Chapter Thirty
Hemlock clung desperately to the back of the proud Griffin as it flew into a maelstrom. The desert had erupted into a violent sand storm and the Griffin was struggling to fly in the face of it. Had it not been for the great, graceful power of the beast, Hemlock thought that the passage would have been impossible.
Hemlock was hooded and passed over the barren sand dunes looking like little more than a formless sack being carried as cargo. With her back bowed and her head down, she persevered as the Griffin struggled on relentlessly. Hemlock felt that dark wizard magic, such as she had experienced at the Emerald Stair, was all around her, even seeping into her; yet her robe kept enough of the sensation at bay that her mind was able to clearly focus on one concept: press on.
Sands billowed and blew in the wind and galloped in clouds through the air like stampeding horses. It bit her face and hands–and even her torso at times–when it penetrated the robe.
Her jaw was set in a resolute clench.
She knew that if she faltered now that the sacrifices that had been made by Safreon and by the Tanna Varrans would all be meaningless.
"Falignus must be stopped," she thought to herself over and over again, like a mantra.
After an indeterminate period of time had passed, something became visible in the violently turbulent sands before her.
The ancient visages of the stone buildings that she sought came slowly into focus below her. Mercuria had explained what little was known of the desert region to Hemlock prior to her departure. These buildings were the only known landmarks in the desert. Hemlock hoped that Falignus hadn’t been headed to another unknown location, but she shrugged off that feeling of pessimism like a bit of sand in her cloak.
"This must be the place," she muttered to the Griffin, thinking that it would never hear her over the incredible din of the storm.
But it reacted like it did.
Struggling mightily, the beast managed a hard, but controlled landing near the ruined buildings. The buildings were round and ringed in large ivory columns. Within the columns were smooth walls that were punctuated by large arched doorways.
The doorways looked like crude eyes and with them the buildings seemed to stare implacably over the hissing desert sands. Their stone was chipped and scarred; their beauty and grandeur having been marred by some conflagration and the passage of time, made more cruel by the abrasive sand and the wind. As Hemlock beheld them, something about their structure suggested that these buildings were in fact the tops of huge towers, the full length of which stood below the sands in their full stature. Upon further inspection, she felt sure that the buildings probably did extend down, for the structures before her were pointed at the top like spires and they were ringed with what appeared to be balconies that were only now interrupted by collapsed sections.
Turning to the Griffin, Hemlock made a request which nearly broke her heart, for she knew what she was asking the noble and beautiful creature to endure, should it accept her request.
"Can you wait for me?" Hemlock asked, knowing that she might not make it back to the City without the continued aid of the creature, assuming that she managed to defeat Falignus.
The Griffin nodded in acceptance, leaving Hemlock to seek shelter under the overhang of the far building.
Hemlock noticed for the first time that a terrible and familiar un-light emanated from within the building before her. In fact, it seemed to be the source of the death magic that she had perceived, and even the storm itself, may have emanated from within that terrible structure, whose original beauty Hemlock now perceived as tangibly malevolent in its current weathered and forlorn state.
Hemlock suddenly felt like she was no longer alone.
She pulled back her hood and winced in pain as the sand bit into her head and face.
A shimmering image of Falignus had appeared to her right.
"Hemlock," spoke the image of Falignus haltingly, and as if at a great distance from her, "I am imprisoned inside. A terrible evil is in there. You must help me."
Hemlock made to respond, but an exclamation of pain from Falignus interrupted her.
"Beware of his words, Hemlock. Do not heed them. You must help me to defeat him. Otherwise all is lost for both of us."
The image faded away before Hemlock could say a word in response.
What is happening? she wondered, grasping the Wand of the Imperator more tightly in her hands.
She waited for several seconds to see if the image of Falignus would appear again, but it did not. A low rumbling thunder originating from the building before her was the only sound that punctuated the howling wind.
Hemlock strode forward toward the building and vaulted over one of the balconies, noting the remains of cunning scroll work which had once adorned it, but which was now almost worn flat.
