Hemlock and the Wizard Tower

  Chapter Twenty

  Gwineval stood in front of a workbench that was filled with urns, vials and glass bottles.  There were also a few dusty tomes, which the Tanna Varrans had retrieved from their archives.  The books detailed the Tanna Varran technique of craftsmanship, which was imbued with magical properties in a way that Gwineval had never encountered.  It was a ritualistic magic, achieved in part by chanting and sometimes even dance.

  The workshop faced east, toward the City, and it was in this direction that Gwineval's thoughts soon turned.  He considered his (former) life in the Wizard Guild and his research.  He had enjoyed that life and would miss the vast store of magical knowledge and the other resources which the Wizard Guild had provided him. At least the new Tanna Varran magic proved to him that there were still things that he could learn without the help of the Wizard Guild.

  He then considered his body modifications.  He had been respected in the Guild for changing his body irrevocably.  Living in the Wizard Tower, he had never felt out of place, for wizards understood and respected the change to his appearance.

  How will I be treated outside of the Guild?  As a freak?

  He reflected on how the Tanna Varrans had regarded him since he had arrived: always with hushed whispers and furtive glances.

  I will never truly fit in like I did in the Guild, Gwineval concluded with a melancholy thought.

  His eye strayed to a pair of Tanna Varran wings which hung on the wall of the workshop.  They appeared to be in good working order.

  Without being conscious of doing it, he found that he had taken a step toward the wings.  He glanced across the room where the Wand of the Imperator lay within an unlocked chest.  It would not be difficult to escape the Town with the Wand, he realized.

  He had learned enough about the Wand already, under the instruction of Safreon, to know that he could use it to enchant almost any spell with permanence.  That meant that he would likely be able to use the Tanna Varran wings to fly all the way to the City–and to do it faster than any Tanna Varran pursuer.  He thought that even a magical creature like the Griffin would not be able to keep up with the boosted speed that he would enjoy by using the Wand.

  I could do it, he finally thought to himself, his scaled brow furrowing at the notion.

  But then he thought of Falignus and the Seventh Circle, and what the power of the Wand would mean for them. He knew that he would not be able to return to the City without having to deal with the Wizard Guild. He would have to return to them and he would have to bargain his way back into their membership by presenting the Wand to them. Falignus would be hegemonic with the Wand at his disposal. None would be able to oppose his will. This would mean, Gwineval reasoned, that whatever dark agenda that Falignus and the Seventh Circle had been working toward over the recent years would likely soon be fully realized.

  That notion was so distasteful to Gwineval that he turned away from the wings and his dreams of returning to the City.

  He wondered whether it was personal animosity or some larger sense of altruism that motivated his decision. He hoped it was the latter, but had to admit to himself that the former was clearly in play in the decision that he had reached.

  I will remain a renegade, working to destroy the Wizard Guild.

  Gwineval shook his head in a melancholy way. He still couldn’t believe the path that his life was now on.

  Sighing, he returned to the workbench.

  He was moderately excited about a line of research which he was following in conjunction with the Wand. He then eyed a small lizard which was sitting nonchalantly in a cage on the table.

  I need to get Safreon so that we can attempt the experiment, he thought, striding out of the room.

  …

  The clanging of the cymbals was deafening even in the open air of the night, which surrounded a high, open platform near the top of the Town. Hemlock rose and moved away from a large bonfire, noting that the Tanna Varrans around her seemed ecstatic. Throngs of warriors danced around the fire wildly, for once appearing out of doors without the blue chalk with which they normally covered themselves in order to conceal themselves from the undead.

  Hemlock was happy to be able to absorb the optimistic energy from the ceremony, yet she was experiencing an unshakable feeling of alienation from the Tanna Varrans which caused her to move away from them. She was too conscious of herself and had not been able to bond with the warriors through the ritual. She knew that her inability to join the ceremony didn't affect her motivation to fight, though. Her own basic motivation was quite strong: defeat the wizards. If this Witch and her minions stood in the way of achieving that goal, then they needed to be defeated as well.

  She climbed a slender stairway to an upper level where the Tanna Varran leaders observed the writhing masses of warriors on the lower platform. Concern was painted on their grim faces as Pan Taros, Tored, Gwineval and Safreon looked impassively down, with Taros Ranvok, alone, looking subtly confident. Merit stood quietly in the rear.

  "Look at our people roused for war for the first time in a hundred years," proclaimed Taros Ranvok, openly showing for the first time what Hemlock had perceived, a mild but unrestrained joy.

