

Hemlock and the Dread Sorceress

The Maker's Fire – Volume III

1st edition

By B Throwsnaill

Published by Bill Ainsworth at Smashwords.com

Copyright 2013 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

Map of the City of San Cyra and surrounding regions

What has gone before

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Afterward

What Has Gone Before (in Book II -- Hemlock and the Dead God's Legacy)

Hemlock realized the role of leader of the wizards was more complex and tiresome than she anticipated. Feeling burdened by her many new responsibilities, she yearned for the freedom of adventure. When Tored arrived from the Witch Crags with information about the likely location of another powerful Wand, she seized the opportunity to embark on a new quest. The goal of the quest was to retrieve and destroy the Wand, and it was believed that doing so would unbind the Witch Crags region from the City.

Before she left, she entrusted the newly discovered diary of Julius--the man who built the Wizard Tower--into the possession of Merit, who was rapidly developing an affinity for history and lore. Merit began to uncover an ancient narrative in those dusty pages, and soon realized it was the tale of the origins of the wizard guild.

Hemlock left the City with Tored, a small group of wizards, and a band of Tanna Varran warriors; and it soon became apparent there was a rift between the two Tanna Varran factions in the group. The recent death of Pan Taros, former King of the Tanna Varrans, had left the noble families vying for succession to the throne. Tored's own Taros clan was led by an adolescent named Taros Sundar, while the competing Vyle clan was led by a young, but proven warrior named Umra Vyle. Both young men were in the group. Umra Vyle regarded Taros Sundar as a serious rival to the throne while Taros Sundar viewed Umra Vyle as an arrogant oaf and an adherent to a warrior tradition that was doomed to irrelevance in a post-witch world. Tored understood the threat that Umra Vyle represented, but neither he nor Hemlock were able to convince the headstrong Taros Sundar to take it seriously.

When the group reached a wide region of plateaus, they were forced to split up and navigate a complex of tight passageways between the rock. During this crossing, they were attacked by a strange rainbow cat which Hemlock managed to drive off after it inflicted casualties. Hemlock felt sure she had seen Umra Vyle flee his comrades during the battle and held him in contempt from that point on.

Tored seemed unusually affected by the loss of life and withdrew from what had been a strengthening friendship with Hemlock. When the group reached the outskirts of Tor Varnos, the Tanna Varran capital, Taros Sundar attempted to humiliate Umra Vyle. Umra Vyle reacted by challenging the younger man to a duel, but Tored intervened, wounding Taros Sundar so he would not be able to participate. Umra Vyle then challenged Tored to a duel, seeking to cunningly take the throne because Tored had been acting regent since the death of Pan Taros. But Tored outmaneuvered the young warrior by relinquishing his membership in the tribe before the duel. Umra Vyle would not be King if he killed Tored in the duel, but the younger man still thirsted for revenge. They met in battle in the old dueling arena beneath the town. Tored managed to kill Umra Vyle, though he was gravely wounded in the process. Hemlock became enraged when she learned Tored could not live unless he was able to leave the arena under his own power. Defying tradition, she descended into the arena and rescued him herself.

The wizards in the group healed Tored, and they soon left Tor Varnos. The Tanna Varrans wanted representation on the trip that would determine the fate of their relationship with the City, so they sent a group on the trip despite the tension over Tored disowning his heritage and Hemlock's violation of Tanna Varran law. Together, the group proceeded to the mysterious vale at the western edge of Tanna Varra.

As they camped below the vale, an apparition appeared to Hemlock and Tored. It proclaimed itself to be an ancient peer of the Imperator--a personage named DuLoc. It stated that it was returning soon to take control of the City. It taunted Hemlock, saying that she would never defeat the guardian that had been placed with the Wand.

The next morning, the group climbed through the mists that hung over the mountains surrounding the vale, and faced a massive, vile, gluttonous creature that had covered much of the mountain with excrement. After a difficult battle, they destroyed the creature and proceeded into the vale. They discovered an unexpected paradise --and the tribe of witches they found there was even more unexpected. The Tanna Varrans were immediately hostile, but it was clear these witches were different than their now deceased sisters. Where the other witches had thrived on malice, these thrived on comfort and pleasure. Hemlock didn't see them as threatening, so she instructed most of the wizards in the group to escort the witch Cassandra and her human followers back to the City where they would be granted asylum.

Hemlock, Tored, and two wizards named Renevos and Otticus proceeded into the tunnels beneath the vale where the Wand they sought was reputed to be. As they descended, they came under attack by an Earth Spirit which marshaled denizens of the deep to confront the group in several battles. But the group tenaciously pressed on even after they realized this Earth Spirit was the one DuLoc had warned them about.

They finally came to a deep cavern suspended over lava and found the Wand. The Earth Spirit reappeared, though it was greatly weakened by the prior battles. A strange infant was also resting there, and the infant gave Hemlock a surprising message. It said it was the offspring of Amarank, the Earth Spirit, and Julius, founder of the wizard guild. Though it was physically weak, it had developed great powers of prescience and extra sensory awareness and had been anticipating Hemlock's arrival. It told Hemlock that she needed the bloodlines of both the Imperator and the First Wizard in order to defeat her next foe. Hemlock realized the child meant DuLoc.

Amarank begged Hemlock to spare her child, who was being kept alive by the Wand, but the child pleaded that it wished to die. Hemlock removed the Wand, causing the child to disintegrate as Amarank fell into the lava. The group teleported out as the deep cavern collapsed and the Witch Crags disconnected from the City.

Once back in the City, Hemlock searched for the place the strange child had told her about. She located a huge amphitheater that had been hidden since the time of the Wizard Tower's construction. It allowed her to directly see the worlds surrounding the City. She brought Gwineval and her other friends to see the display, and they had their first direct experience of some of the content of Hemlock's visions.

Hemlock assembled Gwineval, Miara, Tored, Mercuria, Samberlin and Merit in the chamber beneath the Wizard Tower where she had destroyed the first Wand by dropping it into the Maker's Fire. She intended to destroy the recently found Wand, but there was sharp disagreement from Samberlin and Gwineval, though Hemlock warned them keeping the Wand would only play into DuLoc's hands. Hemlock suddenly gave the Wand to Gwineval and let him make the decision. Gwineval reluctantly followed Hemlock's advice and destroyed the Wand.

Hemlock then abdicated her leadership of the wizards, and asked Tored to join her and Mercuria in their apartment in the Warrens. The former Tanna Varran was still acting sullen, but he agreed to join Hemlock and her sister. Hemlock hoped for some respite from the looming threat of DuLoc and his ambitions to return to take the City for himself, but she expected that any peace she had would be short-lived.
Prologue

Gorf Cobble stirred his stew, looking over his well-stocked dinner table at the plump faces of his family seated around it. His home was ample. He had personally laid every brick and beam that composed it. He was a proud man, prominent in his mining village which was nestled deep in the mountains to the east of the city of San Cyra. His seated frame was massive and muscled—his strength forged by many years of labor underground. Half of his round head was covered by layers of brown locks, but the other was marred by a hairless patch, pink and scarred in the aftermath of an old mining accident.

_Life is good_ , he thought to himself, coercively. But the simmering uneasiness in his gut reminded him that he felt otherwise.

"What are you worrying about?" asked Hilda, his wife of two score years. She wore her blonde locks in a braided ponytail that hung down her back. Her brown eyes still made Gorf feel like he did when he discovered a rare gem in the depths of his mine. Of course, she meant more to him than any gem or precious metal, but he had spent so much time surrounded by rock that he almost always thought in terms of it.

Gorf put his spoon down and turned to Hilda. "We're lucky, you know."

Hilda chuckled over the slurping sounds their four children made as they ate. "It isn't luck, Gorf," she began as she tore pieces of bread and distributed them to the children. "You're a hardworking man. You built this house with your bare hands. And how many tons of ore have you hauled out of that mine? Your mine!"

Gorf smiled and shook his head. Hilda could always tell when he needed a pep talk. It was like some sixth sense she had.

He felt stabilized by her encouragement, and his mind returned to his stew. But then his hand slowly balled into a fist, and before he knew what he was doing, he had struck the table. "It's Jalis and these damn wizards, Hilda! They're changing everything. Those fools that signed that agreement with them signed away our rights. Now, we answer to the wizards. They took Murphy's mine from him the other day just because he'd been speaking out against them!"

Hilda frowned at his outburst. The kids paused with uncertain looks in their eyes. Gorf felt ashamed of his sudden loss of control. The force of his blow had spilled his stew.

He cleared his throat as Hilda rose to get a cloth to clean up his mess.

"I'm sorry, kids. I'm just upset about business in the mine. Eat your suppers," he managed.

He felt Hilda's soft hand on his shoulder as she stood behind him cleaning the table. She massaged him reassuringly. He suddenly wanted to do something for her—something to express how grateful he was to have a loyal and supportive wife like her. He remembered the fine gowns he had seen in the City some years ago.

_Yes_ , he thought, _I will get her one of those this year. I'll make the trip in a few weeks._

As she sat down, she spoke to him in a hushed tone. "Gorf, you have to relax a bit. This...thing...with the wizards—it's bigger than you. What can you do about it?"

"Don't get me started about what to do about it. And what do wizards need with gold, you wonder? Well, we figured it out. Turns out they've been hiring mercenaries from the south. They're employing them to help erect these magic obelisks in the valley. But this lot they've brought in aren't just for construction. They have the look of thugs. We're headed for trouble! One way or another."

Gorf despaired as a look of horrified recognition emerged on Hilda's face. She understood there would be violence. They both sat silently for several minutes as the children continued to eat and banter amongst themselves.

Hilda finally broke the silence. "More ale?" she asked, unable to conceal a slight quiver in her voice.

Gorf nodded and placed his hand on hers as she poured.

...

He rose early the next morning, as was his custom. He was wealthy enough to not have to use an overnight shift in his mine. He was always there when the mine was operating.

He was grateful that Hilda hadn't pressed him for more details about the situation with the wizards. Though nothing more was said about it, it had clearly been on both of their minds. Few words were exchanged between them as he prepared to leave for the day.

As he laced up his work boots, he felt her behind him. She hugged him, reaching her arms around his barrel chest. He grasped her arm and caressed it.

"Be sure to kiss the kids this morning," she said.

"Of course," he replied, not questioning why she would make this request. He kissed the children every morning before he left.

...

The heavy iron links of the massive chain clanked and groaned from the weight of fully laden mining cars. The azurite crystal within the cars sparkled in the flickering torchlight of the mineshaft. They struck a rich vein of the valuable crystal that morning and the haul had been prodigious. But Gorf was still uneasy.

Biting down on his cigar, he thought about the imposing stone golem at the top of the mine that tirelessly hauled the cars to the surface. The golem was one of the benefits of the agreement with the wizards. He glanced at his idle work crew, loitering in a side shaft as the mindless stone beast did their work for them. Gorf's extremely muscular arms tensed in anger.

His strength had developed through many years of pulling mine cars to the surface. But the golems did it faster and safer than the men of his day. Still, Gorf didn't like the new development, even though it had improved his mining output. His men grew soft. And soft men got killed in the mines. It was only a matter of time.

Gorf shook his head as his men chuckled at some private joke. He spat out his cigar and roughly stamped its dying ember on the rock floor. The remote incantations of some reclusive wizard were not his reality. He was a creature of the cold, dank darkness—gruff and taciturn. The idea that magic could replace the clenched agony of raw sinew hauling rock from the mine was distasteful to him.

The steady groan from the iron wheels of the mine cars stopped, and the great chain went slack, clanking onto the rock floor.

Gorf cursed. "The golem cut out again!" he cried as his crew climbed to their feet in the flickering darkness. The air in the shaft, which was kept circulating by great fans the golem operated at the surface, also went still.

The crew chief approached Gorf apprehensively. "What do we do, boss? Should we wait?"

"We'll wait for a few minutes to see if the golem restarts. Maybe old Smitty forgot to use the potion on it this morning. If it doesn't come back on, we'll pull the load up ourselves."

There was an audible groan from the crew as Gorf finished speaking. He felt rage boiling up inside and turned away from the crew chief.

_I can't take out my anger on the men_ , he thought, trying to control his temper.

The crew chief retreated. The profound silence of the underground filled the void left by his receding footsteps and consumed every crevice of the mineshaft.

The quiet darkness allowed Gorf to refocus his thoughts. He wondered what the day would bring, and thought of his war hammer that was packed amongst his belongings on the surface. Today, he would bring his ores and crystals to the marketplace in the valley. The wizards would be there, their new thugs in tow, presiding over and taxing every transaction.

He experienced a strange and welcome sense of calm while he thought of Hilda and the children.

"Everything will be alright," he mused, surprising himself.

Then, his calm gave way to startled panic. At the edge of his vision, he could see a twinkling mist rising from an adjoining mine shaft. The mist was deep blue, revealed by small pinpoints of dim light that played within it. An accompanying tinkling sound, like impossibly small wind chimes, confirmed his worst fear. It was called the blue damp—a deadly gas frequently disturbed during the course of mining. Small traces of the gas made a man feel warm and secure—like Gorf had been feeling. In greater concentrations, like the cloud Gorf was looking at, the gas produced euphoria and apathy. But its most dangerous quality was its explosive volatility. Any percussive sound could set it off. When detonated, its force could penetrate two feet of solid rock.

Gorf hissed to his crew and pointed. They rose in horror but remained silent. The cloud of gas was immense. Without the ventilation fans drawing air to the surface, it was spreading out in all directions. Gorf knew his only hope was to get to the surface with his men. But they would have to pass through the thick gas without making a sound.

He hissed again to his crew and gestured for them to come toward him. He realized that if the golem restarted, they would all be killed by the screeching of the car's wheels. He swallowed down his panic as he surveyed the expectant and fearful eyes of his crew.

He nodded to them with what he hoped was an air of confidence. Then, he began to creep slowly toward the expanding cloud of blue damp.

As he entered the cloud, feelings of euphoria began to assail him. The intense fear of threat gave way, first to confidence then to whimsy. He tried to keep his wits about him as he continued to walk slowly, holding his hands over the tools on his belt. One of the men behind him made a careless noise, but Gorf found himself beyond worry. It was all he could do to keep moving as the beguiling, blue sparkles of light moved around him.

The air in front of him began to swirl. The sparkles spun wildly and were displaced as something shimmering appeared. Gorf halted as a magnificent gilded hourglass materialized before him. Sand falling softly from the top half of the hourglass to the bottom engulfed his awareness. He didn't know how long he stood there watching that hourglass—but suddenly it began to shimmer again. All at once, it was gone within the sparkling particles of light. He remembered a distant sense of purpose—just enough to start moving forward again.

He slowly regained his wits as the group began to emerge from the depths of the vast cloud. His first impulse was to break into a run, but he knew some of the men behind him were still too close to the gas. He waited until they were all several score yards from the edge of the cloud then urged them into a fast jog.

As he ran, his thoughts returned to the hourglass he had seen inside the blue damp. Its appearance seemed to mirror his concerns about running out of time on the issue of the wizards. He dismissed it as a hallucination.

After many long and tiring minutes of running, the glaring light of day smashed the cocoon of underground darkness that enclosed Gorf and his crew. Even after his many years of mining, the sensation of emerging from the dark mine was still jarring.

"Smitty!" he cried, directing the old miner to tend to the golem. "Start up the fans first and wait two hours before hauling up the cars. We hit blue damp down there—a lot of it!"

Gorf cursed again under his breath. He expected danger in the market today, not in his mine. But danger was never far away in the mine.

His crew chief approached him as the grumbling crew gathered around the waiting cars.

"The lads aren't happy about having to lug the shipment to the market themselves," said the chief.

"Well, isn't that a shame," said Gorf unsympathetically. "That's how we did it for thirty years. It will be good for them—toughen them up."

Within the hour, the burly miners struggled to push the mining cars across a long, flat section of track. The wood and iron track extended between two adjacent mountain peaks held aloft by a long bridge span. The track led into the valley that lay at the edge of the mountain to the west of Gorf's mine.

A long line of miners and mining cars were queued ahead of Gorf. He cast dark looks at the miners ahead of him, who mostly tended to a single car themselves. He then glanced downward and to his left. Another track twisted around a nearby mountain on top of a comparatively flimsy-looking series of adhoc supports.

Gorf shook his head. Despite the known dangers of the lower track, he wondered if he might have to start using it.

"Don't even think about it, Gorf," said a booming voice from his right. It was a heavyset man who wore fine, white linens which contrasted the dark, functional clothing of the miners around him.

"Lampeer, well met. But what of this delay?"

The heavyset man smiled. "Every rube with a mine car wants to use my line now. The downhill brakes in the tunnel take time to navigate. Those fool wizards made me lower my price, and I thought it would ruin me. Little did I know, it would do quite the opposite!"

"But, Lampeer, this delay will ruin me. I still have another load for today's market waiting in my mine. Can I pay you more to get to the front of the line?"

Lampeer's smile faded, and he leaned in closer to Gorf. "I make fun of the wizards, but this Jalis and his laws are no joke." A pudgy arm emerged from under Lampeer's robe and pointed across the span to a broad ledge that met the track at the end of the bridge. Upon the ledge stood a large, black, rune-covered obelisk.

"You see that?" continued Lampeer in a hushed voice. "I saw that thing burn a man alive yesterday. Afterward, a strange voice came from it and said the man had stolen. I'll be danged if anyone saw a thing, but there you go. I'm not breaking the law, though. No, sir."

"This is madness. It all sounded good when these rebel wizards came in and said they would make us safer then gave us the golems to help us mine. But these laws! They keep adding more, and the more they add, the more things get fouled up!" cried Gorf.

Lampeer looked around him nervously before responding.

"I know, friend. But what can we do? Their obelisks are all over the range now. We agreed to be bound by their laws. And we've tried to talk to them about things. But they are wizards. They don't listen."

Gorf's features darkened as he replied, "I have something in mind that they'll pay attention to."

Lampeer paled to a shade even whiter than his already pasty skin tone.

"I must take my leave of you, Gorf," he said with some gravity.

Gorf suddenly feared that the man could be a wizard informant. He'd known Lampeer for decades, but something in the man's cadence concerned Gorf.

Somewhat rattled, he called the crew chief to his side.

"Look, I've got the men's axes stowed here along with my war hammer."

The chief looked on expectantly, not appearing to recognize the implications of Gorf's statement.

"If anything happens today," Gorf continued, "I need you and your men behind me. Do you understand?"

Recognition dawned in the chief's eyes. "What are you expecting to happen?" he asked.

"Don't concern yourself with it. Tell the men that if anything unusual happens today, there's ten gold in it for each one that stands with me. Tell them, but be discreet. Don't let anyone sound off about it or spread rumors. I'm gonna walk up the line here and talk to some folks. You let me know how it went when I get back."

"Okay, boss," said the chief.

Gorf spent the next half hour talking with the other miners in the line. Many were his friends, most knew him, and everyone treated him with the respect his reputation afforded him. When he returned to his cars, his men looked edgy.

The chief came forward.

"I think the men are behind you. Nobody here likes what happened to Murphy. We know what needs to be done."

"Good," said Gorf. Every miner he'd spoken to had a similar reaction. The stage was set for his unlikely rebellion. Runners left from many groups to retrieve weapons and armor. He would give the signal in the market.

After an hour of anxiously waiting, during which the miners armed themselves, Gorf and his cars paid their passage and wound down the twisting tunnel. They emerged into a typically busy day in the market. Many merchants from the City gathered around a large stage where commodity certificates were being auctioned off. Miners, merchants, and the henchmen of both mingled in a crowd while the wizards and their hired hands glared at them from the stage as they collected their tax.

Gorf was pleased to see Jalis himself standing prominently on the stage. The short, fat leader of the wizards was arrogant and annoying. Gorf put his cars into a stall and led his men toward the assembly.

"Two gold, fifty silver per hundred weight!" cried the auctioneer. But Gorf's baritone voice rose above the clamor.

"Jalis!" he cried, pointing and approaching the front of the stage.

The auctioneer looked puzzled. All eyes were on Gorf and his war hammer. He reached the steps that led to the stage and climbed them solemnly. One of Jalis' thugs tried to restrain him, but Gorf simply hurled the man off the stage with little effort.

With his jowls coiled in anger, Jalis stepped forward, brandishing his wizard staff, which glowed menacingly.

"What is the meaning of this?" cried Jalis.

"We've had enough of you wizards and your rules! You are to leave this valley at once and never return."

"Is that right?" replied Jalis, looking behind him at his assembled men. There were eight of his hired thugs and one other wizard with him.

The short wizard placed his hand to his mouth and produced a shrill whistle that called reinforcements from behind the stage curtain. Another wizard emerged with twenty more men armed with swords and shields.

Gorf remained still. He hoped for a peaceful resolution, but his hopes were diminishing. By his calculation, at least sixty armed men were in the crowd waiting for his signal. But he wasn't sure it would be enough against the three wizards.

A plan formed in his head to eliminate the wizards himself. This would encourage his men. The only problem with the plan would be escaping the twenty eight hostile fighters around him. But he had a plan for that, as well.

Jalis provided the opening Gorf was looking for. He watched the wizard surveying the crowd and noticing the axes and hammers carried by many of the miners. The wizard reacted by trying to negotiate with him.

"You seem like a reasonable man. If you have grievances, come backstage and discuss them with me," said Jalis in a condescending voice.

Gorf feigned uncertainty, but found the eyes of his chief in the crowd. He nodded to the chief and lowered his hammer. He walked toward Jalis, appearing repentant. The hostile men around Gorf moved to restrain him, but Jalis conceitedly waved them off.