As she entered through one of the open portals, the blowing sands abated and revealed a fine marble floor whose beauty was little diminished by the storms without.
Stepping down a passage and around a corner, Hemlock entered a large chamber, which seemed to occupy the entire interior of the structure.
Hemlock’s eyes quickly adjusted to the comparative darkness of the interior, and she beheld a chamber that was lit dimly by a number of red lanterns.
In the center of the chamber was an altar, above which a second Wand of the Imperator hung in a dark red field of magic. Seven stone sculptures that had been fashioned after human arms reached out from that central altar, along the floor and spaced evenly around the circumference of the chamber; and each ended in a huge, finely sculpted hand. Each of the hands held a beautiful onyx sarcophagus, raised slightly above the floor. Deep blue sparks radiated out from the suspended Wand and down the length of one of the arms, into the dark vessel that was borne by the hand.
Near one of the sarcophagi, Hemlock saw two forms locked in a magical struggle.
One was Falignus. He was enclosed in a defensive magical field.
The other figure was something that Hemlock had never seen before.
Hemlock could only consider the creature that struggled with Falignus as the absolute antithesis of the Griffin. Hemlock thought that no being could have had a more terrible appearance than that of the Witch, once her illusion of magical beauty had been pierced, but the disembodied creature which menaced Falignus seemed to embody the malice of every jealous thought, the sorrow of every shattered dream and the fear of every nightmare.
Its limbs were terrible shadows of despair, molded through some infernal process into the semblance of a mortal form. Its legs seemed like they were cast from the grief of every funeral procession. Its head was the shadow and reflection of every fear and desire that might torment mortal man. Its body had the appearance of having been a vessel for every affliction, malady and degenerate excess that could ever exist.
A surge of fear and an unquenchable desire for peace ripped through Hemlock as she beheld this creature, which was an abomination beyond anything that she could have ever conceived. Even the bizarre creature that Safreon had summoned below the Tanna Varran town had been less disturbing to Hemlock than this amalgamation of decayed flesh.
She reeled under the horror of the creature’s visage, and nearly dropped to her knees.
Only an abstract realization that Falignus was at risk of being killed snapped her out of her dark reverie.
She wasn’t sure what to do, but instinct took over. She knew that whatever threat Falignus represented was easily eclipsed by that of this dark creature.
Mastering herself, she saw that the creature was emanating a dark ray and that the magical barrier that Falignus had erected was failing. She could see Falignus, his face contorted in agony. His eyes met hers, and she saw a desperate hope ignite in them.
Falignus did not speak to her, could not. But his eyes clearly communicated to her a single emphatic message: "HELP!"
Just then a voice rang out in Hemlock’s mind, unbidden. S
he experienced this voice like the embodiment of every dark fear that she had ever had found a voice and was now speaking to her: "Bow before me, girl!"
Hemlock felt like her mind was being torn asunder by the voice. It was all she could do to remain standing under the force of its power.
"You meddle in powers that you do not understand. You cannot stop what has been set in motion. We will be eternal. We will travel the multiverse as Gods. How many voices have cried out to the heavens and received silence in response? Soon we will answer. You will be a part of it: our little dark princess who will laugh at the groveling of the weak. You were born to do this, daughter of the Wizard."
A vision was thrust upon Hemlock then. She saw herself dressed in a dark, shimmering gown that was composed of entire worlds. The cries of the suffering were wrapped around her form like an intricate sash and brought her great pleasure as she caressed its length.
It took all of Hemlock’s will, even buoyed by the power of the Wand in her hand, to approach and strike out at the creature.
Her rapier passed through its dark form, and it did not seem aware of the striking. But where her blade had passed, its form became less dark and there was a flicker of light, which, though brief, seemed to perturb the beast.
Without warning, it cried out, and turned on Hemlock. Hemlock, later in life, would always be haunted by the eyes of the beast as they determined to extinguish her life force. They were dark: so dark that they hurt her eyes.
Hemlock felt powerless as the creature enclosed her in a deathly embrace. She felt that her life was draining from her like water draining from a pierced flask.