  "It's been a hundred years of stability," answered Pan Taros in a downtrodden monotone.

  "Perhaps," responded Taros Ranvok with a sideways glance, "but for what? We remain static while our enemies grow stronger? We can no longer stand by while the Witches gorge on souls and gain power without taking action to secure our future."

  Pan Taros responded angrily: "You don’t understand. You take the short view. This life that you now lead is not the end. How many souls will die in battle and lose their chance at enlightenment? It is better to die than to commit murder. I know the people’s will–they agree with you and Tored, and believe that it is a time for war. I know that I cannot alone oppose this sentiment. One day, you may realize the wisdom of my words, though–likely after much suffering and torment."

  "That may come to pass, Father," Taros Ranvok responded, "but I think that we may also achieve our enduring freedom through this battle. Then our people can return to their spiritual ways without the looming threat of the Witches. I respect your wisdom, but I see things differently than you do."

  Pan Taros did not respond.

  After many minutes passed, Hemlock saw Tored approach Safreon and Gwineval.

  "I have briefed my officers on the battle doctrine of the wizards. Have you finalized the spellcraft for dealing with the Harvesters? Our ballistae will not be able to hold them all off at once," he asked.

  "Yes, Gwineval has come up with an ingenious plan. We will meet the physical force of the Harvesters with an opposing physical force."

  Tored nodded, apparently content with the general explanation and needing no additional details.

  Hemlock then noticed flying Tanna Varran warriors circling in the sky over the Town, their silhouettes visible against the dark azure of the cloudless sky.

  Several of them grouped together in flight and seemed to be communicating. Two of them then broke off from the group and started a hasty descent toward the platform where the King and the rest of the group were standing.

  Hemlock had become familiar enough with the Tanna Varran wings in recent days that she could tell that the two warriors were descending at an urgent speed.

  Something has happened.

  The warriors landed with impressive dexterity. Hemlock could see that they both wore many blue feathers on their chests, denoting their status as officers.

  "Come forward," instructed Taros Ranvok.

  "Sire, a Witch horde has been sighted in the west, approaching yonder hill. They will be on us within a day," one of the officers reported excitedly.

  "We must begin to deploy immediately," stated Tored loudly, turning to exit the platform.

  "Sire?" asked the other officer who had not spoken, also seeming very anxious.

  "Yes, is there more?" ask
ed Taros Ranvok.

  "Four Wizard Guild Harvesters have been sighted in the east at the fore of an army from the City. They are also less than one day from the town," related the officer.

  Several sharp intakes of breath were heard in the intervening moments before Safreon broke the silence.

  "It seems that our opponents have joined forces," he said.

  "Impossible," said Gwineval "the wizards would never fight alongside the Witches. They are enemies."

  "It would seem that they have identified a common purpose in our destruction," observed Tored.

  Below the platform, the dances continued. Some had noticed the descent of the patrol officers and could see from the expressions on the faces of their leaders that something was amiss.

  Taros Ranvok halted the ceremony and called all of the commanders into a meeting to discuss tactics.

  Hemlock was nervous.

  Can we defeat both the wizards and the Witch together? She wasn’t feeling nearly as confident of victory as she had been prior to this latest news.

  …

  The Tanna Varran meeting hall was filled to capacity.

  Mixed in with the people from the capital town of Tor Varnos were warriors from other towns, called to serve their people in this time of crisis. The meeting chamber, apparently planned for large gatherings like this, had large, open windows on the first floor, which could be completely retracted, giving the building the feel of an open air hall, and allowing the people outside to still hear clearly if the speaker was strong of voice.

  Pan Taros, Taros Ranvok and Tored stood on the platform. Pan Taros looked ashen and his eyes were focused inward.

  Hemlock stood close to the front of the stage, a position of honor. Beside her were Safreon and Gwineval. Merit was standing on a stairway which led up to the stage, near the spot they had stood during the encounter with the Witch that had recently occurred in this hall.

  Hemlock saw Taros Ranvok rise and move to the front of the stage. She could see a change in him. He had effectively assumed leadership of the Tanna Varran tribes from his father. He seemed to be rising to that challenge rather than shrinking in the face of it. His demeanor was confident as he began to address the crowd.

  "Welcome, Citizens. Warriors and civilians, I address you today in a time of war. My father, Pan Taros, has appointed me as temporary leader, to see us through this crisis. We look forward to a day when we can return to the path of gentle wisdom that he has set for us."

  Taros Ranvok looked back at his father reverently, but Pan Taros did not recognize the gesture. Whether he was nonsensical or bitter was unclear to Hemlock.

