Hemlock and the Wizard Tower

  Chapter Twenty Six

  As the first, virgin rays of light hit the ceiling of Falignus’ chamber, she was fully herself again.

  She stole a final glance at his sculpted body and rose.

  Also awake, he rolled over and made a plaintive command that was really a question: "Stay?"

  She shook her head sadly, trying to savor the final echoes of the prior night, but finding the effort unsuccessful.

  "Last night was just a glimpse of another life that we could have had, if this world wasn't so ugly and full of pain," she said.

  "It can be more than a glimpse. That was a foreshadowing of the life that we can build together," he insisted, spreading his arms wide.

  Again she shook her head. "I’m sorry."

  She felt his eyes on her as she walked to the door and let herself out.

  …

  Siros gazed out over the valley below, watching nervously as several units of Tanna Varran lancers moved along the valley floor, moving in and out of the trees in the wooded terrain. He had recently returned from the Wizard Tower, still reeling from his tense meeting with Falignus, and was fulfilling his resupply mission for the front line units.

  He felt somewhat overmatched by his new responsibilities as commander of the field units of the First Circle. He knew that he was a good leader of men, and felt very confident in that regard, but the tactical and strategic decisions caused him great worry and sometimes panic. He secretly wished that he could be demoted, but he didn't feel that Falignus would ever have faith in him again if he expressed this sentiment.

  Siros' body still felt like it was being pricked by pins and needles–a sensation resulting from his recent teleportation from the Wizard Tower.

  Another teleporting brass cage had been built by the wizards at a great cost of time, manpower and magic. Teleportation was essential to the command and control of remote operations and logistics, and therefore its construction had been a priority after Gwineval and his companions had commandeered the original. Siros wished that they were able to build more of the odd devices, but the cost was simply too great, given the many responsibilities of the wizards as the administrators of the Oberon supply in the City, their recent casualties in the battle of Tor Varnos and the pressures of ongoing battles with the Tanna Varrans.

  Siros looked over the First Circle field army, which had been reduced by battle casualties to three platoons. The force was now guarding one of the two remaining Oberon extraction obelisks, this one closest to the small Tanna Varran town of Tor Trios.

  The week before, Siros had led an assault on Tor Trios, but had been repulsed when the Tanna Varrans were able to bring a ballista to bear and prevent him from attacking under the cover of the remaining harvester under his command. He had attempted several long range bombardments of the Town, hoping to set it afire or score a lucky direct hit on the siege engine. Unfortunately for Siros, the process of amplification which the wizards used to achieve the range required made the fireballs employed inaccurate, and the bombardments had been unsuccessful.

  The Tanna Varran units had not attacked lately, but Siros could see that they were clearly on the move and likely preparing an assault. He became increasingly tense as he watched their forces move before him.

  He saw Quilog, his second in command, seem to note his contemplative demeanor and approach to discuss tactics.

  "Sir, I have kept our forces on this hilltop as you ordered," the man reported. Siros noted, with some alarm, how dirty Quilog's wizard robe and red sash were, and how drawn the man's features were.

  We've met our match in these Tanna Varrans, especially since that fiend Gwineval gives them such powerful magic resistance with his accursed counter spells.

  "Distribute some quick rations from the supplies I've brought back. I don't want any of the men leaving their posts though; they must be ready to fight at a moment’s notice," Siros ordered.

  As Siros turned his attention back to the Tanna Varrans moving across the valley, his instincts screamed out to launch an attack.

  The enemy forces were moving closer to the hill adjacent to the one upon which his wizard unit was encamped and which bore the precious harvesting obelisk. The distant hill was slightly smaller than the obelisk hill, and almost two miles away. Siros knew that the Tanna Varran wings would not be able to fly that distance without landing for a recharge. That thought gave him some comfort.

  This is a secure defensive position.

  Still, he felt sure that if he attacked now, the Tanna Varrans would be routed. He envisioned that if he advanced a line of wizards with ranged spells at the ready, that the Tanna Varran units would be caught moving across the wizard's line of fire. It would be a slaughter.

