Chapter Twenty Eight
Gwineval leapt into the air under the power of his Tanna Varran wings, their magical energy disturbing the acidic waters of the moat below him, as he rose in the air and crossed it.
Almost immediately, stone gargoyles, which tipped the top of the Tower, began showering the attackers with lightning and fire, which emanated from their eyes and mouths. The noise of that outburst of magical energy ripped through the silence of the night. Gwineval was certain that nobody in the City would sleep through this attack.
He had reached about halfway up the height of the Tower before he took his first direct hit from a lightning bolt. The power of the bolt crackled all around him, blinding him temporarily and leaving a burning taste on his tongue. He cried out in pain, but the hazy magical shield that encircled him was revealed; he shared this magical protection with all of the attackers. Though the wizard magic still wounded, the shields were holding and apparently protecting the attackers from serious injuries.
A small part of Gwineval relaxed then, knowing for certain that Falignus had not recalibrated the magical defenses of the Tower prior to leaving. He now knew that the first phase of the attack would succeed.
Regaining his vision, he soared over the top of the Tower parapet and landed hard on the stone walkway surrounding the atrium. He was relieved to see a great number of the attacking Tanna Varran warriors landing beside him, although it was impossible to tell whether some had perished during the ascent.
"The doors!" he shouted, as he ran for the nearest one. He hoped that the other attackers around the circumference of the Tower recalled their mission briefing and were forcing their way into the door on the opposite side of the atrium.
Gwineval reached the door first and he didn’t allow himself time to contemplate whether Merit had been successful in his mission to disarm the door wards before turning the handle and wrenching the door open. Again, relief pored over him as he ran into the atrium chamber, the many footsteps of those behind him echoing in the large, enclosed space.
Across from him, he could see the shadows of figures reaching the opposite door. That door opened too, and he could see Tored was the first in.
Gwineval shouted again as he saw four First Circle wizards; two were rushing up the stairs and two were rushing in from a guard chamber within the atrium level. Their tattoos blazed in the darkness as they formed a defensive line near the stairs.
"Attack!" he shouted as he prepared a potent counter spell for the death magic of the Emerald Stair, which he knew guarded the descent into lower levels of the Tower.
He saw one wizard fall quickly under the force of the Tanna Varran assault and the remaining three initiated a fighting retreat down the terrible stair.
He hoped that the training that he had given them would prevent any of the Tanna Varrans from descending that stair prior to the completion of his spell, for to do so would result in their deaths.
As Gwineval approached the stair, mostly consumed in concentration, he saw a shadowy, winged figure rise from a lower floor to hover beside the balcony of the Atrium, and then quickly descend. This almost distracted him from his spell, but he recovered his concentration just in time.
A foolhardy Tanna Varran took flight and attempted to soar down over the Emerald Stair prematurely, but the evil field that emanated from the stairs below him drew him screaming to its unlight; and where there had once been a proud warrior, there soon was little but a whimpering shell of a man.
When the force of the purity spell which Gwineval had prepared rose to a level that he could no longer contain, he stepped to the front of the Tanna Varran battle line and unleashed the magical force at the oppressive stair. The blast left the outstretched Wand of the Imperator in the form of a searing white beam.
There was a disembodied sound, almost like a primal cry, as the unearthly emerald darkness of the stair gave way under the power of that light.
The Stair splintered with a great crack, which made Gwineval fear that the entire Tower might fall under the force of it.
But the Tower remained intact and the evil force of the stair was vanquished. What remained was simply broken and scarred stone, which was difficult to navigate, but no longer had any supernatural properties.
As Gwineval descended with the Tanna Varrans, he wondered at the presence of that dark, winged figure, but the cries of wizard forces organizing on the seventh floor, soon demanded his attention.
…
Hemlock shrank into her mind, recoiling from the pain that burned at her senses, as she crouched in the dank cell.
She had little idea who she even was any longer, and little sense of anything that had happened in her life prior to her coming to this chamber, where her only experience had been pain.
