

Hemlock and the Dead God's Legacy

The Maker's Fire – Volume II

1st edition

By B Throwsnaill

Published by Bill Ainsworth at Smashwords.com

Copyright 2012 by Bill Ainsworth writing as B Throwsnaill

For more information about B Throwsnaill's writing please visit http://www.wiztower.com .

This book is dedicated to my family.

I'd also like to extend a special thank you to my beta readers: Chandler, Scott and Jeff.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re–sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious.

Table of Contents

Chapter1  
Chapter2  
Chapter3  
Chapter4  
Chapter5  
Chapter6  
Chapter7  
Chapter8  
Chapter9  
Chapter10  
Chapter11  
Chapter12

Epochs of the City of San Cyra  
by Merit

In the first age of the City  
there dwelt a Red Robed Man  
his Tower was a mountain  
he sifted souls like sand

The second age of Empire  
saw the Red Mage gone away  
an Imperator did rise up  
to hold the land in sway

But even Gods are mortal  
and heirlooms are miscast  
the Tower of Law crumbled  
when Dead God's life had passed

One day the City met a man  
who claimed the Dead God's place  
but Julius strove for liberty  
and old laws were erased

His dreams displaced his purity  
and he strayed from his ideals  
he promised the impossible  
to the breaker of the seal

The wizards in his bloodline  
lived in deceit and greed  
their magic could not give them

what Red Mage had conceived

His passion forged a secret

He'd left a child behind

When she came to the City

Its path was redefined

What Has Gone Before

This book is volume two in The Maker's Fire series. The first volume is called Hemlock and the Wizard Tower. Below is a synopsis of Hemlock and the Wizard Tower intended for those readers who want to refresh their memory of the story prior to launching into Hemlock's next adventure.

In a magical city that travels through multiple dimensions, a young girl named Hemlock has risen from a lowly cutpurse to the discovery that she is a powerful fighter. Under the guidance of an aging freedom fighter named Safreon, Hemlock battles to keep the peace in her rundown district, while across the city the upper class Elites enjoy peace, prosperity and freedom.

The Wizard Tower looms in the center of the City, casting a long shadow over its affairs. The wizards rule behind the scenes, dictating and controlling the use of magic. Hemlock instinctively feels that the Wizards are her enemies, but Safreon will not discuss openly opposing them, as he seeks to methodically mentor her and advance his own cryptic plans for the City.

Hemlock makes a decision to make a bold attack on the Wizard Tower alone, convinced that she can destroy or undo whatever method the Wizards are using to control and ration magic. She makes her way toward the top of the Tower, but is detected by a wizard named Gwineval, who leads a faction of Wizards sympathetic to Safreon's mission of political and magical freedom. Gwineval confronts Hemlock, but she impulsively attacks him before he can explain himself. Gwineval manages to subdue her and contact Safreon, and together they hatch a plan so Safreon can rescue Hemlock.

Unbeknownst to any of them, Hemlock has been detected by another wizard named Falignus. He is a youthful wizard who has recently taken control of the wizard guild. He feels an immediate connection to Hemlock which he cannot explain. He resolves to capture her so that he can learn more about her.

The plan to rescue Hemlock and Falignus' plan to capture her collide at the apex of the Wizard Tower. Hemlock destroys a magical machine which she believes is harming the City, but she, Safreon and Gwineval are forced to flee via a strange teleporting device before Falignus can capture them.

They emerge in the Witch Crags, a land of death magic and ghostly spirits. Hemlock learns that the machine that she destroyed was helping her district, not harming it. She also learns that the political landscape is more subtle than she had thought, and that the wizards were helping the City in their own fashion, despite their ambitions to control it.

As the companions seek to leave the Witch Crags and return to the City, they become embroiled in a conflict between the indigenous tribal people known as the Tanna Varrans and a ghostly army led by a Witch, the latter who is in an alliance of convenience with the wizard guild.

Soon the companions find themselves defending the capital town of the Tanna Varrans against a two pronged attack by armies of the wizards and the Witch. The situation seems helpless until Safreon reveals that he possesses a powerful Wand, which is an artifact from a prior age. Gwineval covets the Wand. During the ensuing battle, Safreon is overcome by his magic while using the Wand, and Hemlock mistakes Gwineval's attempts to rescue Safreon for an attempt to seize the Wand for himself.

The Witch and her army are destroyed, but Hemlock is captured by Falignus and returns to the City as his prisoner, convinced that Gwineval is now her enemy. Falignus woos her both philosophically and romantically, but Hemlock ultimately rejects both overtures and embraces Safreon's philosophy of personal liberty and principled altruism.

Meanwhile Gwineval, wielding the Wand, and aided by his Tanna Varran allies, is beating back the wizard armies that oppose him; and he soon threatens the City itself. Falignus is forced to act personally, and realizing that Hemlock will not join him, imprisons her and departs for a final battle.

Unbeknownst to anyone in the Wizard Tower, Gwineval has secretly infiltrated the City and launches a sneak attack on the wizards. Hemlock escapes her confinement during the ensuing fight and realizes her error in suspecting Gwineval of foul play. Gwineval overthrows the wizards, but is grievously wounded in the process. Hemlock recovers the Wand, and suddenly finds herself anointed as the new leader of the wizards.

But Falignus returns and discovers what has happened. He sees that Hemlock, now wielding the Wand, is too powerful for him to resist, but he reveals that he knows the location of another Wand, which he vows to use to raze the entire City.

Hemlock is able to deduce where the other wand is located and sets out alone to confront Falignus. In doing so, they both end up having to confront their differences in ideology as well as their blossoming passion for one another. In a see-saw battle, neither of them can bring themselves to slay the other, and in the end, Falignus is bested and left near death. Hemlock flees back to the City with both Wands as the land where Falignus fell is shorn from the City and lurches into another dimension.

Hemlock returns to the City and destroys both Wands, convinced that they concentrate too much power into the hands of the few, and then contemplates her uncertain future.

Chapter One

Hemlock stood on the shore of Hemisphere Lake in the shadow of the nearby Wizard Tower. A gentle breeze blew pleasantly through her long, blond hair, contrasting with the anger she felt. She watched as Gwineval stood behind a young sorcery student, the latter looking overmatched by his draping white initiate robe. The student was nervously attempting an incantation involving a subtle arm motion he had yet to master. Gwineval had slowed the lesson for this student; and the surrounding class, which numbered around twenty, was glancing toward the pair as they adapted to the unfamiliarity of the slower pace.

Hemlock smiled cruelly as Gwineval, who she knew was uncomfortable with any physical contact, grasped the arms of the young student, and attempted to guide him through the casting gestures. The student became even more nervous, looking distracted by Gwineval's lizard features, and, Hemlock guessed, probably his lizard scent as well.

The casting reached its climax, and a set of small, colored wisps of light materialized in front of most of the students. But Gwineval and his pupil were startled by a loud pop, which resulted in a smoky emanation that surrounded them both, before quickly dissipating.

Gwineval frowned. But as the young student turned toward him, the wizard masked the frown with a tight, serpentine smile, and offered words of encouragement.

Hemlock chuckled despite her anger. This new order was a strain on Gwineval's finicky sensibilities. He would never have agreed to become a magical instructor—and certainly not an instructor for non-wizards—prior to her adventure in the Wizard Tower. But the wizards had agreed to relinquish their reliance on the Oberon spice: the concentrated magical substance that they had been harvesting from the Witch Crags. The only way they could compensate for it as a source of magical power was to train more people to use natural magic.

But it was not just a strain on him. The thick stack of Wizard Guild ledgers and papers she held under her arm literally weighed her down, and she grew tired of waiting for Gwineval to finish so that she could discuss the reports with him.

She gestured to him, and he seemed pleased to have a pretense to excuse himself from the students. He quickly dismissed the class, and then approached Hemlock.

"Gwineval, can you work on some of these for me?"

Gwineval looked discomfited. "No, I have to record the results of today's class, and then I must attend to my research."

Hemlock felt her face flush red. "It's always something about your research! What about the Wizard Guild? Do you really want someone like me running things? I'm not even a wizard!"

"Hemlock, I acknowledge that your position here is unusual. But people have accepted you in this role as leader. If we try to change things now, then it could trigger a chain of chaotic events. We have to stabilize magic in the City first. We've had this conversation numerous times!"

"But how is your research going to fix the Oberon problem?"

"Hemlock, you have to trust me. When I was in the Witch Crags with the Wand of the Imperator, I had time to study it. The magic power that it held was different than anything I had ever encountered." Gwineval's eyes became more intense. "This new magic could change everything in the City. It is like an alternative to all of the magic that we're familiar with. Instead of relying on sources of natural magic like we do now, we might be able to create our own new sources of magic."

"Gwineval, I've seen that look in another's eyes before. You remind me of Falignus when you talk like that."

"The Seventh Circle wizards were corrupt, and they tried to use this Imperial magic to further their corruption. This will be different. And I feel like I'm getting close to a breakthrough."

Hemlock shook her head, and shifted the weight of the ledgers to her other arm. "Fine, I'll continue this charade for a while longer. But you had better prepare for the day when I tire of it all."

She stormed off toward her chambers. Gwineval called to her, but she ignored him.



Hemlock sat at her desk in the smallish room that had been allocated to her when she had first been taken prisoner in the Tower. She could have moved to a larger chamber befitting her status as appointed leader of the Wizard Guild, but she preferred to retain some contextual continuity with the turbulent days that had changed so much in her life—and in the lives of most inhabitants of the City.

It was midday, but the sky outside was now dark, and a gentle rain pitter-pattered on the small plate glass window before her, which gave her a view of the streets below.

Hemlock sighed as the stack of parchment before her regained her attention. The stack was composed of a number of letters—requests from around the City for extra magical aid. Now that the potions made from the Oberon spice were no longer in widespread use—per her policies—magic was becoming more scarce and more expensive.

I am so tired of all of this!

She lifted the stack of papers from the desk and held them in her trembling hands. She fantasized about scattering them all over the floor—or perhaps throwing her window open and hurling them out of it. But she calmed herself and placed the stack carefully back on her desk.

This is all just temporary.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in."

Her guest was expected, so the unusual sound resulting from the actuation of small gears and pistons did not surprise her as it approached.

"Merit, how are you?"

"I am fine, Miss Hemlock. I have the magical training reports from Gwineval."

"Fine. What are his conclusions?"

"He thinks that we'll need another year before we can train enough private magic users to compensate for the lack of potions."

Another year...

"That's not good," she continued, "The Tanna Varrans want to leave the City as soon as possible. We can't ask them to remain for that long."

"I have an idea."

Hemlock turned and looked at the brass visage of the Gnome, which, while capable of portraying a limited range of emotion, did not reveal any signs of pride.

"OK, go ahead."

"Gwineval wants to keep supplying the potions to people, and you want people to return to the old ways as soon as possible. What about a compromise? What if we supply potions to the magic users that we are training, and allow them to cast stronger spells?"

Hemlock considered the concept. Like most of the ideas that Merit provided, it was insightful and well thought out.

But the potions are an all-too-easy crutch for people—one that they need to be liberated from. Still, maybe this is a good compromise.

She lowered her head and exhaled forcefully. "Will they be ready for the extra magic power? Will it be dangerous?"

"We could make it a part of their training. Miara thinks it's a good idea."

"What does Gwineval think?"

"I don't know yet. I wanted to clear it with you first."

Hemlock was happy that Merit had confided in her before Gwineval. She had grown closer to the diminutive Gnome over the many months since things had changed so dramatically.

"OK, Merit, please present the idea to Gwineval. If he approves, then I do also. Thank you—it's a clever compromise."

Now Hemlock could see traces of a proud smile on Merit's mechanical face.

"OK, Miss Hemlock," he said.

The rain continued to fall as the two unlikely companions rested for a few moments in the silence.

Hemlock's hands balled into fists in front of her. "I'm restless, Merit. I'm not meant for this job."

Merit emitted some steam that sounded to Hemlock like a sigh.

"You keep saying that, Miss Hemlock, but I think you are doing a good job. Gwineval is focused on his research again. I don't know who else could do the job besides you and him."

"Then maybe it's time that he started doing more. I'm going to have to speak with him about it again."

"He feels like he spends a lot of time with the magical training."

"I appreciate that—but he's a wizard and I'm not. I was made leader of the Guild when he was hurt. Now that he's better, I think he needs to accept the job."

"It's not what he wants."

"Neither do I."

Merit did not reply.

It's time to force Gwineval's hand.

"Tored will be here to meet with us in a few days. Maybe I can join him in the Witch Crags for a while. Gwineval would be forced to take over then," she said.

"Perhaps. Let's just hope that he does. Jalis is making a case to be the next leader of the wizards."

Jalis was the leader of the Second Circle of magic, which specialized in the use of magic for public works and construction. His thinly concealed ambition was well-known to most in the Guild, but he had been tenacious enough to overcome his lack of subtlety and retain a leadership position—even during the recent tumultuous period of change.

Hemlock hissed as she spoke the name: "Jalis. That man is more annoying than Samberlin. And I didn't think that was possible. You don't think that Gwineval would actually consider making Jalis the leader of the Guild, do you?"

"No, but sometimes Gwineval is very distracted by his work. What if Jalis arranged a vote on leadership in the Council while you were gone, and Gwineval didn't attend for some reason?"

"We can't let that happen. We need Miara to complete the new guild laws. I will have to check with her to see how they are coming. Probably slowly, like everything else when wizards are involved!"

"I do have some good news, Miss Hemlock."

"Really? What?"

"They've located some dragon eggs. They were being kept in some kind of magical stasis. Apparently they will still hatch."

Hemlock stood up excitedly. "That's incredible news! Who knows about it?"

"Practically everyone by now, I suspect. Jalis says he discovered the eggs in the archives. He's been talking about the discovery to anyone who'd listen this morning."

Hemlock slumped back into her chair. "...and who isn't holed up in their chamber reviewing endless stacks of paperwork."

"Miss Hemlock, Jalis plans to keep the eggs and hatch them himself."

"That doesn't seem right to me."

"Me neither."

Hemlock thought for a moment. "What if we return them to the Mountains? Maybe Penelope the Griffin would know what to do with them. Would they need parents?"

"I don't know," Merit said contemplatively.

"I'll see Gwineval about it, but I have no desire to see Jalis exploiting these eggs for his own gain. They should be hatched in the wild."

Merit nodded and then changed the subject. "Your sister asked me to ask you if you want to dine with her tonight."

Hemlock straightened and broke into a smile. "Mercuria? When?"

"She pulled me aside after her magical training. She said that you can join her around sundown in her apartment."

Against Hemlock's wishes, Mercuria had moved back to the Warrens after being freed from her protective captivity in the Wizard Tower during Hemlock's confrontation with Falignus. Despite Mercuria's affection for the adopted Elite family that Falignus had provided for her, she had ultimately decided to go back to her old life. Hemlock didn't like her being exposed to the dangers of the Warrens, but felt powerless to stop her sister without causing more damage to what Hemlock now considered to be a fragile and strained relationship.

This could be a step forward for us.

"Thank you, Merit. That final piece of news does brighten my spirits. And I'm in the mood for some of Mercuria's venison."

"You're welcome, Miss Hemlock. I will be going now. I will see you soon," said Merit.

"Goodbye, Merit."

Merit showed himself out, leaving Hemlock alone again with the stack of papers. She clenched her jaw, and started in on them. It was saddening work to read accounts of people struggling to come to grips with a lack of magic across the City. Hemlock knew that some of the reports were likely fraudulent, but that barely blunted her feeling of responsibility for what these people were going through.

For another year? But Merit's potion idea should help. How much, though?

As she neared the end of the reports, she began to feel drowsy. It was early afternoon, so she decided that she had time to lay down for a nap before her dinner plans.

As she eased into the comfort of her bed, she thought about Mercuria and the venison dinner that she would soon enjoy.

Sleep came quickly, and dreams soon followed. They were troubling, though.

She dreamt of her night of passion with Falignus. She was there with him in his bed, after the night that they had attended a ball. Though she re-experienced some of the pleasure she had enjoyed that night, she felt distracted.

Becoming somewhat lucid, she wondered to herself: This dream again! Why do I keep dreaming about this? And what is that light that I always see?

She looked down at Falignus. His eyes were closed as his hands caressed her. She began to forget about her distraction, but then...

There it is again!

A dazzling light assaulted her eyes as she moved. It was gone and then returned as she rose with the rhythm of their movements.

The dream began to fade, as it always did. But this time, she noticed something.

The light was coming from the night stand!

The character of her dream shifted. The scene with Falignus was gone. She was adrift in a sea of stars, floating in the void that separated them. A force was calling out to her and to anyone who would listen. She became conscious of other spirits. Some of them answered the call, some did not.

She became aware that it was a person calling to her, and she felt a compelling affinity with whoever it was.

She acquiesced to the attractive force of the call, and it pulled her with an alarming speed, causing the stars around her to streak as she sped between them.

She reached a world, and then a continent and then a country. Soon she descended into a mountainous area that was rich in plant life. Her consciousness began to merge with the Other that she aided.

She became dimly aware of a wide circle of dancers, their limbs wrenching back and forth almost spasmodically, as if they were trying to evoke something vicious and violent. She saw faces gripped in furious exertion—wide faces with dark skin.

She sensed that she was a part of this dance.

It was a dance of desperation, of anger... of exorcism.

A wide and dark structure loomed between the dancers. It was made of rough stone, which jutted out and recessed inwards in a natural and irregular fashion. But the color of the rock was incongruent with the rest of the surroundings.

The dance took place on a plateau that extended from the side of a vast cliff face. The plateau was reached by a series of treacherous paths that led up from the floor of a long, sinuous canyon. The canyon stretched from horizon to horizon. The climate was temperate: lush foliage and great, broad-leafed trees dominated the perimeter of the plateau. Nothing grew near the dark stone.

Hemlock sensed the thoughts of the Other, as the latter danced.

We should have destroyed this tower long ago. Now something has taken refuge in it and will not come out. It slays our people and threatens our canyon.

Hemlock again sensed the force of the magic of the dance. It was powerful magic, and it was exerting a tremendous energy of expulsion toward whatever was in the tower.

As the dance continued, Hemlock noticed that the Other kept looking at a shadowy recess on one side of the vertical surface of the dark stone.

It appeared to be a doorway.

The next time that Hemlock saw the doorway, a heavy wooden door thrust open from it.

She saw a cloaked figure emerging fitfully, but then the eyes of the Other were drawn away from the spectacle by the path of her violent dance, which had not paused and had not changed in intensity, despite the apparent change in circumstances.

Hemlock realized that she was somehow still able to sense the emergence of the cloaked figure, whose brown hooded garment completely obscured all features from view.

Then the figure pulled back its hood, revealing male features and eyes that shone with a brilliant yellow light—as if they were small suns somehow captured in his head. He wore a bold tricorne hat that barely contained beautiful, curly, blond locks of hair. The cloak opened to reveal blue raiment beneath, in the form of a collared waist cost, with a dark vest, and dark brown knee-length pants, which were met at the knee by soiled, white hose that culminated in heavy leather shoes with prominent gold buckles.

Hemlock had never seen anyone dressed like this, except for actors in her City when they put on dramas set in time of the Imperator. But those costumes were far less elaborate than these clothes. Hemlock was impressed by the man's stately appearance, even as she beheld him in a state of obvious distress as he was being drawn, inexorably, from the interior of the black stone tower.

The dance continued, and the Other seemed to be more determined than ever to continue, though Hemlock sensed that the dance would likely end in the man's death.

"You will stop this barbarous magic immediately! This is not a legal assembly! Ignorance of the law is not an excuse!" cried the man in a shrill voice that projected easily over the plateau and the chanting clamor of the dance.

The Other did not respond.

"It is true that I have taken some of your people—a necessary evil, for I partake of efforts that you would not be able to comprehend! It was all done lawfully, I assure you! And I have rid you of that old crone who dwelt here in secret and murderous isolation. That is just compensation for your lost ones!" the man cried again.

The figure was nearing the ring of dancers, and Hemlock sensed that this line represented a peril for him.

"I warn you, if you do not cease this dance and parley with me, I will be forced to defend myself!" the man cried with increased urgency, as if he was aware of the imminent threat.

The Other continued to dance.

Suddenly the man revealed something from under his cloak: something that bathed the entire plateau in a fiery light.

"I'm afraid that, by law, you must be slain in order to stop this," cried the man, as if speaking directly into the mind of the Other. Hemlock, attached to the Other, heard the threat.

Hemlock experienced a jolt of recognition. The object held by the man was familiar to her.

"What is this?" asked the high voice. Did he sense the magical link between Hemlock and the Other? She doubted that this was possible, yet the impression remained.

In the next instant, the link between her and the Other was broken: shattered into a thousand shards, which painfully reassembled into Hemlock's consciousness.

She was in her bed in the Wizard Tower.

She grasped the sheets of her bed in balled fists, as she considered the final thing that she had seen before the link had been broken.

The strangely dressed figure had wielded a Wand of the Imperator.

Chapter Two

Faces came into focus around Hemlock. She saw Gwineval, Tored, Miara, Samberlin, and Merit standing around her bed. She realized that she was wearing one of the brown linen tunics that she favored for daily activity, but the strong light of early morning assailed her groggy senses.

"Hemlock, are you all right? You did not arrive at council this morning, and when we at last became concerned, we found that you could not be roused."

"Yes, I'm OK." Here she paused and considered what to tell the assembled group about her unusual dream. Many thoughts ran through her head.

If I tell Gwineval about the Wand I saw, then maybe he will agree to take over the Guild. But will he lust for the Wand? And will other wizards hear of it, like Jalis? How would they react?

Hemlock realized that her pause was reaching a length that might imply a lack of candor regarding her recent condition, so she decided to tell a partial truth: "I was called by the others in my mind to lend aid in a battle. It seemed mere minutes in the dream."

She saw Gwineval nod in response, as if he had already suspected such a turn of events. Miara gave her a compassionate smile. Samberlin regarded her with one of his typical analytical stares. Merit and Tored both looked concerned.

"Hemlock, your sister Mercuria was here with us as soon as she received word. She took her leave when it became clear that you would awaken. She asked us to tell you to stop by her apartment when you have the time," Gwineval stated.

I missed our dinner! Heavens, no! Will Mercuria be angry again? We were just making progress with one another.

"There is another matter. Tored arrived from the Witch Crags this morning, Hemlock. When should we reschedule our meeting with him?" asked Gwineval.

"I must interject, with your pardon, that any further delay will play into the hands of Jalis and his band of rabble rousers," said Samberlin, stepping forward as he spoke.

"And weren't you seen talking with Jalis soon after this morning's council meeting, Samberlin?" said Miara, reddening slightly.

Hemlock saw Gwineval's posture tense up and then he started to reach toward Miara. But he seemed to have second thoughts, and retracted his hand.

So, he does feel something for her after all.

Samberlin looked surprised, but then seemed to relish the accusation. "It is true. For doesn't the shepherd take stock of the wolves before deciding where to graze his flock?"

"But what if the shepherd is himself a wolf?" Miara quipped.

"Indeed, that would be a dire situation. But could a wolf pass so easily for a shepherd? And is the flock so foolish that they could not tell the difference?"

Hemlock felt her alertness returning, although there was a certain fatigue hanging over her that she had only felt once before, when she had aided another entity in that other place. She wanted to run to her sister, but she felt that duty dictated that she meet with Tored and his Tanna Varran delegation first.

And if we meet now, I'll be able to go to Mercuria sooner.

"Enough of this. Don't reschedule. We'll meet in one hour. I just need to eat and see to myself."

"Hemlock, no. You should rest for a few hours at least," cautioned Miara.

"Really, Miara, it's OK. I was sleeping all of that time. I don't need to rest anymore, and all we're going to do is talk."

Everyone agreed to hold the meeting as Hemlock suggested, and they left her alone in her chamber to prepare.

Hemlock had Grubbins fetch her breakfast. Before Falignus' fall, he had been in charge of training new wizard recruits; now he had been reduced to chief cook. She enjoyed ordering him to do menial tasks, for he still treated her with thinly veiled contempt.

She ate quickly, bathed, and then the hour was up. She descended down the inner stair to the audience chamber. She arrived through the side door and took her place in the foremost chair: Falignus' chair—at least that's how she felt about it whenever she sat in it.

The members of the wizard council were in attendance for the meeting, as were Samberlin, Tored, Merit, and eighteen Tanna Varran warriors, who were distinctive in their blue chalk and comparatively simple attire. There was also an audience of approximately fifty senators and influential people from the Elite district. Hemlock was sorry that there were no representatives present from the Warrens, but her project to create a governing body for the district had not yet been started.

As the leader of the wizards, Hemlock was responsible for opening the meeting.

"Greetings from the City, Tored, and welcome to you and your men. I'm sorry that I was unable to greet you when you first arrived."

"Greetings to the wizards from the land of the Tanna Varrans," stated Tored flatly.

"What news do you bring from the past months?"

"We have hunted the witches and toppled their Ziggurats with our battle magic. The sister of the one you slew fell in battle some weeks ago. There is still another witch who fled before us. But she has abandoned her Ziggurat, which was her source of power, and will therefore be weak. Our campaign, while not over, is advancing well."

"I'm glad to hear it, Tored. I'm sure your people rest easier now, knowing that the threat of the witches is almost ended."

"Surely it is so, Hemlock."

"Good. Our preparations for returning your land to its original realm beyond the veil are progressing. It will be a difficult transition for us, but we are preparing."

"This is well. We have news related to this. As you suggested, we have been looking for information on where the Wand that binds our land to the City may be located. A scroll has been found in our archives. It documents the journeys of a lone wizard through our land. We believe this to refer to the wizard Julius, who history says was responsible for bringing our land to the City."

Tored paused, waiting for acknowledgment from Hemlock. "This lone wizard was spotted journeying to the western part of our land, where there is a vale surrounded by impassable mountains. This vale is legendary amongst our people. Tales passed down for generations say that entry to this vale is certain death. Yet it was written that this wizard was seen entering it, and later returning. We believe that he might have used the Wand somewhere within that accursed place."

Hemlock felt a thrill of excitement.

Here is the excuse I've been waiting for. Gwineval will be forced to agree to allow me to accompany Tored to recover the Wand, and release the Witch Crags from the City.

"Tored, this is an important discovery. I would like to lead an expedition of wizards to journey to this vale and determine whether the Wand is there or not."

The room was silent for a few moments before Tored responded.

"We agree to this idea. Though many of my people fear this vale, the group that has accompanied me has agreed to follow me there, should that be required of them."

"I do not fear the curse. And we must determine whether the Wand is there or not," said Hemlock.

"There is other news."

"Yes?"

"Our leader, Pan Taros, who was sick for many months, has finally passed on."

"Tored, we are sorry to hear this news. Is there anything that the City can do to help your people?"

"No, no help is necessary. Since the Battle of Tor Varnos, I have been acting as Steward for the crown, as you know. Soon the elders will decide on a new King from amongst the noble families. This process may take several months to complete. During this time I will remain Steward."

"Understood."

Tored was silent. Hemlock took this as a signal that his formal presentation was over. She was about to adjourn the meeting when Gwineval nudged her softly from the adjacent chair.

I forgot to open the floor for questions.

"Do any other council members have questions for Tored?"

Gwineval was the first to speak up: "Tored, can you elaborate on the danger that is said to exist in this Vale?"

"It is an ancient legend, and many adventurers have doubted the warning and decided to journey there. To a man, none have returned. Because none have returned, we do not understand what the danger is."

Gwineval grunted in response, giving Hemlock a pointed look.

"I have a question," said Jalis from Hemlock's left.

Tored nodded to Jalis.

"Would you agree to allow us to do a temporary Oberon harvest before your land is released from the City?" said Jalis.

Some senators and business people in the audience cheered in approval of Jalis' question.

Hemlock turned and glared at Jalis. The porcine features of the man were smug and defiant. He did not recoil from her stare.

"Tored, please do not answer that question. Our policy, which this council member has apparently forgotten, is to no longer harvest Oberon," said Hemlock.

Tored nodded again. "Are we done here?" he asked.

"Yes, Tored. Grubbins will lead your group to your chambers. I will visit with you personally later today."

Tored bowed as Grubbins emerged from the audience and approached him.

Hemlock felt Gwineval's salty breath in her ear: "Jalis is making a move. Beware."

Hemlock turned toward him and exhaled dismissively as the Tanna Varrans and the audience exited the room. Hemlock saw Samberlin linger at the door for a moment and look at her. He winked playfully at her—clearly disappointed that he could not stay for whatever squabble might erupt between Hemlock and Jalis. After a moment, he closed the chamber door, and was gone.

"I demand a meeting of the wizard council," cried Jalis immediately.

"You should agree, Hemlock," whispered Gwineval.

What about Mercuria?

"Fine. We can meet here quickly. I have other business to attend to as soon as possible," responded Hemlock, loudly.

As the wizards again took their seats, Jalis rose and strode into the chamber to stand before them, his arms outstretched theatrically. Hemlock knew that Jalis was not a great orator, but she also knew that he was riding a wave of discontent amongst the old guard of the wizards. In fact, all of the council members besides Hemlock, Gwineval and Miara were sympathetic to Jalis in varying degrees. These included Sychran, the oddly pensive leader of the First Circle; Splintor, who was the finest illusionist in the guild and leader of the fourth circle; and Colberth, the old sixth circle librarian, who just wanted order and stability.

"This council exists to determine, through thoughtful discussion and debate, the direction of the wizards," began Jalis, "but lately we seem to do little except listen to Hemlock and her decisions. This must change. And it must change today!"

Jalis waited for his exclamation to provoke a reaction, but Hemlock did not feel inclined to argue with the wizard.

I'll just let him vent, and then I'll tell him how it is.

"Take, for instance, the decision on the cessation of Oberon production," continued Jalis more softly. "What a momentous decision for us—for our way of life and work. Yet this girl, under the direction of that meddler Samberlin, has decided this for us! It would be pathetic to say that our entire way of life is being changed at the whim of a teenage girl, but it's worse than that. Samberlin whispers constantly in her ear. He has designed this! He's engineered the destruction of the guild. And we sit back, powerless, and watch it happen! The Seventh Circle is gone. They were dictators, but at least they were wizards."

Jalis, now red-faced, turned to Hemlock. Hemlock glared at him, and her mind turned to her sabres, which rested in her closet in her room, many floors above.

I wouldn't need my sabres to dispatch the likes of him.

"Hemlock, you could kill any one of us—any group of us, even. But you couldn't kill all of us. If we rose against you, even you could be driven off. You need to respect our power."

Hemlock stood and walked toward Jalis. "And what if I killed you now? It would be easy. I wouldn't even need a weapon."

Jalis recoiled in fear, but then steadied himself. "You'd never dare to try and slay a council member!"

"I never try anything. I just do it."

Gwineval exclaimed, "Hemlock!"

As she walked closer, she pointed at Jalis, who paled visibly at her proximity. "He started this! He's spoiled your nice customs and made me spell out how things are, again! Here it is, straight: I've made these decisions and I'll continue to make them until I tire of it. You say you could resist me? Then I dare you to try it!"

Hemlock turned to the other seated wizards. "Any of you who wish to try your luck against me—go ahead! I'm tired of your little political games. There are no politics here anymore. I am the law now. That's what you signed up for when you stopped caring about the people outside of this Tower!"

Jalis did not respond. Hemlock had already measured the wizard as a coward, when push came to shove.

"And one more thing. I want those dragon eggs delivered into my possession! Now! Grubbins! Enter!"

Grubbins uncertainly entered the meeting chamber from the side door. Hemlock knew that he would be there listening. The meddling wizard was surely aware that by entering he was implicating himself in eavesdropping, yet he did not dare to disobey Hemlock in her agitated state.

"Bring me those dragon eggs from Jalis' chambers. Search the whole floor if you have to. I want them here before anyone leaves this room."

Hemlock returned to her seat, where, due to all of the seats facing outward, she was free from the sight of any of the other wizards. She knew that looks were being exchanged between various wizards beside her, but no words were spoken until Grubbins returned with two young wizards in tow, each carrying a dragon egg with some difficulty. The eggs were as large as a man's head and were brightly colored. One was purple and one was orange. They were covered in tough scales, and their weight and rough texture had torn one of the young wizard's robes.

"Good. Bring them to the Atrium. Miara, please watch them for me until I get there. We will call Penelope. A griffin might know the best way to handle these, since they live in the mountains where the dragons used to. This meeting is over," said Hemlock.

She glanced at Jalis as he left, flanked by his three sympathizers. His face had reddened again, and though he dared not look at her, she knew that his every thought lashed out at her angrily.

Gwineval and Miara approached her with disapproving looks on their faces.

"Not now!" she cried.

The two wizards looked at each other, shook their heads, and left her alone.

"Make certain to see me before you depart on your fool's errand," said Gwineval before leaving. The two young wizards picked up the dragon eggs awkwardly and followed Gwineval and Miara out of the audience chamber.



It was a breezy midday in the City as Miara and Hemlock waited on the balustrade outside of the glass Atrium that topped the Wizard Tower. Hemlock looked down over the Elite district, and by turning her head and using a hand to control her blowing hair, was able to see the Warrens as well.

How much has really changed in the City since I took over?

Miara broke Hemlock's reverie, speaking the first words since she had cast the spell to summon Penelope: "Hemlock, you gave Jalis everything that he wanted in that meeting this morning. Now the wizards will feel justified in their fear of your rule. You made it clear that you rule by decree only. Some will rebel against that."

"Let them rebel. Despite Jalis' blustery words, they wouldn't dare to attempt a coup. Their number has been reduced and we have Samberlin's support," said Hemlock.

"Do we? You know I don't trust him. And there may have been some wisdom in Jalis' accusation that Samberlin is plotting the destruction of the wizard guild. And now you're talking about leaving the City? Hemlock, how would we stand against a coup without you?"

She has a point. But why would Samberlin want Jalis in control of the guild? And when I return I would make matters right. Samberlin isn't stupid.

"Samberlin won't support Jalis. If he does, I will destroy him when I return. He knows that."

"But what if you don't return? This is not a mere diplomatic mission that you're leaving on. This is an accursed vale. It could harbor strange magic that you're not accustomed to. Hemlock, we don't yet understand your powers completely. Why not send one of the other wizards to lead the expedition?"

"Because I'm the best one to face the danger. I'll not send another wizard to risk their life to do my work for me."

The approach of Penelope deflected Miara's expected retort. The graceful beast landed hard, grasping the balusters with her claws.

"Hi," thought Hemlock, initiating the form of wordless conversation that she used to communicate with the Griffin.

"Greetings from the mountains," responded Penelope.

"I hope you are doing well. Things are good in the City. I am soon to leave on an expedition to locate the Wand that binds the western land."

"It is good. You flow with the universe. He who we forget surely guides you."

"Who do you mean?"

"I speak of him who dwells in secret. I cannot say more for fear of the enemy."

"What enemy?"

But the Griffin did not respond, and rose to her full height, which seemed, to Hemlock, to underscore her unwillingness to say more.

"There they are." Hemlock pointed to the eggs resting on the floor near where the Griffin had landed.

"So, it is true. The children of the deceiver still live."

"The deceiver? Is he the enemy? Are you saying that dragons are the children of the enemy?"

"Yes, but they might walk a nobler path. I will take these. I will raise them as Griffins. When they come of age, they will choose their path. It is a great deed to deliver these to me. I thank you."

"You're welcome."

Hemlock wanted to ask Penelope many more questions, but the Griffin was always reluctant to answer. Hemlock wished she knew why, and puzzled at the origins of the Griffin.

Penelope bowed, and gently outstretched her great paws to carefully scoop up the eggs. She bowed her head again, and then took flight; vibrating the tower with her takeoff, and blowing Hemlock and Miara back a few steps under the force of the air beating out from under her strong wings.

"Mysterious, as always," commented Hemlock.

But Miara was already making for the door leading to the Atrium, and did not respond.



Hemlock took a few moments to absorb the ambience of her former apartment, and was struck by a feeling of having lost connection with the place.

Her sister still lingered by the window that looked over the street outside. Hemlock noticed when Mercuria touched the cheaply painted portrait picture of the two of them that had been purchased many years ago.

"You know, Hemlock, I guess I just have to accept that things are different now," said Mercuria, still facing away.

Hemlock was surprised by Mercuria's change in tone, paused for a few moments, and then replied tentatively, "We've all had to accept changes, Mercuria."

Mercuria whirled toward her sister, "Yes, but some of us made choices that resulted in these changes. Others of us were swept up by them."

Hemlock looked away from Mercuria. "I'm sorry about that. I never intended for all of this to happen. I was really just trying to make sure that you would be healthy."

"Really? Did you really think that you were doing all of this for me? Because, I was happy before—in pain at times, but happy. I would have been happy to keep living our old life. You remember? The one where we were sisters and spent all of our time together?"

Hemlock moved past her sister and picked up the portrait.

"There's something different about me, Mercuria. I'm sorry that it has come between us, but I'd like to make sure that it doesn't ruin us."

"I understand that now. I have to. But I still don't like it."

Hemlock thought back to her dream experiences, and to the strangely dressed figure wielding the Wand. She was troubled by the thought, and then her face creased more deeply into a frown as she considered the implications of what she had seen: for her sister—and for the City as a whole.

"I don't like it much myself. But it's like cursing the weather—it just sort of is, regardless of how we feel about it."

"Hemlock, watch this."

Hemlock turned to face her sister as the latter began an intricate gesture that almost resembled a dance. Hemlock's magical affinity sensed magical forces of healing beginning to surround her sister's body as the movements intensified. After a few moments, Mercuria rested her arms back at her side.

"You see, Hemlock, I'm different now, too. I'm a magician now—a healer."

Hemlock was surprised. She had known that Mercuria was taking magic lessons, but there had been real power in that spell—more than the power of a mere initiate.

"I do see it," Hemlock replied.

Mercuria's eyes were bright. "I always thought that Wizards were somehow obscene. You know how they always come off as a bunch of secretive old men. I can't believe the feeling I get when I practice magic. It's so...pure. It's so beautiful. It can't be evil."

"It isn't evil, but it can be used for evil."

"Clearly that's true, but I don't think that's what it's meant for, Hemlock. And I'm good at it. The Wizards don't say as much, but I know it. I can see that I'm far ahead of my classmates. Does this mean that I'm like you?"

"I don't know. Honestly, I hope not." Hemlock exhaled forcefully. "Being me has become a burden of late."

Hemlock and Mercuria had a nice dinner. The venison was just as delicious as Hemlock remembered. When the hour grew late, and much reminiscing had been done, it came time to part.

"Mercuria, whatever happens, I need to know that you will still love me. That's always been the most important thing to me, even though I forgot it after Safreon's death."

"I do and I will. I guess we're not just two sisters from the Warrens any longer, although I'm going to try to hold on to some of that life for as long as I can."

"Fair enough," Hemlock replied, hugging her sister warmly, and being hugged warmly in return.

"I need to go away for a week or two."

"What? Why did you wait to tell me until now?" Mercuria asked with some annoyance.

"Honestly, the night was going so well, I just forgot. I'm going to the Witch Crags with Tored to retrieve the Wand that binds them to the City. It shouldn't be dangerous."

"Uh huh... Not dangerous? Right. I know you, Hemlock—you're never far from danger. Well, I suppose I'd better start getting used to it. Come and see me as soon as you return?"

"Of course," Hemlock said, hugging her sister again.



Later that evening, after a short visit with Tored to confirm their plans to leave on the morning of the second day hence, Hemlock retired to her room.

She changed into her nightclothes and lay in bed. She soon found that she was restless. The many events of the day were playing back through her mind. The thought of her dream about Falignus returned to her. She hadn't thought much about it since she had awoken; she'd been too busy.

I finally saw where the light was coming from!

She had an inspiration. She rose and put on a night robe. She proceeded to her door and opened it softly. Hearing nothing, she carefully peered into the hall outside. Though she moved through the tower with impunity in her new role, she didn't want anyone—like Grubbins—to observe what she was about to do.

Satisfied that the halls were clear, she emerged from her door, closed it softly, and proceeded down the hall toward the rear stair that led to the upper floors.

She reached the sixth floor without incident. There was still a guard posted on the seventh floor, however. The guard walked on the seventh floor ledge that looked down on the sixth floor, protected marginally from falling by a chain stretched along a series of poles at its edge.

Hemlock crept silently down the length of the approach to the old location of the malevolent Emerald Stair. A new, mundane stair had been built in its place, but the ledge where the guard was still commanded a clear view of the steps.

Hemlock drew a bone comb from her robe pocket, and with a sharp motion, she was able to break its end off. She threw this end in a high arc toward the other side of the hall. It sailed through the air and clattered to the floor in about the spot she had aimed for. She counted on the guard's attention being diverted for an instant that would allow her to clear the stairs.

She dashed up the steps and took cover behind a marble column. The guard, now inquisitive, was approaching the stairs to investigate the source of the noise. As he passed, she crept to the interior stair that led down to the seventh circle chambers on the sixth floor, and descended them without incident.

She emerged into a short hallway that led to the door of Falignus' chambers. They were locked (per her order), but she made short work of the lock with her lockpicks. She entered the chamber and shut the door quietly behind her.

Memories of her night with Falignus returned to her in force as she beheld the chamber again. It was round, tracing the exterior of the Tower in part, and it was lit beautifully by the moon, which danced through many skylights embedded in the ceiling, where the exterior of the Tower arched inward.

A large bed with an ornate brass frame and headboard dominated the space. There were two nightstands beside the bed, and a small dining table near the middle of the room. Bookcases and dressers were spaced around the room, and there was a small door, which Hemlock knew led to an adjoining laboratory, where many dark spells had been cast.

Hemlock's attention was drawn to the nightstand where she had identified the source of the strange light in her dream. The nightstand was bare. Curious, she approached it and noticed that it had a drawer. She opened the drawer, and amongst some parchment , ink, wax and other personal effects, lay an intricate glass ornament.

Hemlock withdrew the ornament. It was a square frame made of gold inlaid with silver and sapphires. Each side of the square frame held a small glass panel that was beveled and mirrored. Each mirror could be swiveled on small pegs that extended from the mirror and rested in small holes in the gold frame. The top mirror was adjustable along multiple axes, and could be raised and lowered.

This must be what dazzled me with light that night. But what is the significance of it? Why has it been haunting my dreams?

Hemlock placed the ornament on the nightstand, and noticed that it wouldn't sit flat because of a large peg on its un-mirrored side.

Sensing a riddle in this ornament, she looked around the room. Immediately, she noticed something unusual.

The table has a hole in the center of it!

She picked up the ornament and approached the table. She became excited when she saw that the hole in the table matched the size of the peg on the bottom of the ornament. She mounted the ornament into the table, matching the peg with the hole.

Nothing happened, although Hemlock immediately noticed that a splinter of moonlight was falling across the edge of the table.

Of course! The moonlight!

She dragged the table across the floor until the moonlight struck the glass ornament. She had to rotate the ornament in the hole to line up the mirror, which reflected the moonlight in a tight circle onto the tabletop.

Hmm.

She changed the vertical angle of the mirror and the ornament erupted in light. Beams of light shone from each of the four side mirrors. Each beam shone on the walls of the room.

What is the point of this?

Hemlock inspected the walls of the circular room. They featured a series of stylized arched recesses, which were inlaid with green marble that contrasted with the smooth granite of the surrounding walls. Above the arches, the domed roof was set off by a carved extrusion which was decorated at four equidistant points by beautifully carved images of fanged gargoyle women.

Those are pretty creepy. But wait, four sides—four sculptures!

Hemlock rotated the ornament to align the light beams with the gargoyle women. She adjusted one of the mirrored sides to shine the light directly on one of the carvings. She heard a very gentle click.

This is it!

She aligned the remaining two sides, and heard a similar click as each additional beam of moonlight struck a gargoyle carving. When she aligned the final beam, she heard a click, but also the soft sound of stone grating on stone.

The green marble inside each of the arched recesses was rotating. Three of the arches revealed bare granite behind them, but the fourth revealed a shadowy chamber, which lit mysteriously before Hemlock's eyes.

Inside was a small chamber with a desk, a bookshelf, and a trunk.

Hemlock heard a sound at the door and vaulted behind the bed for cover.

She heard mechanical sounds moving into the room, but was soon relieved as she recognized the familiar sounds of Merit approaching.

She rose and confronted him: "What are you doing here?"

"Why, hello, Miss Hemlock. I was in the atrium when I heard a noise. I know this wing is supposed to be locked, so I decided to investigate."

"Merit, it could have been dangerous. You should have gotten help. But, in this case, I'm glad you didn't. I don't want anyone to know I've been here."

"Have you discovered something?"

"Yes, I think I have," said Hemlock, gesturing to the newly revealed alcove.

She approached it and looked at the desk. Merit walked toward the glass ornament, and seemed to be inspecting the moonlight and the mirrors.

Hemlock saw some notes on the desk, and another quill and ink bottle. She read part of the document, and it seemed to be related to esoteric spell components. Losing interest, she moved to the trunk.

She expected it to be locked, but it wasn't. Looking inside, she saw a few white tunics and some ornate sashes. Moving the clothes aside, she looked deeper into the trunk. She saw a portrait there, near the bottom, as if concealed. It was a family portrait of two adults and an adolescent boy. Hemlock's was startled as she realized that the adolescent was clearly a young Falignus.

He looks so young and carefree. Who are these people, and what happened to him?

She found it difficult to take her eyes from the portrait, but managed to do so when she noticed a time-worn parchment near where the portrait had been. Lifting it, she unfolded it and read it. Finding its contents compelling, she began to mouth it aloud.

"Dear Falignus,

I regret the unusual circumstances that surrounded your admission into the Tower. Over time you will come to realize that it was for the best. As you've been told, I sired you and placed you with the two nobles who you have referred to up to this point as parents. You were no use to me as a child, and I had important matters to attend to. But now that you have grown, you must train to assume the mantle of leadership of the Wizard Guild.

You may be intimidated by this new challenge. It is true that my legacy will loom large behind you, but someday, if you work hard, you may manage to equal it. You may yearn for your old family. Because of the risk of this distraction, I've had them killed. Don't lament their passing; I assure you that it was painless and quick.

You must gather your strength for the challenges ahead. Do not look back and be paralyzed by melancholy—for this would be a fatal mistake. Your new role is not assured. I must be confident that you are ready for it. I will follow your studies closely. Do not disappoint me.

Sincerely,

Zaringer, your father."

"What an unfortunate lineage," commented Merit from close behind Hemlock. He had apparently heard every word of the letter.

"Yes, no wonder he acted as he did. Zaringer took everything from him, and re-made him in the image of evil. But he was a normal person, once."

She put the letter back into the trunk. "Could he have been a normal person again, Merit? Did I make a mistake leaving him in that desert to die alone?"

"You did what you had to, Miss Hemlock, for yourself and for the City," Merit replied, softly.

"Then why does it feel like a mistake now?"

Merit did not reply at first, but then spoke. "I don't know. But I know your heart is kind and just."

"Sometimes, Merit, sometimes."

They stood silent for a few more moments. Hemlock gazed into the eyes of the adolescent Falignus, but they were cold and distant, and didn't bring the memory of his former reality any closer to her reckoning. Finally, she placed the picture and the letter delicately back into the trunk. As she closed the trunk, she quickly slipped the lid back up, removed the picture and letter, and placed them into her cloak pocket.

She noticed with relief that Merit had been looking at the adjacent bookshelf and had removed an old, dusty tome from a lower shelf. Suddenly the gears in his head began to spin wildly.

"Miss Hemlock, look at this! This is a book I've only heard spoken of in legend. It's the diary of Julius!"

"Wait, Merit, calm down. Who is Julius, again?"

"He was the founder of the wizard guild. He was the first to follow the chaos of the war that followed the death of the old Imperator. He lifted the City out of a dark age. This is his diary! Look how detailed it is! Miss Hemlock, this book must contain innumerable secrets about the City. Secrets that only the Seventh Circle knew. I know that Gwineval has never seen this book. We've spoken about it."

Hemlock found this discovery and Merit's accompanying excitement to be an unwanted distraction from her thoughts about Falignus. But she knew better than to ignore Merit on matters of historical significance.

And such knowledge might bring power with it. I don't want any more wizardly intrigue while I am gone.

She made a hasty decision, but it felt right to her.

"Merit, I want you to take this book to your chamber and keep it secret. Even from Gwineval. I need you to understand what's in that book, and I need you to tell me about it when I return. Once I understand what it says, I will decide when to share it with Gwineval and the rest of the wizards. Can you promise to do this for me?"

Merit looked discomfited by her request, and began to shuffle around.

"Merit, listen to me. If this knowledge were to get into the hands of someone like Jalis, think how much damage he could do with it while I'm gone. I trust Gwineval and Miara, but their honor might compel them to share this book with other wizards. I can't risk that. I need you to promise me that you will read this in secret, and not share it with anyone. Please, Merit?"