But the Wand that she held burned brightly, and she felt life force pouring into her from that secret place which she had recently discovered. Whether the help was being given willingly, or taken, she could not tell. But the creature of malice before her, try as it might, could not seem to pull out the last glimmer of life from her body.
Hemlock sank to her knees, and the dark form dropped with her. She began to feel like she would not be able to sustain the volume of energy that was passing through her without being torn apart. Her muscles had all tensed up and soon she became aware that she was having a seizure on the floor, and had dropped her blade. The Wand somehow remained in her hand, however. She felt its power still protecting her and allowing the aid of the other dimensions to reach her.
Then everything went black.
Hemlock awoke with a start. She still lay on the marble floor, but the fell apparition that had attacked her was gone. Great boulders of stone and piles of sand were all around her, and where there had been a stone ceiling above her, she now saw the dark clouds of the stormy desert, now illuminated by the first rays of dawn. The fury of the storm seemed to be waning.
Hemlock realized that the ceiling had given way as she rose, feeling curious that she had survived. She could not imagine that anyone or anything could have survived the wrath that had been directed at her by that nightmare creature.
Hemlock noticed that the magical altar in the center of the room had been shattered, and that the great stone arms were strewn about the remnants of the chamber, in pieces.
Then she saw another figure rise amongst the debris, some distance from her.
"Falignus," she thought, with a mixture of relief and dread.
Falignus gave her a forced smirk, though he was clearly in pain.
Hemlock moved toward him through the rubble and he did the same. As they got to within several paces of each other, she noted that they both walked gingerly, although both appeared unhurt save for where the impact of a few falling pieces of rock had bloodied them.
Hemlock realized that Falignus now bore the other Wand of the Imperator and that she still carried hers, although she had not been conscious of it.
"What happened?" Hemlock asked, able to speak more easily as the storm lessened in intensity.
"When Zaringer attacked you, I was able to free the Wand from the altar. When I did that, his power source was extinguished and he was destroyed. His passing was a bit…violent, as you can see."
Hemlock considered his words. "Zaringer," she mouthed.
"Yes; that was Zaringer, my old teacher and mentor. I must thank you. He surely would have slain me had you not arrived."
Hemlock did not reply. She was trying to get her mind around the concept of Falignus being taught by that foul creature.
"I’ll start at the beginning. I came here to retrieve the Wand, as you have no doubt guessed; and I sought to slay Zaringer, whom I knew would resist being destroyed by the removal of the Wand," Falignus continued.
"I crept into the chamber and began to cleanse the sarcophagi. I did not have the power to cut off the flow of power from the Wand to them all at once, so I was forced to do it to them one by one. I cast the necessary spell and removed the power from the first sarcophagus. I then threw the cover aside and cast a lightning bolt into it, incinerating the occupant. You can imagine my trepidation when I saw that the victim was not Zaringer–for the others were now so old that they could pose no threat. But Zaringer's malice still burned darkly, as you saw.
"I continued to the next crypt, and then to the next one. Still, I had not found Zaringer, and my fear and anticipation were getting worse. I felt sure that at any moment he would burst forth from one of the undisturbed vessels and confront me."
"Sadly, my worst fears were realized. As I dispatched the occupant of the fifth sarcophagus, I heard the sickening sound of stone grating on stone; and in a moment, he was upon me," said Falignus, his voice trailing off oddly as his tale reached its conclusion.
"But there are seven sarcophagi." noted Hemlock haltingly.
"I know. The final one was meant for me."
Hemlock looked at Falignus questioningly. She then noticed something odd about his appearance. Though his recently evidenced wings were now gone, he was now slightly fuzzy and insubstantial, and she thought that he bore a skeletal appearance when viewed from the corners of her eyes.
"What's happened to you?" she asked, horrified.
"I had to take certain...measures when you turned on me. I had to invoke powers that have a steep cost."
"Why?"
"I had to know what path to take. It's an ability that I have; you might call it a family heirloom. I can view the future, or a set of possible futures. But there is a cost, as you can see," Falignus explained, sounding unusually strained.