  But the angry words of Falignus played back in Siros' mind. He had been the victim of misdirection more than once, and he feared that Falignus would slay him outright if he made the same mistake again.

  I will stay put this time. But why are they moving to that hill? he wondered with renewed anxiety.

  Several minutes passed as Siros continued to watch the Tanna Varrans on the move.

  On a whim, he turned back to inspect the Oberon obelisk, which pulsed with power. Near the obelisk, laboring wizards directed a series of glass tubes which were joined with a flexible metallic material into a long length; this stretched from the open foot of the nearby Harvester golem into the caverns beneath the obelisk, where the harvested Oberon accumulated. The tubes shone with a dull green which was emitted from the Oberon plants that flowed from the caverns into the waiting harvester. Siros realized, with a start, that his wizards were still loading the harvester and that it was not battle ready.

  "Quilog!" Siros shouted.

  The second in command, who had been directing subordinates in their efforts to distribute rations as ordered, sprinted across the hilltop to Siros.

  "That harvester should be in battle drill!" Siros raged.

  "But Sir, what about the Oberon quota!?" cried Quilog, snapping to attention under the wrathful gaze of the larger and more powerfully built Siros.

  "There'll be no delivery at all if that harvester is destroyed! The Tanna Varrans are on the move!" Siros raged.

  Suddenly a cry of alarm rang out over the hilltop.

  Siros turned and saw that the first units of Tanna Varrans, which had reached the distant hilltop, were launching into flight.

  "Get that harvester prepared for battle!" Siros screamed at Quilog, cuffing the man roughly out of a surprised reverie, and then pushing him off.

  Siros always felt better once a battle started. His anxieties melted away as the fireballs, spears and energy bolts began to fly.

  His stomach and spirits dropped, however, as he realized that the Tanna Varran lancers had not landed between the hills as he had felt sure that they would have had to. They were soaring across the intervening valley and were poised to arrive directly over the hilltop where he stood, in battle formation.

  Siros cursed and looked over the disposition of his wizard units on the hilltop. They were dug in at the lip of the hilltop, ready to repulse an attack from below. If they didn’t reform into squares in the center of the hill, there would be a chance that the Tanna Varrans could rout them.

  "Form up on the obelisk!" Siros shouted as he began to run around the perimeter of the hill. He was shouting and pulling wizards out of their entrenched positions and throwing them toward the obelisk and the harvester as the first Tanna Varran lancers passed overhead, landing directly in the vicinity of the unprepared golem.

  The Tanna Varrans, who were suddenly more numerous than the wizards near the obelisk, killed many of the wizards around it who were still trying to stow the Oberon harvesting equipment.

  Siros joined a group of wizards in a charge directed at the Tanna Varrans near the obelisk. As they met the first unit of lancers, Siros felled three with a burst of lightning from his Staff.

  The tattooed battle mages beside him glowed with power as
they charged into the Tanna Varrans, some falling, impaled by the spears of the blue warriors.

  Siros began to realize that things had gone from bad to worse when he saw the great figure of the harvester golem buckle and fall over under the pull of cunning ropes employed by the Tanna Varrans who had taken control of the center of the hilltop.

  The golem lurched in a way that was sickening to Siros, and it fell directly onto the obelisk, causing a great explosion and a shower of metal shrapnel, which caused casualties on both sides.

  Siros cursed sharply. The obelisk was destroyed. More Tanna Varrans were flying into the battle, and the remaining wizards were unable to assume their carefully drilled formations which made them so effective in battle.

  Siros remembered the teleportation cage. It had just been used, but Siros recalled ordering it to be recharged upon his arrival. Had that been completed?

  He didn’t know, but he was close to the cage and he decided to find out.

  He fought his way through three more Tanna Varrans before managing to enter the cage. He rang the bell and hoped for the best.