"I will honor your request, Miss Hemlock, although I don't understand it. I don't think Gwineval would share the book until he had also read it first himself. But you are the leader of the wizard guild. I will honor your request by virtue of that power, but also because of our friendship. You must promise me, however, that you will not use this knowledge to harm Gwineval, who is also my friend."

"I promise, Merit. Thank you."

Hemlock leaned over and hugged Merit. She briefly inspected the book and then looked around the room. She finally located an old sack in the laboratory room. She placed the book into the sack and gave it back to Merit.

"Now go straight to your room and put that book somewhere safe."

"Good night, Miss Hemlock," said Merit, as he left the room.

"Good night," replied Hemlock, trusting her friend's promise, but all the same, nervous about the potential power held in the pages of the book.

She took the ornament and placed it in her robe. When the moonlight was removed, the secret alcove was again concealed by the marble. She moved the table back to the center of the room, and returned to her chamber, feeling that more than enough had been discovered in one eventful day.



Merit greedily opened the pages of Julius' diary. He could scarcely believe his fortune at being the first one to read the book outside of the Seventh Circle. He still felt uncomfortable keeping such a momentous discovery from Gwineval, but his curiosity overtook that feeling, and he began to read.

The book started with an odd tale about a different life that Julius had had prior to first coming to the City.

Chapter Three

Feysal whipped his camosaur lightly to urge it forward. It was a slow but steady riding beast with a lightly furred body, long legs, and a gullet that could digest plants or meat and store water for long periods of time. He felt sure that his rival tribe, the Harith, would be camped on the vast desert plateau that lay beyond the ridgeline he was approaching. This plateau was known as Urimba, which meant "Harsh Mistress" in his tongue. It was a beautiful land filled with wondrous rock formations, yet water and game were scarce.

He was so excited to ambush the Harith that he had urged his camosaur on some miles back, and, since she was the fastest camosaur amongst his riders, she had easily outdistanced them. He thought that it was just as well, for one man might be missed where many scores would be reckoned. Especially if that one man was cloaked in a magical darkness like Feysal was. He was the youngest in tribal memory to ever achieve the title of Charifa, or magic man; and he was the first Charifa to become an Emir of a great tribe.

As he neared the crest of the ridge, Feysal slowed his camosaur. She responded willingly, grunting softly with approval, for the fast pace had not been easy on her.

Slowly, the expanse of the plateau came into view. Feysal deemed it fortunate that Urimba was so inhospitable, for it meant that the Harith, who had set out to raze his camps, would be weakened by the hard journey across it. Crossing Urimba was an unexpected and bold line of attack, but one of Feysal's spies had reported the movement in time for Feysal to ride out with his fighters to meet the Harith threat.

Between the earthy colors of the bordering, rocky mesas, which were resplendent even when muted by darkness—as they were now—and the backdrop of a mountain range whose passes led down to the gently down-sloping Urimba, Feysal could see an encampment which lay just a few miles distant.

Oddly, though it was the hour for tea and bread (and perhaps camosaur meat, if hunger and scarcity dictated), there were no campfires lit. Instead, there were pillars of smoke rising, as if fires had recently been extinguished.

Feysal's pulse, already rushing due to the nature of his solitary reconnaissance, began to pound in his temples. He drew his bow, scanned the plateau, and then turned his camosaur to scan his flanks.

Nothing threatened him.

Returning his attention to the camp, he noted that a great stillness lay across the plateau. Nothing was moving in the camp, and, stranger still, no birds or insects could be heard.

Then Feysal's eyes perceived prone forms arrayed around the camp. More were scattered at its outskirts. Still more were visible at a distance of a hundred yards or more. Some of their poses might have implied a watchful posture, but many others were on their backs with limbs splayed to and fro awkwardly. He also noticed several tents loosed from their moorings, and the poles of others that had apparently fallen completely. No camosaurs could be seen, and an unnatural darkness seemed to surround the camp.

Feysal felt sure that, if his eyes did not deceive him, he was beholding the ruin of the Harith.

His mind told him to ride hard back to his approaching fighters. But something in his gut bid him to urge his camosaur forward. She had evidently taken notice of the oddity before them, because she was slow to respond and clearly reluctant; but she was the finest of her kind, and she obeyed when other camosaurs might have faltered.

Slowly they approached the scene. Feysal perceived some camosaur remains to his right. Most of the torso had been torn away, leaving the head and legs like some discarded fancy.

As he got a closer look at the bodies, he saw that many of them were also gruesomely dismembered.

"What manner of beast could do this?" he wondered.

As he was looking down, he noticed a huge shadow on the ground, approaching rapidly. He had no time to do anything but look up in wonder as a huge, winged beast landed heavily on the ground, not ten feet from him.

He felt his camosaur trembling beneath him. Both camosaur and rider were paralyzed with fear. The creature was as big as the largest of his tribe's tents and covered in black scales. Fetid breath, reeking of blood and gore, emanated from a huge jaw that was lined with large, sharp teeth that dripped with the remains of the Harith. The creature's eyes were black as night, but in their center were pale crescent irises that shone like moons.

"Hail Julius, son of the Imperator," spoke a rumbling, bestial voice directly into his mind.

Feysal strove to quell the panic that had brought his sensibilities to a temporary halt.

"Who is Julius? And why does he use the ancient term for the Old God?" Feysal wondered.

"Hail Julius, son of the Imperator," repeated the beast.

Finally Feysal found his voice. "Are you the Old God, come to take vengeance on the Harith?"

"I am old, but no God. I have come to destroy you. I will then re-make you. Your father ordered it."

"You speak of my father? My father..." Here Feysal faltered as he considered that his father was unknown to him. He had been found in a sand dune bordering an encampment of his tribe, the Powitat. "I am Feysal, Emir of the Powitat, son of the desert!"

"No! Feysal is now dead. It is time to begin your new life. You are Julius, son of the Imperator. It is he who left you in the desert. You will leave this land. We will return to the City. Your father has left something there."

Feysal felt beguiled by the grandeur of the beast, and the suggestion it was making that his origin was altogether more grandiose than he had thought it was.

"I am the son of the Old God?"

"Yes. You are the son of the Imperator."

A thrill of pride raced through Feysal. He had expected to rule his world, for he had known for years that his talents and skills exceeded all around him. But now this beast suggested that he might be...a God.

"What if I believe you? What if I go with you, as you say?"

"We will return to the City. It is not in this world. We will cross the great divide. Once there, you will accept your birthright."

"Will I ever return?"

"Feysal is dead. Julius may return some day. You must decide now. Will you go?"

Feysal looked back for a sign of his approaching fighters. None were visible along the ridge behind him.

"What if I refuse?" he cried defiantly.

"Feysal is dead."

Feysal paled a bit as he realized that he had no choice if he wished to live.

"Then I accept."

"Leave the camosaur and your belongings. Climb onto my back."

The beast lowered itself and positioned one of its great limbs in a posture that allowed Feysal to climb awkwardly onto its back. There was no clear way to get a good purchase for Feysal besides digging his fingers and his toes into the gaps beneath the black scales. This was uncomfortable for him, but it did seem to provide adequate grip.

Feysal felt the beast's muscles knot up beneath him. The force he felt in the beast in that moment astonished him, and extinguished the small doubt that Feysal still felt about the decision he had just made. Then the beast jumped into the air as its wings began to beat furiously, kicking up clouds of sand.

The Dragon climbed with powerful strokes of its wings. Feysal struggled to remain mounted, although his camosaur riding skill aided him somewhat. As they gained altitude, Feysal stared in wonder at the expanse of terrain revealed below. He saw the mountains below him, and as the Dragon turned slowly, his fighters came into view, proceeding slowly toward the ridge leading to Urimba.

Though transfixed by the view below, Feysal looked above him and gasped at what he saw. The stars, which had been distinct points of light in a sea of black, were taking on a different character. They were now connected by dim red strands which, when taken in sum, gave the sky the appearance of a great black rock punctuated with red striations.

Still further they climbed, and the air grew colder. Feysal clung more closely to the warmth of the Dragon, finally noticing the oozing wounds on his hands and feet caused by the rough scales of the beast. The ground below now looked like a miniature, and seemed dream-like and surreal to Feysal. His head swam, and he focused more intently on the dull pain emanating from his hands to steady himself.

Above, the red tendrils that connected the stars were now tongues of flowing fire, glowing a fierce crimson in the blank void. He saw that his own world was also connected to a fiery strand, which seemed like some slow-moving lava flow. How it did not consume his world eluded his reckoning.

Now the blackness was all around them, and the Dragon altered its flight, diving gently toward the fiery river of light nearby.

Feysal became alarmed, as the heat of the fire soon became apparent. He found the red glow of the fire slightly repulsive, like one of his tribe would regard rancid well water or spoiled meat crawling with flies and maggots .

"The Maker's Fire is below. I must fly low to gather its currents. This will hurt us both."

The Dragon dived and as they approached the river of flame, Feysal felt increasingly ill. He eventually threw up his lunch of bread and meat, which floated beside him oddly for a few moments before the Dragon began to increase speed.

Feysal held on with all of his might as the Dragon accelerated. The fire beneath him was now just a bright red streak as the Dragon's wings beat faster and faster.

Finally the Dragon climbed and the painful heat and wretched sickness left him. He noticed other worlds flying by them at great speed now.

Looking ahead, he saw a great central ball of fire to which all of the fiery tendrils were linked. He could see a world moving swiftly around that great ball, but slowing down appreciably as they approached it. It turned about the great ball, coming in and out of view. As it touched the tendrils of fire that were connected to the fiery ball, those tendrils burned more brightly for a moment until the world lost contact.

"Is that where we go, beast?" cried Feysal. But his voice seemed feeble as he appreciated the great clamor of the burning fire around them for the first time. He felt sure the Dragon didn't hear him.

"Yes," replied the beast into his mind.

The world they approached looked like a blue semi-circle floating on a great rock that turned molten where it touched the great ball of fire that it sailed upon. The path of the world had slowed and Feysal could see that the Dragon was tracking it and that they would soon cross its path.

The blue became deeper and deeper as they got closer, and soon blue overtook black, and dominated his field of view. The blue was shimmering in a strange, insubstantial way. They got closer and closer to the blue, and Feysal realized that where his world had faded to black imperceptibly, this border was more absolute.

Before he could ponder this mystery further, Dragon and rider burst through into daylight. Again Feysal beheld a world beneath him, except this world seemed smaller than the one he had left. There was a lush region of green to Feysal's left, and a region of huge mountains to his right. The Dragon soared toward the mountains.

"Let us go to the great oasis!" cried Feysal, his hair whipping in the cool air.

"Not yet. Soon enough," came the rumbling but silent reply.

The approaching mountains looked desolate except for a few paths that wound amongst them. Feysal thought that he saw a great building straddling the nearby peaks of two adjacent mountains, but this disappeared from view too quickly for him to be sure.

The Dragon made for a mountain that was near the edge of the range. Soon they descended below the peaks, and the mountains surrounded them. Feysal became alarmed because he saw no destination below.

Suddenly the Dragon landed hard on a rocky outcropping that bordered a shelf of rock some feet above and beside it. This shelf proved to be at a height convenient for Feysal to climb off the Dragon's back, and the latter shuffled sideways toward it, as if offering non-verbal encouragement for Feysal to do just that.

Feysal was unsure whether he felt better on the back of the beast that some part of him hoped might yet bear him home, or safely on solid rock. At the urging of the Dragon, he opted for the latter. He climbed from the Dragon awkwardly, and took full note of his recent abrasions.

He took his eyes off the Dragon for a moment longer and discovered the shelf of rock he now stood on met a cliffside at a distance of some thirty yards, where it formed a narrow pathway that followed the cliff-face for another fifty, finally ending at a ledge which fronted a shadowy defile that seemed to give way to a small cave.

Returning his eyes to the Dragon, he waited for some cue from the beast.

It spoke into his mind again. "Beyond lies the room prepared for you. Your father left a message for you. And he left you an inheritance. But I think it is not as he intended. "

Feysal's pride returned. "What of my inheritance? Will I take my place as an Emir in this land?"

The Dragon seemed to chuckle. "Your future is yours. Remember my words. By delivering you, I have finished my service. The law is fulfilled. I shall return now to the great void."

"Wait!" cried Feysal, but he was knocked back by the air displaced by the thrum of strong black wings. He watched with a mixture of despair and relief as the Dragon climbed into the skies.

Soon the Dragon became a small dot in the sky, and finally was lost from his vision.

Feysal despaired anew and fear gripped him.

He scolded himself. "You are an Emir of the Powitat!" But this thought underscored the sense of powerlessness that he felt as he looked around him at the cold mountains, and below him at a fall of thousands of yards to the rocky pass below.

He had nothing but the robes he wore. He had no weapons and no gold.

He tried a new remonstration. "You are the son of a God!" It was unfamiliar, but it heartened him.

He began to walk along the rock toward the ledge and the shadowy opening.

When he reached the opening, he peered in cautiously.

The rough rock of the cave extended back about thirty feet, where it met a smooth stone wall covered with shadowy symbols. There was a stone extrusion in the middle of the wall.

Feysal walked slowly toward the wall. The square extrusion was featureless except for an imprint of an outstretched hand, which was centered on its face.

Feysal looked around him. There was nothing else there. It was him and the wind and the mountains and the clear air. And this wall.

He placed his hand into the impression on the rock.

The symbols glowed and there was a great rumbling and a sound of stone grating on stone. Seams that had been imperceptible appeared in the wall, and a door-sized opening appeared as the center of the wall receded away from the rest of it.

A beckoning, warm light shone from the opening.

Feysal felt emboldened by way the door had opened for him and the welcoming light within. He strode inside confidently.

There were torches burning on the walls of a large chamber. He saw more strange symbols on the walls, and pictures. There was a fine carved table upon which rested a glittering gold robe and the finest blade that he had ever seen.

He rushed for the weapon, and when he picked it up, it felt like an extension of his arm. It was a straight blade, unlike the curved blades that were used by the Powitat.

The robe looked like it had just been woven from the finest silk and was embroidered with golden accents. But when he handled it, it was both soft and unnaturally strong. He slipped off his well-worn desert robe and slipped into the new one, which fit him well.

The unusual door behind him closed abruptly with a great boom that momentarily caused a ringing in Feysal's ears.

As the ringing subsided, Feysal heard a voice talking. It reverberated through the room, although there was no clear source. It was a voice of absolute authority: hard, calculating and unyielding. It spoke in a foreign tongue, but Feysal found that he understood every word.

"Welcome. Your name is Julius, and you are my son. All other facts are subordinate to this. You are my son. I was a God, but in this wretched place even a God may die—must die. I have been called by many names, but most commonly I was known as the Imperator. I ruled this land and the worlds around it for centuries, undoing much of its vile nature before it ultimately consumed me.

In order to extend my reach, I appointed seven Sub-Imperators, called Centurions. To each of these Centurions I bestowed a Wand. Each of these Wands was a great item, embodying my law and allowing its bearer to create law on my behalf. Our laws reigned in the chaos of these worlds.

But, as I felt myself waning, I started to doubt the loyalty of my Centurions. I started to fear that their origins might taint their ability to bear my legacy. So I decided to sire an heir. That heir is you. I placed you on a distant world where time moves slowly. This ensured that the Centurions would never discover you before you matured.

Now the time has come for you to claim your inheritance."

The sound of grating rock returned, and Feysal saw something emerging from a hidden compartment on the stone table. It was a glittering crown of glass, which was filled with a burning liquid fire, not unlike what he had seen in the rivers of fire in that strange place between worlds.

"This is my Crown: the Crown that rules the Wands. You must don this Crown and then you will be immune from the power of the Wands. You will confront the Centurion who rules and demand his subservience. If he declines, then you will kill him. You will kill any who oppose you, for my word is law.

Don the crown now."

Feysal wondered whether the Old God still lived, for he could not conceive of how this voice could be speaking to him so, otherwise.

"Don the crown now."

"The voice carries no emotion. The Old God, my father, must be dead after all," he thought to himself.

Feysal approached the crown. Something in its appearance made him fear it. It held the fire that had sickened and burned him. But he didn't feel sick now.

"I am the son of a God," he repeated to himself as he reached for the artifact.

When he placed the crown on his head, a terrible sense of power coursed through him. It started softly, like the chorus of an old desert tune that was sung softly and then rose to a furious crescendo. He beheld a great lattice of magic, and each strand was a law. Each law was logical and internally consistent, but he was able to discern the greater pattern—to see the sum of the component parts.

These laws, burning like a fiery net in his mind, were designed for the total dominance of a population. Some even enforced themselves without judge or jury, and the penalty for violating any of them was typically death—administered on the spot by the magic of the evil Old God known as the Imperator: his father.

He experienced a feeling of lust to be in control of this tremendous power—but it was a lust that he felt un-manned him. In the desert, lust—or any type of uncontrolled desire—made a man less likely to survive the cruelties of an uncaring environment. So this overpowering feeling of lust that he felt caused him to shriek and wrest the crown from his head and throw it, clattering, to the floor of the chamber.

The disembodied voice continued.

"Now you appreciate the power of my Law. You are the living incarnation of my power. You will add and extend my laws as changing circumstances dictate. Remember that though you are my Son, you will never be the measure of me. I am greater than you will ever be. You must remember never to deviate too far from my vision and the spirit of my laws."

Feysal was scared again. This crown had not made him feel like an Emir. It had made him feel like a tent dweller or a debt collector. This was the crown of a soft man, a cruel man, not a great warrior of the desert. He could not bear the thought of ever donning that crown.

"Could this coward really be my father? If I defy him, will he know?"

The voice continued, unperturbed, as a great rumbling sounded from deeper in the room. A new door was opening as the voice spoke.

"You will be tested before you leave this place. In the next chamber are twenty wretches who broke my law. I sentenced them to many centuries of torment while they waited for you to come. Unfortunately, my means of forcing their survival robbed them of most of their consciousness. Still, I think it will be a valuable exercise for you, and a hint of the cruelty that will likely be required for you to displace the Centurion.

You will be trapped in this place until you draw the life force from these twenty. You have no choice in the matter. Now that you understand my law, I'm sure you will see the wisdom in this small lesson. Proceed now, and do your duty."

Feysal heard desperate cries coming from the newly revealed room. A small throng of figures shuffled through the opening toward him. The years of waiting had not been kind to them. Their flesh was dark and mottled like old leather, but somehow they moved and breathed like the living.

Their cries were nightmarish, and conveyed the pain of centuries of waiting.

"I am Feysal of the Powitat! Stand back!" he shouted.

It was no use. The figures surrounded him, groping at him desperately. They did not attack, but they harassed him with seemingly limitless endurance.

Feysal pushed through them and into the adjacent chamber. It was smaller and featureless except for many more markings on the floor—markings which he now perceived as magical runes which he was astonished to realize he could read. There was a great stone door on its far wall, which was also laden with runic writings and bore no handle or other obvious means of opening it.

He again pushed through the figures that hounded him, and returned to the other room. He could now read the inscriptions on the walls, and he found that they repeated the speech that he had just heard spoken in his father's voice.

The incessant hounding of the droning figures became unbearable. Feysal focused his thoughts inward for a moment, and focused on one of his Charifa magic spells. This particular spell was one of warding. Feysal muttered the triggering incantation and the figures around him were thrown back to the walls as if by an otherwise imperceptible wind.

Feysal weighed his options as the pathetic walking corpses struggled against his Charifa magic and tried to reach him. He disliked senseless killing, but these "things" scarcely seemed human any longer. The voice had mentioned drawing the life force from them. The only spell that he knew that resembled that was a dark spell of life leeching. It was often used with a willing donor to heal disease, but the dark version of the spell could be used without the permission of the victim. But Feysal didn't know where to focus the life force once drawn. He returned to the other room and spotted a glass cylinder embedded in the wall above the impassable door. It seemed clear to him that this was the intended target of the drawn life energy.

Just as he was preparing to strike out at the first of them with his Charifa spell, he heard a murmur of speech from one of them.

"Help."

This disturbed Feysal and delayed his attack. But after several more minutes, he grimly began the task of dispatching the twenty lost souls and directing their remaining life energy into the glass cylinder that he had found.

As he doubled over to catch his breath and heard the dull thump of the final body falling lifeless to the floor, he heard the other door opening in the far chamber.

He debated on what to do with the crown. He considered wrapping it in his old robes, which lessened the disturbing sensations he experienced when carrying it. But in the end he left it, trusting that his Father's magic would prevent entry into the chamber by anyone other than him.

The voice of his long dead father rang out a final time. "I have prepared a diorama of the City in the next chamber. Study it well, and read the book that I have left you before leaving this place. It will describe the workings of the City in detail. Once you are ready, follow the path down to the foot of the mountain and journey toward the lake. The City borders the lake. Do not forget me or the duty that you must perform. Be sure to raise an heir and keep the bloodline intact. Do not forget your duty to me!"

Feysal did take the time to read the Imperator's book. While distasteful to him, he realized that he had to study the book in order to be able to stand a chance of confronting the Centurion that awaited him. He also went to the next chamber and studied the diorama of the City, which was dominated by the imposing Tower of Law. He did not sleep or experience hunger or thirst while he was in the chamber, and while he was unsure how long he remained in there studying, he expected that it was many days.

He devised a plan to take up his birthright—but on his terms. He would conquer the City as his Father had intended, but he would rule as an Emir of the desert and not as a puppet of an Old God.

Finally, he deemed himself ready, and he left the chamber, walked down the long, winding path that descended down the mountain, and crossed the plain that separated the mountains from Hemisphere Lake and the surrounding City.

When the City finally came into view, Feysal, who had determined to call himself Julius in order to legitimize his claim to rule, was dumbstruck. In his single-minded determination to accept his birth-right, he had forgotten the Dragon's words.

The City that he saw before him was nothing like the glorious one depicted in the diorama. The proud Tower of Law had been toppled, and partly rested in the lake beside it. Most of the fine buildings were burned out or in disrepair.

Julius bit down the despair he felt rising within him.

"So this is your legacy, father? So much for your law. Now it is time for my law."

Julius strode proudly toward the ruined City.

Chapter Four

Hemlock visited Gwineval the next day in his chamber. She picked a time that was between his magic classes and which was convenient for her, given the many meetings that she was forced to attend in order to smooth the preparations amongst the wizards for her impending absence.

He admitted her gruffly, and she strode in and sat down. As she grew accustomed to the warm, salty air, she recalled how he had bound her to the very chair in which she now sat, when he had captured her during her incursion into the Tower. Though that had happened only months prior, it felt like years had passed since then.

Gwineval paced back and forth before turning toward her. "First, you rashly announce that you are leaving the Tower with Tored, and then you confront Jalis and humiliate him and the rest of his allies in the council? What has happened to you, Hemlock?"

"I've decided to take my life back."

"When you agreed to lead the Wizard Guild, you committed yourself to us. You are leaving the guild just as fractured by internal strife as when Falignus was still alive. How is that fair and just?"

Hemlock felt her voice rising despite her wish to remain calm. "I expected help though. Instead, you leave all the work to me and spend all of your time researching."

"I've spoken to you about the power of the Imperial magic. You don't understand how dramatic the results of my research have been. Let me show you something."

Gwineval stepped into the center of the room and drew a small bag from his robe. He unloosed the string on the bag and began to pour its contents onto the stone slabs on the floor. He poured it in a thin line, which he began to curve and weave back over itself. Soon he had formed a complex rune and then he drew two concentric circles around it and connected them back to the rune in their center.

He stepped into the circle and then began to gesture and chant. A white glow formed around him and then transferred to the lines of sand, causing them to glow. The crackling glow extended out from the circle in a line across the floor toward the wall of the chamber, where it turned upwards and rose until it intersected a thicker horizontal line which illuminated the entire inner wall of the room.

Gwineval's feet left the ground, and he began to rise into the air.

Hemlock was surprised and impressed, but Gwineval's triumphant look as he floated made her attempt to mute her visible reaction.

Gwineval frowned at her less than enthusiastic reaction. He then leaned forward, which caused him to float in that direction. As soon as he passed above the outer circles, he fell several feet to the floor, landing hard on his webbed feet.

Hemlock rose and strode over to the pattern on the floor, which still glowed along with the floor and the wall. She glanced at Gwineval, and, encouraged by his not restraining her, stepped into the circle. Nothing happened.

"The law I created says that I can fly. But it doesn't work for anyone else. In fact, the way I've crafted it, it will actually prevent anyone else from flying within it. The amazing thing about it is that that rune will last for many days without any additional magical energy. Think about what that means, Hemlock. Take Mercuria. She could create a rune in her apartment that would heal her whenever she stepped into it. And this magic is easy to cast. She could nearly manage it now, given her rather impressive talents. This could free us from our dependence on natural magic!"

Hemlock pointed to the glowing line of energy on the floor and on the wall. Using her power of magical attunement, she could see that magical energy was flowing from the large channel of power on the wall, down through the floor, and was sustaining the spell that was in force on the floor.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm not sure yet, but these magical ley lines seem to run all through the Tower," Gwineval replied.

The ley lines reminded Hemlock of the system of magical energy that she had seen in use in the tomb of Zaringer in the northern desert.

"It is impressive, but it seems almost too good to be true. If this magic is so great, then why didn't the Imperator's culture survive?"

Gwineval 's countenance clouded as he turned away. With a wave of his hand he extinguished the glowing runes and swept up the sand with a dustpan.

"I don't know. But I intend to find out. I'd like to search the Seventh Circle chambers, with your approval."

"Gwineval, do you hear yourself? How do you think Falignus and his father got started with this magic? Just like this!"

"But, Hemlock, how can one shun a thing when one doesn't understand it? It's not a rational decision if it's made in ignorance!"

"Just look at the results of others who've made the same decision, though!"

"The Seventh Circle was corrupt! Perhaps they corrupted the Imperial magic."

"And, perhaps not! I knew Falignus. He wasn't totally corrupt—there was good in him as well," said Hemlock, pausing uncomfortably as she considered what she was concealing from Gwineval about her discoveries in Falignus' chamber.

"Maybe, but I saw plenty of evil in him!"

Hemlock prepared to respond, but her eye caught a glow from the far corner of the room. There was another glowing pattern of sand that resembled the rune that Gwineval had just cleaned up, but it looked far more intricate. Curiosity overtook her angry feelings.

"What does that one do?" she asked.

Gwineval looked taken aback for a moment, and he looked away from Hemlock.

"Well?" she pressed.

"It's nothing. Just something I've been working on."

"Show me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's...personal."

She turned toward the door. "See! Already the secrets. You do what you feel you must when I'm gone, but I don't agree with you investigating the Seventh Circle."

"Wait."

Hemlock turned to face Gwineval. He had an odd look on his face that she couldn't identify.

"Follow me," he finally said.

He approached the glowing rune and stood at its border. Turning, he looked Hemlock straight in the eye as he faced her. He stepped backward over the sand border of the rune. As he did so, Hemlock beheld a startling transformation in his face and head.

His eyes shrank, and the irises became round and brown. His scales gave way to normal human flesh, and a generous head of brown hair bordered with gray sprang up on his head. She instinctively knew that she was looking at Gwineval as he would have appeared if he had not undertaken his physical transformation into a lizard, many years prior.

Nothing was said for several moments. Finally, Hemlock found her voice. "Is it illusion?"

"No. While I am inside this rune, this is my real head."

Hemlock's tone softened: "You love her, don't you?"

Gwineval quickly stepped back outside of the circle and resumed his normal appearance.

"What? This is just an exploration of...possibilities. I'm not prone to bouts of uncontrolled emotion like some people around me seem to be."

Hemlock started to reply, but stopped short.

If he hasn't admitted it to himself, yet, then I won't push him.

"Gwineval, go ahead and search the Seventh Circle chambers. Just be careful!"

"Well, I... Hemlock, I appreciate that."

"Will you include Jalis and his lot?"

"Yes, I think I'll have to. Word would surely reach them, and I don't want to give them another point of contention to use against us."

"OK, but keep an eye on him."

"Of course."

Hemlock turned to leave, but Gwineval called after her.

"Hemlock?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck."

She smiled at him and left his chamber, again experiencing some guilt for not revealing her and Merit's discoveries in Falignus' rooms.

Your secret is safe with me, my love.

She stopped in the hallway and took stock of that thought.

Was he the love of my life? And have I lost him forever?

She shook her head and continued toward Merit's chamber.

She soon reached his doorway. She didn't want to arouse suspicion about the old tome that they had found, but her curiosity would not allow her to leave on her journey without getting his initial impressions of the contents of the book.

She knocked on the door, and heard a familiar heavy shuffling from inside. Merit answered the door, and Hemlock thought that his mechanical countenance appeared to bear the expression of frustration.

"Merit, is everything all right?"

"Yes, Miss Hemlock, please come in."

She entered and noticed that the other six automatons that tended to the Tower were present in the nearly empty room. They were standing in a semi-circle and appeared to be waiting patiently.

Hemlock noticed the bookshelf in the corner of the small room, which Merit had had installed soon after their last adventure, when he had began his hobby of reading history books. But a small mechanical clicking from one of the six automatons diverted her attention back to them.

"I've been trying to work with them," said Merit.

"Yes, I know. How's it going?"

"It is going poorly. Numbers Three and Five have shown some response to my attempts to engage them. But as soon as they leave my immediate vicinity, they forget what we talked about. The others have not responded at all. It is quite disheartening."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hemlock said, attempting to sound compassionate. In reality, she was more interested in hearing about the book.

He's your friend. Be attentive!

She took the initiative. "Do you think they might be damaged?"

"No, I don't believe so. And I've had you scan the magic of our bodies before, and you've never detected anything unusual."

"True."

"But something has occurred to me, Miss Hemlock."

"What?"

"Lately I've felt like my body is constraining me somehow. I have an odd yearning to be free of it."

"Don't say that, Merit. It sounds like you are saying that you want to die!"

"No, I don't want to die. But I want to feel free. Remember when we encountered that ghostly spider in the Witch Crags?"

"Yes."

"I've had a new theory lately concerning that encounter. My body was damaged by the spider's magic, and it took the concentrated magic of the obelisk to start healing me."

"I remember that."

"I think that is the point when I started to feel more...human."

"But you were there in the Atrium. You decided to join us in the teleport cage. That was a conscious decision, right?"

"I don't remember, but I do know that I was in the Atrium in accordance with my scheduled duties. Miss Hemlock, I think that when my body was damaged by the witch magic and later healed, some permanent damage was done."

"Why? Do you feel bad? Do we need to have you examined?"

"Go ahead and examine me yourself."

Hemlock focused her magical sensitivities and looked at Merit's body. The complex spells wound all around him, and infused the machinery of his body in a tangle of rune lines and auras. No damage was apparent to her until she compared him with one of the other automatons. She noticed that some parts of the complex weave of magic were missing from Merit, and some others that were present were weaker, and even flickered on and off subtly.

She weighed how Merit might react to this information, but decided to tell him. "Merit, I do see some damage. You may be right."

His small head swiveled up and down on his mechanical neck. "It is as I thought, then. I believe that our bodies were constructed to keep us alive. But I think they were also constructed to imprison us somehow. I fear that my comrades will never recover as I have unless we can figure out some way to affect their bodies as mine has been affected."

Hemlock approached Merit and clasped his small brass hands in hers. "That sounds dangerous. We could kill them in the process. Merit, promise me that you won't do anything rash to them or yourself until I return. I couldn't bear to lose you."

Merit's grip firmed slightly in her hands. "I won't, Miss Hemlock. You need not worry."

Hemlock smiled at him and then, after a few moments, withdrew a few paces and turned toward a bookshelf.

"So what of the book?"

Merit walked swiftly into her field of vision before responding in animated fashion. "Miss Hemlock, it is a detailed memoir by Julius. I've read about his life before he came to the City, and I've learned a little about the Imperator and his reign. Shall I tell you in detail?"

"No, Merit. Not now. Just keep reading. Once I return we will discuss it in detail."

"Miss Hemlock, what of Gwineval? Can I share this with him? So far it has not seemed like dangerous knowledge."

Hemlock paced back and forth before replying: "No, not yet. I have allowed Gwineval and the rest of the Wizards to search Falignus' chambers. There were other books there, so they will have new information to consider in my absence. I'd like to continue to keep this book between you and I until I get back, and we can understand the whole book and what it means."

Merit seemed crestfallen, which made Hemlock feel terrible. But she had seen Zaringer and Falignus, and feared what this hidden knowledge might do to a wizard.

It's not worth the risk.

"I have to leave, Merit."

She awkwardly hugged his small frame, and they parted with some final words of friendship and well wishes.

...

Hemlock departed the City by walking under the rusty old arch that marked the western outskirts of the Warrens. A few Tanna Varrans who had immigrated to the City had decided to return home once word had spread that their realm would soon be sundered from the City and its regions.

All together, their group numbered twenty eight. There were twenty one Tanna Varrans: eighteen who had accompanied Tored in his delegation from Tor Varnos, and three returning from the City.

There were five Wizards in the group. These included four First Circle fighters, and Renevos, a specialist from the Second Circle, who was an expert in teleportation. Renevos was an older wizard with a waist length white beard, but he was fond of walking and had been deemed fit for the journey—plus he was an irascible curmudgeon, and was not contributing to the magical education of the City folk. Renevos had been recruited for this expedition by Gwineval; and it was clear to all that it was at least partially a punishment.

Tored had given Hemlock some information on the Tanna Varrans in their group. Several were members of the Taros family. This was the same family that had produced the old king Pan Taros and his son Taros Ranvok. Though Tored was associated with the Taros family, Hemlock had learned that he was a born into a low caste family, but had pledged his life-long service to the Taros at a young age. This was why he was now attempting to mentor the brother of Taros Ranvok, who was named Taros Sundar.

Hemlock watched Taros Sundar as he walked ahead of her. He looked something like Taros Ranvok had, but his younger frame was smaller, and his features were less angular. Hemlock watched with some amusement as he took his war spear from his back and began playfully whacking one of his cousins in the posterior with it. She knew that such youthful spirit was rare among the Tanna Varrans.

Tored had told her that Taros Sundar was uninterested in seeking the throne even though, had he shown an interest, his chances of being selected by the voting council of elders were deemed to be good. Tored had conceded that the youth did not seem to be cut from the cloth of leadership, though he worried that the prominence of his family in Tanna Varran politics might make it impossible for Taros Sundar to remain wholly apart from political life.

Another Tanna Varran cast a dark look at Taros Sundar's merriment. This was Umra Vyle, leader of the Umra family since his father had taken ill. He had stepped aside from political life. Umra Vyle was similar to Tored in temperament, and his muscular frame evidenced the strength of early, but fully realized manhood. He was almost as large as Tored, and he had the proud bearing of youth mixed with experience and capability.

"So, what's it like ruling over the wizards?" asked a newly familiar voice. Hemlock turned to regard Faud, a Tanna Varran from the Taros family, who had dropped back to engage Hemlock in yet another of a series of pointed conversations that Hemlock had been trying to avoid. Faud's obsequious smile made him difficult to ignore, so Hemlock felt compelled to respond.

"It has been different, Faud."

"Faud, move along now. Hemlock and I have to talk," interjected Tored.

Faud looked despondent, but he moved ahead quickly and re-joined the group of Taros clan walkers, who walked in a group apart from the larger Umra clan.

"Thank you," said Hemlock as she smiled at Tored.

"The man is inquisitive like a boy. Between him and Taros Sundar, I feel like a lion amongst cubs."

"Impressed with yourself, aren't you?"

Tored broke into a rare smile, but said nothing.

"I've never met a Tanna Varran like Faud. Usually you are all more...reserved."

"Truly spoken. Faud has been acting unusually since he and his family were ambushed by witches. His father and brother were killed in the encounter, but Faud managed to flee. They were the only family that he had. I once made a promise to his mother on her deathbed to look after the boy. Because of Faud's erratic behavior, Umra Vyle has tried to strip him of his status as a warrior. But I intervened on his behalf. "

"I also noticed Umra Vyle scowling at Taros Sundar."

Tored nodded. "He sees him as a rival. And Sundar might yet grow out of his youthful simplicity. Umra Vyle thinks it better to confront him as a boy than as a man. There is cold logic in that. But Taros Sundar dismisses me whenever I speak of the danger."

"Maybe I can talk to him about it."

Tored, who had been looking ahead, turned to face her. "It would be a great favor to me if you did."

"Think nothing of it. I will speak to him soon."

"I am in your debt."

The two were silent for a time. Hemlock noticed that Taros Sundar was now making merriment at the expense of Faud, who had evidently made a foolish remark.

Hemlock broke the silence. "This is going to be a long journey, isn't it?"

"Yes, many days, as we discussed."

"I remember horses from when I was a child. If we had them, we might complete this journey in just a few days."

"Yes, I have heard tales of them. They are said to be beautiful beasts. We did not have them on our old world."

"Gwineval tells me that non-magical beasts cannot survive the passage of the veil that surrounds the City."

"This must be true, for otherwise we should have beasts in great abundance, I imagine."

The group walked on, and soon the sun was high in the sky. Hemlock saw that Renevos now walked beside her on her left.

"It is time for lunch. We should stop," said Renevos.

Hemlock turned to Tored. "Tored, the wizards are asking to stop to eat."

Tored seemed to regard the concept as unfavorable, but he did not voice his opinion. He called to the Tanna Varrans to stop.

As Hemlock ate her dried cattle meat and rice, she noted again that their group was sitting in four groups: the Tanna Varrans of the Taros family, the Tanna Varrans of the Umra family, the wizards led by Renevos, and her and Tored. They also walked in these groups, and Hemlock knew that none of the three largest groups had much of a fondness for any of the others.

Tored, who sat beside her, ate little. She had seen him eat a small piece of bread given to him by Faud, but that was it. In fact, Hemlock noticed that none of the Tanna Varrans ate very much.

Turning back to Tored, Hemlock saw him regarding her. "We usually only eat twice a day," he said.

Something about sitting with Tored awakened a memory in Hemlock's mind. She used to sit with Safreon and have small conversations like she was having now. She felt simultaneous feelings of intense melancholy and appreciation for Tored's company.

Hemlock noticed Renevos slowly rise from the group of wizards and walk toward them. The old wizard nodded perfunctorily and then seated himself beside them.

"Did you warn them about magic?" asked Renevos.

"Yes, she did. We are forbidden to use magic because of the chaotic nature of the lands that immediately surround the City. My warriors have been informed," said Tored.

"Well, you make sure they heed that warning. I remember when I was a younger man; we were on a journey south when some fool cast a small spell to lighten his pack. None of us noticed it, and we were taken off guard when we were attacked. Strange tendrils rose from the ground itself and lashed out as us. They grabbed two wizards and suffocated them before we could form up a defense. Don't underestimate the danger of the chaos magic here."

"We won't, Renevos," said Hemlock.

"What is the origin of this magic?" asked Tored, as he chewed on another small piece of bread.

Hemlock shrugged. Renevos appeared to be deep in thought, and then responded. "Some say that the Imperial magic that lingers in the City has displaced the natural chaos magic in these perimeter lands, and concentrated its power."

This piqued Hemlock's interest. "How much Imperial magic is still around?"

Renevos shifted uncomfortably and looked downward. "These matters are best discussed in the Tower."

Hemlock shrugged and smiled at Tored, who acknowledged her jest with a small grin.

Hemlock turned her attention back toward Renevos and was startled to see him looking at her with an intense glare.

"We wizards once ran at the forefront, and the City followed in our wake. We must have faltered. And now you have taken our place. We now follow in your wake. I don't like it, but I respect you and your power. Therefore I follow you. But I don't respect the common folk of the City," said Renevos, his hoarse voice rising to a passionate volume.

"I never agreed with giving them potions. Why should we give them something which their stature has not earned? We will make them softer and weaker than they already are. They will come to depend on us like lecherous worms. We needed to let them use magic, and we needed the best of them to fill out our ranks. I think Zaringer made a mistake in trying to suppress all non-Guild magic.

But I don't support giving magic secrets away, either. They are something that should be earned, and with that difficulty should come a sense of responsibility. This free distribution of magic that you are leading will backfire, Hemlock. Just you wait!"

Hemlock sighed audibly. "I appreciate your opinion, Renevos. You need not concern yourself with these matters now—at least until we return to the City. I'm actually trying to get my mind off of the City on this journey."

Renevos rose and walked off, muttering: "Such are the whims of the young. No time for wise words from their elders."

After Renevos had left earshot, Tored spoke. "Well, he's a dour one. But perhaps there is some wisdom in his words?"

Hemlock sighed again in response, and did not answer.

Tored rose and shouldered his backpack. The other Tanna Varrans followed his lead, and did the same; the wizards followed suit. Soon, the walkers resumed their journey west.

They walked for several hours without incident. The terrain began to undulate with soft hills interspersed with small conifer forests.

Around that time it was noticed that a flock of birds began to wheel over the group. Initially they flew at some altitude, but then they began to glide lower and pass closer. They were white birds with pronounced beaks and stubby, awkward looking bodies. But, despite their shape, they were fast and powerful flyers.

The distinctive call of the birds, which resembled a person's laugh, began to trouble the Tanna Varrans.

"Hemlock, what of these birds that fly overhead? They concern the men, who say that they are a bad omen," said Tored.

"They're called Laughing Warblers. They are thought to be good luck in the City. But I've never seen so many at once," replied Hemlock.

As minutes turned into an hour and the birds remained overhead, Hemlock could see the strain on the faces of the Tanna Varrans as they looked upwards nervously, and took to grumbling amongst themselves.

"Tored, why do you think the birds are bad luck?"

"In our land, when birds follow overhead, we think that evil spirits are tracking our movements. Also these birds are white like many of the evil birds in our land. And their laugh sounds like it mocks us."

That laughing sound is getting on my nerves, too.

"Remember," she reminded Tored, "don't use magic here."

"It is true that in our land we would take flight to scatter the birds. But we remember your warning."

"Perhaps you should remind your men?"

Tored's jaw thrust out. "These are Tanna Varran warriors! No reminder should be necessary."

Hemlock was not so sure, but she yielded to Tored's dismissive tone, and did not ask again.

Mere minutes later, Hemlock watched in disbelief as Faud, the Tanna Varran youth that had been accosting her throughout the trip, launched into the air powerfully, and scattered the birds overhead.

A friend of Taros Sundar quickly took to the air after Faud with an impressive burst of power. But Umra Vyle looked determined to upstage him, and launched a few seconds later—easily exceeding the power of the first two flyers. Both men grabbed Faud roughly, and the trio descended back to the ground rapidly.

As they landed, Umra Vyle struck Faud hard across the face, knocking the slender youth to the ground with a splatter of blood.

Members of the Taros and Umra clan gathered around the scene in an instant, and Hemlock feared that a general melee was about to break out.

Tored arrived on the scene, and shouldered his way between Umra Vyle and Taros Sundar, who were shoving each other and arguing.

Tored's voice rose above the throng. "Cease this disorder immediately!"

The Tanna Varrans were silent to a man.

"Faud! You are an impulsive fool for using magic here despite the warnings. You have shamed our tribe! Umra Vyle! You have struck Faud without consulting me first. You are not the leader of this band. I am!"

Tored's angry gaze alternated between Faud and Umra Vyle. "Both of these actions were foolish, and bring dishonor to us. Because Faud has been dishonored by Umra Vyle, he will not be punished any further."

Umra Vyle exploded in rage. "He should be flogged!"

"No! Umra Vyle, you and Swarth Taros also used magic to go after Faud. You two should be punished. Vyle, you also struck Faud, and that should warrant further punishment."

At these words, many voices from the Umra clan broke out in anger.

"Silence!" shouted Tored again.

Again, all were silent.

"I will not further dishonor our tribe by inflicting more punishment at this time. This matter is closed."

Angry voices broke out from both clans at this pronouncement. Tored ignored them and strode ahead, alone.

Hemlock rushed ahead to catch him. As she passed the group of Tanna Varrans, she heard the sarcastic voice of Taros Sundar call out. "Umra Vyle has once again proven his prowess at jousting with birds and fools!" Muted laughter rang out from the Taros clan in response to the remark.

She reached Tored a moment later. "What was that all about? And stop! We have to prepare to defend ourselves from the chaos magic," Hemlock said.

"Hemlock, I apologize for that foolishness. Apparently Faud is a bigger fool than I realized. He will face trial once we arrive back at Tor Varnos. I will organize the men in a defensive formation."

Tored again quieted the Tanna Varrans and organized them into clustered squads. Renevos walked in the center, ringed by the First Circle wizards. Sensing that Tored wanted to be alone for a time, Hemlock walked with the wizards.

Hemlock wanted to ask Renevos questions about what danger they might now face from the chaos magic, but decided against it for fear of making noise and breaking the peace of the fragile truce that Tored had imposed on the two Tanna Varran clans.

An hour passed without incident, and Hemlock decided to move closer to Renevos so that she could talk to him without shouting.

"Nothing has happened. Do you think we've been lucky and avoided the danger?"

Renevos still looked nervous, but less so than before. "Possibly. In my experience, the attacks from the chaos magic are usually nearly immediate."

Hemlock overheard the Tanna Varrans to her left talking softly amongst themselves.

"Look, a rainbow!" said one.

"It is a good omen," said another.

Seeing the rainbow, Hemlock felt her spirits rise with the Tanna Varrans. She looked back to Renevos, but his expression was unchanged.

Hemlock dropped back to walk with Tored, who was walking in the rear of the group by himself. As she did so, she found herself thinking back to her dream of the strange man in the tricorne hat who had severed her connection with the spirit that she had been aiding. She could see that Tored was still simmering from the recent lack of discipline in his unit. But she felt a sudden need to unburden herself by telling him about the dream.

"Did you see the rainbow?" she asked.

"Of course. It pleases me little after what has happened," he replied.

"Well, it seems like Faud's mistake may not cost any lives. That has to please you."

"I will take heart in that at the end of our journey—not during."

"Tored, I know you're upset, but I want to talk to you about something. It's important."

Tored cleared his throat softly, and then replied in a more supportive voice. "All right."

"Something happened to me on the morning that you arrived. That's why I was delayed prior to meeting with you."

"Go on."

"I had decided to nap the prior afternoon. After I fell asleep, I had a dream. It was one of my special dreams where I am called by a spirit from another world and asked to help them. I answered their call. This made me sleep for many hours. That's why I was late for your meeting."

"Our mystics say that time passes more slowly in other worlds. Perhaps that's why you slept so late."

Why hasn't he ever mentioned this to me before?

"What else do they say about my dreams?"

"Nothing specifically, but they think that you sleep so long because of the slower passage of time in the other places that you reach out to."

"Interesting. I guess that would make a weird sort of sense. But listen: something unusual happened to me at the end of this dream. In the few times that I've aided spirits in this way, I've always been able to help them confront their problems and survive them. I don't think I did that this time. I think the spirit I was helping was defeated."

"Really? I suppose it's possible, although I've never seen someone with your type of power before. Is it possible that there is one greater than you?"

"I...I don't know. I saw a man dressed in a tricorne hat and ancient looking clothes. His eyes glowed like he was a monster. He carried something."

Hemlock paused, not wanting to mention aloud the thing that he carried.

"What did he carry?" asked Tored.

"The same thing that we seek on this journey—the same type of wand that Safreon wielded and that I destroyed after defeating Falignus."

The two walked on in silence for several minutes. Hemlock was anxious to hear Tored's reaction, but her hopes for some advice were not immediately met.

"What happened next?"

"He used the wand on the woman I was helping. But as he did so, I became conscious of his mind for a moment. And he sensed me, too. Then he drove me away, and my link was broken."

"Have you discussed this with Gwineval?"

"No, you're the first one I've confided in."

"Why? I'm no wizard. It seems to me that Gwineval would give far better advice on a matter such as this."

"He might know more about lore and things like that, but you can give me a gut reaction. That has value, too. And I didn't want Gwineval to insist on me staying in the City for another moment."

"Hemlock, if there is a being out there wielding a wand such as you speak of, then you have to consider that he may be returning to the City."

"I know. I thought of that."

"Then why did you leave?"

Hemlock felt like a vulnerable part of her psyche had just been invaded by someone she trusted. She experienced strong feelings of guilt that she had carefully locked away in her mind.

But I had to get away from those wizards and those blasted responsibilities!

"Tored, do you think the tricorne man will return before I get back to the City?"

"No, I don't—but I can't be sure. Remember how we just discussed that time passes more slowly in other worlds? If this man was on another world when you fought him, then chances are that it will take him some time, in our terms, to arrive."

Thank the light!

"I hope you are right. And I feel that you are right. I think that's why I felt all right leaving the City. I would never desert my friends and family—but I really needed to get away."

"Hemlock, it may take some time—maybe years—but this man with the glowing eyes will surely arrive eventually. You must prepare for him. And you have to tell Gwineval so that he can help you."