She had a dim recollection that someone had visited her recently and had asked her some questions–questions that she did not have answers for.
Beyond that, her memory had simply stopped functioning. She hoped that she would just fold into herself and cease to exist–that the pain would subside. But it never did.
But suddenly something did change. She noted, with surprise, that the pain was lessening. Her head was also becoming clearer.
She started to remember recent events: her conflict with Falignus over Merit’s clandestine visit and her subsequent imprisonment in this cell. She recalled that it had been Falignus who had visited her again and questioned her. She knew that it had been relatively recent, although she had lost track of time.
Her senses continued to clear, and she noted that a figure stood at the mouth of the cell.
Though her throat was painfully dry, she managed to speak. "Have you come to question me again?"
"Not exactly," replied an unfamiliar voice.
"Who is that?" asked Hemlock.
"I’m disappointed that you don’t recognize me–but time is short! Come, get to your feet! Leave the cell!"
Hemlock was confused, but she could not resist the thought of leaving that cell under any circumstances. She crawled forward, and as she did so, the staggering lethargy that had weighed on her limbs began to recede. She looked up after a while and tried to focus on the form before her.
Again the voice spoke, "Hurry!"
She registered the voice as being male, but it was not Falignus.
Soon she reached the edge of the cell and her senses began to clear even further.
Rough hands grabbed her under the shoulders and lifted her to her feet, where she remained, though unsteadily.
Finally her eyes met those of her liberator. They were dark, predatory and cruel eyes.
"You recognize me now, eh? Oh the pleasures I would have with you. But now, something different awaits us."
Hemlock saw the black cloak, the leering mouth and saw an unusual movement from the back of the figure. She realized that it was the winged wizard known as Kraven.
"Yes, now you see. Come, Gwineval is here! You must help me to slay him!" Kraven said urgently.
As Hemlock felt strength returning to her body, she clenched her hands open and closed repeatedly. She still stood in the mouth of the cell, Kraven’s form looming in front of her.
Hemlock saw Kraven take a staggering step back, after a deafening thunderclap raged like a fury over Hemlock’s beleaguered senses.
When she recovered from the shock, Hemlock saw that Kraven was lying motionless on the floor some ten feet distant, his wings splayed out awkwardly. She could see the side of his head – or what was left of it – for a great cavity gaped in it, and it was charred and burnt like a piece of wood.
Hemlock’s battle instincts took over. From the angle of Kraven’s fall and the roaring noise that had preceded it, he must have been impacted by magic from her left.
Thoughts raced through her mind as she slumped against the cell wall to her left and peered out into the jail chamber.
Gwineval is here?
She could see a slight form moving toward her in t
he chamber outside the cell – it was a female form.
Hemlock’s wits were still recovering, but when she saw the silhouette begin to make magical gestures, she reacted instinctively and leapt out of the cell.
She heard a sizzling release of force behind her and knew that she had narrowly avoided being imprisoned in the cell again.
"I… I don’t want to kill you," said a troubled female voice.
Hemlock had landed in a crouched position in the walkway and regarded the figure over her left shoulder. Hemlock could see the gentle features on a familiar face, now trembling and shaking in an unfamiliar fashion. It was the oft-shunned wizard, Miara, known as a former ally of Gwineval.
"Miara, what are you doing? You’re not a killer! Anyway, I no longer intend to kill Gwineval. I want to talk to him."
"Oh Hemlock, I don’t trust you. Falignus has gotten to you–no matter what type of falling out you may have had. You’re an impetuous fool like him. Move back to the cell."
Hemlock’s hearing registered sounds from outside of the room now. She heard the loud crackles and explosions of battle magic, voices crying out in pain and agony, and the sound of steel on steel.
Hemlock knew what she had to do.
Judging that her reflexes were sufficiently recovered, she leapt violently toward the nearby wall between the cells before her, close to Miara.