  As the surroundings of the hill melted away, he felt a surge of relief mixed with great shame at abandoning his men. He also felt a terrible fear at how Falignus would react to his defeat.

  …

  Later, in the days following the ball, a wizard came to Hemlock’s door and told her that Falignus had summoned her.

  As she followed the wizard through the tower, she prepared herself for what Falignus might intend to discuss with her. She was feeling some self-loathing for the night of pleasure that she had experienced with him. It felt, to her, like a small betrayal to the memory of Safreon to have conducted herself as she had.

  The words of Samberlin had also had an effect on her, however. She had begun to ponder the concept that there could be compelling, alternate points of view to the moral code of Safreon. But that didn’t change how Hemlock felt about observing and respecting the memory of her mentor, no matter whether his teachings proved to be wholly true or just part of a greater body of truth. She knew that some part of him would always be with her, provided that she did her part to honor his memory.

  Hemlock realized that she was being led to the audience chamber.

  Upon entering, she saw Falignus seated formally in the throne of the head of the Guild. He motioned to her to sit beside him.

  As she did so, Falignus motioned to the wizard who had escorted her. That wizard moved along the length of the hall, exited, and after a few moments escorted a familiar figure though the far entrance.

  Hemlock watched as the wiry senator, Samberlin, walked proudly along the length of the audience chamber.  He seemed nonplussed by the elder wizards that were depicted in two ranks of statues that he passed between as he walked. Hemlock thought that it was more than just familiarity with the chamber; pride seemed to ooze out of the man in a palpable way. 

  "Samberlin, what an unexpected surprise," Falignus called out loudly and sarcastically.  "I've invited Hemlock to sit in on our little chat," he added.

  Samberlin bowed to Hemlock briefly. "The latest shipment of potions was not sufficient."

  "Samberlin, this is a time of war.  We must all tighten our belts," Falignus responded lightly, inspecting his fingernails. Looking at Falignus, Hemlock felt that a large portion of his former grace had passed away at some point since she had last seen him. He looked drawn and irritable.

  "Be that as it may, honored sir, we have trouble on our hands now.  These last weeks of light shipments have depleted our reserves of potions.  We've already cut back on non-critical deliveries to our merchants," Samberlin responded with an acidic tone, his eyes dark and almost feral.

  Falignus made a mocking gesture of sympathy mixed with chagrin in response.  "What's a wizard to do?  We'll have to tell the people that magic is going to be rationed for a time until the City is safe again.  We'll impress an army to join us in battle against Gwineval."

  "I don't think you fully grasp the situation," replied Samberlin. "Your strict control of magic has been unpopular.  Certain covert elements have resisted this control.  Per your counsel, we've chosen to suppress the nature of this conflict with Gwineval from discussion amongst the people.  We can't simply reverse course now without risking an open revolt.  It will take weeks upon weeks to condition the people to accept this type of situation, and even then, success would be far from certain.  This conflict cannot continue – the risks are too great.  You must sue for peace."

  Falignus laughed a shallow laugh which ignited into an angry outburst. "I will never sue for peace with Gwineval!  He will be utterly destroyed!"

  "He has control of the Oberon now.  Your situation is untenable," responded Samberlin, unrepentant in the face of Falignus' anger.

  Falignus stood with a start and his arms rose above him. Sheets of roiling fire burst forth and encircled Samberlin, crackling dangerously close to the loose fitting tunic which the Senator always wore.

  Samberlin, for his part, retained his impassive look despite the deadly display of force. Hemlock, again, found herself impressed with the old Senator.

  "I have made arrangements, Falignus," Samberlin shouted over the fire. "Were I to meet a mysterious end, certain letters would be opened by various parties. I think it would set off a chain of events you’d find most unfortunate."

  Hemlock could see Falignus struggling with the competing forces of his emotion and his reason. She grasped his arm and he looked down at her sharply, rage and hurt in his eyes.

