Chapter Six
Safreon turned his head slowly toward the other presence in his ramshackle workshop. Amid the scattered boxes, glass jars, beakers and shelves full of moldering volumes and tomes stood a man–sized porcine figure with lolling eyes and a foaming, bestial mouth.
The creature stood to its full seven feet of height, fighting, as it did so, against the fatigue that it felt from the great volume of magical energy that had been drawn from it. This energy had powered the spell that had allowed Safreon to communicate with the wizard Gwineval, despite the myriad of magical wards and defenses that enshrouded the Wizard Tower.
Safreon had a fleeting observation: that it was fortunate that he had summoned a creature as seemingly mindless as this demon, yet with enough magical power to allow him to weave the intricate magecraft required to accomplish the message. All demons were innately magical creatures, but the most dangerous of them could harness their power and cast their own spells.
Safreon ground his teeth anxiously as he waited for his spell of communication to fully dissipate and watched the Demon grow bolder as it regained its power. Having reached the safe conclusion of the prior spell, Safreon delivered a swift kick toward a wooden stand which released a metal peg at floor level that was tied to a rope. The rope rose toward the ceiling holding a complex system of ropes and pulleys in a suspended stasis.
Now freed from the restraining force of the peg, two suspended rings of rope, upon which were tied an array of small jars, dropped from the ceiling. Some careened and shattered off of the still oblivious demonic form, while others impacted the floor and shattered with a violent impact. Most of the pinkish liquid content of the shattered jars ended up splattering over the body of the Demon.
The creature squealed in pain, and alarm. Its cries then turned to anger as it instinctively realized that the spell forming would not allow it to take revenge on Safreon. In moments the creature was enclosed in a hazy, pink, shimmering globe from which it could not move or escape despite its repeated and enraged attempts.
Safreon looked on with satisfaction, still conscious of his luck that this Demon didn’t appear capable of casting the spells required to break his magical snare that would soon send the Demon back to its infernal home plane.
Casting a wary eye toward the Demon periodically, Safreon quickly moved to a shelf and pulled out an iron shod chest that was about two feet wide. He made a motion with his hand and uttered a single syllable and the chest opened with a click.
Behind him the Demon was becoming even more twisted with rage as the inside of the pinkish globe was alternatively filled with fire, lightning and even gushes of lava. The Demon was so mindless in its rage that it had torn its own arm partially out of socket and the arm hung lamely from the beast’s left side, as it flailed in doomed agony.
Safreon placed the open chest on a work table and reached inside toward a vast number of small glass vials, each about the size of a man’s thumb. Grasping one and then opening it, he drew it forth and held it, arm outstretched, toward the pinkish globe and the trapped demon.
He grabbed a flask from his pocket and opened it, dripping a small amount of a fizzling pink liquid into the small vial he held.
As he finished, the large pink sphere containing the beast began to swirl more violently. Safreon noted that a bright point of light shone out from within the large pink orb and the creature recoiled in terror from it. The light seemed to draw part of the beast into it, and then with a loud popping sound, the entirety of the beast and the pink globe were drawn into the small, bright pink globe. The small pink globe, shining brightly, floated over to the small bottle held by Safreon, and slid into the neck of it.
Safreon deftly corked the top of the bottle and turned in a practiced motion and threw the bottle into the fireplace, where it burst with a loud bang and emitted a foul smoke–the majority of which mercifully floated up the open flue and into the chimney.
As he completed his work, Safreon reflected on the price of using the Wand of the Imperator as a magical power source. The risk of unleashing an uncontrolled demon was high, unless the Wand was expertly used in controlled conditions. When one used the Wand as Safreon did, it called forth a demon to the mortal plane which could be easily exploited for magical power during the period soon after its summoning, because the creature was weak and disoriented from the journey from its home plane. After a time the demon would strengthen, and unless proper precautions were taken, it would then be unleashed to wreak havoc upon mortals other than the user of the Wand and those he directly protected with special corollary spells. For those of evil inclination, this rampaging demon was merely a chaotic side effect of the Wand’s use. But for one who had devoted his life to ridding the world of evil, this was something that had to be avoided at all costs.
Safreon believed that he could use the Wand in relative safety as long as his luck and skill in controlling the type of Demon that he summoned held out. He also counted on his ability to control the environment in which the summoning took place. He needed to have his intricate alchemical tools at his disposal to ensure his safety and the safety of those around him when he attempted to harness the considerable power of the Wand.