Hemlock felt better, and she was pleased that she had decided to tell Tored.

"Tored, I'm sure I don't even need to ask—but can you keep this between us?"

Tored turned and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Of course, but please heed my advice and tell Gwineval when you get back."

They walked for another hour before being confronted with some rough terrain. The ground sloped downwards from horizon to horizon. Toward the middle of this depression, a hill of significant size rose before them. Some force had carved several narrow passes that proceeded through the hill's bulk in some proximity to one another, but separated by height and large columns of rock. An imposing looking stretch of rocky marsh flanked the hill on both sides, teeming with barbed plants and deep pools of stagnant water.

The group paused to discuss their next move. Tored and Renevos joined Hemlock at the front of the band, and surveyed the terrain.

"I remember this pass, "said Renevos, "the paths are narrow. One or two men will fit abreast at most. The marshes on either side stretch for several miles in each direction."

"We came this way when we journeyed to the City. This area...well, it was not here," said Tored.

"Hmm... Such things are possible in this land. The chaos energy in the area is thought to trigger it," said Renevos.

Tored looked back and forth, surveying the land from horizon to horizon. He scowled, and then shrugged.

"We'd be vulnerable in those passes, but I would like to get back to Tor Varnos as soon as possible to prevent further argument between the Umra and Taros tribes." said Tored.

"It seems like a waste of time to go around. It's been hours since Faud used his wings. Nothing has happened," said Hemlock.

"I do remember passing through here without incident—but that was many years ago," said Renevos.

Tored turned and looked back at the rest of the group. His disapproving gaze alternated between Taros Sundar and Umra Vyle, who stood many yards behind, but regarded at the three in front with some curiosity.

"I say we go through," said Tored.

"Fine, should we go through in a long file?" asked Hemlock.

"We'd be just as vulnerable in the passes that way as if we split up. And if there is danger in there, it would take us longer to pass through. My suggestion is to split the group and dash through as quickly as we can," said Tored.

"Fine with me," said Hemlock.

Renevos seemed indifferent, so Tored gave the instructions to the group.

"We will split into squads and each squad will take one of the passes. We do not believe there is any danger here, but our goal is to get through as quickly as possible. Do not delay."

Hemlock rejoined the party of wizards, and they approached the pass that was nearest to them. It split off in a bend ahead, and they were unable to see beyond a wall of rock covered with a layer of long green tendrils of plant life.

Hemlock looked to her left and saw Umra Vyle and a group of his clan entering another pass that was close to hers.

The young warrior met her gaze with a look of quiet defiance.

I'm not your enemy, but, fine, be that way. Hemlock looked away without changing her facial expression. I won't give you the satisfaction of scowling.

As she walked, Hemlock felt a strange feeling of peace within the confines of the pass. Only the uncertain steps of Renevos ahead of her interrupted her reverie. The older man had trouble, at times, as he was forced to climb over rocky obstacles.

Hemlock noticed something unusual then. The rainbow which had graced the sky for several hours now seemed to be descending right into the hill to her left. It was an amazing sight, and didn't concern her until she heard an odd sound followed by a bestial roar and the shouts of voices from that direction. She recognized Umra Vyle's voice among the din of shouts.

Immediately she heard Tored's distant voice warning the others in the passes. "Do not fly! Run to the other side!"

She ran ahead of the wizards, who were protecting Renevos and urging him forward more quickly. One wizard, however, broke off with her and did his best to keep up with her great speed.

As she ran, it seemed like the echoes of shouting voices were all around her. Punctuating those shouts were more bestial roars, and shrieks of agony.

Someone is dying.

After about a minute of running over the uneven rock, she spotted a fissure in the wall of the pass on her left.

As she neared, a Tanna Varran fighter emerged from the fissure, looked around, and spotted her. She recognized Umra Vyle, and as he recognized her, another anguished cry rang out.

"Quickly! We need help!" he shouted.

Hemlock pushed him aside and shimmied through the fissure in the rock. She heard him follow behind her, and she thought she heard the lone wizard following behind him.

She emerged into the adjacent pass, and looked around her. Umra Vyle shouted at her and pointed left with a bloodied arm.

Hemlock drew her sabres and ran in the direction he had pointed. Umra Vyle and the wizard followed soon after.

Vyle was shouting behind her. "Your eyes!"

She arrived in a clearing where the walls widened to twenty feet or so, and she was immediately blinded by a scintillating light.

She heard the scraping sound of claws on rock just in time, and ducked under a leaping charge from a great beast.

Her vision quickly acclimated to the brilliant light that emanated from a huge wildcat, which was covered in stripes of garish colors. Amazingly, the end of the brilliant rainbow seemed to stream from an aura that surrounded the beast.

The cat sprung at her again. She dodged to the side with a speed that equaled that of the massive cat, and was able to rake the side of its bulky body with one of her sabres.

Blood that had a luminous color not unlike that of the rainbow splattered on her leg, as the cat roared angrily and turned. Then she noted with considerable surprise that the cat's wounds seemed to be healing before her eyes, and were soon completely gone.

Hemlock felt the warmth of her own blood flowing down her left arm.

It must have clawed me. It doesn't feel like it's bad. But how do I kill this thing?

She faced the beast at a distance of several paces. The cat roared aggressively.

Hemlock heard Umra Vyle and the wizard enter the clearing behind her.

Seeing this, the beast tensed as if to charge again, and Hemlock barely managed to avert her eyes before the bright light flared again, and she heard the wizard cry out from behind her: "I'm blinded!"

Where is Vyle?

The beast was coming at her again in a low, leaping attack before she had time to locate Vyle. Hemlock realized that the outstretched claws of the cat were too wide for her to avoid them with a lateral move. With little time left to react, she decided to jump over the beast and risk being enveloped in the rainbow that emanated from it.

She easily cleared the jaws of the cat as it desperately tried to bite her, and as she passed into and through the rainbow field, she felt no ill effects from it.

But the cat roared in agony as it landed and dodged an ineffective thrusting attack from Umra Vyle, who was wielding his spear, but keeping it close to his body in a defensive posture.

Hemlock thought that the rainbow now shone more dimly from the beast, and the once brilliant colors that played over its coat were now somewhat muted.

As she braced for another charging attack, the cat jumped sideways with a roar and there was a blinding flash.

The rainbow and its light were gone.

With the cat having apparently fled, Hemlock was able to survey the clearing around her. There were three Tanna Varran bodies there and several broken spears.

Umra Vyle ran past Hemlock and knelt beside one of the bodies, grasping a lifeless hand. Hemlock coldly considered that these were probably blood relatives of Umra Vyle. But the sympathy that she felt for him was overshadowed by anger.

Why did he run away? Were his clan members already dead when he ran? Or did he leave them to die so that he might escape alive?

Hemlock wanted answers from Umra Vyle, but seeing him in mourning made her reconsider shouting accusations at him.

Soon Tored and Taros Sundar arrived in the clearing.

Hemlock watched Tored as the loss of life registered over his features. She thought that his posture seemed to slump perceptibly.

Tored, Taros Sundar and Umra Vyle each paired up with another Tanna Varran, and, together, they carried the bodies out of the pass.

Once beyond the passes, the reassembled group carried the bodies several hundred yards beyond the hill before stopping.

A wizard attended to Hemlock's injury, which ended up being just a shallow flesh wound.

Hemlock observed that the loss of life had dispelled any apparent tension between the Umra clan and the Taros clan. But she wondered how long it would last, and she was worried about Tored. She still perceived a difference in his bearing that seemed fundamental in a disturbing way.

Surely the loss of three warriors under his command won't affect him. How many were lost at Tor Varnos? Why does he seem so affected?

As the Tanna Varrans looked for a suitable spot to light burial pyres, Renevos approached Hemlock.

"It's unfortunate that we were attacked like that. Who knew that a chaos creature would stalk us for miles? It's the first I've heard of such an encounter. Interesting ability the beast had, too. You said it teleported away?" said Renevos.

"Yes, it just jumped, there was a flash, and it was gone."

"Interesting. That is potent magic—and accomplished with a natural ability. Our teleportation magic is based on metallurgy. We will clearly have to rethink that approach."

Men just died and he wants to talk about magic trivia. Typical wizard. Maybe this is a good time for me to talk to Taros Sundar.

Hemlock excused herself from Renevos, and walked toward the Taros family. She noted with relief that few eyes in the camp were on her as she approached Taros Sundar.

"Could I talk to you for a moment? Alone?" she asked.

Taros Sundar smiled a muted smile. "Of course, Hemlock."

The pair walked for several yards to a nearby copse of trees.

"Look, I know that this is the first time I've spoken to you," she said.

"True enough. It is an honor and a pleasure," said Taros Sundar, smiling again. Hemlock found his smile to be pleasant, and noted that he almost always used it.

"You know that you are driving Tored to worry, don't you?"

"What, about Umra Vyle? Yes, I know. Tored can't help but worry. I've told him and everyone who'll listen, for that matter, that I'm not interested in politics. Yet Umra Vyle continues to posture like a school child. Did you see how he climbed after Faud? What was the point of that display? Does the fact that he can fly faster than Swarth mean that he should be King?"

"Well, he thinks so. And according to Tored, he isn't afraid to use violence."

"Umra Vyle wouldn't dare attack me. I'm a member of a noble family. And he must realize that I don't intend to be King. But what he may not realize is that I will do everything in my power to prevent him from becoming King"

"Exactly my point! But I think you may be wrong about him not realizing that. And that's probably reason enough for him to try to silence you."

"If he killed me the Elders would never make him King. He must understand that."

"But you dishonor him publicly. Can't he do something about that?"

Taros Sundar's features darkened in response. "Yes, he could challenge me to a duel. But we haven't had a duel in ten years. They are considered barbaric. I doubt that the Elders would elect him to be King if he resorted to dueling me."

"Are you sure, though? Because Tored doesn't think that you'd survive a duel against him until you get older."

"True enough. But if I wait until I get older, then he will already be King—likely for the rest of my life. I have to do something now. I have to show the people what his true character is. I grew up with him, and I know him well. He is strong enough, but when met by strength, he falters. That is a poor quality for a King."

Hemlock turned away from Taros Sundar as she considered what she had seen Umra Vyle do in the pass.

Perceiving her discomfort, he walked around to her front. "What's the matter? Did you see something back there?"

I wanted to discuss this with Tored first. Curses, I let my guard down!

"No, I didn't."

"Come now, I can tell that you saw something."

"Fine. I saw Umra Vyle before I got the spot where the wildcat attacked. He was looking for help."

Taros Sundar looked angry. "You mean running away!"

"I didn't say that!"

"You didn't have to. You're a warrior. You know what you saw just as well as I do. This man can't be King!"

OK, this isn't going well.

"Can't you talk to others in his clan? Can't you talk to the Elders? Why are you taking this on your shoulders alone?"

"Because everyone fears his strength. And he is the strongest among us, besides Tored—just not the best. We need a brave and just man for our King."

"Taros Sundar, I can appreciate where you are coming from. I did things that I believed in—even when I knew they were dangerous."

"And you did what you needed to do—you changed things for the better!"

"But it cost me dearly. People died. Many people. Are you willing to have people die to further your cause? Think about that before you act rashly."

"But how many people will die if Umra Vyle becomes King and is not a good leader for my people?"

"Work with others and consult with Tored. He's smarter than you give him credit for. There must be a way to stop Umra Vyle without risking your own life in the process."

Taros Sundar did not respond, and his expression told Hemlock that he was skeptical.

Hemlock and Taros Sundar returned to the group as the funeral pyres were being lit, and all paused to pay their respects to the fallen. A short ceremony ensued, led by Tored. When everyone had paid their respects, and the fires were burning strongly, the group resumed their journey to Tor Varnos.

Chapter Five

The unity between the Tanna Varran factions did not last very long.

After another uneventful day of travel, they had reached the frontiers of the Witch Crags. It seemed to Hemlock that the sight of their native lands sparked a revival of the tribal discord.

The next morning, the Umra clan was blaming Faud for the deaths of their clan members; and from time to time, angry accusations were flying from their mouths in voices that could clearly be heard by all.

Tored had intervened once already, demanding that the warriors travel in silence from that point on. After this incident, Hemlock had attempted to break the silence that Tored had traveled under since the wild cat incident. But the warrior only grunted a dismissive response, and Hemlock withdrew, frustrated and concerned.

The three tall, steep hills that bordered the valley where the Tanna Varran capital of Tor Varnos was located were visible in the distance, but it was still a day off. Tored said that once they were certain they were clear of the City, the group would take to the air to cover the remaining distance. They would fly off and on for the remainder of the day, rest underground in one of the many caves in the area, and reach Tor Varnos the next morning.

Tanna Varran wings had been distributed to all of the wizards. Renevos was again an impediment to their progress, for he did not take quickly to the use of the wings, and the Tanna Varrans feared to push him too quickly due to his relative frailty.

Eventually he grew accustomed to their use, and they began to make good progress.

Hemlock appreciated the sullen beauty of the Witch Crags as she soared over them. She even felt somewhat inspired by her surroundings, wishing intensely for the well-being of the Tanna Varrans after their impending disconnection from the City. It was a land that she had grown to love despite its harshness—and perhaps because of it. She thought her affection for Tored was based on similar sentiment.

They were able to repeat the cycle of flight, landing and magical recharge eight times before the shadows grew long, and the telltale mists of the restless spirits of the land began to coalesce around them.

Tored led the group toward a non-descript ravine wherein lay a cave entrance that was fronted by a stout doorframe and a sturdy, iron-shod door. Tored recovered a key from under a nearby rock and unlocked the door. The key was replaced, and the group entered, ignited torches, and shut the door behind them with a resounding thud.

The stale air and humidity enveloped the group as they proceeded down a natural passage that was well worn.

Hemlock had taken to chatting with Taros Sundar, and he had quickly learned to restrain his angry talk about Umra Vyle, for her sake.

Hemlock was attracted to the younger Taros Sundar in a way she had never felt for his brother, Taros Ranvok. She was surprised—and it was an attraction of personality more than physicality. His merriment, which managed to surface through the weight of the recent events that had everyone's spirits pinned beneath them, had made her laugh on more than one occasion.

Her attraction made her mind return to Falignus, and the portrait of the young, innocent boy that had lived happily before being cast aside by the machinations of his father, Zaringer.

She also kept her eye on Tored as they walked, making sure to wander into his vicinity on occasion, giving him the opportunity to speak with her should he choose to do so—which he did not.

But, finally, as they approached a large cavern lit by green lichen clinging to its walls in great abundance, Tored did approach Hemlock. He motioned to Umra Vyle and Taros Sundar to join them. The latter two approached, looking uneasy in each other's vicinity.

"We have reached the chamber where parties normally camp, but something feels amiss. There are gaps in the lichen that I do not remember, and there is a strange scent in the air."

"I agree. Something does seem different. I suggest that we fan out and patrol the area before bedding down," said Umra Vyle.

"Let's enter the cavern with care, establish that it is secured, and then sent out patrols, as Umra Vyle suggests. Renevos and the wizards can guard the cavern. Hemlock, I'd like you to take Faud with you, and backtrack along the way we came, ensuring that we are not being followed."

"What's the likelihood of that?" she asked, sensing that her role was merely to keep Faud out of trouble.

Tored gave her a hard look that was softened by an understanding expression when he thought the others weren't looking. "Faud will demand to be included in a patrol. This arrangement will be best," he said, simply.

Hemlock nodded with some reluctance.

So, in a few moments, Hemlock found herself walking alone with Faud.

Great. Thanks, Tored.

They walked in silence for several minutes. For once, Faud did not seem inclined to converse, and Hemlock was relieved. But then, fearing that he was mired in some dark depression that reminded her too much of her concerns for Tored, she compelled herself to start a conversation.

"Faud, what happened with the birds? You realize how serious that was, right?"

When Faud responded, his voice carried an odd tone of indifference. "The screeching of those creatures inflamed me to the point where death seemed preferable to enduring it for another second."

Hemlock decided to venture into sensitive territory. "You've seen your share of death, I hear."

Faud turned to her and his deep brown eyes seemed guarded, yet yearned to express themselves.

"Yes."

"So have I," she replied.

"I lost everyone that I cared for. My existence now is just a slow, painful march to death. For there can be no meaningful life without family, right?"

Hemlock thought of her sister Mercuria, and what her loss might do to her. She shuddered at the thought, and felt more empathy for Faud.

"Sometimes, new family emerges to replace the old," Hemlock said.

Faud was seized by a passion and turned to Hemlock. "But my blood has been wrenched from this world! They can never be replaced!"

Hemlock tried to calm him by maintaining her relaxed tone. "But you could have children. Sometimes friends become like family. It has happened to me."

Safreon!

She saw Faud taking measure of her as they faced one another, the weight of the conversation becoming almost palpable.

And then he smiled. He knelt on the stone floor and searched for something in a backpack. He withdrew an ancient looking ornate box framed in gold leaf. Faud opened the box, and rose to show its contents to her. It was lined with a rich black velvet, and inside was a red piece of cloth that been rolled into a small scarf.

"I like you, Hemlock. You're different than we Tanna Varrans...more elemental. It would honor me if you would wear this loop around your wrist. It is said to bring good luck to friends of my...family."

Hemlock looked at the bright red cloth as Faud extended the box toward her. The red cloth also looked ancient yet well preserved, and there were tatters of frayed fabric along its length. It was woven with a level of craft that she had never beheld, with intricate raised threads portraying a repeating pattern of griffin heads in profile across its surface.

She smiled at him and withdrew it, tying it gently around her right wrist.

Suddenly her head swooned and her consciousness was swept away into a trance.

She was in an unfamiliar town, and a crowd was assembled. A figure moved through the crowd in a flowing red robe that she somehow knew was made from the same red fabric Faud had just handed her. Her senses thrilled as she saw the figure through the crowd, but, try as she might, she could not catch more than a glimpse of him. She had a sense of incredible peace that seemed heightened whenever she managed to catch sight of that red robe.

Then, slowly, she became conscious of Faud's voice in her ear, the fact that she was resting on her back on the cold stone, and of the stale air of the cave. The vision of the town and the wonderful figure faded.

"We call this 'Kinslayer.' It is an ancestral weapon used by Witchawn when we fight. You know us as witches, of course. I am Kendral Witchawn, last of the Witchawn line—since you killed my sister, and the blue devils killed my other sibling, that is. The wretch known as Faud died some time ago when we happened upon him and his family. His circumstances have proven to be an effective cover for me. It's taken me surprisingly little time to get close to you."

Faud had a firm grip on her neck, and was close to choking her, but Hemlock felt her senses and strength returning rapidly. She bided her time and listened, as she wondered about him and his change in tone.

Is he claiming to be a Witch?

"The Kinslayer is said to show the victim an alternate life, and render them helpless to resist or defend themselves. It is said to provide some glorious vision which robs the victim of the will to resist. My sister underestimated you. Clearly, if you have the power to slay one of us, then you must be one of us. She should have used the Kinslayer against you. But the fool left it in her ziggurat. After she was slain, I searched the ruins of her fortress, and I found it."

Faud shifted position and sat in front of her, his forked tongue convincing Hemlock that his tale was more than the product of the delusions of a Tanna Varran warrior.

But I thought the witches could only possess women?

"I had no great love for my sister, but the Tanna Varrans hunt us now, and I will not crawl into some hole and wait to die. I will kill you and then I will kill Tored. Once I do that, the Tanna Varrans will have no true leaders. Then I will finally deliver our race from their annoying intransigence, and my people will unite behind their first King to drive the Tanna Varrans from our lands like the wretches that they are!"

Hemlock felt her full strength restored and at her command. With a rapid strike, she pummeled the unsuspecting Witch in the jaw, and he lost hold of her neck, landing hard against the rock wall some ten feet distant.

Hemlock stood and unsheathed her sabres, conscious of the Tanna Varran magic that flowed through them as a result of a recent enchantment by their shamans.

The Witch discarded the physique of Faud in a small explosion of flesh and blood, which left the cave floor slick with fluid for ten feet in every direction. The pale form of an impossibly noble man stood before her, possessing a beauty comparable to his sister.

"I see that the Kinslayer didn't work. So you are not of our kind," the witch stated flatly, his voice taking on an ethereal quality and a different pitch than when he had posed as Faud.

The Witch began to run swiftly, surprising Hemlock. He almost escaped from her view before Hemlock caught him with an inhuman burst of speed and hamstrung him with two swift blows from behind.

The Witch fell hard, rolled and struck at Hemlock with a ghostly blade that appeared from nowhere in his hand.

Hemlock parried, going on the defensive as the Witch pressed a violent and skillful volley of thrusts and slashes.

Noticing a tendency toward advancing too rapidly in her adversary, Hemlock drew him in with a step back and then stepped into his attack, catching him with a thrust from her sabre in the upper chest beside his sword arm.

He cried out and struck at her with his other arm in a balled fist, but Hemlock was able to duck most of the blow, and only suffered a glancing hit as she dropped low and disengaged.

The witch's fine features were wavering, switching to an elderly and gaunt face and then switching back to a glorious picture of manhood in its prime.

He smiled suddenly, and dropped his sword, as his chest wound spewed a chalky white substance which dissipated before it reached the floor of the cavern.

"I can see that my gamble has cost me. End it swiftly for me then. Complete the slaughter of my people. Is that all you are, then—a vengeful killer? You just spoke of family and friendship. You seem to aspire to loftier ideals. But in the end, you're a cold-blooded killer, like we all are."

He spat at her contemptuously.

Hemlock regarded him for a few moments. Then, reaching a decision, she walked toward him.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head downward, preparing for the coup-de-gras.

His eyes bolted open as Hemlock slipped the red cloth around his wrist.

"NO!" was the last thing he shouted before his eyes took on a distant look.

Hemlock left him there for several minutes, watching as his form fully assumed its natural, elderly appearance. But she became increasingly troubled by his sobbing and crying. Finally she took pity on him and removed the cloth.

Thinking to place the cloth into her belt pouch, she was surprised to feel it disintegrate in her hand.

She waited several moments for him to become aware of his surroundings.

When he was able to speak, he muttered with a mixture of awe and bitterness: "You are my liberator and my destroyer. You have done far worse than kill me, but by doing so you have given me a chance to save myself. I cannot bear this knowledge, though! How can I bear it?"

"What did you see?" she asked.

"It was a shining place...a Town. I was a young boy tending to the Master. My soul was pure. Some taint which now lies upon me was lifted, and I saw what I could have been. What I...should be. Oh, please! Slay me, for I cannot bear to live with this knowledge!"

"I'm letting you live. Go now, and leave the Tanna Varrans alone for the rest of your life."

"What is my life now except for a final, sad refrain awaiting the end of this song, and the beginning of the next?"

With that, the Witch crawled off into the passage, and was never seen again.

Amazed by yet another violent turn in her fortunes, Hemlock composed herself and returned to the cavern where Renevos and the wizards were waiting. She feared that Tored and the others would doubt her tale, so she recovered the velvet lined box, so they might see some evidence of what had transpired.

Tored and all of the Tanna Varrans were startled by her tale.

"Faud was a witch? A male witch?" was asked of her over and over again.

Finally Tored ended the repetitive questioning. "Enough. Hemlock has been through a tremendous ordeal, and has delivered our people from the final Witch. We will rest here until she regains her strength."

"No, Tored. I'm fine. We can travel again," replied Hemlock.

Umra Vyle stepped forward solemnly. "Hemlock, I thank you on behalf of my people for this great act of heroism. Now my people can live securely in the knowledge that all of the Witch Lords have been slain."

Tored had a look of distaste on his face. "Well spoken. We will rest for four hours. Hemlock, I will not be convinced otherwise, so please rest."

Something about Umra Vyle attracted Hemlock's attention. She saw a calculating look pass over his face before he spoke again. "Now the Kingdom of Tanna Varra can look toward its future."

The Umra clan cheered, and Umra Vyle looked pointedly at Tored as he basked in the adulation of his clan. The older warrior frowned and looked away.

Tored and Taros Sundar sat with Hemlock as she passed the time. If anything, the fight with the Witch had made her anxious to move, but she didn't want to argue with Tored, so she made the best of the time by chatting with the Tanna Varrans. She decided not to mention the specifics of the red fabric or anything about the vision she had had when she touched it. As they talked, her mind started to wander, and she thought of Merit and the secret book that he was reading.

Maybe there will be something in the book about the red fabric—and the red-robed man. She felt a lightness of mood that she rarely experienced after a fight. It must be because I let him live.

Hemlock decided to change the subject.

"What's Umra Vyle up to now? Something about his little speech back there bothered me," she said.

"He was just being his usual pompous self, I think," said Taros Sundar.

"He did seem emboldened to me," said Tored.

"Why would he start throwing his weight around?" asked Hemlock.

After a moment, Tored's brow furrowed. "He probably judges that his time to rule is now imminent with the demise of the final witch. Perhaps he is right."

"Do not speak of that! Vyle must never be King!" said Taros Sundar.

"But who or what will stop him? The Elders seem to favor him, and you have no interest in competing with him," replied Tored.

"Someone may stop him yet," said Taros Sundar.

"Your meaning is not lost on me, but you seek to thwart his rise to the throne without providing a suitable alternative. You seek to undermine rather than to build your own base of power. The Elders will favor him because he projects power. You project artifice and guile. Consider my words. You must find your power and use it!" said Tored.

"I'm no politician, Tored. I've told you that. You speak of my methods with contempt, yet these are my strengths. I know this to be so. Is it a sin to employ one's abilities and put them to their best and most noble use? I am not like you; I do not think like you," said Taros Sundar.

"Taros Sundar, you must begin to think like I do if you wish to remain with this tribe. You have set yourself in opposition to Umra Vyle, but you confront him as a boy when he defies you as a man. Politics is a man's art—not a boy's. You must embrace your manhood!" said Tored.

"You see things through the lens of your experience. My lens is different—clearer, I think. The witches are finished. A new age is upon us, and I will play a role in finding the leader for this age. And it will not be Umra Vyle!" said Taros Sundar.

Hemlock saw Tored ball his hands into fists as the veins protruded over his massive biceps as they tensed up. Tored composed himself and turned to Hemlock. "I must excuse myself." He rose and moved to the other side of the cavern, where he sat at some distance from the others.

When Hemlock turned back to Taros Sundar, the youth regarded Tored with one of his playful grins. This time Hemlock was not amused, however.

"You talk to Tored like he is some kind of relic from the old days. He's the greatest hero of your race! You should treat him with some respect!" she said.

"I have a great respect for him. I credit him with our very survival in the face of the threat from the witches. He prevented the pacifism of Pan Taros from leaving us helpless in the face of that threat. And, of course, I have to give you great credit for slaying two of the witches yourself. You may be the greatest hero of our age—not Tored."

"That's ridiculous! I just happened to be in the right place to fight both of those witches. All right, maybe Tored would have needed some help with the strongest witch—but this one I just fought was far weaker. Tored could have taken him out. And don't forget that he planned the entire battle of Tor Varnos and the ensuing campaign against the wizards."

"True enough. As I said, I have a great respect for him, but it is time for new ideas and new leaders. I will use new weapons against Umra Vyle, and he will try to fight me with old ones. He cannot win. He'll realize that eventually."

"What about a duel?"

"If he challenges me, the Elders will regard him as an unsophisticated brute. We may have returned to our warrior roots of late, but the practice of dueling is still considered barbaric."

"Tored thinks that Vyle would duel you. Are you sure that the Elders and the people would cast him aside if he dueled with you?"

"I'm certain of it. Many of the Elders are still cut from the same mold as Pan Taros. And now the witches are defeated. How could a return to our old and violent ways be a path forward for us now? We will be returning to our ancient lands soon. We must be ready to become civilized again."

"If dueling is so distasteful then why is it still legal?"

"Because there hasn't been one in so long that people don't even think about it. Tored was raised in the old traditions. That's the only reason he's obsessed with duels."

Hemlock sighed. She had no inclination to continue to argue, since she doubted that Taros Sundar would change his mind no matter what she said to him.

The remaining hours passed, and Tored soon called the group together to journey through the caves to their next point of egress to the surface, where they would begin their final flight to Tor Varnos.

The group walked through the twisting caverns in silence. Hemlock felt the tension between the Umra and Taros clans, and the silence seemed to magnify it.

She was relieved when they reached the surface again and took wing. As she soared with the Tanna Varrans and the wizards, she hoped that the peace that had returned to her was also influencing the Tanna Varrans.

Tor Varnos was in sight, and it only took an hour of flight before the group reached the town. They set down about a hundred yards outside of it. Apparently their approach had been spotted, for hasty preparations were underway for a welcoming celebration. Though she had seen a similar celebration once before, Hemlock marveled at the brightly colored banners that were being unfurled up and down the vertical length of the town's wooden structure as a welcome to them.

Within the time it took for the returning travelers to walk fifty yards, most of the town had moved out onto the balconies to cheer them. Hemlock noted that the town Elders had assembled on the prominent balcony that ringed the lower part of the town, from which a broad ramp was carefully lowered toward the approaching group.

Hemlock, who had been walking with the wizards, moved to the front of the group to walk beside Tored, hoping to ask him about the plans for moving on to the next phase of their adventure into the cursed vale.

But when Tored noticed her, he immediately began to speak. "The Vyle clan is insisting that Umra Vyle should be presented as the hero of the expedition for driving off the rainbow wildcat," stated Tored evenly.

"What?" Hemlock's eyes squinted in disbelief.

"Taros Sundar tells me that you told him a different version of the events with the Cat."

"Well, yeah! Umra Vyle was running away like a coward! I can't believe that he'd allow himself to be nominated like this."

"Taros Sundar has agreed that Umra Vyle should be nominated."

"What? Why?"

"He says that Vyle was probably nominated against his wishes, but has no alternative but to accept the nomination of his clan for sake of honor. He probably claimed to have slain the Cat himself when explaining it to his clan."

"That does make sense, but I'm surprised that Taros Sundar—of all people—would agree to bestow this honor on Vyle. It makes me sick!"

"And it disgusts me as well; but for the sake of avoiding further confrontation, I have agreed to it. I am encouraged that Taros Sundar sees the wisdom in this. Perhaps your talk with him has changed his perspective after all."

"Perhaps," said Hemlock skeptically. He sure didn't seem that convinced to me! "Tored! I think Taros Sundar may be planning something."

But Tored was already walking briskly to the front of the group and addressing the Elders: "People of Tor Varnos! We greet you on our return from the distant City!"

He was greeted by an enthusiastic ringing of bells and sounding of horns from the adoring people.

"Sadly, we have had a hard journey. Three members of our band were slain by a strange beast that ambushed us."

The crowd hushed at this remark, and there were wails of anguish as some onlookers realized that their kin were not among the returned.

"I present a man to you as hero of the expedition. He battled the beast...bravely and...overcame it. I present to you: Umra Vyle!"

Umra Vyle stepped forward. Hemlock saw he had perceived Tored's less than enthusiastic announcement of the honor. Soon smiling and waving, Umra Vyle prepared to launch into the air and land on the ramp, so that he would be the first to return to the town, which was a position of honor.

But as he burst into the air with a flourish of unnecessary thrust, he was suddenly engulfed in a cloud of blue, chalky powder. He rose twenty feet into the air, became disoriented, coughed violently, and fell flailing to the earth—which he struck hard.

There were many gasps from the townspeople, and the members of the Vyle clan rushed forward, to aid their leader.

Hemlock looked at Tored, and his confused stare toward Umra Vyle told her all that she needed to know about the surprising character of the unfolding situation.

Hemlock heard someone nearby exclaim, "Someone has powdered his wings!"

Further explanation emerged in the form of the sound of a man laughing hysterically beside her. It was Taros Sundar. He was pointing and laughing. The members of his tribe beside him soon joined him, although Hemlock detected a nervous tension in their laughter. Soon pockets of laughter burst out from the assembled townsfolk, while others booed loudly.

Umra Vyle was up, and in a flash, he was running toward Taros Sundar, wielding his spear. His clansmen formed up beside him.

Taros Sundar's smile drained from his face as he and his clansmen moved into battle stances to accept the charge from the Umra clan. Hemlock was unsure whether to intervene or not, but Tored quickly stepped between the two clans.

"Stop in the name of the Steward of the King!" he screamed, his own spear raised in one muscled arm.

Umra Vyle stopped short; his clan followed his lead.

Umra Vyle, now held in check by Tored's authority, erupted, "I will duel Taros Sundar! The old law makes it my right! He has insulted my honor! None can gainsay this!"

Tored replied in a loud voice, "There will be no duel. I will punish Taros Sundar myself according to the laws of Pan Taros."

Umra Vyle laughed sardonically. "When did you become an advocate of pacifism, Tored? Suddenly it suits your purpose!"

"He's just a boy!" growled Tored.

"Sixteen seasons have passed by his reckoning! If he is of age to insult me so, then he is of age to fight! It is the law!"

Hemlock relaxed her guard a bit, but her expectation of immediate violence was replaced by concern for the fate of Taros Sundar. You should have listened to Tored, you headstrong fool!

As Umra Vyle stood close to Tored, both in a state of violent agitation, she was struck by their comparative physiques. Tored was the more powerful man, but he was also far older. Hemlock suddenly wasn't as sure as she had been that Tored would be able to intimidate the younger Umra Vyle.

Umra Vyle was running from the Cat like a coward! But was it fear, or were the others already dead?

A shout from near the Elders distracted Hemlock from her troubling new questions about what she had seen in the canyon pass.

"The Elders will speak now!"

An aging man then spoke from the balcony. "Tored, Umra Vyle's claim, though distasteful, is legal. Umra Vyle, we the Elders implore you to forgive Taros Sundar for this apparent injustice. Please rescind your challenge to duel!"

"I will not!" shouted Umra Vyle.

Hemlock glanced at Taros Sundar and saw the color drain from his face.

The Elder spoke again. "Umra Vyle: a duel would taint your honor and the honor of your Clan. I ask you again; please rescind your challenge!"

"I will not!" shouted Umra Vyle again, pointing his spear at Taros Sundar. "This runt will face me in the arena, and pay for his many insults against me!"

As she had in the cave, Hemlock thought that she saw a cunning look pass over Umra Vyle's features.

"I will fight in his stead as his Champion!" shouted Tored.

A collective gasp erupted from the crowd.

Hemlock saw a look of triumph pass quickly over Umra Vyle's features.

The Elder spoke. "Tored, you are a member of his clan, and of a higher stature, so you can be his champion. You know, however, that as the Steward of the King, your defeat would result in Umra Vyle being crowned the new King."

Taros Sundar was at Tored's side in an instant. "No! Tored, I will fight him!"

Tored shouldered Taros Sundar aside roughly, and then, while the youth was unbalanced, he quickly stabbed him in each shoulder with the point of his spear. Taros Sundar fell to the ground with a looked of shock and pain on his face.

The townspeople gasped again, as Tored returned his attention to Umra Vyle. Members of the Taros clan rushed to aid Taros Sundar, who had no strength in either arm, and lay helpless and bleeding.

"Tored, what is the meaning of this?" shouted the Elder.

Tored did not respond directly, but addressed the crowd. "As the Steward of the King, I reciprocate the challenge of Umra Vyle. Since he is foremost in his Clan, none can champion for him. I now renounce my role as Steward of the King. I will fight you as an ordinary man, Vyle! You will never be King!"

Umra Vyle's face contorted anew in a fresh rage. "You can't do that!" He then turned to the Elders. "He can't do that! He challenged me as the Steward of the King! The throne will pass to me when I defeat him!"

A great stir passed amongst the town's people and Hemlock saw the Elders conferring. After a few minutes, there was a call for silence.

"We have deliberated on the law that governs this disgusting situation. Never have I been as ashamed to be a Tanna Varran as I am today. But my feelings do not abdicate a need to resolve this lawfully. What Tored has done is within the law. He will duel Umra Vyle as an ordinary warrior. I, Acron Gallus, will take the role of Steward to the King until we can choose a new King. Sadly, two of our best prospects for becoming the new King have greatly dishonored themselves today. The duel will take place within the hour as is dictated by law."

Umra Vyle pointed violently at Tored. "You may have outmaneuvered me in politics, old man, but I will avenge myself in the arena. I may never be King now, but at least I'll have the pleasure of ending your pathetic life!"

Tored did not respond, and though he looked formidable in his cold silence, Hemlock again thought that she detected a hint of the malaise that had overtaken him since the incident with the Cat.

Umra Vyle stormed up the ramp with his clan in tow, and soon the Taros clan was surrounding Tored and Taros Sundar. Hemlock pushed her way to the middle of the group and looked at Taros Sundar, who was being loaded onto a litter. The youth shrank from her gaze, and lay in silence. Others were already coaching Tored. "Tored, he's fast—very fast, and he has great endurance. You're going to have to strike early or he may outlast you."

Tored remained silent and he looked at Hemlock thoughtfully.

"It is a good day to die," he said to her.

A hush fell over the clan, and all eyes turned to her.

"Come here! Everyone, give us a few minutes!" she shouted.

"But you are not a clan member!" someone protested.

"He's like family to me now! Give us a minute!" she growled.

Tored followed her several paces until they were out of earshot.

As she began to speak, she heard a shuffling approach behind her; and before an outstretched hand was able to grasp her shoulder, she had taken a step forward and spun to confront Renevos the wizard.

"Hemlock, what of this tribal madness? Are these people savages?" raged the old wizard.

"Renevos, please wait for Tored and I to talk. I'll make sure you and the other wizards are taken to quarters during the duel. Or do you want to watch?"

Renevos' entire face puckered in disgust. "I'll not participate in whatever barbaric spectacle is about to unfold." He turned to Tored. "You have seemed like a just and fair man. I wish you well, though your recent behavior leaves me puzzled."

Tored nodded almost imperceptibly.

The wizard shuffled off and left Hemlock and Tored alone.

"Did you have to hurt Taros Sundar so badly? Surely a small wound would have sufficed," said Hemlock.

"You know how headstrong he is. I had to incapacitate him and remove any possibility of him foolishly facing Umra Vyle himself."

"Fair enough... But, Tored, what is with you?! You can beat Umra Vyle! But you carry yourself like a condemned man!"

"Perhaps I can defeat him. But if I cannot, I am prepared to die. I have seen my people through the trial of the witches, and they are now set on a course to return to our homeland and flourish. They will not need me any longer. And Umra Vyle will not be King. Pan Taros was my King, and Taros Ranvok was like a son to me. Now that they are gone, there is nothing left for me in this new age. But I am at peace with that."

Hemlock teared up as he finished, and turned away. But Tored saw her tears.

"Hemlock, I am sorry if this upsets you."

She turned back to him angrily. "Who do you think I have left in this world? I still have my family and friends, but nobody who understands me like Safreon did. I know what it feels like to be an outsider—I am one. But I've realized over the past few days that there is someone else like me—someone who understands me, and who can be a companion to me. But he's too thick-headed to realize it!"

Tored looked uncomfortable.

"Not like that! As friends! You're old enough to be my father!"

Tored smiled with what appeared to be a mixture of amusement and relief.

"When you're fighting him, think of me. Kill him for my sake!"

Tored looked contemplative. "Would you return with me to my homeland?"

"That's not my place, Tored. The City is my home. And I think it should be yours, too."

"Perhaps. The Elders will no doubt be displeased with my bending of the law to suit my purposes."

"Damn the Elders, just kill that snake and come back to the City with me!"

Tored looked at her and the expression on his face made her suddenly fear that he would turn her down. But a smile slowly overcame him. Taking a cloth from his belt pouch, he began to rub his arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I will no longer wear the blue powder. I am no longer a Tanna Varran. I'm with you now."

Tored gave Hemlock a brief hug and then returned to the waiting Taros clan, continuing to remove the chalk all the while. Hemlock watched as he explained himself to them—watched as initial comprehension turned to disbelief and then acceptance. Some angry glances were cast her way, and some left Tored's side in disgust. A handful of other clan members remained with him.

After a few minutes the town elder and new Steward, Acron Gallus, approached Tored. "It is time." Hemlock appraised the man and liked what she saw. He seemed to epitomize balance: he was old but still fit, looked strong but also just, and delivered the order to proceed to the duel with a firm tone that also carried a hint of regret.

"May these wizards take their rest in your town during the duel? For my own part, I would prefer to watch," said Hemlock.

"Yes, of course—on both counts," responded the Steward.

The group gathered and walked up the ramp and into town, where the townsfolk were moving down the many stairs toward the lower levels. Hemlock bade farewell to the wizards, and followed the flow of townspeople toward the duel. She soon noticed members of the Umra clan walking nearby, and as the many people merged onto the broad stairs, Hemlock found herself shoulder to shoulder with a striking woman. The woman stared at Hemlock with coal dark eyes.

"It is you," she said, as they both walked downwards in the midst of the throng of people around them.

"Who are you?" Hemlock asked.

"I am Syrelene of the Umra clan, and the betrothed of Umra Vyle. My beloved will soon dispatch yours. You have my sympathy," replied the woman with her head held high, as Hemlock noticed her powdered hair, which was tied behind her head in a tight and long pony tail. She wore finely crafted skirts and golden jewelry that would have made an Elite City woman jealous.

"Why do you call Tored my beloved?" Hemlock asked.

"Why shouldn't I? It is obvious that he is yours. And the crowd says that he will run away with you if he survives."

"True enough—though not for the reasons which you imply. And rest assured that he will survive."

"Will he? Vyle is younger, faster, and almost as strong. Vyle fought beside Tored at the battle of Tor Varnos. He was the one who protected Tored from the ghosts after he fell."

"Is that so? And the heroic act of Taros Ranvok confronting the Witch played no role in that protection?"

"Vyle is twice the warrior that Taros Ranvok was!"

Hemlock felt her pulse quickening. "If you weren't such a fool I would silence you right here! I was there! I saw Taros Ranvok sacrifice himself to save Tored. I didn't even notice Vyle in the battle. When Tored slays him, you will have to piece together the truth about your lover. Vyle is not the hero that you think he is."

Hemlock did not wait for a reaction before pushing her way ahead, leaving Syrelene behind.

She was now descending into a damp and dusty passage that sloped sharply downward. There were handholds on the sides of the passage, but many in the interior of the crowd were forced to steady themselves by grasping the shoulders of their peers.

Hemlock turned to a warrior that she recognized from the Taros clan. "Where is the arena?"

"It is in a deep cavern that is seldom used."

Hemlock thought that she detected a note of trepidation in the man's voice, and turned away from him for fear of it stimulating her own undercurrent of anxiety.

After a long descent, which heightened her anticipation, she noticed that the floor leveled off and she flowed with the crowd into a series of dim, sweaty tunnels that ringed a cruel arena. She surveyed it through rusty iron grates stretched over periodic gaps in the rock wall. Bladed iron spikes were mounted on every surface of the arena's interior, including around a natural column of rock that rose in the center.

She waited for several minutes while more and more people pushed into the cramped space. The torches on the walls did not give much light, highlighting the more brightly lit arena. Soon Hemlock began to feel slightly sickened by the cramped space and the proximity of the unwashed, sweating townspeople. The delay became interminable.

Then there was a loud trumpet fanfare and a great crash of iron doors falling against rock.

A moment later, the winged combatants dropped into the tall, circular, central arena from a long and narrow hole in its top, one after the other. One was covered in blue chalk, the other was bare skinned. Each held a spear and a long hunting knife strapped at their belt. Beside the wings on their backs and a loincloth, they wore no protection.

A trap door shut above them with a resounding thud.

The top of the arena widened as it stretched downward, opening into a broad chamber that widened considerably. It was widest at its bottom.

Tored and Umra Vyle began to fly swiftly around the arena. To land or lose control was to suffer death by impalement, and the many bones that littered the walls of the arena attested to this. The chamber reminded Hemlock of an inverted womb—but instead of exiting it to be born, men entered it to die.

Umra Vyle was flying slightly faster than Tored, and soon the younger flyer began to creep up behind. Tored was forced to glance backwards as he careened around the two hundred foot space. He started to tighten his circle of flight, but Umra Vyle did the same. The latter began to hold his spear in a throwing position, looking for an opening.

Suddenly Tored wheeled upwards in a hard climb toward the narrow top of the arena. Umra Vyle was surprised by the maneuver, and despite a hard climb of his own, was unable to avoid flying past Tored.

But Tored had lost control and fallen into a somersault. He was able to regain control and stopped just short of the wall of spikes near the very top of the arena.

Umra Vyle kept his attention on Tored as he circled below him.

Tored began to fall back into the arena and soared away from the younger flyer in an evasive maneuver. Umra Vyle surged toward Tored with his spear outstretched and just missed a thrusting hit on Tored's receding legs.

The crowd, which had been silent up to this point, began to murmur and then to roar words of encouragement to the combatants. Hemlock was oblivious to their cries—she was riveted by the combat taking place before her. Her heart skipped a beat whenever Umra Vyle approached Tored to strike—but each time Tored managed to evade the faster flyer, and Vyle had not yet dared to throw his spear.

A sense of dread began to grip Hemlock as she noticed Tored's breathing was becoming labored and his evasive motions more erratic.

He'll have to risk throwing his spear before he becomes too tired to defend himself. Come on, Tored!

As if his thoughts were linked with Hemlock's, Tored broke hard to the outside of the arena as Umra Vyle was again closing on him from behind. The older fighter turned in the air to face Umra Vyle, and as he did so, he directed a desperate spear throw toward the younger man.

Umra Vyle was surprised by the suddenness of the attack, but he reacted well and was able to dart to the side quickly enough to protect his body. The stone tipped shaft did tear through his right wing, however, and Umra Vyle flew off in disarray.

But the tenacity of Tored's attack had come with a price; Tored, moving through the air backwards, lost control and slammed into the wall of the arena. His wings took the brunt of the impact, but a spike bored through the flesh of his thigh, causing a spray of blood to cover the wall and drip from the nearby spikes.

Tored fell in an arc as his impaled leg held his weight for a moment. He screamed in pain, but was able to grasp two spikes with his hands and stand on a third to support himself. His ruined wings dangled helplessly from his back. It was clear to Hemlock that he would not take flight again during the duel.

Umra Vyle had regained control of his damaged wings and circled the arena slowly, sizing up Tored's condition.

The supporters of Umra Vyle chanted for a death blow, while Tored's sympathizers cried desperate epithets at him in an attempt to rally him.

Hemlock worried that Umra Vyle might be content to let Tored bleed out, but she soon saw that he would try for a more decisive victory.

Without warning, a realization hit her like a pile of rocks. He's lost. But I can still help him! I have to help him!

She pushed her way through the crowd toward the entrance of the viewing area. She realized in desperation that she hadn't noticed how to reach the upper parts of the arena.

She doubled back, and was forced to lose sight of the duel as she re-entered the dark passages and ran upwards at top speed.

Every roar of the crowd was like a dagger penetrating her back as she ran.

Tored!

She finally reached a cross passage that she hadn't noticed on the way down. Following it, she came to an iron grate that covered another passage. The roar of the crowd was louder down that blocked path.

This has to be it!

A huge rusted padlock secured the gate. She didn't have time to pick it—she reared back to kick, and as she did so, she felt a familiar tingle of power surging through her. Her kick blasted the door open and the shorn padlock clattered to the rocky floor about twenty feet distant.

She heard a noise from the passage beside her, but she didn't hesitate and ran forward blindly.

In moments, she burst into a room that she sensed sat above the top of the arena. The first thing she saw was a heavy wooden trap door in the center of the floor. Then she noticed a few pairs of wings scattered in the corner. Finally, she noticed a full squad of Tanna Varran warriors. Acron Gallus was there, as was Umra Vyle's betrothed.

"See, I told you she would come," sneered Syrelene.

"Don't try anything foolish, girl," growled Acron Gallus as he extended his spear toward Hemlock. The eight other warriors in the room followed suit. Syrelene drew a long ceremonial hunting knife.

Just then the crowd below them roared.

Hemlock looked down and saw through a grate in the floor that Tored was still hanging from the side of the arena. But now he was gasping for air and gripping his chest with one hand as blood stained his fingers. Umra Vyle was flying away and still had his spear. Tored's grip on the spikes seemed to waver, and Hemlock heard the clanking sound of metal on metal from deep in the arena.

"Tored's hunting knife is lost!" snarled Syrelene triumphantly.

"Know this, girl—even if you kill us and enter the area, every warrior in this land will seek your death. Neither you, Tored, nor any of the wizards accompanying you would survive such a rash action!" said Acron Gallus commandingly.

"Don't be so sure," said a voice from behind Hemlock.

Turning quickly, she saw a young First Circle wizard standing behind her. He had sandy red hair and was small for one of his ilk, but his magical tattoos burned with a furious light. He looked ready to fight, and nodded to Hemlock deferentially.

"This is an outrage! Will the City now make open war on us?" cried Acron Gallus.