  Pulling away from Hemlock and looking back at Samberlin, he lowered his arms and the fire dissipated as quickly as it had been conjured.

  "So Samberlin, I refuse your request to sue for peace. Where does that leave us?" Falignus asked coolly, all traces of his former rage suddenly gone.

  Samberlin did not hesitate. "I’m afraid that I must resign as your councilor and partner in policy. I will have to prosecute an inquiry into your conduct and the Oberon supply. I will do what I can to delay or blunt any rash action on the part of the Senate, but I will no longer be able to take these private meetings with you."

  Falignus sighed. "Fine. Fine. Samberlin, I’m curious: do you really feel that this is in your best interest? Do you feel that I will be defeated by Gwineval?"

  "I fear that there are significant risks that you will be defeated, yes; not the least of which is the young woman seated beside you, if I may be so blunt."

  Hemlock was angry at the old Senator, for his words shone with the brilliance of truth. She feared that Falignus would feel the same way–and that he would offer to sever ties with her for fear of losing his alliance with Samberlin.

  She glanced at Falignus, and was relieved to see that he did not appear moved by Samberlin’s analysis.

  "Samberlin, I am troubled by your conclusions, but I can only conclude that you’ve finally lost your edge after all of these years. Gwineval will never defeat me. I’m not even concerned about it," boasted Falignus coyly.

  Samberlin replied with a bow to Hemlock and then a bow to Falignus, which he accented with a theatrical sweep and crack of his robes. The gesture was unmistakably defiant.

  Falignus chuckled as the old Senator withdrew from the Chamber.

  Once Samberlin had gone, Falignus turned to Hemlock. "Ready yourself, for the battle with Gwineval nears. Samberlin doesn’t understand Gwineval like I do. I knew that Gwineval would never confront me until he feels that he understands the Wand and has a clear advantage over us. I suspect that that point is now very close at hand. I’ll admit that the military prowess of this Tored has taken me off guard, but it may actually play into my plans. Now there is only a single Oberon obelisk remaining. It is the only place left to defend… and to attack. It is there that we will soon travel to kill Gwineval."

  Hemlock felt bloodlust surge in her veins. It was an unfamiliar feeling–having been dormant for many days.

  She nodded and stood.
br />   Falignus rang a bell which sat beside his chair. The attendant wizard returned and escorted Hemlock back to her room.

  As she walked, Hemlock’s mind was dark with a renewed fury at the thought of confronting Gwineval, that seemed more intense than it had been prior to her recent joyful evening. It made the joyful memory of the ball seem even more remote and dreamlike.

  Hemlock lay in her chamber that night and stared at the ceiling. The events of the day had left her uneasy. The exchange between Falignus and Samberlin made her realize how tenuous her position in the Wizard Tower was. She again contemplated escape, but she felt weak within the Wizard’s force field which surrounded her room and she feared that Falignus would retaliate if he suspected her to be disloyal. She remembered the Wizard’s prison room and the suffering that she had experienced there. It made her feel world weary. With these troubling thoughts in mind, she drifted off to sleep.

  She dreamed strange dreams of other worlds and of Safreon. He appeared in her dream and spoke to her in her old home in the Warrens.

  "I don't know what is happening Hemlock," he said.

  "Safreon, I feel strange, I have great power, yet I'm scared," she responded.

  "Hemlock, I've seen writing in the clouds portending doom," he stated, also seeming scared. This was doubly alarming to her because she had never seen him scared in life–only resigned in the face of danger.

  "Take courage, I've seen no such signs in the sky," she said, in an attempt to reassure him.

  But then he gestured outside, and she walked to the window and looked out and up toward the sky, with some concern. She was relieved to see nothing unusual beyond a pale azure sky filled with luxurious white clouds. As she looked, however, a great black line began to roll slowly across the sky. As the line passed across her view, the blue sky seemed to be engulfed, leaving only a deep black void flickering with stars.

  Hemlock fell to her knees, unable to take her eyes off of the incredible spectacle.