  "For now," continued Taros Ranvok, "the way before us is dark. Swords and spears will be our tools now."

  "The Witches, our traditional enemies, have moved against us, killing the sister of our King. Long have they sat in their dark ziggurats, harvesting souls and growing in power. They must now feel that they can move against us without fear. In addition, it seems that they have entered into an alliance with the Wizard Guild from the City."

  There was a stir in the crowd. "What of the outlanders? Aren’t they responsible for this strife?" shouted a voice. Several others echoed similar sentiments.

  There was a negative murmur from the crowd as Taros Ranvok gestured for quiet.

  "It is true that the arrival of the outlanders has seemed to trigger these events. But I feel that it may be a blessing in disguise, for it has hastened a confrontation with the Witch, which I believe has been inevitable. It is better to face her now than ten years hence, when her power might be unopposable. Also consider that the Outlanders are great wizards and Warriors in their own right. The three of them slew a Mathi without any aid from us. In addition, they now bear a magic item of great power, which they plan to use against the wizards."

  Some of the crowd was still not convinced. Cries continued like: "Why not give them to the wizards?" and "Why should we fight the wizards?"

  Taros Ranvok motioned to Safreon. Hemlock turned and saw Safreon moving through the crowd toward the stairs which led to the stage. He gave Hemlock a reassuring nod as he passed. She could see that he carried something under his cloak.

  Taros Ranvok continued to speak to the crowd. "Have you considered the wizards and their motives? They harvest souls from this land and bring the magical Oberon back to the City. They have a truce with the Witches, which by its mere existence, brings their motives into question. Did you think that they were your friends? After all, it is Wizard magic which originally created the veil and sundered our land from that of our ancestors. Do not question for a moment that the wizards have not been our enemies only because they view us as insignificant. Like the Witches, they lust for absolute power over the City and all the lands within the veil."

  Safreon reached the side of the stage and Taros Ranvok waved him forward, as he spoke, "Behold, the Wand of the Imperator, an item which wields a magic as potent as that which bound our land to the City."

  Safreon pulled the wand from his cloak and held it overhead. The molten fire within the glass head of the Wand seemed to surge for a moment as the Tanna Varrans beheld it.

  A silence overcame the crowd then. The air in the hall seemed to take on a weight under the flickering brilliance of the magical fire within the Wand, almost as if it were some incendiary eye that held each man and woman rapt under its gaze.

  A feeling of reverie had overcome Hemlock, and with her, seemingly much of the crowd. She felt insignificant in the presence of such a tangible power as the Wand.

  "Remember, it is just a tool," she repeated to herself—words that Safreon had said more than once in the past few days when she had looked on the Wand.

  Taros Ranvok spoke again, breaking the spell of the wand. "This is the power that has come to us–at precisely the time that we need it most. It is a power that can be used to defeat the Witch and repel the wizards. That is what we fight for, no less than the freedom of our people in the coming ages."

  The crowd remained silent.

  "The Witches and the wizards think that they will defeat us easily. They have little respect for our battle traditions. And they do not understand the power of the Outlanders and this Wand. We will meet them tomorrow in this valley, and great deeds will take place–deeds that will be written about and spoken of in future generations. Know that whatever happens, that you will not be forgotten; your bravery and your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And the children, our children, will live in a world that doesn’t have to fear the Witches."

  Hemlock saw Tored rise from his seat, behind Taros Ranvok. He strode forward to stand on the opposite flank of the young leader, beside Safreon.

  Tored spoke then, his voice ringing out through the hall in a way that inspired Hemlock.

  "It is time for war!" he proclaimed. Raising his arm high, with a balled fist, he continued, "Death to our enemies!"

  The crowd gave a muted response at first.

  "Death to our enemies!" repeated Tored.

  The crowd roared in response this time.

  "Death to our enemies!" cried Tored once more.

  The crowd erupted in response.

  Hemlock was astonished. She had been unsure of their motivation after hearing them speak at the beginning of the address, but it seemed to her that Taros Ranvok had convinced them.

  How many of them will die tomorrow?

  She noticed Gwineval looking equally grim. Their eyes met and his glance confirmed to her that they were both thinking the same thought.

  A Tanna Varran beside Hemlock grasped her shoulder, clearly caught up in the passion of battle lust, for which Taros Ranvok had laid the kindling and Tored had fanned to a raging fire.

  "My life for you and yours! But you must kill the Witch!" he cried.

  "I will do my best," was the best response that Hemlock could manage to shout to the man, before he was swept away by a wave of motion in the crowd.