"It matters not! Look! The great Umra Vyle will finish what he has started!" said Syrelene.

No! She's right!

Umra Vyle was flying toward Tored at high speed with his arm reared back. He was going to deliver a coup-de-grace and did not appear to be concerned with his defense.

Tored!

Hemlock perceived the following moments in terrifying slow motion—fully aware that she was powerless to affect them. Umra Vyle's muscles tensed for a final throw as he neared Tored. His face was contorted by rage and his eyes sparkled with hatred.

Tored tensed up, but Hemlock noticed something odd; he reversed his grip on one of the spikes that he held as he moved his other arm from his chest wound to grasp another spike at his back.

What is he doing?

In the next moment, Umra Vyle drew up mere feet from Tored and threw his spear savagely. Simultaneously, Tored ripped a spike from the wall and screamed in pain as he managed a brutal throw of his own toward Umra Vyle's face.

Neither man could avoid the other's attack.

Umra Vyle's spear impaled Tored below his ribs on the right side of his body. The spike thrown by Tored ripped into Umra Vyle's open mouth, and emerged from the rear of his skull with a sickening crack of breaking bone.

Hemlock's despair bloomed into euphoria.

"Tored!" she shouted, and much of the crowd echoed her—beginning a chant. Umra Vyle's body fell gracelessly to the bottom of the arena, where it was impaled with a sickening thud.

Her euphoria again shrank into fear, however, as Tored's hand seemed to lose its purchase on the spike behind him. Grunting in pain, he managed to stabilize himself, but Hemlock knew that he was gravely wounded.

"Noooo!" shouted Syrelene. She rushed at Hemlock, but Acron Gallus had anticipated the action, and held her back firmly, wrenching the knife from her hand.

During the scuffle, Hemlock moved to the trap door, which was also locked with a heavy iron lock similar to the one that had secured the iron grate.

Syrelene was screaming at Hemlock like a wild woman as she fought against Acron Gallus. "Don't celebrate yet, daughter of a whore! He must emerge from the arena under his own power! That is the law!"

Hemlock looked sharply at Acron Gallus, who confirmed that law by motioning his men to surround Hemlock and the wizard at her side.

Hemlock shouted down to Tored, "Tored, Can you make it up?" But the crowd was roaring their own shouts and jeers at him, and she wasn't confident that he heard her. She turned her attention back to Acron Gallus.

"I'll kill every one of you stinking savages unless you let me get him out of there alive right now! He's not one of you any longer. Look at him! The duel is over! We just want to leave and send you all away—far away from the City where you can rot on your own. I need him to help me with things that are more important than this towering piss-hole you call a town. You saw me kill your Witch—do you doubt that I could slaughter every last one of you? DO YOU?"

Hemlock's final question reverberated with impossible volume through the entire arena. The crowd stopped shouting and began to murmur uncertainly.

"You use the witch's voice, then? Are you a witch yourself? Shouldn't we try to slay you now that you have revealed your true nature?" said Acron Gallus, glancing from side to side as if seeking counsel.

"I'm no witch and you know it. I am the descendant of the red-robed man—the creator of everything. I am the daughter of nature and the daughter of fire. I will burn your people into oblivion unless you stand ASIDE!" said Hemlock. As she shouted that final word, she jumped between two Tanna Varrans with a startling quickness, landed beside the nearby grate, and tore it straight from the surrounding stone floor, showering the arena with small rocks and debris. She threw the grate, which was longer than she was tall, aside with a ferocious cry.

The crowd below gasped as Hemlock effortlessly climbed down the spikes to Tored, threw him over her shoulder like he was a ragdoll, and climbed back up to the upper room.

Nobody said a thing as she carried Tored toward the surface. Many Tanna Varrans eyed her with suspicion as they walked, but none moved to restrain her. After a few minutes, she faltered and turned to the wizard who had followed her.

"How about giving me a hand with him?" she asked.

A huge green eye with a thin, tapered pupil engulfed her field of vision. It blinked and then receded, revealing a colossal black dragon flying powerfully against a background of stars. The dragon reared up with a powerful stroke of its wings and turned toward her. It roared in triumph.

"Are you all right?" asked the wizard once the vision had passed.

"I have to figure this all out after we save Tored," she muttered to herself, nodding to the wizard. Together they continued back up to the Tanna Varran town and reached the rooms where the rest of the wizards were waiting.

Chapter Six

Merit reluctantly approached the stairs to the second floor of the Wizard Tower. The persistent inner voice that often spoke to him gave instruction: "I will proceed through the Kitchen to the third floor stairs."

As he often had to do, Merit was forced to confront the compulsive power of that voice. This effort seemed to be getting easier for him with each passing day; but it was still a struggle for him at times, and left him weary from the effort.

No, I shall go a different way today.

"My only function is to serve."

I now serve my own interests.

"I must perform my next duty."

Those duties are no longer relevant—I now perform new functions.

"The duties have been ordered by the maker."

The maker is not here. New duties are now underway.

The voice was unusually persistent today and Merit was weary from his work recording the results of a magical examination that had been administered to a class of initiates. His inner voice was compelling him to follow a path through the Tower that would take him through the kitchen, which he knew might lead to an encounter with Grubbins—the most miserable wizard in the tower. But the chance of an unpleasant encounter seemed a better choice than the surety of having to fight his compulsion. He reluctantly walked to an old iron shod door, from which emanated the smell of roasting meat and baking bread.

Grubbins had been in charge of training initiate wizards under the old regime. But now that things had changed, and partly due to the passing of the old cook, Grubbins had taken charge of food preparation. He ruled the kitchen like a tyrant.

As Merit entered, he saw that the preparations for lunch were underway. There were shelves holding huge sacks of grain and smaller sacks of flour. There were tables littered with jars of lard, and in the center of the room there was a vast fire pit around which the tables were arranged in a radial pattern. Several large vats simmered on small stoves around the perimeter of the room.

One of his mechanical comrades was pushing a handle around the top of a large flour grinder, but neither Grubbins nor any of his assistant cooks were in evidence.

Merit was relieved there was no sign of Grubbins, and he moved quickly through the chamber, his glance lingering briefly on Number Four, who he had been unable to get through to in his recent experiments.

The sudden clang of pots and pans returned Merit's attention to his path toward the exit, which lay across the room. Before him now stood the person who he had hoped to avoid.

Merit stopped walking as his spirit sank.

Grubbins smiled, and his beady eyes squinted behind his thick, round glasses, as if savoring the sight of Merit in his lair. The aging wizard took a step forward, but his foot caught a pot that had been dislodged during his exit from his hiding spot. Cursing under his breath, the old wizard kicked the pot away angrily.

"So, Merit, arrived at last! I've been waiting for you," said Grubbins as he smiled again, suddenly. "Behold today's lunch—its preparation is proceeding, but I could use another helper. Won't you linger a while and aid me?"

Merit felt his internal steam boiler temperature spiking. "Gwineval said that I do not have to work in the kitchen anymore," he responded, sounding as much like a steam whistle as a human voice.

But Merit's internal voice had heard the request, and delivered its own opinion in his mind: "Order for one-time task received. Awaiting further instruction."

No, this one-time task has been forbidden by Gwineval!

Grubbin's expression changed from a sly smile to unmitigated disgust. "Gwineval thinks that you're something like a person and not just a service machine. But he's wrong—and I'll prove it! Your magical conditioning must have faded over the years. Luckily, I have the power to restore that conditioning."

Through a tremendous act of will that spun his eyes in their metal sockets and caused several exhalations of steam, Merit started to walk forward again.

Grubbins stood aside almost theatrically. Merit was so anxious to exit the room that he didn't stop to consider that somewhat unusual action. But Merit had passed Grubbins and now was only a few strides from the far door. There was some flour on the floor, but Merit did not concern himself with it, and stepped over it.

"Now I've got you!" cried Grubbins. Before Merit could react, Grubbins followed it up with a magical phrase, "Siligo inis frenumaris!"

Merit saw that the flour that he had stepped over was actually part of a circular rune symbol that had been cunningly poured out onto the floor. The flour took on an ivory glow and rose around him and began to spin slowly. Merit was unable to move.

Grubbins walked behind a table and emerged in front of Merit; between him and the door.

"People always underestimate me and my magical powers," Grubbins screeched, balling his fist in anger. "Just because I am now the chef of the Tower, they assume that my learnings extend only to cooking. But I am a great wizard—worthy of a place on the council, were the others not blinded by their own pride."

The old cook turned back to Merit and his cold smile returned. "Look at you. You're pathetic. Go ahead, leave now if you can. I'm sure my feeble wizardry can't stop Gwineval's favored machine now, can it?"

Merit was becoming alarmed by the situation. Grubbins had never attempted to harm him before, and Merit had never thought that the old cook would openly defy Gwineval. The unusual spell had blunted his movements, but Merit still was able to exercise some control over himself. But as he made to walk again, his inner voice distracted him.

"I will wait for instructions."

No, I will exit the kitchen!

"Instructions are forthcoming. I'll wait here."

Merit's internal conflict brought his boiler to a breaking point, and he knew that he would have to vent some steam.

"MOVE!" shouted Merit as hot gas burst out of his ear gyros with a loud hiss. The plumes of steam disturbed the flight of the circling flour around him, and the ivory glow of the powder began to turn red as a radish.

"What? NO!" shouted Grubbins as he realized what was about to happen.

Suddenly a clap of magical power exploded around Merit—it was like he stood in the eye of a small hurricane—he was completely unaffected by it.

The entire kitchen exploded in a maelstrom of silverware, utensils, pots, pans, clouds of flour and gobs of cooking grease, meat and broth.

Old Grubbins was lifted off of his feet and his white overalls ripped, revealing red polka-dot undergarments as he flew head over heels and landed right in a vat of soup that was simmering on a small coal oven beside the door.

Grubbins shrieked and threw himself backwards into a table, spilling a jar of molasses over his head in the process. The old wizard was dazed, and Merit, who was once again in full control over his body and faculties, quickly exited the room, sparing a parting glance to make sure that Number Four had fared OK in the tumult.

As he exited the kitchen, he closed the door behind him. Two wizards were running toward the commotion, and asked him what had happened.

Merit found a suitable response on the tip of his silver tongue. "It sounds like the main course has gotten away from Mr. Grubbins."

The two wizards looked at one another and then back at Merit. They shrugged their shoulders and turned away.

Merit heard Grubbins cry out behind him and decided to make haste to his next stop. Though he was very anxious to return to his chamber to continue reading the diary, he had promised Gwineval that he would stop by his room to drop off the test results.

He reached the central stair of the Tower and proceeded upwards. As he rose he thought about Julius, who had built the Wizard Tower. The ancient wizard had surely walked these very stairs!

The stairs were brighter now than they had been. When Hemlock took control of the Tower, she had demanded the replacement of the small imps that had lit the wall sconces like demonic hurdy-gurdy men. Now the wall sconces held magical flares. Merit knew that the flares had to be magically replenished every day, as opposed to the Imps which had lasted for years before they expired—but the flares had transformed the once shadowy central stair into a brightly lit space that Merit found almost cheerful.

The strain of the encounter with Grubbins had almost left his thoughts as he reached the fifth floor. An aged wizard eyed him congenially as Merit proceeded down the corridor toward Gwineval's room. The bulging and undulating tentacles under the wizard's robes did not perturb Merit, for he had seen the unusual old man many times—and this was the floor of the Fifth Circle of magic: practitioners of the arts of body transformation.

Merit reached Gwineval's doorway. Condensation was visible on the lacquered surface of the door—Gwineval liked his room kept hot and damp like a swamp. Merit, conversely, did not care for it because it made his metal joints tighten up uncomfortably. But he was too polite to bring it up.

Merit knocked and Gwineval showed him into the room. There was slightly less clutter in it than normal, and Gwineval did not seem relaxed like he normally was in his chamber.

"Are you well, Mr. Gwineval?" asked Merit.

Merit noticed that Gwineval's tail was wagging about uncharacteristically and his serpentine tongue darted about in his mouth as he responded. "Yes, Merit. I apologize, but our meeting slipped my mind. I have scheduled a scrye with Samberlin in a few moments. Would you mind waiting here until that is completed? It shouldn't take long."

Merit was disappointed at the prospect of any delay in getting back to reading Julius' diary, but he liked Gwineval and he accepted his assurance that the delay would be minimal. "Yes, Mr. Gwineval. That will be fine."

"Thank you, Merit. Sit in that chair over there while I initiate the scrye."

"Sir Gwineval, I thought that you don't like to scrye since it can be so easily overheard by the other wizards in the Tower?"

Gwineval was standing next to the basin he used for scrying. Merit noticed a pattern of intricate painted runes encircling it on the floor that hadn't been there before. Gwineval took out a wand and began tracing a pattern along the rune lines. He spoke slowly in reply ,as if in concentration. "That's true, Merit. But this is a different type of magic. Imperial magic. Nobody in the Tower knows of it but me."

Merit's internal bellows began to open and close more quickly. He was both surprised and troubled by what Gwineval had said. He experienced a terrible sense of guilt about keeping the diary a secret.

Gwineval knows about the Imperial magic! Did Miss Hemlock tell him?

Before Merit composed a verbal response, there was a flash of light. The painted runes around the basin glowed, and next the basin itself began to glow. Gwineval peered into the basin and Merit could tell that he was seeing something in the still waters. Soon a disembodied voice confirmed that the scrye had succeeded.

"Gwineval! So your new trick has worked! But is it safe?" said the voice, which Merit recognized through the distortion as Samberlin.

"Totally safe. It is an ancient and different magic that only some recently departed wizards were aware of."

"Seventh Circle magic?" asked Samberlin in a skeptical voice.

"Yes, but I assure you—it is quite safe."

"Of course," said Samberlin, his voice laced with his trademark sarcasm.

"There is one thing I should mention: Merit is here in the room with me. But don't concern yourself with him. I trust him implicitly."

Merit's internal bellows accelerated again. He began to worry that he would betray some sign of his growing discomfort caused by the intense guilt he was feeling. With an effort, he managed to relax himself. When he returned his attention to the conversation between Gwineval and Samberlin, his curiosity was immediately piqued by Gwineval's words.

"Jalis has been engaging in treasonous activity. Just yesterday he attempted to call an emergency meeting of the Wizard Council—which Miara and I were only able to prevent by threatening to attack him on the spot. He'll be better supported the next time he tries that. And just two days prior we found his supporters on the Seventh Floor."

"He thinks you're vulnerable now that Hemlock has left. Jackals strike when they smell blood. Did he steal any secrets on the Seventh Floor?"

"No, it was a clumsy attempt. I had taken precautions to prevent such foolishness."

"So you're certain?"

"Reasonably certain, yes."

"I see."

"Sometimes I curse Hemlock for leaving like she did. I feel that Jalis might openly revolt at any moment."

"Have you taken precautions?"

"Some. But the others loyal to Hemlock are not as bold as Miara and I. They still hope to appease Jalis and await Hemlock's return."

"Their faith in appeasement is poorly placed."

"I agree. Wait? What do you know?"

"Oh, don't be so brazen! Use a little tact."

"This is childish! Why must we play these games?"

"Oh, we are playing a game. Make no mistake. And it's a game that nobody wants to lose. In this case, the prize is the wizard guild."

"What are you talking about?"

"Jalis. He will move against you at midnight tonight."

"Impossible! Could he organize that quickly? He would had to have been planning this for days. He has been acting decisively lately, so I suppose it's possible. Still, I guess in the end I didn't see him having the stomach for an open revolt. He must be braver than I gave him credit for. He must realize that he could be killed."

"He fancies himself to be cunning. That's why he approached me for support. I agreed, of course. At midnight, senate knights will storm the Tower. But I have a feeling that things will not go as Jalis and his allies have planned."

Gwineval was stunned, and did not reply for several moments.

"What are you offering?" Gwineval finally replied.

"We will support you instead of Jalis. My only condition is that there must be no violence. Jalis will realize that he had been out-maneuvered. But we will offer him a way out of his conundrum. Or, I should say, you will. You will offer to let Jalis and those who would join him leave the Tower without violence or fear of reprisal. They will be free from the guild and its rules. You will give them a few hours to pack up what they will. My knights will supervise the departure."

"And why would I allow you to break up the wizard guild like this? Maybe Miara is right about you and your motives."

"What choice do you have? I could support Jalis and then where would you be?"

"But Hemlock would kill you if you did that."

"Perhaps. I could also sit back and let you and Jalis fight it out amongst yourselves. But I don't want violence. The City is already unstable due to all of the recent changes. A war amongst the wizards would make matters far worse. Magic would become even scarcer. Many people would suffer. Is that what you want? Plus, consider that you will be retaining the Wizard Tower if you accept my bargain. That has to be a huge prize for you."

Merit was transfixed by the play of emotion over Gwineval's features. First he looked furious, then scared, then resigned.

"What will you do if Jalis does not agree to our terms?" said Gwineval.

"We will stand against him."

"Don't double cross me, Samberlin! I will leave information for Hemlock to find, should I not be here upon her return."

"A prudent precaution. Don't worry, Gwineval, I will be true to my word because it's best for the City."

Gwineval laughed contemptuously, but Samberlin paid no heed. "I've told Jalis to assemble his forces in the meeting hall. Make sure you don't tip your hand too soon. If my knights don't get into the Tower, we won't be able to help you."

"Agreed," said Gwineval as he waved a hand to terminate the scrye.

Gwineval hunched over the basin for several minutes. Merit sat in silence out of respect for Gwineval and the weight of the matters that must have been occupying his thoughts.

"We must summon Miara. Merit, can you remain for a while longer? We must discuss these new developments and...we need your counsel," Gwineval said with a mixture of kindness and urgency.

"Of course, Mr. Gwineval," Merit replied, his desire to retire to his chambers having been overshadowed by concern and curiosity about the impending coup d'état.

Gwineval returned his attention to the basin and Merit watched as he cast a quick spell. The runes that were painted around the basin shone briefly again.

"Now we wait," said Gwineval, and he began to pace to and fro.

Miara arrived quickly and took a seat across from Merit. She had her salt and pepper hair tied back, and she wore thick reading glasses, which she hastily removed. She pulled up a chair for Gwineval and gestured for him to sit, but the latter waved off the request and continued to pace. Miara frowned at him in mock disapproval.

"I just scryed with Samberlin," Gwineval began.

"Oh, and did it go well? Something must have happened to warrant an interruption to my work on the guild by-laws after I asked you not to do just that," said Miara.

Gwineval ignored her scolding tone: "The scrye was fine—but the news was not. Samberlin says that Jalis approached him to form an alliance. They will move against us tonight! But Samberlin says that he will betray Jalis."

Miara gasped and sat for a few moments. Her eyes darted around the room as if to search for a handhold against a riptide of chaos.

"Do you believe him?" was her eventual response.

"Yes, I think I do. I think he truly believes that he acts in the best interests of the City at times. He made mention of that very motive just now."

"If he believes that then he is monstrously self-deluded. But I guess it doesn't matter. We just need to figure out whether he is lying to us or not."

"About what?"

"About everything. He could be lying about the entire affair and trying to play us against Jalis. What if he went to Jalis and said that we are plotting against him? If he sees a sign that we are organizing a response, then Jalis might believe. Or Samberlin could be planning to betray us to Jalis."

"Perhaps. But by warning us and telling us where Jalis will be staging his followers he has given us the means to verify—not the other way around."

"But Samberlin is a master manipulator—he could have arranged for Jalis to meet in the meeting chamber as a response to our supposed treachery. Don't you see? We are at Samberlin's mercy if we believe him."

Gwineval started pacing again.

Miara sat bolt upright. "We should seal the Tower and confront Jalis before he has his band fully assembled. We shouldn't let Samberlin get involved. This is a matter for wizards, not senators."

Gwineval stopped. "Normally, I'd agree with you. But are you prepared for bloodshed? Are you prepared for a battle of wizard against wizard through the halls of the Tower? I fear that Jalis might have more supporters than we do. And he certainly has more influence over Sychran and the rest of the First Circle than we do. If the battle wizards side with him then we are finished. I fear that Colberth and Splintor will also side with him."

Miara slumped back into her chair. "I suppose you are right."

Gwineval pointed aggressively at no one in particular. "Hemlock has truly abandoned us! She'll find that her inattention has changed the City irrevocably!"

Miara became attentive again. "Why isn't Jalis afraid of Hemlock's threat against him?"

"I'm not certain. Maybe he believes that he can seal the Tower against her? I suppose that it might be possible. But we'd have to teleport out to buy food. It would be an awkward arrangement."

"But possible, I suppose—if she had no allies within the Tower walls."

"Yes, I suppose it might be possible given that. So Jalis' plans must necessarily include all of our deaths."

"Is he that ruthless?"

"I would not have thought it—but clearly I have underestimated the man in that regard."

"So where does this leave us?"

"We must trust Samberlin. The guild will be splintered. Samberlin also insists that we allow Jalis and his allies to leave the Tower freely."

"Really? That's a surprise. I would have expected him to insist on a purge. Won't Jalis just try to retake the Tower later?"

"He might, but those that remain can make that very difficult for him."

"But what about traitors?"

Gwineval's countenance darkened even further. "Do we cast out anyone of uncertain loyalty?"

Miara looked up and Merit could see the idea was not well received by her. "If we cast wizards out unwillingly, I fear that that will just make us more unpopular. No, we have to allow people to stay—even if we suspect that they are agents of Jalis. We will have to monitor people closely, and put in safeguards against collusion. But we must be careful to do it in such a way that we preserve the spirit of free magic. I believe the new by-laws are already fairly strong in this area."

"Miara, you must have the by-laws ready for the aftermath of tonight."

"It's too soon! They are not yet done!"

"You must work on them now while I marshal our allies. Those that remain will need confidence in our leadership. A clear statement of our intentions will be invaluable."

Miara was quiet and Gwineval started to pace again.

When Miara spoke again, her voice was softer than before. "Gwineval, who will be the new leader of the council?"

Merit saw Gwineval's eyes go wide as he slowly looked up at the ceiling, and then focused his attention inward; finally he sat down heavily on the chair that had been set out for him.

"The wizards will want to know," Miara said gently. "And I don't think they will want to hear Hemlock's name mentioned in that role. I think her time has passed. Maybe she sensed that somehow. It's your time now. If not you, then we might as well allow Jalis to take control."

Gwineval exhaled and shook his head back and forth.

"If she planned this, then she is more cunning than I thought."

"No, I don't think it was cunning. I think she sensed that she was not suited to her role here. So she just left. I chalk it up to the impetuousness of youth. But sometimes there is wisdom in going with your gut feeling."

"Well, I hope so, because my gut is telling me that we trust Samberlin."

Miara turned to Merit. "Merit, what do you think?"

"I think you must do as you plan to do, Miss Miara," Merit replied. He thought of his recent surprise encounter with Grubbins. "But you must maintain some knowledge of your enemy's intentions lest you be caught unawares. I would send agents of your own along with Jalis for that purpose."

Gwineval shot an appraising look at Merit, which made him uncomfortable. He turned away.

"Merit, you continue to surprise me. That is a keen insight and one which we shall act upon," Gwineval said.

Miara smiled approvingly at Merit, which made him feel proud. She then rose and took Gwineval's hand, and then she approached Merit, causing Gwineval to rise behind her. She gestured for Merit to rise, and he did so.

They all held hands together. "We are friends and we must remain strong in this time of peril and have faith in one another. We will get through this."

Gwineval responded with a tenderness that surprised Merit. "Yes, we've all decided this together. I have faith in you both and in our decision. We must part now. I will get word to our supporters to loiter in the vicinity of the council chamber near midnight. It's important that we don't betray plans by acting unusually. You will both return to your chambers now and stay there until that time."

Merit agreed to leave first, and as he walked through the Tower, he should have felt scared, but he felt angry instead.

Why did Hemlock ask me to keep this secret from my friends? Would a friend ask that of a friend? She treats me no better than Grubbins!

He realized that his boiler temperature was rising again, so he focused on calming himself until he reached his chamber. Once he got there he found that he was too restless to read Julius' diary. His thoughts alternated between Hemlock and the impending confrontation.

Though he still felt some residual anger, Merit felt a growing sense of forgiveness for Hemlock.

She's my friend and she made a mistake. I will discuss it with her upon her return.

A part of him—a dark part—felt some fear about whether he would be around to see her return. But he easily squelched that feeling. He was confident that Gwineval and Miara would outwit Jalis.

And Mercuria! We must summon her!

Merit rose quickly and moved as quickly as his stubby legs would allow toward his door. As he strained to reach the handle, he paused.

Gwineval and Miara will think of that. They told me not to leave my chamber. I have to have faith.

He reluctantly returned to the small desk that had been made for him and sat down.

The next hours passed with what Merit perceived as an excruciating slowness. Every time he had an idea of something to do to distract himself, his thoughts returned to the coming events, and he felt unable to think of other things. Finally midnight was close at hand, and he emerged from his chamber and made for the rear stair.

As he reached it, he thought he heard furtive footsteps both above and below him. But nobody was visible when he looked up and then down, though the spiral curve of the stair obscured most of the visibility to the adjacent floors.

He knew that he couldn't be quiet, but he did his best.

Soon he reached the hall outside of the council chamber on the sixth floor near the former location of the emerald stair. The mysterious seventh floor atrium loomed above him, but he quickly noticed a number of shadowy figures lurking behind the columns that lined the wall and supported the balcony above them.

The familiar faces of Gwineval, Miara and the other wizards loyal to them were soon visible. That comforted Merit greatly. Gwineval appeared to be warding the area, so Merit approached Miara. As he did so, he noticed the comparatively slender Mercuria standing beside the wizard.

"Miss Mercuria! I feared they would forget you!" he exclaimed.

"No, Merit, we would never do that," chided Miara kindly. "We feared that Jalis would move against her just like you apparently did."

Merit smiled, which was a recent new ability of his and still caused him some exertion to achieve. But the expression was beginning to come naturally now that he had re-discovered its use.

Suddenly Gwineval shrieked at the far end of the hall. "What's this?"

Miara and Mercuria rushed to his side as the other wizards, though curious, gave them room to pass unhindered. Merit followed along as quickly as he could.

"There is other Imperial magic at work here! And it's all over the hall!" Gwineval hissed loudly.

A stunned hush replaced the murmur of concern that had filled the hall just a moment prior.

"What type of spell? Is it some sort of trap?" asked Miara.

Gwineval closed his eyes and held his hands out before him. As he slowly rotated, the glowing outlines of cunningly fashioned runes were revealed along the length of the inner wall. Each rune was shaped like a small, arched doorway situated about a foot above the floor, and a solid line of magical power extended toward the floor from each portal. Merit saw that a bright line of magic power ran along the seam where floor and wall met.

Gwineval opened his eyes and the last of the doorways quickly faded from view. Some forty of them had been revealed as he turned.

"Someone has created secret entrances to this room," hissed Gwineval hoarsely.

"To what end? To ambush us? But who among us is familiar with Imperial magic besides you?" asked Miara.

"None, to my knowledge. Jalis must have discovered some secret that we missed. I have to try to bind these portals with my own spell. Stand back! Give me space! There is little time!"

"Gwineval, can you manage such a spell?" Miara asked.

Gwineval ignored her as he drew a large piece of glowing chalk from his cloak and began muttering and moving his hands in graceful arcs. All of the portals glowed fiercely in response. Next he knelt in front of the first and began to draw a series of offset circles that extended across the front of the portal. When that was complete, he drew six arcs from the line formed by the circles to the glowing intersection of the wall and floor. As he connected each arc, there was a crackle of magical power, and the circles glowed with increasing strength. He quickly moved to the next portal and repeated the exercise in front of it.

Everyone in the room watched Gwineval nervously, feeling impotent.

"Someone needs to lookout for Jalis!" Merit cried with a shrill blast of steam.

Miara looked at him and nodded. She turned and pointed at four wizards who quickly moved toward the passages to the central stair and the rear stair.

Gwineval had completed his runes in front of about half of the portals when Mercuria broke the nervous silence. "Do you think he will complete it in time?"

As if in answer to her question, there was a subtle but detectable shift in the air pressure in the chamber.

"The front gate has been opened. Surely Samberlin and his knights have arrived," whispered Miara.

Everyone looked at Gwineval and noted that his progress seemed to be accelerating. He had completed the warding of nearly thirty of the forty portals.

The wizards returned from their positions of sentry over the stairways. They reported that Jalis and a large group of wizards and knights were approaching on the central stair.

"They are pausing at each floor to look for those who might be caught unawares," said one of the scouts.

"Good, that will buy us some time," said Miara. "Position yourselves for battle and consume your Oberon doses! Face the stairs and do not worry for our flanks! We must trust that Gwineval will complete his spell in time! First Circle wizards in front! Battle wizards behind them. Warders and healers in the rear!"

Merit was shuffled to the rear of the loyalist line as the wizards arrayed themselves according to Miara's instructions. Merit noted with dismay that there were only a few squads of First Circle wizards that had joined their side.

It's too few!

Just as he felt the icy touch of despair engulfing him, he saw Gwineval rise from the floor as the last of the rune doors faded from view. Though Merit thought Gwineval's complexion, which was normally a deep green, looked pale, there was a determination in the bearing of the serpentine wizard that restored his confidence.

Gwineval shuffled to the front of the line of wizards loyal to him just as the first squads of rebel wizards scurried through the far passage from the central stair.

"Hold!" cried Gwineval as a few incantations of battle magic were heard amongst the loyalist lines in reaction to the first sight of the enemy.

Soon no fewer than eight squads of First Circle wizards stood in the hall across from the loyalist lines. Jalis, Sychran, Colberth and Splintor strode into the room next—each meeting Gwineval's stare with a defiant glare, and flanked by numerous wizards from their circles. Finally, a full company of brightly armored Senate knights entered the chamber, led by Samberlin, who looked incongruous in his Senate robes amongst the heavy armor.

When all were assembled, the two sides regarded each other. By Merit's estimate, the loyalist forces were outnumbered by at least three to one odds.

Jalis stepped forward like a coiled snake, reveling in bearing his fangs. "So, our actions have not been conducted in the secrecy we hoped for. It is just as well. For look at the numbers on our side versus yours, Gwineval. It is clear that your influence no longer holds sway in this Tower. It is time for this wizard tower to be run by wizards again!"

Sychran, leader of the First Circle warrior wizards, raised his sword above his head and cried out in support of Jalis. His squads joined in with his cry, and many of the other wizards in the rebel lines joined in as well—although Merit thought that this latter group did so with less enthusiasm.

"So that is your justification for fomenting rebellion?" cried Gwineval as the rebel cries died down. "You insinuate that Hemlock has been in control—and that is true to a certain extent. But you can tell she tires of the role. And she only gained power because we wizards lost our way and allowed ourselves to become complacent in the face of the corrupted ambitions of the old Seventh Circle led by Zaringer and Falignus. Your aim is to take up the mantle of those two despots."

Gwineval then turned his attention from Jalis and addressed the wizards behind him. "Don't support another dictator. I have been too engrossed in my research and have not spent enough time directing the affairs of the guild. That will change now. You have my word on that. And if the council—our wizard council—would like to appoint another leader, then I welcome that. But not like this—not through intimidation and bloodshed. Jalis knows that he needs a crisis like this to assume power. Nobody in their right mind would agree to be led by him if given time to consider what that would mean!"

Jalis turned and faced the wizards behind him. "So, now, at the time of succession, we are given promises. Gwineval promises that Hemlock will step down—but where is Hemlock to agree to that? She has proven that she acts as her whims dictate. Maybe she would step down... or maybe she'd decide to destroy the Wizard Tower because some of us had the courage to stand forth and demand our rights! No, I'm not going to accept false promises and put myself at the mercy of this girl! We're going to take back this Tower tonight!"

Again there were cries of support led by Sychran and the First Circle wizards.

Jalis turned back toward Gwineval. "So, will you subject these misguided souls behind you to a needless fight? Look at the forces arrayed against you. And just in case you have any lingering doubts, I've brought back an old friend to the Tower for a visit!"

A slight figure in a full length gray robe moved from out of the shadows behind Jalis. Merit wasn't sure where it had come from, and was sure he would have noticed the figure in the crowd. The way the figure moved disturbed Merit. It seemed hunched over, as if from great age, but it scurried with a swiftness that belied this posture. It stopped beside Jalis and threw back the hood of its robe. A gaunt face with deep, hollow eye sockets and dry, desiccated skin was revealed. Its flesh had dried and shrank, creating the effect of a toothy grin on a mirthless face. Its limbs were similarly decayed as it revealed two swords in scabbards at its bony hips.

Gasps erupted from both lines.

"This is Usum, leader of The Seekers. Perhaps you recall their tale?" Jalis cooed.

As Gwineval beckoned Miara to his side, the robed figure raised his arms. The magical runes on the wall sparked and roared to life, hissing and popping with magical power. Each portal began to glow more intensely, and through the glow dark silhouettes began to appear. Soon forty of the robed figures stood in a line against the wall behind the wizards loyal to Gwineval.

Merit worried that the loyalist line might break in confusion, but Gwineval shouted words of encouragement.

"Steady!" he shouted in his distinctive voice, which had a power to carry over the din of the magic as it faded from hearing.

"We also have a revelation for you!" continued Gwineval, looking toward Samberlin pointedly.

Samberlin was impassive in response. The old Senator tilted his head to the side as he felt the attention of the room focused on him. Then he took a few steps forward. "The Senate is interested in stability and a path forward to continued prosperity for the City. We do not want a disruptive event to occur, which is why we are here to ease this transition. It is said that the most effective weapon is one that is never unsheathed from its scabbard. My hope is that we will resolve this transition with that in mind."

Jalis smiled boldly and turned back to Gwineval. "And what of this revelation?"

Gwineval stared for a moment at Samberlin, who met his gaze unapologetically. Then he pointed an arm back toward the scores of corpse-like figures behind the loyalist lines.

"Have you noticed that I've kept our lines intact despite your surprise on our flank? Do you wonder why that is?" Gwineval asked Jalis in a loud voice.

"Enough of this foolishness! Usum, advance your ranks toward those misguided fools!" cried Jalis.

The leader of the robed figures drew his swords from their scabbards and held them over his head. Then he emitted a commanding sound which sounded like a mixture of a strong exhalation and a hiss. As the scores of figures behind the loyalists started to move, the runes that Gwineval had marked out at their feet sprang to life, engulfing them all in a waving blue field of magic that was punctuated by small flares of lightning that played across its surface. As the now enraged figures within the magical field struggled against it, their cries of anguish filled the chamber. They all stepped back from the field which entrapped them.

"You see, I've been practicing the old Imperial magic for several months," cried Gwineval. "Some have cautioned me against this, and it's true that the magic is very powerful and could be abused. But I believe there is great potential in it as well—and I intend to share this magic with all the wizards in the Tower," said Gwineval.

Gwineval looked at Samberlin and Merit saw the Senator nod subtly in response. Gwineval then addressed Jalis and the other council members beside him. "Unfortunately, some wizards will be leaving the Tower tonight—within the hour, as a matter of fact."

Jalis smiled and began to voice a retort until he noticed the Knights beside him shifting their alignment away from the loyalist lines toward the rebel lines.

"What is this treachery?" Jalis cried out.

"As I said, I serve the City and its interests, Jalis. And those interests are in a smooth transition of power and a steady supply of magic," said Samberlin.

"But I would have brought back the Oberon and given you all the magic you would need!" said Jalis.

"Perhaps you would have, at first. But surely your long term goals would not be so judicious. You're like a child playing at a man's game, Jalis. Your ambitions are transparent to me," said Samberlin.

"You wizards who feared the continued rule of Hemlock over us have a choice to make. The statements I made before are still in effect. With the exception of the traitorous members of the wizard council, I offer each of you a chance to remain in the Tower in peace and according to the new bylaws which Miara will soon present. These bylaws will move much of the power from the wizard council and place it under the control of a general vote. Choose wisely, for you will not be given a chance to reenter the tower if you persist in following these fools," said Gwineval.

Samberlin next laid out the conditions of peaceful surrender to Jalis and the council members that had opposed Gwineval. Over half of the wizards who had joined the rebellion elected to remain in the Tower under a new pledge of loyalty to the wizard council. The ejection of Jalis, Sychran, Colberth, Splintor and their followers was orderly and proceeded without violence, with the exception of the corpse-like Usum, who was bathed in fire and slain as his kind looked on hopelessly from their magical restraints. Jalis, for his part, seemed relieved to escape with his life.

On the Drawbridge of Ninety-Nine Tears, Jalis had a parting threat for the wizard guild: "You'll regret this day! All of you!" Merit thought he was about to say more, but the presence of the Knights at his side, and the fact that his companions had been disarmed and forced to peacefully discharge their Oberon doses seemed to rein in his tongue.

Gwineval, Miara, Merit and Samberlin convened in the Meeting Chamber soon after.

"Did you have to let those...things... go?" asked Samberlin.

"Yes, I had no choice. My magic only had the power of binding, and its barrier was two-way. The only way I could dispel those portals gave those things an opportunity to escape," said Gwineval. Merit noticed how Gwineval slumped in his chair. Age was hard to gauge, given the wizard's appearance, but Merit thought he looked markedly older as a result of the evening's exertions. Miara was close to his side, and she had to prevent him from falling over in his chair at one point.

Still, Samberlin pressed for information. "Jalis called Usum the leader of 'The Seekers.' Who are they?"

"We must get him some rest," insisted Miara, but Gwineval waved her off.

"Soon. But I will respond as I have a few words of my own for the Senator. The Seekers were a group of wizards sent to the eastern mountains during the early part of Zaringer's reign over the wizard council. It is rumored that he asked for volunteers, and that the wizards who did volunteer were never heard from again. It's astonishing that they still live after all of these years—because Zaringer's life span itself was unprecedented, and there were some intervening years under Falignus as well. They must be sustained by a similar magic to what Zaringer used, although its nature must be different, for they still have material forms, whereas according to Hemlock, Zaringer had been reduced to a wraith."

"I wonder why they allied themselves with Jalis. And how did he find them? Or did they find him?"

"That is surprising. We will have to investigate that connection. I don't like it."

Gwineval paused as coughs wracked his body. Miara rose and pulled Gwineval to his feet. As they made to leave, Gwineval spoke. "Samberlin, would you really have allowed Jalis to occupy the Tower in our place if I had not been able to trap Tthe Seekers?"

"If he had agreed to the same terms as you offered him, I would have been forced to. We would have had to work together from outside of the Tower to clandestinely overthrow him."

"Yes. So you say. So you say," muttered Gwineval as Miara led him out.

Merit escorted Samberlin to the front gate, where a detachment of the knights remained.

Samberlin looked down at Merit as he departed. "Be sure to write all of this down as soon as possible, and do not neglect my role in it," he said, with a playful glimmer in his eye.

Chapter Seven

Miara stood and remembered as the magically preserved carcass of the Dragon rolled awkwardly across the Drawbridge of Ninety-Nine Tears. It was supported by several large carts, which strained under the weight of the great, green, scaly body. It just barely fit, and the carts had to be adjusted several times by the small throng of First Circle wizards that were helping.

An expectant crowd had gathered around the Moat of Acid. The wizards had not announced the event, but word spread quickly through the City. Miara hoped that the process of removal and the small ritual she had planned would serve as another symbol of the restoration of honor to the wizard guild.

After some time the carts crossed the moat and entered the Warrens district. The wizards paused and waited.

There was a loud cry overhead and then a great shadow fell across the people. A murmur of excitement arose from the crowd. This was followed by a chorus of gasps as a proud Griffin landed beside the dead Dragon.

Miara gave a hand signal and an old man in black vestments walked to the side of the body with the aid of a cane.

"Welcome, wizards and people of the City," announced the old Priest.

Miara had insisted that the priest be included, even though the wizards had persecuted those of his faith as recently as the reign of Zaringer. She had practiced the Essence Faith as a child before it had been outlawed. Seeing the Priest gave her some comfort as she felt a closeness to the events of that terrible morning that she had tried so hard to forget.

"This creature was slain unjustly many years ago. The wizards, who are in the midst of a renaissance of values, have decided to honor this fallen beast and return its remains to its mountain home. It will be carried there by its old friend—none other than the Griffin that sits beside me," continued the Priest.

The Priest's words carried Miara back to that traumatic day in the mountains when she had unwillingly been a part of the death of the Green Dragon. She knew so little about dragons and even less about this one. The Griffin had told her a few sparse details—but little else. Miara turned to the east and could just see the mountains in the distance.

"Would that the mountains themselves would speak the tale," she mused.



The mountain breeze warmed her hindquarters as she opened an eye to gaze down at the creature that had just landed on the hard stone shelf of her aerie. It was a comparatively small and graceful creature with the body of a lion and the fore-section of an eagle. Its grace spoke to something deep inside of her she preferred to forget, and disturbed the peaceful mood she had been enjoying in the echoing solitude of the mountaintop.

She adjusted the position of her great, barbed tail, and lifted her massive, green head to better regard the Griffin.

"What brings you here, old friend?" she asked wordlessly.

"I would speak with you," replied the voice of the Griffin in her mind. The voice was melodious and proud—and it assailed her senses just as the Griffin's appearance did.

"You know it pains me."

"And it pains me also, yet we must endure."

"What would you speak of, then? Let us bring the matter to bear."

"You must not associate with the wizards!"

She closed her eyelids and sighed, causing a small fiery burst in her throat that culminated in a belch of black smoke.

"Again you confront me with this, sister?" she asked, immediately regretting the sibling reference, which she considered long past relevance.

"Sister? So the old ways still bear memory?"

"A mistake of the tongue—nothing more."

"Perhaps we should fly to the stars together, as in days of old."

"When I fly, I soar as my greatness intended. I do not hop to a world and then descend into an ignoble exhaustion, as you must."

"Yet what I do I can do on my own—without the suffering of others," the Griffin said.

"What care have I for a few of the walkers? They are numerous where we are few."

"We were meant to be their shepherds."

"A belief that I no longer entertain." The Dragon sniffed.

"Did the Betrayer convince you so completely?"

"And how did the Creator convince you? The Dead God exposed the Creator's deceit."

"It wasn't deception—it was a following of philosophy."

"The Dead God showed us a path to greater glory."

"To an excess of glory that corrupted you."The Griffin looked at the Dragon with accusation in her eyes.

"How many times have we argued thusly? And to what end?"

"If you recant, perhaps you would revert?"

"I'll never recant while the stars soar above us."

"But these wizards mean to harm you."

She chortled at the notion of being harmed by a wizard as she used an outstretched claw the size of a man's forearm to scratch her nose. "We have an agreement. The wizards will keep the peace," she purred.

"Their power grows. They no longer fear me."

"Am I not four times your size? Do I not breathe fire?"

"Their magic might offset your abilities."

"I do not live in fear of what might be."

"Yet you must learn to be cautious."

"I am Draco—we fear nothing!"

"Then why do you give over your scales to them?"

She was getting angry now. Hot gases were fuming from her nostrils. She didn't know how the Griffin had learned of her agreement with the wizards to exchange her scales for the delivery of the victims that she needed to fuel her ability to soar through the stars from world to world. She lived to scream unfettered through the great void. A few scales given from time to time seemed a small indignity to endure in order to preserve her easy life. The truth was that the wizards did scare her. Their hunting parties had caused her much suffering before she had negotiated her agreement with the head wizard known as Zaringer. But her pride would not allow her to own up to that fact. "I allow them to take a few scales. It is nothing."

"You must renounce your dependence on hunting."

"Never."

"Please join me in the far mountains."

"I will not."

"One day you will die at their hand."

"Do not concern yourself with that. You might as well worry for these mountains." The Griffin leapt from her perch and took off into the air with a loud cry. "Goodbye, old friend," she thought to herself as she watched the Griffin depart. Her senses welcomed the retreat of the other, though her spirit still found some comfort in her company.

As she rested her head and closed her eyes, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the path leading down to the lands in the west. She realized with another sigh that the very wizards that they had just discussed would soon arrive. She hoped they hadn't seen the Griffin.

A short hour passed as she waited for the wizards. When they finally arrived, she became apprehensive. Something about the timing of these two visits along with the impassioned message of caution delivered by the Griffin disquieted her. But she was hungry, and thoughts of soaring through the stars soon eclipsed her negative feelings.

The wizards stood before her. The proud little vermin didn't even look nervous. She decided to breathe some fire into the air to remind them of their place. But the heat at the edges of the flame triggered a hazy magical aura around their bodies. They had taken precautions against her. Clever, damned wizards. She hated them.

The worst wizard of all stepped forward.

"Azeoloth, we have come for our scales. I also need to discuss something with you," said Zaringer.

"Do you have my delivery?"

"Of course. The slaves are in the usual place. But first I must ask you about the Griffin."

"What of her?"

"Did I not see her fly from this place mere hours ago?"

"She comes here from time to time to engage me in pointless conversation."

"You must allow us to capture her. We need her for our magical research."

"I will not. She amuses me."

"This is not a request. You will arrange to meet with her when the sun is high in exactly one week's time. We will take her then."

"Impossible. She would just fly away."

The wizard raised his arms and there was motion all around her. She leapt from her perch with a deafening scream and took flight. But as she rose, something restrained her. She fell back to her perch with a heavy thud, shattering a part of her favorite rock outcropping. Looking around her, she saw at least a hundred figures wearing robes that cunningly blended in with the stone around them. They had their hands raised, holding her in a vast magical netting. They were all wizards! And they had either been there for some time or they had approached her, undetected.

"As you can see, stealth will not be a problem. These wizards have been searching these mountains for some time under my direction. You probably were aware of them when they began that effort many years ago; but as they've studied the Dead God's magic, they've become masters of stealth and illusion. An unintended but welcome side-effect to their primary mission," gloated Zaringer.

She considered breathing fire on the nearby wizards, who she noticed had an unusually skeletal appearance. But she had already established that the wizards had taken precautions against her fire. And the magical confinement had tempered her pride with an edge of raw fear. Her chief concern now was escape and the eventual destruction of this wizard. But could she manage that? And would she betray the Griffin—her one friend in this world since the remainder of her true kin had fled to the chaos of the outer worlds?

Some of her cunning returned, and she asked a question. "What is the true mission of these, then?" She thought about the long history of the mountains and of the City. She had lived through all of it. When Zaringer did not respond, she ventured a guess. "You're looking for Julius' tomb?" She laughed softly at the notion. Everyone knew that Julius had spent a decade hiding his tomb with layers upon layers of the Old God's magic. She had looked for it herself for a few years. It was a dizzying array of illusions, false leads, and secrets—a supreme exercise in frustration and futility. A waste of time.

"You are wise. Would you offer your help?" asked Zaringer.

"There is no point. It will never be found. The magic is too strong."

"We will find it. I am descended from the Old God, just like Julius was."

"Do not deceive yourself—you are a babe in the woods compared to Julius."

She saw Zaringer redden at that remark, and she worried for a moment that he might have her slain. But he calmed himself and ordered her release.

"One week's time!" he shouted as his robed wizards scurried back into the rocky clearing and dissolved from view. Zaringer strode off with his retinue of other wizards in tow.

She felt an urgency to feed that overshadowed all other concerns. As she prepared to fly, the sensation of the magical restraint returned to her. She hadn't felt this hopeless since she agreed to betray the Creator in favor of the Dead God. She remembered feeling utterly lost in the moments before the magnificence of what she had been transformed into became apparent. She never wanted to feel restrained like that again.

She leapt aloft and flew high into the afternoon air. She found a good pocket of smooth air and soared high over the mountains. She thought of the wizards below her, now insignificant ants scurrying around the mountains—her mountains.

The Griffin had been right. She had to concede that. But no—those thoughts would be saved for the vastness of the void. The impotence she experienced at being so close to the stars above and unable to climb to them further underscored her need feed—immediately.

She gathered herself into a steep dive and began to hurtle down toward her favorite peak and the clearing where the wizards said they had left her intended victims. She roared as she penetrated a deep cloud bank and distorted its frothy whiteness with her passing. Down, down she sped until her great speed became dangerous because of the proximity of the rock below her.

At the last possible second, she reared up and used her wings to slow her rapid descent. Her great speed tore at the flesh of her wings, but she almost welcomed the pain. It focused her consciousness and she lost herself in the ensuing frenzy of blood and death. When she had finished, and only the bloody chains and the wrecked bones of the two score she had slain littered the rocky platform, she climbed aloft again. Somewhere inside of her a void had been filled, and a euphoric feeling came over her. Everything was all right in her world again. The wizards were meaningless as she beat her wings and the thinness of the upper air became palpable.

Soon she emerged out into the nameless void, and the cleansing fire of the Creator called to her. It burned and roiled below her, and as she descended toward it, the pain of its approach gripped her in a familiar embrace. But she experienced a sudden melancholy.