  "SAFREON!" she cried.

  Hemlock somehow knew that a great tempest was engulfing the world, and that it would be only moments before she was swept away in the tumult. Everything faded to a quiet white as she closed her eyes and the black line travelled overhead. She remained conscious in her dream state.

  She experienced a strange force in that whiteness, vast and almost terrible in its power, which washed over her mind in waves of textured purity so sharp that they made her cry out in pain.

  With a start, she awoke in her bed, deeply troubled. She sat up and rested her feet on the wooden planked floor of the room. The sensation of the wood on her feet gave her an odd comfort, although the troubling feel of the dream seemed to linger for several minutes as she again reclined in bed and tried to return to sleep.

  She heard an unfamiliar noise in the chamber. Fearing that she still dreamt, she pulled the sheets up higher. But there it was again, an unmistakable metallic noise. She vaulted out of bed and landed in a prone position, ready to take evasive action.

  She saw something there in the moonlight of her window, a metallic figure that was shorter than a man or woman, and which was made up of a dizzying array of mechanical parts.

  It was one of the mechanical gnomes that the wizards used as servants–of the same ilk as her former companion, Merit.

  Somewhat relieved, she thought, I will have to remember to ask Falignus about this intrusion.

  The small figure took a few steps forward, and there was a subtle sound that Hemlock recalled: tiny gears whizzing and whirring and the gentle hiss of steam exhalations.

  As the figure spoke, Hemlock considered with a start that perhaps the figure wasn’t just one of Merit’s ilk and that it could actually be Merit.

  "Miss Hemlock?" the figure said quietly.

  "Merit!" Hemlock cried and ran over to hug the small figure awkwardly.

  "How did you get in here?" she cried.

  "The wizards never changed the wards for the servants at the cavern door of the Tower. I suspected that they wouldn’t. Nobody ever notices us. Some Tanna Varrans smuggled me into the City and dropped me off in the chasm near the lake. I was able to enter the Tower using my old passphrase."

  "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  "Gwineval sent me to talk to you, Hemlock," he answered in his distinctive way.

  Hemlock’s features darkened. "Gwineval? Why?"

  "He fears that you mistook his intentions with the Wand, Hemlock. We both do. We need to rescue you from here!" Merit said.

  "Merit, what’s between Gwineval and I is our business. You shouldn’t be involved," she replied.

  "But I am involved, Miss Hemlock. You’re both my friends and I can’t believe that you are here with the wizards willingly. Gwineval believes that you have formed an alliance with Falignus and the wizards, based on news from the City. Is this true?"

  "Merit, I was there and I saw Gwineval rip the Wand from Safreon’s hands. Safreon was…" here she became emotional again, "was killed soon after. I blame Gwineval and I want revenge. That is the only reason that I am staying here with the wizards."

  "I was there, too, Miss Hemlock. You must not have noticed, but I was assisting Safreon during his conjuring. He drew too much power from the creature and asked Gwineval to come help him dispel it before he lost control of it. I think that he knew he would not survive, but he was more interested in saving the Tanna Varrans from that creature. Gwineval didn’t kill Safreon. He tried to save him, but it was too late."

  "I don’t believe it. I know that Gwineval wanted that Wand badly. He saw his opportunity and he took it. He’s just like the rest of the wizards; ambitious and self-serving."

  There was a pause and the gears on Merit’s head churned at a high speed.

  "Hemlock, Gwineval feared that you wouldn’t believe me. He related a tale of Safreon’s to me so that I could tell you. He said that it might help you to understand."

  "A tale of Safreon’s?"

  "Yes."

  "I know all of Safreon’s tales – certainly all that Gwineval would know," she replied incredulously.

  "Gwineval didn’t think that Safreon had told you this one. Gwineval said that Safreon only told it to him after he had been tested."

  "What did he mean by tested?"

  "He didn’t say, but he told me to tell you that you are being tested right now."