Another thunderclap rang out and Hemlock felt a surge of heat close to her on her left and her vision had to endure a surge of light that temporarily obscured her vision.
But she reached the wall in mid-air and outstretched her leg, which bore her weight and coiled like a spring, before launching her off in the direction of Miara, who was trying to turn to defend herself.
Miara was too slow, though. Hemlock smashed the side of her head with her fist, and Miara slumped to the ground.
Hemlock realized that her punch had been harder than she had intended, so she knelt to check that the wizard still lived. She was relieved to feel a pulse, and then rose to exit the cellblock.
The sounds of battle had receded, and now sounded dull and muted.
Hemlock realized that she still lacked a weapon, but she feared being imprisoned again and wanted desperately to exit the stifling room and leave behind the inchoate cries of the other inmates, who, if they had looked sane at all, Hemlock would have freed.
She made a note to herself to deal with them later, if possible, as she exited the room.
As she entered the hall, she heard the din of battle more clearly; it was now emanating from the lower floors. She saw several bodies scattered about the hallway.
She remembered this hallway from her first trip into the Tower. On that trip she had gone up to the atrium level, now visible as an open chamber rising above her.
But the sounds of battle told her that she had to take a different, unfamiliar course.
She headed away from the direction of the Emerald Stair and down a hallway which ended in a corner, beyond which she could not see.
Before she turned that corner, she picked up a short sword from a fallen first circle Wizard, and then another from a nearby comrade of the first.
Both were impaled with Tanna Varran spears.
"It’s true, then! Gwineval must be here!" she thought excitedly, though she was still uncertain how she would react to the rogue wizard.
She turned the corner and saw that it led to a curved stair which wound down to the lower floors, curving with the angle of the outer Tower wall. The stairs were soaked in blood, and she had to watch her footing as she dashed down them.
At the foot of the stair, she had to leap over a fallen Tanna Varran, whose torso had been slashed open by Wizard sword work.
Here the passage turned sharply, at a right angle to the outer wall, and Hemlock could see the open expanse of the central hall of the Tower, some yards distant.
The din of swordplay was still receding but suddenly there was a staccato blast of magical energy that shook the Tower.
Hemlock rushed away from the stair and emerged into the mahogany clad grandeur of the central hall.
She dashed down the central stairs, whose fine maroon carpeting was now burnt, torn and littered with the bodies of the gravely wounded, the corpses of the dead, and dismembered limbs and body parts.
"Now the violence that has been wrought indirectly from this Tower has come home to roost," Hemlock observed, as she rushed downward toward the front line of the battle.
She continued to descend on the main stair, which spanned the entire height of the tower. As she neared the third floor, she could tell by the sounds that she heard that the battle was now likely being waged in the audience chamber, which she knew was on the first floor.
She unexpectedly smelled the fresh air of the Warrens as a cool breeze met her face. Looking below, she saw that the wizards controlled the entryway to the tower and that they had opened the front gate which protected it.
As she reached the second floor, she saw that two score of Tanna Varrans were in battle with a squad of wizards on the landing at the top of the stairs leading down to the first floor.
Shouts and cries of combat filled her ears as she decided how to proceed.
Hemlock made a quick move into the smaller passages leading into the Tower, away from the central hall, and toward the wizard’s private stair which led down to the audience chamber, which she had used often in recent days.
As she moved, the carpet and the carnage around her told the tale that some wizards had also retreated along this route.
…
Falignus was uneasy in his own skin. He sat at the controls of the last of the wizard Harvesters, which was lumbering, along with the last of the Wizard Guild’s combat forces (save the garrison left behind at the Tower) into the realm of the Witch Crags.
He was deeply troubled by Hemlock’s betrayal. Yet he had not been entirely surprised by it. He knew that he had romantic feelings for the girl, and that they were probably clouding his judgment.
"I must cast aside these petty feelings and concentrate," he thought, disgusted with himself.
He returned his attention to the tactical planning for the campaign that lay ahead. A map of the area had been unfurled and was suspended beside him, from the inside of the Harvester’s iron outer shell.