As Gorf reached the vicinity of the wizard leader, the two other wizards, who were shaved bald and covered in tattoos, approached.

In a sudden movement, Gorf slammed one wizard in the abdomen with the top of his war hammer and absorbed a punch from the one whose tattoos glowed fiercely with magic. It was the hardest blow he had ever felt from a man. But Gorf had been hit in the head by many boulders over the years and was able to shrug it off. The wizard let his guard down, expecting his powerful punch to have felled the larger man. Quickly regaining his balance, Gorf brought the haft of his hammer forward and caught the tattooed wizard in the jaw, knocking him out cold. The other tattooed wizard groaned on the stage, while the enemy thugs closed ranks around a retreating Jalis.

A great cry rose from the crowd as angry miners surged up the stairs to defend their de facto leader.

Gorf dodged a sword thrust and kicked the prone wizard hard in the head as a melee broke out on stage.

Thugs surrounded him, but Gorf swung his hammer with a ferocity and strength that caused many of the thugs to take a defensive posture.

He heard the cries of the wounded and dying men around him as the fight continued.

A bold thug engaged Gorf at close range with a short sword and opened up a large cut on his chest. The thug paid for his boldness. Gorf shouldered into the man and knocked him off balance. Unable to defend himself from the next crushing blow, the thug's head burst into a bloody mess as Gorf leveled him with his hammer.

The tide of the battle seemed to be with Gorf and the miners. Many of the thugs had fallen or run behind the curtain, hiding from relentless attacks.

But then Gorf noticed something unusual happening at the edges of the stage. First, he thought the wood itself was undulating with some strange magic. To his horror, he saw malformed shapes in dark, beguiling cloaks rising to their feet around the perimeter of the stage.

The miners halted and the thugs ran as the visages of the newcomers fully formed. These were not men, but animated remnants of men—collections of bones and decayed flesh summoned into motion by evil.

Jalis strutted from behind the curtain and stood with two of the monsters that advanced to protect him.

"You fools! Did you think your physical prowess could defy our magic? Behold the Seekers—ancient wizards now reunited with a common cause behind our master. Care to test yourselves against them?"

The miners waited, and many a fearful glance was made toward Gorf.

Gorf suddenly thought of Hilda, his children and his mine. A great sorrow threatened to quench his fiery resolve, but his unwavering honor sustained him at the last moment. His jaw stiffened and he stepped forward.

"Aye," he cried wildly, "that we do, wizard scum!"

The miners rallied at his words, and their hearts filled with determination.

Jalis laughed as Gorf charged the abominations that stood between him and the wizard.

Gorf burst through the shadowy guards. Astonished, Jalis jumped sideways to avoid him. The creatures weren't solid like a normal man—though they did have mass. Where he collided with their forms, Gorf felt an icy cold sensation on his skin as weakness crept into his arms and shoulders. The two monsters moved on him with flashing ghostly blades. Gorf was forced to give ground under their assault, receiving two wounds to his arms which further weakened him.

Gathering his courage, he tried to strike one of the creatures. To his surprise, he found that his war hammer now felt impossibly heavy in his hands. He was unable to wield it effectively.

His heart sank as he heard the dying cries of the other miners on the stage. Dropping his hammer, he leapt at one of the skeletons in front of him, careless of the cutting strike of the other as he passed it. A sword bit into his side as he grasped the skull of the dark creature and pulled it to his chest. The skull had a strange, insubstantial feeling. Gorf's arms were weakened, but his strength had not completely left him. He clenched his muscles with a desperate bear hug as he heard more men dying.

The skull gave way and shattered in his grasp. The slain creature dissolved before his eyes, but his triumph was short lived. In the next moment, a shimmering blade burst through his back and emerged from his stomach.

The blade was withdrawn as Gorf screamed in anguish. He fell to his knees and a terrible chill overcame his entire body. He knelt for several minutes, unmoving, as he witnessed the horrifying deaths of his remaining comrades. Even those who fled the stage were pursued and slain in short order.

Suddenly, he received a solid kick to his back and he hit the wooden floor hard.

"It's fitting that you witnessed it all," said Jalis from behind him. "This is your fault. The lives of all those men are your responsibility. It didn't have to be like this, you fool. You should have followed orders like the other camps."

Gorf was unable to answer. His body was under terrible distress, but the fuzziness of shock had mercifully taken hold, and he was becoming increasingly numb. He hoped Hilda would leave for her mother's home.

_Word must reach her,_ he thought with a sudden desperation.

"Jalis, listen to you. You are quite the sentimentalist, mmmmm?" said a different voice from the direction of the short wizard. Fear for his family had overtaken the numbness Gorf had been feeling, and he was more aware in the ensuing moments. He felt the terrible corpses assembling around him.

"Sir, I... I didn't realize you had arrived. I was... It's just unfortunate. The loss of life was unnecessary and caused by this headstrong fool, here," said Jalis.

"On the contrary," said the unidentified voice. "I consider this a great boon. Moments like this are how we establish our new order. Lift him up so I can see him."

Impossibly cold hands reached under Gorf's arms and lifted him roughly to his knees.

A strange apparition appeared before Gorf. It wasn't horrifying like the other skeletal forms, but its beautiful features were gripped by a cruel expression. It was a man dressed in curiously old-fashioned finery and appearing to be in the prime of his adulthood. He had curly, light hair that hung down from under a tricorne hat and surrounded his pale face.

"I am Sub-Imperator DuLoc, vermin—soon to be the new Emperor of the City and harbinger of a new golden age of law. Your foolish resistance to the rule of law will serve as a lesson to your comrades. Jalis, send the Seekers out to every home and settlement in this valley. Kill everything that is living. Men, women, children, pets—leave nothing alive. This will teach the others to be obedient."

Gorf raged at these words, but his body was broken and didn't respond to his will.

"But, but... even the children, sir?" stuttered Jalis.

"Absolutely! Jalis, you really must work on this empathy you seem to suffer from. The business of governance doesn't countenance weakness!"

"Of course, sir. But what about the implications of this attack? Many merchants witnessed the fight. Should we track them down as they flee back to the City?"

"No, let them return."

"To...Hemlock?"

"To Hemlock. It matters not. My return to the City is now imminent, and we've built enough obelisks to resist any attack she and her friends might mount. They might learn how to use magic to fight the obelisks in time, but by then, I will have returned. And then the law will sweep her aside like a fly."

"It will be glorious, sir!"

Tears streamed down Gorf's face as he lay dying. _RUN!_ he screamed over and over in his mind, wishing against hope that somehow Hilda would hear him.
Chapter One

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?"

...

Hemlock carefully navigated the morning market throng as she made for the apartment where she, Mercuria and Tored resided.

An unlikely quartet walked erratically in front of her. A young man, dressed in the plain, durable robe common in the Warrens, had his arm around a young woman wearing a soiled white robe of the Elite district. Beside them was a similarly attired couple but reversed in role and gender—an Elite man with a young woman from the Warrens. Both men wore beards and long hair that were uncharacteristic of the City just a few months prior. Neither of the women wore the facial makeup that was customary in both neighborhoods. Collectively, they bore the hallmarks of the burgeoning "Cult of Cassandra," the pleasure witch that Hemlock had given refuge to in the center of the City.

The youths laughed despite the deep bags under their eyes—they were exhausted but jubilant. Hemlock admired them in a certain sense. Though she doubted the wisdom of their lifestyle, their air of freedom made her feel shackled by comparison.

As Hemlock watched the four youths, who were little older than her but seeming like children living in a bubble of naiveté, they reminded her of the fate of Cassandra. The Senate—Samberlin in particular—were furious over the changes caused by the witch, and continually passed resolutions demanding the ouster of the controversial cult. But Hemlock had deferred any decision on the issue for six months. That milestone was rapidly approaching, but she anticipated deferring a decision again in light of the renewed threat of DuLoc. Whether the Senate would listen to her, in her new, diminished and poorly defined role, was not a certainty, however.

The sight of a local ruffian pushing his way through the crowd distracted her attention from the issue of Cassandra. The young thug was known as Jasper, an ill-tempered sort who seemed to alternate between two states of being—criminal intent and incoherent intoxication, with success at the former typically followed by the latter.

Hemlock was surprised to see a small vial of liquid in the cutpurse's right hand. The liquid glowed in a way that was obviously magical.

She approached Jasper to inquire about his unusual possession. As she neared him, he greeted her with a wide grin.

"Hold up. What do you have there, Jasper?"

"Just me morning draught," the young man replied evasively. He quickly popped the cork on the vial and raised his hand in a mock toast.

Hemlock considered knocking the vial from his grip, but the fact that no crime had been committed stayed her.

A whistle sounded in the distance, and the youth guzzled the glowing tincture. Hemlock immediately sensed a magical radiance emanating from his body.

She used her power of magical affinity to ascertain the effects of the small potion. It seemed to create concentric waves of energy that spread out over the market. No other effect was evident. But soon, Hemlock perceived other, similar waves of energy flowing into and meeting the waves emanating from Jasper. Using her sense, she followed these waves to their source as other wave sources intersected. Suddenly, she was in the midst of a cacophony of magical emanations with no apparent purpose.

She looked to her right and noticed another known criminal several yards away. A glass vial, similar to Jaspar's, dropped from his hand. Her eyes darted to her left and saw yet another participant in what she now feared was some sort of planned action.

But what is the purpose?

Jasper provided a clue by mocking her as Hemlock darted away in search of more information amongst the crowd—most of which seemed completely unaware that something very unusual was happening.

"What's wrong? Your second sight not seein' too well, lass?" said Jasper.

As she trotted away, she considered his words.

Of course! They've blinded my magic sense. But why? What's going on?

She found another cutpurse who was radiating magic and grabbed her arm roughly. "Tessa, why did you drink from that vial?"

The motley young girl affected her best impression of a blank stare and hissed through teeth yellowed by an excess of strong, intoxicating teas.

"Answer or I'll break your arm!" Hemlock growled.

"That's not very neighborly talk, is it? You bein' part of the watch and all," cried the girl as Hemlock tightened her grip.

"Don't make this hard on yourself, Tessa!" said Hemlock as she became aware of a crowd of onlookers gathering around her.

Damn, if I don't stop, word of this is sure to reach Samberlin.

Hemlock released the girl. "Fine! I've seen no crime, though I think you've been involved in something I haven't seen. I'll discover the truth sooner or later. And then we'll continue this conversation."

Hemlock had to concentrate on ignoring her magic sense as she walked the remaining blocks to her apartment. She skirted the market for several minutes, looking for any signs of misconduct, but saw nothing unusual outside of the distracting magic. In the process, she'd spotted no fewer than twelve youths that radiated the magical energy.

Once she reached it, she was relieved to enter the apartment which was free of the emanations.

Mercuria and Tored were seated at a breakfast table eating sweet bread and strawberries.

"Back so soon, Hemlock?" Mercuria called out with an ethereal air to her voice.

Hemlock knew her sister well enough to anticipate what was likely to happen. This was Mercuria's mischievous voice.

Suddenly, there was a small pop near Tored's face.

The comedy of the scene before her temporarily pushed the upset of Hemlock's experience in the marketplace out of her mind.

Tored sat stoically at the table as the juice of a burst strawberry dripped down his nose, along the deep creases in his cheeks and trickled onto his forearm.

Mercuria was beside herself with warm laughter that filled the room. Hemlock couldn't help herself and guffawed more loudly than she had meant to.

Tored remained nearly still as he used a napkin to wipe his face. But as he did so, there was a gentle quivering at the corner of his mouth, and a small smile struggled into existence—disproving the notion that the old warrior's face had been chiseled from granite rather than pliant flesh.

"Misusing your magical talents, again? One day all debts shall be repaid, young lady." It was the best he could manage as a retort, and this just made the sisters laugh anew.

As the humorous moment passed, thoughts of the incident in the marketplace reasserted themselves.

"Listen, something odd happened to me right before I got here. I need to tell you both about it," said Hemlock. She quickly related what had happened.

If the preceding incident had softened Tored's perspective at all, it wasn't evident in the grave reply he gave. "Someone is moving against you. And it's someone with some cunning."

"Then, why didn't they attack me?"

"Perhaps it was just a test. The witches in my..." Tored paused for a moment as if recalling something unpleasant, "homeland would always send small patrols before large attacks. Perhaps the people who did this were testing whether their plan would block your magic sense."

"Well, it worked," said Hemlock with a sigh.

"And they know it."

Hemlock sat at the table and ate a strawberry. Its rich flavor comforted her.

It's good to be home, and it's good to have a home again.

"We should do extra patrols. Together," said Tored.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. But wait, I haven't even gotten to the bigger news. DuLoc's apparition has been sighted in the mountains. And Jalis has attacked the mining towns there. DuLoc is getting closer. Penelope the griffin is living at the top of the Wizard Tower, now. The Seekers attacked her with help from Jalis."

It took Tored several minutes to digest this latest information. Hemlock noticed his eyes searching out his ornate spears, which rested near the door.

"Why is the world going crazy? Can't it all just stop?" said Mercuria.

"I feel the same way," said Hemlock. "But crazy things keep happening no matter what I do."

"Life is like that," said Tored.

"Well, we never asked for this! Why should you be the one who has to stop it all, Hemlock?" cried Mercuria.

"I...just am. I don't know why, but it's what I'm here for. I wish it weren't so."

"Do you really?" asked Tored.

Hemlock couldn't delude herself. "You're right, I guess. I love the power. I've always yearned for it—asked the Creator for it before I even knew anything about my life. I just never thought it would be so hard."

Mercuria reddened. "Well, I want to live my life for myself. I don't want to be beholden to this insanity."

Hemlock hated to see her sister upset. It jarred something deep inside of her, and left her feeling out of balance. But she had a sudden idea. "Mercuria, what would you do now if you could do anything?"

Mercuria was initially uncertain in the face of being challenged, but she seemed to arrive at a decision after only a few moments. "I'd go find Mother."

Hemlock didn't hesitate. "Okay, we'll do it."

"Hemlock, we should talk about this," said Tored.

"No, we're going to do it. Gwineval said we have some time before DuLoc gets here, and my last stop at the observatory showed no change in his location," replied Hemlock.

"But what about the people in the mountains? What about Jalis?" said Tored.

"Gwineval and the wizards can handle him. I'll tell them as much tomorrow morning. Look, we could die when DuLoc returns. Mercuria and I deserve to see our mother before the end."

"I've never known you to be fatalistic, Hemlock. That sounds like an excuse."

"Penelope says he's like a god from a past age."

"That's what DuLoc said about that Earth Spirit, and we defeated her. We'll defeat DuLoc, but we must respect him and take the time to prepare a strategy."

Hope burned in Mercuria's eyes, but Tored's exuded caution with an equal intensity. Still, Hemlock remembered Mercuria as she had been on that fateful day when they stowed away on the City merchant's ship that took them away from their mother. She remembered holding the scared little girl and having to tell her she didn't know when they would see their mommy again.

Hemlock felt the resolve of a decision take hold. She had already used her new ability to see beyond the sky to search for her old world. It hadn't been hard to find. It was located among the two score worlds in direct connection to the City via the strands of Maker's Fire. Then she thought of the surprising discovery she made in the observatory, and that made her doubt her decision. She detected Falignus on that very same world.

Am I making this decision for Mercuria or for my own interest in the fate of Falignus?

She managed to quell this internal voice of opposition. If it was just about her feelings for Falignus, wouldn't she have left as soon as she discovered his location? But she had to acknowledge that the fate of Falignus was a big part of her sudden decision. She had been thinking about him, and though she feared she was just indulging her own personal desires, a surety had been building inside her that Falignus could help her defeat DuLoc.

With her internal balance restored, she announced her decision. "We're going. "

Mercuria squealed with glee then restrained herself when she noticed how upset Tored looked.

"This is short-term thinking, Hemlock," he said.

"So you think. Nevertheless, I've made my decision."

A heavy silence ensued until Tored broke it. "How will you get there?"

"According to what Merit told me, Penelope can fly between worlds. I'm sure I can convince her to take us."

"And how many do you think she can take?" he replied.

"When I spoke to Merit, he said the old books refer to griffins carrying two people between worlds. And Mercuria is light."

"But I'm not," Tored said softly.

"You would join us even though you don't like the plan?"

"Yes. There is nothing here for me without the two of you."

Hemlock's heart leapt at his words. "Fine! It's decided, then. I'll talk to Penelope about taking us three. It's really like two and a half, if you think about it."

"That means you won't be able to return with your mother."

"True. But if war is coming to the City, maybe that's just as well."

With all of them in agreement, Tored rose to begin his daytime patrol. Hemlock decided to join him. They both hoped to resolve the mystery of the marketplace before their impending departure.

...

Hemlock considered the implications of the previous day's events as she walked the still empty streets of the Warrens, shielding her eyes from the glare of the morning sun. Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred there since her unusual experience in the marketplace the prior morning.

She discussed the risks with Tored, but decided to attend the meeting of the Wizard Council to inform them of her plans to leave the City. She anticipated that Gwineval would react negatively to the news, but it still felt right to her.

Gwineval should be able to contain Jalis until I return.

A hooded figure caught her attention as it darted across her path several blocks away. She recognized something about it, and without thinking, she took off running at top speed toward the alleyway. She tried to be quiet as she took a wide turn into the shadowy, tight passage between two houses. But her speed caused her feet to skid a little on some soft sand, and the figure ahead of her turned its head sharply to the side.

Hemlock was too quick for the figure as it reached for its knife. She had a sabre at its neck before it could draw. With a flick of her wrist, she used her other sabre to throw back the figure's hood.

"So, we meet again, Jasper," Hemlock sneered as she recognized the face she revealed.

"What are ye doin'? I'm headin' back to me mum's."

"Let's see how the night was for you," said Hemlock as she roughly patted him down.

A dull copper cup fell and clanged as it hit a rock on the ground. Hemlock was about to give up when she felt something in his breast pocket. She withdrew a glass vial filled with a glowing liquid.

"And what do we have here?" she asked.

Jasper's beady eyes darted around desperately. "I haven't done nothin'," he managed.

"But you clearly intend to do something, again. You'd better start talking, or I'm taking you to the watch station and you'll be spending the day in a cell."

Hemlock had spent time in station cells in her youth and knew why Jasper's eyes widened in fear at her threat. The City Watch were not kind to their prisoners—especially those from the Warrens. Jasper faced not mere imprisonment, but a sequence of fearful interludes between furious beatings.

"Yer one of us! You can't do that to me!"

"Then tell me who gave you that vial and why."

"What good will it do? I'm just tryin' to make some money for me mum."

"Right. For your mum. Not to drink yourself into a stupor?"

"If she didn't ride me like she does, mebbe I wouldn't drink like I do. But it's no matter. I'm just doin' a job. No more."

"Tell me what you know!" Hemlock said, losing patience.

"Okay, okay. A big guy gave me the vial. He hired me to drink it when the whistle blows today at the marketplace at sundown. That's all I know."

"Come on. Who is this big guy?"

"I don't know his name. He's from the district though—nice white robe and all. I asked him his name and he just laughed. I don't see him around 'cept for when this thing goes down. He's always in the marketplace when it does, and I think it's him that blows the whistle. That should give you the info you need."

Jasper looked around nervously as he saw and heard signs of increasing activity in the streets and the homes that surrounded them.

"Look," he continued, "I gave you what you need. You gotta let me go now before we're seen together. Otherwise, people will figure out it's me that squealed, and my goose will be cooked."

"Fine," Hemlock said, letting go of his arm, "but you'd better keep your mouth shut. And show up at the marketplace tonight so people don't suspect anything. I need to have a talk with this _'big guy._ '"

Jasper hurriedly walked off without further comment, and Hemlock shook her head.

The kid is more idiot than criminal. Hopefully he'll survive long enough to figure things out.

She exited the alley in the opposite direction she had entered and resumed her approach toward the Wizard Tower.

As she neared the tower, its imposing height dwarfed her, but it struck her in a different way that morning. She realized that she could identify with the tower, and the thought surprised her. She now saw it as a symbol of resistance to DuLoc.

But will it be strong enough?

She continued to walk toward it. Soon, the Moat of Acid was visible along with the recently added iron fence that had been installed around it. The fence was not there to protect the tower but to protect the City-folk from accidentally falling into its destructive depths.

As she walked along the curved road ringing the tower, she saw the Drawbridge of Ninety-Nine Tears. It was down and stood unguarded. And the pikes that once stood along its length had been removed.

She reached the end of the drawbridge and began to walk across. Her mind returned to the night when she forced her way into the tower. The portcullis and magical gargoyles had also been removed in the months since that fateful evening.

Hemlock gazed up at the top of the tower. The colored glass windows had been cleaned and gave the tower an uncharacteristically cheerful appearance. She was also aware that the defensive spells that once protected the heights of it from aerial attack had been dispelled.

Have we totally defanged you? Do you have any secrets left to help us defeat DuLoc?

Then she remembered the vision she had in the observatory. She found two other Wands located on a distant world and she had seen another tower there—her father's tower. She looked up at the Wizard Tower again.

Perhaps your time has passed, after all.

Hemlock reached the heavy doors of the Wizard Tower and knocked softly.

The great doors opened, and a familiar face excitedly greeted her.

"Hemlock, welcome!"

"Otticus, how are you? Still pulling guard duty, I see."

The young First Circle wizard seemed slightly embarrassed by her put-down but shrugged it off quickly.

"Look!" he said, thrusting his bare shoulder toward her.