  Hemlock was becoming angry. "This is all ridiculous! Gwineval is just trying to confuse me. Well, it won’t work. He’s as good as dead."

  "Will you listen to my tale nonetheless, Miss Hemlock?"

  "Fine Merit. If you came all this way to tell me the tale, then go ahead."

  Maybe it was the unusual sound of Merit’s voice, but as Merit began the tale, Hemlock began to imagine with a strange lucidity the unfolding events as they were relayed to her.

  …

  The air was chilling in the chamber as Safreon looked at the fortified parapet in the distance. He was in a large, natural, underground chamber that stretched hundreds of yards in diameter. Approximately fifty yards away from him was a worked stone stair that rose another fifty feet onto a parapet built into the sheer rock wall. He could barely make out a large stone door on that parapet, illuminated by the glow of a fungus which grew naturally on the rock.

  "This is the rumored alternate entrance to the Wizard Tower, no doubt," Safreon mused.

  He had no interest in the Wizard Tower on this day. He was headed into the deeper chambers. He had been secretly excavating in some remote caverns below the tower in recent years. The day before, he had made an important discovery.

  He felt a familiar presence behind him.

  Turning, he saw his raven-haired wife, Jupita. Her beauty seemed out of place in this harsh chamber, with its chill breezes that sounded like a ghostly wail as they wound through the depths of the earth.

  Safreon lamented at her being there anew, for though she had insisted on joining him with a well-r
easoned argument that her knowledge of ancient tongues and language could help him realize his discovery, he knew that it could also expose her to unknown dangers.

  "Could I live with myself if she is harmed?" he thought with a shudder.

  He suppressed the troubling thought, and tried to focus on the excitement of the discovery that appeared to be at hand.

  Safreon believed that he had found a hidden chamber that may have predated the Wizard Guild itself. Since the chamber appeared to be cleverly concealed and because he could find no evidence of recent passage, he dared to hope that his suspicions were correct.

  Safreon and Jupita had discussed at some length what the chamber could represent. They had excitedly wondered if it could hold a secret from the first Wizard, the benevolent founder of the City, who was now long forgotten by most. The possibility also existed that the chamber could date back to the dimly recalled time of the Imperator, the usurper of the City.

  Safreon also knew that if the wizards discovered them down in these caverns, that it would mean death for both of them.

  "But we’re doing this for a higher cause–" he thought, "to loosen the grip of the wizards on the City."

  He also had some ambition to try and organize a political body within the Warrens–something to rival or at least counterbalance the Senate.

  He knew that he needed as much power as possible in order to do that, especially if there was any sort of violent confrontation.

  As he walked with Jupita, they chatted in low voices.

  "Do you really think that the rune I saw is from the time of the Imperator?" asked Safreon.

  "I do," replied Jupita. "It appeared to have the tight style that is characteristic of the period. It is also a rune associated with concealing magic. Hiding was supposedly the preference of the Imperator, who believed that any known ward would eventually be broken."

  "It does seem to make sense," Safreon sighed. "I was so hoping it would be something from the time of the first Wizard. Imagine what pure magic might exist in such a place? The Imperator’s artifacts are likely to be tainted and corrupt."

  "Perhaps. Perhaps not. I’m not sure what you are hoping to find. I am just seeking knowledge."

  Safreon hugged her close. "That’s my Jupita: always the pacifist. I need an item of power – something to help me stand up to the wizards and the Senate."

  "Don’t talk like that," Jupita warned. "You scare me when you talk that way."

  "Don’t worry about it – it’s nothing," he replied, smiling. But his eyes burned as he thought about what he might find and what he might do with a powerful artifact in his hands.

  After a time they heard the sound of rushing water and knew that they had reached the underground river that flowed out of Hemisphere Lake.

  They soon reached a large underground chamber that held a subterranean pond. They made their way around the pond on a slim shelf of rock. Periodically there were ripples in the pond, which neither of the travelers cared to speculate about the origins of.

  They reached the edge of the waterfall, and were able to pass behind it as the thin rock shelf continued.

