Hemlock And The Wizard Tower (Book 1) (57 page)

"I think Samberlin is right, Hemlock," interjected Tored, "this situation is tenuous as it stands. We cannot afford panic or chaos in the streets on top of our current challenges.  We need to maintain order until you return."

"All right, we will wait, then," said Hemlock, taking the counsel of Tored to heart.

Hemlock returned her attention to the Griffin.

The white, eagle-like head of the Griffin took on a silvery hue in the moonlight, as she watched it.
 
Something about the scene made Hemlock reflective, and she suddenly experienced a great feeling of loss for all of the magical creatures that the Imperator and the wizards had destroyed.

"We will return this realm to a safe place for your kind to live.  You have my word on that," Hemlock expressed to the Griffin with her thoughts.

"Thank you.  I hope that we will succeed," responded the beast.

With that, the Griffin descended from the balustrade and stood on the balcony.  It dipped its front shoulder.

Hemlock got onto its back with a graceful vault.

The Griffin began to beat its wings and took to the air.

Hemlock met the eyes of Tored, Samberlin and Miara in turn as the Griffin climbed higher and higher.  Each of them bade her farewell and she felt a weight of responsibility for each of them and for the entire City.

Some people clapped and cheered in the crowds below the Tower, as she flew over them and then moved northward into the night.

Hemlock clung desperately to the back of the proud Griffin as it flew into a maelstrom.  The desert had erupted into a violent sand storm and the Griffin was struggling to fly in the face of it.  Had it not been for the great, graceful power of the beast, Hemlock thought that the passage would have been impossible.

Hemlock was hooded and passed
over
the barren sand dunes
looking
like
little more than a formless sack being carried as cargo
. 
With her back bowed and her head down,
she
persevered as the Griffin struggled on
relentlessly. 
Hemlock felt that dark wizard
magic
, such as she had experienced at the Emerald Stair,
was all around her,
even seeping into her;
yet
her
robe
kept enough of
the sensation at bay t
hat her mind was able to
clearly
focus on one concept: press on.

Sand
s billowed and blew in the wind and
gallop
ed
in clouds
through the air like stampeding horses.
It
bit her face and hands
–and even her torso at times–
when
it
penetrated the robe.

Her jaw was set in a resolute clench. 

She knew that if she faltered now
that
the
sacrifices that had been made by Safreon and by the Tanna Varrans
would all be
meaningless. 

"Falignus
must be stopped," she thought to herself over and over again, like a mantra.

After an indeterminate period of time had passed, something became visible in the violently turbulent sands before her.

The
ancient visages of
the
stone
buildings
that she sought came slowly into focus below her.  Mercuria had explained what little was known of the desert region to Hemlock prior to her departure.  These buildings were the only known landmarks in the desert.  Hemlock hoped that Falignus hadn’t been headed to another unknown location, but she shrugged off that feeling of pessimism like a bit of sand in her cloak.

"This must be the place," she muttered to the Griffin, thinking that it would never hear her over the incredible din of the storm.

But it reacted like it did.

Struggling mightily, the beast managed a hard, but controlled landing near the ruined buildings.  The buildings were round and ringed in large ivory columns.  Within the columns were smooth walls that were punctuated by large arched doorways.

The doorways looked like crude eyes and with them the buildings seemed to stare
implacably over the hissing desert sands. 
Their stone was chipped and scarred;
their beauty and grandeur
having been
marred by some conflagration and the passage of time, made
more cruel
by the abrasive sand
and
the wind.  As
Hemlock beheld
them,
something about their structure suggested that these buildings were in fact the tops of huge towers, the full length of which stood
below
the sands in their full stature. 
Upon further inspection, s
he felt
sure that the buildings
probably did extend down, for the structure
s before her were pointed at the top like spires and
they
were ringed with what appeared to be balconies that were only now interrupted by collapsed sections.
 

Turning to the Griffin, Hemlock made a request which nearly broke her heart, for she knew what she was asking the noble and beautiful creature to endure, should it accept her request.

"Can you wait for me?" Hemlock asked, knowing that she might not make it back to the City without the continued aid of the creature, assuming that she managed to defeat Falignus.

The Griffin nodded in acceptance, leaving Hemlock to seek shelter under the overhang of the far building.

Hemlock noticed for the first time that a terrible and familiar un-light emanated from within the building before her.  In fact, it seemed to be the source of the death magic that she had perceived, and even the storm itself, may have emanated from within that terrible structure, whose original beauty Hemlock now perceived as tangibly malevolent in its current weathered and forlorn state.

Hemlock suddenly felt like she was no longer alone.

She pulled back her hood and winced in pain as the sand bit into her head and face.

A shimmering image of Falignus had appeared to her right.

"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 ans
wer.  You will be a part of it: o
ur 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.