Chapter Eighteen
Hemlock heard the townspeople muttering with disapproval as she moved through them, following Safreon, who led the group upwards through the town toward Pan Taros and Taros Ranvok. Hemlock wasn't certain whether the townspeople were mostly expressing anger toward the wizards or despair at the notion of having two enemies simultaneously. She heard smatterings of both points of view as she moved her attention from one conversation to another as she walked.
Safreon reached the spot where the King stood and Hemlock, Gwineval and Merit filed in beside him.
"Thank you very much for that," Safreon said solemnly.
"I gave you nothing, but merely applied our moral code to the present situation," replied the King.
"Fair enough. But we are still grateful," Safreon replied.
Pan Taros nodded distantly.
"We also wish to express our sympathy for your recent loss," Safreon continued.
The King looked down for a moment and then responded, "These are difficult times."
"I understand. Taros Ranvok, can we meet with you at your convenience to determine our next course of action?" asked Safreon.
Leaving Safreon’s question unanswered, the group noticed a commotion below. People were pointing toward the distant rise over which the wizards had recently departed.
Hemlock looked and saw a cloud of dust was rising over the crest of the rise.
"What is that?" she asked.
Nobody answered her and everyone seemed to be wondering the same thing.
People began to look up. Hemlock saw that a Tanna Varran scout was flying overhead and appeared to be spiraling downward to land near the ramp.
The flying warrior landed hard, and Hemlock admired his skill in maintaining his footing. He quickly folded his wings and ran up the ramp toward the King.
"Sir," he spoke breathlessly, "the wizards have entered their Oberon harvester and are now approaching the town."
The King’s features hardened.
Tored surged to the King’s side, his features cast in sudden alertness, and a glimmer in his eyes. He seemed, in that moment, like an old tool, now dusted off and re-sharpened. He looked the equal of a hundred lesser men.
"Sir, they make to attack the Town. Our spears and javelins cannot harm them in that armored beast. We must bring the old ballista to bear. It is our only weapon against them," counseled Tored.
The King nodded his agreement. Hemlock noticed that he appeared frighteningly detached from the weight of the situation. Taros Ranvok hurried him to the upper levels as warriors scrambled below to pull up the ramp from the Town to the valley floor.
"What should we do?" asked Hemlock, just as she saw a metallic figure in the distance, glinting in the mid-morning light playing over the far hill.
"Follow Tored," answered Safreon, fighting through the crowd.
The outlanders ascended the levels of the Town once more, where a great siege engine was being brought to bear. It looked old and seldom used, with great clouds of dust and grime emitting from it as a team of warriors lifted and rolled it on creaking wheels toward the balustrade at the edge of the platform.
Hemlock watched nervously as the distant figure became fully visible. She recognized the towering, slim figure from her adventure in the Wizard Tower, where she had seen a similar figure under construction.
"String the ballista!" cried Tored.
A group of men climbed around and on top of the great engine, stringing a heavy rope amongst its inner workings and finally straining to run the rope between the limbs of the machine, which resembled a giant crossbow.
"Load!" cried Tored.
Another group of men carried a great iron projectile on a wheeled cart toward the ballista. When they reached the side of the siege engine, they gathered around and lifted it from the cart suspended on leather straps. After a great effort, the projectile rested behind the great rope, which had been sprung under a tremendous load by the mechanisms of the contraption. Hemlock nervously eyed the approach of the Harvester.
"It’s taking too long!" Hemlock shouted.
"No, it’s not," replied Tored evenly, "but we’ll only get one shot."
Pan Taros and Taros Ranvok arrived at the chaotic scene as Tored directed his men to position the ballista.
Taros Ranvok rushed over to Safreon. "Can you use your magic against it?"
Safreon looked dubious. Gwineval responded, "The harvester is designed with an anti–magic shield to protect against the Witches and their minions. Our magic cannot harm it either without hours to prepare the proper counterspells."
Taros Ranvok nodded grimly in response.
"Tell Tored to aim for the seams in the iron," Gwineval added.
"I will," shouted Taros Ranvok. He ran over to Tored and relayed Gwineval’s advice.
A dozen warriors strained to move the weapon into position. The old siege engine creaked under the strain, but Hemlock judged that it had been built in the Tanna Varran way, with special magical angles and woodcraft. The ropes were aged, but they held under the tremendous forces that the siege engine wrought upon them.
Hemlock turned back to the Harvester, still doubting that Tored would even get a single shot off before the hulking figure began to tear away at the Town. She judged that it would smash through the wooden structure in no time. The sculpted appearance of the Harvester, which was cast as a sneering, beautiful youth, lent an aspect of perversion to the threat that it posed. She wondered whether she, Safreon, Gwineval and Merit could flee from the wreckage of the Town, and escape the wizards.