Hemlock was surprised by his invasion of her space, and didn't immediately understand what he was trying to show her. But as she was about to ask for clarification, something on his shoulder caught her eye. The normally monochrome tattoo he bore, typical of the First Circle, looked different. Now, there was blue and yellow scrollwork amongst the markings and some additional colored runes near the bottom of the bicep.

"Huh. What's that all about?" she asked, taking a step back involuntarily.

"Something Renevos and I have been working on. Check it out!"

As Otticus finished speaking, the colored tattoos on his arms flared, and suddenly he was gone.

"Back here," said a voice from behind her.

She turned in a flash, hands going down toward her sabres, but the sight of a smiling Otticus calmed her nerves.

"It's the new teleporting magic Renevos has been researching ever since that encounter with the rainbow cat. He figured out how to enhance our tattoos with a low range version of the spell. I'm the first one to get it. It's kind of a test. So far, it works great."

"That's amazing," Hemlock said. "You'll be very difficult to fight with that power."

"Only drawback is it's tiring to use. I can only do it so many times, and if I'm tired, it's too much to use."

"Still, that's an encouraging development. I hope things go well and all of the First Circle can use that power soon."

"Yea, me too," said Otticus without sounding very convincing. It was clear to Hemlock that he was enjoying the distinction of being the sole bearer of the new tattoo.

"Thanks for telling me about it. I have to go. See you soon."

"Bye, Hemlock," said the young warrior, turning back toward the front doors.

Hemlock considered taking the rear stairs up to the council chamber, but something held her back.

It's not my place to use those stairs, anymore.

She slowly walked up the main stairs, pausing briefly at each floor to look around. She found herself experiencing a heretofore unappreciated affection for the tower and the wizards within it. An inner voice again raised concern about the fate of the wizards after she left for the distant world where her mother and Falignus awaited. But, again, she felt a wave of surety that it was the correct course of action, although the ambiguity of her own motivations still troubled her.

What will I do when I find Falignus?

She didn't have an answer to that question.

Soon, the council chamber door beckoned, and her thoughts turned to the matters at hand.

The council members were seated around the large onyx table, awaiting her. A strong scent of soothing incense filled the air—no doubt at the behest of Gwineval, who had grown fond of the scent during his stay with the Tanna Varrans. There were no observers in the bleachers above the meeting floor. Apparently, it was a closed session.

She looked at the friendly faces and took comfort in their apparent goodwill. Memories of Jalis and his plots were still fresh in her mind. In addition to her friends, Gwineval, Miara and Renevos, three newer faces greeted her. First was Brannor, the new leader of the First Circle combat wizards. He was known as a hardworking fighter who built his strength by tirelessly exercising until he was a match for any fighter in the tower. On one side of Gwineval sat Caetor, leader of the Fourth Circle. He was an expert in invisibility and other obscuring spells. On the other side of Gwineval was Lalpa, the leader of the Sixth Circle of magic. In contrast to the departed Colberth, Lalpa was a disorganized man, but possessed a brilliant analytical mind that eclipsed that of his predecessor.

Gwineval's serpentine eyes immediately caught Hemlock's attention as he moved to bring the meeting to order, though it was just a formality since the room had gone silent when Hemlock entered.

"Welcome, Hemlock. Please sit," he said, pointing toward a seat—Falignus' old seat.

"I've briefed the others on the information brought to us from the mountains."

They sat in silence for a moment then Gwineval continued. "I suppose I will start the discussion if nobody else has a suggestion about what must be done. I think we should marshal a force of wizards and set out to drive Jalis from the mountains."

"Do we care that much about the mountains?" Hemlock asked. "Or is the goal to destroy Jalis, the Seekers and the rest of the rogue wizards?"

"Both goals are significant," said Miara gravely. "The mountains provide vital mineral resources for our spells and economy. There is a store of these resources in the City, but it won't last forever. We can't afford to lose access to this region."

"Who will guard the tower if we leave to fight Jalis?" asked Renevos, fumbling for his glasses as they dislodged from his long, upturned nose.

"We will leave a small force behind and rely on the Senate to back us up if there is a surprise attack," said Gwineval.

"Samberlin..." hissed Hemlock, Renevos and Miara nodded in agreement with Hemlock's implied suspicion of the man.

"I know, I know. But he's cast his lot with us over Jalis already. Why would he change his mind?" said Gwineval.

"Samberlin will do whatever he perceives to be in his best interest," said Miara.

"No," said Gwineval, "he acts in the City's best interest. I believe that."

"Not me," said Hemlock.

"It isn't material, anyway. We will leave sufficient force behind to make the tower secure. And we will lock it down until the main force returns. Even Samberlin and his knights wouldn't be able to siege the tower if so guarded."

"What about Samberlin and Jalis together?"

"And how would they accomplish that when our march would cut off Jalis' advance on the City? Hemlock, you can patrol in the air for us with Penelope. That should reveal any unexpected movements on Jalis' part."

"Uh, let's discuss my role in this. I, uh," stuttered Hemlock, lowering her eyes.

Hemlock heard a dull slap and knew that Gwineval had slapped his forehead in frustration. "Why do I know I won't want to hear this?" he murmured.

"I'm going to take Tored and my sister to find my mother on a nearby world. I won't be able to join your attack."

She heard the groan of feet from a heavy chair as it thrust along the wooden planks of the floor. Gwineval, now standing, shouted at her, "Have you lost your mind? With all of our enemies on our doorstep, you would abandon us? Again!"

Hemlock felt inflamed by the accusation and met Gwineval's accusing stare. "I've decided to indulge my sister's wish to see our mother one final time before the coming war."

"And what makes you certain that the war won't be lost in the interim?"

"Gwineval," said Miara, motioning for him to sit, but Gwineval ignored her.

"Remember the last time we stood in the cavern below the tower and you gave me a Wand? You asked me to choose between trusting you to lead us and taking my fate into my own hands with the Wand. I chose you, remember? I chose your leadership over my own. And this is how you repay me?"

"That Wand wouldn't have helped you. You know that!"

"I most certainly do not know that! I took your word for it, but what value is your word when you seem to go back on it whenever it suits you?"

Hemlock felt her anger rising to meet Gwineval's, but she tried to control herself. A thought came to her, unbidden, and she gave voice to it without hesitation. "Remember the child of Amarank who we discovered in the chamber where we found that Wand? You never saw it, but Renevos was there."

"You mean that abomination kept alive by the magic of the Wand? Yes, I remember the tale. But what of it?"

"The child spoke to me before it faded away. It told me to think about what had given it its power. It was the product of a union of the lines of the First Wizard and the Imperator."

"And?"

"It implied that I needed to understand something about that union. And I think I do now. I need to do the same thing, I think. I need the power of the lines of the Imperator and the First Wizard to defeat DuLoc. Since the blood of the First Wizard runs in my veins, I only lack that of the Imperator. But we know one who descends from that line."

"No, Hemlock," whispered Gwineval, "you can't mean Falignus—he perished in the northern desert over a year ago?"

"That's the thing—he didn't die. He changed somehow, but he still lives in the same realm that my mother does."

"So you mean to retrieve him?"

"Yes."

Gwineval pounded the stone table. "This is absolute, utter madness!"

Hemlock shook her head and looked away.

Miara rose and Hemlock heard her speak calming words to Gwineval. Eventually, he was coaxed back into his chair and the discussion continued.

"How would you accomplish the travel, Hemlock?" asked Miara.

"Penelope the griffin can travel between worlds."

"But can she take three? And then four upon return?"

Hemlock felt a wave of uncertainty. She was confident Penelope could carry three, for the griffin was large and Mercuria was very slightly built. But four seemed to be a stretch even for the great beast.

"I don't know about the return trip," Hemlock said.

"Hemlock, you have to understand the threat that Jalis now represents. When you left last time, he was just a possible threat. But now, with DuLoc directly aiding and guiding him, he might well defeat the City before you get back," said Lalpa.

"I doubt that will happen unless you wizards make a mistake. Tored and I estimate we'll be gone for a few weeks of City time, at most. That will be a few days in the other realm."

"How do you know it won't take longer to recover Falignus? What if he is unwilling to return? Or what if you're wrong and he is dead?" said Gwineval.

"I'm not wrong about him being alive. And I know he'll return to me. He always loved the City and won't want it to fall to DuLoc."

"Hemlock, what if Falignus joins with DuLoc? He was our enemy, remember?"

"It's complicated between us. Suffice it to say, I know he won't betray me," said Hemlock.

"So, what would you have us do in your absence?" asked Renevos.

"I don't know. Do you think it still makes sense to attack?"

"We must do what we must. If you leave, perhaps we should negotiate with Jalis and DuLoc," said Gwineval.

"Gwineval, I know you're mad, but that's just silly. You'd be playing right into their hands."

"Perhaps, but maybe we'd be better off falling in line than resisting. At least DuLoc seems to offer a well-orchestrated strategy, while we flail about according to your whims!"

"We're not allying with Jalis, Gwineval," said Miara sternly. "Hemlock, why not join our attack on Jalis first then go on your expedition?"

"I'm sorry, but so much of what I do is based on instinct. I realize it's hard to have faith in me, but I just know that I need to leave now. There won't be time to do it if I wait."

"It would only be a week or two!" said Gwineval.

"I'm sorry. I can't wait. It has to be now. It's like we're all part of a song. If some of the notes falter, the entire melody is lost. It feels like that when I think about the future. This has to be done immediately."

Hemlock wasn't sure why she felt so strongly about the timing of her departure, since she had only come up with the idea the prior day, but she had a strong feeling about it and had never been more certain about a choice in her life.

"So, what should we do?" said Gwineval, sounding defeated.

"I still think you should attack," said Hemlock.

"What would we be doing if we were Jalis?" said Renevos.

"A good question. If I were him, I would be looking at the southern farmlands next. First, starve the City of raw materials then go after the food supply," said Lalpa.

"Yes," said Miara, "there is logic in that. If Jalis has already fortified the mountains, he'd probably welcome an attack there. Especially if his forces were already on the move in the south, but with a less secure position there."

"Have we heard anything unusual from the south?" asked Gwineval.

"No, but Jalis did a remarkable job of covering his tracks in the mountains before he struck. Perhaps we need to send a few smaller teams to investigate," said Brannor.

The ensuing moments were silent, though the tension in the room was unrelenting.

When Gwineval rose, his shoulders were slumped and his eyes downcast. "Let us adjourn this meeting and consider the working plan. The plan sounds prudent to me given the unusual circumstances. We will meet again tomorrow, though I assume it will be without our would-be leader."

"I'm sorry, everyone. You'll understand when I get back," Hemlock said and left the room without looking at any of the wizards. She couldn't bear to see the disappointment in their eyes.

Chapter Two

A chalky sky clung stubbornly overhead as dusk descended over the marketplace. Hemlock knelt beside Tored in the shadow of a building which was located a short distance from the market. Since they thought the magic of the vials was being used to nullify Hemlock's magic detection, they anticipated there would also be lookouts trying to follow her movements. Therefore, they abandoned their normal habits of rooftop observation in favor of a more conventional, yet, hopefully unanticipated, vantage point.

"We need to watch for this big guy that Jasper mentioned," said Hemlock.

"Could that be him?" said Tored sharply, pointing.

Following his arm, Hemlock saw a tall, bulky man ambling toward the edge of the crowd. He was older than Hemlock expected, wearing a clean, white robe and a thin, oiled mustache of unusual length. His thinning gray hair was greased and combed to the side, and his eyes were recessed with dark, baggy flesh beneath them.

"He sure looks the part of a criminal. I've never seen him before," said Hemlock.

Tored didn't respond. Hemlock turned toward him, but he just stared at the man in the market.

I guess it's the silent treatment, again.

"Okay, this must be the guy. I guess we'll stay put unless he moves. It's almost sundown," Hemlock continued, trying to penetrate Tored's sudden pensiveness.

The big man ambled about uncertainly, strolling toward a vendor's cart for a few moments then slowly returning to his original position. Hemlock could see that the man was discreetly scanning his surroundings. She withdrew further into the shadows as the man glanced her way. Fearing Tored would be sighted, she reached to pull him back, but he was quicker than she anticipated and already found cover in the deep shadow.

"He's anxious. It must be getting close."

"But what are we looking for?" asked Tored.

"Anything unusual. I'm not sure, exactly."

She saw the man slowly reach into his pocket. The glint of metal in his hand confirmed her suspicions.

"There's the whistle," she said.

The man began to move into the crowd. Hemlock glanced at Tored hurriedly as she stood and made to follow the man. She felt Tored rise beside her.

She dashed toward the market while doing her best to keep sight of the man. When the whistle sounded, a chorus of magical signatures burst forth all around her, but she ignored them.

She and Tored paused behind a foot cart as they watched the white robed man move through the crowd toward a distant street.

"He's not doing anything unusual," said Hemlock.

"No, he's just walking," said Tored.

"Maybe whatever I'm not supposed to be aware of isn't happening here."

"A good thought. We should stay with him," said Tored, rising.

Hemlock followed Tored into the shadows, making sure she could still see the white robed man at all times.

A person shuffled across Hemlock's path while not looking where they were going. Hemlock drew to a halt as the person turned and bumped into her. It was a cutpurse Hemlock knew on sight and by smell, as the man had a unique, acrid odor. The cutpurse's eyes went wide with recognition as Hemlock smashed him in the side of his head with the hilt of her sabre. As the thief crumpled to the ground, Hemlock and Tored rushed on.

It won't due to have them sound an alarm on me.

Hemlock navigated through alleys that she hoped would intersect the path the white robed man had been walking. Luckily, there were no more close encounters with cutpurse sentries, though another was spotted and avoided.

They reached a corner where the dusty track of a main road led toward the market. Hemlock expected to spot the white robed man there, but nobody was on the street. The back and forth squeaking of a wooden tavern sign was the only sound she heard.

A door that marked the home of a renowned fortune teller closed softly in front of a notorious building. The fortune teller was old—older than most—and her contemporaries were so aged that nobody seemed to remember her real name. She was known simply as "The Old Mother." Many people in the Warrens revered her as a kind of benevolent figure, but Hemlock had a less favorable opinion. She thought the old woman was nothing more than a charlatan.

"The Old Mother's door just closed. Maybe the white robed man went in there," said Hemlock.

"It could be a coincidence," said Tored.

"Maybe. But what else do we have to go on?"

"Still, it seems unlikely that Old Mother would be involved."

"Why do you think that?"

"I just...have a feeling."

"Well, I want to follow up. What can it hurt?"

Hemlock hoped she was imagining things, but Tored looked strangely discomfited.

"Come on," she said and trotted across the street toward the Old Mother's home.

The red light outside the door was not lit, which meant the Old Mother was not open for business. Hemlock knocked, nonetheless.

After a few moments without an answer, Hemlock knocked again, harder.

A few seconds later, there was a muffled reply from behind the door. "Go away!"

Hemlock knocked again and shouted, "Open the door! I need to speak with you. I'm with the City Watch!"

The heavy wooden door opened slightly, held in check by a taut brass chain. A bloodshot eye framed by a wrinkled brow glared at Hemlock.

"What's your business?" asked an aged female voice.

"Some suspicious people were just seen in this neighborhood, and I saw your door close just as they escaped. I'd like to come in for a moment, if that's alright," said Hemlock.

"No, it's not alright. There's nobody here that's suspicious," said the woman.

"It's suspicious that you won't let me in."

Hemlock felt Tored's hand gently rest on her arm. "Hemlock," he began but was interrupted by a muffled thumping sound from the interior of the house.

Hemlock ignored Tored. "What was that?" she demanded.

A look of concern flashed over the old crone's features before she composed herself. "Something musta fell in the basement. Was nothing."

"If it was nothing, let us in for a moment!"

"No, I'm sorry. It's early and I need to sleep."

Hemlock placed her foot in the crack of the doorway. "I've tried to be civil here, but either let me in or I'm kicking this door down."

Tored gripped her arm, but she shrugged him off.

The woman disappeared from view for a moment and then her voice sounded from behind the door. "Fine. Move your foot so I can loosen the chain."

"Alright. Don't do anything foolish." Hemlock removed her foot and the door closed. There was a scratching sound as the chain was unlatched from the inside. The door slowly creaked open.

The crone known as the Old Mother glared at Hemlock over a hawkish nose. Her slate grey eyes, though slightly rheumy, communicated an energy that belied the fragile and aged frame that housed them. An abundance of ghost white hair was carefully curled, pinned and worn in a finely netted coif atop her head that simultaneously lent a regal and sterile character to her appearance. Her back curved forward near the neck, forcing her to stoop over and use a carved staff for support.

The woman bade them to enter despite her disapproving look. The room they walked into had once been an opulent parlor full of burgundy velour and dark wood, but the passing years had left it in a state not unlike the old crone's body. Once fine wood had warped and signs of disrepair were evident, yet this somehow added to the supernatural ambience of the place.

Hemlock noticed that Tored lingered in the doorway. She looked back and motioned for him to enter. He seemed to hesitate.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, stepping slowly into the space.

"Well, well," crooned the old woman, looking over Tored oddly.

Tored bore his typical air of indifference, but Hemlock sensed some unexplained tension in him.

"They call you the Old Mother, right?" said Hemlock. There was something unusual about the woman. Hemlock's magical affinity registered negative energy coming from her, but it was insubstantial and difficult to categorize. It almost felt like potential, rather than realized, energy.

"True enough," croaked the woman.

Another muffled thump sounded from below them.

"Take us down there!" said Hemlock, looking around for a door to the basement. She spotted a likely one in the far corner of the room, partially concealed by shadow. There was a coating of dust in the vicinity of the door that looked freshly disturbed.

The Old Mother stepped in front of Hemlock. "You can't go down there," she cried defiantly.

Hemlock pushed her aside and marched toward the door. "Watch her, Tored," she cried as she proceeded past the woman.

Reaching the door, her eyes adjusted to the low light as she lifted an iron handle to unlatch the locking mechanism.

"Get away from there!" yelled the Old Mother, but Hemlock ignored her.

The door opened inward, and a dark, winding stone stairway stood beyond it, low-lit but doused in flickering orange from some lower source.

A loud, guttural grunt echoed from unseen depths was followed by another thump. The latter sounded like the shifting of a bulky object without the door muffling it.

Hemlock quickly scanned the stairs for any sign of threat then descended cautiously.

She turned and hissed, "Bring her." Hemlock returned her attention to the stairs with the stench of humid rot greeting her nostrils.

She descended down four score steps then an unexpectedly large chamber yawned before her. It was cylindrical and high-ceilinged, with multi-story wine racks that had been gutted, planked and changed into crude bookshelves. Row upon row of moldy tomes ringed the outside of the room. In the center of the chamber was a glowing pit above which hovered a luminous, deep red cloud that seemed to undulate with tongues of unnatural flame. A trio of bronze braziers added additional light and were the source of the flickering Hemlock had seen on the stairs. Midway between the shelves and the pit, the large man from the market was shackling a slighter figure to the floor with heavy, short chains. Displaced pieces of previously well-laid slate flooring suggested the shackles had been recently and crudely installed. The slight figure didn't resist the imprisonment.

Something about the prone figure was familiar to Hemlock, and then her foot struck a loose object on the stair. A dull copper cup sat at her feet.

"Jasper," she mouthed without a sound.

"Boris!" shouted the Old Mother hoarsely as Tored escorted her down the stairs behind Hemlock.

The large man looked up as Hemlock bolted down the remaining stairs. She stood before him with a sabre at his chest before he had fully risen.

Suddenly, her head was swimming with the recognition of incredibly potent magical emanations coming from the vicinity of the pit. The deep red cloud was filled with a demonic magical presence. As she regarded it, the undulating cloud took on a humanoid form, and a hovering figure rose to the height of twelve feet. Bright red skin coalesced over rippling sinew and swollen, pulsing veins that nearly burst from the pressure of the venomous blood they conveyed. Yellow, fiery eyes, deep set in a head with a heavy brow and cruel, up-curved horns, glistened as they flickered to wakefulness.

"Now you've awakened him!" cried the Old Mother.

Hemlock, with both sabres in hand, stepped back from the large man called Boris.

"Unshackle Jasper!" she cried.

But Boris was circling away from Hemlock, hurriedly distancing himself from the demon in the center of the room.

Hemlock could detect a veritable spider web of magical restraint surrounding the demon, and this relaxed her by a few degrees. But she saw that the spells were crudely crafted and not nearly strong enough for the size and power of the demon they restrained. She had seen Safreon's use of similar binding spells, and these paled in comparison.

"That thing is barely contained. Tored, it's big enough to take out half the City if it gets loose. We have to take care of this," said Hemlock.

"What do you mean by take care of it? This demon is powering half the magic spells in the Warrens!" cried the Old Mother.

"Are you insane? What are you talking about?"

"You know me. People come to me for advice and for help. Since the magic potions went away, people have suffered. I've eased their suffering with my magic—made possible by this demon's imprisonment."

Hemlock noticed Boris was creeping toward Tored and the Old Mother.

"Stop there, Boris!" she yelled.

The demon floated motionlessly, and seemed to be listening to the recent conversation with an attentiveness that further alarmed Hemlock. It was clearly intelligent. Safreon had always looked for the dumb ones. He'd said the intelligent ones were far too dangerous.

Hemlock examined the dark energy she'd detected around the Old Mother before they'd descended into the basement. She now understood what it was. It was like a series of dark chains between her and the demon, as if she had somehow tethered herself to it magically.

"What have you done here, you crazy old crone?"

The Old Mother drew up proudly, and her eyes burned with indignation. "I've stepped in and helped where your beloved wizards abandoned! I've kept the fabric of this community intact! And I've had no help from the likes of you!"