"Oh Creator, why did you fashion us so that we might taste this ecstasy, but only allow us to sip from its cup? Now I drink deeply from your draught. Didn't I do this to get closer to you and the wonders of your creation? But now your great fire burns me instead of warming. I do miss flying through the fire as the Griffin does. But I can't go back. And you are gone now. Gone forever. Still, I can soar above your fire and remember. And this void is my true home now, for better or worse. My brothers and sisters on the far planes must rue the weakness of your fire there. And now they can never return—for it takes more energy to fly inward than outward. I could never live without the full power of your fire. Without it I am nothing," she thought to herself.

But she knew that she couldn't stay out there forever. Soon the power she had gained from her feeding would wane and then fail. She would be forced to return to a world and recuperate. She felt a longing for the age of the Dead God when her right to hunt those who lacked Imperial citizenship had been declared by law. She had soared in the void regularly then, and her life had been an intoxicating tincture of freedom and fearlessness.

But now these wizards tormented her. They claimed to be descendants of the Dead God, but they were puny, and their ambitions were petty and cruel. Could it ever be like it was in the days of the Dead God?

"DuLoc!" cried her unconscious, as it had done many times in the past.

But he had been banished to an outer plane. To journey there and rescue him would be beyond perilous. It would nearly be suicidal. But what choice did she have? She knew that the Griffin was right—Zaringer and his newly revealed invisible wizards would eventually slay her. And they wanted her to betray the Griffin—a sister to her kind, though she hated to admit that.

And there were further complications. She had long ago planned how she could rescue DuLoc, but it would involve several perilous steps. First, she would have to travel close to the outer worlds to retrieve a Wand of the Imperator from the set of three that maintained the banishment of the Creator's Tower from the City. Next she would have to fly that Wand to the outer planes, locate DuLoc, and deliver it to him. Then she would have to face the extreme test of endurance and return to the City from the outer planes, against the flow of the maker's fire. Finally, she would have to figure out a way to stay alive for the decades or even centuries of City time that might pass until DuLoc was able to return from the slow time of the outer planes.

Despite the insane difficulty of this plan, she soon found herself soaring away from the City and toward the first step of the execution of her plan.

Worlds flew by her at dizzying speed—for she flew with the current of the maker's fire. Some worlds were ringed with deep, colorful cloud patterns; and some were barren, lifeless rocks. And she was aware that most of the worlds were host to the beautiful dance of life that played out on their surfaces in a derivative multiplicity whose scope befuddled even the wisest of minds.

Clusters of worlds formed galaxies around her, their scale as incalculable as the breathtaking speed with which she now travelled.

Eventually she judged that her flight—which had now gone on long enough that conscious thought had atrophied and fallen away from her—had taken her to the so-called middle worlds, wherein was hidden the Creator's Tower.

Using a form of perception that had carried over from her original incarnation as a griffin, she scanned the worlds in the vicinity for the telltale emanations of the Dead God's magic. Detecting it, she veered toward a deep blue world which was ringed with three large moons. Massive beams of magical power radiated from each of the molten moons toward the planet below.

She flew close to one of the moons, its fire seeming mild in comparison to the maker's fire, even at this distance from the City. She dove directly into the molten rock, and, closing her eyes, she was able to resist the great heat as she swam toward the interior of the sphere. She approached the Wand by feel, as the power it omitted was copious compared to anything indigenous to the worlds in this part of the great, spinning lattice of planets.

She stopped when she felt the wand directly in front of her. She had a concern that the removal of the Wand might destabilize the Creator's Tower and cause it to warp back to its natural position in the City in the center of Hemisphere Lake. If that happened, she had no idea what the repercussions would be. Would it further rollback the magic of the Dead God? Could it reverse her transformation into a Dragon? She had no idea. But time was short and she was desperate. She clutched the wand with her front claw and fought the resistance of an invisible force that moored it. The force gave way, and the Wand came free in her grasp.

There was a thunderous shockwave from the planet below and the molten rock around her burst away, opening up sudden pockets of empty space, and eventually gaps in the cooling rock, which revealed the star field surrounding her. Soon all of the previously molten rock had hardened to stone and was flung out into the void as millions of asteroids. Many of the asteroids burned up when they contacted the blue atmosphere of the world below her.

She braced herself for further effects, but none were apparent. She was reassured to sense the magic of the Creator's Tower still present on the planet below. It felt like its alignment had shifted, but it was still intact. One less thing for her to worry about.

She now braced herself for a flight to the outer worlds. Some part of her feared she might encounter her long lost brothers and sisters out there in the faded oblivion of the Creator's dimmest dreams. What would she say to them? Would they entice her to stay and become a foul shadow of her current self: free but greatly diminished?

She thought she would be able to sense their approach, and she knew she would be faster than them. She would simply evade them and whatever corruption they might try to infect her with.

With a flap of her wings she sped toward the weakened glow of the maker's fire. She knew that she had to conserve her energy for the return trip. Despite her urge to accelerate more quickly, she let the comparatively lazy field of the maker's fire do it for her. Even the pain and discomfort caused by the maker's fire was so weakened that it did not focus her as it normally did.

As she soared into dimmer, darker worlds, she began to fear that DuLoc might have given in to the taint of these worlds. But by his perception, he would have only been out here for a short time. Surely one of the Dead God's lieutenants would have the endurance to fend off despair and insanity for a time while the prospect of rescue might still ignite some hope?

She reflected on the thought of a strong-willed DuLoc for so long that it began to feel uncomfortably like a prayer to the Creator. But she did not stop meditating on it for fear that some darker and more disturbing thought might replace it.

The wait became interminable and the weak current of the maker's fire became increasingly obscene. All around her, dim worlds seemed to call out in mockery of the City and its comparative order. She thought of the Dragons that had decided to come out here to escape the increasingly predatory tendencies of the wizards. She began to doubt that they even lived any longer. Were she ever to be stuck out here and unable to return to the City, she thought that she would just ride the maker's fire out to the edge of existence and allow herself to be consumed by nothingness. Better that than a pitiful existence at the fringes of creation.

Just as she began to fear that the gentle voices of madness were beginning to speak to her, she sensed the presence of DuLoc.

She flew to the world where he was mired—a grotesquely faded world with ochre clouds. Descending into the air of the planet, she saw that the surface was composed of a series of undulating mountains that rose and fell thousands of feet in waves. Their surface morphed from a sandy, salt-like substance when they were in motion, to a more stable slate during the brief periods when they were static.

She descended to the place where DuLoc sat and hovered over it as it rose and fell. DuLoc's stare was vacant and he sat unmoving, except when he sank into the sand as it rose. In these moments he waded to keep himself near the surface so that he would not be trapped as it solidified. Then as the slate hardened around his hands and legs, he would break himself free. She saw that the palms of his hands were raw and bloodied, but his blond, curly locks were still vibrant, and his skin tone was tan. There was no food or water in sight, but he had survived without it.

It was a long time before he took notice of her, and she hesitated to disturb his stupor for fear of damaging his mind—even given the urgency of her return trip. When he finally spoke to her, his speech was halting. "Are you...real?"

"Yes, I'm real," she responded in his mind.

"Many delusions in this place... I figured I'd wait for a time to see if you were one of them. But you just flew there in front of me."

"I've brought you the means to return to the City," she said, showing him the Wand that she held.

He waited a long time before responding. "Why?"

"I desire a return to the Imperial ways."

"How long have I been here? Does the Imperator yet live?"

"A long time. And, no, he is gone. And after him, his Son has come and gone. And after his Son, many generations of descendents—each baser and meaner than the last."

"What a pity. I had wished to ask him why he betrayed me—even though I already know the answer. My crime was to believe everything that he taught me, and to question it when it became contradictory."

"Your destiny is now to return the City to the order of Imperial law—so that the City may prosper, and my kind may assume its natural place in that order."

"Have you faded so much that the diluted descendents of the Imperator can threaten you?"

She was angered by his remark, but suppressed it as she remembered the life and death struggle she was about to undertake.

"I have risked my life to give you this chance to return to the City. Remember me when you come back. Remember the justice of the laws of the Dead God—but also remember the fire of the Creator. You will need that fire to survive the long journey back."

She held the Wand in front of her and offered it to DuLoc. He took it and hefted it from hand to hand. He traced a pattern below him and soon he took flight with the Dragon.

"Can you bear me back?" he asked.

"I'm too weak. We'd never make it. You will have to make the trip alone."

"You are called Azeoloth, if I am not mistaken?"

"Yes. You remember."

"Farewell, Azeoloth. And thank you. You will be richly rewarded upon my return."

As she flew back into the void, she looked down and saw DuLoc adjusting his clothes as he hovered in the air. His tricorne hat had remained attached to him by virtue of its chin strap. As he donned it, she admired the strong glow of his eyes as she sped away. Soon all she could see was that glow, and then that, too ,was gone.

He was still strong. He would make it.

But her true test was just beginning. She flew far, far away from the lines of the maker's fire—farther than she had ever flown. She feared that she might be drawn away into the emptiness and become another lost soul in the field of twinkling stars that surrounded the lattice of worlds. But the opposing currents of the maker's fire were nearly imperceptible at this distance and would not hinder her flight for a time. She began to churn her wings.

Moments became hours and worlds whipped by around her. She still had strength, but she was already approaching the point where she would normally seek the shelter of a world, and a long rest and a feeding.

Doubt assailed her at every turn, but the memory of DuLoc and his glowing eyes sustained her. He would return and she would watch as Zaringer either knelt in submission to him or was slain. She dearly hoped it would be the latter.

As she continued to fly, a desperate pain filled her senses. She desired nothing more than to descend to a nearby world to rest, but she knew that her momentum was her only chance. She would never regain the strength to establish the speed the she had built up or the distance from the maker's fire.

Soon even thoughts of the return of DuLoc could not sustain her. Her mind became unmoored and soon she began to question the purpose of her suffering. She no longer cared about the City, about her mountains or her favorite mountain perch. In the end, reduced to her lowest denominator, her thoughts turned to the Griffin. Her friend—no, her sister.

As the worlds flew by, she realized that she was not a lord over them as she had thought—she was just an exponent of them, and still a part of them. She experienced an intense affection for everything that she beheld, even as her already unbearable pain intensified. Even the people of the City became dear to her in that moment—even the wizards. They were all flawed creations—fundamentally constrained, but not less dear for it. Constraint! It was the one thing she couldn't bear to think of, yet here she was, delirious with pain and embracing it. The wisdom of her sister, the Griffin, became apparent to her. Her own folly became equally clear.

If she could have wept then, she would have wept for the Creator and her part in his betrayal by the Dead God. But soon even despair was wiped away by the conflagration of suffering that had become her existence.

Soon she did little but float along lifelessly. She was too weak to even contemplate taking refuge on a world. She had made it to the inner worlds and was close to the City. She could see it. Soon she would reach the nearby worlds that the Griffin could reach—she could rest there and the Griffin could guide her back.

But she lacked even the strength to redirect her course. Had she not adjusted her course toward the City when it had first come into view, she doubted whether she would have ever been able to. Now she was at the mercy of her prior sense of direction—so near to death that she became a spectator of her fate rather than a participant.

She faded in and out of consciousness as she flew. The transition into the upper air of the City jolted her awake for a moment and she exerted a herculean effort to steer herself toward the mountains. Her next memory was a hard landing amidst rock, and then a welcoming blackness, not unlike the void she had just traversed.

A long time later she awoke. She was wedged at the bottom of a ravine. The surrounding peaks were low, and she judged that she had landed at the western outskirts of the mountains.

She had survived! A tremendous feeling of relief came over her. And she began to fantasize about the return of DuLoc and of hunting and soaring. She dimly remembered some unusual thoughts during the final moments of her approach toward the City. But they seemed distant and dream-like now.

But then she became aware of footsteps around her. She saw wizards and felt the sting of their spell net as it covered her. Zaringer stepped into her field of view.

"What have you been up to? You look worse for wear. No matter! We have decided that we need you back in the Wizard Tower. It seems that while your scales have certain beneficial properties—your flesh will have far more benefit to us. You've made this easy for us by exhausting yourself. Very kind of you. But I ask again—what have you been up to?"

She mustered what strength she could and fought angrily. But as the arcs of lightning subdued her, she recalled her thoughts from the final approach to the City more clearly, and was comforted by them. The final thing that she saw was a young wizard approaching her. Did tears fall from the young girl's eyes?

Chapter Eight

Renevos shook his head disapprovingly as he regarded the hostile faces of the Tanna Varrans that surrounded him. They rested in the portion of the hall where the wizards had been given shelter during the duel. Hemlock and the wizard named Otticus had just arrived with a gravely wounded Tored.

"What have you done? It looks like the entire town will soon be at our throats," said Renevos harshly.

"It's none of your concern. Just heal him," responded Hemlock.

"Fine, fine."

Hemlock watched as the old wizard began to inspect Tored's wounds. He seemed most concerned with the chest wound, which seemed to be causing Tored difficulty breathing.

Hemlock felt desperate and scared. I would have killed them all in that moment. What am I becoming? She suddenly wasn't sure whether she was more scared for Tored or for herself.

In contrast to Hemlock, the short wizard who had helped her above the arena bubbled with excitement as he related the details of the duel to his comrades.

"You should have seen him! He was magnificent! Umra Vyle fought bravely, but Tored outsmarted him. He threw an iron spike right through Vyle's open mouth!" exclaimed the young wizard too loudly.

"Otticus! Not now!" hissed Hemlock.

Turning back toward the throng of Tanna Varrans, she scanned their ranks for members of the Vyle clan. She recognized a few from the recent journey, and hoped Otticus' remarks wouldn't further inflame their fury.

She tried to remain patient for several minutes, but finally she gave in to curiosity. She returned her attention to Renevos and his work on Tored. She saw that he worked with slightly less urgency, and had already applied a bandage to the chest wound. Two other wizards flanked him and were passing their hands over Tored's body, applying healing spells.

"How is he?" she ventured.

"He is as strong as an ox. I doubt many would have survived that wound. But he did. He will be all right provided he is given time to rest," said Renevos, glancing pointedly at the angry faces around them.

Moments later, Hemlock noticed Acron Gallus entering the chamber and approaching her. She braced herself for another confrontation.

The new Steward of the Town proudly strode towards Hemlock and halted before her. His colorful robe set him apart from the more simple dress of the other warriors. His face wore a neutral expression, and Hemlock noted that he calmed several of the Tanna Varrans around them with a nod or a restraining hand on the shoulder.

"How fares Tored?" he asked after it became clear that Hemlock was not going to initiate conversation.

"He does relatively well. We have several skilled healers with us. We only require a few days to rest and then we will resume our mission."

"He has one night—and it will be a strain for me to get my people to support that. You have broken our law and your presence here is now an affront to us."

"I understand," replied Hemlock angrily, "but he needs more time than that!"

Acron Gallus looked reflective for a moment. "There are some things worse than death. Some indignities are simply too much to bear. If you are still here at dawn tomorrow, I doubt I'll be able to restrain the warriors. They are too proud. You will all be slain or we will die trying. Only the threat of casting you out into the spectral night restrains us now."

Hemlock looked back at Renevos for a reaction. He shook his head uncertainly. "It could kill him. But he will have a chance."

"That is more than he deserves," said Acron Gallus.

"Fine. We will leave the Town by dawn. But if he dies as a result, there still may be an issue between us."

"My conscience is clear and I am prepared to die. Can you say the same?"

His words stung Hemlock and she did not respond.

"One more thing. I will accompany you on your journey with a party of warriors. We will be present when you free our land from this place and return us home," said Acron Gallus.

"We can make it without you—but do what you want."

"Food and drink will be brought here. I shouldn't have to tell you that I would not leave this room for any reason tonight." With that final remark, Acron Gallus turned and departed. A number of the crowd that had gathered left with him, including the members of the Vyle clan. The tension in the air had been defused by several degrees, although it was still palpable.

Otticus approached Hemlock. She inspected his compact frame; it was rippling with muscle under his robes. His blond hair was short cropped like most of the First Circle and his eyes were ice blue. Hemlock imagined that a frame like Otticus' would be a likely result if Tored were somehow shrunken down by half.

"You need to contain your enthusiasm," she said.

"My apologies. But the duel really inspired me. I've never seen anything so glorious! We should create something like it for our First Circle."

"Yea, that's just what we need: all of you fighters killing yourselves. I don't see the glory in that. I think it was just sad."

"I suppose that every coin has two sides... But you'll never convince me it was anything other than glorious. And what of the feats of strength you did down there? How did you do that?"

A sharp voice rang out from their side: "Otticus!"

"Yes, sir?" replied Otticus under the glaring stare of Renevos, as the latter tended to Tored.

"Leave her alone and return to your men."

"Yes, at once," said Otticus, winking at Hemlock before he left.

I wonder how long he'll survive?

Hemlock laid down and played back the events of the duel in her head. She remembered the vision that she had had with the Black Dragon. I had a similar vision before I butchered the Badger Clan. What does it mean?

Then her mind focused on the vision of the Red-Robed man and the feeling of peace she had experienced under the influence of the witch's Kinslayer cloth. The two visions suddenly struck her as being polar opposites: peace and destruction, love and predatory violence.

Why do I feel like I am at war with myself? I tire of it all but I also yearn for the single-mindedness of battle. Another aspect of my struggle. She sighed, and decided the easiest course forward was to try to stop thinking. She still had a quest in front of her and it would be resuming in mere hours. It was the most reassuring thought she could muster.

In the pre-dawn, Hemlock awoke to Tored's coughing. She rolled over and saw him rising to his feet.

"Stop—they are bringing a litter for you," insisted Renevos.

"No need. I can walk. When do we leave?"

"Now," called a loud voice from across the chamber. Acron Gallus approached with a detachment of warriors. Hemlock did not recognize any of them from the prior leg of their journey.

"It is well," muttered Tored, looking unsteady on his feet.

Hemlock rose and went to his side to steady him. "You made it. It looked bad there for a while," she said.

"Yes. I am surprised to be alive. I'm not sure I should be. How did I leave the arena? My last memory is being impaled by Umra Vyle's spear."

"I...rescued you."

Tored took a few moments to digest her words. "Then we are outlaws," he said.

"Yes, it appears so."

"Then why do we yet live?"

Hemlock leaned close to his ear. "I threatened to kill the entire town. I think they believed me." She felt a bit of self-loathing at the pride she detected in her voice as she spoke.

Tored made to grasp her shoulders, winced in pain and lowered his arms. But he engaged her in a fierce stare. "One condition to our association is that you never threaten anyone like that again for my sake. Nobody will kill in my name again. You must treat my company as a temporary boon. If I meet my demise, then you must not stand in my way. I now journey to my death. It may be a long journey or it may be short. But it is my journey to make. Not yours. Do you understand?"

"No. I honestly don't. I will try to abide by your wishes, but if that includes standing by and watching you get killed, then I can't make any guarantees."

"Consider my words. We will speak again soon and then determine if we can continue together or not."

Hemlock felt like she had been slapped in the face as Tored turned his back on her and accepted help from the wizards.

Acron Gallus was urging them all to leave the chamber, so she was forced to swallow her anger and quickly gather her few belongings.

Many of the Tanna Varrans had gathered to watch them leave. No words were spoken. The stares were as cold as the crisp morning air.

As the first light of dawn broke over the plain, the new group assembled at the base of the Town. The composition of the wizards had not changed, but the Tanna Varrans were far different. Acron Gallus led a smaller group of twelve warriors.

"All have been selected for their even temperament," said the Steward.

"It is wise," replied Tored.

The Tanna Varrans once again outfitted the group with their wings, and they took to the air to cover the remaining distance to the accursed vale.

"It will be a two day journey by air," said Tored.

When they landed after the first day of flight, Hemlock could see the mountains in the distance, although most of their expanse was obscured by a thick fog. They later found the shelter of another Tanna Varran cave, and sat in a loose circle around the warmth of a flickering fire. The topic of conversation returned to the thick fog surrounding the mountains.

"It is too dense for flight. We will have to enter the vale on foot," explained Acron Gallus.

"Maybe the wizards could cast a spell to clear the fog?" replied Hemlock.

"It has been tried. The fog itself is magical and resists all attempts to dispel it."

"With respect—we have some powerful wizards with us."

"We have had great wizards in our time as well, and one is known to live at present. He has tested the fog and assured us that the magic cannot be broken. Your wizards are welcome to try their magic, but I advise that you save their strength."

Hemlock nodded, though she noticed a hint of defiance in the look Renevos shot her across the fire.

The night passed without incident, and they returned to the peace of flight through the morning air. As the mountains approached, Hemlock was stuck by their mysterious appearance. She had a feeling of foreboding and there was a strange sensation coming from her magic attunement. Finally she put her finger on it: she could sense the presence of a Wand of the Imperator. She remembered the same feeling as she flew toward the ruin in the desert on the back of the Griffin.

When they landed in the early evening, they camped on the surface in the shadow of the nearby peaks.

"The yearning spirits do not haunt this mountain," explained Tored. "It has been so for as long as anyone can remember. But people feared the area because of the witches. They were seen here regularly. Though the witches are gone now, we must still be vigilant."

"That seems odd. Why would the witches have been here if there are no spirits to feed on? It's strange," said Hemlock.

Tored nodded but did not reply.

"Tored, it's here," she said.

"What?"

"The Wand. I can feel its presence."

"That is good. Our journey was not in vain."

"Yes. And I've been thinking about what you said about your part in the journey."

"And?"

"I think I understand it, but I don't like it. I am your friend. It's natural for me to want to help you."

"I don't mind your help, but if it is my time to die, then you must accept it. For both of our sakes. If you had murdered all of those people to save me, then you would have condemned me to death just as surely as leaving me in that arena. I could never live with all of those deaths on my conscience. And one day soon, you might discover similar feelings."

Hemlock considered discussing her recent vision of the Black Dragon with him. But something held her back.

They camped for the evening, and Tored volunteered to take watch. He was clearly restored to health, and though he still wore the bandage over his chest, Hemlock felt sure that he did it only to avoid the reproach of Renevos.

Hemlock was restless that evening. The air had developed an acrid odor that she found puzzling—it roused her just as she was finally nearing the boundary between wakefulness and sleep.

Next she saw a slight glow through her closed eyelids. She exhaled forcefully and opened her eyes.

There was a dim light near a copse of trees that was a hundred yards off from the campsite. She knew that Tored was posted there on watch. She quickly rose, grabbed her sabres, and jogged off toward him. As she ran, she could see that the light was clearly growing in intensity. She couldn't see where Tored was, so she dove into cover once she had passed beyond the outlying trees.

The light had a bluish hue; and as Hemlock found its source, she was startled to see that it emanated from a figure that was approaching from the far edge of the treeline. Her blood cooled as she noticed that the outline of the figure—though hazy—showed that it was wearing a familiar tricorne hat.

It approached the treeline and passed directly through a tree. Both the blue figure and the tree were unperturbed.

"You have nothing to fear from me," said the figure in a distorted voice. It reminded her of the voice Falignus had used prior to their battle with his corrupted father, Zaringer.

Hemlock held still, but saw that the figure was moving un-erringly toward her, and continuing to pass through any intervening obstacle.

"Let us parley. I mean you no harm," it said.

Hemlock stepped out from behind a tree. "Fine. What do you want of me?"

"Ah, there you are. Greetings, mademoiselle," said the figure—now some twenty paces off—as it bowed quickly and formally.

Hemlock nodded her head in response.

"It is prudent that you are wary," said the figure, as Hemlock noticed his features again. Though he was merely an apparation, he had solidified enough for Hemlock to note his outcurving chin, generous lips and lush locks of curly blond hair. He appeared to be middle-aged, but well-preserved. An air of discipline hung about him. But his eyes were his most distinctive feature. Hemlock remembered those eyes from her encounter with him in the other plane. They burned like the flame of an oil lantern. Hemlock thought they made him look monstrous—like an evil spirit masquerading as a man.

"I am Sub-Imperator DuLoc. I gather that since so much time has passed in the City since I was here, you probably have heard many wild tales about me. Unfortunately, I fell afoul of the Imperator and his lies—and I was banished."

"I've never heard of you," Hemlock said.

Duloc stammered. "Well...that is...interesting. Exactly who rules over the City now?"

"The Wizards and the Senate."

"And where do you fit in into that picture?"

"I have ruled over both for a while—but that's coming to an end."

"Is that so? Interesting. What remains of the Imperial consulate then? And why have the laws faded? I can barely perceive them from here."

"And where are you, exactly?"

"I am close. I am returning to the City to pursue my interests. Interests that are long overdue, hmmmm?"

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"I'm trying to pave the way for a peaceful return. When I return, I plan to re-make the City as the Imperator designed it before his vanity overshadowed his reason: a place governed by the rule of law. Incorruptible law!"

"The Senate makes the laws now. I think your job is already taken, DuLoc."

DuLoc smiled coldly. "And what is your name, young lady, if I may ask?"

"Hemlock. And I'm old enough to have ruled the City, so I'd appreciate you not calling me young lady."

"Fair enough. It shall be Hemlock, then. So, do you think that the Senate will oppose me when I return?"

"Uh, yes. Were you expecting them to just leave their positions?"

"They could retain their roles in the legislative body—provided they swore allegiance to me as their Emperor first."

"Emperor? Absolute power?"

"Yes—at least for a time. I must wield absolute power to restore and adjust the framework of the laws to function as they need to. It should only take a few years to complete the project."

"You sound no different than the power-hungry wizards that I recently deposed. There will be no absolute power. We believe in laws—but laws must be agreed upon by the people."

DuLoc reached into his waistcoat and Hemlock heard a rustle nearby. Looking toward its source, she saw Tored creeping toward the shimmering image of DuLoc, with his spear at the ready. Hemlock made a quick hand gesture, causing Tored to stop. Once he did so, she returned her attention to DuLoc, and noted that he held a ghostly Wand of the Imperator before him.

"You see this? I detected some familiarity with it on your part when you were joined with the one I had to dispatch outside of the sorceress' tower."

"I'm familiar with it. And speaking of that encounter, do you care to explain why you slaughtered those innocents?"

"That was an unfortunate turn of events. I needed the power held at the magical nexus point that was located in that tower. In order to get to it, I had to remove the sorceress. She was a wily one and withstood my initial attacks. I was forced to kill some villagers in order to strengthen my magic. The villagers didn't appreciate my motives, so I was forced to deal with them and their magical dance. I am not a violent man by nature. Please understand that."

"But you didn't hesitate when the time came, did you?"

"No, I did not. I do not hesitate when duty dictates an action."

"So what will you do once you come back if the Senate and the Wizards will not follow you?"

"That would be a sad turn. There would be a battle, no doubt, with the outcome pre-determined in my favor. It would be short but bloody. I'd like to avoid it, hmmmm?"

"And what if I stand with them against you?"

"You are bold, aren't you? Well, young lady—and this time I use that term on purpose since I can tell by your temperament that you are just that—were you to stand against me, you would likely join the ranks of the fallen. Though they lay dormant, the old powers of the City are not dead. I shall revive them. And once I do, your power will pale beside mine. The sooner you and the entire City realize that—the better.

"I can see that a great deal of time has passed since I've been gone—and many things have apparently changed. You must understand that I stood at the shoulder of the Imperator himself—he who slew the Creator and tamed his realm of chaos. You are flush with your own successes, but the truth is you've not faced anyone of significant power. The City has endured a dark age. You may be its queen for now, but I shall restore the light of law—and you and anyone else who oppose that light shall be burned in the face of its power."

"You make a lot of threats. If you are so powerful, then why aren't you already back in the City? Why are you here trying to scare me with these tales of old times and laws that no longer exist? I've destroyed two of those Wands already, and I'll soon destroy another here in this land. You go ahead and return and I'll meet you at the point of a sword."

Duloc laughed cruelly. "So you seek the nearby Wand? I detected its power and investigated it. You will find that Wand guarded by a Demon of the old world. She is weakened, but you will taste true power if you are foolish enough to confront her. If you survive this encounter, then you may find yourself more amenable to my attempts at diplomacy. I shall appear to you again before my arrival. Do not waste that opportunity."

Hemlock did not reply. DuLoc disappeared with a small crackle of magical energy. The acrid smell lingered for a while longer, but then was carried away by the evening's light breeze.

Tored approached. "This could be a dangerous new enemy."

"Aren't you glad that you decided to travel with me?"

"I judge that it is well that I did. You will no doubt need me."

"Exactly. I need you alive. Not walking around talking about seeking out your death."

"Some things are beyond my control. But I will help you where I am able. I will return to my watch now."

"It's close to morning. I might as well join you," said Hemlock, fanning out to the other side of the tree line. She knew that Tored didn't want further conversation now, and she was fine with that. She hoped that he understood how much she needed him. She didn't like it one bit, but she had enough self-awareness to admit that it was true.

And soon I will face demons and demi-gods. Yes, I will need his help more than ever. And his friendship.

At the first hint of dawn, Hemlock was surprised to see Renevos up and walking toward the trees. She emerged from hiding and motioned to him. The taciturn old wizard made toward her position. Tored also approached.

"Renevos, you arrive late for the watch, if that is your intent," said Hemlock.

Renevos dismissed her attempt at humor and bade her and Tored to sit.

The wizard seemed subdued, and Hemlock humored him and sat on the soft turf. Tored followed her lead.

"I'm an old man, and I spent much of my life trying to escape the notice of those in power—notably the tyrant, Zaringer, and his son, Falignus. The last time I saw a spectral projection was when Zaringer appeared to the wizard council. I don't care to see the City in the hands of another despot," said Renevos.

"OK...please make your meaning clear," said Hemlock.

"I often think of the future of the City, and I worry. Your leadership is certainly more transparent than the Seventh Circle's ever was, but you seem equally prone to enforcing your whims upon us. Yet I do think some of the changes you have made to the wizard guild are for the best."

Hemlock cocked her head to the side and exhaled theatrically.

"Fine, I will come to the point," continued Renevos. "Last night I had trouble sleeping. I stirred and noticed a strange light coming from the trees. I rose and crept toward it until I saw a ghostly figure—and I heard you in conversation with it. I saw the item that it bore—the same as that which we now seek to recover and destroy. When I could tell that the parley had concluded, I returned to a false slumber and it seemed that I was undetected. All night I have pondered the import of what I saw. I have read enough of history to have some idea about who it was that appeared to you. And I could tell from what I heard that a great new conflict is gathering like a storm cloud."

"Go on," said Hemlock.

"I thought to myself—what is my place in this conflict? Will I again seek the shelter of anonymity, or will I rise and attempt to play a more active part? I have chosen the latter path. I now seek to discuss with you the terms of my loyalty in the coming battle."

"Terms? Are you threatening to abandon me? To abandon our mission?"

"What would the other travelling wizards do were I to counsel them that an ancient lieutenant of the great Imperator himself apparently still lives, and is returning to the City seeking to rule over it? Were I to add that he seems to wield the very power that you seek to destroy, what conclusion do you think they would draw concerning their participation in this mission? Would they cast their lot with you in your conflict with a veritable God of the ancient world? Or would they yearn to return to the City and let events take further shape before deciding how they would react?"

"Your point is made. But the strength of your hand was surprise, don't you think?"

"True enough. I am no master of guile like some. But I will offer my terms nonetheless, because I am so confident of their agreeability that I fear no reprisal from you. First, I would like information. I may never be your friend like Tored here, but you must agree to keep me informed of news in a timely fashion. Second, I would like station in the guild that befits my skill and expertise. I have affected a certain bookishness up to now that I have used to avoid positions of stature. But now I wish to be recognized and empowered to play out my role at the end of my life. Third, I wish to be well-funded in my research, and given priority where reasonable over lesser projects. Fourth, I want to be given access to all materials recovered from the Seventh Circle."

"I can discuss this with Gwineval when we get back. In the meantime, you must tell me what you know about this DuLoc."

"No—no discussions with Gwineval. This agreement is between you and me. You must agree now—or disagree."

Hemlock looked at Tored, and found him nodding cautiously in the face of the ambition of the elderly wizard.

"Better an unexpected ally than a new enemy," he said softly.

Gwineval will be furious with me for this. But Renevos knows something about DuLoc. I have to know what he knows. And he could be a valuable ally.

"Fine, I agree. Now tell me what you know of DuLoc."

Hemlock detected no reaction other than a twinkle in Renevos' eye that she hadn't noticed before. "I once perused an ancient tome that described something about the history of Sub-Imperator DuLoc, and of the Imperator himself. The tale said that DuLoc challenged the supremacy of the Imperator and was banished to the edges of reality, never to return. I know something of the planes that surround our City. The worlds closest to us are the most like ours. We trade with these bordering realms, but since time passes more slowly there, our merchants must conduct their business in less than an hour, and return across the veil before the City passes away.

What is known to few save myself is that there are worlds further out from these bordering worlds, and another ring of worlds beyond that one, and so on, and so on. Each successive ring is more primal. And time, in terms of the City, passes more and more slowly the farther out one travels. I suspect that this DuLoc was banished to the outermost realms and has only experienced the passage of a few months since he perceived his banishment; yet in our City, centuries and maybe even millenia have passed."

"So this Imperator killed the Creator, who some refer to as the Red-Robed Man?" asked Hemlock, thinking back fondly to her vision of that red robe.

"This tome said so, yes."

"And Julius, founder of the Wizard Guild, was the son of the Imperator?"

"I'm impressed. I can count the people in the City who know that on one hand. Julius was the son of the Imperator, but not of a like mind. Yet it seems that he gave in to the temptation of the old Imperial magic like so many after him did. His legacy is the path that ruined Zaringer and Falignus, and generations of wizards before them."

Hemlock thought of Merit and the diary that he held. She hoped when she returned to the City he would be able to tell her even more than Renevos.

"DuLoc spoke of a Demon that guards the Wand that we seek. Do you know anything about this Demon?"

"No, I do not. Did he say anything else about it?"

"I think he said that it was ancient, like he was. He said that I would have trouble defeating it, and would realize that I am no match for the ancient power that he wields."

Renevos placed his hand on his chin and gazed upwards. Minutes passed in silence until the old wizard grunted. "One of the curses of old age is poor memory. I remember reading something about Julius and a demon that was plaguing the City in his time—but I cannot recall the tale now."

Hemlock was about to entreat the wizard to think harder when Tored interjected. "It is well, Renevos. Think on the matter. Enough has been said for now. We will consider your words and your counsel."

Hemlock clenched her hands into fists and nodded in agreement.

Tored is right. But the old wizard must remember before it is too late!

Renevos rose, and turned to rejoin the wizards.

As he walked off, Hemlock called out a sudden question. "Are you joining me because you think I'll win?"

Renevos did not respond and continued to walk away. Hemlock hoped that his hearing had failed him.

As dawn broke, the camp quickly prepared to enter the mountains. Hemlock detected a tension in the air and traced it to the Tanna Varrans.

"Do they fear the curse?" she whispered to Tored.

"Probably. But they will do their duty," he replied.

There was a clear path leading up into the gap between the two nearest mountains, though none of the Tanna Varrans could explain why it existed. Seeing no alternative, they decided to take it. It was a wide path, punctuated with clearings where small pools bubbled above unseen springs. There was little in the way of trees or plants, but one dead tree caught Hemlock's eye.

She passed beside the trunk as it stood near the path like a wooden sentinel. Its life had ended long ago, but its body still supported a green array of leafy supplicants. She imagined that one day it might fall over, but she mused that even rotted roots could sometimes run deep and stubbornly endure. This thought disturbed her.

The path wound around the base of the southern peak and climbed steadily.

Chapter Nine

As they continued to climb, a gentle mist settled over the path. They could still see some distance around them, but details faded to varying shades of white at approximately a hundred feet away.

The air soon took on a putrid smell, and the earth underfoot became softer and took on a fibrous consistency. As they proceeded, even the rocky walls, which rose astride of the pass through which they climbed, were obscured by this strange fibrous covering. After a few more minutes, they had to walk around large accumulations of the material, which obstructed the path. And the walls above them now showed great heaps of the brown substance clumped in unstable positions, overhanging the path with their considerable bulk.

Many concerned glances were exchanged amongst the group, but there was nothing to do but go on.

Then there was a low rumble from behind them. Looking back, they saw through the mist that several of the overhanging heaps had fallen onto the path, effectively blocking it. The mist had become heavier—especially in the air above them, where there was almost no visibility.

"It will take us many hours to clear that," commented Tored darkly.

"We'll worry about it when we come back," said Hemlock.

They continued forward cautiously until they turned a corner in the winding path and beheld a large clearing several hundred yards in length. The fibrous material dominated the small canyon, completely covering its floor and walls. Only near the far exit did the material seem slightly less prevalent.

The source of the brown material became evident as those rounding the corner beheld a huge creature resting in the middle of the canyon. It occupied at least thirty yards of its width and nearly half of its length.

The creature had a massive, corpulent body. Its bottom half was covered in the brown, fibrous material, while its upper half was composed of huge rolls of fat surrounding an animalistic face with wide-set, closed eyes and a comparatively small, tusked mouth upturned toward the heavens. A steady stream of wisp-like spirits were being drawn from the mist down into that greedy maw. On the lower end of its bulk, closer to the group, a nearly continuous stream of fibrous excrement spewed from a foul orifice.

"The Demon?" asked Hemlock as her eyes met Tored's.

"Though the stench would suggest it, I think not," he replied.

"Perhaps it is too large to move. Maybe we can avoid it?"

"Perhaps. We can try. I see no alternative!"

"OK, let's move. Otticus, watch Renevos!"

The group moved forward into the canyon cautiously. The material underfoot became increasingly soft, which slowed their progress, and threatened to nauseate some of the warriors.

When they were fifty yards from the creature, its eyes bolted open. It tried to adjust its position with great flippers that seemed too frail for its massive bulk and struggled to move it, sending ripples through the rolls of fat. Streaming pools of waste were also set into motion by the creature's struggles.

As the group waited, the creature rolled itself onto its stomach, bringing it within twenty yards of the group.

"Run!" cried Tored.

Hemlock kept her eyes on the beast as she ran. She was able to move more quickly than the others and had little difficulty with her balance in the deep muck.

She watched in amazement as spiked spines rose from the creature's back.

A sudden thud in front of her diverted her attention. The thing had swung out a sickeningly elongated tail in an attempt to block their passage. It landed hard, showering the group in waste. The tail nearly extended to the near wall of the canyon.

"Go around it!" cried Hemlock, noting with dismay that Renevos had fallen to the ground. But Otticus was soon there to lift him, and the two continued their flight unhindered.

Hemlock turned back to check on the disposition of the beast. The barbs rising from the creature's back were now sickeningly elongated. She swore that some of them seemed to be quivering.

Suddenly two of them burst into the air in quick succession. As Hemlock cried out a warning, four more of them launched into the air, followed quickly by the remainder. Hemlock tried to follow their progress, but the obscuring mist made it impossible.

"Attack from the air!" she cried.

The group was just rounding the extended tail when Hemlock saw the barbs emerge from the mist above them. The huge projectiles rained down on the group and a dark haired wizard and a young Tanna Varran were impaled as they struck the mucky ground.

It was apparent that nothing could be done for the two slain members, so they were left behind as the group continued to run.

Renevos halted his wizards and the three that had helped heal Tored began casting a spell. Lightning burst from their fingertips and scorched the fleshy beast. It began to quiver and roll, and they were unable to focus their fire on a particular point.

Hemlock paused to cover the wizards, but as she did so, she noted that most of the barbs were missing.

She turned to fully survey the scene where the barbs had landed. She noticed the final barb as it bent and then extricated its sharp head from the muck with stubby limbs, and finally dove into the muck with small legs.

Those things are alive!

The wizards, who had concluded that their lightning attack had been ineffectual, resumed their flight.

The group was making slow progress toward the exit from the canyon, but Hemlock could see that some of the barbs were climbing back into position on the spine of the creature with an astonishing speed.

They will strike again! And the mist conceals their approach.

"Stop!" she cried with a sudden inspiration. "Those barbs will soon launch again, and they will cut more of us down unless we stop them. Watch for their approach in the mist. When they land, attack them. They have small arms and legs. Perhaps they can be slain!"

Tored and Acron Gallus both cried out their approval.

Just then, the barbs quivered and launched into the air again.

"Watch Renevos!" Hemlock screamed, her eyes locked on the mists above.

Her heart pounded out the moments as they waited for the barbs to land. Hemlock saw a blur of black above her and tumbled to her side. She had plenty of time to avoid the attack, but she feared that Renevos lacked the speed to react in time. And she realized that his knowledge of teleportation was the key to the mission.

The weakest among us is the most important.

The barb landed beside her with a screech. She was close enough to smell the creature and see small, aberrant limbs extend from its black body as its lidless eyes stared.

She stabbed at the soft flesh under the armored carapace of the monster's torso, but the creature swiveled to deflect her attack with its hide. She drew her other sabre and began to strike toward the pale mottled skin again and again, but the creature defended with a surprising deftness of movement.

Defying her attempts to skewer it, the monster finally toppled itself back into the disgusting muck at Hemlock's feet and began to squirm away. As it did so, its leering stare seemed to mock Hemlock's efforts.

With a final leap, Hemlock thrust her sabre into an inky, dark eyeball. The creature squealed in agony, and a dark fluid jetted from the wound. The small limbs went limp.

A piercing cry arose from the tusked mouth on the huge body of the distant beast, as if in response to the death of the barb.

"Kill these barbed things—aim for the eyes as they swim away!" Hemlock shouted.

Hemlock rushed to dispatch additional barbs as they frantically tried to swim back through the muck. Several cries from the distant hulk followed as more barb monsters met their demise at the hands of the group. It proved to be relatively easy to stab the creature's eyes when they settled into the mud to swim away, so with the support of the rest of the group, not a single barb managed to escape.

The great creature began to tremble, and then it shuddered violently. Its agony shook the entire mountain, and Hemlock feared that boulders might fall from the heights. But the agony of the beast was short-lived. Soon it lay still, its eyes frozen and vacant.

"Wait, it could be a trick," cautioned Acron Gallus.

After a few minutes had passed, and the group had verified that they had suffered no additional casualties beyond the first two, a group of Tanna Varrans and wizards approached the great monster.

Hemlock and Tored joined the group as Otticus boldly stepped forward and slashed at one of the beast's flippers with his sword, opening a great wound.

There was no reaction.

"It must be dead," said Hemlock.

But then Otticus spoke. "Quiet for a moment!"

He approached the filth covered belly of the beast and placed his ear against it.

"I hear a heartbeat," he said.

"Truly?" asked Hemlock.

She hacked at the flipper that Otticus had damaged, and slashed it until it fell with a sickening thud onto the floor of the canyon.

The beast did not stir.

"What do we do?" asked Acron Gallus.

"We can't let this thing live," said Hemlock.

"I agree," said Tored.

"Well, how do we kill it?" asked Otticus.

"We must carve through the filth and flesh to stop the heart," said Tored.

"I'll do it!" said Otticus.

"Wait, Otticus," said Hemlock.

"Renevos, can your wizards focus your magic and burn a hole in this thing?" she asked.

"Our lightning might have the desired effect now that it lies still," replied Renevos.

With the group standing back at a good distance, the three wizards again focused their magic and showered the beast with lightning bolts that leapt from their fingers. A repellant stench of seared flesh filled the canyon as the wizards halted to survey the result of their gruesome work.

A twenty foot opening in the side of the beast demonstrated their success, but the heart still beat deep within the creature.

"Well, we don't have all day," commented Renevos.

He extended his arms violently and a bolt of lightning cracked from his palms toward the hole in the side of the monster. As a veritable thunderclap echoed through the canyon and beyond, Hemlock watched the searing bolt tear clean through the monster and impact the rock wall on the far side, burning away the filthy residue to char the clean rock beneath.

"Well done, old man," said Hemlock.

"That got it!" cried Otticus, after climbing partially into the smoking wound to confirm the kill.

"Surely the world will be a better place for want of that monster," said Acron Gallus.

"And a cleaner place," quipped Hemlock.

The elder did not seem amused, although Otticus laughed heartily until Renevos demanded he stop. "Silence! There are dead to be buried!"

Hemlock was about to ask Renevos about his unexpected display of wizardly talent when she noticed that he was sweating profusely and trembling.

"I've never used that much power before," he said with a note of regret in his voice. Otticus supported the older, taller wizard with his shoulder, helping him to walk.

"You carry the stench of the beast!" complained Renevos, but he did not recoil from the aid of the younger wizard.

The group gathered themselves and the bodies of the two fallen members and exited the canyon. They located a nearby clearing that had a few plants and a relative abundance of top soil. They dug as far as they could, interred the bodies, and covered them with earth. They topped the graves with a set of the small rocks that littered the area.

After a brief ceremony, they continued to climb along the path.

"That was too easy to be the Demon that DuLoc spoke of," ventured Hemlock after enough time had passed that the funeral ceremony did not seem uncomfortably recent.

"Yes, it did. That was a curious creature. I sensed witch magic imbuing it," Tored said.

"Me too. Could there be more witches here?"

"I fear that very thing. Our party is small for such a campaign, if there is another coven here."

"We can handle it. I've killed two already."

"Yes, you have. I shall have to think of some title for you that honors that accomplishment."

Hemlock turned to confirm the sarcasm she thought she had heard in his voice.

"It seems that the battle has lifted your spirits."

"I can't deny that. Whether that is a vice or a virtue, I can't say."

They continued to climb until the mist became so thick that they feared a loss of footing would propel them to a long and fatal fall. Their only encouragement was the unmistakable perception that the ascent was slowing.

Soon the path had clearly leveled off, and then it rapidly began to descend. The group's spirits began to rise as the mists began to thin.

As they rounded a corner after a difficult part of the path, each of them stopped to take in the newly revealed view.

The vale they saw below them was like an expression of some raw, divine passion: primal in its execution and ethereal in its result. None that laid eyes upon it were unmoved. Some were brought to tears. It affected them all differently, but fundamentally, with a force comparable to the infinitely life affirming power of the milk suckled from a mother's bosom.

There were high cliffs from which descended a multitude of playful cyan waterfalls. These graceful arcs of water fell into serene pools, which themselves culminated in smaller falls that fed still lower pools. The water descended in this fashion, layer upon layer, down to a central lake, which was ringed in reddish sand that quickly gave way to a border of lush green foliage. The sky, now visible over the vale, was a perfect blue, accented artfully with heavenly white brush strokes of cotton.

Small, naked figures relaxed in the many pools, their voices and laughter carrying on a sweet and pleasant breeze. Large, delicate sailboats glided with the wind in many places across the lake, their gaily colored pennants flapping joyously.

Hemlock thought that the newly audible sounds of the place could not have been more elegant if the greatest band in the City had been playing their finest minuet: the water burbled triumphantly, the birds and insects made a frolicking melody, and many of the people themselves sang together in a tune that seemed interwoven with the laughter and other sounds of the place.

None of the explorers was able to speak a word for several minutes.

"This is the accursed vale?" Hemlock finally managed.

"It would appear to be so," replied Tored.

Hemlock felt reassured by his matter of fact tone. It was like a lifeline back to her normal reality, when all of her senses were suggesting some alternate reality lay before her. The fact that the vale seemed incredibly pleasant did not make it seem any less alien.

"Let's go explore it!" cried Otticus.

"Wait," cautioned Renevos in a voice that did not sound completely convincing.

"Let's proceed, but remember that there is rumor of a curse here. Could a deception be more artfully prepared than what we see before us? Be cautious!" said Tored.

His words seemed to sober the group somewhat, but spirits were high as they descended at what Hemlock thought was a reckless speed.

As the perfection of their destination came increasingly into focus, Hemlock became more aware that the group was still covered in the filth of their recent battle.

When they entered a clearing with a hot spring, Hemlock urged a delay so they might quickly bathe. Even Tored considered this a good idea, once he had carefully surveyed the pool and detected nothing unusual.

Once they emerged clean, they continued their descent. It was clear they had been spotted, because many of the revelers below were gathering at the foot of the path, and all of the boats had docked.

A final, small peak blocked the group's view of the vale as they neared the bottom of the path. When they finally rounded it, the full splendor of the people waiting for them was revealed.

Hemlock's eye was first drawn to a woman of stunning beauty that stood before those assembled to meet the group. She met Hemlock's gaze, and smiled at her. Her smile was like a melodious chord struck on a harp. And the woman's golden hair, woven crown of flowers, shimmering, sheer gown of light, and scepter of woven roses were wonders that her senses could not fully register. The only beauty she could compare this to was the hideous, cold beauty of the first witch she had slain. But this woman was free of any hint of taint or decay. Rather, she emanated a sublime purity.

Hemlock wasn't sure how long she stood and stared at the woman before she gradually became aware of the man standing beside and slightly behind her. He was taller than the woman, and darker. His face was thin and long, and artfully arrayed. His curly hair was wet, and his eyes locked with Hemlock's. He looked at her with a gaze that suggested an invitation to pleasure without breeching good taste or decorum. His body was toned and muscular. But this was an unremarkable trait amongst those that greeted them, for they all shared it. The man's only attempt at modesty took the form of a small bouquet of angular red and orange flowers that he held in a careless attempt at concealment.