"You said family," Hemlock muttered, more to herself than to him.
Overhearing her, Falignus replied, "Yes, I did say family. Zaringer was my father, Hemlock. I am descended from an unbroken line straight from the Imperator himself."
"It's not possible," Hemlock whispered.
"It is. All of these," Falignus swept his arm across the set of ruined sarcophagi, "were my forebears. My father sought to corrupt the Wizard Guild, and in doing so, to restore the full power of the Imperator to our line. But he realized that the Senate was too powerful, and that it would not be accomplished in his lifetime. So he founded the Seventh Circle of magic in secret, delving into research that the other wizards had treated as forbidden."
As he spoke, Hemlock again considered that Falignus was now holding the Wand that had been mounted in the apparatus that had been feeding the crypts. An inner voice again cautioned that he might be unstoppable with that Wand, but she quickly quelled the fear that rose within her.
"Near the end of his ability to retain a normal mortal form," Falignus continued, "he staged a bloodless coup and instituted the Seventh Circle as the de-facto leaders of the Council, shrouded in secrecy. Near death, he had himself perpetuated in this place, along with his ancestors, who he had sought to preserve and one day restore to some semblance of life. He destroyed this entire realm by drawing the magical power from it to sustain his dark arts."
"Despite their horrible nature, how could you set out to do this to them–to your family?" Hemlock asked.
> "Their sins repulsed me. I sought to extricate myself from them as a youth, but I realized that if I had wavered from the path that he had set, then my Father would have killed me and sired another. If I had done so later, then he would have taken another in my place, even if it had temporarily broken the bloodline, a Steward, if you will. And he would have found a way to conceive a true heir. No, I had to do this,” Falignus replied, darkly.
Again Hemlock eyed the fiery wand that Falignus held, identical to the one that she wielded.
"Falignus, we must destroy these," she said at last.
"No," was his simple reply.
"Why? You had to destroy your family; well, these are the legacy of your family," Hemlock pleaded.
"True enough, but I can change my family's legacy. In fact, I fully intend to," Falignus replied, his voice seeming to go out of phase for a second and then snap back.
"How can you say that? Have these wands ever done anything besides spread authoritarian control and violent exploitation of the weak?"
"They are a tool–that is all. They do not corrupt, they merely magnify. They can be a force for change–positive change."
"Look at yourself, Falignus, you are already corrupted. Don't deceive yourself," Hemlock said, weeping gently.
"Will you stand against me, then?" Falignus responded in a melancholy voice.
Hemlock considered this question.
"Everything in my life has built up to this one question. Everything that Safreon taught me. I see now that it was needed to prepare me for this," she thought.
She considered her love for him, the only romantic love that she had ever known, and marveled at it. She still didn’t understand the connection that she felt with him, but its force was undeniable.
But Hemlock recalled Merit’s tale and the path that Safreon had taken. She now felt a new force of responsibility compelling her to make a choice that transcended her personal desires.
"Yes, I will stand against you," she finally responded.
Falignus did not seem surprised.
"I suspected as much. I have foreseen it. Despite our love for one another, we cannot be together. We are polar opposites, you and I. I used to fantasize that you were descended from a royal line similar to my own: a Princess from another world. But I saw differently in my recent visions and it became clear to me. You are descended from the original Wizard; the founder of the City. That is where your powers originate from, and why you seem imbued with the chaotic nature of the City. My line and your line, we have always battled. I suspect that we fought even before the City existed. It is very ironic that we love each other as we do. It is perfectly tragic."
"It can be different, Falignus."
"Sadly, Hemlock, seeing the future curses one with a cold pragmatism. It can't be different. I know that it can't," he said softly.
She saw his features harden, then, in an instant, and the fire within his Wand flared violently.
Suddenly a green barrier surrounded her, impeding her movements.
Even thusly impaired, her speed was well beyond that of a normal mortal, and she darted behind a fallen column.
The green field moved with her, however.
Falignus called from where he had been standing, "I had plenty of time to consider how I’d approach this battle, although I feared that the Wand might require some study to use. I can see now that my fears were unfounded. I thought about how I could fight someone with speed and strength greater than my own."