"Let me get this straight. You summoned this thing to help people? Do you understand what will happen if this thing gets loose?"

"There is an agreement between it and me. It doesn't resist the binding spells I use to generate magic and power my own potions. In return, I don't banish it back to its home plane. Apparently, it's not very pleasant there, so it's happy to stay right here."

Hemlock further examined the magical energies between the demon and the Old Mother. She was skeptical that the demon could be banished by the spells the Old Mother had in place. And the soul binding spells between the two were so strong that Hemlock felt sure the demon could possess her at will.

"But it's growing stronger, isn't it? What is the end game here? How will you control it once it gets too powerful—if it hasn't already?" said Hemlock.

The Old Mother looked at the unconscious form of the young thief lying shackled to the floor. "I now offer it sacrifices to appease it—riff raff that will never be missed. If anything, it's helping make the neighborhood safer!"

"That's why you were trying to avoid detection! So you're judge, jury and executioner, now? Don't you understand how crazy this is? You are totally out of control, here!"

The old woman didn't answer.

Hemlock looked at the demon again, and it regarded her in return. "Be careful what you do," it said in a deep voice that suggested the bubbling sound of roiling, molten lava.

"Go back to your plane. Whatever agreement you've made with this woman is at an end," growled Hemlock.

"Hemlock, let's get Gwineval. This foe may be beyond us," said Tored.

"No time," hissed Hemlock.

"I won't go back," growled the demon.

"Were you planning to possess her?" asked Hemlock.

"No. Just making sure she didn't send me back."

"I can see your magic. You could take her if you wanted to."

"Nonsense!" shouted the Old Mother.

"Be quiet! I'm negotiating for your life," chided Hemlock.

"You see magic? Tell me how this looks!" taunted the demon. It extended its arms and a burst of magic flame erupted around it. The flames were contained by the web of spells that surrounded the demon, but more than a few layers of magic were consumed in the process.

"Another burst like that, and I'll take you down!" said Hemlock.

"I'll kill the old woman," said the demon.

"Wait! No!" cried the Old Mother. Boris bolted for the door, but Tored was quicker than the large man anticipated and more powerful than he expected. Tored landed a well-placed blow with a closed fist, and the large man buckled to the floor, gasping.

"Let him go, Tored," said Hemlock.

"Yes, Tored. Let him go," said the Old Mother. "Let me go as well. Don't think I've forgotten your face. You sought out my help once, and now I demand a chance to live!"

Hemlock looked back and forth between Tored, the Old Mother and the demon.

The demon chuckled softly.

"We don't have time for this. Old Mother, use your soul bond to draw strength from the demon. We have to slay it!" said Hemlock.

"No!" cried the Old Mother, but Hemlock was already leaping toward the demon. She vaulted upwards and kicked with both of her legs as her sabres bit into and tore the deep red flesh near its neck. Her kick propelled her backwards as the demon unleashed another volley of fire. This time, the fire burst through the spells woven by the Old Mother and traveled along the soul binding link between her and the demon. The crone cried out for a moment before her body crumpled and burst into flame.

"Damn!" muttered Hemlock.

The demon was loose and charging at Hemlock. Tored interrupted its advance with a spear thrust that tore into its muscular shoulder, splattering the warrior with dark, scalding blood. Tored screamed as his clothes burned off, failing to protect the vulnerable flesh beneath. But the aged warrior held his ground as the demon turned to face him.

Hemlock circled behind the beast and hamstrung it with two heavy blows to its leg. The demon howled in pain and stumbled toward Tored. Tored wounded its side with another strike from his spear, but had to give way in the face of the sheer bulk of the creature.

The demon reached the wall and lifted one of the makeshift bookcases, sending books tumbling to the floor. With a roar that shook the chamber, it threw the twenty foot span of heavy timber at Tored. Tored turned aside in a running jump but the rack was too large for him to avoid. Part of the wooden rack struck him in the back and head as it hit the floor and shattered, covering the warrior.

Hemlock was horrified by the fate of her friend as the demon moved to the next rack and threw it at her. She darted to the side in time to avoid the heavy wood and flying books. Leaping over the remnants of the last ruined rack, she hoped against hope to see movement that would indicate Tored still lived.

The demon rotated to the next rack and hurled it violently. Hemlock was able to leap over the pit and get to the rear wall as the demon continued to hurl bookshelves at her. The floor became treacherously littered with broken timber.

She ran to the shelter of a still-standing shelf as the demon hurled another one toward her previous location. She charged the demon, but a leap onto a broken timber went awry when the impact of another rack moved her intended landing point. She was forced to tumble awkwardly to the ground, hitting her head on another plank that fell unexpectedly in her path. Bloodied and feeling slightly woozy, she crouched as the crashing of wood betrayed the charge of the demon.

She heard a man groan from under the pile of debris as the demon approached her.

Tored lives!

The demon was on her in the next instant, filling the air with fragments of exploding wood as it flailed with a terrible rage.

Tored's peril triggered a part of her that she now feared. A savage feeling of bloodlust consumed her and she no longer had any doubt or hesitation. All her thoughts were directed toward inflicting pain on her enemy.

The demon continued to charge her in a rage, but time slowed down for Hemlock as a supernatural strength infused her. There was the beast towering over her, mere steps from rending her limb from limb, but she was eerily calm. She effortlessly lifted an eight foot board that was six inches square and had been broken at the end, leaving a cruelly sharpened extremity. In less than a second, she had placed the board to accept the charge of the unwitting demon.

The beast's momentum was so great that it impaled itself through the abdomen and fell heavily to the floor in an explosion of bloody gore. Hemlock calmly leapt to the side, but the burning red ochre covered her. The viscous fluid got in her eyes and clouded her vision. In that darkness, a familiar vision seemed to surface. It was a great, black, leathery wing stretching into flight. Hemlock used her cloak to wipe the burning liquid from her eyes and then the rest of her. Mercifully, the vision faded quickly and her normal sight returned. She had managed to clear the vile blood from her eyes before it did serious damage.

"All debts come due eventually," said a voice in her head. She thought it was Safreon's voice. She struck her head in an attempt to reset her bearings as she took stock of the situation. The demon was still struggling, though it appeared to be mortally wounded, and its midsection was slowly melting into crimson goo.

Suddenly, she felt a force impact her, but it wasn't a physical force. She had a sudden, sharp headache. Her head pounded, and the demon's voice whispered to her from inside her mind.

Yes, you'll do fine.

She began to swoon, and a strange tingling sensation started in her fingertips.

"Oh no you don't!" she cried, regaining her footing.

With an act of sheer will, she thought of her mental communications with the griffin and compared it to what she now felt. She was able to perceive the magical channel through which the demon was reaching out to her, and she directed her will along that channel, lashing out with something like a mental shout.

She felt the force leave her mind as the demon howled with rage and tried, unsuccessfully, to rise.

"Tored!" she shouted over the crackle of flames from wood that burned all around her.

"Here!" he shouted, sounding stronger than she'd expected.

She was by his side in an instant.

"The boards—too heavy!" He coughed as smoke started to fill the room. Her burst of strength had not wholly passed and she tossed the pile of thick planks aside with some effort.

"Can you walk?" she asked.

"My leg is broken, but I think I can manage." He cried out in agony as he tried to rise.

She helped him up as the room became an inferno. Miraculously, the path to the stairs was clear.

"Hemlock!" cried a familiar, youthful voice from behind.

She turned, still supporting Tored. There, under several planks and still chained to the floor was Jasper, the thief. "Help me!" he cried.

But Hemlock sensed that a change had come over Jasper. His aura was decidedly different, more powerful and more sinister.

"Can we save him?" shouted Tored over the din of the fire.

"No. And it's just as well," said Hemlock.

"Hemlock!" cried Jasper. "Something's happened to me. There's a voice in my head. It says to tell you that I'm still me even though it's in me now. Hemlock, I don't want to burn alive. Please! I want to see my mum again. Hemlock!"

Hemlock set Tored against the standing remnants of a bookshelf.

"I'm sorry, Jasper," she shouted. Kneeling, she picked up Tored's spear and cast it at the adolescent. Her aim was true and it struck him between the chest and the shoulder blade, killing him instantly.

There was a great howl, then. As Hemlock helped Tored up the stairs, she saw a deep red cloud of energy leave Jasper's body. Drawn into the pit, the red light—somehow visible despite the fire—drew in upon itself and receded with a pop.

"He died like a warrior—struck from above and over the shoulder. It was an honorable blow," grunted Tored as they climbed away from the conflagration below.

"He was just a stupid kid," said Hemlock.

"Fate is often unkind, but you eased his passing."

"Thanks."

They were met on the street by a fire brigade and a detachment of the watch. Hemlock explained what happened as Tored was placed on a litter, against his will, and returned to their apartment where Mercuria's healing powers awaited.

There was no sign of Boris at the scene. Hemlock did not subsequently seek him out, suspecting that he was, more likely than not, an unwitting pawn in the misguided schemes of the Old Mother.

All debts come due eventually.

The phrase echoed in her mind as she considered the motives of the Old Mother and the recurring dark vision of a dragon that she continued to experience.

A deputy wanted her to report the incident to the Senate but Hemlock refused. Her recent authority, and the force of her spirit, prevented the deputy from daring an attempt to detain her. But she did give a full accounting of the tale, twice, and with many witnesses present.

Gwineval will blame me for this, no doubt. The sooner we leave the City, the better.

When she arrived at their apartment, Mercuria had already treated Tored, and he was resting quietly. She entered his room and pulled up a chair before he could offer any resistance.

"Hemlock, he should rest," cautioned Mercuria, looking weary from the process of healing.

"So should you. Leave us," said Hemlock.

Mercuria looked puzzled, but complied.

"So..." said Hemlock.

"Yes?" said Tored.

"The Old Mother knew you. How?"

Tored shifted in bed as if to create distance, but then turned back to face her. "It is probably best that you know the truth, though it is a point of great shame for me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Remember when I visited the City before we left on our quest to disconnect the Witch Crags from the City?"

"Yes."

"The problems between Taros Sundar and Umra Vyle were already boiling over during our journey to the City. I could tell that Umra Vyle had something planned, and he intended to move on Taros Sundar. It was only a matter of time. As you saw, I couldn't get through to the boy. He remained oblivious to the threat.

"When we reached the City, I despaired and confided in a friend who lived here. He knew of the Old Mother and her magical abilities. I met with her in secret and asked her for a spell that would rid me of Umra Vyle. She gave me a potion that would summon a beast to kill the man who drank it. I emptied that potion into Umra Vyle's waterskin."

"The rainbow cat!" said Hemlock.

"Yes. My hands are stained with the blood of my comrades in arms because I couldn't accept that my adopted house would be dishonored by Umra Vyle. My vanity and pride has brought more shame upon me and that house than Umra Vyle ever could have."

"Now I understand why you got so distant. I wish you would have come to me first."

"We didn't know each other as well, then. And I was so set upon my course that it may not have mattered if we did. I've been a fool, Hemlock."

Hemlock grasped his hand. "We're all foolish, sometimes. We both have wielded power and made bad decisions. We have this in common, you and I. You have to pull yourself together. If you give up, it means I should too. I've got a lot of blood on my hands."

"But you're young, Hemlock. Youthful indiscretions are more easily forgiven by those that sit in judgment and also by the harshest judge of all—ourselves. But I am an old man, fully formed and with a lifetime of experience. Yet, I still made this terrible error in judgment. I have to be honest with you, I no longer trust myself. I will understand if you choose to part ways with me."

"Are you kidding? Do you see me overflowing with friends? I've got my sister, Merit and you. That's about it. If you can't forgive yourself for your own sake, please do it for my sake. I need you at your full powers and fully focused. We still have to face DuLoc, after all."

"My spear will always be at your command. But council—maybe you should seek that elsewhere."

"Nonsense. I trust you above all others. And I'm not leaving your bedside until you forgive yourself."

"That will be a long wait. I can't promise that, Hemlock. I won't lie to you. I may never forgive myself."

"Well, you're going to be a barrel of laughs on this trip, aren't you? Seriously, just work through it. Talk to me. Talk to Mercuria, even. You seem to get along with her."

"I won't burden her with this."

"She'd want to know, Tored."

"Please don't tell her. If I decide to do so, I'd like it to be my decision."

"Fair enough. Now, rest up and try to put this out of your mind. We have another quest to begin come morning."

"I will try."

"One last thing. Does this have anything to do with the ghost of Umra Vyle?"

"I think so, yes. His malice, combined with my guilt, probably allowed his spirit to bind with me."

"So you'll continue to be haunted by him?"

"Unless I am able to forgive myself—which is very unlikely. This is another reason why I think you should reconsider traveling with me."

"No way. We'll deal with this ghost. Together."

Chapter Three

Hemlock, Tored and Mercuria walked together in the crisp morning air as the sun, still low in the morning sky, cast long and ominous shadows.

"So, Hemlock, I didn't realize we were literally walking back to find Mother," Mercuria quipped.

"I wish we could," said Hemlock, "but our home world won't intersect the City for a few more years."

As soon as she said this, Hemlock regretted it. Since she was the only one who could perceive the movements of the worlds through the great void, she disliked bringing attention to her ability. It made her feel different and strange, even though her other unusual abilities didn't affect her that way.

Hemlock still hadn't discussed the matter of Falignus with Tored or her sister. She had been waiting for an opportune time, but none had presented itself, so far.

Now is the time.

"Look, I need to tell you both something. There's another thing I'm hoping to do on this trip. I've sensed that Falignus is still alive and living on the same world as Mother. I plan to try to bring him back to the City to help us fight DuLoc."

"Do you think that's wise?" asked Tored.

"Falignus is still alive? The man was a monster!" cried Mercuria.

"No, he wasn't a monster. I...I'm not sure what he is now, but I hope to find him and see if he's still...a man."

"Assuming that he is, how do you know that he will help you against DuLoc? Remember, he's descended from the line of the ancient Imperator. We've all listened to Merit's histories. He is your mortal enemy by blood, isn't he?" said Tored.

"Our relationship was complex. He believes in something I don't. We both want to help people, but he believes in helping people by controlling them. I believe in helping them to help themselves. But I'm sure he would disapprove of DuLoc wanting to control and harm people. He will help us—if he's able to."

"Do you still have feelings for him?" asked Mercuria.

"I don't know," replied Hemlock, realizing it was a lie only after she had finished speaking.

"Is that what this trip has really been about all along? I thought you were finally focusing on your family over your work. Now I realize this is just more of the same, Hemlock. It just so happens that Mother is on the same world. Otherwise, you'd be searching for Falignus and leaving Mother and me to fend for ourselves."

"That's not true! I became certain about Falignus only after we decided to go. I wanted to do something to make you happy and I need to resolve things between Mother and me."

"I'm not buying it, Hemlock. I know you too well," said Mercuria.

Hemlock couldn't muster the strength to argue any further. Plus, she had a sinking feeling that her sister's accusation might have been closer to the mark than she wanted to accept.

"How can four of us travel back on Penelope? I understand that she will struggle to take three between the worlds," said Tored.

"I have a plan for that. Just wait a few minutes and you'll understand."

"Don't you ever get tired of controlling people?" said Mercuria.

Hemlock was content to let the question remain unacknowledged.

The trio walked in silence. Hemlock directed them toward a small bluff that overlooked the City. The white-washed buildings of the Elite district were pretty in the glow of dawn, looking even more clean and perfect in the sanctity of the morning light. She felt a pang of guilt because she hadn't accomplished more to alleviate the poverty of the Warrens in recent months. But she had grown tired of politics and found the issues underlying the poverty were more complex than she'd anticipated.

I'll put that all behind me for now. We are leaving for a while. These problems will be here when we get back, and we'll solve them then.

"Look," said Mercuria without enthusiasm as the graceful form of the approaching griffin was cast in a stark outline as it flew from the top of the distant Wizard Tower. Hemlock considered going to the tower to meet Penelope, but fear of another stressful encounter with Gwineval dissuaded her from that. She'd asked Merit to deliver a message to the griffin for her instead.

The trio was transfixed by the sight of Penelope's approach.

"There's someone on Penelope's back," said Tored.

"Good eyes for an old man," said Hemlock." It's Renevos. He's come to see us off."

A few more minutes passed before the griffin landed softly on the hillside. Renevos, looking more disheveled than usual after the short flight, made a clumsy dismount then bowed in greeting. Hemlock was used to seeing the wizard, but something had changed about his appearance as of late. Since he had returned from the quest to the Witch Crags and taken his place on the Wizard Council, he began wearing his beard braided. It seemed to be an unusual point of pride for the old wizard, even though the remainder of his appearance did not benefit from a similar focus.

"Looking good, Renevos. Are the women throwing themselves at you now that you have that nice beard?" said Hemlock.

"Well, that's a very crass comment to greet me with, young lady. But I won't hold it against you. This time," said Renevos.

"How was the flight?"

"A bit unnerving, I must confess. But, I am an old man—too old for this sort of running about, it would seem."

"Rubbish. You wish you were coming with us. Admit it!"

"I should like another adventure, yes. But I am old and tired, too. Still, Gwineval has enlisted me to accompany his expeditionary force that he's leading into the south. I suspect it will prove to be more than a diversion and fulfill my appetite for adventure."

Hemlock disliked being reminded of Gwineval and his disdain for her latest quest. She looked away from the wizard.

"Hemlock, has Gwineval brought up the issues with Cassandra and her pleasure cult?" said Renevos.

"No, not since last week. I was hoping things were quieting down," said Hemlock.

"Unfortunately, no. Unkempt youth are streaming through the City. Running amok, if you ask me. People are leaving their jobs and spending days—even weeks—on the lake. The wall of mist we put around the water preserves the illusion of modesty, at least, but everyone knows about the aberrant behavior that goes on there. Samberlin is beside himself. He is stirring up the Senate."

"Argh—another loose end. Look, since I'm going away, I need you to try to hold things together for me until I get back. I promise I will go see Cassandra, again, and make her calm things down."

"I'll try, Hemlock. But I fear things have progressed beyond calming down. I don't think Samberlin will rest until Cassandra and her lot are banished from the City."

"That's a little harsh, isn't it? Where will they go? We will condemn them to death by forcing them to leave. They need a sizable body of water to survive and Hemisphere Lake is the only place like that in the City, now. Will we force them to cross the veil?"

"Perhaps. Couldn't you use your second sight to find them a suitable crossing point to a pleasant destination?"

"Maybe, but it could take years for such a world to be in alignment. I'd have to explore each place to make sure it isn't hostile. I don't know, Renevos. It sounds iffy."

"Pardon my candor, Hemlock, but this situation with the witches is...iffy. And it may take a turn for the worse unless you get back as soon as possible."

"I'll do my best," said Hemlock, looking the old wizard in the eye. While wanting nothing more than to climb on Penelope's back and sail into the heavens without another word, there was another matter to discuss.

"Renevos, did you bring the bottle?" she asked.

"Yes, I did," said the old wizard, withdrawing a green glass bottle from his robe. It looked like a simple bottle with a cork in the top, but on closer inspection it was covered in shallow runes. A dull light flickered and tumbled within it.

"This is what I wanted to show you, Tored," said Hemlock.

"What is it?" said Tored.

"It is a magical vessel that will allow a person to be transported within it. It is my latest invention," said Renevos.

"This is your plan to recover Falignus?" said Tored, looking at Hemlock.

"Yes. We will place him inside and carry him back to the City."

"How does it work?"

Hemlock detected a trace of discomfort in Renevos as he replied, "The person to be transported needs to lie down, hold the bottle, and remove the cork. It is imperative not to move during the next step. Magical energy will emerge from the bottle and consume the person, transferring their essence inside the glass, and drawing the cork back into the top. The process is slightly...unpleasant. But it's critical not to move or cry out. It could interrupt the spell, which would have dire consequences. Simply remove the cork to reverse the process."

"Consumed?" said Hemlock, uncertainly.

"Well, it's not quite as bad as it sounds. It seems to have gotten a bit worse since I added the essence of arachnid, but I needed the extra power. We were only able to do small animals prior to adding that ingredient," said Renevos.

"Have you tested it?" asked Mercuria.

"Yes, of course. We've tested it with small animals that we drugged beforehand. And one successful test has been done on a person."

"And how many unsuccessful tests were there?" asked Mercuria.

"Look, magic is part art and part science. There are no guarantees. I will take the bottle back with me, if you'd prefer."

Hemlock grabbed it from the wizard. "No. We'll take it. Thanks, Renevos. I owe you one."

"More than one, by my count," teased Renevos with a wink. "Travel safely, all of you. And come back to us quickly so we can prepare for the challenges ahead. Oh, and Merit sends his regards. He asked to accompany me, but the prospect of the return walk deterred him. His legs have been troubling him lately."

"Thanks, and good luck to you in the south. Keep Gwineval safe! And tell Merit I'll see him soon."

Renevos bowed and Hemlock gave him a light hug. Tored and Mercuria bid Renevos farewell then approached Penelope.

"Penelope, are you ready for the journey?" asked Hemlock.

Yes. I have been healed and magically rested. I am ready.

"How should we mount?"

The heaviest must be in front. Those behind must raise their legs. My wings must be free.

Penelope bowed her front torso, and Hemlock motioned for Tored to climb onto the great beast's back. Hemlock climbed on second, feeling slightly awkward in such close physical proximity to Tored. The fact that she had to wrap her legs around him only made matters worse. Mercuria had to climb over Tored and Hemlock to take her seat at the back. She was lighter than Hemlock and, fortunately for her, equally flexible.

Penelope stood up with a small roar of exertion. Hemlock had prepared a rope for the journey and she tied it around an iron loop in Tored's belt, passed it through one on her own belt, and finally handed the rope back to Mercuria, who attached herself.