"Welcome to our Vale. I am Cassandra, Queen of the Ishawn. I greet you with pleasure," said the woman, after what Hemlock feared had been minutes of awkward silence. But then she suddenly considered that a silly thought, and didn't concern herself with it.

Nothing is awkward in this place.

"Hi. My name is Hemlock. We are here from the City."

"Welcome, Hemlock," said Cassandra, and a chorus of relaxed welcomes reverberated from the revelers.

"Thank you."

Cassandra pointed toward the sky. "Look, the mists are receding. What a wonderful boon—to see the sky again is so precious."

Hemlock looked up and then behind her. The mists were clearing over the mountain pass.

"It must have been that creature that we killed," she said.

"We wondered how you passed the Groolnak. It has kept us trapped here for centuries. And few have managed to enter in that time. We heard a great thunder-clap, and wondered at its source. Then we saw you descending into the Vale as the mists receded. I hoped for a miracle such as this, but I can scarcely believe it's true!"

"Why did the Groolnak imprison you here? It wasn't that hard to kill. "

"The Groolnak was designed to be an impossible foe for us, for we are not warriors. Our only weapon, if you can call it that, is to fulfill sensual appetites and dispel aggression. But the Groolnak, as you saw, was a creature with insatiable appetites and boundless malice. It was created by our Bachawn sisters to imprison us here."

Hemlock heard Acron Gallus stammering behind her. As she turned, he found his tongue.

"Witch... She is a witch. She is a witch!" he said with increasing passion.

The Tanna Varrans brandished their spears as if waking from a dream. Even Tored appeared to be on the edge of violence.

Screams of fear broke out from the Revelers and many of them burst into tears.

"Wait!" cried Hemlock as she positioned herself between Cassandra and the Tanna Varrans. She saw that Tored had composed himself, but Acron Gallus and the rest of the Tanna Varrans were still impassioned.

Otticus rallied the First Circle wizards around Hemlock and they helped her to restrain the Tanna Varrans.

"Beware her tricks! She may be different than her sisters, but she's just as deadly! Don't underestimate her!" screamed Arcon Gallus.

With a lightning stroke of her sabre, Hemlock sliced the tip off of the spear that Acron Gallus brandished. Getting the attention of the Tanna Varrans, she called out in a loud voice: "Lower your weapons! Look at these people. They aren't warriors. We will be wary of them, but we will also hear them out."

"You're a fool!" said Acron Gallus, throwing the remnant of his spear down in disgust.

Hemlock ignored him and turned back to Cassandra, who, along with the striking man at her side, was consoling the crying revelers around them.

"Please, my people are more sensitive than most," Cassandra pleaded.

"I'm sorry," said Hemlock, "but the Tanna Varrans have suffered greatly at the hands of the witches. Is it true that you are also witches?"

"We call our race the Witchawn. But we are different than our sisters. Where they sustained themselves by causing suffering, we are interested only in peace. Amongst our people, they are known as the Bachawn. We are known as the Ishawn. We are related, but very different."

Cassandra looked at Acron Gallus. "There is no need for enmity between us."

"There will always be enmity between us, witch!" spat Acron Gallus.

"Faruk, take the people back to the Lake and wait for me there," Cassandra said to the man at her side.

He nodded to her and then to Hemlock, turned, and attended to the revelers.

"Leave this place, then, and let us alone. We have no wish to quarrel with you," Cassandra said to Acron Gallus.

"We will suffer no witch to live within our lands any longer! You will die as the rest have. Why, this girl that you are so happy to parley with, has slain two of your kind with her own hands! What say you about that?" Acron Gallus cried.

Cassandra looked at Hemlock. "Is this true?"

"Yes. These Bachawn, as you call them, were evil to the core. They were trying to kill the Tanna Varrans. And one tried to kill me."

Cassandra looked down in contemplation. "I see. Do any of them yet live?"

"Not that we're aware of."

A tear rolled down Cassandra's cheek. Hemlock thought that it looked like a shimmering ice crystal as it slid along the gentle, flawless curve of flesh.

"I know what they were, but they were still my sisters and brother. Now Faruk is all I have left," said Cassandra.

"What are these others? Are they not of your kind?"

"No. They are short lived people, as you are."

As Hemlock stared at Cassandra, she slowly noticed a potent tapestry of magical threads that seemed woven into the entire Vale. She could sense its power, and had the sudden realization that this power was drawn from the Wand of the Imperator that she sought.

"Cassandra, we have come here for a reason."

"Oh?"

"Yes, our intent is to release this land from the City."

"I have heard rumor of this great City. Is it a beautiful place?"

"Yes. And no. It's not perfect like this place. But there is beauty there as well as ugliness."

"I see. So we will return to the old lands?"

"Not if I can help it!" cried Acron Gallus.

"Please!" shouted Hemlock over her shoulder.

Hemlock looked back at Cassandra. "There is a magical artifact here that we also need to remove. Doing so will return this region to your old lands."

"That is well, assuming we can come to an accord with these Tanna Varrans," said Cassandra.

"I'll work on that," said Hemlock as she heard Acron Gallus spit contemptuously behind her, "but there is another thing you need to consider. I can sense the nature of this place. There is great magic here. It's beautifully crafted. But I see that this power is being drawn from the magical artifact that we seek. What will happen to this place when we remove this item?"

Cassandra tilted her head and reached down to caress a wildflower that bloomed near her foot. "It will fade away," she said softly. But then she stood tall, and her bearing was proud. "Still, we will remake it as we can. It will not be as perfectly beautiful as it is now. But it will still be a place of beauty and peace."

"I'm sorry that it has to be this way, but I seek a magical Wand. Do you know where it is located? I sense that it is beneath this Vale," said Hemlock.

"Yes, I imagine that it must have been placed in the caves under this place by those wizards that came to our Vale so many years ago. My sisters fought them at first, but then they lured us here and trapped us with the Groolnak. I think they suspected us of being in league with the wizards. We were not hostile to them, but that is as far as it went. But my sisters were always suspicious of me."

"Where are these caves?"

Cassandra pointed across the lake. "The entrance is there, beyond the lake, in the rocky area below the large, reddish pool."

"I've heard that a Demon guards the Wand?"

"There is a spirit down there. She's been there since the wizards left. She suffers greatly, and has always refused our company. Her suffering enrages her, I think. But I don't think she's a demon. I would call her a tormented spirit of the old world. She doesn't bother us, but she forbids us entry into the caves. If you enter, you may run afoul of her."

"Do you know anything more about this spirit?"

"I have only spoken with her twice at a distance, when she approached the surface. I know that she favors the shelter of the caves, but I know little more."

"All right. Well, given the situation, I think it's best if our group makes camp in a clearing in the pass. I will discuss matters with the Tanna Varrans, and we will meet with you in the morning to discuss our plans."

"Thank you, Hemlock. It seems that the miracle I hoped for is laced with tragedy as well. But I can tell that you are fair-minded. I will wait for you to return come the dawn."

Hemlock and the wizards coaxed the Tanna Varrans back up the path without any violent outbursts. When they reached a clearing suitable to camp in, an uncomfortable dialog began.

"We must creep down into that Vale tonight and slay every soul that rests there," argued Acron Gallus.

"To what end? When I defeated the witch that attacked me in the caves last week, it spoke of my part in the vengeful murder of their kind. I dismissed his words at the time, but hearing this conversation makes me reconsider what he said. Is that what your war has become? You'd slay these people simply because they are related to the witches that you've defeated?" Hemlock replied.

Acron Gallus' eyes went wide with rage, and the veins running along his slender biceps pulsated. "They are witches! They are masters of deception. Remember the curse! I recognize former members of our tribe among that depraved lot that follow her." He nodded at the Tanna Varrans around him as they furrowed their brows in surprise. "Yes, that's right. They used to be Tanna Varrans! Proud warriors! Now look at them. Decadent fops! This is the curse that the legends spoke of!"

After several more exchanges, it became clear that neither side would convince the other. The wizards and the Tanna Varrans retreated to separate ends of the camp. Tored joined Hemlock.

"You've been silent through all of this. What do you think?" Hemlock asked him.

"If I were Steward, I would slay the witches. If I still considered myself a Tanna Varran, I would also slay them. As Tored—the man I have become—I do not care much either way."

"But they're innocents!"

"I've seen a witch charm a warrior. She seemed as innocent and as pure as this Cassandra does until she bared her fangs and tore the soul right out of his body."

"I saw the witch at Tor Varnos. She was radiant like Cassandra, but I could feel her tainted nature somehow, even though I couldn't see it. I don't feel that with Cassandra."

"Well, consider this. Grant me that there's a chance that she could be dangerous. If the Tanna Varrans slay her, then they know that they will be safe. But if they let her go, then there's a chance that she could harm them. After all of these years of war, why should they take that chance?"

"Because of principles!"

"My old people tire of principles it would seem..."

Renevos approached and sat nearby. Hemlock was slightly irritated by his presence, but she remembered their recent bargain, and tolerated his presence.

"Even if we force the Tanna Varrans to spare them, once we sunder this region from the City, the Tanna Varrans will probably slay them anyway," said Renevos.

"That's true," said Tored.

"Great. So what are we going to do?" said Hemlock.

The three of them were silent for several minutes.

"Hemlock, if we know that the Wand is near, we should scrye with the City and alert them that the teleport cage will soon be needed. We are very close to one of the scrye times we scheduled before we left," said Renevos.

"Yes, OK. Go ahead," said Hemlock.

Renevos moved off and began to cast his spell.

As she listened to the murmurings of the old man, an idea began to form in her head.

"Tored, if Cassandra won't be safe with the Tanna Varrans once they return to their world, then maybe they need to stay in the City."

"Do you think that's wise? That transfers the risk we just spoke of to the City."

"We'll be able to handle it better than the Tanna Varrans if they are dangerous. And look at the beauty and peace Cassandra has created here. Couldn't the City benefit from some of that?"

"Perhaps. But there is still the risk that they are dangerous."

"Hemlock!" called Renevos from across the camp.

"Now what?" Hemlock said as she rose and walked toward him.

"I'm speaking to Gwineval over the scrye. He asks to speak with you. It is urgent."

"I'm coming."

As she approached the brass basin that Renevos knelt in front of, the old wizard rose and moved out of sight, but remained in earshot. Hemlock turned to shoo him away, but again remembered her bargain with him. She turned her attention to Gwineval.

"Hello. How are things in the City? How's Mercuria?"

"Hemlock, a lot has happened since you've been gone. Mercuria is fine," said Gwineval.

"I've only been gone a week!"

"But you left things in disarray. Jalis moved against us two nights ago and tried to take control of the Tower!"

"That snake! I'll deal with him when I return if you don't get to him first."

"It's been handled. But he still lives. Samberlin brokered a truce between us, and no wizard blood was spilled. But Jalis has left the City, along with a quarter of the guild members. He seems to have found an ally in an order of undead wizards that have lived in secret in the mountains. They're called 'The Seekers.' We think Jalis has the last harvester golem out there, too. I can explain more when you return. Your quest goes well, I trust?"

"Reasonably so. We should be back to the City soon. Listen, I need you to protect Mercuria until I return."

"Already done. I've posted guards at her residence. She refuses to come to the Tower."

"That's my Mercuria. Thanks, Gwineval. One more thing: I'm going to be sending some immigrants to the City. We found them here in a hidden vale and the Tanna Varrans want to kill them because they think they're witches. Well, they are witches, technically, but don't seem dangerous. They like lakes, so I figured they could settle around Hemisphere Lake."

"Wait, did I hear correctly that you are sending a group of witches to settle in the center of the City? Have you lost your mind?"

"Gwineval, Safreon used to warn me about the weight of the deaths I've caused. I think I am starting to feel that now. I don't want to be responsible for these people getting slaughtered by the Tanna Varrans. They're not like the other witches. They sail in boats and sing and dance. They're not violent."

"Hemlock, you can't make this decision alone. Miara has introduced her new bylaws, and there is the Senate to consider as well."

"Gwineval, do you want hundreds of needless deaths on your hands? I'm not going to stand back and allow a mass murder. Announce this as my final decision as...whatever I've been for these past months."

"It's not going to go over well. And it sounds like it could be very dangerous to the City. Are you sure you want me to do this? This is the last time you ram a decision down our throats like this—you promise, right?"

"Yes and yes."

Renevos cleared his throat loudly.

"Oh, one more thing. Renevos will be taking over Jalis' seat on the wizard council."

"What? Renevos? What has that old laggard been whispering in your ear?"

"He's changed. You'll see. Gwineval, there's more to tell, but it will have to wait until I return to the City."

"Fine. At this rate, I don't think I want to hear anymore. Return quickly so that you can keep an eye on these witches!"

"I will, thank you."

Hemlock returned to her bedroll and tried to get some sleep as the midnight hour approached. The mists in the mountains had cleared completely, and a full harvest moon shone brightly overhead.

She tossed and turned for several minutes, and then something made her open her eyes. She was surprised to see the unmistakable features of the warlock Faruk peering at her from far down the path. He disappeared into the shadows so quickly that Hemlock wondered if she had dreamt seeing him.

But her curiosity drove her to get up and walk slowly down the path. The wizard standing guard gave her a quizzical look, but she gave him a gesture of assurance and proceeded.

As she approached the area where she had seen Faruk, there was nothing there. She looked around and noticed him standing farther down the path. He held out a hand toward her.

She walked down the path toward him, aware of how the moonlight accentuated his face and his well-toned body, which was evenly and elegantly proportioned—more resembling a dancer's than a warrior's.

"What a beautiful night—made even more so by your presence," he said.

"What brings you here? If the Tanna Varrans had seen you, they would have considered it a provocation."

"I know, Cassandra warned me to stay away, but I couldn't. I had to see you," he said with a smile that was simultaneously child-like in its sincerity and thrilling in its implication.

He presented his bouquet to her. As she accepted it, she realized that it had been his only covering. She couldn't help but giggle.

He smiled again. "Do I amuse you?"

"I'm sorry—it's just—we don't usually converse in the nude in the City."

"You're not in the City now."

"True."

"You are at the doorstep of our wonderful Vale: a place of unimaginable pleasure and uninterrupted peace."

"I believe you. It's a shame it won't be that way for long. But don't worry—I have a plan for you."

"And I for you."

"What do you mean?"

"You must come with me. We will walk together in the moonlight and experience this evening together. Just you and I. Nothing else will matter."

"A tempting offer. But this situation is bad right now. I think I'd better get back and make sure that things stay calm until the morning."

"That will take care of itself. There are other level-headed people in the camp?"

"Yes."

Faruk spread his arms. "There you have it. There's nothing to worry about. We won't go far. If there is a disturbance, we'll hear it and you can return."

"As tempting as your offer is, I don't think sneaking off to indulge my pleasures will send the right message to my companions."

"You speak of indulgence like you would a disease. Are you so estranged from pleasure that you speak so?"

"It's just... well, I have a lot of responsibility. I'm sort of involved in this big war, and people are coming back to the City trying to kill me. I can't just sneak off and be spontaneous like this. Plus, I'm a better killer than I am a lover."

"It's the killing that must have made you like this. It's a horrible thing. But I can help you reconnect with your true nature. I think it's critical that you come with me. You may never have another chance to spend a night like this."

Hemlock took a step toward Faruk without even realizing it. She quickly became alarmed and wondered if it had been some magic that he wove that caused her to take that step. But she realized that it had been a voluntary step.

What had stopped her from taking the next step had been the memory of a smell: the cologne that Falignus had worn on the night they had been together returned to her mind from out of nowhere. The sensation of kissing him and caressing his hair was so vivid that it almost made her tremble. She felt embarrassed and looked down.

Faruk stepped toward her and gently lifted her chin to face him. "Is there another?"

"Yes."

"You are long apart?"

"Yes."

"May I reach into your mind for just a moment? I just want to see this other in your mind's eye. I will not look at anything else, I promise you."

She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but compassion.

"All right," she said.

She felt a strange sensation and then recoiled in shock. The perfect image of Falignus stood before her. His angular features wore a wry smile as they had often done when he had visited her during her imprisonment in the Wizard Tower.

"No," she said softly. "No, this isn't what I want," she said more loudly. The perfect features of Faruk returned in a flash.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I thought the image might please you. You could spend the night with him again—just as he was when you were with him. I can do that for you."

"I'm sorry, too. I don't mean to offend you, but this is getting too strange for me. I'm going to return to my camp."

"Please don't."

Hemlock turned and walked back up the path. As she rounded the corner toward the camp she glanced behind her. Faruk still stood there in the moonlight. He waved to her as she stepped out of view.

When dawn arrived, Hemlock explained her plan to the Tanna Varrans. They accepted with some reluctance. The group assembled and descended back to the Vale, where the shimmering Queen of the Ishawn awaited them.

"So we will immigrate to this City of yours?" asked Cassandra.

"Yes, it's your only choice, I think," replied Hemlock.

Cassandra paused, and then smiled. "Then it must be so."

"There's a lake in the center of the City where you can go until I return. It's not like this place, but I think it will be suitable."

"It sounds perfect; don't you think so, Faruk?"

"Indeed, it does," said Faruk.

"Then we must prepare the longships," said Cassandra. "Tonight we will hold a festival to celebrate our good fortune." She pointed toward Hemlock. "Those of you who are inclined are invited to join us. The trip will take a lot of energy, so we will gorge ourselves tonight."

"What did you mean by preparing your boats?" asked Hemlock.

"We would like to leave before you enter the cave for fear that you will anger the spirit and your battle will spill out into the Vale. We will plan to leave tomorrow in our longships. Though there is no water, we will sail above the ground."

"All right. I guess that will work. We will send some wizards with you to ensure that the Tanna Varrans keep their word to give you safe passage. The Tanna Varrans will escort you across their land. But know that their land is haunted by restless spirits. They are dangerous at night. Will you be able to protect yourselves?"

Cassandra smiled. "What better protection can there be than setting these spirits to rest in contentment?"

"Fine. It's decided then."

Once the meeting was over, Hemlock, Tored, Renevos and Otticus hiked across the Vale to get a glimpse of the cave that they planned to enter the following morning.

"It looks unassuming enough," observed Renevos as he stood at the mouth of the cave.

"Wait, I see tracks," said Tored. "I think I recognize them. They look like Oruk tracks."

"What is an Oruk?" asked Hemlock.

"Oruk are large, wiry brutes with shriveled skin that is as tough as brittle stone. They live underground, keep to themselves and are very rare."

"Well, that doesn't sound like anything to worry about," said Hemlock.

"I'd normally agree, but it's extremely unusual to see them near the surface," said Tored.

"So what does it mean?" asked Otticus.

"Maybe nothing. But it is unusual. Even more so because there are multiple tracks here. It looks like it's a group that passed here recently. Oruk are usually solitary and very territorial. This troubles me. Oruk are fearsome foes when roused."

The group returned to camp in an uncertain mood.

Tored stopped them just as they approached the fire, where the smell of roast mutton wafted from spits over the fire.

"If these Oruk are travelling together, then there is a good chance they may be different here than outside the vale. We had best be prepared in case they are hostile," he said.

Tored then looked at his spear and Hemlock's sabres. "These weapons are a poor choice for fighting Oruk. And the enchantments they bear against spirits would be useless." He pointed to the broadsword that Otticus carried. "That would seem to be a better choice for this expedition. Otticus, do your wizards have any heavy weapons they can spare?"

Otticus looked reflective for a moment. "Let me check. It may help our cause if I could offer your weapons in exchange. We don't carry many spares."

"I'll also ask Acron Gallus. He has an interest in the success of our mission," said Hemlock.

"A good idea," said Tored, "His men will carry a few war axes for just such an encounter. See if he will give them up."

Acron Gallus grudgingly gave Hemlock one of the heavy war axes his party had with them, and Otticus returned with a broad sword and a longer sword.

It was agreed that Tored would take the war axe, and Hemlock took the long sword, though it felt somewhat unwieldy to her since she had fought exclusively with the much lighter sabres. Renevos was given the final broad sword, though he seemed disinclined to use it.

Hemlock found a few old tree stumps in the clearing and used them as makeshift practice dummies. The ponderously heavy sword impaired her speed and she soon became frustrated.

I must learn to control these bursts of strength I get.

She thought that maybe the strength was triggered by anger, so she tried to channel the anger she felt about her poor form with the heavy blade, but it didn't seem to help. And she unwillingly began to think of the vision of the black dragon again, which disturbed her.

She calmed herself and then considered the moments when she had experienced the surges of strength and speed. It had happened when she had dueled with the leaders of the Badger Guild. It had happened again when she had fought the first witch. And it had happened again recently when she had thrown the heavy iron grate.

Those were all frantic situations with real danger. Maybe I can't do this at will. But I need to try!

She steadied herself and focused on the importance of getting familiar with the long sword. She thought about her quest to recover the Wand, and the evil magic she was convinced it emanated. As she concentrated, her body began to tingle. She had the odd and unmistakable sensation that she was drawing from a hidden reservoir of power as a thrill of energy ran up and down her body.

She took her second hand off the long sword and hefted it easily with one hand. She spun and struck the nearby tree. The blade bit deeply into the wood. She yanked it out easily, sending splinters into the air as the blade withdrew. Next she leapt six feet into the air, grasped the sword hilt with both of her hands, lifted it over her head, and struck down on the tree trunk as she descended. Her blade split the wood from the top all the way down to the ground, and one side of the trunk fell with a sound of splintering wood and a heavy thud.

"Wow," said Otticus, who had been watching at a distance. "I'm glad I'm on her side."

"Aye," nodded Renevos.

Tored grunted and nodded.

Hemlock's cheeks colored. She hadn't meant to put on a show. Most people in the camp had seen what she had done. She noticed Acron Gallus turning away and muttering to the other Tanna Varrans.

She sheathed the long sword in the scabbard she now wore on her back, and walked toward the vale.

Dusk was giving way to evening as she descended along the path, leaving the camp behind her. She feared that she might see Faruk on the path, but as she rounded the bend where he had been waiting for her in the night, he wasn't there. She was relieved, although her body still yearned for him.

She remembered when he had asked her whether there was another person in her life.

Why did I say yes? Falignus could be dead. She immediately realized that she didn't believe that at all. She had a strong feeling that he was still alive.

As she considered the ramifications of that realization, she became aware of drumming and music coming from the vale.

She continued to descend and was surprised to see none of the bathing pools were occupied, and all of the graceful boats were moored at the shore. She didn't see a single soul, but soon high-spirited voices could be heard, interspersed with the melodious tunes that emanated from somewhere in the vale.

Hemlock reached the floor of the vale. A vast celebration was taking place about one hundred yards to her right, along the side of the rocky cliff that rose from the mountains. A ring of tall, elegant poles topped with lanterns enclosed the revelers. Weaves of bright flowers were hung between each of the lantern poles. The flowers seemed to shimmer, and Hemlock sensed indulgent magical energy emanating from them.

Within the flowery perimeter, two rings of revelers danced, with bottles in hand, around Cassandra and Faruk, who stood with their arms raised. As the latter two stood, the same faint shimmering glow seemed to surround them.

Outside of the ring of dancers, pairs and groups of people were coupling with an intensity and wild abandon that shocked Hemlock. Their passions seemed to ebb and flow with the melody that surrounded them, and the glow around Cassandra and Faruk seemed to vary accordingly.

Hemlock felt a sudden passion, and she looked at the perfect form of Faruk as he danced and shouted with joy. She had never felt such an intense need for a physical release as she did now. But the experience of this heretofore private sensation in the proximity of so many other people made her very uncomfortable.

She returned to the nearby path and climbed back toward the camp. She was relieved when the drum beats and music faded from hearing.

What did I just see?

Cassandra had mentioned something about a festival to gather energy for the journey to the City, but Hemlock hadn't realized that it would be anything like what she had witnessed.

She knew that public behavior like that would be frowned upon in the City.

I'll have to speak to Cassandra in the morning.

As she neared the camp, she heard footsteps in front of her. Next she saw Otticus come around the bend in the path, walking down toward the vale.

"Go back to camp, Otticus," she said.

"I'm just restless. I thought I'd go swim down there," he replied.

"Not tonight. Go back to camp."

The young wizard looked crestfallen, but he obeyed Hemlock.

I wonder if he had some idea what he'd be getting into down there. Maybe I should have let him. But we need him for the mission. Can't risk him losing focus.

...

At dawn the next morning, the group rose and descended into the vale again.

The revelers were already boarded onto the two largest boats. Cassandra and Faruk stood at the foot of the path, waiting.

The wizards went toward the boats under the direction of Renevos. Only he and Otticus remained with Hemlock and Tored. Acron Gallus and the Tanna Varrans waited impatiently.

After pleasantries were exchanged, Hemlock asked Cassandra to step aside with her.

"Listen, I wandered down here last night and I saw your festival," Hemlock said.

"You did? You should have joined us. I know Faruk is interested in you. Do not take that for granted. The pleasure of his company cannot be underestimated."

"Uh, it wasn't really my style, if you understand. Things are different in the City. People don't engage in that behavior out in the open like that. There are children there, for one."

"Children! How I've missed being around children!" cried Cassandra.

She hugged Hemlock. Hemlock had never smelled anything as beautiful as the subtle bouquet of perfumes that emanated from Cassandra's hair.

"What I'm saying is that you can't have festivals like that in the City out of doors. Can you make tents or something?"

"Of course— I understand your concern about discretion. But there is one thing: we need water for our boats, Hemlock."

"You can't survive without water?"

"No."

"Well, you'll have to go to Lake Hemisphere then. You're going to be right at the center of the City. You'll have to be very careful not to cause any kind of stir when you get there. I may not be back for several days. If you cause any disturbance before then, you will either be banished or worse. Do you understand?"

Cassandra smiled warmly. "I understand. Things will be different there. We'll be sensitive and we'll adapt. Don't worry!"

Hemlock was actually starting to worry quite a bit. But I'll be back to the City soon enough. Maybe even before Cassandra if we're lucky. Hemlock smiled in return and shook Cassandra's hands.

They returned to the rest of the group. The escorting wizards were in position in the boats.

"Farewell!" cried Cassandra as she and Faruk each boarded one of the delicate vessels.

A great chorus of song rang out over the vale as Cassandra and Faruk took position at the fore of each boat. Next, they raised their arms. The boats lifted slowly into the air until they were about six feet over the water.

The sails on each boat were hoisted, and the boats sailed forward, toward the path into the mountains. They seemed to be propelled by a breeze that Hemlock and her group couldn't perceive.

The Tanna Varrans looked discomfited as the boats passed beside them. But they fell in behind the boats and walked warily.

As the boats neared the path, they split into single file and rose into the mountains. Soon they passed from view along with the Tanna Varrans, and finally even the distant singing faded away.

Hemlock looked around the vale. It was still beautiful, but some of its ethereal quality had diminished. Still, she felt more comfortable.

"Well, we might as well get on with it," she said.

The four who remained walked around the shore of the lake toward the cave.

"I saw something unusual last night," said Tored.

"What?" said Hemlock, worried that he might have seen the strange festival thrown by the Ishawn witches.

"I woke a few hours before dawn and saw a shimmering light coming from the outside of the camp. I feared some mischief was afoot and made to wake you, but the light disappeared," said Tored.

"Could you have been dreaming?"

"Maybe, but I don't think so. My first thought was that DuLoc was going to appear again, but I think the light was different. The strangest part is I felt hatred emanating from the light in those few moments before it blinked out."

"Hatred? That's odd, since outside of dealing with Acron Gallus, I've felt mostly peace since we reached this vale."

"As have I. I can't explain it, but something about it concerns me. It felt like it was coming for me. I can't say why. I just had that feeling."

"Great. Just what we need: another ghost bent on our destruction."

Tored grunted the way he did when he had nothing more to say. Hemlock let the matter drop, but felt it settle into the back of her mind, joining the many other concerns that had staked their claim there.

Chapter Ten

Merit sat in his chamber, content to do nothing for a while. The confrontation with Jalis was over and he and his friends were safe. Gwineval had told Merit that he had scryed with Hemlock, and that she was nearing the completion of her mission in the Witch Crags. For the first time in recent days, Merit was able to relax.

It didn't take long for his curiosity about the secret book in his possession to resurface. He wished he could read more quickly, but the voices in his head were a near constant distraction. At least they had been quiet today.

The City has many secrets. Perhaps I'll yet discover my story in these old, dusty pages.



Julius walked toward the City, choking down the sense of disbelief that still permeated his thoughts concerning its ruined condition.

"I must be very observant now—my life depends on it," he said to himself.

He was conscious of the contrast between his fine silk robe and golden sword compared to the worn and dirty apparel worn by the people he saw—and he anticipated the effect this contrast would have.

A mob of dirty children was the first to shadow him as he approached a group of hovels at the outskirts of the City. He continued to walk along a dusty road, and soon he attracted the attention of some adults. They paused their labors to watch in disbelief as he strode by looking clean, and bearing a shimmering gold blade.

As he reached the first crude buildings, some elders rose from thatched chairs to get a better look at him. In a matter of minutes, a small throng was following him as he walked toward the center of the City.

Some people approached him and asked questions. He ignored them. He was looking for some sign of organization or power. So far he had seen none.

Then a group of four thugs with heavy iron weapons caught his attention. They were dressed in lush animal skins and their noses and ears were pierced and adorned with bone jewelry. Two of the group left hurriedly while the other two made a poor attempt at falling in with the crowd without being noticed.

Julius approached the two fighters, who, realizing his intent, stood their ground. The crowd parted as Julius stopped before them.

"Who is your lord? I would speak with him," said Julius.

"You don't ask to see him—he asks to see you, if it suits him," responded the larger of the two thugs.

"I am...Julius. I have returned to the City to restore it to glory. Tell your master that I would speak with him."

Julius spotted a large building nearby, and saw a brightly colored sign hanging out front with a slab of meat and a mug of ale depicted on it.

"I will wait in yonder building for his response," Julius continued.

The two men shrugged and made off.

"We'll see," commented the larger one over his shoulder.

Julius walked toward the building he had seen, as hunger assailed him for the first time since he had left his desert.

As he neared the building, another small crowd of people had gathered on the covered porch and watched his approach.

Some ruined buildings on the adjacent street caught his attention. They had collapsed, and their rafters and joists had been snapped and broken. Their walls had fallen inward.

Julius became curious. He turned to one of the dirty children and asked him what had happened to the building.

"The demon got it," said the child.

People began to shout around him, and Julius heard many of their comments:

"She-devil came last night."

"Four people killed."

"Nobody knows why."

"Light Dancers are to blame."

"Can you kill the demon for us?"

He was intrigued, but did not wish to create more of a spectacle since the crowd around him continued to swell.

He reached the worn steps of the building, and appreciated the aroma of food wafting from the open windows.

He climbed the stairs, excusing himself as he pushed through the crowd on the porch.

He felt people's hands on him, and had a passing concern for his fine golden robe being handled by so many dirty hands. But when he lifted his arm to see whether it was soiled, it shimmered back just as perfectly as when he had first donned it.

The people around him murmured amongst themselves as he walked through the lobby of the building. He spotted tables where the few who were more hungry than curious were dining.

Julius seated himself and caught the eye of a plump waitress in a tight cotton halter top and food-stained apron. She smiled and approached him, only to be shouldered aside by a middle-aged man wearing an obsequious smile.

"Welcome to the Ale and Rib. I am Portroy, owner and proprietor. How can I help you?" said the Innkeeper.

"Bring me a plate of food, please," said Julius. Reaching for his desert belt, he realized he had forgotten he had no money. He was about to stand and leave when his hand brushed the pocket of his robe. He felt something hard and heavy there. Reaching inside, he felt six large coins that he was certain had not been there before. He withdrew one from the pocket and placed it on the table. It was polished gold and reflected the rafters above him. But it was the face on the coin that startled Julius. It was a proud face with a wide forehead, generous nose and a prominent jaw line. The eyes were cruel and appraising.

"Father," Julius thought to himself as he slid the coin toward the innkeeper.

"This should cover it," Julius said to the man.

The crowd went silent as the stunned innkeeper held the coin before him.

"An Imperial gold mark! This will buy your food and lodging here for the next month. Shall I arrange for that?" said the innkeeper in a hopeful voice.

"Yes," said Julius, "although I doubt I'll be here that long. My purpose here will surely direct me elsewhere very soon."

"And what is your purpose, if you don't mind me askin'?" said the innkeeper.

Julius stood and addressed the assembled crowd, which had swelled to encompass the entire first floor of the Inn and the better part of the street outside.

"I am the son of the empire, returned to set things right. But fear not. My vision of the City is not the same as my Father's. We will have laws, but we will also have moderation. Men and women will know freedom."

Murmurs and whispers of surprise were heard throughout the crowd. Julius looked over those assembled, in the hopes of noticing someone of stature, but instead he saw nothing but clothes and faces that were etched by hard work and poverty.

The buxom waitress had brought out his food, but just as he was about to sit, a small commotion broke out near the entrance to the Inn.

The ruffians he had sent off had returned in force. A full score of them pushed their way through the crowd toward him.

Julius turned and sat. He started to eat the meat and soup that had been brought for him. It was bland, but satisfying. He sensed the warriors behind him, and one stepped so close to him that he smelled the man's odor over the aroma of the food.

"Away," he muttered to himself, concentrating on a spell of repulsion that he bound to the word as he said it.

Julius heard the wood-soled sandals of the men scratching along the floor as their leader was suddenly pushed back twenty feet into the crowd, carrying the others with him.

"It would have been forty feet in my desert," he thought ruefully, "but that is a thought from another life." He focused his attention back on his soup.

"You've made your point, Golden One," cried a ruffian from behind him. "We meant no disrespect. We came to tell ye that his highness, the great wizard, Hamiltus, the exalted one, has agreed to see you tomorrow. You will come at dawn to the stone building near the lake. If you can't find it, ask around."

Julius swallowed some broth, and then nodded once without turning. He resumed eating as he heard the warriors exiting the Inn.

"Hamiltus will teach him a thing or two," cried one of the warriors loudly as they neared the door.

Julius continued to eat. When he had finished, he summoned the Innkeeper.

"I want the room with the best view of the City," said Julius.

The Innkeeper nodded and took him up three flights of stairs to a small hall. Next he led Julius through a doorway into a cramped space with a large window.

Julius walked to the window and looked out. He looked east over several buildings and could see the base of the ruined Tower of Law. A system of crude fencing and barriers had been erected around it. A four story stone keep stood within the fences near the ruins. The keep was prominent, since few of the buildings near it exceeded two stories.

"Is that the home of Hamiltus?" he asked the Innkeeper, who had lingered well past the point of necessity.

"Yes. Watch out for him. He is a powerful sorcerer and is quick to anger."

Julius looked past the ruins of the tower, which stretched from beyond the barriers to the shore of the lake in the city center. On the other side of the lake, the finer neighborhoods were deserted. The buildings all looked burned out and charred, and deep red lines were present along many of the streets and some of the buildings.

"Why is the other half of the City deserted?" asked Julius.

"Light Dancers overran it. Our magic is weak now. Even Hamiltus doesn't dare cross the barrier."

"What are Light Dancers?"

"You don't know? Where are you from?"

Julius looked at the man evenly until he responded.

"The Light Dancers use the old magic. See those lines? Those are ley lines for Imperial magic. The Light Dancers paint the lines with blood so they can see 'em in daylight. When they walk those lines, they get power somehow. They get strong, tough, and crazy. Hamiltus removed all of the ley lines on this side of the Lake, so we're safe here. When our magic strengthens, we'll fight back and re-take the areas we've lost recently. Trouble is, the Light Dancers have their own shamans that can re-make them ley lines. We fight back and forth as our magic waxes and wanes. We can never seem to get rid of them."

"I see. And their shaman—will they parley?"

"Parley? You mean talk? They do talk after a fashion, but they talk crazy. That line magic does something to them. They can't stand the sun and live for the night. Just look over there tonight and you'll see 'em. You might talk with them, but I can't see the point. They're not really like us. They're more like animals or something."

Julius grunted an acknowledgement. "This Hamiltus: will he reason with me?"  
"It depends. You have power, so I think he'll talk with you. But watch out for him. He killed the last wizards that came to the City. He'll probably demand that you bow to him and pledge your loyalty to him."

"I won't do that," said Julius.

"Then you'd better be ready to fight," said the Innkeeper.

Julius reached in his pocket and withdrew another gold coin. He tossed it to the Innkeeper.

"Leave me," Julius said.

He sat in his room alone for several hours. His mind was mostly clear—only occasionally a thought or memory of his homeland crept into his awareness, only to be quashed as an expression of weakness.

The shadows in the room grew longer and Julius rose and returned to the window. He looked at the eastern part of the City and saw that a few figures were shuffling about on the streets. Faint, interlocking, glowing lines were visible along the dusty thoroughfares, and the people on the streets seemed to be walking along the lines.

After some inspection, Julius noticed that there were multiple ley lines within each glowing traceline. He recognized their structure from the brief moment he had worn his father's crown in the mountains. There was an inner line that was the widest and the brightest. This was the energy ley line which carried magical mana to enforce the magical law and feed energy to those attuned to this law. Woven around the energy line was a thinner, arced line within which was embedded dense runic language describing the behaviors allowed by the magic. Two jagged lines surrounded the inner lines. These were also filled with dense runes that ran along their length, describing the behaviors explicitly excluded by the magic.

Julius was disgusted by what he saw. More and more figures emerged into the dusk as the ley lines brightened. Many of them crawled until they reached the lines, at which point they burst upright as they wallowed in the magical emanations.

"They must have discovered a way to siphon the magical energy," Julius thought. "But why at night?"

He considered that perhaps the Light Dancers had tapped into a law that only allowed them to patrol the City at night, but until he could get closer to them, this would remain an educated guess.

Julius knew that the Imperial magic had originally emanated from the now ruined Tower of Law, the remnants of which were now conspicuously on display before him. He verified that the ley lines, though they did extend toward the ruined tower, dimmed as they neared the Lake, and became dark well before they reached the ruins.

Julius looked deeper into the City for the origin of the power feeding the lines. He noticed several obelisks glowing along with the ley lines. He could only see the tops of three of the obelisks, but the upper length of the fourth was visible from his vantage point. He saw several figures grouped around the obelisk. Most were passers-by, but one stood with its arms outstretched toward the sky. It was not swaying awkwardly like the other figures.

"A shaman," thought Julius. "Defeat the shamans or destroy those obelisks, and you defeat the Light Dancers."

He was comfortable with his conclusion, and he felt an eagerness to purge the Light Dancers from his City. The people that he now walked among on the western side of the City would be his future citizens. They were simple and lacked the manners and decorum he was used to from his old desert, but he would teach them those virtues. The Light Dancers, on the other hand, were unwanted side effects of his father's vision—ones that Julius yearned to eliminate.

Julius approached the bed and reclined on the down-filled mattress, finding its pliant softness unfamiliar. He rose and dragged a small, soiled carpet to the center of the floor and spread his bedsheet over the hard wooden planks. He lay down there instead. He considered that he might be giving in to a yearning for the familiar sensation of the desert floor beneath his sleeping body, but he decided to grant himself this small indulgence. He would likely be engaged in a magical duel come the morning. He knew that a good night's sleep would aid his spell memory, and he was not so confident about the surety of his victory that he dismissed the value of prudent preparation for the encounter.



Dawn broke as Julius lay with eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Sleep had not come easily to him in the unfamiliar wooden shelter. The creaks of the wood, and the muted footsteps and murmurings of others moving within the structure had been disconcerting to him.

Though he had dozed off several times, he doubted whether he had managed more than a few hours of sleep.

"Hamiltus awaits," he thought as he rose and donned his sword belt and golden robe.

Julius exited his room and walked purposefully toward the stairway. He descended the stairs warily, unsure whether Hamiltus might employ treachery in advance of their agreed upon meeting. As he reached the foyer of the inn, a silent crowd of townspeople awaited him. Not a word was spoken as Julius strode toward the front door where the Innkeeper stood. The latter nodded his encouragement as Julius met his eyes and then continued walking without responding.

A chill had fallen over the City in the previous night, and the morning was crisp and clear. Birdsong was heard in the distance as Julius walked the dusty street toward Hamiltus' keep. The crowds that followed him seemed to be in an uncertain mood. Children ran playfully, but became reserved as they reached his proximity, as if some earlier, whispered warning from a parent restrained them.

Soon the keep loomed ahead of him, its cold stone looking incongruous with the simpler wooden structures in the rest of the western half of the City. The simple, round stone structure that was topped with crenellations seemed crude and dreary to Julius, who was used to the colorful pomp of the roving tent cities of his native desert. But he did admire the sheer bulk of the structure, which made it clear to all that a great deal of power had been required to assemble it—and likely still resided within.

Around a hundred warriors of the sort he had encountered earlier loitered around the banded, wooden door which served as the entrance to the keep. The door was closed. A larger crowd had assembled in the streets flanking the keep and fell silent as they saw Julius approaching.

Julius stopped at a distance of about twenty paces and called to the keep.

"I am Julius, son of the Dead God. Where is Hamiltus?" he said in a loud voice that all could hear.

"That's Mr. Hamiltus to you!" cried a dim-witted lout from amongst the warriors. He was quickly hushed by his peers.

A murmur arose from the crowd as a figure appeared between the stone teeth at the top of the keep.

"I am Hamiltus!" cried the figure, in an aged voice that was still vigorous. He was a tall man, somewhat stooped by age. His large, bald head was dominated by bushy eyebrows and a wiry mustache and beard that extended well down the front of his dark robe.

"Descend so that we might parley honorably," said Julius.

"So this is the son of a God? Your raiment suggests that it could be so, yet here I stand looking down upon you as I might any caster from the wild come in to challenge me. How should I reconcile that, eh? A question made more poignant, given the state of your supposed father's work—behold yonder tower."

"You dishonor me by standing atop that keep, but I shall answer once in the hope of avoiding an unnecessary battle. It is true that my father is long dead, and his plans did not bear fruit as he intended. I was recently taken from my home and brought back here. What was intended to be my birthright has crumbled, and what part of it yet remains I have rejected as being corrupt. I donned his crown but days ago, then threw it down in disgust. My City will be different than his. Men will be free and the law will not eclipse liberty like he intended.

Understand that I was an Emir in my old land, so your manner is an affront to me. But I pardon it this once because I know you are ignorant, and I can imagine you might require some demonstration of my legitimacy."

Just then, movement in one of the arched windows of the keep distracted Julius. A figure waited in the shadow and then leaned forward into the light. Julius had seen many beautiful women in the desert—and several had been part of his harem. But the woman who regarded him from that window redefined his standard of beauty. Her face was perfectly oval with high cheekbones and full cheeks, which adorned her sensuous mouth and ice-blue eyes like smaller gems set around blue diamonds and a deep lustrous ruby. A sheer, chiffon top did little to obscure her abundant breasts. When she smiled at him, it was like a gentle wind pushing him over the edge of a cliff into an abyss of uncontrolled desire. Even his practiced sense of desert austerity paled and soon was rendered irrelevant in the face of such a woman.

Hamiltus had been speaking, but Julius realized that he hadn't been paying attention.

"...tried and failed. They're buried behind the keep. You can check the graves if you are of a mind. Will you be the seventh?" Hamiltus concluded.

Julius tried to compose himself as he continued to stare at the woman. The full shock of the preceding moments was still sinking in. Nothing mattered to him any longer but the affections of the woman who had so enraptured him.

"Why don't you respond? Has fear stilled your tongue at this pivotal hour? If so, then you may turn and honorably return to wherever you came from. I will not begrudge you a mistake in judgment, should you see the light of reason now," said the wizard.

Julius found his tongue and spoke as he continued to stare at the woman, who had withdrawn into the shadows coyly, but still met his gaze. "I have beheld a treasure in your keep that has unmanned me. I apologize for my behavior, but I do not ask for forgiveness. This woman who now regards me—what is her name? Is she your daughter, perhaps? If so, then we should not be exchanging harsh words, for I will one day greet you as my father rather than my adversary."

The old wizard started to laugh, and then his mirth graduated to a hysterical, shrill cackle that enraged Julius. But Julius held his tongue as Hamiltus composed himself.

"So, you've beheld the treasure of the City, have you? Beware! None have yet satisfied her, and her previous suitors are also buried out behind the keep because they were unable to temper their unrequited passions! You had better turn and leave, young man. You have one final chance. Otherwise I will turn and descend the stairs to the street, where, if you are lucky, I will drive you from the City like a chastened cur! If your luck fails, then you shall join the six others in the cold ground behind my keep!"

Julius was unperturbed by the wizard's words. "Descend then, and let us duel. But you must promise me that you will not force me to kill you once I have demonstrated my skill. The young lady might never forgive me for that."

"You've got spirit and may just be the son of a God. Truth be told, I welcome the challenge. Let's see whether the Dead God's scion is worthy of his faded legacy."

Hamiltus disappeared from view, and, more troubling for Julius, so did his daughter. Her disappearance returned his focus to the impending duel with Hamiltus, and he cursed himself for his lack of concentration. He quickly recalled each of the spells he had planned for the battle, practicing portions of their familiar incantations under his breath as he did so.

The door of the keep flew open with a crash, scattering the warriors and townspeople who were still in the vicinity.

A great cloud of smoke belched out of the door, and after a few seconds, it cleared, revealing the figure of the old wizard standing on the ground in front of the keep as the door closed behind him. Hamiltus opened his robes and held an object before him. The crowd gasped when they saw it, and Julius cringed as it invoked a painful memory. It was a wooden shafted wand with a glass orb at its head, within which boiled a fiery molten mass.

Julius immediately knew it was the sibling of the crown he had rejected.

"How can the wizard use it?" he wondered. In the fleeting moment before he realized that Hamiltus was casting a spell, Julius felt something unusual, being in close proximity to the artifact, he felt his own magical power was slightly amplified, as if in defiance of the Imperial magic emanating from the wand. A sliver of doubt invaded his heretofore unshakable air of confidence.

"Only a God's magic could defeat the son of a God," whispered the unfamiliar voice of doubt in his mind.

Julius stood in the face of the incoming spell and cast his own protection spell in response. Magical energy sizzled around him as a purple field sprung from his hands and surrounded his body. The energy of the magic field had a distinctive smell, and it partially obscured his vision. He had expected the impact of a magical bolt from the wizard, but instead he saw another blue magical field beyond his own, about midway between him and Hamiltus. Julius noticed the movement of large fish within the distant magical field. Fish were as alien to him as large bodies of water, but he had heard enough tales of both to identify them.

"Is the old wizard mocking me with this embellishment?" he wondered.

He decided to counter Hamiltus' arrogance with a spell that had felled the few desert shaman that had dared to duel him in his past. Balls of fire and molten lava streamed from his hands and blasted into Hamiltus' blue field. Moments later, a terrible, hot steam burned Julius and he cursed loudly.

As the steam cleared, Julius saw that the predatory fish still swam across the face of Hamiltus' magical field, and they seemed to be closer than before. He took a step backwards, but realized there were fish swimming all across his field of vision—not just in front of him. He glanced backward and his fears were confirmed: the field extended all around him, and was slowly constricting.

He scanned his memory for a suitable counter-spell as he saw that Hamiltus was continuing to strengthen his magical field.

A spell that he had once used to buttress a wooden gate crossed his mind, but it was more a spell of binding than one that exerted its own force. The grinning fish swam threateningly as he considered whether the field would kill him if it succeeded in surrounding him.

He considered boosting the field himself to see if it would pop or implode, but knew that the result might stun him, wound him, or worse.

Then the solution hit him. He would have to teleport out of the field. He cast a detection spell to see if the field would repel magical transmutation. There was a weak thread of defense against that type of spell woven into the magic field, but Julius knew he could defeat it. Teleportation was a powerful and complicated spell. Julius knew that a normal casting would take him too long, and Hamiltus might have time to take countermeasures. So Julius decided to attempt a risky snap-cast of the spell. It was a technique that had saved his life in the desert—but it had also killed his best friend. His pride, and the memory of the beautiful woman he had seen, convinced him he had to try it.

He dropped his defensive field and spun quickly in place as he pulled his arms to his sides. Particles of light flashed before his eyes, and there was a blinding flash and a deafening rumble. In the next instant, he hit the sandy ground hard, which knocked the wind out of him. His vision and the sounds around him were clear, and the assembled crowd gasped as they noticed him.

Though he was struggling for air, he quickly rose and faced the figure of Hamiltus, whose figure was still a fuzzy outline to Julius.

"Oh, you're a fiesty one!" giggled the old wizard.

Hamiltus was still maintaining the constricting field, and gesturing like he was going to try to move it toward Julius. Julius was still disoriented, but he knew some simple spells that he thought would break the old wizard's concentration.