His thoughts darkened as they turned to the bargain that he had made with the reptilian wizard, Gwineval. He had promised to deliver the Wand to him for inspection in exchange for aid in rescuing Hemlock from the Wizard Tower. The exact terms of this agreement had not been discussed, but he assumed that Gwineval would demand access to the Wand–at least temporarily–in exchange for Hemlock. He believed that Gwineval was a well-intentioned being. But could he be trusted with that much power? Safreon was briefly overcome by a dark thought: would Gwineval attempt to seize the Wand if it was shown to him?
As the final traces of the foul smoke that had been emitted from the explosion of the jar in the fireplace dissipated, Safreon considered his path forward. He had to go to the Wizard Tower in the hope that he could gain the safe return of Hemlock. What would happen during the rescue was not clear to him and he knew instinctively that no divination spell in his power would reveal the answer to that question.
…
Falignus strode slowly among the great iron spheres in the chamber known as the Room of Measurement, looking around in slow measured sweeps. He knew that it was foolish to make such a visual inspection, but it was the only thing that he could think to do–because he had lost the trail of the young thief.
Again, he moved his arms in arcing motions from an extended position toward his eyes and muttered an incantation. This simple detection spell should have revealed her position quite easily–especially since he now possessed the dirty rag which she had left in the Room of Meditation.
Something was preventing him from getting a reading.
Cursing under his breath, he considered his options. If she was captured by another wizard or killed outright it would be regrettable.
Even though her capture or death would meet his political objectives of startling a complacent and ancient Guild out of what he considered an irresponsible withdrawal from the affairs of the outside world, it would mean the death of an individual who interested him more than any other that he had ever met.
Her powers were obviously impressive despite the fact that she was so young. If he could form an alliance with this girl, she would be the perfect person to run an intelligence organization for the Wizard Guild.
Falignus weighed whether the girl was important enough to risk his own reputation in an attempt to secure her safety. He knew that if he was observed trying to facilitate her concealment that it could be dangerous for him. Furthermore, he reasoned that it potentially could even jeopardize the reputation the Crimson Order, the political faction which he led, and perhaps even his membership in the Wizard Guild itself–and by extension his very life. Of course, if he was discovered, there would be a good chance that he could make it look like he was in the process of subduing her. But there wou
ld still be a slim chance that some uncontrolled occurrence could implicate him.
The thought also entered his mind (and he was taken aback that he even considered it) that the girl might pose a real threat to the Guild. She appeared to be very capable and her current immunity to detection implied either that she was a wizard herself or that she had magical help from some source. He considered whether she could be an agent from the City Senate, the principal rival to the Wizard Guild for power within the City.
His hand grasped his prominent jaw line, descending and squeezing lightly as his fingers moved down toward his chin.
Desire.
The word reverberated through his mind.
Despite the risks, and irrespective of his motives, he decided to try and find the girl. The first step was a spell of major detection which many of the higher circle wizards might become aware of, depending on what they were doing at the time. He understood that this course of action could set in motion a chain of events that might lead to confrontation, and even direct conflict of some sort–potentially involving him directly. He found himself feeling excited at the thought of that, and at the thought of her.
…
Hemlock first became conscious of the humidity in the air, as she regained consciousness. Her first attempts at movement were met with an implacable resistance and this jolted her mind to full alertness.
She sat in a wicker chair and her eyes stung as sweat dripped down from her brow. She could blink her eyes after some effort and then she was able to move her eyes toward the figure of the reptilian Wizard who had defeated her. He sat in a chair across from her and regarded her coolly. She noted that he had disrobed and wore only a linen wrap around his waist. His upper torso was fully scaled, but there were traces of human skin in his abdominal area. She noted with surprise that the shoulder wound that she had inflicted on him looked mostly healed. She could see a glistening salve had been applied to the area of the wound.
She quickly noted the contents of the room and the fact that there was only a single exit. The room was large: maybe thirty to forty feet across but irregularly shaped. One wall was larger than the other and both were curved gently, like many rooms in the tower that she had seen. There was a small artificial pond in one corner of the room and some ferns and other plants surrounded it, giving the room a quasi–outdoor feel. In other areas there were bookshelves, an odd looking wicker mattress, and a small ornate marble basin, which rested on a raised dais. The chairs in which she and the Wizard sat were close to the dais.