"Are we ready?" said Hemlock.

Tored and Mercuria both said yes so Hemlock spoke to the griffin in her mind. "We are ready, Penelope."

Hold on!

The griffin launched into the air with a hard stroke of its wings and continued to beat them furiously as the group slowly gained altitude. Hemlock saw the receding figure of Renevos waving to the quartet as they soared over the City toward the deepening blue sky. She could tell the griffin was struggling to fly under the increased load of three riders. The reality of Penelope's struggle made her regret asking the creature to make the extra effort.

Soon, the deep blue gave way to streaks of black. Suddenly, they burst through the clouds and emerged into a dark void.

Hemlock had experienced many visions of this strange null place between worlds, but seeing it firsthand took her breath away. It felt like the context of her life was suddenly pulled away, leaving her bare in a vast, dispassionate space. She became conscious of the warmth from the bodies around her, and the sensation comforted her. She hoped Mercuria wasn't cold.

Hemlock turned her head and saw the fiery ball she knew as the sun rising over the City. Turning farther, she could see the edge of light that the sun cast as it moved over the eastern mountains, liberating them from the shadows of the night. Looking back, a tendril of fire behind the sun caught her attention. It seemed to emerge from the far side of the City—just beyond the rising sun—and it flared out sinuously into the massive emptiness of the void, extending far into the distance until it intersected a distant, bright ball that Hemlock realized must be another world.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she perceived similar tongues of fire leaving the distant world and forming the great net of worlds that she had seen in her visions and in the observatory under the Wizard Tower. It made Hemlock feel strangely childlike. The fire seemed to burn with the purest form of love she had ever experienced. She could feel the intimate energy pulsing from the fire even at a great distance—perhaps even more acutely because the great void around her felt particularly devoid of love. She longed to get closer to that flame or to feel the comforting sensation of earth under her feet again. That force of love emanated from the ground, the mountains and every part of the City, but she had never been conscious of it. She had taken it for granted.

Her thoughts returned to the inaudible beat of the griffin's wings and the heartbeats of her companions, which she felt more than heard. It was nearly silent. The only things she could hear were her own heart beating and the dull roar of the blood coursing through her veins.

"Is everyone alright?" she asked, her voice oddly muffled. She feared no one had heard her.

But she felt Tored grunt affirmatively in front of her, and Mercuria said yes behind her.

Time was difficult to quantify as they flew on in silence. They approached a line of fire, and Hemlock enjoyed the increasing sensation of warmth and comfort that the roiling flames provided. The griffin gained speed and they streaked along the fire. The small world in the distance, an orange ball ringed with white clouds, grew large before them. The griffin skirted the world and they felt a pull that forced them to hold on tightly. They hurtled away along another fiery tendril toward another distant world.

Hemlock knew the small world in the distance was their destination. As they approached it, Tored managed to speak loudly enough for them to hear.

"It took the monks of my people decades to achieve fleeting visions of this place. And here I sit, seeing it with my own eyes," he said.

As they approached their destination, known as "Urrund" when Hemlock and Mercuria lived there, they witnessed a mass of will-o-the-wisp-like balls of light near the stream of Maker's Fire that illuminated the green world. The wisps seemed to surge out of the cloud layer and dart into the void along the stream of fire, back toward the City. But as the wisps left the vicinity of the world, their momentum faltered and most were drawn back toward the planet at great velocity, soon to be replaced by new arrivals. A few managed to break free of the pull and soon became indistinguishable from the light of the flame itself.

"Does the fire consume them?" Mercuria asked.

"I think not," said Tored. "Our people believe it is possible to achieve a superior birth if one can overcome feelings of attachment to our former life. I can scarcely believe what I am saying, but I think we are witnessing that very process."

Nobody spoke another word. They gradually slipped through the border of the void into a verdant world with a white, cloudy sky. Hemlock visualized their destination, and the griffin altered her course. They flew over great forests, raging rivers and rolling hills, slowing as they proceeded.

Suddenly, the terrain looked familiar to Hemlock as she spotted a small village nestled beside a river. Beyond it, a great town loomed in the distance. The town was called Ogrun, where a king ruled over the nearby land. She had known it as a child. A single, great peak rose behind Ogrun. Hemlock had an unusual feeling as she looked it over. It always scared her when she had been able to see it above the trees. Soon, Penelope was descending rapidly. They reached the tree line and landed hard in a woodland clearing. A small brook flowed through the clearing, and a lazy light played amidst the branches and dusty pollen that surrounded them.

Hemlock felt a sense of recognition as she stepped off the griffin's back with a groan and looked at her surroundings attentively. She immediately knew the clearing. It was only a few hundred yards away from her old home, which was secluded in the forests outside the nearby town.

"Hemlock, we're really here!" exclaimed Mercuria, also dismounting.

Hemlock turned toward her sister, intending to express her own excitement, but the sight of Penelope stopped her from speaking. The griffin's legs trembled as she walked toward a particularly thick section of underbrush. Penelope even seemed to struggle to keep her head high enough to allow her to see where she was going.

"Penelope, are you alright?" Hemlock asked.

I am very tired. I must sleep now. It feels like it will be safe here. Do not wake me for at least three days.

Hemlock looked at her companions nervously. None of them knew what to do other than honor the griffin's request.

"Okay. You will be safe here. I'll make sure my mother watches over you," said Hemlock uncertainly. She hoped her mother would be around to fulfill that promise.

The three of them watched as Penelope nestled into the cover of the nearby underbrush, doing a good job of concealing herself.

"I hope she'll be okay," said Hemlock.

"The passage was difficult for her," said Tored, "but I think she knows her limitations. I suspect she will be fine."

"Let's hope so," said Hemlock.

"Should we look for Mother?" said Mercuria.

Hemlock looked in the direction of their old home. The path that led to it looked freshly cleared.

"Yes," said Hemlock as she started down the path. A final look back toward Penelope reassured her that the griffin's hiding place was effective.

The smell of pine trees comforted her as she walked. It was a chilly fall afternoon, but they had worn heavier clothes in anticipation of the colder temperatures.

"What will Mother say when she sees us? Will she be angry?" asked Mercuria.

Hemlock had been wondering the same thing. "Probably angry and happy at the same time."

"Will you make her understand why we left? Horace was never a good father. She has to understand that," said Mercuria.

"I think I will remain in the clearing while you meet with your mother," announced Tored abruptly.

"Tored, no. You can come with us," said Mercuria.

"No, it will be best if I remain here. I am used to being in the wilderness, and this time with your mother will be personal. It is best that I stay back."

"I understand," replied Hemlock. "We'll come get you in an hour or so. The house isn't far if you run into any trouble. But this was a quiet wood. We should all be fine."

Mercuria placed her hand in Hemlock's as they walked toward the house.

After a few minutes, the path widened, and they could see an old cottage nestled in another small clearing. It was covered in ivy and brambles, but this made the home look like an extension of the forest rather than a decaying ruin. A small stream ran along one side of the structure, and a large paddle wheel turned lazily in the current, creaking softly. The wheel itself was a patchwork of various pieces of wood and large branches.

Hemlock was so transfixed by the vision of her childhood home that she ignored the dull sensation of magic on the path until it was nearly too late. Suddenly, there was a cracking sound and a whoosh of wind kicked up from nowhere, pulling leaves up into a swirling cone like a small tornado. The funnel rapidly approached, blocking the pathway. Hemlock and Mercuria turned and ran.

"One of mother's wards!" cried Mercuria, echoing what Hemlock already knew.

"Split up in the woods!" shouted Hemlock, knowing that the funnel would weaken amongst the brush. She darted to her right, leaping over a fallen branch and avoiding a nest of brambles.

Hemlock heard Mercuria thrashing through the woods on the other side of the path, but the din of the funnel drowned out the sounds of her sister. Hemlock was relieved that it had followed her instead of Mercuria.

She expected the spell to dissipate as she left the vicinity of the house, but it continued to shadow her movements and didn't appear to be weakening as she'd hoped. She decided to double back to the path in hopes of finding Mercuria and seeking her mother's aid to undo the spell.

As she reached the path, the funnel seemed to regain intensity and speed. Hemlock ran as quickly as she could without seeking out the dark energy in her mind, and was barely able to outrun the spell.

"Mercuria, run for the house!" she shouted ahead of her, hoping that her sister wouldn't encounter additional wards.

When she came within sight of the house, she was relieved to see her sister safely in the doorway, knocking furiously. Her magical attunement didn't sense any more wards on the path, though there were wards all around the perimeter near the path—more than she ever remembered her mother using when she still lived at home.

She saw a figure at the window as she neared Mercuria, and the whooshing sound behind her subsided.

The door opened with a slow creak as she reached her sister's side.

The woman who greeted the girls looked overjoyed, bewildered and confused. Their mother was a little older than Hemlock remembered, and her normally disheveled appearance had worsened. She wore heavy earth-toned pants and a dull green cloak under a woven wool jacket. Dried leaves, twigs and thorns were nestled all through her garments and even in her unkempt hair.

"Girls? Is this some trick?" said the woman with tears starting to stream down her cheeks.

"No, Mother. We're real. We've come back to see how you are getting along," said Mercuria.

"My baby!" cried her mother and embraced the younger girl.

Hemlock's heart swelled at the sight, but thoughts of her stepfather injected ambiguity into her pure feeling of joy.

When her mother's attention turned to her, Hemlock took a step forward to meet her embrace.

"You've both grown so much!" said her mother between sobs.

There were several more embraces before their mother regained her composure.

"Girls, what happened to you? I've been worried sick for over a year! But look at you both! Has time left me behind, here?"

"We had to go away, Mother, and then things got complicated. It took a while to find an opportunity for us to return," said Hemlock.

"Where have you been?"

"In a distant city on a different world—that magic city where the toy makers come from."

"So, it's real, is it? I suspected as much given the unusual merchants that come along that river. Is that how you left? On one of their boats?"

"Yes," said Hemlock.

"I started to think that had to be it. I even thought about trying to find you by seeking passage with them, but something held me back. And things got complicated here, as well."

Hemlock's thoughts darkened as she prepared to ask a question that she feared the answer to. "Where is Stepfather?"

Her mother's eyes grew shadowed then she responded, "Gone. Left soon after you did. I guess my grief was too much for him."

"That's a good thing, I think," said Hemlock. "He was a bad man, Mother."

Hemlock was surprised to see anger flare in her mother's eyes. "A bad man? Do you think it's easy for someone like me to find love? Dropped here as I was with no background in this world. Pregnant and alone. With magic powers that others find strange and with no father for my child. Maybe he wasn't perfect, but he made me happy. He was all I had after you left. Now I have nothing but the woods and the sky."

"He started acting strange toward the end—making eyes at me and saying suggestive things. That's why I left. I tried to tell you at the time, but you didn't understand. I was going to go alone, but I feared that he'd do the same thing to Mercuria. When she showed up on the boat unexpectedly, I decided to take her too," said Hemlock.

"You made a lot of decisions that day, didn't you?" said her mother.

"And she hasn't stopped since, believe me," said Mercuria in a half-joking tone. "Let's let bygones be bygones—if only for a little while. I'm so happy to see you again, Mother! But you look a mess! Have you been that distraught? Let me clean you up."

Mother could not resist as Mercuria washed and dressed her. Hemlock wandered around the old home. Paintings she had done as a child still sat on the fireplace mantle as they always had, and portraits her mother must have painted after they left were now displayed beside them.

"I painted those so I wouldn't forget your faces," said her mother, unexpectedly at her side. Not many people could approach Hemlock without her being aware of it, but she wasn't surprised because her mother had always moved with an unusual silence.

"You said things got complicated here, too. What did you mean by that?" asked Hemlock, noting her sister's singing as she cleaned up in another room.

"Well, your stepfather leaving was one thing I referred to. Another is the Sorceress."

"Who is the Sorceress?"

Her mother walked to a nearby chair and sat, beckoning Hemlock to join her on a couch.

"There is much I didn't share with you when you were younger. I didn't want things to be as hard for you as they were for me. I figured the less you knew the better—and I didn't care one whit for the burden your father placed on me. I just wanted you to have a normal life. But there is no reason not to tell it all, now."

Mercuria rejoined them as their mother spoke. "When I was still a girl, I lived on another world. It was different than this place—wilder, more dangerous, and more magical. But I was happy there. I knew how to survive, and I was strong, respected. Then, your father showed up— _your father_ , Hemlock. Mercuria, your father was different—a man from this world who died during a raid. But that's another tale. _Your_ father, Hemlock, came to me one evening and wove a tale that entranced a young girl. He spoke of creating worlds, of destinies and treachery. He said he knew he would be betrayed, and he needed to seed the worlds with an heir—an heir that would be revealed at the proper time."

"He asked me to lay with him and accept the burden of a great responsibility. I scarcely believed him, though he had the air of a great man. But he showed me a wondrous griffin that he traveled on, and that made me believe. I reluctantly agreed to his terms, sacrificing everything I knew. He said my actions would restore hope to innumerable souls. How could I say no?"

"So I lay with him, and I knew I conceived a child that night. And, as he said, the griffin returned in one month's time to take me to the world where my child would grow to maturity. You are that special child, Hemlock."

Hemlock thrilled at talk of her father and recalled the vision she had of the faceless man in the red robe walking in a town.

"Did he wear a red robe?" she asked.

"Yes, he did. The legends are true in that regard. He was a different man. Unassuming in a certain sense, but when you spoke to him, you realized that he was somehow different from normal people. When he talked, his ideas were as irresistible as the passing of the seasons. And he was compassionate. It grieved him to ask of me what he did. But I could tell he felt he had no choice. I'm not angry at him—much. Though I must confess to some resentment toward him for certain difficulties I've had in my life. But whenever I think about him, I just remember his sad eyes and it's impossible to think badly of him."

"Tell me about my father," said Mercuria.

Hemlock's mind wandered as her mother and Mercuria spoke. She kept thinking of her father and the purpose he had for fathering her.

I haven't been crazy for all these years. There really is a reason I am how I am.

Hemlock's attention returned to her mother. She realized that she had missed the tale of Mercuria's father—a mistake she would have to account for later by speaking to her mother in private.

"Soon after I arrived, I encountered the Sorceress..." said Anastasia.

...

Anastasia had just gotten her young daughter to sleep when a sharp knock at the door resonated through her small, wooden cabin. She grabbed her staff and hurried to the door as she cursed at the cry of the roused infant.

More angry at the inopportune interruption than concerned for her safety, she threw open the crudely planked door. A small, bespectacled man with a curled mustache and darkened circles under his eyes stood in the doorway with a plaintive look on his face.

" _Please," he muttered._

Anastasia detected motion in the brush behind the diminutive man and saw a small winged form loitering in the shadows. The moonlight reflected off its gray scales.

" _What has happened?" asked Anastasia, shaken by the normally effusive man's dejected demeanor._

" _It's Glinwilda—and the Chalice," blubbered the man, falling into Anastasia's arms, "both are lost."_

" _What? Come here. Duggan, pull yourself together!" she said, pushing the man onto a stool. Then she saw little Hemlock struggling to lower herself out of her crib._

" _For goodness' sake!" she cried, leaving the man for a moment to push the small child back into the safety of her tiny bed._

When she turned back to Duggan, he was wiping the tears from his face with a handkerchief then he replaced his spectacles. He looked nominally more composed.

" _Now, tell me exactly what happened, starting from the beginning," she said._

Duggan leaned forward and grabbed her hands. "It's Glinwilda! She went after that dark woman who's been loitering in the mountain. She's gone missing! And Fergul the smith found the body of her wyvern outside that dark stronghold."

Anastasia withdrew her hands from the clasp of the man, and considered his words. "What business is it of mine? Glinwilda was never a friend to me. Wasn't it her that denied me shelter in Ogrun when I first arrived? Didn't she tell me that without a wyvern, I wasn't fit to live with you? Why should I even care?"

Duggan's eyes widened and his lower lip quivered. "But we've helped you. I've helped you! We gave you food and helped you build this cabin."

" _It's a hovel barely fit for an animal!"_

" _But, Anastasia, you have power—you're a witch—like that dark woman. If Glinwilda is...gone...then we have no protection. And the dark woman has the Chalice!"_

" _How is that possible? It was in your highest tower constantly guarded by men and wyverns!"_

" _The men said they had strange visions and became disoriented. One fell from the tower to his death!"_

" _When?"_

" _Last night. The dark woman must have taken the Chalice with her magic!"_

Anastasia had to concede that this seemed a likely scenario. Like Anastasia, the dark woman had been turned away by Glinwilda. But this woman reacted with hatred and threats, skulking about in the mountains that flanked Ogrun. Anastasia had gotten a read on the woman one night at the outskirts of town. When Anastasia saw her, the woman had been staring at the tallest tower at the center of the buildings, atop which a brilliant light shone out in defiance of the darkness.

" _Pretty, isn't it?" Anastasia said to the woman._

The woman just looked at her slyly and nodded, not trying to conceal her malice. Yes, this dark woman did seem to be a problem, and Anastasia could tell she was a Sorceress.

" _I told Glinwilda to heed the prophecy I found in that book you lent me. It said that when Ogrun was attacked by that horde of beasts, their greatest man drank from the Chalice and transformed into a giant that protected the town. I believe that was her destiny," said Anastasia._

" _You know she feared that path. The prophecy says that this hero lost his identity once he transformed and was never seen again after the beast-men were defeated," said Duggan._

" _Do you think this Sorceress understood the properties of the Chalice?"_

" _I do. She started asking about it when she first entered the town. Glinwilda banished her more roughly because of it."_

" _She's a real diplomat, that one," sneered Anastasia._

Duggan took her hand again. "Was, not is, Anastasia. Glinwilda is dead. Her wyvern has been found dead, and her body is likely inside that stockade. None have dared to enter there to confirm our suspicions, but the light of the Chalice is visible there, even now. Look for yourself."

Anastasia pulled her hands away angrily. "Hemlock sleeps here, and I'll not wake her for the journey."

" _I will watch her."_

" _Of course you will. Your great white warrior has fallen, and now you come slinking back to the crazy woman in the woods asking for help. If Glinwilda hadn't been so proud and stupid, she could have asked for my help sooner. What do you expect me to do? I have a daughter to consider!"_

Suddenly, a great sound like thunder echoed through the valley.

Duggan rose. It looked like the blood had run from his face, leaving it as white as the pale moon. "Anastasia. Go quickly! The Sorceress is attacking Ogrun! You speak of your child, but think of the hundreds that will perish if you don't act."

" _You have hundreds of wyverns at your disposal. Defend yourselves!"_

" _We're not warriors by temperament, you know that. Glinwilda was our protector, and now she's dead. You're our last hope!"_

A distant explosion rang out, seeming to underscore Duggan's point.

Anastasia cursed again as another ominous rumble came from the direction of Ogrun.

" _Anastasia!" cried Duggan._

Anastasia shook her head derisively. She cared little for the people of Ogrun. But something about the way the Sorceress looked at her that night when they'd met had bothered Anastasia since. She'd challenged witches to duel on her home world with less provocation than that dark look. A part of her craved to indulge her pride and deliver a comeuppance to the woman. But she was a mother now, and the Red Mage had entrusted her with the fate of the child, who he said would hold the fate of all creation in her hands.

Anastasia cursed her decision to go along with the Red Mage before she could catch herself.

Duggan was standing in front of her again and caught her attention as more distant explosions rang out. "If Ogrun is destroyed, where will you go? You know she won't let you stay here. Your daughter won't be safe. You need us!"

Anastasia shook her head, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that the sniveling coward was right. She had never been good with earth magic and couldn't grow food magically. And she lacked the physical strength to be a good farmer. She did need them, as much as it made her sick to admit it to herself.

She grabbed Duggan by his collar and nearly lifted him off the floor.

" _You watch her and protect her with your life. If anything happens to her, I'll destroy Ogrun myself!"_

" _Fine. Hurry!"_

Anastasia burst out the door of the cottage, but closed it carefully behind her. She glared at the small wyvern as she left. It glared at her, though it took a step back into the woods as she passed.

She began to run as another rumble came from the direction of Ogrun. She thought she heard the snap of splintering timbers with that one.

There were two more explosions as she ran. When she finally reached the edge of the wood, the scene before her took her breath away.

The majestic towers of Ogrun were burning—the light of the fire replacing the illumination normally provided by the now absent Chalice. People were running and screaming everywhere, and wyverns were flying erratically overhead.

Anastasia scanned the skyline of the burning town, trying to locate the source of the peril. She noticed a glowing light on the mountain in the distance and remembered what Duggan told her about the stolen Chalice.

A terrible reek enveloped her as something dark passed overhead. Anastasia looked up and saw great, dark wings flapping. A bat climbed higher into the sky and flew toward the center of the town. It was impossibly large, with a wingspan that Anastasia estimated to be three times as great as the large, white wyvern that had followed Glinwilda.

Amazing! The Sorceress has used the power of the Chalice to transform that bat instead of herself. I never considered the possibility! _Anastasia thought._

A stream of fire extended from the top of the bat to one of the yet unburned towers, interrupting Anastasia's appreciation of the creativity of the Sorceress' use of the Chalice. The feeling was replaced by one of horror at the appearance of the corpulent bat and the recognition that the Sorceress was riding on the back of the beast. The renewed screams of the townspeople and the buckling of the impacted tower reminded Anastasia that she had to act quickly if she meant to save the town.

She raised her arms and held her staff aloft. In mere moments, a light breeze stirred up the night air that had been calm and still only moments before. In a few more moments, a whipping wind descended over the town, and dark rain clouds blew in over the horizon.