As he boasted, Hemlock leapt out from the cover and jumped in his direction.
She cursed to herself as she saw that the green magic had cut down her speed just enough to allow Falignus to dodge her flying sidekick.
She landed hard, and before she got back under cover, he cast another spell. She now saw a red field surrounding her legs, layered outside of the green field.
"My legs are burning with fatigue," she thought to herself, cursing again.
"I realized that by using the Wand I could imprison you in a series of permanent wards," he continued.
Hemlock tested her legs and with the level of magical fatigue and artificial slowness, she wondered how she could now fight Falignus.
She heard him attempting to circle around her position, seeking an angle to cast another spell on her.
She was able to look through a hole in the broken column before her and saw that he was moving toward a spot where she might be able to take cover behind a piece of one of the sarcophagi.
Relying heavily on her upper body, which was still not affected by the fatigue magic, she vaulted with superhuman strength over the fallen pillar.
A spell rang out from Falignus, but it missed her.
She landed as she had hoped, behind the fragment of the obsidian tomb and within striking range of Falignus.
She heard him curse and shuffle backwards.
Grabbing the top of the sarcophagi, she launched herself again, but this time Falignus aimed his spell true as she soared downwards toward him.
She did land on target, despite being struck by the magic, and was able to deliver a powerful blow to his face as she landed. But she realized, to her horror, that a red field of magic now encased her upper body as well, magnifying the terrific fatigue which her legs had already been subjected to and bathing her arms in it as well.
She fell over under the strain of the cumulative magical effects on her body.
She saw that Falignus had also fallen under the force of her heavy punch, but he had remained conscious.
He rose unsteadily, and blood poured from his nose and mouth.
Still, he managed an obscene grin as he beheld the results of his spellcasting.
Hemlock was now nearly paralyzed under the weight of his spells.
Falignus was cautious, though. He cast another green field around her and outside of that another red field around her upper and lower body.
The spells were so powerful that she became aware of her heart struggling to beat, and the simple act of breathing became a heavy labor for her.
Falignus looked at her calmly, a sad expression gradually coming over his face.
Hemlock saw the unmistakable glimmer of tears on his cheek, as he regarded her.
Finally, he spoke. "I can’t let you live. I can’t. I know you’ll come after me."
As Hemlock lay there, weakening, she was tempted to give up and accept whatever fate Falignus chose for her. But her spirit rebelled and she quickly began a desperate consideration of how she could escape her predicament.
She still held the wand, and it still imbued her with strange and inexplicable power.
She thought back to past magic spells that her power of attunement had allowed her to identify. Hemlock realized that she could now recall every spell that she had ever encountered in perfect detail. She could recall and sense every magical pattern vividly in her memory.
It must be the Wand.
Falignus was still watching her as she lay there.
I can’t move. But my senses are still intact. And I can speak.
Her mind immediately focused on the one magical ability that she had observed used on the battlefield to great effect, and which had only required the power of speech. With a thrill of hope, Hemlock recalled how she had recently used the vocal command power of the Witch, albeit crudely, during the battle in the Wizard Tower audience chamber.
She now knew what she had to do–but she knew that she would need more energy.
She focused her mind toward that other realm within her mind, and sought the aid of those consciousnesses who would answer her call. There were only a few replies and those that answered did so weakly; Hemlock was aware in that moment that her struggle with the demon form of Zaringer had taken a terrific toll on all the consciousnesses that were connected to her.
Hemlock despaired that there was no help left for her.
But then she felt immense gratitude as energy surged into her for a final, desperate atta
ck on Falignus.
"Someday you will help us as we have helped you," she heard in her mind, as if it had been spoken by a chorus of inchoate voices.
She returned her attention to Falignus, resolute in the awareness of her plan, yet still affected by the tragedy of their shared circumstances.
The energy of that other space burned within her and she directed it to her voice and specifically to her tongue. She recalled the Witch’s voice and how she had inflected her terrible commands, which withered people’s minds.