Or should we surrender? She thought to herself, experiencing a cloud of doubt at their prospects of making it back to the City undetected.
"Fire!" cried Tored from behind, surprising her.
And the projectile was released. The cast iron arrow sailed through the air toward the gargantuan iron harvester which was now only a hundred yards or so from the Town.
The great arrow’s flight lasted less than a second, but it felt much longer to Hemlock.
The projectile struck the giant iron torso at a seam of the shoulder, smashing into several pieces, shearing the great arm off and leaving a huge impression in the iron shoulder where it had impacted. The great iron arm fell to the earth with a thud, which reverberated through the valley.
Furious sparks of magical energy played over the torso of the harvester, and it suddenly went rigid. Slowly, almost serenely, the hulking figure fell forward to the ground. When it hit with a crash, it broke into several pieces, which hissed and burned as magical energies were released.
Small robed figures crawled forth from the ruined head, some limping and some dragging others who could not walk. They retreated toward the distant rise. From the top of the rise, two score more figures descended in force to meet the retreating wizards.
Tored looked to Taros Ranvok and asked, "Shall we slay or capture them?"
Taros Ranvok looked conflicted. "I must discuss this with my Father first."
…
The four outlanders returned to their lodgings in the great hall, which served as living quarters for the extended family of Taros Ranvok and the line of the King. They soon were engaged in an animated discussion about what their next course of action would be.
"We need to get the Wand," urged Gwineval, looking toward Safreon.
"I know, but how do we explain our actions to the Tanna Varrans without arousing their suspicion? Should we leave the Town and seek refuge in the caves?" Safreon asked.
"These people are now facing the wrath of the Witch and the wizards. Don't they need our help?" asked Hemlock.
"Perhaps they do. But considering that we are now being hunted by the Wizard Guild, I think that we need the Wand in order to help anyone," said Gwineval.
"I agree," replied Safreon. "What if we propose an alliance to the Tanna Varrans? With the power of the Wand, we should be able to repulse the Witch, should she attack, and perhap
s even repel an attack by the Wizard Guild. In exchange, they will allow us to stay here for a time and prepare for our next move."
"That could be the start of a war," stated Gwineval.
"The Tanna Varrans must weigh their options. From where I sit, they do not have a lot of them. They have angered the two principal powers in these lands bound to the City and are at risk of being annihilated by both of them." Safreon paused, directing his gaze inward. "I believe that we are entering a time of battle, where the fate of the City and the surrounding lands will be decided for generations to come."
Hemlock considered Safreon’s words. She was amazed that her life had changed so drastically in less than one week. She had gone from being an idealistic rogue in the Warrens to being at the forefront of what Safreon had just described as a war for the fate of the entire world, as she knew it.
"Did I cause this?" she wondered aloud.
Safreon turned to her: "You may have been the catalyst that set these events in motion. But these tensions have been building for many years, I think. I believe that the Wizard Guild has been building their power in order to try and completely dominate the City. It also seems to me that this Witch may have been using the same strategy against the Tanna Varrans."
Hemlock was comforted by his words. Still, in the back of her mind, she felt responsible. She thought back to the Badger Guild and all of the other people that she had slain in the Warrens; her thoughts even returned to the Mathi: the terrible beast which, in the end, had seemed so frail as it struggled for its life. Hemlock wasn’t sure that it was even alive according to her understanding of the concept, but she still knew that she had taken something from the beast that day.
Still somewhat uneasy, she rose and entered the bath chamber. It was a warm room, dominated by a thirty yard wooden pool which was tiled with earth-toned ceramics. The water was warm and steam rose toward vents in the ceiling.
There were some townsfolk relaxing in the pool, talking softly amongst themselves.
Their conversation paused as Hemlock disrobed; she knew that her toned and well proportioned body was growing further into the fullness of womanhood with every passing day. She was still getting used to the effect that this had on others.
She lowered herself into the pool, content to be alone in her thoughts, which, for the moment, had ceased to trouble her.
…
"You encountered an envoy from the Witch during your harvest?" Falignus asked, sitting in the audience chamber of the Wizard Council. He was debriefing an Oberon harvesting team which was delivering an unusual report from their latest foray into the Witch Crags. After having heard the news of Malvert’s misadventure with the Tanna Varrans, he was in no mood for news of more surprises from the region.
The leader of the harvesting team seemed to pale slightly as he answered, although he sounded resolute. "Yes, an apparition appeared to us. It came upon us suddenly and gave off an aura of great power. It appeared almost human and was dressed finely. These are usually the most terrible of the spirits. We had not been issued a Harvester yet, so we assumed battle formation."
The leader paused and looked up for a moment for affirmation from Falignus.
Falignus gestured for him to continue.