Anastasia saw the bat struggle to hold its course against the force of the wind. It didn't take long for the Sorceress to recognize opposing magic. Anastasia could see her head moving rapidly to scan the area for her unexpected opponent. The wind was causing the fires on the towers to spread rapidly. Mercifully, the dark clouds brought sheets of rain with them, which began to fight against the tongues of fire that writhed over the faces of the towers.

But the Sorceress had seen her. The great bat took a sweeping turn then flew toward Anastasia. Anastasia conjured a shield as the first blast of fire hit her position. The force of the blast made her recoil. The heat of the conflagration that was repulsed mere feet from her fragile flesh caused her to break out in a profuse sweat.

She heard laughter from above as the bat soared behind her and banked for another pass.

My turn! _Anastasia thought._

Anastasia thrust her staff toward the sky and a great, whipping funnel of air and vapor descended from the darkest cloud. The tornado was farther from the bat than Anastasia intended, so she swept her staff in front of her, and the frenzied air moved across the horizon, following her motion.

The bat managed to come out of its turn in time to avoid the oncoming funnel of air. Anastasia slammed her staff to the earth and a bolt of lightning crackled out from the funnel and impacted the bat—or rather a blue shield that now protected the beast and its rider.

The bat faltered for a moment, and Anastasia hoped the funnel might overtake it, but it recovered and began to fly in earnest, putting some distance between it and the slower onrush of chaotic air.

The bat reached the outskirts of Ogrun, and Anastasia was forced to allow the tornado to dissipate before its great force, which felled many trees as it proceeded across the forest, damaged the town.

Anastasia was fatigued from her spell, but the Sorceress didn't press her advantage. Instead the bat continued to fly across Ogrun, and the Sorceress blasted another tower as she passed. The bat veered toward the mountain stockade and passed out of sight.

Anastasia walked into the town with a grim determination. The duel had only partially satisfied her desire to humble this Sorceress. And now she knew the woman was a coward. Someone that fled from an unresolved duel deserved such a label.

As she passed through Ogrun, weeping people surrounded her, thanking her and begging her for deliverance. She ignored them. Her only intention was to defeat the Sorceress once and for all, and discover the fate of Glinwilda. But, as she walked, she saw wounded children, and they made her think of her small daughter. A glimmer of compassion for the people of Ogrun began to take hold of her, but she dismissed it as a distraction.

At least we should eat better once I finish this job! _Anastasia thought._

She walked up the mountain path and the ruined stockade soon stood before her, with an ominous glow shining from within its shadowy interior. She paused before the great doors, which lay slightly ajar. The torn body of Glinwilda's once proud, white wyvern lay tangled in an unnatural heap of limbs, scales, and tattered wings—its hue of purity now sullied by an oozing crimson.

" _Come, Sorceress, we have not finished!" cried Anastasia. With a gesture of her staff, she directed the still swirling wind into a gust that threw open the doors of the stockade._

A courtyard was revealed. The Sorceress sat on the back of the great bat, as if waiting for her.

" _Behold the last hero who attempted to face me," said the Sorceress, pointing to a great wooden stake that had been driven into the ground. The torso of Glinwilda was nailed onto the stake and streams of blood, carried by the rain, cascaded down her ornate, ruined armor. The fallen warrior was still the picture of proud virtue. Even in death, her hair was the whitest blonde, and her face and long, lithe limbs fell in a posture suggesting peaceful slumber rather than torment._

" _This time you face no fool!" said Anastasia, directing a blast of punishing air at the bat._

But the Sorceress had a shield up before the air struck her. The strength of the shield surprised Anastasia. She realized that if her blast had been twice as strong, it still wouldn't have penetrated. It was the strongest defensive spell she'd ever encountered. A glow in the recesses of a distant tower seemed to pulse with the shield, and Anastasia gulped down a surge of fear.

The Sorceress smiled as she conjured a trio of fiery blasts that threatened to penetrate Anastasia's comparatively weak shielding.

Impossible! I am totally outmatched! _Anastasia thought._

The situation was so dire that Anastasia's only thought was to run. She put everything she had into her shield and began a desperate retreat down the path. The Sorceress took to the air behind her and rained a seemingly endless barrage of fire down on her. Just when the pain of the blasts threatened to overcome Anastasia's will to continue the apparently pointless flight, the Sorceress seemed to falter. Anastasia continued to run, only pausing for a moment to marvel at her survival.

...

Hemlock stared at Anastasia. She never realized her mother wielded battle magic like that.

"The Sorceress didn't leave her stockade often after that. We both understood that I was stronger than her outside her stockade, and she was stronger inside. But something changed several months ago. She became emboldened. Though I was still mourning your loss, I honored my pact with the residents of Ogrun and came to their defense when she attacked again. But this time, she was able to defeat me. And while I was weakened, she unleashed years of pent up wrath on Ogrun. She has burned their towers again and bewitched their wyverns. Now, the small dragons answer to her instead of the people of the town. The people are like slaves now, catering to her every whim—no matter how pointless or sadistic. Your stepfather left the day she stormed the city. Since then, it's been all I could do to protect myself and our home. I probably will need to leave this place soon. I am reduced now—no longer strong enough to resist her. And she knows it. She toys with me."

Hemlock felt a burning sense of righteous indignation rising in her belly. "Mother, you won't have to worry about this Sorceress any longer. I'm going to take care of her."

"Hemlock, she is impossibly strong now. You are mad to make such a boast," said Anastasia.

"Are you forgetting who I am? I've changed a lot since I left, Mother. I'm not a helpless girl anymore. I've defied wizards and even ancient spirits from my father's time. I will rid you of this Sorceress."

Several thoughts connected in Hemlock's mind as the bold words left her mouth. She activated her world sense and visualized the world she was in. She could tell Falignus was close—very close.

Is there some connection between Falignus and the Sorceress?

"Mother, why didn't you ever take us to Ogrun when we were younger?" Hemlock asked.

"I always feared a surprise attack from the Sorceress, and I didn't want to worry about you both in the event that she did attack."

It's unfortunate that I don't know the layout of the town. But we'll be okay.

"Do you know anything about this stronghold she lives in?"

"Stop with this foolishness. Maybe you can help me pack up. We need to leave this place. It is lost, now."

"Mother, look at me," said Hemlock.

Her mother looked her in the eye.

"Do you understand what I just told you? I've changed. I'm doing my father's work now—for better or worse. This is my fate. And defeating this Sorceress is also my fate. You have to understand that things have changed."

Her mother fidgeted for a few moments then let out a long sigh.

"Fine, we will return to Ogrun to face her, then. The poor, pitiful people of Ogrun do need help. I am weak, but with your help, maybe I can defeat her."

"No, Mother. You're in no shape to fight her again so soon. I will go myself," said Hemlock.

"What?" said her mother and Mercuria simultaneously.

"Yes, you are both staying here. Mother, we brought a friend with us who will help me face the Sorceress. I won't be alone. His name is Tored, and he's waiting for us in a nearby clearing."

"Really, Hemlock? This is absurd! You've just come back to me, and now you want to march off again?" said Anastasia.

Her mother continued to berate her while Hemlock sat in silence. Finally, Mercuria talked over the older woman. "It's no use, Mother. When she gets like this, there's no reasoning with her. I've seen this look before. I will stay here with you."

"Let me ask again. What do you know about this stockade the Sorceress lives in?" asked Hemlock.

Her mother seemed to weigh the prospects of continuing to argue before deciding to reply. "Only that the wyverns she now controls circle it night and day. There's a courtyard, and a large tower where, I think, the Chalice is hidden. As I said, she's even more powerful there, so if you are wise, you will engage her in the City."

"It's a long story, Mother, but I think I may know another reason why she's more powerful in the stronghold. I think she may be holding a powerful...friend of ours there. Someone I once left for dead, but who is still alive. I know he's nearby."

"Falignus?" said Mercuria.

"Yes," said Hemlock.

"Why would holding him make the Sorceress more powerful?" asked Mercuria.

"I can't say, exactly, but it may have something to do with the fact that he didn't seem entirely human when I last saw him."

Mercuria appeared to be ready to ask more questions, but Hemlock rose from her seat and turned away. She looked out a bay window—through crude glass panes that distorted the images of the outside world—and thought of Falignus. She shuddered involuntarily at the thought of his ghost-like appearance when she left him in the northern desert.

You have to be whole again, Falignus. I need your help!

"Let's go get Tored. We will leave for Ogrun within the hour. Time is short and passing quickly in the City. We must remember that. We can't afford to give DuLoc too much time," said Hemlock.

"Who is DuLoc?" said her mother as she rose.

Mercuria explained who DuLoc was as the trio left the cottage and returned to find Tored and the sleeping griffin.

Tored rose to greet them as they reached him. The shadow of dusk had started to fall over the woods giving it an unfamiliar, almost spectral, appearance.

"It's weird looking here," said Mercuria.

"The Sorceress delights in corrupting nature. Her spells are more potent at night," said her mother.

Hemlock remembered her manners. "Mother, this is Tored, a friend of ours from the City. His people are known as the Tanna Varrans. Tored, this is our mother, Anastasia."

"I am honored to meet you," said Tored.

"Likewise," said Anastasia. "Will you protect my daughter?"

"With my life," said Tored.

"Well, that seemed heartfelt. Good friends are difficult to find, Hemlock. I do feel better knowing one such as this will travel with you," said Anastasia.

"Often, it is she who protects me," said Tored.

Anastasia looked surprised as she looked over Tored's bulk then at her comparatively slender daughter.

"I told you things have changed," said Hemlock.

Hemlock quickly told Tored about the Sorceress and her suspicions that Falignus was being held in the stronghold on the mountain peak. They bid their farewells, and soon Hemlock and Tored were walking along a rarely used path toward the city of Ogrun.

Hemlock heard a gasp from behind her and knew that Mercuria had shown the sleeping griffin to her mother. Hemlock smiled without knowing quite why.

"So this Sorceress commands elemental magic and a flock of small dragons?"

"Not dragons—wyverns. They're different. The wyverns can't fly as high as dragons, and they can't leave this world."

"Do they breathe fire?"

"Hmmm. I never asked. Let's hope not."

"And the Sorceress rides a giant bat?"

"Apparently."

"It is a shame we weren't able to bring our wings. If we had a shaman with us, we could've fashioned some new ones."

"Yes, that is a shame. No flying for us, I guess."

That statement seemed to linger between them for a few moments then was forgotten as they reached the outskirts of Ogrun.

Chapter Four

The towers were the first part of Ogrun they saw as the tips rose over the canopy of thinning trees. There were dozens of towers—wooden and intricate—fashioned in a rising succession of levels that became more slender toward the tops. Each story had a series of flat walls set off at gentle angles from one another. In the face of every third wall was an arched doorway with a wooden door. Rafters projected out where each wall intersected and supported ornamental roofs that were interspersed with long spines and offset from the frame below, flaring out joyously, adding depth and complexity to each tower's silhouette.

But the inspiring design of these noble towers was overshadowed by the terrifying disarray that remained in the aftermath of their destruction. Bright paint that Hemlock remembered gleaming in the waning sunlight of a summer evening was dull and charred from fire. The beautiful wood that hadn't been consumed by flames was bent and gave the towers a contorted appearance. Sunlight shone through gaps in the structures left by collapsed roofs and buckled walls.

The once beautiful city of Ogrun, which Hemlock had always dreamed of visiting when she was a girl, was now ruined. It had not been completely destroyed, but what remained just made mockery of what it once had been.

No activity was evident in the ruined towers, but a few people were visibly moving amongst the lower buildings that surrounded the towers. These buildings were also wooden, and some of them were nearly as intricately fashioned as the larger towers.

Many of the nearby buildings were homes, but others appeared to be commercial with goods piled outside of them and people swiftly picking amongst the items. Some furtively paid the merchants who loitered uncomfortably with their goods, before darting off. All eyes seemed to be on the skies.

"These people conduct themselves like they are under siege," remarked Tored, pointing to the closest outdoor market and the skittish customers around it.

"I don't see any signs of trouble. What do you think we should do?" said Hemlock.

"Let's approach that merchant to see if we can learn anything about the Sorceress."

Hemlock agreed, and they set off. They walked between homes along a cobbled thoroughfare. She noticed people peering out of their windows, watching her and Tored.

"They seem so scared," said Hemlock.

"Look," said Tored, pointing toward the sky.

A serpentine creature, held aloft by leathery wings, soared overhead. It had colorful scales on its belly—brilliant purples and deep blues. The creature let out a sharp cry as it wheeled and circled the town.

"That's a wyvern," said Hemlock.

When Hemlock returned her attention to the street and the merchant's shop in the distance, she saw people scrambling inside. A young girl was motioning toward her and Tored, but then strong hands pulled the child into the shadowy interior of a shop. A merchant closed the front door with a sharp thud that reverberated down the street.

"Perhaps we should take cover," said Tored, having noticed the activity at the shop.

"Over here!" said Hemlock, running for an open door in a nearby building. Tored followed her, and they reached the shade beneath a second floor balcony just as the door they approached was slammed shut and bolted from inside.

Hemlock knocked on the door gently.

"Leave us alone!" cried a frightened voice from inside. "We don't want any trouble."

Another cry sounded from overhead. It seemed to be lower and closer than before.

"We're here to help you—to help Ogrun. But we don't want the Sorceress to find us! We won't stay long," said Hemlock.

"It's too dangerous! I have children in here. Have pity on us. Please leave!" said the muffled voice.

Hemlock began to respond, but didn't know what to say. She looked searchingly at Tored, but the warrior just shrugged.

"We're probably endangering the people by coming here," said Tored.

"They're just scared. Let's just try to sneak from building to building and evade the wyvern," said Hemlock.

There was a loud bang across the street. They saw the wyvern that had been in the air sitting on the edge of the roof of the nearest building. Its landing had dislodged the gutter from the roof, and the wooden channel fell down to the street below. The creature regarded them with an unblinking stare. The wyvern reminded Hemlock of the green dragon carcass she had seen in the Wizard Tower, but this creature was only about the size of a large man, and its body was relatively slender. Despite the smaller size, its toothy maw and long claws gave it a dangerous appearance, and its bright colors made it look exotic.

"Uh oh," said Hemlock.

Her magical senses alerted her to forces emanating from the creature. There was incoming magic, as well, and both forces extended over a great distance toward the mountain.

"That thing is magically linked," she hissed.

"To what?" said Tored.

"To the Sorceress, I bet."

"What should we do?"

"Let's walk toward the mountain and see what happens," said Hemlock.

They walked along the wall of the building beside them, putting more distance between themselves and the wyvern.

The wyvern let out a long squawk that turned to a roar. It took off from the building and thrust itself into the air with its wings.

They lost sight of the creature as they proceeded along the dusty streets. They tried to stay hidden and were fortunate that most of the low buildings in Ogrun had long porches with overhanging roofs. But they periodically heard the creature's cries overhead, and knew it was following them.

Soon, they reached the street where the merchant's store was located. Hemlock surveyed it as they passed. She noticed the face of the young girl she had seen pulled into the doorway. The girl was looking at her from one of the shop windows, looking concerned. She motioned to Hemlock, pointing in the direction they were already going then sharply down toward the ground. She then made a wave-like motion with her arm.

Hemlock didn't know what to make of the gestures from the little girl. Tored did not realize Hemlock had slowed, and put some distance between them. Hemlock sprinted to catch up with him, and when she looked back, the girl was gone from the window.

As they neared the towers, the road became littered with wooden debris and the remnants of boxes. A few boxes were intact and had large handles at the top, like baskets.

"What of this?" asked Tored, pointing at the debris.

Hemlock recalled an image from her youth. One day she defied her mother's wishes and snuck close to the outskirts of Ogrun. What she saw had amazed her. The towers were magnificent and colorful. A host of wyverns had been flying around and into the towers. Many of them carried boxes like those that now lay broken in the street.

"The wyverns used to carry things in them," she said.

Tored grunted acknowledgement as they paused near a burnt building. The base of a tower was before them, and there was little in the way of cover unless they took a long detour around the center of the town.

"Do we risk traveling through here? There is little cover," said Tored.

Hemlock looked behind them. She saw five wyverns circling near the merchant shop. A series of screams from that area confirmed her worst fears. People were screaming along with the wyverns.

"The Sorceress is looking for us. She's sending more wyverns, and they're scaring the people. If we stay hidden, I think they could get more destructive. We need to risk travelling openly," she said.

"They will surely attack if we do," said Tored.

"I know, but at least they'll leave the townsfolk alone."

Tored nodded. "It's a shame there isn't another way to the mountaintop."

"Let's go," said Hemlock. They ran into the street and approached the nearest tower. Hemlock paused and turned back toward the shop, waving her arms toward the circling wyverns—which now numbered more than ten.

"Hey! Over here!" she yelled.

She turned back and caught up to Tored. As they passed the first tower, she risked a moment to appreciate the woodwork on the first floor. Everything was beveled and cunningly curved. The absence of stone surprised her, but clearly the people of Ogrun could work wood as well as anyone—even in the city of San Cyra itself.

"Hemlock!" hissed Tored from ahead of her. He was pointing toward the sky to her right. In the air above them was a large group of flying beasts. There were at least forty wyverns soaring in a loose formation around a darker form that muscled its way through the air rather than soaring. It was an impossibly large bat with a pale, raven-haired woman crouched on its back, seeming precariously perched. The woman looked more youthful than Hemlock had expected—for she rode and moved with an ease that implied strong legs and a supple back.

And she laughed as she flew. It was a mirthless laugh that was full of menace.

"The Sorceress!" cried Hemlock.

"Did you see the wyverns with her? Too many!" replied Tored.

"I know—keep running! Maybe we can lose them once we reach the mountain!"

They put another tower behind them before the cries of the wyverns and the screech of the great bat began to approach them.

They kept under the porches where possible, but not every building had them.

Hemlock looked behind her and realized they had been spotted. A horde of wyverns was descending directly toward them.

The great bat soared overhead and the Sorceress still laughed atop her flying mount. A sheet of flame streaked from the sky to the middle of the street before them. A great explosion caused both her and Tored to lose their footing.

Damn! Even a wizard would have been proud of that fire!

She was on her feet and running in a flash, pulling Tored to his feet with an outstretched hand and her momentum. The excitement of the encounter was beginning to awaken her powers.

A harsh woman's voice rang out from above. "KILL THEM! Kill them, NOW!"

The wyverns, spurred on by the urgings of the Sorceress, descended and attacked. Pale forks of lightning impacted the ground all around Hemlock and Tored, kicking up debris. Some of the strikes found their mark. While the bolts didn't kill outright, they caused their muscles to lock and the runners risked losing their footing. Soon, both of them were littered with black burn marks all over their upper bodies.

"If we fall, they will kill us!" Tored managed as he ran erratically, trying to make a harder target from the air.

"If we stop, we are dead too!" cried Hemlock.

Fortunately, the runners covered most of the central area of the City, which was dominated by the towers. Smaller buildings appeared before them, and also a large trench that stretched across their path and was bridged at every intersecting street.

As they approached the nearest bridge, Hemlock heard a shout and saw motion from the trench. An arm was waving from the shadow of a culvert beneath one of the nearby bridges.

"There!" shouted Hemlock, pointing to what she had seen.

"It could be a trap!" said Tored.

But Hemlock saw the face of the one that waved, and realized it was the little girl from the merchant shop.

"It's safe—come on!" she said, grabbing his hand and running toward the fence that separated the trench from the street. She vaulted it and landed hard on a stone incline, sliding down its face about twenty feet until she splashed into two feet of water at the bottom of the trench. Tored splashed beside her, and both of them charged for the cover of the culvert. The form of the girl was barely visible within.

The water at their feet was alive with crackling energy from lightning strikes as they ran. Their locking muscles made both of them fall more than once as they covered the two score yards to the safety of the shadowy culvert.

"Up here—out of the water!" shouted the young girl as they entered the tunnel. They leaped up onto a stone landing as the water crackled from another lightning strike.

"I hope you have a plan—they are gathering outside!" said Tored to Hemlock.

"Follow me!" said the little girl, now at the mouth of a dark passage, heading in the direction of the mountain. The unmistakable odor of excrement made it clear where they were going.

The girl lit a torch as they all hurried along the dark tunnel, urged on by the searching cries of the wyverns behind them.

Soon, the passage branched into three directions and the girl led them to the left. They walked along a raised section of stonework that formed a walkway extending from the wall for about a foot, until it fell off—sharply down—forming a channel beside the walkway for the sewage to flow.

"How far will this take us?" asked Hemlock, her voice echoing.

The girl turned and Hemlock had a chance to look her over. She appeared to be about ten years old. Her blonde hair was matted, and her face was dirty. Her tattered dress might have been white once, but was now an uneven brown. She was a pretty little thing, but her eyes darted to and fro. She carried herself with a gravity that suggested the fragile gaiety of youth had already been displaced by the harshness of necessity and suffering.

"It will take us all the way to the river that cuts between the mountain and the town's edge. That is where you want to go, right?" said the little girl.

"What's your name?" said Hemlock.

"Esmeralda."

"Well, Esmeralda, I am Hemlock and this is Tored."

"It's nice to meet you, but we must hurry."

"How did you know where we wanted to go?" asked Hemlock.

"I heard you say you were here to help us. You want to fight the Sorceress, right?"

"Yes. How did you get here so fast? I saw you in that store as we passed."

"I snuck into the sewers through the basement. The others are trying to watch after me now that my folks are gone, but they don't understand. I have to help them."

"Where are your parents?"