Falignus regarded the map distractedly for a time, before stopping again in frustration.
He was again fighting the temptation to use a spell of prescience. He craved the insight that it would provide, yet he feared its effects.
Will it disfigure me? Turn me into a wraith?
Hemlock has already rejected me, pointed out a cold part of his mind.
The thought of Hemlock and her rejection, was like the aggravation of an open wound. He reacted angrily to that pain, cursing Hemlock, Gwineval and even the fallen crusader, Safreon.
Finally, his anger and fear rose to a breaking point.
"I must know!" he cried.
He rose and ordered another Wizard to the controls of the lumbering Harvester, as he made for a lower deck of the automaton, where he could cast his dark spell in private.
…
Hemlock descended the private stair and arrived in the audience chamber in the midst of a chaotic melee. Tanna Varrans and wizards fought at close quarters, with spears and spells having given way to brutal sword strikes and desperate grappling.
She quickly spotted Gwineval in the fray, for he was bathed in an odd illumination.
As Hemlock watched, she was unsure what to do.
She saw that Gwineval held the Wand of the Imperator, and that he was using it to great effect. He was moving at supernatural speed and delivering fatal blows to many First Circle wizards, who, as a group, were clearly concentrating their efforts on slaying him.
Siros, leader of the First Circle, appeared to be the only force keeping Gwineval in check; his tattoos blazed with a fell light and he was able to match Gwineval's speed and land several savage blows o
n the serpentine wizard.
But Gwineval's body showed strange new properties: where the serpentine flesh should have been severed under the force of Siros' blade, the green scales instead gave way, stretching to an impossible extent so that Siros' sword was almost fully engulfed by Gwineval's torso–and then the flesh snapped back like rubber, projecting Siros' blade away at an awkward angle, and leaving Gwineval stunned, but miraculously unwounded.
Hemlock, as she stood in the archway of the chamber, saw some wizards and Tanna Varrans notice her and regard her skeptically, before being swept back into the flow of the melee. She was still unsure how to act as the battle raged and casualties mounted on both sides.
Returning her attention to Gwineval and Siros, she could see that Gwineval had killed two more First Circle wizards and wounded their hulking leader. But Siros fought on and landed another flurry of blows which stunned Gwineval and allowed other nearby wizards to land additional strikes on the scaled, rogue wizard.
Hemlock was surprised that Siros and the wizards were putting up such a good fight, but then she recalled something that Falignus had said to her once–that the wizards could tap into the vast supplies of Oberon in the tower. She guessed that they would have the magical power to cast many more spells within the Tower than they would be able to in another locale.
Seeing that Gwineval was faltering under the terrible beating of the wizards triggered something in Hemlock's mind, and she finally settled on a course of action.
Gathering her strength she cried at the top of her lungs, "STOP!"
Her voice rang out at a volume that astonished her. She realized that she must have unconsciously learned some of the Witch's technique for voice projection. That realization scared her a little bit–all the more because the magic had come unbidden.
Everyone in the room was stunned by her exclamation and all eyes turned toward her. The wizards and the Tanna Varrans quickly broke into two groups that eyed each other warily while looking at Hemlock for some indication of what was going to happen next.
Gwineval and Siros stepped to the fore of their factions. Hemlock now stood between the two groups, although still at the side entrance to the chamber. She gathered her wits about her and then strode into the room.
As she did so, a familiar form emerged from her right, behind the line of Tanna Varrans. It was Tored, covered in blood, but appearing unwounded. He nodded in her direction and she returned the nod.
Hemlock was not sure what she was going to say to diffuse the conflict.
As she reached the center of the two lines of fighters, a stir from the direction of the main gate diverted everyone’s attention and she did not speak.
Knights in polished armor were entering the audience chamber in force.
The wizards began to cheer and both sides began to tense and posture more aggressively.