"So, you awaken. We must continue the conversation that I was trying to have with you before you rashly decided to try and kill me," the Wizard stated matter-of-factly.
Hemlock struggled to move her jaw muscles in response and her tongue felt swollen and tingly. Her body was still mostly numb. An ache was growing inside her head near where the Wizard had struck her.
"I was forced to immobilize you magically even after you lost consciousness. I had to ensure that we could avoid detection and return to a safe location. Unfortunately, we now have lost precious time that we should have used to prepare your escape. Our escape route will now be much more perilous," continued the Wizard.
Hemlock cleared her throat and prepared to speak, but the Wizard continued.
"My name is Gwineval. As I stated before, I am an acquaintance of Safreon who I know to be your friend and ally. If you recall, I had explained that he had contacted me magically and advised me of your break-in tonight. Together we have planned a means for your escape–a plan which we can still execute, provided I have your cooperation."
"N…Need proof," Hemlock managed to reply feebly.
Gwineval considered this for a moment and then replied, "I had anticipated that you might require proof. We wouldn't want you to attack me again in transit to the rendezvous point."
"I cannot give you absolute proof without risking detection from other wizards in the Tower. The best I can do is show you part of a conversation that Safreon and I had earlier tonight concerning your entry into the Tower."
Gwineval stood and strode toward Hemlock.
Hemlock frantically tried to make her limbs move but was only able to generate a twitch in her arms.
"You must learn to discern friends from enemies," lectured Gwineval as he strode behind Hemlock’s chair, effortlessly lifted her by the armpits, and then carried her onto the dais, holding her near the marble basin.
Hemlock felt the telltale gathering of magical energy; energies of divination and recollection.
Soon murky images and distorted sounds began to become apparent in the waters of the basin. Then she was able to see Safreon’s features and hear his voice speaking to an unknown entity. She only heard Safreon’s side of the conversation.
As she listened, it became clear that Safreon was bargaining for her escape with someone. Safreon also mentioned something about a wand and she noted great reluctance in his demeanor as he did so. What was the significance of this Wand of the Imperator?
Soon the conversation ended and the image faded. Gwineval returned her to her seat and paced around the room as he spoke.
"So now you have seen the proof. I used this basin of water to communicate with Safreon. The images reflected in the water linger for a time after they are first shown and can be recalled. I was able to use that afterimage to show you the conversation. Since my part of the conversation was directed to another location, I was not able to reproduce that," he said.
"What is the Wand of the Imperator?" Hemlock asked, her voice beginning to return to normal although it was still sounding a bit raspy.
Gwineval’s head turned sharply at that question and he did not respond immediately. Seeming like he had reached some inner decision then, he spoke:
"The Imperator, as you may have heard through legend and folklore, ruled from the City in the Age prior to our own. This was prior to the City Council, and the Imperator ruled with absolute power. He was a wizard, but his power soon eclipsed even that of the Wizard Guild, and he ruled independently of it," he explained.
"Still, he was only one man, and although his magical skill was greater than any other man or woman in the land, there were limits to what he could do; there were limits to what information that he could be aware of and what actions he could take throughout the realm of the City, and perhaps more importantly, outside of it."
"He decided to empower certain loyal advisors with part of his power so that he could better govern the land. He spent seven years researching the best manner in which to grant this power to these individuals. He wanted to do it in a way which would maximize their power but at the same time limit their ability to directly confront him in the event that their loyalty faltered," Gwineval continued.
"In the end, seven Wands of the Imperator were created. Each granted the bearer great magical power by allowing them to boost the power of, or even make permanent, spells that they cast. The Imperator protected himself against their power by building in a weakness into the Wands: the magic of the Wands could not affect the wearer of a magical Crown, which the Imperator kept for himself."
"This was an effective system of rule and the Imperator and his seven Sub–Imperators lived for hundreds of years before even the great magic of the Imperator failed. One day, the Imperator and each Sub–Imperator fell and crumbled to dust."
"A period of great chaos and upheaval followed that event. Much knowledge was lost and the few who had enough magical power to wield the Wands of the Imperator fought amongst themselves in great magical duels which shattered the City. Eventually the Wands were lost."
"So it seems that your friend Safreon has in his possession one of the greatest magical artifacts ever known," Gwineval concluded.