"Taken by the Sorceress for tonight's games."

"Games?"

"The Sorceress holds games in her stronghold when she grows bored. My parents were taken a few days ago."

"What kind of games?"

"Fights. She makes people try to kill each other. Then, her monster kills the survivors."

"Her monster? What's that?"

"It's like a shadow of a man. It drains people then the Sorceress eats what comes out of them."

"Did this shadow monster come recently?" asked Hemlock.

"I think so. We didn't know about it until right before the Sorceress attacked the town."

Hemlock looked at Tored. "Falignus," she said.

"If he's become some type of wraith, what good will it do to bring him back?" said Tored.

Hemlock shrugged.

"Bring who back?" asked the little girl.

"It's a long story, Esmeralda, but we think a friend of ours may be your shadow monster. He's not evil, but we think the Sorceress is using him. We'd like to free him and get rid of this Sorceress while we're at it."

"And save my mom and dad?"

Hemlock put her hand on the little girl's shoulder. "Of course! We'll save your mom and dad."

The little girl smiled. "I knew it! I knew there was something different about you. You're not just wanderers looking for food."

"Alright, you just lead us to the river, and we'll do the rest. But, do you know how to get to the stronghold?"

"Of course, everyone knows that."

"Really?"

"Yes, everyone in the town has to attend the games. There's a big path."

"Interesting. But we should probably try to sneak up there."

Suddenly, there was a deep rumbling that shook the sewer.

"What's happening up there? Only a tower falling could disturb the earth like that," said Tored.

"The Sorceress must be mad about losing us. Will she destroy the entire town?" said Hemlock.

Nobody answered.

"We should get to the river," said Tored.

Hemlock became aware of a faint reading from her magic sense. The little girl was radiating magic.

It's odd that I didn't detect it before.

"Esmeralda, I sense something about you. Do you have magic?"

"Not anymore. The Sorceress took our magic and now we can't control our wyverns."

"So you used to be able to control the wyverns?"

"Yes. We all have a wyvern. When kids are born here, a wyvern hatches at the same time. The two are bonded for life. But there haven't been any kids born since she came. She burned the wyvern hatchery."

"She'll pay for that!" said Hemlock.

The girl turned and started walking. Hemlock didn't want to upset the girl by asking more painful questions, but something wasn't adding up.

If the Sorceress has taken the people's magic, why do I still detect magic in Esmeralda?

Esmeralda led them through many twisting and turning passages. Soon, they became inured to the stench, the strange echoes of the water and their footsteps.

The torch was close to burning out by the time they reached a long passage that ended with the glamour of daylight. They were all relieved there had been no more sounds of destruction from the city above. Although, they knew there was no guarantee the Sorceress wasn't up to other less discernible mischief.

They approached the opening slowly, letting their eyes adjust to the brightness.

The water flowed into the sewers from the river, which was about thirty yards from bank to bank and moved with slow currents.

"What do we do now?" asked Esmeralda.

"We'd better do something quickly. If this is the only inlet to the sewers, the Sorceress is sure to have it watched soon enough," said Tored.

"Esmeralda, is there any place to take cover along the path to the stronghold?" asked Hemlock.

The little girl's brow furrowed for a moment then her eyes widened. "There are caves along the way. Maybe we could hide in there until nightfall," she said.

"How many caves are there?" asked Hemlock.

"A lot—the mountain is full of them and they are like a maze. I've wanted to explore them, but mother..." The little girl's lip trembled and she looked down.

"Don't worry about your mother, Esmeralda. I've faced tougher foes than this Sorceress and come out on top. Okay, here's my plan. We climb the mountain along the path and look for a good, deep cave. Hopefully there are caverns and passages in there. If we get trapped, it's going to be tough going. But once we find a good location, we should try to get spotted. That way, the Sorceress will spare Ogrun and look for us on the mountain."

Tored grunted agreement. "A decent plan provided the caves are interconnected," he said.

Hemlock knelt in front of Esmeralda. "I want you to go back to the city, now. Come to the stronghold tonight with the rest of the people. We're going to get to the bottom of this shadow man, defeat the Sorceress and rescue your parents."

"You can really do that?"

"You have to trust me. Go back and wait for tonight. Thank you very much for your help, Esmeralda."

"You're welcome. Thanks for helping us."

"Go on, now," said Hemlock.

The girl waved and returned to the depths of the tunnel.

"We were lucky to find her," said Tored.

"I guess so, if you believe in that sort of thing."

"You don't?"

"That felt like more than luck to me. I'm kind of getting used to the whole idea of destiny."

"You could look at it like that. We'd best get moving."

"Ready for a swim?"

Fortunately for them, the water was only waist deep because it was icy cold. They sloshed forward in hurried silence for they feared being sighted in the water, but they were able to get across undetected.

Hemlock looked back toward the towers at the center of Ogrun and saw wyverns flying over much of the town. There was no sign of the Sorceress or her giant bat.

"There must be a spring nearby. This water is very cold and the air is much warmer," said Tored.

Hemlock barely heard him as they reached a well-trodden path that had to be the one described by Esmeralda. The path led up the face of the mountain in a series of long, lazy switchbacks. She quickly scanned for caves.

They started to jog up the path, looking over their shoulders for signs of pursuit from Ogrun. None was forthcoming. Just when Hemlock started to think about lighting a fire to attract attention, a shrill cry rose from the city, and a wyvern wheeled around and flew toward them. Soon, a host of the others joined it.

"They've seen us!" said Hemlock.

She and Tored had just reached the first sharp turn up when they spotted the mouth of a cave about halfway along the face of the mountain—still several hundred yards away.

"Run for it!" cried Hemlock, pointing toward the cave and looking to her left as a formation of wyverns began to stream toward them from the city.

Hemlock felt desperate energy welling inside of her, and she knew she could easily outpace Tored. But she stayed just slightly in front of him, urging him on.

Soon, the air was thick with the distinct odor produced by the wyvern's lightning strikes. Hemlock and Tored were running irregularly, trying to maintain their footing as the paralyzing lightning burned them. Sand and dirt were flying everywhere, and some wyverns even dove toward the pair, attempting to rake them with their claws.

Then, a large shadow appeared as something flew overhead, and maniacal laughter echoed over the mountainside.

"Oh, what great sport! Kill them!" cried the Sorceress as her massive bat bore her in front of Hemlock and Tored. Then, the bat wheeled to the left.

"Only a hundred yards!" shouted Hemlock, risking a glance backwards at Tored. His running was becoming labored and she feared he might stumble at any minute. She thought of using the commanding voice she had learned from the witches of Tanna Varra, but she feared revealing that power too soon and wasn't sure it would work on the wyverns. And, even greater, was the fear of the persistent, dark visions that seemed to accompany the uses of her powers, and hinted at unforeseen consequences from their use.

"Come on!" she cried as she slashed a sabre at a wyvern that tried to approach her from the left.

The ensuing seconds passed with agonizing slowness. Hemlock reached the shelter of the cave and pulled Tored inside before the Sorceress was able to make another pass above them.

Wyverns hovered at the entrance and filled the cave mouth with lightning. Ironically, that lit the way for Hemlock and Tored as they stumbled into the cave's interior.

Fortunately for them, the cave was deep, and there was a sharp bend around forty feet inside that provided cover from the unrelenting lightning strikes.

Hemlock's upper torso burned with pain as the new wounds made their presence felt. And Tored had fared worse than Hemlock. His cloak had been left in tatters by the crackling energy, and much of his exposed flesh was dark and charred.

He doubled over in pain, but said nothing. Then, something on the cave floor caught his attention. He moved to a section of rock that was covered with a mossy substance. He retrieved some in his hands and spread it over his wounds. He beckoned to Hemlock to do the same.

"I don't know this world, but this is like Tanna Varran mihr moss. It will ease your burns," he said.

Hemlock took his advice, and soon her own pain was dramatically lessened.

"Amazing," she said as the din outside the cave started to taper off.

The cave became darker, and soon she could only see the pale glowing of the mihr moss.

"Do you still have the torch Esmeralda gave us?" asked Hemlock.

"Yes," said Tored, as a clinking sound near his belt revealed his retrieval of the flint and steel.

There was a spark and the torch blazed to life, revealing a passage ahead of them. It appeared to be the remains of a once-larger cavern now consumed by a large piece of rock that had fallen from overhead. The resulting tunnel was long, straight and roughly triangular.

"We're fortunate this cave is deep," said Tored.

"Yes. I guess the Sorceress will be guarding at the entrance. Hopefully this will lead to another cave exit."

"Shhh!" hissed Tored, pointing with a trembling hand at a dim light coming from a nearby section of the cave wall.

The pale green light intensified as they watched, and Hemlock marveled at Tored's reaction. He was unmistakably frightened—and she had never seen him like this.

"It is Umra Vyle," he hissed.

Hemlock tried to comfort him by grabbing his arm as something emerged from a previously undetected vertical fissure in the rock. It was a ghostly figure—short and stocky with a barrel chest, massive biceps, and broad, determined features. There appeared to be an old wound on part of the spirit's head.

"It's not Umra Vyle," whispered Hemlock.

"No, it's not," said Tored, sounding surprised and relieved.

The spirit seemed to regard them for a few moments, and motioned for them to come forward. It slowly withdrew into the fissure, and its light faded then disappeared completely.

"Now we have two ghosts?" said Hemlock.

"This is very interesting," said Tored. "That spirit wasn't outwardly hostile. Its appearance could be a positive omen."

"Why do you say that?" asked Hemlock, who had not felt any reaction that made her trust or fear the ghost of the stocky man.

"I just feel it. While among my people, I witnessed a number of apparitions such as this. One often just feels whether they are dangerous or not. It is best to be wary when you experience fear, or simply feel nothing. I was...scared when it appeared, but then it set me at ease. I am inclined to follow it."

"Well it did show us that opening. We should look at it, I guess. But this other way is bigger. Should we just ignore it?"

"It is impossible to know, yet the spirit has indicated that this is the way," said Tored, pointing into the fissure. Their torchlight revealed a slender passage that was scarcely two feet at its widest—they would be forced to enter sideways, if they dared.

"Looks like slow going," said Hemlock.

"My natural place is now behind you rather than in front, but I must counsel you to follow the spirit. An appearance such as this is no mere chance occurrence. My people believe that a spirit must be bound to a mortal soul in order to appear among the living. Umra Vyle's spirit is bound to me, as you know. I can't imagine that the ghost of this stout man—a former resident of the City by my guess—has any relation to me. And I have never heard of a person having two ghosts haunting them."

"So that leaves me, then?"

"It would seem so, yes."

"Well, I've never seen that man before. He looked like a miner from the eastern mountains—I'll grant you that. But I can't see any connection to me."

"Yet circumstance suggests there may be one."

"This is odd. We never have ghosts in the City."

"Remember, Tanna Varra is gone, now. The spirits that linger in this life are no longer drawn there."

"Fine, maybe you're right. But if we don't find something quick, I think we should come back and go the other way."

Hemlock shimmied into the fissure and was followed by Tored. The air was soon sweaty and oppressive, and the twists and turns of the passage made it hard to determine which direction they were going.

"If this doesn't widen soon, I think we should turn back," said Hemlock after several uncomfortable minutes.

Tored didn't reply.

Just as Hemlock felt her reserves of patience running thin, the echoes of their footfalls took on a different character. There was some sort of chamber ahead. Hemlock reached the edge of an opening and thrust her torch through.

The light revealed an irregular chamber which extended about twenty feet ahead and forty feet above. It widened to ten feet. There was no visible exit.

"Great..." said Hemlock as Tored joined her in the room.

But then she noticed a pale light above her. It was about thirty feet up, and seemed to emanate from the rock itself.

"What do you make of that?" she asked.

"I'll check, if you wish," said Tored, leaving little doubt that he felt she should check.

"Fine," she replied, handing him the torch.

He held it aloft to light her climb up. The face of the rock was rough and the handholds were abundant. In a matter of seconds, she scampered up and saw a roughly circular opening in the rock about three feet in diameter.

The broad face of the ghost regarded her from deep within the hole. It motioned her forward again.

"It wants us to follow it into a little tunnel. We'd have to crawl to do it. I don't like this, Tored. What if the Sorceress sends people into the tunnels behind us? We could never fight our way out of that fissure."

"You know my opinion about the spirit. Tell me what to do."

"Fine," she said, convinced that the idea held little merit. But she realized that while their predicament made little tactical sense to her, she felt oddly secure in the decision.

Tored's superstitions must be affecting me.

Soon, they were crawling down the passage with Hemlock in the lead. They crawled on hands and knees then took to a crouching walk when the floor became rough and jagged in spots. It was tiring work after the exertion of their flight up the mountain.

The passage seemed to be turning to the right, and after several minutes, Hemlock had the impression they turned in the opposite direction from the original path, though she was not at all confident in her sense of direction underground.

A change in air pressure and sound indicated another open space ahead of them. They reached the edge of the passage where an opening led to a sheer drop, forty feet above a rocky floor. Across from the opening, the regular shape of the cave had been altered by a cave-in. A fifty foot wide space in the ceiling had been opened by the collapse of a great section of rock. The top of the collapsed rock was nearly level with the opening Hemlock looked out from, but was separated by a distance of twenty feet. Above the collapsed section, just at the limits of Hemlock's torchlight, there appeared to be finished passages on either side. This suggested to Hemlock that the inside of the collapsed section might be hollow—but this was unverifiable from her vantage point.

"It looks like we're above that triangular tunnel we saw before," said Hemlock.

"If there's a stronghold on the mountain, perhaps whoever built it dug tunnels, too," said Tored.

This is a lucky break. Maybe that spirit did help us.

Gaining access to the passage held some peril because they hadn't brought a rope. But Hemlock asked Tored to retreat into the round passage, and she backed up. Crouching, she started a shuffling run and managed a good jump off the ledge. She covered the distance between the opening and the top of the collapsed rock, landing with her forearms on the opposite side. She easily pulled herself up.

The jump was not so easy for Tored. His additional bulk didn't allow him to build up much momentum in the round passage, and he was heavier. But his legs were strong, and he was long with his arms extended. Hemlock was able to anchor her feet in a crack in the rocky floor, and caught Tored's hand as he hit the rock wall hard below her. His weight nearly caused her to lose her grip. She felt her feet slipping out of the crack that kept her from tumbling down with him to the hard stone floor—forty feet below.

"Hurry up and grab the edge!" She grunted.

Just then, the pale, ghostly light returned. Hemlock glanced upwards, expecting to see the ghost of the stocky man, but there was something different about this light. When she looked up, she saw the enraged features of the Tanna Varran warrior, Umra Vyle. The ghost was hovering over Tored, who was visibly quaking. Hemlock feared he would lose his grip on her hand. And she felt her feet slipping even further.

"Ignore it! Grab the edge!" she screamed.

But Tored just stared at Umra Vyle's ghost without saying a word, and his grip on her hand loosened.

"Tored!" she cried.

She noticed the green light intensify and risked another glance toward the ghost. The spirit of Umra Vyle was still there, but behind it the ghost of the broad faced man approached. The man looked angry, and it moved as if to push the slighter form of the warrior aside. The push didn't move Umra Vyle's ghost like a push by one man on another would. Instead, it was like a wind that blew and distorted part of Umra Vyle's form. When it coalesced, it was slightly further away.

The two spirits turned to face one another as Hemlock and Tored stared on in wonder.

"Grab my hand!" Hemlock whispered forcefully as they both watched.

Umra Vyle's ghost sneered and drew its hands back toward its ghostly body while simultaneously bending its wrists and presenting its palms toward the other ghost. Then, it pushed its hands forward forcefully, and some unseen force seemed to strike the ghost of the larger man. The bigger ghost mouthed a silent scream of pain, and the light emanating from it appeared to lose some intensity.

The larger ghost charged Umra Vyle, but when its lowered shoulder hit the other spirit, it just continued forward. Again, Umra Vyle's image was perturbed by the passing of the other ghost, but otherwise unharmed. Hemlock saw Vyle's mouth moving and the expression on his face was one of mockery as he made another quick back and forth motion with palms outstretched. The ghost of the large man screamed again, and its light dimmed even further.

"He doesn't know how to fight!" cried Hemlock before she addressed the larger ghost. "Do what he's doing!"

The broad faced ghost seemed to hear Hemlock, and looked at her as another strike from Umra Vyle's spirit struck. Hemlock saw a glimmer of recognition in the friendly ghost's features even as the pain of the incoming strike distorted them.

The larger ghost drew its hands to its side and extended its palms like Umra Vyle's ghost did. Then, it flexed its shimmering muscles and pushed in a snapping, forward motion toward Umra Vyle.

The strike affected the spirit of Umra Vyle, wiping the smirk off its face. Hemlock wondered at the nature of this unusual battle because the strike from the larger ghost appeared to be devastating. The pale, green image of Umra Vyle began to flicker violently—becoming increasingly warped and distorted with each flicker. Its mouth opened into a scream, and the image of the Tanna Varran warrior jumped and twirled as the mouth became larger and larger—still locked in a scream that seemed without end, though completely inaudible.

Then, the ghost of Umra Vyle was gone.

Hemlock looked at the remaining ghost and nodded to it. It nodded back, and quickly faded from view. She returned her attention to Tored, marveling that they both held on in their precarious state through the astonishing, though mercifully brief, fight.

Tored managed to get a good handhold on the rocky wall, which took pressure off Hemlock's hand. She was able to reset her feet in the crack she was using to brace herself, and together they managed to get Tored up onto the rock platform.

They both sat and looked at each other in wonder.

"Umra Vyle's ghost has been destroyed," said Tored.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes. I can feel a weight removed from my spirit. That other ghost has done me a great boon."

"I guess we should trust it."

"Undoubtedly."

"So, you're better now?"

"I feel better," said Tored. But then his eyes looked away and his jaw clenched with tension.

"What's wrong?"

"You saw something...something I'd rather you hadn't."

"What?"

"How I reacted to the ghost of Umra Vyle."

Hemlock remembered the unusual displays of fear Tored had shown. "Look, you think I'm never scared? Everyone gets scared."

Tored did not look her in the eye. "A warrior controls his fear. This is the first lesson of a Tanna Varran warrior. You would think that a person who grew up amongst hostile spirits would have learned to face them courageously. And I have. I want you to know that a spirit bound to a person has a special power over them. That fear you saw in me was supernatural. You need not worry that I will be similarly affected in other dangerous situations."

"Tored, we've been through a lot together. You don't need to be concerned that I'm going to think you're a coward, if that's where you're going with this."

He looked at her and his face reddened. "A Tanna Varran warrior is never cowardly. We'd rather die than show fear during battle!"

Hemlock raised her hands as if to restrain his anger. "Alright. Look, just forget about it."

"That's exactly what I'd like to do. We shall never speak of the ghost of Umra Vyle again."

"Fine with me."

They rose together and took stock of the two hallways that lay at either end of the collapsed section, which they now stood on. The platform had once been the floor of the passage, and had only fallen about ten feet below the remaining, intact sections.

"Which way?" asked Hemlock.

Tored walked toward one end then to the other.

"The air is flowing from that side. If we go that way, we should find an exit from the caves," he replied.

"Alright, let's go."

Hemlock boosted Tored up using her interlocked hands at waist level, and the warrior easily found purchase on the higher floor then pulled Hemlock up after him.

Their torch was still burning as they walked down the hallway. The walls were covered with carved pictures which depicted impossibly tall figures moving among smaller people. The carved images looked familiar to Hemlock, reminding her of the chamber where she confronted the wraith of Zaringer, father of Falignus.

"I've seen this type of carving before. This must be the same world where I left Falignus. The northern desert must have been a part of it before it connected with the City."

Tored grunted an acknowledgement.

As they walked, Hemlock began to perceive light emanating from far ahead in the passage. Soon, they were able to see a turn ahead, and the light coming from that way was clearly visible. They reached the bend, and Hemlock peered around the corner cautiously. There was another hallway that extended about a hundred feet. Beyond this was the bright light of the outdoors.

"There's a way out!" said Hemlock.

They covered the distance to the light in short order, and saw that the passage opened into a cave mouth. They crept into the cave and risked a look outside. It led to a sheer drop, over sixty feet down to the trail they had entered on. There was a wyvern sitting outside that lower entrance. Hemlock narrowly avoided being spotted when the beast suddenly looked upwards.

She motioned for Tored to head back into the dark passage.

"There's nothing here but a sheer drop, and the cave we entered is being watched. We need to find another way," she said.

"We'll try the other direction, then," he replied.

They walked back to the fallen passage, lowered themselves down, and climbed up the other side.

This one quickly came to an intersection of two passages. One led upward and the other stayed level.

"We need to go up, right?" said Hemlock.

Tored agreed and began to climb the sloping passage.

Hemlock continued to notice the carved images. Amazingly, they were consistently present in every passage they traveled so far. The larger figures seemed to be benevolent—helping the people to farm, hunt, and build. She began to sense that an enlightened society had built these tunnels.

"Whoever carved these seemed to live in a time of prosperity," she said.

"They did not seem to be afraid, and appeared to revere these gods," said Tored.

"I know. These are so different from the Imperial runes and carvings I've seen. I wonder what happened to these people."

"Perhaps Merit will be able to tell us once we find some of their books."

"Yes, I look forward to that."

The passage leveled out, and after several hundred feet, they reached an intersection. There were two ways to go, and Hemlock was undecided on which direction to take. Tored stepped a few feet into each passage.

"The air is fresher in this one," he said from the path on the left.

"Alright, let's take it, then."