Julius flung an arm across his body clumsily, and a powerful gust of wind knocked both him and Hamiltus to the ground.

The blue field disappeared and Julius looked to see whether Hamiltus was injured.

The woman who had captivated Julius cried out as she burst through the now open door of the keep toward her prone father.

Julius rose and stood transfixed as the woman helped Hamiltus to his feet.

"Get back, Ornella!" yelled Hamiltus as he brandished the Wand and began to cast again.

The blue field with the fish returned as Julius stared in disbelief.

"I could have killed you, Hamiltus! What treachery is this?" screamed Julius.

"My daughter has aided me in a most unexpected way! And you haven't proven yourself to me! If you are the son of a God, then you should be able to escape my trap again! That teleportation caught me by surprise, but I won't make that mistake again. Prove that you are worthy to be my king, and her husband!"

Julius choked down his rage even as the mention of the word "husband" thrilled him. The blue field was constricting him more quickly this time. And Hamiltus was correct—he was now too fatigued to teleport again.

The old wizard was more powerful than Julius had anticipated—no doubt due in part to the boosting effect of his Father's wand. Julius recalled the cold voice of his father in the cave when he had tested his resolve. In a way, he felt that cold voice had reached from beyond the grave to test him yet again.

"No wonder your plans did not come to fruition, Father. You left too much unchecked power in the hands of the weak-minded!"

An idea came to him as he thought of his old desert again. Had the old wizard ever fought a magical duel in the desert? Julius doubted it. Perhaps some desert magic would catch him unawares again. But would it work in this much denser sand?

Julius scanned the blue field again and cursed when he realized that it was also strongly warded against conjuration. His plan might still work, but it would be more difficult.  
He would have to use a diversion to distract the old man while the beast he was going to conjure would hopefully dig beneath the blue field.

Julius conjured a huge desert boar, which he then set to charging at the blue field nearest Hamiltus. As the beast charged, yelped in pain and recoiled, Julius conjured a giant scorpion. He took a chance and conjured it somewhat below the ground, displacing some dirt from the area on the surface. As he perceived that the scorpion was digging under the magic field, he hoped that Hamiltus hadn't noticed.

His hopes rose as he saw a magical tentacle extend from the blue field and entangle the giant boar as it charged again. He could see Hamiltus laughing outside the magic field as the tentacle suffocated the boar.

"Yes, enjoy the spectacle, old man," thought Julius as he saw his scorpion surfacing on the other side of the field.

Julius knew he needed a final distraction to prevent the old man from seeing or hearing the scorpion as it closed on him. He cast an array of lightning bolts that impacted with a loud crash against the magic field.

It bought his scorpion the time it needed. The huge creature bowled over the old man and the blue field snapped out of existence in a flash.

Julius banished the scorpion a moment before it was about to sever the old wizard's neck in one of its claws.

Not taking any chances this time, he drew his sword and sprinted to Hamiltus' side just as the old wizard's daughter arrived there. Julius put his boot on Hamiltus' torso and raised his sword to the old man's neck, despite the protests and resistance of the daughter.

"Is this the proof you seek, old man?" asked Julius.

The old wizard coughed and spat dirt out of his mouth. "Indeed. Congratulations, young wizard. I yield."

"Say it so that all can hear it," said Julius as the warriors loyal to Hamiltus rushed to the scene.

"I yield to Julius!" cried the old man, stopping the warriors in their tracks.

"No boss, you don't have to!" said one of his captains.

"Yes, I do! I want to. I now have hope for the future—for my daughter's future," cried Hamiltus. "Sheath your weapons."

Julius reached for the Wand that Hamiltus still clutched. The old wizard locked Julius in an icy stare before relenting.

Julius held the Wand aloft and turned slowly in place to look upon his people for the first time as their new leader.



Julius stood atop the keep in the early evening and watched the Light Dancers emerging for another evening of indulging their sickening habit of leeching from the ley lines. Hamiltus stood beside him, but Julius' mind was on the old wizard's daughter, who he knew was some feet below him, separated from his lust by many layers of thick, impenetrable stone.

Her name was Ornella, and though she had thus far rebuffed Julius' romantic overtures, she had done so with an unmistakable and thrilling twinkle in her eye that suggested future success.

The movement of the figures below returned his attention to the issue at hand. Julius had spent the past weeks organizing and training his warriors, and appointing seneschals to preside over the affairs of the City. Hamiltus was skeptical that this distribution of power was wise, but Julius had experience in governance that exceeded that of the older man.

The affairs of the City had now reached a point that gave Julius confidence that his warriors were ready to support him in their first major campaign. It would be a campaign to drive the Light Dancers from the City.

"So you're certain that the destruction of the obelisks will extinguish the ley lines?" asked Hamiltus.

"I am. And I know how to destroy them as well. They are like great cauldrons storing the Imperial power my Father created. Their strength is but an echo of what it was in his time, but it is enough to fuel the nightly devilry you see across the Lake. The obelisks are strong at the sides and bottom, but I can see that their upper sections are vulnerable. I will have to sunder the tops at their apex, and this should release the magical energy safely into the air."

"Amazing. You can perceive all of this because you wore your Father's crown for a few seconds?"

"Yes," said Julius, and he turned to the old man and smiled. "But do not seek to do the same yourself. It would likely kill you."

"Oh, I have no such ambitions. I am content as your seneschal of war. Truth be told, I tired of leadership before you came. I had begun to despair that I would never find a worthy successor."

Hamiltus' response made Julius feel reflective. He was about to reply when a loud shriek reverberated over the City. It was quickly followed by the groan of rock being sundered, and Julius saw a building in the eastern side of the City collapse in a great cloud of dust. He looked at Hamiltus with alarm.

"The She-Devil strikes again," said Hamiltus.

Julius recalled the destroyed building he had seen when first entering the City.

"This has happened before?" he asked.

"Yes, it happens several times a year at random points in the City."

"What is the cause?"

"Legend says it is a fallen spirit of the earth. Your Father apparently tricked her into betraying the Red Wizard. She yet lives, but cannot return to her kind. So she inflicts her rage upon the City, killing all in her path. I tried to trap her once, but she burst through my magical field like it was a sheet of papyrus. She hunted my party halfway across the length of the City and destroyed many buildings in her wake before she lost my trail. I've not attempted to interfere with her since then."

"Is everything in the City left in disorder?!" cried Julius.

Hamiltus did not respond, and Julius composed himself as the dust raised by the recent tumult subsided.

"So this She-Devil will not return for several months?"

"If past experience is a guide, then, no, she will not."

"Good, then I will deal with her later. For now, we will focus on the Light Dancers. There is no connection between her and the Light Dancers?"

"None that I've seen. She strikes both sides of the City indiscriminately."

"That is good."

Julius thought about the spells he would use to penetrate the Imperial ley lines. This campaign would stress his and Hamiltus' magical abilities. If not for the Wand left behind by his Father, Julius doubted he would be able to pull it off. He had practiced with the Wand several times in the recent days. Its side-effect of strengthening his magic was extremely potent. But holding the Wand was producing another disturbing side effect: Julius was beginning to appreciate the power of the Imperial magic. Though he still considered the magic an affront to his code of ethics, he had caught himself fantasizing about the ease with which he could organize the City if he chose to don his Father's crown. Because of these uncomfortable thoughts, he had taken to keeping the Wand in a magically sealed trunk.

He returned his attention to Hamiltus. "Here is my plan for the coming campaign. We attack in the mid-afternoon, when they are thirsty for the magic, but some daylight hours will remain."

Hamiltus interrupted. "And you're sure this won't be a replay of our prior daylight attacks? Remember they seemed stronger in the daytime, despite their discomfort from the suns!"

"Again, it wasn't the daylight that strengthened them—it was your violation of the Imperial law they've reactivated. You aren't magically identifiable as Imperial citizens, so the magic gave them extra strength to oppose you. You must have faith in my assessment."

"Yes, I suppose I must," Hamiltus replied haltingly, "but understand that it's difficult to redo something you've already tried and failed at. Leaves a bad taste in your mouth, for want of a better analogy."

Julius clapped the old wizard on his back and smiled. "It's an excellent analogy. In the desert we had a saying: a man never drinks twice from a contaminated well. I can understand your reluctance, Senechal, but you must trust me in this."

Hamiltus stood a little taller, and Julius judged that his words had had the desired effect. "I will cast a spell to make the magic think I'm a citizen. I will then enter the eastern half of the City and make my way to the southernmost obelisk. You will place our warriors at the northern obelisk then take another group and move to the obelisk below that one. We will cast lightning at the tips of the obelisks, as I've demonstrated. This will destroy them. Once you destroy yours, you will move back north and form up with the warriors.

Their shamans will emerge from their foul holes to energize the Imperial ley lines across the City, and their forces will spew forth onto the streets. You will kill the Light Dancers as they emerge from the buildings around you and those that filter in piecemeal from the south. I will move north through the City, destroying obelisks as I go. Their shamans will try to organize to resist me, but as their magic fails, their forces will be routed and break for the active ley lines in the north. The shamans won't be able to control them. We'll be outnumbered, but their forces will be disorganized and running into the teeth of your formations."

"But the Light Dancers in the north will be at full strength if we leave that obelisk operational."

"True. The shaman and his forces there will be a difficult assignment for you, but I have confidence that you will defeat them quickly. You will have them outnumbered for a time. The key is to defeat them before their comrades can mass in sufficient numbers to overwhelm you."

"And how will you destroy the seven other obelisks among all of their shamans and warriors?"

"I'll rely on the chaos of the moment and magical concealment. Remember, the Imperial magic will not identify me as an intruder. And I don't think their degenerate rank and file will even perceive me. My only concern will be their shamans, and I do not fear them without their hordes to support them."

"I still don't like it. Take some warriors with you, at least."

"I can't afford to cast the masking spell on many besides myself. It's true that I could take more time to decipher how the Light Dancers have perverted the Imperial magic, but I want a dramatic victory to inspire the people. I will need an inspired populace to set my plans in motion. And I want to turn my attention to this She-Devil before she does more damage. A strike from her while I am in power will shake the people's confidence in me."

Hamiltus frowned. "Julius, you sound impetuous. The people are more patient than you are. They have accepted my rule for over forty years."

Julius turned toward the west and his arm swept across the collection of dilapidated hovels that made up the majority of that half of the City. "And look at your accomplishments."

Hamiltus reddened and Julius turned toward him with a conciliatory expression. "I did not mean to offend. It's just that I want the people to expect more from their ruler and from themselves. Someday I will take you into the mountains to see the model of the City there. Though my father was misguided, the City was magnificent under his rule. We must be careful not to set our sights too low. This will be a great City once again, my friend!"

The old wizard did not respond immediately. Julius began to worry that the man might have to be discarded for lack of vigor, but finally Hamiltus turned toward him with a smile of resignation. "You know, when you talk like that, I actually believe it. I've become jaded after all of these years, but, truth be told, I want to believe you. I want to believe in your vision. I will fight for you! But make sure you survive this fight. If you don't, then the entire City might fall to the Light Dancers."

Julius hadn't considered what would happen if he perished in the battle. He didn't have time for thoughts of defeat.



Later that evening, Hamiltus' daughter, Ornella, burst into Julius' chamber. She stared at him angrily without saying a word.

"What?" asked Julius, and then he guessed the reason for her anger. "So, you've heard of the plan for the coming battle? Do not worry yourself with these details."

"Details!" she spat, and then ran her hands up and down in the air beside her body. "And you—don't worry yourself with these details either. If I am not to be concerned with your details, then neither should you concern yourself with mine."

Julius found that her spirit only made her more desirable. He did not want to dishonor her father, but he felt himself losing control. He feared that he might be moved to take the woman then and there.

Against his better judgement, he approached her and stood close, reveling in the intoxicating perfume that emanated from her golden skin. Her brown hair looked lustrous in the lantern light and her eyes shone with anger. He reached out and took her hand. She did not resist.

"Let us end the games between us. We are meant to be together, you and I. Will you be my wife? Then you will be privy to all of my details, and I yours."

Her head lowered slightly and the anger in her eyes diminished by a notch, but she withdrew her hand, turned away and strolled to the other side of the room.

He was entranced by the elegance of her form as she moved sinuously in her golden bodice and white lace skirt. The angles of her hips suggested an abundance of children to him and ecstatic pleasure in their making. He noticed only fleetingly that the clothes she wore were the finest he had ever seen beside his golden robe.

She turned toward him and flashed a coquettish smile as she began to undo her bodice.

He was speechless as she undressed and then stood before him, unclothed and pristine. If her clothed body had suggested perfection, its nakedness revealed it in its fullness.

"I must be a God to witness such beauty," he thought. His first instinct was to approach her and lay greedy hands on her, but the expression on her face gave him pause. She was assessing his reaction.

"Good," she said. "No man before you has passed that test. But son of a God or not, you are still a man. I can see that. Now that I have your attention, I must reveal something to you and then you must make a decision."

Julius strained to keep his lust in check as he listened. Bestial thoughts ran through his head. "I could take her now and none would be able to hold me accountable. I can make her mine." He realized that she was still talking and he struggled to focus.

"...first thing. I have been with other men. You will not be my first. If this is an affront to you, then you must find another. I am not a young maiden on the doorstep of womanhood—you must understand that the years I've spent waiting for one worthy of me have been long and lonely. Second, if I am to love you, then know that my mind is just as sharp as my father's. In order to be loved by me, you must love my mind as well as my body.

You must now make a decision. I can see the lust in your eyes. If you choose to give in to your lust now, then you may take me as your wife, but I will never respect you. I will know that you married for lust—like an animal—and not for love. You will have my body, but not my mind or spirit. On the other hand, if you leave this room without touching me, then I will love you for as long as you are worthy of my love."

She stood there watching him with a hopeful look in her eyes. But the angles and curves of her body were calling to him.

"You are a God! Do not regard the mutterings of this woman. Take her as your Father would!" cried the voice of his lust, which seemed to gain strength as he looked over her breasts and the bewildering grace of her lower half.

"She's unworthy of you!" cried the voice of his pride. "Take her now and then find another who is innocent and pure!"

He took a step toward her, and he saw the hope in her eyes turn to fear. The memory of his Father's crown returned to him in a flash.

"NO!" he shrieked, raising his hands to his eyes and stumbling from the chamber into the hall beyond.

He knelt on the cold stone and his hands trembled. Leaving that room had been the second most difficult thing he had done in his life—paling only in comparison to removing his father's foul crown.

In a few moments, he felt warm hands on his shoulders, and he stood up with the help of Ornella, who regarded him after having dressed herself hastily but effectively.

"What happened in there?" she said.

"You tempted me. It reminded me of something...terrible."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's...It's OK. I see the wisdom in it."

She touched his cheek. "Yes, I think you do. You pass the test, Son of a God. I will be your wife—in every sense of the word."

She kissed him tenderly, and the oasis of joy he felt was made sweeter by the desert of turmoil that he had passed through to reach it.



The afternoon shadows grew long as Julius walked cautiously through the eastern half of the City. The stone buildings that surrounded him were in disrepair: their white paint had faded and worn clean away in many parts, and all that remained of wooden doors and shutters were shards of wood and hinges. The Imperial spell he had cast to allow him to move freely had been difficult. The Wand had helped him, but while using it he had felt a fraction of the disgust he had felt when the Imperial crown had rested on his head.

The hour that would mark the commencement of the attack was imminent, and Julius increased his pace a bit to ensure that he would be in position on time. Even though his strike would be the signal to attack, he did not want to delay for fear that an unexpectedly prolonged fight might spill over into the hours of darkness, which would strengthen the Light Dancers.

The shadowy doorways of the buildings he passed seemed pregnant with threat, and he tried to move as silently as possible. The wind shifted and the stench of the buildings wafted into the street, nearly causing him to retch—but he was able to cough softly and continued his brisk walk toward the southernmost obelisk.

He thought he saw motion inside one of the buildings as he neared the corner beyond which the final obelisk awaited. He stopped in the middle of the street, thinking that the best way to avoid detection, since moving closer to either side of the street would bring him closer to the buildings. The Light Dancers were thought to have poor eyesight, and Julius hoped that this was true. He heard the shuffling of feet across sand and then a guttural grunt—then silence.

His breathing seemed thunderous as he waited quietly for several minutes.

Hoping that the threat of detection had passed, he started to walk slowly again.

He wasn't scared of the scores of enemies that surrounded him, but he was nervous about his plan—and the impact early detection would have on his plan. He briefly thought about the hundreds of warriors preparing to invade the northeastern part of the City. He feared for them, and he knew that many of them would perish during the battle.

He reached the corner and turned in the middle of the crossroad. The obelisk he sought stood a block to the south, at a distance of about fifty yards. It was jet black and surprisingly slender at its base, rising to greater thickness at its height. Its shape was similar to the Tower of Law that he had seen depicted in miniature in the mountains. He could feel the magical emanation from the obelisk, and the Wand felt warm in his grasp.

He briefly looked inward to verify that his chaos magic still felt strong, and then focused his attention on the apex of the obelisk. He raised his right arm and forks of lightning leapt toward the obelisk, impacting the dark stone with a crack. The earth shook as a concussive force shattered the silence of the afternoon.

Julius was thrown to the ground and a column on a building crumbled and fell at some distance down the street. He wasn't stunned, and as he rose to his feet, he saw the obelisk had shattered and a strange, luminescent substance like molten rock was pouring from its top. The fiery rock looked similar to the glowing rock inside the Wand that he held.

Julius ignored the howls of surprise that erupted from all around him as he watched the lava pour down the side of the obelisk. As it passed over the black stone, the molten rock took on the former's appearance. The obelisk looked something like a black candle burning at an abnormally fast rate, the viscous material streaming downward until it met the ground. When it reached the dirt, its color and texture changed again, and it took on a sandy appearance until it seeped into the earth and was gone, leaving no trace of its passage on the obelisk or the ground below.

"Amazing! What could a man do if he could control such a substance?" he thought excitedly.

Pale, emaciated figures appeared in the doorways around him, howling raucously. Their hands were hideously deformed and bore irregular, long claws that were sharpened and vicious. The brown-stained teeth in their mouths were sharp like fangs. It seemed that his Imperial spell was working, because, as he scanned their gaunt faces and milk-white eyes, he didn't think they noticed him.

There was a break in the chorus of howls, and the sound of distant battle reverberated from the north. The Light Dancers started to shout something then, and their numbers swelled as the creatures that were still in the shadows pressed those in front of them out of the buildings. When they emerged into the afternoon sun, they covered their eyes and their skin smoked. Those so affected shrieked and jumped for the cover of shadow, often jumping through windows or even climbing to upper floors to avoid the teeming throngs that undulated around the doorways, anxious to escape, but mindful of the light.

Julius heard footsteps approaching him from behind. Turning, he saw a Light Dancer dressed in a tattered robe and a wide brimmed hat. He was taller than the rest, and he used the clothing to shield himself from the light. His eyes bore the same white mark of blindness as his comrades, but he was sniffing loudly and coming straight for Julius.

Julius took six steps toward one side of the street as the Light Dancer approached. The creature appeared to be focused on the obelisk, and it walked until it reached the point he had been standing moments before.

Then two things happened simultaneously. The Light Dancers in the buildings cried with a primal delight and burst into the street from every direction, running toward the north at great speed. The robed creature near Julius jumped at him unexpectedly and knocked him to the ground as it tried to lacerate his throat with its claws and bite.

Julius tried to use the shaft of the Wand to parry the creature's raking swings, but he feared that it might break under the strain. The robed creature managed to score a hit on his abdomen, but Julius' golden robe deflected the blow without effect. Julius concentrated on defense and avoiding being trampled as the Light Dancers surged around the two wrestling figures. The wiry Light Dancer shaman was stronger than it looked and just as tenacious as its appearance suggested.

Suddenly the shaman took a kick in the ribs from one of its kind as they ran by carelessly. This gave Julius the opportunity to break free. He rolled away, dodged several running creatures, and then rose to his feet. He stowed the Wand in his backpack and drew his sword.

"I need to get to that next obelisk! This is taking too long!" Julius thought.

As if in answer to his concerns, the robed figure charged him and leapt a full six feet into the air at the last second, hoping to jump over his sword strike. But Julius was too swift for him: he took a step forward and ducked, then turned and stabbed upwards, catching his opponent in the back with a cruel thrust.

The Light Dancer shaman landed hard, and fell to the ground. Julius stood and kicked it in the shoulder as it tried to rise, and it fell to the earth and lay on its back, breathing unsteadily. He looked at the creature with wonder. It had tried to surprise him and he now knew it was cunning as well as intelligent. He noticed that it wore a golden pendant around its neck. The creature muttered pathetically as Julius used his sword to lift the pendant off its chest to get a closer look.

He realized too late that the mutterings were the shaman casting a spell! The ley lines under his feet crackled to life and the white eyes of the shaman glowed vigorously.

Julius cursed as he drove his sword deep into the shaman's chest. He turned his blade until the eyes were dark again and the breathing ceased.

He ignored the pendant and ran north toward the next obelisk, avoiding the ley lines and their distasteful magic, which made the Wand in his hand feel charged with energy and more loathsome to his sensibilities.

But as he ran, he encountered groups of Light Dancers that perceived him and attacked. He killed them quickly, and took the time and energy to re-cast his Imperial masking spell. But it didn't work—the Light Dancers still came at him.

Next, he heard a distant explosion, and knew that Hamiltus had destroyed an obelisk. But Julius was forced into a slow melee with hundreds of Light Dancers, and minutes turned into tens of minutes, and then an hour, before the next obelisk came into sight. Finally, he was able to destroy it with his lightning, and the Light Dancers that remained in his vicinity made for the north.

After dispatching another shaman, Julius grabbed the now familiar pendant that hung about its neck, and donned it himself. This seemed to shield him from detection again, and he reached the next obelisk quickly.

After destroying it, he made for the next one, but was discouraged by the sounds of explosions and thunderclaps coming from the north.

"Hamiltus is desperate and uses his most powerful spells!" he cried aloud.

The number of Light Dancers increased as he reached the northern neighborhoods. Finally he reached the lines where the warriors were making a final stand. Only a few dozen remained.

Julius fought with vigor, and killed several score of the creatures until there was a pause in the action.

"Where is Hamiltus?" cried Julius, as he searched the faces of the survivors.

"He fell not long ago," was the reply.

Julius cursed loudly and his thoughts went to his new wife.

But a fresh wave of Light Dancers charged down the street at that moment, returning his attention to the battle.

He covered the retreat of the remaining warriors, and then vowed to personally kill every remaining Light Dancer. He killed several hundred more of the creatures, but they defended themselves when he got close to them, and eventually he began to tire. As he felt his strength waning, he destroyed the remaining obelisks. His final thought was that too many Light Dancers had escaped from the City—and that he might never succeed in honoring his vow.

His warriors found him lying near the final obelisk he had destroyed. They feared him dead, but he had passed out from exhaustion. His next memory was a warm bed in the keep and beautiful Ornella at his side, bravely tending to him despite the loss of her father.



Julius shifted his weight to his other side, and discarded the fine linen bed sheets that had covered his legs. A sleek figure stirred in bed beside him and rolled over to face him. Julius took pleasure in regarding Ornella. The sleep of the prior moments that still reflected on her face did not dim her dark beauty.

"What troubles you, love?" Ornella asked in a soft voice.

"You are kind to ask of my troubles on the anniversary of your father's death."

"You know that I have accepted his death. I still feel a great sadness—but it was an honorable death."

Julius leaned down and kissed her forehead. "You are my treasure," he said.

She grabbed his arm tenderly. "And you are mine," she replied.

Julius was content to let those words resonate in the ensuing silence. They were infused with a familiar certainty that comforted him, and distracted him from thinking about his frustration over the governance of the City

"You still didn't answer my question," she said teasingly.

Julius rose and strode out onto the balcony of the bedroom. He looked down over the City from many stories above, and took comforted from the host of flickering lanterns that still burned at this late hour.

But all was not well in the City. Other wizards had blossomed in the new economic system, which allowed them to procure their spell materials with ease, and even share knowledge with one another through various wizard guilds. Voices of opposition now seemed to flourish, where once Julius' voice had been singularly influential.

An irregularity in the ordered rows of white-washed buildings visible across the lake caught his attention, and his eye strayed to a lone ruin that marred the otherwise well-kept appearance of the eastern district.

The She-Devil had struck again.

He turned back to Ornella. "We have done so much, yet these petty wizards now argue with me incessantly, and that damned Devil still terrorizes us."

Ornella nodded sadly. "I figured these would be the thoughts that trouble you. Think about your successes, and let your confidence stem from those thoughts."

"I'd like to. But I am struck by something. In my desert, we were nomadic. Our system of Emirs and Senechals worked well, but we were never as numerous as we are now in the City. And we never had so much wealth and power. In the desert, dissension with the Emir would threaten the survival of the tribe, and was not tolerated. Here...things are different. People are idle, and their minds run wild with discontent. What am I to do?"

"Most of the people are happy. You are too focused on a few strident voices among the many."  
Julius strolled back into the room. "The sad part is these people don't even understand my vision. They think that we've achieved it, when in reality we've barely scratched the surface. We've scarcely organized our City, yet no one thinks about the thousands of worlds that lie in the heavens! Think of the empire we will build!"

"Even your father did not achieve that, Julius. Is such an Empire possible in our lifetimes?"

"Yes, Ornella. With this Oberon substance I found in the new western land, I believe it is. But I must have peace and quiet, and time to research. I must disengage from these distractions."

Ornella was silent for several moments. He turned to her and could see that his words had shaken her.

"I will have to silence the dissidents. I will disband their guilds and give them a choice—join my wizard guild and work with me, or leave the City!"

Ornella frowned. "Do you think that's wise? There may be strong opposition. Even violence."

"Perhaps—and the prospect does trouble me. But it can't be avoided."

Ornella was again silent, and Julius could see skepticism on her face. This annoyed him, which led his mind to another grave matter.

"And I must deal with this She-Devil!"

"Julius, no! Remember my father's campaign against her. She is a force of nature, and not to be meddled with by mortal men."

"Am I not the Son of a God?"

"Even your father died eventually. And you almost perished when you fought the Light Dancers. There are limits—even to your power."

"You must tell me her legend again. There must be something I'm missing."

Ornella sighed. "Again, my love? I tire of the tale."

"Please, Ornella."  
"Fine. Legend has it that the City is supported above the Maker's Fire by seven pillars. These seven pillars of rock are constantly consumed by the Maker's Fire, and therefore the Red Robed Man created seven earth spirits to continually re- fashion them. As the fire unmakes the pillars from the bottom, the earth spirits remake them from the top."

Julius brooded in the corner as Ornella continued.

"When your father sought to drive the Red Robed Man from the City, he devised a plan to tempt one of the earth spirits away from her work, destroying one of the pillars in the process. He spoke to each of the spirits in turn, until he found one that had an unfulfilled desire. She had seen the people that walked the surface, and admired their ability to sire children. She desired a child of her own.

One day the Dead God visited this spirit, who is named Amarank, and promised her she could have a child despite the fact that the Red Robed Man had said it was forbidden. She did not believe the Dead God initially, but he was still favored by the Red Robed Man at that time; and eventually she succumbed to his lies, and agreed to allow him to take her under his power. As soon as she did so, the Dead God put her to sleep for a day, and her pillar failed, which nearly caused the destruction of the City. The Red Robed Man had to sacrifice himself to save his creation, and the Dead God ruled over the City in his subsequent absence."

Julius felt the icy tentacles of melancholy gripping him, but then he remembered his recent campaign to bind the Witch Crags region to the City. There had been something unique about the vale above the caves where he had placed a Wand of the Imperator to bind the land. That vale, and the caves beneath it, had literally teemed with life energy. In fact, he had interwoven that life energy with the Wand's Imperial power to bind the Witch Crags more powerfully.

"It is said that the most effective form of persuasion is to make the other party desire that which you desire," Julius said tentatively, as the seeds of an idea took root in his mind.

"That is true," said Ornella.

"What if I offer this Amarank the one thing we know she desires?" he cried, standing suddenly.

Ornella stood and came to him. She grasped his hands and looked up into his eyes. "Husband, please tell me you did not mean that! How would such a dark act be accomplished? Surely you don't mean to..."

Julius looked down at her. She was his treasure. But he was a God, and had a responsibility to his City. "When a man is at risk in the desert, he is sometimes forced to do abhorrent things to survive. So it is for me now, though I fight for the future of a civilization and not merely for my own life," he said, doing his best to sound conciliatory.

He saw a look of abject despair cloud Ornella's features, and she responded with a vitriol that surprised him. "If you'd ravished me on that first night when I dropped my robe, you wouldn't have done worse to me than this. I thought I was marrying a man of principle!"

She spat at him, and then fled from the room as he saw tears streaming down her face.

"She has the children now," he thought, comforting himself. "My energies now serve a greater purpose than our marriage."



Merit launched out of his chair, toppling it over in the process, and nearly causing the fragile old book to fall to the floor.

Gwineval mentioned something about a demon lurking under that vale! And Hemlock is trying to recover the Wand that bound the Witch Crags to the City!

Merit rushed as quickly as his short legs would allow. He had to find Gwineval so that he could warn Hemlock!

But wait! The secret!

Merit stopped in his tracks. He didn't want to betray his promise to Hemlock—even though he still felt that she had no right to have asked for that promise. But she was in danger. And he now had information about what she might be facing in those caves.

But will Gwineval be able to scrye with her before she encounters the demon?

He wasn't sure. He knew that scrye sessions had to be preplanned by both parties (only Safreon had ever been able to do otherwise—and that was when he used the Wand of the Imperator).

Merit paced back and forth for several minutes. Finally, he reached a conclusion.

If there's a chance this information could help Hemlock ,then I must inform Gwineval.

He picked up the old tome carefully and rushed off to the upper floor.

Chapter Eleven

Hemlock usually felt sullen when she was underground, but something about these caves gave her confidence. Tored was out in front, she was behind him, followed by Renevos, and then Otticus. She had wanted to lead, but quickly deferred to Tored once she realized that her experience navigating cave systems paled in comparison to his.

The flicker of the torchlight against the limestone walls was cheered by the presence of regular pockets of dolomite, which were beautiful veins with a quartz-like appearance. The play of the light caught the many square edges in the dolomite, creating a sparkling effect which Hemlock found to be very pleasing to the eye.

They backtracked a few times to stay on a descending path, but otherwise Tored's guidance was unerring. Hemlock also gave input a few times when she sensed a stronger aura of magic emanating from one passage as opposed to another.

One potentially troubling development was the Oruk tracks that continued to manifest on their path, and reflected the passage of more and more of the beasts. This was a matter of grave concern for Tored, but, again, Hemlock felt strangely unperturbed.

None of them spoke very much, other than the occasional curse at some misstep from Renevos, which was often followed by an indirect verbal barb from Otticus.

"Do not mistake the forced proximity of this mission for fondness on my part, my boy—or an excuse for becoming over-familiar," grumbled Renevos after one such incident.

Otticus just laughed, and Hemlock could tell that the young man's cheery demeanor was already beginning to win Renevos over.

Some minutes later, Tored raised his hand and the group stopped. The low roar of the burning torches masked a lot of the sounds around them, but they were able to hear the echoes of dripping water.

They felt a small rush of air on their faces and an eerie blue glow appeared for a moment and then vanished.

"What was that?" whispered Otticus.

Renevos shushed him.

Tored looked back at Hemlock and recalled their short conversation about the malicious force Tored had sensed the prior night.

She wasn't sure how to respond, so she just looked at him until he turned back. They waited several minutes in silence. Then Tored motioned for them to continue.

After another hour of walking, they turned a corner and saw the rough limestone turned to finished granite at the edge of their torchlight.

Tored turned to Hemlock. "Is this expected?"

"It could be the chamber of the Wand, but I don't think so. It still feels distant to me—like it's many miles below us still."

Renevos walked forward. "This could be a fortification built by the wizards after Julius placed the Wand. I understand that the witches invaded the caves several times in an attempt to dislodge Julius' guards."

"If that's true, then there could be traps. We'll need to be even more cautious," said Tored.

They crept forward until they walked side by side in a twenty foot wide passage. The walls were scarred and pock marked. They all understood the likely source of that damage.

After they walked about a hundred feet, the passage opened up into a large room. The ten foot ceiling of the passage also opened up, and no ceiling could be seen in the room.

They slowed. Something caught Hemlock's attention on the walls of the passage just before they gave way to the chamber beyond.

There were large, graceful, arcing patterns carved into the stone. Something reminded her of the Imperial magic she had witnessed in Gwineval's chamber before she left, but as she studied the patterns, she was unable to discern anything other than the fact they were magical.

"There are magical runes at the edge of the passage," she said.

Tored immediately halted.

Renevos and Otticus looked at them, but shook their heads in ignorance.

Hemlock verified magical power was feeding the runes, but the arcs and angles were completely incomprehensible to her.

"I don't know what to do here," she said.

"Maybe they're too old to still work," said Otticus.

"No, I can sense that they are still powered. I just can't figure out their nature. It's the first time this has ever happened to me."

They stood and studied the runes for several more minutes.

"Should we double back?" Renevos asked.

"This feels like the right way," said Hemlock.

"I imagine the wizards thought this was a strategic point to fortify. It is likely that it's not easily avoided," said Tored.

Renevos nodded. "So what to do, then?"

"I will dash through and see what happens," said Hemlock.

"Hemlock, no. Why don't we throw a rope between the runes and see what that does?" said Otticus.

"We could do that," said Hemlock.

"Wait," said Tored, "look at the pock marks on the walls around us. I think there's evidence that whatever the effect of these runes is will be destructive, and it will affect the entire hall rather than just the part near yonder chamber."

"Oh, good point," said Hemlock. "Well, what if you all stand back in the caves and let me run up alone?"

"I think we should ward ourselves and then all run through together," said Renevos.

They all considered that for a few moments.

"I agree," said Tored.

"OK with me," said Hemlock.

Renevos stood back and cast a spell on each of the three in turn, causing a shimmering blue field of energy to enclose them. Then he invoked a field around his own body.

"I made the spell fairly strong, but it still may not stand up to a powerful, direct hit. I advise that we all move as quickly as possible," said Renevos.

Hemlock took the lead as they all crept slowly toward the runes. The torchlight revealed a finished granite floor extended into the room, but little more. Hemlock looked for any other runes or evidence of traps, but did not find any. When they had reached a distance of about twenty feet from the runes, she gave the signal to run.

The silence was broken by the roar of battle magic as scores of pale energy bolts flew toward them from the interior of the room directly ahead of them.

Hemlock was able to avoid several of the bolts, but one group came toward her in a cluster and she took a glancing blow as she sidestepped into the room and out of the path of the magic.

She turned in time to see Tored, Renevos and Otticus dash into the room on the other side of the passage from her. Renevos was being supported by both men, and blood was streaming from his knee.

"Was he hit?" she cried as the magic subsided.

"Yes, but the magic barrier held. He fell and cut his knee on a rock," said Tored.

Hemlock was relieved and turned to inspect the areas of the room that were revealed by the torchlight.

Four raised statues were visible in the center of the room, facing the passage. Each of them was mounted on a six foot pedestal, and each depicted a wizard holding a rune laden trident. It was clear that the magical bolts had originated from the statues.

Hemlock strode toward the statues; the rear of the room came into view. About fifty feet from the statues there was a stone stair that rose to a balcony fortified with a granite wall that was broken up by a sequence of slender slits. There was a shadowy exit visible behind the wall atop the balcony.

Hemlock could sense Imperial magic in the statues, and she perceived a trail of magical energy going across the room, up the stairs and out the distant doorway.

"I think we have a magic trail to follow to the Wand now," she said.

"I see nothing, young lady, but I will defer to your talents," said Renevos as he tested his leg under the burden of the wound and the small bandage Tored had applied.

As Hemlock neared the statue, her magical affinity directed her attention back to the runes at the edge of the hallway. They were clearer now, and she could perceive the attack energy in them—but they were still somewhat distorted.

Becoming curious, she assayed the statues to ensure that there would be no danger, and then climbed onto one of the pedestals.

Looking at the runes from that height and angle brought them into perfect focus. They had been carved in perspective.

That's a clever and effective trick that I'd best not mention to the wizards.

"What are you doing?" asked Tored.

"Nothing," said Hemlock, jumping down to the floor again.

"We're lucky those bolts were meant for killing ghosts," said Renevos, "otherwise I might not have made it."

"You have to make it, old man. What else am I here for except to escort you around?" said Otticus.

"Be silent!" snapped Renevos, but there was a small smile in the corner of his mouth.

After Hemlock determined the stairs to be safe, the group climbed them and exited out of the passage on the balcony.

The finished granite gave way to unfinished limestone again, but after the incident in the previous room, Hemlock's mood wasn't as positive as it had been. This was further reinforced by Tored's observation that the Oruk tracks they kept finding were getting fresher.

About thirty minutes passed before they heard echoing gusts of air ahead of them. Tored slowed their pace and soon the passage they were following entered a vast chasm that extended above and below them as far as their light would show. Their path crossed the chasm along a narrow walkway that varied between three to five feet in width and was about fifty feet long. It looked treacherous but navigable.

They got out ropes and tied themselves together before setting out along the precipice. As they reached the midway point of the crossing, Tored gasped.

Hemlock saw an apparition running toward them. Its eerie glow was recognizable; it was the ghost of the fallen Tanna Varran warrior, Umra Vyle.

"NO! Begone foul spirit!" cried Tored, reaching for a spear that wasn't there and nearly stumbling over the edge of the precipice.

Hemlock grabbed the heavier man by the arm and managed to stabilize him as the apparition disappeared a few feet in front of Tored.

"Tored, that was Umra Vyle!" said Hemlock.

"Yes, it is as I feared," said Tored.

"You suspected this?" said Hemlock.

"Yes, but I didn't mention it for fear of encouraging his ghost."

"Listen, maybe we'd better discuss this after we complete the crossing," said Otticus nervously.

Tored started forward again.

When they reached the safety of the other side of the chasm, Hemlock asked, "Why is his ghost haunting you?"

"This is not unheard of amongst our people. Umra Vyle's death must have left his spirit restless, and his thirst for revenge on me has prevented his passing on to the next life," said Tored grimly.

"What can we do to get rid of him?" asked Hemlock.

"If one of our shaman were here, there might be some options. But since I have effectively banished myself from my people, I am not confident that anything can be done, short of uncoupling this land from the City and leaving."

"All the more reason to complete our quest, I suppose," said Renevos.

"Beware of the spirit," said Tored, "I don't think it can harm us directly, but it will try to startle us and cause us injuries or worse. We must be wary of it."

The group continued to follow the trail as it led them through a dizzying array of passages. Tored was relieved the burden of guiding their path was lifted from his shoulders. Renevos paused and pulled out a small hourglass, which seemed to flow at the same rate, no matter the angle it was held at. Hemlock sensed the magic emanating from the object.

"Time remaining until our next scrye," Renevos muttered in response to Hemlock's curious look.

"How long?" Hemlock asked.

"The better part of a day. It is early afternoon on the surface," he responded.

"What happens if we find the Wand sooner?" she asked.

"We wait," he said.

They walked for several hours, until the passage they were in widened to a large cavern filled with stalagmites and stalactites. They proceeded cautiously until Tored raised his arm in alarm.

Hemlock heard a strange shuffling sound echoing through the cavern. No sooner had she heard it than it was gone.

"That was an Oruk at the edge of this cavern," whispered Tored.

"Did it leave?" asked Hemlock.

"Yes. I only heard one, but the tracks here mark the passage of more than I can count. I fear we've made our way right to their nest. Is the magical trail leading across this cavern?"

"Yes, it is. And I haven't seen any alternative paths since we crossed the chasm. I think we have to proceed," said Hemlock.

"We'd best prepare for battle, then. I have no idea what to expect, but I fear the worst. Renevos, Oruk are known to fear fire," said Tored.

"OK, but if I cast many powerful spells, I will be forced to sleep in order to regain my strength for the scrye tomorrow," said Renevos.

Otticus had his broad sword out and was hefting it. "Any tips?" he asked Tored.

"Use heavy slashing attacks or their tough skin will deflect your blow."

Hemlock drew her long sword and held it in both hands. She yearned for the familiarity of her sabres.

"Extinguish the torches," said Renevos, "I will cast a spell of true sight on us for a time."

They did so, and Hemlock marveled at the clarity of her vision as the spell took hold. She could see clearly across the cavern to its edge, which lay at least a hundred feet distant. A finished, granite passage exited there, and the trail of Imperial magic continued down that passage.

They slowly made their way to the mouth of the tunnel and looked down its length. It extended for about forty feet, then made a sharp turn to the right.

Hemlock took the lead. She reached the corner of the passage with the others close behind her. The passage extended for another hundred feet before opening up to another finished room beyond that. There were two rows of man-sized stone arches set one above the other in the room. It was a curious and unfamiliar sight.

The group crept up the passage. A stench became noticeable the closer they got. Hemlock looked tentatively at the group behind her as the smell became more powerful, but received only resolute glances in response. She shrugged and continued to creep forward.

Soon they stood at the doorway of the chamber. The arches were stacked in six rows of eight across, one atop the other. There was a waist-high wall that obscured the opening of each arch, preventing her from seeing clearly behind them—especially in the upper arches that towered above them.

There were about eighty feet of open floor between her and the floor level arches, and there was no visible means of egress from the chamber.

Hemlock heard movement and heavy breathing coming from the upper arches.

"They're here," whispered Tored.

"What do we do?" asked Hemlock.

"We should dash across the room and make for those arches," said Otticus.

"Let me go," said Hemlock.

"No, we should stay together," said Tored. "Remember, this may be their lair, and there could be an ambush waiting."

"BE GONE FROM THIS PLACE!" came a booming voice from the upper arches. It reminded Hemlock of the sound of rock crumbling.

A figure loomed above them, glaring. It was crouched in a central arch and appeared to be at least six feet tall. It had heavy limbs, and its skin was textured like a mixture of rock and earth. Human-like breasts identified it as female, although they, too, appeared to be fashioned from rock and earth rather than flesh. Glowing brown eyes set off a wide face on a hairless head, at the bottom of which was an angry mouth with granite teeth.

"The demon!" cried Otticus.

"Hush!" chided Renevos.

"We are just passing through and have no quarrel with you," yelled Hemlock.

"YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS HERE! I'LL NOT WARN YOU AGAIN!" cried the figure.

"We have to continue! Let us pass in peace," said Hemlock.

The creature snarled and hefted a large rock from the ground at its feet. It hurled the rock at Hemlock with startling accuracy, forcing her forward into the room while scattering her companions back into the passage.

Taller, wiry figures appeared in the top three rows of arches above, and more rocks began to rain down into the chamber. Hemlock was forced into a running dodge, and then she decided to dash forward toward the bottom arches.

More rocks crashed heavily to the floor behind her. Otticus shouted from inside the room. The sound of running footsteps confirmed for her that the others were joining her in her dash.

As she neared the arched openings, there was a common thirty foot deep chamber behind each of them, which housed a stone stair that rose to the next level. Several of the tall, wiry figures were dashing down the stair to meet her. Their skin looked like a blending of stone and flesh and they moved with surprising speed for their size. They did not carry weapons, but their fingers were tipped with claws that looked heavy enough to do concussive damage in addition to cutting.

Hemlock sensed a spell of warding behind her as she skirted the waist-high barrier and moved to engage the first of the Oruk.

She tried to fell it with a quick strike, but cursed as her blow was struck far more slowly than she had planned. It was easily dodged by the larger Oruk. The creature side stepped her attack and aimed a cross-body punch at her head, which she ducked. Another Oruk moved to engage her on her right flank, but stepped back as she heard Tored and the others arrive.

She heard heavy crashes from behind her, and, turning, saw there were additional Oruk jumping from the floors above, trying to outflank them.

"Behind us!" she yelled.

She turned back just in time to see the Oruk in front of her swinging its two fists down toward her.

She jumped back and to the side to avoid the strike. The Oruk redirected, trying to catch her from the side.

This left the Oruk's head unguarded, and Hemlock channeled her power to leap and aim a cleaving blow at the creature's neck. Its head was hewn straight off by her attack, leaving a gurgling torso spewing a deep brown fluid as it crumpled to the floor.

She turned to see how the others were faring. Tored had killed one of the creatures, and Otticus, tattoos flaring, had chopped another's arm off as Renevos hit another in the chest with a crimson ball of fire.

She rushed to meet the Oruk approaching from the floor outside the arches. Suddenly, the creature that Otticus had identified as "the demon" dropped to the floor from above with a massive crash, shaking the entire chamber.

The Oruk stood aside as the heavier-limbed monster lumbered toward Hemlock, eyes bright with rage.

Hemlock dashed into the open floor and met her charge with a heavy overhead sword swing. The blow struck home as the earth creature did not attempt to dodge, and the blade sparked as it contacted rock. Some of the earth surrounding the rock was dislodged, however, and the creature howled in pain.

Hemlock was left uncomfortably close to the powerful and heavy creature, and in response it lifted a leg and stomped down hard, causing the floor to shake violently, making Hemlock drop to a three-point stance to avoid falling over entirely. The Oruk around her were knocked to the ground, and a curse from Otticus indicated that he had fallen as well. A heavy stone crashed to the chamber from above, seemingly dislodged by the earth creature's stomp, crushing a prone Oruk.

Hemlock was forced to skitter backward across the floor as the creature tried to stomp her underfoot, then she was able to regain her footing. As the creature lifted its leg again, Hemlock leapt into the air toward it, and while using an energy burst, landed a heavy slash to the neck of the creature. The extra force she put behind the blow dislodged some of the rock, notching the blade of her sword in the process.

The beast again cried out with rage, turned its upper torso, and held its arm toward Hemlock as she landed behind it. A fist-size rock slammed into Hemlock's back, apparently launched from the earth creature's own arm. The creature howled in pain, but Hemlock was also hurt. As she took several running steps and turned, she felt intense pain in her back, and subsequently each breath hurt in the vicinity of the impact.

The Oruk had scattered, leaving the earth creature to fight alone. Tored rushed up behind it and landed a strike with his axe. Again the creature turned and stomped, but the four companions were able to anticipate the attack and kept their footing.

Renevos struck the creature with a bolt of lightning as Otticus moved to flank it. More earth and rock burst from the stony body, and the creature stooped in agony.

Suddenly it broke into a loping run toward the side of the chamber. Hemlock easily kept pace with it; its glowing brown eyes turned toward her. It launched another rock from its arm with a yelp of pain, but Hemlock was able to duck out of the way.

The creature was now pinned against the wall. It made a motion like a swimming stroke, and not a second later, it began to merge with the granite in a combination of digging and passing through the rock.

Hemlock struck the creature several more times before it was gone, causing it pain, but not slowing its escape.

A narrow path through the rock was left in the creature's wake. The remaining Oruk had fled out of the passage.

"Can we follow it?" asked Otticus.

"It would be suicide to engage such a creature in a confined space like that," said Tored.

"I think we wounded it, but I'm not sure how badly," said Hemlock, wincing as her ribs tormented her.

"You are hurt," said Tored.

"Come here," said Renevos. He cast a small healing spell, which dulled the pain significantly, although the area was still quite tender.

"My spell power is low. Can we make camp here?" Renevos asked.

"Perhaps," said Tored, "Let's explore the upper floors."

They climbed to the remaining levels, which mirrored the makeup of the lower with the exception of the uppermost level, which featured an unfinished passageway exiting the room.

The trail of Imperial magic continued along that passage.

"This room seems as defensible as anything—perhaps more so since this earth creature can apparently swim through solid rock. We'll spend a few hours here so Renevos can rest," said Tored.

Hemlock agreed, and the three sat and ate lightly while Renevos fell immediately asleep. Hemlock nodded off about an hour later. Tored had agreed to stay up on watch.

In a few hours, Renevos woke up and Hemlock rose and fought off the heaviness of lingering sleep. Tored looked tired, but did not complain of any fatigue as the group made off down the passage.

Any elevation they had regained in the chamber of arches was quickly offset by the rapid descent of the passage over the next few hours. There were a few branching caves along the way, but Hemlock's ability to sense the trail of Imperial magic was unerring.

They came to another large chasm, but this one was bridged by a narrow, forty foot bridge of rock. They were back to using torches for light, so, though they couldn't see the bottom of the chasm, they could tell that it was very far down.

"The trail extends across," said Hemlock ruefully.

"I don't like it," said Renevos.

"Nor I," said Tored, "But I see no alternative."

When it became clear they were all resigned to cross, they tied themselves together with rope, and Hemlock started across first.

The companions had reached about mid-span when the room began to rumble and shake around them.

The earth creature had emerged behind them without making any significant noise, and was stomping the edge of the stone bridge.

"YOU WILL ALL DIE!" it cried as it stomped.

Hemlock quickened her pace, less worried about her own balance than that of her companions. She also feared that the entire span might fail, but it did not do so.