  Standing there, in the din of the falling water, Safreon drew out a flask filled with a glowing powder. He gathered a handful of the stuff and flung it sharply against the wall.

  "There," he hissed, seeing the outline of the rune, which he had discovered on his last expedition, magically revealed by the glowing powder. It had not been visible to the naked eye.

  Jupita leaned out, close to the water, to see past Safreon. Nodding, she confirmed that it was the same rune which she had thought it would be, based on a makeshift sketch that Safreon had done previously.

  "You should stand back," Safreon shouted.

  Jupita shook her head negatively. "Just do it," she cried.

  Safreon shrugged and drew an intricate wrought iron shape from his cloak. He held it out and Jupita altered the orientation of his hand carefully.

  Safreon knew that the angle was critical, so he concentrated on keeping his hand steady as he moved it toward the glowing rune.

  As the wrought iron made contact, there was a glow that emanated from the wall that they stood against. Suddenly a hidden door swung open, moving amazingly fast considering its great weight in rock. Safreon and Jupita almost fell into the dark chamber revealed by the opening of the door.

  Holding up his lantern, Safreon illuminated walls carved in bas–relief. The City was depicted, surrounded by four regions, each marked with a man holding a wand. There were details shown about each region, and the man with the wand was shown reigning over the people.

  Across the long chamber at the opposite end was an open exit, which revealed a vaulted stairwell heading sharply downwards.

  Safreon found a lever that shut the door behind them.

  "Definitely the Imperator," muttered Jupita, with awe in her voice, as she inspected the artwork on the walls.

  "We can trace those carvings later. We should take the stair and see what else there is. I fear detection by the wizards," urged Safreon.

  Jupita was clearly disappointed, but she agreed. Together they approached the stairs, which were long and steep.

  Giving Jupita a reassuring look, Safreon took the lead and began to descend.

  A long time passed as they descended. It seemed like hours to Safreon. He feared that Jupita might tire and fall on him, so he was careful to try and keep his balance.

  Just when he felt that they were reaching the limits of their endurance, they came to the bottom of the stairs and emerged into a large open chamber, in which their footsteps echoed loudly.

  There were sconces on the walls flanking the wide arched doorway, and Safreon took a stick from the floor and lit it from his lantern and then lit the sconces, which miraculously still had some oil in them.

  The sconces lit with a pop and revealed the full grandeur of the room.

  It was dominated by a great cavernous pit, above which a platform was suspended by long iron supports that descended from the ceiling. A walkway extended from the ledge farther into the room onto the suspended platform. Upon the platform was a marble table and on that table rested a single item. It appeared to be a wand.

  Safreon’s pulse pounded and his head swam.

  "It can’t be," he muttered.

  "Safreon!" hissed Jupita sharply, looking behind them.

  Turning, Safreon saw that the wide doorway where they stood was flanked by the crudely carved images of two stone Golems, vaguely humanoid, and some twenty feet tall. Their gaze was directed into the center of the chamber.

  "Safreon, I don’t like the look of those," Jupita warned. "The Imperator loved traps!"

  "Jupita, they’re just carvings, don’t worry. Look over there! What is that?" he whispered, directing her attention to the suspended platform.

  "Safreon," Jupita was again awed. "I think you know what it must be!"

  "I’m going for it, wait here," he said tensely.

  "I’m coming," she stated and followed him.

  They advanced into the chamber and both soon stood at the mouth of the suspended walkway.

  "Please Jupita, wait here," Safreon cautioned.

  "Fine. But you must be careful. Look at how this walkway is constructed. Look down there, what is that?"

  Jupita pointed down into the great pit, where a dull red glow was visible far, far below.

  Safreon paused. This discovery was so intense that he felt like his faculties were overloaded.

  "I, I don’t know. Could it be the Maker’s fire?" he asked.

  The Maker’s fire was fabled to be the magical field upon which the City and surrounding realms travelled through the realms outside of the veil.