She struggled against the magical bonds to draw in a deep, final breath and hoped that it would be enough to deliver the command forcefully.
"RELEASE!" she cried at Falignus and that cry rang out throughout the entire realm, such was its volume.
She saw Falignus’ eyes quickly transition from sorrow to horror as he involuntarily performed the counter spell to the magical bonds which restrained Hemlock.
Freed, she rose in a flash; and before he was able to prepare a spell, she had connected with a round kick to his head and his body crumpled to the sandy remains of the floor of the chamber.
She quickly pulled the other Wand from his grasp, and when she did so she felt a resistance between the Wands. The second Wand did not grant its power to her. She puzzled at this for a moment, but she now possessed both Wands and that was her primary concern.
She stood there for a few moments and looked at the fallen form of her enemy and her lover. His body still had an unreal quality to it, a repulsive quality, but her affection for him overcame the feeling of aversion.
She now felt the weight of the same dilemma that he had struggled with.
"If I let him live, he will come after me."
Suddenly a sharp tremor in the earth quelled her thoughts and threw her violently to the floor.
A great piece of rock sheared from one of the remaining columns fell. It landed hard on Falignus’ legs. He did not stir.
Hemlock’s first instinct was to run to his aid, and she had to catch herself as she made to try and free him.
A cry from overhead diverted her attention.
Looking up she saw that the Griffin was descending from the gray sky. She heard urgency expressed in its cry. That urgency triggered a memory of something that Miara had said to her before she had left, "Once the Wand is removed, the desert realm will separate from the City. You must escape before that happens or you will be lost to us."
The Griffin landed on a large piece of the ivory floor and cried again, urgently.
Hemlock was conflicted as she looked again at Falignus.
Will he live? Can he live now that he’s corrupted himself?
Her thoughts turned darker. Should I kill him? If I don’t, will he become what Zaringer was?
But she thought of Safreon then, of what he had said to her about the future.
"In the future," he had said, "people will settle disputes with words and not swords."
Inspired by the optimism in those words, Hemlock took a final look at Falignus.
"I hope that you find peace in whatever world you travel to next, my love," she said aloud.
The Griffin cried again, and she turned toward it and mounted it, as another tremor shook the desert.
Overhead the sky changed character, and as the sun rose, Hemlock thought that it took on a different hue every time she glanced at it.
The Griffin flew with a vigor which surprised Hemlock.
Soon she sensed something odd behind them as they flew. Looking behind her, she saw a veil like haze moving toward them in the distance.
But soon, she recognized the outskirts of the City realm ahead of them, in the form of several small villages.
"We made it," she exclaimed to the Griffin, who cried positively in response.
Epilogue
Hemlock walked through the caverns beneath the Wizard Tower in search of the waterfall from Merit’s tale: the waterfall which hid the entrance to the chamber where Safreon had found the Wand of the Imperator.
She carried both Wands in her hands now and had done so since she had returned–going so far as to sleep with them, so greatly did she fear their power falling into the wrong hands.
As she walked, Gwineval, who had recovered with a rapidity that had stunned everyone, Tored, Samberlin, and Merit accompanied her.
"Hemlock, reconsider this, please. We could make this realm truly extraordinary with the power of those Wands," hissed Gwineval.
"No, Gwineval," replied Hemlock, "I’ve told you that my mind is made up. The Imperator and his line must be permanently ended. This is the best start to that. We will then continue by detaching the other realms and destroying the Wands that bind them. By so doing, we will return this realm to what the original Wizard meant it to be."
"You have all these visions, and we just have to trust them?" Gwineval asked.
"Yes," replied Hemlock with a smile.
"You are insufferable," chided Gwineval, with more bluster than substance.
"Tored, how soon will you return your people to their realm? Can we delay for the passage of several new moons in order to train the people of the City to use magic without the aid of the Oberon?" asked Hemlock.
Hemlock knew that Tored was still uncomfortable in the role of leader of the Tanna Varrans in a time of peace. She knew that he would find a way to recede into the background at the earliest opportunity. But for now, he bore the responsibility for and the full faith of his people.