"WAIT!" Hemlock yelled loudly again, and most in the room settled, even as the knights continued to enter in great numbers.
Hemlock saw Siros make a sudden move and her ears recoiled at a clap of thunder which accompanied a purple bolt that burst from the huge wizard’s fingers with a flash. This bolt was joined by purple bolts which leapt from every Wizard statue that lined the hall. More than two score of the purple bolts rang out, some catching an unlucky target in the crowd, but many finding their target, which, along with Siros’ strike, was Gwineval.
Glancing to her right, Hemlock’s stomach dropped as she saw that Gwineval’s features had taken on an earthen hue, and that his lizard-man form was collapsing to the floor of the chamber like a statue–his body locked in some magical rigor-mortis.
"NO!" cried Hemlock without thinking. She leapt with supernatural speed and strength, the exertion tearing her dress in several places. She landed with swords in hand on Siros’ broad shoulders. Siros’ eyes were wide as she stared into them, her blades piercing his chest above the collar bone on both sides. She watched as the life drained out of the great warrior; and he crumpled to the floor, Hemlock rode him down and landed on her feet, looking over the assembled wizards and knights with a challenging gaze.
None in the room could meet that gaze for long, except for one, who strode forward from the rear. He was an older man, dressed in a Senate tunic.
Hemlock was not surprised to see that Samberlin had accompanied the knights.
"Now things are finally becoming clear," said Samberlin in a loud and confident voice, which was heard by every ear.
The old man reached the front of the Wizard and Senate line and bowed to Hemlock.
Hemlock nodded.
She turned back to Gwineval and saw that he was still frozen on the floor, being tended to by Tored.
"Does he live?" she asked.
"He does for now, but he is weak. He will need a great deal of healing magic," said Tored.
"Tend to him immediately!" she cried, and then turning to the wizards, she said, "You help, too! And no more tricks!"
Hemlock’s eye was drawn then to an item which lay discarded on the floor, having fallen out of Gwineval’s hand.
Hemlock realized that all eyes were now focused on the Wand. None in the room dared to move.
Samberlin strode slowly toward the Wand, appearing unperturbed.
Hemlock tensed as she feared that the old Senator might try to take the Wand for himself.
But he looked at her and smiled.
Gesturing toward Hemlock and pointing at the Wand, he said, "Take it. You, before all others here, should claim it."
Hemlock considered his words. It had been Safreon’s first and then Gwineval had wielded it. Was it now her part to wield it, and what would she do with that power?
"Take it, Hemlock," Samberlin urged again, more insistently this time.
Hemlock decided to heed his advice simply because she could not countenance any other person taking it. She strode forward, kneeled, and grasped the Wand.
Her mind reeled instantly, and energy reverberated through her body, causing her to bolt upright.
Hemlock’s gaze turned inward and she felt warm all over. She could no longer see the audience chamber of the Wizard Tower or the wizards, knights or Tanna Varrans.
Instead, she saw the surreal space that she had seen before when she had nearly been killed by the Witch. The space spread out all around her, seeming infinite in its magnitude. It was like an endless net of consciousnesses, each related to hers but living in a different realm. Some of the consciousnesses sent messages to her, which she saw as impossibly rapid energy bursts that travelled over a web of fine energy tendrils.
These consciousnesses, which were few among the many, welcomed her, saying that she now was foremost amongst her kind in power.
Hemlock wondered at this idea, as the vision started to fade. Hemlock concentrated and the vision became strong again.
"I have control over it," she realized.
She let the vision fade, and gradually her awareness returned to the familiar space of the audience chamber.
Hemlock felt the renewed pressure of the floor on the soles of her feet–a pressure which she realized had been absent a moment before. Had her feet left the floor during her vision?
All around her, the assembled fighters were regarding her with awe.
Even Samberlin, standing close as Hemlock made eye contact with him, looked surprised.
Hemlock saw the Senator gather himself, and stand erect.
"Who among you still does not understand?" he asked, in his clear and strong voice.
No one responded.