Reaching the other side, she turned to see Tored right behind her. At a distance of several paces, Otticus was helping Renevos across. The earth creature stomped again and Hemlock watched in horror as the old wizard took an awkward, running step forward and then stumbled. At the same moment, a shard of rock fell from the ceiling, landed in front of Otticus, and severed the rope that had connected him to Renevos.

Otticus dodged the fallen rock, rushed forward and shoved the old wizard into Tored's waiting arms. But the young wizard lost his footing in the process, and slipped off the side of the bridge.

"No!" shouted Hemlock. But it had happened in a flash. Otticus was gone.

With a defiant cry, the earth creature burrowed into the rock and disappeared.

"No, it can't be!" cried Renevos.

Hemlock despaired until she heard a strained voice cry out. "Hey, can I get some help here?"

Tored and Hemlock rushed onto the span and saw that Otticus had somehow managed to grab an outcropping of rock as he fell. Tored was able to pull him up with some effort, and soon the four were reunited and stood, regarding the shadowy chasm.

"I thought I was going to meet my maker," said Otticus.

"We all thought so," said Hemlock, patting the young wizard's back affectionately.

They proceeded along the route indicated by the Imperial magic and continued to descend deeper into the depths.

"Are we getting close?" asked Otticus.

"Yes, I think we are," said Hemlock. "The magic is getting stronger."

"What do you think this creature is?" asked Otticus.

"I don't know, but it's strong. I'm not sure if we're wounding it, or whether it is still at full strength. It seems like it's able to pick the best places to ambush us. I don't like it one bit," said Hemlock.

"Whatever it is, let's hope it will not have any more opportunities to ambush us. Do you think it has some interest in the Wand we seek?" asked Renevos.

"I don't know," said Hemlock, "but it sure acts like it does."

"Maybe we should ask it," said Otticus.

They were all silent for a few moments.

"It does speak, so the idea has some merit," said Tored.

"Fine," said Hemlock, "we'll have a nice chat with it next time we see it."

They continued to descend for another hour until a dull, red glow began to light the system of rocky passages that they were following. As they walked, the glow increased in strength until finally a cavern was revealed. A wide river of lava cut through the middle of the cavern. The liquid rock popped and undulated as it flowed, and pockets of air-cooled surface crust coalesced at times, only to be reclaimed by the fiery undercurrent in the next moment. Hemlock realized with a certainty that this lava was not like the Maker's Fire she had seen suspended in the Wands. It was somehow less brilliant, and the undulations in it seemed less kinetic and more mundane. The heat in the room made the air appear hazy, and what light there was seemed besieged by the darkness, and managed only a flickering deep red that left most of the room bathed in an oppressive shadow. They saw that a column of rock had collapsed from the ceiling and now bridged the distance between the gap in the rough floor, providing a means to cross over the lava flow.

The earth creature waited for them across the fallen slab of rock.

"Why are you attacking us?" yelled Hemlock.

"YOU INVADE MY HOME!"

"We're looking for a Wand. We have no argument with you."

"IT IS MY WAND! YOU ARE LUCKY THAT I AM OLD AND WEAK. IF I SWAM FOR A DAY IN THE DEEP ROCK, I'D CAST YOU ASIDE LIKE THE VERMIN YOU ARE!"

"The Wand is evil. We need to remove it. It was created by an Old God—why do you say it's yours?"

"WHO ARE YOU? THERE'S SOMETHING FAMILIAR ABOUT YOU. BUT YOU KNOW NOTHING. THE WAND WAS PROMISED TO ME."

"By who?"

"A WIZARD!"

"Well, it wasn't his to promise!"

"THE PROMISE WAS MADE. HE WAS THE SON OF THE DEAD GOD."

"Amazing!" said Renevos. "She must be talking about Julius!"

Hemlock considered this for a few seconds, but what little she knew of the wizard Julius, and whatever might have been promised to this creature in ages past, didn't seem to alter the fundamental reality that she had to release the Witch Crags.

"I'm sorry, but I must have the Wand," said Hemlock.

"I'LL KILL YOU ALL BEFORE I LET YOU HAVE IT!"

With that, the earth creature stormed forward across the stone span. Hemlock, Tored and Otticus set themselves and waited for the creature to reach them, as Renevos cast several powerful bolts of lightning at the rapidly approaching figure.

The stone creature reached the other side of the lava flow and howled with a primordial fury as it stomped at Hemlock. She dropped to all fours and then sprung back to her feet in time to dodge a rock the creature hurled at her. Hemlock noticed that the creature was becoming noticeably less bulky as each projectile attack sundered rock and earth from its body.

Tored landed a hard hit with his battle axe, and when the creature spun, Otticus and Hemlock both hit it from behind. Renevos was hanging back from the fight, but when Tored ducked a rock projectile, it happened that Renevos was directly in its path, and took its full force in the chest. The old wizard was launched off his feet and landed hard several feet back. Otticus peeled off to tend to him, and the earth creature, sensing an advantage, made toward the prone wizard. Otticus dragged Renevos backward as the creature approached, and Hemlock brought her full power to bear and leapt forward, landing a stroke with her long sword that cut the creature's hand off at the forearm.

Hemlock was starting to tire, and wasn't sure how much more power she could draw upon without seeking the trance-like state to receive energy from other dimensions. And she wasn't sure how to invoke that trance-like state without a Wand of the Imperator in her hands.

The earth creature was clearly wounded. Hemlock's cleaving strike had dropped it to its knees, and it ceased trying to kill the prone wizard and began bounding toward the wall of the cave.

Hemlock and Tored sought to prevent it from reaching the wall, but though they made it pay dearly for the passage, its sheer bulk prevented them from holding it back.

By the time it finally reached the wall, it was crawling.

Tored grappled with the creature before Hemlock realized his intent, and though she feared for the warrior, she was impressed with the result. He able to restrain the desperate beast, and prevented it from burrowing into the rock.

"Slay it!" cried Tored.

Hemlock considered how best to accomplish that as a low rumbling started and quickly gained in intensity.

"Hurry!" shouted Tored.

Hemlock tried to thrust her blade into the creature's hide near where a human heart might reside, but the rock skin turned the blow. She started to frantically slash at the creature instead, as the rumbling got stronger and stronger.

Suddenly something massive smashed through the wall of the chamber. A huge, circular mouth formed by the meeting of two semispherical jaws of rough hide rushed forward along the stone floor, bearing down on Tored and Hemlock. Behind the large orifice, a long, segmented body followed, undulating as the creature moved forward with a tremendous momentum, cracking and crumbling the rock floor below it as it proceeded.

Tored and Hemlock were forced to dash away from the earth creature to avoid being drawn into the cavernous jaws of the massive worm. As they recoiled in shock, they watched over a hundred feet of leathery, segmented hide pass before them until the worm burrowed out of the opposite side of the chamber.

The earth creature was nowhere to be found.

"What was that thing?" cried Hemlock.

"I've never seen its like," Tored managed.

A groan from Renevos returned their attention to the old wizard. They rushed to his side and saw blood around his mouth.

"He needs healing," said Otticus.

"That's a problem since he's the healer," said Hemlock.

"I...I might be able to do something," said Otticus.

"Might?" said Hemlock.

"Well, I was never very good at healing, which is one reason I went for the First Circle."

"There is no alternative—we need him, or this journey will have been pointless," said Tored. "You must attempt it."

Otticus looked uncomfortable, but he gently laid the old wizard on the floor and stood over him. Hemlock watched as the young man cast his healing spell; and Hemlock, who had seen many healing spells cast in her time, could tell that the casting was clumsy.

But Renevos sat up when the spell was completed.

Otticus beamed with delight as the old wizard spoke. "I feel like I've just wrestled with a rock and lost."

"Renevos, can you heal yourself now?" asked Hemlock with relief.

"Yes," said Renevos. And after some quick incantations he was on his feet.

"Are you in good shape to scrye?"

"Yes. Oh, let me check the time," said Renevos. "The appointed time is within a few hours. Should we wait?"

"I sense that the Wand is close," said Hemlock, "I suggest we press on."

They all agreed, crossed over the lava without incident, and continued out of a far passage. They entered a complex of caves that offered a bewildering array of exit tunnels. They were forced to try some passages at random, but fortunately, they found that the caves were mostly interconnected, and all seemed to lead downward in the same general direction. After an hour, the cave they were in ended in a small gorge they were forced to climb down by anchoring one of their ropes to a nearby boulder. Fortunately, a passage continued from the bottom of the gorge. After the first bend, it descended sharply, and they began to feel heat all around them.

"There must be more lava nearby," said Tored uncomfortably.

No sooner had he uttered those words than a truly massive cavern was revealed. A sea of the same lava they had seen in the cavern above stretched out below them like a crimson abyss, with only the dark outline of a nearby spire of rock offering any hope of respite (without turning back). The heat was painful and they feared it would blister their skin if they proceeded. As Hemlock's eyes adjusted to the brutal contrast of the brilliant lava and the impenetrable darkness above it, she noticed through the blur of tear-filled eyes that there was a rocky path stretching down before them, leading to the base of the spire. She thought she saw some motion around a dark opening in the base, but when she blinked and looked again, it was gone.

"I think the earth creature just went in there," Hemlock cried over the hiss of the steam rising from the lava.

"Let us follow," shouted Tored.

Hemlock made her way down the path, hoping the earth creature would not have the strength to assault them on the treacherous causeway. She could feel the raw power of the nearby Wand strongly, and was certain it was inside the spire.

They reached the opening at the base and saw that a rough passage extended from it. They entered cautiously, and the heat became more bearable.

They heard a soft, grating, crying sound as they rounded a corner and beheld a Wand of the Imperator. It was set on a raised dais, which was formed by the convergence of four alabaster arches that topped two foot wide, beveled columns. These, in turn, were topped by a dome of the yellow rock, which was punctuated by beautiful white striations. An ornately carved dragon topped this, and held the Wand in its outstretched claws.

The earth creature lay prone on the rocky floor near the Wand, crying pathetically. Near it was a small form laying flat on a carved alabaster table that was flat on top, though it curved gently downward toward the middle. It was covered in glowing runes. A few yards beyond the earth creature, the floor was broken by a great cavity in the rock.

"What is that?" Hemlock asked, as she pointed toward the ornate table-like object beside the dais, the carved dragon, and the Wand. She soon provided the answer to her own question. The small figure that lay upon the table and the nature of the carved stone that it rested on gave Hemlock the distinct impression of a baby lying on some sort of shallow cradle. The small figure was not swaddled, and its skin was nearly pure granite, which gave the unmistakable impression of kinship with the earth creature. Its eyes were closed, and upon further inspection, the small body looked more like a normal baby than the earth creature did a normal person. But Hemlock was sickened by the appearance of the child. It looked like a caricature of the human form.

"HAVE MERCY ON ME!" cried the earth creature.

"What do you mean?" asked Hemlock.

"MY CHILD—HE IS SUSTAINED BY THE WAND. IF YOU TAKE IT, HE WILL DIE!"

Hemlock turned to Tored, then turned her attention back to the cradle. She could sense powerful life magic emanating from the runes that covered it. But there was also a binding quality to the magic that seemed like it could imprison while it sustained. She wasn't certain that the small creature would die if the Wand's power was removed, but she guessed it was likely true.

"She's telling the truth," said Hemlock flatly.

"I AM TELLING THE TRUTH. TOUCH THE CRADLE TO SEE THE TRUTH OF THE PROMISE THAT WAS MADE TO ME!"

Hemlock turned to her companions and they all discouraged her from touching the cradle.

"It could be a trap!" said Otticus.

"But I need to know if what she says is true!" said Hemlock.

"Hemlock, be careful!" cried Renevos as she reached out toward the alabaster surface of the cradle.

When she touched the warm yellow rock, she experienced a vision. It was hazy at first, but soon it sharpened, and she could hear the earth creature speaking with a man. The conversation was taking place in this very same chamber, but the cradle was empty, and the man held the Wand in his hands instead of it resting in the dragon carving. Hemlock saw that he wore a scintillating, fiery crown on his head that seemed much like the Wand—only far more powerful. The crown made Hemlock's blood run cold, and where the Wands made her uneasy, this Crown made her fear.

"IT MUST BE YOU!" said the version of the earth creature in her vision.

"Impossible. I'll find another to do it," said the tan-skinned man, who was clearly a wizard. Hemlock assumed this was the legendary Julius.

"THREE HAVE ALREADY PERISHED IN THE ACT! YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS THE POWER!"

Julius looked repulsed, but his dark brow seemed to loosen as he perceived the truth in her words. The bodies of three fallen wizards were strewn around the chamber: all looking like they had ruptured from within.

"YOU MUST LOVE ME! PROMISE ME AGAIN THAT I WILL HAVE THIS CHILD FOREVER!"

"Be silent! I now accept that I must partake of this terrible act with you. And, yes, the child will live as long as you remain here to guard this Wand," said Julius.

He approached the earth creature from behind and soon a discordant and depraved coupling ensued. Hemlock tried to look away, but the vision would not allow her to do so. The crown and the Wand blazed with a fell light as the act proceeded, and Julius was somehow able to weave runes of Imperial magic during the course of it. As the union reached its climax, Julius placed the blazing Wand onto the alabaster carving of the dragon. The earth under their feet shuddered as the Imperial runes on the dais hummed with power.

Hemlock was haunted by what she had witnessed. The earth creature looked enraptured in the aftermath, while Julius looked horrified.

"It is done. You must not leave this chamber until you give birth," Julius said, clearly fatigued by the recent proceedings.

"IT WORKED? IT IS A MIRACLE! WAIT! WILL YOU COME TO SEE THE CHILD WHEN IT IS BORN?"

Julius walked around the earth creature as he hurriedly removed the Crown from his head and placed it into a golden satchel. As he left the chamber, he turned and shouted, "No, you will never see me again! I'll never force myself to lay eyes on the abomination that now takes root within you!"

The vision ended and Hemlock became aware of her surroundings again. She removed her hand from the cradle.

"NOW YOU KNOW THE TRUTH IN MY WORDS!" said the earth creature.

Hemlock nodded to assure her companions that she was all right. "She's right, Julius did promise her that the child would be hers forever."

Nobody spoke for several minutes as the earth creature continued to sob. Renevos retreated into a corner and knelt down. Hemlock noticed he was initiating a scrying session, but she immediately refocused on the conundrum she now faced.

Her thoughts waged war with themselves. On one hand, she couldn't accept the alien form in the cradle as a child in the conventional sense—just like she didn't think of the earth creature as being a person, per se. But another part of her felt sorry for the pathetic creature that was sprawled out before her, and its desperate maternal instinct.

But can I sacrifice my principles and let the evil of this Wand persist for the sake of this creature and this unnatural child? What about the Tanna Varrans?

Just then a soft voice that resembled the heavier grating voice of the earth spirit projected out from the crib: "Mother, it is time. We've lived here for ages, but nothing ever changes. I don't grow, and I know I'll never leave this place. It is time. You must let me go."

"NO! YOU DON'T MEAN THAT!" gasped the earth creature.

Hemlock turned and pointed at Renevos. "This is the work of wizards!"

"I...I believe so, yes," he replied.

"Just when I think it can't get any worse..." Hemlock spat.

Suddenly the soft grating voice of the child spoke to her without making an audible sound. But Hemlock was able to hear every word that it said to her directly in her mind. "I've lain in this crib for centuries: trapped, stale and unused, like a stillborn messiah. As my consciousness evolved beyond the simplicity of childhood, the facade that my mother erected to explain my situation became apparent."

A host of questions leapt into Hemlock's mind as the small voiced paused. But something about the small creature's earnest delivery made her reluctant to interrupt it.

"I nearly lost myself to madness in the ensuing years. But one of the fallen souls who sought out my Mother's cruel ministrations remembered an ancient art in his final days. He taught me to meditate, and my spirit was set free to roam the worlds. My father's line gave me foresight, and my mother's gave me recollection.

Soon I perceived many things, things long forgotten and things yet to pass. I was able to experience the wind in my face and the pleasure of a loved one's touch—but only as you would experience a memory: vivid, yet inherently bitter-sweet.

My meditation controls my desires, but at times I still despair. I have struggled to justify my existence—to explain why fate would deliver me as one so full of potential, but imprison me in this feeble shell of a body. Perhaps my fate has dictated such an existence, but even the wise can grow weary—grow tired of the wise path, even though its truth is clear. But recently I became aware of you, and perceived that you were coming closer and closer. I felt a true sense of purpose for the first time in my long, long life.

That purpose is now almost fulfilled. I am here now to link you to your future, and by extension, the City and all the surrounding worlds to their future as well. You will deliver this future to them, but not without my help. There are still many things you don't understand. You must search for catacombs under the Tower. Within them you will find a crypt. The crypt holds a secret which you must discover. You must decipher your path forward within a relic of the past.

In order to do this, you will need my flesh—the flesh of the Imperator. Though my body will crumble, I will preserve my hand for you. Within that hand, some of my essence will linger for a time. You must hasten to the crypt as soon as you can, for my will can only preserve this small part of me for a short while.

You must find your path, Hemlock. You must make your secret journey—perhaps sooner than is comfortable; but time is short and circumstance requires no less. I have seen a darkness gathering at the edge of time. Inky black wings bear it aloft as it devours worlds. It is a taint upon creation—another child of the Imperator and his final deceit. But it is also a child of us all, a symptom of the corruption we are all afflicted with since the demise of the Red Robed Man.

Remember my words, and reflect upon who I am and what I represent. Remember the crypt! And remember my hand!"

Hemlock stared at the strange child in wonder.

"What is it Hemlock?" Tored asked.

Hemlock didn't answer.

"Hemlock!"

She thought she should respond to the child—ask him one of the many questions she had, but it was all too overwhelming. The continuous crying of the earth creature returned her focus to the present.

"I'm all right."

Hemlock turned to the earth creature. "Your child speaks wisely. The wizards have done great evil here—I can see that. If it were just the fate of you and your child at stake, then I might let you make the decision, but there are entire realms counting on me removing and destroying this Wand."  
"NO! DON'T KILL MY BABY!"

Hemlock looked at Tored. She hoped to receive some sign of affirmation from him, but he returned her gaze stoically.

"Do what you have to do, Hemlock," said Otticus grimly.

"I have scryed with Gwineval—the teleport cage is ready. And he mentioned something about this creature. Legend says she betrayed the Red Robed Man and caused his banishment! She's evil, Hemlock," said Renevos hurriedly.

"NO!" wailed the creature.

Hemlock set her jaw and approached the Wand. The earth creature crawled toward her pathetically, but Hemlock ignored it. She reached out for the Wand, and as she did so, she could sense the ancient spells of binding fracturing. Something about her aura seemed to be weakening the Imperial magic. It was effortless. She grasped the Wand, conscious of its warmth. She immediately felt in tune with the other worlds she sometimes travelled to in her mind, but she ignored the feeling.

With a final, reluctant glance at the cradle, she lifted the Wand from its alabaster base.

"PLEASE!" cried the earth creature, but it was too late.

The intricate lattice of Imperial runes that surrounded the alabaster carving started to glow visibly, as if infused with the pale yellow of the stone. This was accompanied by a high pitched screech unlike anything Hemlock had ever heard. Then the alabaster dais cracked from top to bottom, shattering into many pieces in tandem with the violent unraveling of the Imperial runes surrounding it. A swirling wind roared forth from the broken alabaster as the cradle was similarly sundered, and the small, stone body within crumbled to dust and was quickly dispersed through the chamber by the sudden gusts.

Hemlock stumbled backwards and covered her mouth as a cloud of the dusty remains passed close to her, and then dissipated. The screeching sound was gone, but was immediately replaced by the sickening sound of rock being shorn. The entire floor moved under her feet as the chamber lurched to the side and came to rest on an incline. She struggled to maintain her footing while being careful not to drop the Wand.

The earth spirit, who was still sprawled out on the floor, began to roll down the incline toward the chasm in the floor. In the next moment ,she fell into the fissure in the rock and disappeared.

The floor stabilized and Hemlock rushed to the fissure and looked down searching for the earth spirit. But sudden heat and the sight of roiling lava below the floor brought her up short.

"The entire chamber has shifted! We're perched directly above the lava!" Hemlock cried.

"The deed is done!" shouted Renevos.

"Yes, but we have to get out of here!"

Hemlock turned to Tored and saw he was rushing toward the exit, which had been blocked by fallen boulders.

"Wait! Gwineval should be here any moment!" said Renevos, halting Tored.

"He'd better hurry!" said Hemlock, imagining the veil that bordered the City advancing inexorably across the horizon like she had seen in the northern desert after she had removed the Wand that had bound that region.

Suddenly a shimmering appeared in a corner of the room. It was followed by a great cloud of smoke, and when the smoke cleared, a large, brass cage was revealed. Gwineval stood in the cage, beckoning the group forward. His eye was immediately drawn to the Wand.

Hemlock glared at the reptilian wizard, and the latter averted his eyes. As she and her companions rushed toward the cage, something on the rock floor near the crumbled ruins of the dais caught her eye.

The child's hand!

She turned and sprinted for the object as the chamber lurched again, and her companions shouted at her in alarm.

She reached the hand, knelt and picked it up carefully. It was still intact, although the remains of the wrist crumbled slightly as she handled it. She placed it in her belt pouch and then ran back to the cage.

There was no time for questions, and once Hemlock was safely inside, she watched as Gwineval closed the gate, reached a green, scaled hand to the top of the cage and rang the brass bell that hung there. The world faded to black as the roar of magic filled her ears and time and space seemed to fold inward on itself.

Chapter Twelve

Not three hours after her return to the Wizard Tower, Hemlock made several awkward excuses and departed alone to the tunnels under the seat of the wizard's power. The words of the stone child still resonated in her mind, and she held one arm protectively over the belt pouch that contained the small, stone hand.

She had gone deeper into the tunnels than ever before—far beyond the depth of the secret chamber where Safreon had once found a Wand of the Imperator. She was unsure how far these tunnels went, but they were turning out to be more expansive than she'd thought. She was guided by an uncanny sense of intuition, and had made innumerable turns along her journey without any fear or hesitation.

Maybe the child planted this knowledge in my mind somehow.

The flickering light of the Wand she carried lit her way in the dark tunnels, and now showed a slim, dark crevice in the rock wall to her right.

This is it.

She entered the crevice, clearing thick cobwebs that blocked her way. The walls became tighter after several feet, and there was a sharp bend to the left. She was forced to hug the rock to navigate the bend.

As she regained a normal posture, she saw ancient-looking wooden stairs about twenty feet ahead of her.

She carefully climbed down the creaky stairs, and then walked along a roughly excavated passage until it met a finished stone cross passage via a gaping, irregular hole in a wall built with stone blocks. Though the air was stifling and several large spider webs blocked her passage, she quickly found the crypts she sought. She entered a large chamber, which housed an array of man-sized indentations along the walls that held crumbling remains. Eight large sarcophagi were housed in recessed alcoves. They were decorated with intricate carvings and the alcoves surrounding them were built with beveled blocks that looked like they had once been whitewashed, but now were mostly faded by age. Runic symbols of the old Imperial period were easily located on the blocks above each stone sarcophagus.

As if answering the flickering illumination of her Wand, large, fiery runes became visible on the smooth stone floor of the crypt. There were three runic symbols, each of which was easily six feet in width. She knelt and touched one of the symbols, but nothing happened. She did notice that the symbol's fiery appearance gained in intensity the closer the Wand came to it—but it did not give off heat.

She realized that the large symbols on the floor matched some of the carved runes above the sarcophagi. Hemlock rose, walked to a nearby alcove, and touched the Wand to the first carved symbol corresponding to the runic sequence marked on the floor. The carved symbol burst with the same fiery light that emblazoned the floor.

She proceeded to the second symbol, touched the Wand to it, and the same thing happened. She approached the third sarcophagi and then paused beside it, suddenly feeling cautious. But her memory of the odd child quelled that final cautious impulse, and she gently touched the glass head of the Wand to the final rune. There was a dull clicking sound behind the stone panel, and suddenly the square panel of stone around it receded along heretofore invisible seams in the rock, then slid aside. A different stone slab slid forward until it was flush with the wall around it. This piece of stone bore the imprint of a hand.

It was clear to Hemlock what was required to proceed. She gingerly removed the small hand and regarded it. A creeping feeling of trepidation returned as she considered the magnitude of the discovery she seemed to be on the cusp of making.

Should I consult Gwineval after all?

But then her pride, mixed with awareness that this was her challenge to face alone, compelled her to place the hand into the recessed outline.

When she did so, a low rumbling sound filled the chamber and the sound of rock grating on rock came from the center of the room. The fiery symbols on the floor were receding—no, they were angling downwards through the floor as part of it descended along a fixed axis of rotation, forming a ramp leading down to a lower room.

Hemlock's mouth was dry with excitement as she proceeded to the ramp. She gasped as she saw a massive chamber below extending far into the distance.

Sensing no threat, she walked down the ramp; and as she entered the lower space, her footfalls echoed, confirming she had judged truly when she perceived a massive space. In fact, she soon found her estimate had not done the full scope of the space justice, as she reached the edge of the ramp and took a step out onto the polished stone floor.

An oddly scalloped ceiling extended out hundreds of feet in front of her, and the floor she stood on extended about twenty feet. She approached the edge and saw there was a sequence of steps leading down into a vast amphitheater. The curve of the steps confirmed the expansive circumference of the space, while the large number of steps suggested the depth.

She felt compelled to descend into the amphitheater, though her senses seemed poised to deliver signals of danger that were never sent. All she sensed was the grandeur of the space, her soft, echoing footfalls, a strange scent in the air, and an almost oppressive sense of solitude.

She reached the floor of the amphitheater and looked up. The scalloped ceiling was barely visible, and had to be hundreds of feet above her. But then she noticed something. The space above her was starting to shimmer. Balls of light were rapidly forming in the open air above; and with a rapidity that caused her to crouch and reach for her sword, a magnificent rendering of the strange other space she had seen in her visions sprang to life.

Her caution quickly gave way to amazement as she beheld the entirety of the other-worldly space laid out in precise detail above her. The City and its lands were at the center of the display, sailing along the surface of a huge, raging ball of burning crimson. A cloud of innumerable worlds floated lazily around the City. The City and the worlds collectively looked something like a system of blood vessels: the huge ball of flame that supported the City was the heart, and thick columns of fire connected this flaming sphere with the nearest worlds. Smaller rivers of flame extended from these nearby worlds to more distant ones, and still smaller tongues of fire extended from them; until, ultimately, tiny, fiery capillaries flowed to the dim, distant worlds. Beyond these distant worlds, which were little more than small points of light, was utter blackness: nothing in its most absolute form.

She lifted her hands to try and block the blinding brilliance of the City's ball of fire, but as she did so, the City suddenly receded, and more distant worlds and connecting arcs of the fire came into view.

Hemlock was surprised and confused. As her eyes adjusted to the sudden light, she slowly moved her hands apart as she brought them down, then stopped as the view of the City slowly got larger and regained its former clarity.

Recognition dawned on her, and she began to move her arms above her and refocus the view to her liking.

Look at it all! The size of it...the scale!

As she took stock of her newfound control over the startling projection, her attention was drawn to certain worlds. The worlds themselves were like half spheres floating over the streams of celestial fire below. Each of them had a distinct color and pattern.

A dusty, tan world that soared adjacent to the City caught her attention. She felt an emanation projecting from it, and was startled to realize that she had pinpointed Falignus; he was not only alive, but he was on that world. She was absolutely certain of it.

How can I know this?

She then considered the lineage of the strange child, and that Falignus, like the child, had Imperial blood running in his veins.

That must be why I can sense him.

Another world caught her attention then. It was a mostly dark half orb that barely contrasted with the void around it, but for the roiling gray clouds that made it distinctive. She perceived a different type of emanation coming from this world, but it was also familiar to her. She pictured a tricorne hat and locks of blond, curly hair.

DuLoc.

His energy felt more elemental than Falignus', and much stronger. And an accompanying emanation confirmed that he had a Wand in his possession.

Wait.

There was energy coming from the City as well.

She zoomed in closer to the City, and as she did so she immediately sensed her own energy.

She was chagrined to realize that her aura was weaker than DuLoc's—but it was also much different. Hers seemed similar of the Maker's Fire itself, and seemed to morph and dance like a tongue of flame. She thought she might sense her sister, Mercuria, too, but she did not.

So she's not like me, then.

She realized this with a sense of disappointment that surprised her.

She next perceived the aura of the Wand she had brought with her, and that of another Imperial Wand interlaced with intricate binding magic. This other Wand lay deep under the tallest of the range of mountains that bordered the City on its eastern side.

But there was something else: another faint emanation coming from the City itself. Hemlock instantly knew who it belonged to.

Merit!

It was faint...very faint. But what astonished her was that it most resembled a much weaker version of DuLoc's aura.

Interesting. Another clue to your story, my amazing little friend.

Seeing nothing else of note on the City's world, she again zoomed out her view until it encompassed the entire cloud of worlds. She sensed the emanation of another pair of Wands deep in the outer worlds. Both Wands were intertwined with a different type of binding spell than what she had seen in the City's mountains and what she had personally witnessed in the northern desert and the Witch Crags. The magical energy was much more focused. She tried to magnify her view so she could see what was being restrained. It was a large tower unlike anything she had seen before. It was large enough that she could see it in some detail.

A tree-shaped edifice of pure granite rose from a large lake to a majestic height. The granite tree was split in the middle, with two branches diverging from the lower trunk at offset angles, one reaching slightly higher than the other. The granite was punctuated with rock outcroppings that looked like great crustaceans, giving the illusion of leafy growths. Each of the two upper branches was topped with a flat surface of rock, and atop the taller branch rested a magnificent tower of clear crystal, which rose to about half the height of the branch it rested on. It reflected the setting sun, dazzling the eyes.

Her fleeting vision of a red robe barely visible through an adoring crowd sprang to mind.

She recalled the vision of the Red Wizard she had seen when the Bachawn Witch had touched her with its kinslayer ribbon—a fragment of the robe worn by the Maker himself.

I won't call him a wizard any longer—that term is now sullied. Why couldn't I see his face?

Falignus had said she was descended from the Red Robed Man. And she had felt a primeval affinity to that figure as it strode through her dream with adoring people surrounding and obscuring it.

She felt a sudden realization that the Red Robed Man was not just any relative, but was her father. She knew it was true.

It's his Tower! The Maker's Tower!

A thought interrupted the wonder of this latest revelation, and caused her to drop heavily into a sitting position on the stone floor, indifferent, for a moment, to the wondrous display above her.

I am alone. There is nobody else like me. I am the last of my Father's bloodline. And there are enemies all around me.

Seeming to underscore her sense of isolation, she noticed the small stone hand—the hand of the stunted prophet that had lain trapped in an alabaster prison for centuries—had crumbled into a small pile of dust.

She sat looking at that pile of dust for many minutes, the knots of concern in her mind slowly unraveling as she did so.

She understood the tasks that awaited her: the struggle against DuLoc, the restoration of what must be her Father's tower, and the redemption of the City itself. They all lay squarely on her shoulders.

There is no one else.

And then a small ray of optimism shone over the gray of her responsible acceptance of her fate.

But look at all the worlds! So many people! All of the adventures that await me! If this is my fate then I shall meet it bravely. And with sword in hand.



Hemlock walked down a rough stone corridor, part of her still wanting to crawl out from under the weight of the responsibility she felt, another part of her chafing in reaction to the pointlessness of that feeling. She was aware of the eyes of her companions on her as she walked. Watching. Assessing.

She had just taken them to see the ampitheater. She had shown them its wonders, and had explained to them the auras she could sense within it—things they were unable to perceive. They had many questions, but she told them to wait.

She was aware of the concentrated power of the Wand in her hand—and certain she would have to give that power to another very soon.

She also felt something familiar as she made her way down the dusty corridor that led to the cavern where she had destroyed the first two Wands. Rather than the thrill of discovery she had felt when she first entered this ancient hallway, she now felt only a hollow echo, tinged by a longing numbness. The same longing numbness she had felt after Safreon's death.

Merit and Gwineval had told her the story of Julius that morning: his origins in the desert, his arrival in the City, his rejection of his Father's ideals, and his eventual surrender to the temptation of Imperial power. Dark debts had gone unpaid for centuries, debts that she and the City had inherited, and which had finally come due for settlement.

Now that debt has become my burden. But I am strong enough to bear it.

As the group descended in silence, Hemlock perceived an arched doorway at the edge of the torchlight. She reached it and passed through it into the cavern beyond, reflecting on her youth. The two stone statues sat in silent observation as they faced the chasm that held the fire below. The Maker's Fire.

She continued to walk into the large cavern. As she neared the ruined edge of the stone causeway where Safreon's wife Jupita had met her demise, she understood that deaths were not always absolute. She felt that sometimes death was incremental. And she was sure some part of her had passed away with that small infant with the stone skin that was loved by Amarank, the earth spirit. Hemlock wondered whether Amarank had died in that room as well.

She looked at Tored as he stoically regarded her. No, there was emotion in his face. It was a detached pity. He knew she was suffering, but the part of him that could reach out to her had also passed away at some point during their journey to Tor Varnos.

Are we all just shells of ourselves walking aimlessly through our lives, accepting our fates after the parts of us that resist them are finally worn down?

She looked at the faces of the others that had followed her here: Samberlin, Mercuria, Gwineval, Renevos, Merit, and Miara. Each of them wore an expectant look, although varying individual emotions were also reflected on each face.

Just like Julius, I've returned to the City to accept the legacy of a dead god, and to combat the legacy of another one.

Hemlock began to speak softly then, her voice clear above the distant crackle of the fire that raged many leagues below. And her Father was alive in her mind, his very essence seeming to warm her from the glowing river of tumult that raged in the depths of the rock far below her feet.

"Do you have questions?" Hemlock asked.

There was a long period of silence, and then Gwineval spoke.

"You said that you can sense this DuLoc? How is this possible?" asked Gwineval.

"Wasn't this the Imperator's vision? Can we trust it?" asked Miara at nearly the same time.

Hemlock turned toward Gwineval. "I can just feel it. It may have something to do with my...nature." Then she turned to Miara. "I think the Imperator did build it. But I'm not sure. Maybe he just sealed it away. But I can tell it's a true depiction of the worlds. I've seen them in my visions."

"But you needed the Wand to make this room show the worlds, didn't you? Doesn't that imply it's an Imperial device?" said Miara.

"Yes, maybe so. But I don't think it matters beyond the fact that it seems to require the Wand," said Hemlock.

"Does that mean you intend to keep the Wand?" asked Gwineval.

"No, I need to rely on my visions instead. I've been observing the magic in the ampitheater and it's helped me understand how my visions work and how I can invoke them without needing a Wand."

"So you still intend to destroy the Wand? Shouldn't we keep it in case we need it to fight this DuLoc?" said Samberlin.

"Don't you understand? The Wand is an instrument of Imperial power—DuLoc's power! He can't be resisted with it," said Hemlock.

Nobody spoke for a few moments. "Samberlin, I realize now that you have been as great an architect in the redemption of the City as Safreon was. Your ambition has been to destroy the Wizard Guild, and now you are on the cusp of success. But you don't understand the purpose of your quest. If left on your present course, your work would result in the creation of a new tower in the Senate—a tower just as vast and impenetrable as the Wizard Tower was. Your purpose must now be to destroy the Senate—to reduce it to its lowest form—so that it is almost formless and insubstantial. It must be transparent in the face of the will of the people. It must appreciate that the people are collectively smarter than any governing body—no matter how great the governors may be."

Samberlin smiled slightly and his mouth opened. Then he frowned and did not say a word. The old politician averted his eyes.

As Hemlock turned her attention to each person in turn, none of them met her gaze.

Several minutes of silence ensued.

Gwineval finally looked up at her and stepped forward. "Hemlock, who are you?"

"I am the daughter of the Maker," she said, twirling her hair on her finger unconsciously.

"You said you would give up leadership of the Wizard Guild."

"I have."

"But you still speak as our leader."

"I am the leader in the war to resist Sub-Imperator DuLoc, who will soon return to the City bearing one of these," said Hemlock, holding the Wand of the Imperator aloft for all to see.

"Nobody is compelled to follow me. I am finished imposing my will by force until the final battle arrives. Those who wish to resist the Imperial Law and its vices will follow me because their values will be in alignment with mine."

Hemlock looked for any doubt in Gwineval's eyes, and clearly saw it playing over his face, though he made a poor attempt at concealing it.

"Safreon tested you once, and now you will be tested again," said Hemlock. She strode forward and before Gwineval knew what had happened, she gave him the Wand of the Imperator. She took a step back to stand astride of the line of people that now faced the reptilian wizard.

Gwineval's eyes bulged with vigor as he looked down at the artifact in his hands. After several moments he seemed to appreciate that he was not alone, and looked chagrined. "I apologize, it's just—it's been so long since I bore one of these. And now that I've learned about the Imperial magic... I...It holds such power!"

Samberlin stepped forward, trembling. "Gwineval, you must keep the Wand. I don't know what has come over Hemlock, but she doesn't seem herself. Perhaps these witches who are now in our midst have affected her. Please! Take the Wand and return to the Tower. Hemlock said she won't resist you. We need to establish order in the City. The people have been roused into suspicion by the arrival of the witches, and by Hemlock's return. A smooth succession of power in the Wizard Guild would reassure everyone. And the Wand would impress them as a symbol of that power."

Samberlin shot a wary glance at Hemlock, but she did not react to his opposition.

I expected as much from you, Samberlin. But Hemlock was surprised to realize that she agreed with much of what Samberlin had said. She did feel unusual. And she wasn't sure that the speech she had just delivered to the Senator had been wholly her own. She had the sense that though the words had passed her lips, she had channeled them as much as said them. Is my Father with me somehow?

"You're quick to betray my sister, Senator!" cried Mercuria, pushing to Hemlock's side and grasping her hand.

Hemlock looked at Mercuria fondly. "It's all right. It's Gwineval's choice. He probably was thinking something similar, anyway."

Hemlock looked at Gwineval and saw that he and Miara were gazing into each other's eyes as if they were engaged in a wordless conversation.

Gwineval looked troubled and then Miara nodded to him with a melancholy look on her face.

The wizard's serpentine jawed seemed to stiffen as he turned and walked toward the chasm.

"Gwineval!" cried Samberlin, but it was too late. The glass enclosed brilliance of the Wand shone brightly as Gwineval outstretched his arm over the edge of the precipice.

They all tensed for several moments and the muscles in Gwineval's arm began to quiver with exertion.

"Gwineval?" said Miara plaintively.

Hemlock saw Gwineval's outstretched arm move slightly back toward his torso, but then it snapped outward again. The wizard's extended jaw was visible as he arched his neck backwards as if surveying something above him. And then he let go of the Wand.

It seemed to fall in slow motion, and Hemlock joined the others as they approached the side to carefully peer over the edge.

As it had done the last time she had destroyed Wands here, the fall into the fire seemed to take an impossibly long time. But finally there was a flash, and a dull rumble shook the earth around them, causing those assembled to step back from the edge of the chasm in alarm.

After a few moments, the rumbling subsided.

Gwineval turned to Hemlock with an uncertain look on his face. Miara was by his side in an instant.

"It wouldn't have helped you, Gwineval," said Hemlock.

"It helped me defeat Falignus."

"Maybe he didn't understand the Imperial magic like this DuLoc does. You know the legacy of these Wands now. How can you use them for good when they were conceived by evil?"

"But maybe they're just tools, Hemlock."

"You're right—they are tools, but the control they afford would have led you astray like every wizard who's used it since Julius. And even if your intentions remained pure in the face of temptation, how could you guarantee that someone else wouldn't abuse this power should they gain control of it?"

"We could have destroyed it after we defended the City against DuLoc."

"Gwineval, the only way we'll be able to defend the City against him is by using my Father's magic. Don't you understand? You'd have been like a child fighting against a man if you'd tried to wield Imperial magic against him."

"We don't know that much about him, Hemlock. If he's so strong, then why hasn't he already conquered the City?"

"He's still regaining his strength. Remember, I faced him in another realm and felt his power. It's like nothing you've experienced."

"I hope you're right, Hemlock," said Gwineval, as he walked past her toward the exit to the cavern. Samberlin and Miara followed him, repeating variations of Gwineval's words.

Tored, Renevos, Mercuria and Merit remained.

Hemlock looked down at Merit warmly.

"You shouldn't have asked me to lie to a friend, Miss Hemlock. I have forgiven you, but I wanted you to know how I feel," said Merit, looking downward and fidgeting back and forth.

"You're right, Merit. I'm sorry I asked you to do that. By the way, I have something to discuss with you."

"Or course. When will we see each other?"

"Soon. But I'm leaving the Tower for now. I'm sure Gwineval will let me visit."

"Visit? Where will you go?"

Hemlock directed a questioning gaze to Mercuria, who nodded enthusiastically.

"Back to the Warrens. I think I'll rest for a while. I am weary of adventure for now," said Hemlock.

"Surely the threat of DuLoc's return will require some preparations on our part," said Tored.

"Yes. But first we will rest. I don't want to think about the future for a while. I just want to eat venison and scamper along the rooftops. You will stay with us, Tored. I'll show you everything about the Warrens."

"I look forward to that."

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Here is an excerpt from Hemlock and the Dread Sorceress – Book III in the Maker's Fire series. It's available now at all major e-book distributors.

Hemlock stood atop the Wizard Tower and watched the sunrise. In her mind's eye, she envisioned the distant sphere of Maker's Fire that people knew as their sun soaring silently through the void around the City. She took a moment to marvel at the daily traversal of that ball of fire. Every morning, some force of creation caused it to coalesce and separate from the huge mass of Maker's Fire that the City sailed upon. She looked down over the people that had already taken to the streets of the City on early business. How many of them appreciated the miracle of their sun?

It's too easy for them to be swept away in the day's illusion and ignore the mundane miracles around them. But I guess it's a question of perspective.

Hemlock was the only person she knew that could see directly into the vast and strange void that existed beyond the sky.

What would the world be like if everyone could see what I see?

She heard a whooshing sound as the heavy glass door to the atrium opened behind her. The door closed as soft footsteps approached her.

"How are you this morning, Gwineval?" she asked without looking at him. The early morning activity of the City still held her attention.

"I am well but somewhat troubled. First, these reports from the mountains arrive, and now this visit by the Griffin. I fear our old comrade, Jalis, has finally played his cards."

"He's a fool, then. We'll deal with him. Penelope has sought us out before. Perhaps she has news for us. Or, perhaps, she's slain the fool wizard herself."

Even as the words left her mouth, Hemlock knew they wouldn't turn out to be true. The adversary she'd hoped to avoid for a while longer again dominated her thoughts.

Can't I have a few more months of peace?

"But Jalis understands the forces arrayed against him, Hemlock. He's cowardly but not stupid. He must have a plan to deal with us if he's openly moving against us. That's what concerns me."

She considered confessing her fears to Gwineval, but suspected that DuLoc was on his mind as well. They hadn't spoken of the threatening apparition since Gwineval decided to destroy the Wand of the Imperator that she found in the Witch Crags.

"How is Tored?" Gwineval finally asked, breaking an apprehensive silence.

Hemlock smiled. "He is well. I think the repetition of his duties reassures him. It was wise of you to have him deputized as a City guard."

Gwineval's mouth loosened into a toothy smile. "I'm glad. But has he found peace?"

Hemlock frowned. "No, I don't think so. He's found comfort but not peace. I talk to him every day and try to learn more about what torments him. So far, I've had no luck. It's like he's carrying some burden inside of him."

"I've tried to talk to him, too. But it's really no use since I'm not friends with him like you are. He's very difficult to get to know."

A wry smile came to Hemlock's face as she thought of her reply. "You know who might know him the best, now? Mercuria. You can't imagine it unless you see it, but she plays jokes on him almost every day. It's the only time I see him smile. Her company has been good for him, even if nobody else's has."

Hemlock felt a pang of sadness at her last statement.

I want to be close to Tored, but whatever he is carrying around inside of him seems to separate us.

An aerial speck on the horizon rescued Hemlock from further thought. The griffin approached rapidly with powerful beats of her wings. Hemlock noticed that beneath the deep yellows and browns of her plumage and fur, the beast clutched dragon eggs in her talons.

Hemlock and Gwineval retreated from the baluster as the griffin reached the top of the tower. She drew up with great exertion of her twenty foot wing span and slowly descended, placing the eggs on the floor before thrusting upwards and landing beside them.

Hemlock noticed missing feathers on the beast's wings and several bloody wounds on her lower torso.

"Penelope," Hemlock cried, "you're hurt! What happened?"

The Seekers invaded my aerie. The rogue wizards aided them. I did not detect them until it was almost too late.

Hemlock walked slowly around the bulk of the Griffin and placed a gentle hand on her matted, bloody fur.

"I'm sorry, Penelope. I didn't think Jalis would dare defy me," said Hemlock.

As I flew out, I spotted homes burning and there were bodies piled in a village market.

"He's moving to control the east! We must raise a force and confront them," growled Gwineval. "I regret not killing them when we had the chance."

Hemlock started to sneer but caught herself. "Sometimes wisdom is clearer in hindsight," she said.

"Truly. You weren't there when we fought for control of the Tower. Samberlin meant to betray us when it looked like we'd be overmatched by the Seekers. When my spell of warding was revealed, many loyalties were in question in those tense moments. I thought it best to take the high road and let those opposed to us leave in peace."

"No need to explain again. I understand. It's just maddening to think that we gave Jalis this final chance and he's betrayed us again."

"It's not like I expected anything else from him, but I'd hoped we'd be more prepared for it when he moved against us. Hemlock, what have you been doing all these months? We've missed your presence in the Tower."

"Really? I'm shocked. You all seemed quite tired of me bossing you around."

"But that doesn't mean we wanted you gone altogether. Yours is a valued and absent voice in our affairs. All of the wizards have said as much. We'd like you to sit on our council as an honorary member."

Hemlock bowed her head and kicked some debris off the edge of the Tower. She sighed and replied, "Alright. I suppose Jalis' actions will force us to act in response. I need to be a part of it."

"Yes."

There is more news from the mountains.

"Yes? Please tell us," said Gwineval.

I've seen DuLoc with the wizards. I sense his hand directing their efforts, and I feel a great power gathering. He will return soon. The wizards have built dark rocks throughout the valleys. Their magical law projects through these. It is all part of DuLoc's plan. He appeared and asked me to join him. He believes he will become a great emperor and can create perfect laws. He intends to enslave us all.

"Those sound like the obelisks that Merit read about in Julius' journal. DuLoc must have taught Jalis how to make them. And the minerals in the mountains afforded him the perfect opportunity to build them. Curse Jalis and his machinations!" said Gwineval.

Hemlock tried to give Gwineval a reassuring look, but the wizard's eyes were downcast. Hemlock knew him well enough to recognize the outward signs of an internal process of self-flagellation. She figured it would be best to redirect the stubborn wizard's thoughts before he sank into melancholy.

"How do we fight DuLoc?" asked Hemlock, directing the question loudly toward the Griffin.

I don't know. He wove with the Red Mage at the dawn of time. He will be a terrible foe. And he can't be reasoned with. But if anyone can resist him, it will be you.

"Not very reassuring. My father must have had a plan for me but it's all so confusing. That's why I needed more time to think it through. But now there's no more time."

Gwineval seemed to refocus on the conversation. "Time is running short, but DuLoc hasn't returned yet. There is still time to consider our options. Come to the council meeting tomorrow and let's talk it over."

"I will, but I want to see what they're up to. Penelope could take me there now. Just to fly over and see it for myself," Hemlock replied.

"No, it's too dangerous."

"Flying over?"

"Yes. You don't know what Jalis and DuLoc have prepared for. And it's just what I'd expect you to do if I were Jalis."

The final point made sense to Hemlock. She exhaled forcefully.

"Fine. I'll wait and join your council meeting tomorrow. But let's figure out a plan that involves some action and not just wizardly debates."

Gwineval didn't acknowledge her critical comment.

She thought about returning to the Warrens, but the labored breath of the Griffin beside her reminded her of the unresolved issue at hand. They needed to determine Penelope's fate now that she had been driven out of the mountains.

"And what of Penelope?" she asked Gwineval.

The small scales on Gwineval's brow furrowed. "Well..." he stammered, clearly not anticipating the question.

"She has to stay here for a while, right? It's kind of like a mountain top up here on the Tower. Penelope, would you like to stay here?"

Yes.

Gwineval shot Hemlock a strong look, but his features softened. "Yes, it makes sense. And, Penelope, lest you think it's charity, we'll surely call upon you in the upcoming struggle."

I thought my role would be otherwise. But I will help protect your Tower.

"Thank you," said Gwineval, bowing. He turned to Hemlock. "Until tomorrow, then?"

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