"It is fine, Hemlock, we can wait for a time," he replied.
Gwineval’s hissing voice rang out from behind the group. "I believe I detect moisture coming from this passage."
Hemlock turned and noticed Merit, who had been eager to accompany them on this journey. He had taken an interest in the history of the realm, and planned to author a volume on the recent and important events that had occurred. He had said that he didn’t want to miss out on personally witnessing this latest chapter.
Hemlock smiled at him as she passed and the group diverted into the passage that Gwineval had found.
Soon they all could detect the moisture that Gwineval had reported. Then they could all hear the unmistakable sound of flowing water.
Finally, they emerged into a cavern that bore an unmistakable resemblance to the one that Safreon had described in his tale.
They made their way carefully around the lip of the cavern, all, with the exception of Gwineval, having no desire for an unplanned swim.
Gwineval could not contain himself and declared that he had to sample the waters, despite any danger of beasts that might lurk in the depths.
The more cautious majority proceeded carefully along the narrow path, all the while hearing exclamations from Gwineval on the fine swim that he was having.
When they reached the falls, Hemlock shimmied into the tight space and felt for the rune lock which she had heard described in Safreon’s tale as related by Merit.
Finding it, she took out the sticks which she had brought and arranged them in the pattern that her skills of affinity detected, having carefully placed the Wands into her waist belt, on either hip, before doing so.
As the rune lock unlocked, she was certain to grab the Wands, and once she had them safely secured again, she proceeded into the passage that had been revealed.
It was eerie for Hemlock to walk the same path that Safreon had walked, and to consider the great emotion that he had experienced here.
She hoped that her actions today would bring some closure to that pain, if death hadn’t already done so for her old friend.
Proceeding under magical light, the group reached the chasm where the platform which had originally borne the first Wand had been cast into the deep by the sentinels.
They all eyed these stone figures cautiously, hoping that the presence of the Wands wouldn’t perturb them.
As Hemlock approached the edge of the chasm, she caught Samberlin’s eye.
"What do you make of all this, Samberlin? You’ve be
en oddly silent"
"I am just making sure that I don’t miss anything. This is the first time in my life that I’ve ever seen anyone willingly revoke great power. Frankly, I hadn’t even considered that it was possible. Didn’t you mention that Falignus claimed that you are descended from the original Wizard? Maybe that is why you are doing this. Otherwise, it defies all explanation. "
Hemlock shook her head and held out the Wands.
"I’ve seen what this type of power has done in people’s lives. In the hands of some, it might be a great boon. But after seeing Zaringer and what he had become, and then seeing Falignus heading down that same path, it’s clear to me that so much concentration of power must be avoided, because eventually it will fall into the hands of those who will misuse it."
"But there will always be concentrations of power, Hemlock. People will always put their faith in leaders and it will build from there. Those Wands are just an extension and manifestation of this faith – of people’s tribal nature. This act will not repudiate that basic fact."
Hemlock was troubled by his words, but then she had an idea.
Why don’t I end this adventure the way I started it? I’ll follow my instincts and let the intellectuals figure out the details later, she thought to herself.
Without a word of warning, she cast the Wands into the chasm.
She watched their fires burn as they fell, until they became indistinguishable from the glow emanating out of the distant, invisible bottom of the chasm.
The others quickly rushed to her side to try and witness the end of the Wands, and some were annoyed that she hadn’t warned them.
But then there were two bright flashes from the chasm accompanied by strong reverberations.
Hemlock noticed that even Merit looked satisfied.
Being alone in the inner sanctum of the Wizard Guild–a secretive and reclusive guild of the most powerful wizards in the City–had never been her wish.
She didn’t then think that she would remain with Gwineval and the wizards, once the three remaining Wands had all been destroyed.
She wasn’t certain what course her life would take from that point onward. But she was all right with that, as the group–composed of a wizard who looked like a lizard, a mechanical gnome, an aging Senator, a reluctant leader and a lithe young woman–gathered to return to the Wizard Tower.