  "Maybe. Amazing," was all the Jupita could say in response.

  "Jupita, unless I am dreaming, that is a Wand of the Imperator out there on the platform. Stay here," he said.

  He had taken about a dozen cautious steps and was at the mi
dpoint of the causeway when the sound of crackling and crumbling rock roared from the direction of the great golems, which stood on each side of the single arched doorway like looming sentinels.

  Safreon glanced back as he started to run for the Wand and saw that Jupita was recoiling from the Golems, moving closer to the causeway.

  "Jupita, run for it! Wait for me in the hallway!" he cried.

  "I'll not leave you!" she cried in response.

  Safreon was amazed to see that the heads of the Golems were turning, and their eyes had begun to take on a baleful red light.  The chamber floor was vibrating like it was in the midst of an earthquake as the great heads moved.

  "Jupita, run!" Safreon cried again, desperate.

  His heart sank as he glanced back again and saw Jupita shake her head resolutely and remain on the lip of the causeway.

  But he was near to the Wand.

  "Just a few more steps," he encouraged himself.

  Then great blasts rang out on either side of him, dropping him to his knees.

  Rock debris was flying through the chamber and there was a strange humming sound which was accompanied by the sound of rock grinding and falling.

  Rising quickly, Safreon looked back and saw that Jupita was rising also; she had fallen precipitously close to the edge of the chasm.

  "Get back!" Safreon screamed over the din.

  Looking to his left and right, Safreon saw that beams of force were bursting forth from the eyes of the golems. 

  Following the path of the beams, Safreon realized to his horror that they were cutting through the iron supports that held the platform on which he stood from falling into the chasm. 

  He realized that he had only scant moments to act.

  In a few more dashing steps, he grabbed the wand.  It was warm to the touch and he felt a surge go through his body that almost felt like lightning, but without any pain.

  Turning, he ran desperately back over the causeway toward Jupita, who was trying to maintain her footing amongst the falling rock and continual rumblings of the floor of the chamber.

  In that moment, as he ran, Safreon was captivated by her beauty.  Her raven hair was flying to and fro as she struggled, and her cloak and tunic were hanging on her loosely, revealing more of her figure than they normally would have.

  But then his mind turned to the Wand, and another surge of excitement echoed through his body, overcoming his concern for Jupita.

  "This is the greatest moment of my life," he considered as he ran.

  But then the causeway began to buckle under him, finally succumbing to the stresses in the rock floor.  It dropped about three feet and the rock floor around it partially disintegrated, falling into the dark pit.

  The golems continued their grim work as Safreon reached the end of the causeway and jumped for the edge of the rock floor, which was now some feet distant and above where he stood.

  Amazingly, he made the jump, although only his shoulders and arms made purchase as his chest and body landed heavily against the rock. He had managed to retain the Wand during the jump.

  Another rumble reverberated through the chamber then, and there was another great heaving of the rock floor followed by a blinding emanation of powdered rock.

  Safreon struggled to climb up, but holding the Wand made it difficult.

  A weak voice came from below him. "Safreon?"

  Looking down, Safreon's heart froze. Jupita hung below him from an outcropping of rock.  Only her bleeding hands, shoulders and desperate face were visible.

  Safreon knew that he couldn't help her, for he was barely able to keep himself from falling, even as he held the Wand.

  "Jupita!" he screamed.

  Her hands began to give way.

  Their eyes met as she fell.  No words were spoken during that moment before she disappeared forever from his sight.  It seemed like an eternity to Safreon, like they lived an entire life together in that one instant.

  But then it was over.  And he was alone, in the chamber that was crumbling around him.

  The causeway finally gave way and fell into the chasm, as Safreon, now broken in mind, body, and spirit, gained his purchase and climbed to safety.

  The golem’s eyes went dead as Safreon limped between them.  They were cold stone again and Safreon felt a sudden kinship with them, for he felt nothing–was nothing–in that moment.