"It did not attack however, and began to speak to us. It said that it was an emissary from the Witch of the Ziggurat and that she wished to speak with Zaringer. I told it that you are now head of the Council and it noted that, but then said that the Witch would speak with whoever now leads the Guild. It stated that the Witch would scry using the Oberon obelisk when the moon reaches its solstice in five days hence."
"Did this apparition state why the Witch wished to scry with me?" asked Falignus.
"No, it did not. It retreated quickly once the message was delivered."
"Interesting," said Falignus, not dismissing the harvesting team as he usually did immediately after receiving their report.
Falignus slumped back in his ornate chair.
Why would the Witch want to speak with us? Is this related to Gwineval and recent events?
He didn't relish communicating with the Witch, whom he viewed as a corruption of nature. It was true, Falignus reasoned, that Zaringer, the former head of the Seventh Circle and his former mentor, had lately become much like the Witch and her lot. The difference between them wasthat the Seventh Circle sought to use dark magic as a means to extend life to further their goal of establishing an ordered prosperity, whereas the Witches used it to prevent their death indefinitely to maintain their reign of abusive tyranny.
Falignus alone knew that not just Zaringer, but all of the wizards of the Seventh Circle now rested near death in a state not unlike that of the Witches and their ilk. This was only meant to be temporary, purportedly so the lore that these individuals had accumulated over the years could be leveraged for the final spells that would be required to realize extended life enjoyed at the height of physical vigor, which was the long term goal of the Seventh Circle research.
It will be different for me–I’ll never have to become one of those…things.
Under my leadership, we will realize the goal of extended life. But not so much extended that we live as spectres, haunting the world. We will extend life in its natural fullness, and when the time comes that even our arts fail us, we will die with grace. This will happen in my lifetime–before I am reduced to what Zaringer has become.
Despite his determined optimism, some part of Falignus considered that he would have to deal with Zaringer and the other Seventh Circle wizards, if things didn't go according to plan. He knew that if the dark spell research worked, that it might restore Zaringer and the others and allow them to return to the living in their normal forms for a time. But he wondered what might happen when the magical effects inevitably waned–whether Zaringer and the others might not let go of their 'lives' willingly.
All things should be dealt with in their due time, he cautioned himself and returned his attention to the proposed discussion with the Witch.
Falignus reflected on whether he would speak with the Wizard Council about the unusual offer.
Tonight makes five days from the meeting with the spirit. The scry is to happen tonight, in mere hours.
"The Council would want to debate the matter at length. It is clever that the Witch hasn’t allowed me much time for counsel. She aims to outsmart me, I gather," he pondered.
Falignus thought about consulting Samberlin, the Speaker of the Senate, whom he had lately engaged as an ally and come to value greatly as an advisor. When Samberlin had approached him and suggested that they join forces, Falignus had known that the Senator planned to gain influence over him via their partnership. Falignus had, in turn, thought that he’d be gaining a chance to manipulate the Senate through Samberlin. Falignus had been surprised to find that he had much in common with the old Senator and that they shared a common philosophy of governance.
The wiry old worm has his own agenda, though. I mustn’t allow him to get too close to me. It’s better that he is unaware of this meeting for now.
"All of you," commanded Falignus toward the detachment who had just reported to him, "do not speak of this matter to anyone. That includes Malvert and the other Council wizards. I will inform them after the scrying session takes place."
The members of the harvester detachment bowed in acknowledgement of the order.
"You," Falignus ordered the harvest leader, "come with me to the Seventh Circle chambers. You will initiate the scry."
The man looked fearful, but replied in agreement.
Some hours later, Falignus stood in a small, round room which was finished in dark obsidian. Its only content was an opulently sculpted obsidian pool in its center. The chamber was lit by a low red light, though no point of origin of that light was visible.
The wizard stood over the pool as Falignus regarded him from the nearby wall.
A telltale greenish mist rose f
rom the surface of the pool, its water looking black and subtly threatening as it rested in the dark stone of the obsidian carved basin, its surface still and featureless save for the reflections of the green mist and the room around it.
Falignus noted with some humor that the First Circle wizard almost cried out when the scrying link was established, for the visage of the Witch was clearly visible in waters, and she was terrible in her beauty.
Her skin was cast in an unearthly pallor, but its tone was harshly beautiful. Her features were sharp and merciless, yet their comeliness was unparalleled. Her eyes were a dark, deep blue like cold ocean waters. Her cheekbones were high and imperial and her nose complemented her face like a fine polished sword does a dress military uniform.
Falignus waved his hand toward the other Wizard dismissively, and began to speak to the Witch.
"Greetings. You offer a most unexpected chance to parlay," Falignus opened, conscious of his own revulsion toward the image which he gazed upon, but determined not to let it show on his face.
"I have a proposal for the Wizard Guild," answered the Witch boldly in a voice that seemed to command an unearthly power, even to Falignus.
