might not be good,” said Hemlock as they jogged up the hall.  Tored didn’t respond, so Hemlock looked over at him.  He shrugged and shook his head from side to side.

They saw a large chamber ahead and caution forced them to halt.  Hemlock’s magic senses registered strong readings, but they competed for her attention because the contents of the room were visually captivating.

Torches were lit in the chamber, illuminating a horrifying scene.  Several iron devices were arranged around the room. Each contained the remains of a person that appeared to have endured indescribable torment.  There was a device with a system of gears and pulleys to stretch a person’s limbs apart.  Another was a large iron sarcophagus that sat partially opened.  A corpse was draped out of the opening, and the gleam of dense spikes from within the sarcophagus hinted at the fate of that unfortunate soul.  There were also glass jars full of bloody flesh.  And, worst of all, a table set with dishware, silver and a generous platter that bore a large slab of human ribs and bloody meat.

They were dumbstruck by what they saw.  After a moment, Hemlock recovered from the shock and redirected her attention to the magic emanating from the room.  It was strong—nearly all-encompassing. Her immediate impression was that nothing in the room was what it appeared to be.

“I don’t think it’s real!” she hissed between clenched teeth.

“I have never seen the likes of this!  Even our witches didn’t dine on flesh.  And this Sorceress is one of the living.  She has no need to feed on her own kind,” said Tored.

“Did you hear me?  I think it’s an illusion.”

“Magic?”

“Yes.”

Hemlock studied the magic more closely.  The spells of illusion were complex and interwoven.  She thought she detected a real table and some large stones underlying the more horrifying aspects that her eyes observed.  There seemed to be strong, localized magic sustained by a distant source of power.  She guessed the distant power was the Chalice in the stronghold they sought.  The way it projected magical power reminded her of the Wands of the Imperator she’d previously encountered.

“It can’t be,” she said.

“What?”

“It’s like there’s another Wand here.  But I know there’s not because I can see all the Wands when I view the celestial realm.”

“But didn’t your mother say the Sorceress has some type of magical chalice?”

“She did.  Maybe it works like the Wands?”

She focused on the distant magical power source and realized it did seem weaker than the Wands.  But the nature of the illusion brought up even more questions.  The illusion was tied to the distant Chalice
somehow, and it was a bi-directional flow, though the power was mostly radiating outward from the distant point. 

“Something’s different about this magic.  It involves people, somehow.  The Wands seem to channel raw elemental power, but this is different.”

“Why would the Sorceress create a room like this?” asked Tored.

“I’m not sure.  To scare people?  To satisfy some strange urges on her part?”

“If it was the latter, wouldn’t she just indulge herself in reality instead of crafting this illusion?”

“I suppose.  Maybe she feeds off of fear, then.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Until I can see it in action, I won’t be sure.”

“I suspect you’ll see it in action soon enough.”

“If she’s using this Chalice, she’ll be weakened if we can destroy it,” said Hemlock.

“But you said it was not always used for evil.  Should we destroy it?”

“It’s close enough to a Wand that I don’t want to take any chances.  We’ll destroy it if we can.”

They made their way through the gruesome contents of the room.  Hemlock found the experience disturbing despite knowing its true nature. The mild look of disgust on Tored’s face confirmed that he felt similarly.

Once they left the room, Hemlock broke into a run and Tored joined her. 

Soon, the smell of fresh air in their faces indicated they were nearing another exit from the tunnels.  They turned a corner, and the blue-black of an evening sky was visible through an arched exit.  They cautiously advanced toward it. After determining that it wasn’t being watched, they took in the scene.

The walls of the stronghold lay about fifty yards in front of them.  They were made of granite, splotchy and bleached by the sun and weather.  The stronghold was five sided with a slender tower rising from each corner.  The top of the walls bent inward, crowned by balustrades which were crumbling and broken in intervals.  Shadowy figures moved between the balusters that were still intact.  The outward facing portions of the corner towers each bore the remains of carved statues that had been torn down.  The great head of one ruined statue rested in front of the nearest tower. Its features were charred and defaced with painted, slanting eyes and large fangs. In the most distant part of the stronghold, a thicker tower keep rose above the rest.  Hemlock felt sure that the magical power emanated from there.  A wide path, marked by the passage of many people, led toward a gate with a portcullis that was locked in the upward position.  The interior of the stronghold was cut off from their view.

“The magic is coming from there,” Hemlock said, pointing to the keep.

Tored nodded as a great round of applause rang out from the unseen courtyard.  The shadowy figures Hemlock had seen atop the walls bolted into the air, and hundreds of wyverns joined into a loose ring, flying in a circle above the stronghold.

“We’ll be spotted if we advance,” Tored said.

Hemlock scanned the stronghold for an alternate entrance.  She found what appeared to be one in the form of a collapsed wall in the far corner’s tower.