Hemlock was astounded.
Could Safreon wield such a power without me knowing? she wondered to herself.
She had never seen Safreon wield power like that–and she felt that if he did indeed have a wand such as G
wineval had described, that he would have used it to further his ambitions of thwarting evil acts in the City.
"You do understand how unbelievable this all sounds?" Hemlock asked in a slow tone, as she managed to speak normally for the first time.
"I do. It is well nigh unbelievable to me as well, rest assured," replied the reptilian Wizard.
"I seek to study and understand this Wand. Safreon has promised me this in exchange for helping you to escape. What we must do is to ascend to the top of the Tower where Safreon plans to meet us by some means. Once there, he will take you with him with my aid. I will suppress the defenses and wards of the Tower for a time while you escape."
Hemlock was able to move her fingers now: to wiggle them slowly.
Gwineval observed this and spoke in earnest.
"Hemlock, you must trust me this time. We cannot meet Safreon unless we work in concert. You are caught in the middle of a hornet’s nest and won’t survive long without help. I am risking much in aiding you directly."
Hemlock considered everything that she had been told and though she did not completely trust the wizard Gwineval, she had seen enough evidence to support his story that she now believed that he was telling her the truth. She also burned with the knowledge that she might yet fulfill her ambition to destroy whatever glowed in the night at the top of the Wizard Tower–and siphoned the magical energy from the Warrens. She thought for a second about her sister and her suffering.
"Gwineval, I trust you. I apologize for attacking you before hearing you out," Hemlock said in her best diplomatic tone.
Gwineval seemed satisfied by her statement and with a nod she regained full control of her body. She grimaced, as the magical numbness had been masking the pain in her head where a large bruise had formed.
Noting her pain, Gwineval reached for an open jar containing a salve. By its appearance, it was the same one that he had used on his shoulder.
"Let me apply this ointment to ease your wound," he suggested.
…
"I’m fairly certain that Falignus is aware of your presence in the Tower," stated Gwineval.
Hemlock gazed at him through the hazy green glow of pure Oberon fluid through which they both traveled upward, slowly, encased in cylindrical bubbles of air. Gwineval had conjured the person sized air pockets by reading from a magic scroll.
They left Gwineval’s room shortly after Hemlock fully recovered control of her limbs. Hemlock related her encounter with the sleeping wizard in the weightless room. Gwineval’s already urgent demeanor actually tightened noticeably after that exchange. He explained to her that they needed to gain the upper floors by unconventional means since the sleeping wizard, who was apparently very powerful, could be attempting to locate her magically and via agents whom he could station at strategic points throughout the Tower. They passed through a few doors leading toward the interior of the Tower. They were able to gain access to a chamber that appeared to be similar to the interior rooms of the first floor, which Hemlock had seen. It was filled with machinery, plumbing and other sundries. In this chamber, there were great pipes which fed tanks of processed Oberon (as Gwineval explained) on the seventh floor of the Tower. Gwineval had read his spell aloud and then he had opened a man-sized hatch, which was accessed by turning a large iron wheel several times and releasing a latch.
She stood in front as he opened the hatch, and the air pocket surrounding her prevented any liquid from spilling out. She struggled against the pressure of the liquid, but was eventually able to enter the large tube, which could easily fit two abreast.
Gwineval followed, closing the hatch from the inside, and then they found themselves floating upwards in a gentle motion. They had already passed one hatch on the way up and another was approaching. As they rose, she considered Gwineval’s statement about the sleeping wizard. The thought that the attractive wizard was after her scared her and thrilled her at the same time.
She also recalled the automaton Gnome called Merit–the maintenance room that they had just left having triggered her memory of him (or should I say it? she wondered). She hadn’t thought to ask Gwineval about Merit yet.
Her thoughts returned then to the sleeping wizard, Falignus. If he had been aware of her presence in the weightless chamber, then why hadn’t he attacked her or alerted the other wizards?
“Do you think Falignus was too deeply asleep to be aware of me?” she asked.
“He doesn’t often rest in that chamber. I don’t think it was mere chance that he was waiting there.”
She now knew that Falignus was the leader of the Crimson Order of wizards. What little that she had gathered from Gwineval about this group suggested that they were even more evil than normal wizards (if that were possible).