He found himself lingering on the beauty of that voice. It seemed to cloud his thoughts.
He had been warned about the Witch’s voice by Zaringer. It was said to have the power to control men’s minds.
With a quick gesture of his hand, Falignus cast a small spell of warding which he had prepared prior to the scrying session. It distorted his hearing magically. He hoped that it would prevent the spell of the Witch’s voice from affecting him.
"I am listening."
"We both seem to have a common problem."
"Is that so? I'm not sure I understand."
"Oh you understand," stated the Witch commandingly, her voice booming in his ears, even through Falignus’ warding spell. "Your people were bloodied by this particular problem not six days ago."
Falignus decided to indulge her haughty tone, which he found strongly compelling, but well within his capability to resist.
"Better that she underestimates me," he thought.
He replied mildly. "It is true–there was an incident with one of these savage villages and one of my harvesting teams. It is being dealt with."
"Is it?" the Witch challenged, but in a less imperious tone.
"What have we to fear from these... Tanna Varrans?"
"Perhaps more than you understand."
"Explain."
"They are passive now. Our peace treaty has bred some of their aggression out of the younger generations. But this is a people that we have fought for centuries before the sundering, when our land crossed the veil and was bound to the City. Do not underestimate them."
"Interesting. They will be managed. We will not have to confront them en masse."
"These city dwellers that they harbor–that is your concern then?"
Falignus was impressed and he didn't bother to conceal it. "Yes, you are well informed."
"You believe that they are the reason for your difficulties with the Tanna Varrans, but I am telling you that the Tanna Varrans are also a force to be reckoned with. Tell me of the city dwellers."
"They are renegades; a renegade wizard and his companions."
"I know that they are powerful. They have slain an ancient ally of mine, and there are few in these lands that could have accomplished that. I will not underestimate these Renegades as you do the Tanna Varrans. Do you think that they might find some common ground with one another?"
Falignus paused to think a moment. "So you believe that the Renegades might find a willing ally in these savages?"
"Yes, I do. Certain events have transpired. I was surprised by the Renegades as I spied on the Tanna Varrans. I was forced to slay one of the Tanna Varrans during my escape. Knowing their history, and especially in light of the foolhardy attack launched by your wizards on their town, I believe that they will now prepare for war. They consider us both enemies now, and the Renegades are their natural allies."
"Thus making us natural allies."
"Yes."
Falignus considered her words. He had not seen the Tanna Varrans as a threat in his prescient visions, yet according to the Witch, perhaps they had not been at that time.
Could I have misread them like I did these companions of Gwineval’s?
"We must strike them together. After we win the battle, the rest of the Tanna Varran towns will fall soon after. Then we will be rid of them, and free to build more harvesting obelisks in the valleys and caves," the Witch continued.
"It seems that the Tanna Varrans are more of an obstacle for you than for us. We are aware that the most powerful spirits are drawn to the hilltops, resulting in the richest Oberon harvest points being located there. The valleys and caverns would not be rich harvesting sites in comparison," replied Falignus challengingly.
A flash of anger played over the Witches features. "The Tanna Varrans are a fighting force that your Renegades could muster–could use against you. Can you risk that?"
"You counterbalance them–they cannot strike out in force without being vulnerable to you."
"True enough, but I am guessing that with the help of these Renegades, the Tanna Varrans might be powerful enough to attack me. Perhaps they could defeat me first and then turn their attention to you? Does that potential concern you?"
"Perhaps," he replied. He considered her words.
What if she is right? An army led by Gwineval and equipped with whatever veiled magical force that he may soon wield could threaten the Wizard Guild.
"What exactly are you proposing?" he responded aloud.
"We must gather our forces and siege their town in concert. I will immediately interdict their town and keep an eye out for the Renegades. If they move, I will know it, and therefore you will know it. The Tanna Varrans will believe that their Town represents their best chance for defense, and they will count on me to attack in anger. They will persuade the Renegades to remain to help them defend themselves, thinking to deal with us in detail. We will surprise them, attack together and shatter their defenses," explained the Witch.
Falignus thought about her proposal only for a moment. Zaringer had warned him about the persuasive powers of the Witch and her kind. But in this situation, the interests of the Witch and the wizards did seem to be in alignment. After the resolution of this battle, there would be time to deal with the Witch.
"The plan is sound. I do not have to reflect further on it; I agree. My terms are as follows: the Renegades are to be captured alive and turned over to us. This includes all of their possessions and personal effects."
The Witch looked intrigued. "They bear something that you desire?"
"Do not concern yourself with that. They have nothing that would help your ... kind." he responded.
The Witch smiled condescendingly, as if amused by the thinly veiled insult, and replied slowly. "I accept your terms. You are wise to bind your fortunes to mine.”