“You wait here while I enter the stronghold,” Hemlock said.

“To what end?”

“Once I have everyone’s attention, you run to the wall and get to that opening back there,” said Hemlock, pointing to the crumbling tower wall.

“So I make for the Chalice while you confront the Sorceress, alone?”

“Yes,” said Hemlock as the wyverns above the stronghold cried out in unison.  The echo of their cry reverberated over the plains below, and then a great round of applause resumed.  The wyverns swooped down to the walls and took their places amongst the balusters again.  But two of the creatures remained in the air, screeching and flying ever faster in a circle they struggled to hold against the force of their flight.

“I have to go!  Good luck!” said Hemlock, not waiting for a response.  She ran across the sandy ground to the side of the ruined statue, making for the open portcullis that led inside the stronghold.

The two wyverns in the air wheeled and charged each other, breathing lightning and attempting to claw one another as they passed at speed.  The lightning hit one, singing its scales and causing the creature to roll for a moment before regaining control.

Hemlock turned the corner and ran into the stronghold.  She saw a wide courtyard flanked by wooden bleachers where the entire population of Ogrun sat in fearful silence.  In the middle of the makeshift amphitheater, two men fought desperately.  One had a club and the other a long sword.  They circled each other, exchanging clumsy blows, and both were bloodied.  The two wyverns, which Hemlock judged to be bonded to the pair of men, continued to fight in the air above them.  To Hemlock’s right, there was a row of low buildings that flanked the large tower keep at the rear of the courtyard.  On a balcony of that tower stood the Sorceress, and beside her rested her unnaturally large bat.

Hemlock thought of Esmeralda as she saw the men fighting and worried one of them might be the girl’s father.  As she hurried forward, the swooshing sound of sand under her feet seemed magnified by the walls of the stronghold.  People began to notice her, and a wave of gasps reverberated through the crowd.

“Stop!” she shouted.

The two combatants on the ground paused in surprise. Suddenly, all eyes were on her.  Even the wyverns in the air broke off and soared away from one another, watching her.

The Sorceress rose slowly. Hemlock could see the sneer on her face even at a distance of many score of yards.  She was pretty despite the strange markings that covered her face.  The great bat engaged Hemlock with a predatory stare and recoiled as if ready to charge.  But the Sorceress restrained the beast with her forearm.

“So!” began the Sorceress in a tone that was equal parts condescension and hatred.  “You finally made it to my little party, I see.  I’m glad.  I wouldn’t want you to miss the fun!”

“This is your idea of fun?” Hemlock said loudly enough for all to hear.

“The beginning of it, anyway.  I have other surprises in store, yet.  You’ll see soon enough!”

Hemlock could sense the tremendous power of the magic item that lay hidden within the large tower.  While not quite like a Wand of the Imperator, its power was no less formidable than what she estimated from afar.  It was pouring energy directly to the Sorceress.  The fear of the citizens fed into the tower keep and directly into the mysterious artifact.

“Let these people leave.  This is between you and me,” said Hemlock, pointing to the two bloodied men who still stood, watching.

“Oh, I can’t do that.  We must have a proper duel, today.  And whichever fighter falls will feed the Shadow Man,” said the Sorceress, pointing down with a flourish toward a wooden sarcophagus laying against the far wall, to Hemlock’s left.  It was large and crudely fashioned, but its charred surface was covered in cunning, curled runes that made Hemlock’s skin crawl.  She could sense confinement magic emanating from the runes, mixed with a malicious spell that suggested torment.

“Falignus,” she mouthed without speaking the name.

Next, she sensed a surge of fear coming from the people in the stands, feeding into the tower.  When the energy burst reached the Sorceress, her head tilted back and she laughed a terrible laugh before calling out again.  “Do you feel how the people tremble at even the mention of my Shadow Man?”  She pointed to Hemlock.  “I think he will feed on many souls this night!”

“Let these men go, and I will face you myself.  If I fall, I will face your Shadow Man!”

“You?  You don’t understand my laws.  Our duels take place on the land and in the sky between two pairs of creatures bound by the soul pact.  You are not bound.  You are unworthy!”

Hemlock’s mind began to churn as she tried to think of a way to save the fighters, one of whom she thought might be Esmeralda’s father.  She didn’t know whether Tored was close to destroying the Chalice, so she couldn’t rely on that being removed.  The Sorceress was much too powerful for Hemlock to fight without risking a lot of collateral damage.  Many of the citizens would surely be caught in the wake of her destructive wrath.

The Sorceress sighed. “I tire of this distraction.”  She thrust her arms forward, and a jet of magic hurtled toward Hemlock.

Hemlock crouched to jump, but at the last moment before her evasive maneuver, her senses recognized the type of incoming spell.  It was a confinement spell.  Hemlock made a split second decision to allow the spell to strike her in the hopes that it would buy her some time to determine her next move.