Hemlock was guiltily aware that she felt a certain inexplicable attraction to Falignus. His features were appealing to her and the aura of mystery surrounding the circumstances of their meeting only heightened her curiosity about his motives. She felt guilty because she knew that this attraction could interfere with her mission. She tried to never allow her personal feelings to interfere with her profession. Prior to entering the Tower, she had been successful at maintaining that separation. Now she wasn’t so sure.
As they floated gently upward, Hemlock could see another exit door approaching through the distorting bubbles that constantly played within the stream of Oberon fluid.
"We exit here," Gwineval said and pointed at the oval shaped iron portal.
Hemlock felt her bubble being driven sideways toward the portal and in a moment she was inside the alcove that it formed as it extruded outwards from the sides of the large pipe through which they traveled.
The latching lever of the hatch entered her air bubble with a slurping pop sound. Hemlock looked back at Gwineval, whose bubble had eased in behind hers. She saw that the two air pockets had joined into one. He still looked distracted, but he motioned to her to open the hatch. She wanted to ask more questions, but his strained demeanor discouraged her; with resignation she attempted to open the hatch as gently as possible.
She was chagrined as the heavy iron door made a loud groan of protest as it opened. She was assessing the surroundings when Gwineval pushed her gently but firmly, and she was thrust into the room like a wide eyed cat being thrown toward water.
Hemlock's teeth ground as her lips retreated into a hissing inhale and she couched low and frantically searched for cover.
They were at the end of a dim and dusty stonework hallway with a series of dark arches on either side of the fifty foot length of the hall. Many of the arches were enclosed by a shimmering magical barrier.
"We’re quite safe, there is no need for alarm," commented Gwineval quietly as he closed the heavy door with a resounding metallic thud.
Hemlock looked back at him angrily. "You could have told me that before you pushed me in!" she growled in response. She felt an urge to react violently and this surprised her a bit. She realized that she still didn’t trust Gwineval very much and liked him less.
"The spell to move us through the Oberon tube was quite demanding. I was beginning to tire so there was no time for pleasantries," responded Gwineval with little sympathy.
"Where are we?" queried Hemlock, regaining her focus and standing fully upright.
"This is a dark place. We call it the Hospice. Although we often speak of rehabilitation for those that are sent here, in reality there have never been any recoveries once wizards come to this place. Wizards are sent here to die," explained Gwineval solemnly as he began to walk toward a door on the far end of the hall.
"Why are they sent here?" asked Hemlock as she followed the Wizard.
"A certain number of wizards overextend their powers and go… insane."
Hemlock could see huddled figures in the dark alcoves behind the shimmering magical barriers, as they passed them.
The place stank of excrement.
She detected a brutally strong
magical force of containment.
"In some cases, the insanity is the result of a spell gone awry. In other cases, it appears to be due to a latent defect of the mind that may engulf a Wizard spontaneously or be triggered by a trauma during a spell. In either case, dementia usually sets in quite dramatically and the Wizard must be sent here to prevent them from using their magic errantly and harming themselves or others," continued Gwineval as they neared the door.
"The conditions here are appalling!" commented Hemlock, noticing a hideously deformed figure in one of the cells crawling towards them, its simple cloak soiled by its own filth.
"Yes, it is true," replied Gwineval, "but the anti-magic spells are very difficult and time consuming. We can’t afford to break the wards very often–we don’t have the resources. It is an unfortunate situation," responded Gwineval in a detached manner which Hemlock found reprehensible.
They reached the door. Hemlock, who could not overcome her curiosity, turned to a nearby cell and saw a middle-aged man near the mouth of his cell, crying and gesturing frantically. She could not hear his cries through the magical barrier. With a shudder she turned away.
"This place is truly wretched," she whispered to herself, but she suspected that Gwineval overheard her. He said nothing in reply as he reached out to the door handle.
He paused and then turned to her. "This will be the most dangerous leg of our journey. We need to reach the Emerald Stair that will lead us to the seventh floor. The seventh floor is rumored to be the home of many long dead Wizard spirits who slumber in what (we hope) is a deep sleep. I don’t know what to expect up there. It is imperative that you stay behind me, try to move normally, and do not say anything, no matter what happens. We don’t have time for a lot of questions. If trouble breaks out, run for the Emerald Stair! But do not climb it!" Before Hemlock could respond, he opened the old wooden doorway, which kicked up a small cloud of dust. They emerged into another dimly lit hallway.