After a minute of walking, the ornate runes suddenly stopped and the walls became rough stone. They didn't get far before Hemlock started having doubts about the direction they had chosen. But they soon turned a corner and were encouraged to see light ahead.

"The torch is burning out," said Tored.

"Alright, let's see where this has taken us and then head back," said Hemlock.

The passage opened onto a broad stone shelf that looked out over a distant desert.

"We're on the other side of the mountain," said Hemlock.

"Truly. So there is a desert nearby. This area has abundant water, though."

Seeing no sign of wyverns overhead, they risked walking close to the edge of the shelf to see below them. The river flowed close to the mountain with several miles of diminishing green around it. Further away, a region of dusty steppes began and ran for a few miles. Beyond that was the desert.

Hemlock wondered whether that desert was the same region that had been a part of the City, and if Falignus found his way to this peak from that desert, somehow.

A sudden memory of being in his arms assailed her. She looked at Tored, hoping she hadn't appeared lost in her thoughts, but the old warrior did not seem to notice.

"Let's double back," she said.

"The upper passage probably led to the stronghold. This must have been their network of scouting points. It would be difficult to approach this mountain undetected if these lookouts were patrolled."

"Yes, I was thinking the same thing," said Hemlock, noting the sun lying low on the distant horizon. "It will be dark soon. We have to get to that stronghold."

Chapter Five

They doubled back and took the passage they previously decided against exploring. After a while, it began to slope upwards and the wall carvings took on a more martial tone. The large images depicted men in training and forging weapons. Further along, Hemlock noticed the carvings were scored and broken in a way that suggested deliberate destruction.

"This looks like the work of the Sorceress," said Hemlock.

"Perhaps. But it's odd that she wouldn't have done the same to the lower tunnels," said Tored.

They continued on in silence. Hemlock hurried their pace, fearing for Esmeralda's parents.

"I wish we'd gone this way the first time. Now time is short," she said.

"Come on," said Tored, urging her forward.

They reached a series of guard rooms with staggered doorways and arrow slits. The wooden doors were gone—only a few splinters of wood and their iron hinges remained. The carvings on these walls had been completely defaced, and some had even been scorched with drawings depicting anatomical deformities and perverse acts.

"If this was done by the Sorceress, there's something wrong with her," said Hemlock.

"These drawings do appear to be the work of an unhinged mind," said Tored.

"If she's crazy, how am I going to reason with her?"

"Reason with her? I thought you were going to kill her."

"Well, I guess that's the plan. But will she harm the townspeople during the battle? I'm concerned about that."

"It does seem to be a risk. We will do the best we can, but there may be casualties."

"That's not good enough! You saw Esmeralda. I won't be able to face her if anything happens to her parents."

"We must hurry."

They worked their way through the offset doors and the hallway resumed its upward slope.

Suddenly, there were flashing eyes and screeching sounds all around them. A mass of bats flew amongst them then took wing along the hallway ahead, receding from view and earshot.

"That might not be good," said Hemlock as they jogged up the hall. Tored didn't respond, so Hemlock looked over at him. He shrugged and shook his head from side to side.

They saw a large chamber ahead and caution forced them to halt. Hemlock's magic senses registered strong readings, but they competed for her attention because the contents of the room were visually captivating.

Torches were lit in the chamber, illuminating a horrifying scene. Several iron devices were arranged around the room. Each contained the remains of a person that appeared to have endured indescribable torment. There was a device with a system of gears and pulleys to stretch a person's limbs apart. Another was a large iron sarcophagus that sat partially opened. A corpse was draped out of the opening, and the gleam of dense spikes from within the sarcophagus hinted at the fate of that unfortunate soul. There were also glass jars full of bloody flesh. And, worst of all, a table set with dishware, silver and a generous platter that bore a large slab of human ribs and bloody meat.

They were dumbstruck by what they saw. After a moment, Hemlock recovered from the shock and redirected her attention to the magic emanating from the room. It was strong—nearly all-encompassing. Her immediate impression was that nothing in the room was what it appeared to be.

"I don't think it's real!" she hissed between clenched teeth.

"I have never seen the likes of this! Even our witches didn't dine on flesh. And this Sorceress is one of the living. She has no need to feed on her own kind," said Tored.

"Did you hear me? I think it's an illusion."

"Magic?"

"Yes."

Hemlock studied the magic more closely. The spells of illusion were complex and interwoven. She thought she detected a real table and some large stones underlying the more horrifying aspects that her eyes observed. There seemed to be strong, localized magic sustained by a distant source of power. She guessed the distant power was the Chalice in the stronghold they sought. The way it projected magical power reminded her of the Wands of the Imperator she'd previously encountered.

"It can't be," she said.

"What?"

"It's like there's another Wand here. But I know there's not because I can see all the Wands when I view the celestial realm."

"But didn't your mother say the Sorceress has some type of magical chalice?"

"She did. Maybe it works like the Wands?"

She focused on the distant magical power source and realized it did seem weaker than the Wands. But the nature of the illusion brought up even more questions. The illusion was tied to the distant Chalice somehow, and it was a bi-directional flow, though the power was mostly radiating outward from the distant point.

"Something's different about this magic. It involves people, somehow. The Wands seem to channel raw elemental power, but this is different."

"Why would the Sorceress create a room like this?" asked Tored.

"I'm not sure. To scare people? To satisfy some strange urges on her part?"

"If it was the latter, wouldn't she just indulge herself in reality instead of crafting this illusion?"

"I suppose. Maybe she feeds off of fear, then."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Until I can see it in action, I won't be sure."

"I suspect you'll see it in action soon enough."

"If she's using this Chalice, she'll be weakened if we can destroy it," said Hemlock.

"But you said it was not always used for evil. Should we destroy it?"

"It's close enough to a Wand that I don't want to take any chances. We'll destroy it if we can."

They made their way through the gruesome contents of the room. Hemlock found the experience disturbing despite knowing its true nature. The mild look of disgust on Tored's face confirmed that he felt similarly.

Once they left the room, Hemlock broke into a run and Tored joined her.

Soon, the smell of fresh air in their faces indicated they were nearing another exit from the tunnels. They turned a corner, and the blue-black of an evening sky was visible through an arched exit. They cautiously advanced toward it. After determining that it wasn't being watched, they took in the scene.

The walls of the stronghold lay about fifty yards in front of them. They were made of granite, splotchy and bleached by the sun and weather. The stronghold was five sided with a slender tower rising from each corner. The top of the walls bent inward, crowned by balustrades which were crumbling and broken in intervals. Shadowy figures moved between the balusters that were still intact. The outward facing portions of the corner towers each bore the remains of carved statues that had been torn down. The great head of one ruined statue rested in front of the nearest tower. Its features were charred and defaced with painted, slanting eyes and large fangs. In the most distant part of the stronghold, a thicker tower keep rose above the rest. Hemlock felt sure that the magical power emanated from there. A wide path, marked by the passage of many people, led toward a gate with a portcullis that was locked in the upward position. The interior of the stronghold was cut off from their view.

"The magic is coming from there," Hemlock said, pointing to the keep.

Tored nodded as a great round of applause rang out from the unseen courtyard. The shadowy figures Hemlock had seen atop the walls bolted into the air, and hundreds of wyverns joined into a loose ring, flying in a circle above the stronghold.

"We'll be spotted if we advance," Tored said.

Hemlock scanned the stronghold for an alternate entrance. She found what appeared to be one in the form of a collapsed wall in the far corner's tower.

"You wait here while I enter the stronghold," Hemlock said.

"To what end?"

"Once I have everyone's attention, you run to the wall and get to that opening back there," said Hemlock, pointing to the crumbling tower wall.

"So I make for the Chalice while you confront the Sorceress, alone?"

"Yes," said Hemlock as the wyverns above the stronghold cried out in unison. The echo of their cry reverberated over the plains below, and then a great round of applause resumed. The wyverns swooped down to the walls and took their places amongst the balusters again. But two of the creatures remained in the air, screeching and flying ever faster in a circle they struggled to hold against the force of their flight.

"I have to go! Good luck!" said Hemlock, not waiting for a response. She ran across the sandy ground to the side of the ruined statue, making for the open portcullis that led inside the stronghold.

The two wyverns in the air wheeled and charged each other, breathing lightning and attempting to claw one another as they passed at speed. The lightning hit one, singing its scales and causing the creature to roll for a moment before regaining control.

Hemlock turned the corner and ran into the stronghold. She saw a wide courtyard flanked by wooden bleachers where the entire population of Ogrun sat in fearful silence. In the middle of the makeshift amphitheater, two men fought desperately. One had a club and the other a long sword. They circled each other, exchanging clumsy blows, and both were bloodied. The two wyverns, which Hemlock judged to be bonded to the pair of men, continued to fight in the air above them. To Hemlock's right, there was a row of low buildings that flanked the large tower keep at the rear of the courtyard. On a balcony of that tower stood the Sorceress, and beside her rested her unnaturally large bat.

Hemlock thought of Esmeralda as she saw the men fighting and worried one of them might be the girl's father. As she hurried forward, the swooshing sound of sand under her feet seemed magnified by the walls of the stronghold. People began to notice her, and a wave of gasps reverberated through the crowd.

"Stop!" she shouted.

The two combatants on the ground paused in surprise. Suddenly, all eyes were on her. Even the wyverns in the air broke off and soared away from one another, watching her.

The Sorceress rose slowly. Hemlock could see the sneer on her face even at a distance of many score of yards. She was pretty despite the strange markings that covered her face. The great bat engaged Hemlock with a predatory stare and recoiled as if ready to charge. But the Sorceress restrained the beast with her forearm.

"So!" began the Sorceress in a tone that was equal parts condescension and hatred. "You finally made it to my little party, I see. I'm glad. I wouldn't want you to miss the fun!"

"This is your idea of fun?" Hemlock said loudly enough for all to hear.

"The beginning of it, anyway. I have other surprises in store, yet. You'll see soon enough!"

Hemlock could sense the tremendous power of the magic item that lay hidden within the large tower. While not quite like a Wand of the Imperator, its power was no less formidable than what she estimated from afar. It was pouring energy directly to the Sorceress. The fear of the citizens fed into the tower keep and directly into the mysterious artifact.

"Let these people leave. This is between you and me," said Hemlock, pointing to the two bloodied men who still stood, watching.

"Oh, I can't do that. We must have a proper duel, today. And whichever fighter falls will feed the Shadow Man," said the Sorceress, pointing down with a flourish toward a wooden sarcophagus laying against the far wall, to Hemlock's left. It was large and crudely fashioned, but its charred surface was covered in cunning, curled runes that made Hemlock's skin crawl. She could sense confinement magic emanating from the runes, mixed with a malicious spell that suggested torment.

"Falignus," she mouthed without speaking the name.

Next, she sensed a surge of fear coming from the people in the stands, feeding into the tower. When the energy burst reached the Sorceress, her head tilted back and she laughed a terrible laugh before calling out again. "Do you feel how the people tremble at even the mention of my Shadow Man?" She pointed to Hemlock. "I think he will feed on many souls this night!"

"Let these men go, and I will face you myself. If I fall, I will face your Shadow Man!"

"You? You don't understand my laws. Our duels take place on the land and in the sky between two pairs of creatures bound by the soul pact. You are not bound. You are unworthy!"

Hemlock's mind began to churn as she tried to think of a way to save the fighters, one of whom she thought might be Esmeralda's father. She didn't know whether Tored was close to destroying the Chalice, so she couldn't rely on that being removed. The Sorceress was much too powerful for Hemlock to fight without risking a lot of collateral damage. Many of the citizens would surely be caught in the wake of her destructive wrath.

The Sorceress sighed. "I tire of this distraction." She thrust her arms forward, and a jet of magic hurtled toward Hemlock.

Hemlock crouched to jump, but at the last moment before her evasive maneuver, her senses recognized the type of incoming spell. It was a confinement spell. Hemlock made a split second decision to allow the spell to strike her in the hopes that it would buy her some time to determine her next move.

A net of blue magic scintillated around her body. It was significant, but weaker than others she'd faced in the past. She knew she could break free of it by tapping into the energy drawn from the other worlds she saw in her mind's eye.

But what's my next move?

"You two men, resume fighting or you both will face the Shadow Man!" commanded the Sorceress.

The two men raised their weapons as their fear appeared to overcome their reluctance to fight. Their blows were clumsy and tentative. Overhead, their wyverns circled one another, but did little else.

"Fight harder, or I will kill you both right now!" snarled the Sorceress, hurling fire into the field close to the men.

Soon, the sounds of clanging steel and the crack of lightning filled the arena again.

"Yes! Yes!" yelled the Sorceress, clapping.

I'm running out of time. She says I need a beast to stand with me... Penelope! She's weak, but I can contact her. I just need her to buy me some time.

Hemlock focused her mind into the strange other space and ripped her arms outward. An outburst shattered the magic spell that confined her and threw dirt for ten yards in each direction.

She shouted inaudibly in the way the griffin taught her. _PENELOPE! I need you!_

There was no response in her mind, but Hemlock hoped that the griffin had heard her and awoken. She had no time to plan otherwise.

"There is a beast that will stand with me, Sorceress! Will you face me? Or do you fear me?" said Hemlock aloud, stressing the word fear.

The crowd stirred a bit at Hemlock's challenge. The Sorceress drew up into an imperious pose. "I should crush you now, you impudent fool! But, wait. You are not what you seem. And you broke my spell."

Hemlock turned toward the assembled people. "Don't fear her! She feeds on your fear." A sudden thought struck her, then and her magic sense confirmed it. "You think she cast a spell on your wyverns to take them from you? You're wrong! The spell she cast is on you—a spell of fear. If you conquer your fear, your wyverns will return to you!"

The Sorceress sneered. "You think they can overcome their fear? You overestimate them. They are a brainless lot. And listen to you—so sure of yourself. What do you really know? Have you seen the great sea beyond space and time? Have you realized our world is just the dream of a slumbering god?"

"My father was the Red Wizard himself. Don't lecture me about knowledge. I know more than you ever will!"

"Is that so? Well, have you seen the great sea, then?"

Hemlock ignored the Sorceress and turned toward the people. "Don't be afraid! Try to reconnect with your wyverns. You can do it!"

"BE SILENT!" cried the Sorceress, grabbing her giant bat and mounting it.

"Run!" screamed Hemlock as she ran away from the people, hoping to spare them.

The bat rose under powerful beats of its wings, and squealed at a tremendous volume that made all present cover their ears.

Hemlock crouched as bursts of fire crackled through the air and landed all around her, making her cover her head. The intense heat burned her arms and legs, and singed some of the hair off her head.

A bitter laugh from above indicated that the Sorceress and the bat had risen into the air to a height of about fifty feet and now circled the stronghold. The Sorceress rained more fire down on Hemlock.

The citizens of Ogrun left their seats, and were streaming across the open field toward the gate. Hemlock needed more room to maneuver, but dared not leave the corner of the courtyard for fear of putting the fleeing people at risk. She darted toward the tower farthest from the gate, and fire fell all around her, burning her when it hit too close. The side of the field where she evaded had become an obstacle course of flaming embers and smoking craters.

Hemlock was running with her head low and heard a heavy thud in front of her. She drew back expecting to see the great form of the engorged bat in front of her, but instead she saw, to her great relief, the slightly bedraggled bulk of the griffin beckoning her to mount.

I came as quickly as I could.

"Thanks," said Hemlock, panting.

The griffin burst into the air as sheets of fire landed where she had just been. Hemlock saw the Sorceress and her bat bearing down on them from above. The bat had its claws extended, preparing to rake the slightly smaller griffin.

"Watch out above us!" shouted Hemlock. In an instant, she felt the muscles in Penelope's back knot into a rigidity that felt like she was suddenly riding atop a piece of iron.

A warning from the griffin filled her mind. _HOLD ON!_

Hemlock grabbed onto the golden mane of the beast and clamped her legs as the griffin reared back spectacularly. The next sequence of events seemed to proceed in adrenalized slow motion. The great bat squealed again, disorienting Hemlock. The dark beast was so close that she could see the raised, red ridges on its long, black claws and smell the fetid odor it gave off. She could see the bloodthirsty visage of the Sorceress peering down at her expectantly.

Then the tension of the griffin was unleashed in the form of an unearthly, loud roar accompanied by a gale force wind that seemed to follow the sound. The vast bulk of the bat was blown aside like a child's kite, and the leathery flesh of its huge wings was torn in many places under the strain of the torrent of air. The force of the blast was so great that the tattered pennants that remained atop the distant keep were blown whip-straight and parallel to the ground.

As the wind subsided, Hemlock saw the bat and its rider topple to the ground in disarray, both landing heavily on the pockmarked earth.

"Down!" said Hemlock. Penelope wheeled and landed some thirty yards from the bat and Sorceress, both of whom seemed little more than enraged by their fall—with the exception that the bat appeared to be grounded by the damage to its wings.

"I'll give you a chance to leave here with your life," said the Sorceress. "One chance!"

"I'm not going to leave you here to torment these people any longer!"

"That's what I figured you'd say. You care so much about these people? What are they except a bunch of ignorant louts? Another pointless herd in this pointless enterprise we call life. So what if I have a little fun with them? What's the harm?"

"You're wrong about everything. This isn't pointless, and they are worth more than you think!"

"Oh well, it won't matter in the end. Your foolish sentiment will avail them nothing!"

HEMLOCK!

She turned just in time to see a dark form at her flank, and realized the error she had made. The sarcophagus in the distance was open. The Sorceress had been stalling, and now the Shadow Man, whom she immediately recognized as the corrupted and bestial remnant of her lover, Falignus, was upon her.

Chapter Six

Tored shook his head as he watched Hemlock jog toward the entrance of the stronghold's courtyard.

She may run to her death. But the time for my control over events has passed.

He watched as she slowed to a walk then disappeared from view. Soon there was a gasp from an unseen crowd.

Taking this as a signal, Tored broke into a run toward the nearest point on the wall of the stronghold. Being spotted by the wyverns on the balusters was his chief concern, but as he reached the wall and felt the surety of stone blocks at his back, there was no outcry or sudden motion above him.

Believing he hadn't been seen, he ran along the wall toward the opening Hemlock spotted. As he ran, he heard shouted words from the courtyard but was unable to hear what was said or who was shouting. He considered turning back, but decided against it.

When he reached the opening, he saw it was formed by a section of the wall of the corner tower that had collapsed. The opening revealed a torch-lit interior passage and a circular stair winding upwards into the tower itself. He knew he had to get to the far side of the stronghold, so he decided to take the ground level passage. He passed under an arched doorway which had been sculpted into the likeness of two great arms with hands interlocking at the apex. Smaller, sculpted figures of warriors stood in various poses atop the span of the arms.

A single torch lit the long hallway, leaving it darkened on the far end. There was a heavy wooden door blocking his way but it stood slightly ajar, and a bright light was coming from the crack of the opening.

Tored paused and listened at the door. Hearing nothing, he leaned to look through the crack. As his eyes adjusted to the light, all he saw was a continuation of the stone hallway on the other side.

He pushed at the door gently, cringing as it creaked slightly on rusty hinges.

The opening door revealed a large, circular room in front of him. Chairs were arranged in a descending pattern of curved rows on a gently down-sloped floor. Two figures were seated in the front row, apparently looking down on proceedings taking place below them. A low railing in front of the two men indicated that this was some sort of balcony.

The air was laden with the familiar scent of incense, and there were colorful banners hanging all around the room. Voices spoke in murmurs from the lower floor then a sharp note from a large gong silenced them.

Tored raised his spear and warily looked behind him. The passage he had just traveled was gone. Behind him was the hallway used by commoners to observe the King's council in his hometown of Tor Varnos.

What devilry is this?

Nothing happened for several moments as Tored continued to take in his altered surroundings. He felt an intense curiosity about what was happening on the floor of the rear of the council chamber, but he knew it would only be visible from the lower seats. He walked slowly down the stairs and approached the two seated figures.

The two men turned toward him. They were both aged—one large and fleshy and the other thin and gaunt. The larger man was none other than Pan Taros—fallen leader of his people. The other was Tored's dead father, Tyvel—looking like he had in his final months of life. His once sky blue eyes were shiny and clouded by the passage of years. His prominent jaw, once the centerpiece of a powerful visage, now jutted from his face awkwardly amidst dangling flesh and sunken cheeks. Both men gestured to him and pointed toward the unseen voices on the floor below.

Tored paused. He remembered where he really was—or at least where he thought he really was.

I'm still in the stronghold, and I need to stay hidden.

He turned away from the men and walked back to the top of the stairs. He circled the perimeter of the chamber against the wall, heading toward another door at the far end. Pan Taros and his father rose and began to climb after him. Tored cursed under his breath and hurried his pace. He desired to speak with his father, but wasn't sure what the men represented in this vision. When he looked ahead, the two men were standing at the far door waiting for him. Tored cursed again.

Soon, he had reached the door, and the two figures stood in his way.

"You're not real," said Tored softly.

"Tored," began his father, "I had high hopes for you, but you abandoned our clan for the Taros clan."

Tored knew this was not really his father, but the experience seemed so real that it inflamed his passion. He couldn't help but answer, though he continued to speak in a low voice.

"After the battle of Bacca Ridge, you made Tabar the hero of the journey, though I had singlehandedly slain a mathi. You always favored him over me, and made me stay behind to serve you instead of allowing me to pursue glory as a warrior. That is why I left our clan and joined the Taros!"

Tyvel sneered and spat on the floor. "I was grooming you to lead the clan, you fool! You could have increased the standing of our clan to rival the Taros and Vyle clans. But you gave up on us."

"I am a warrior!" said Tored. He pushed past the two men then through the door. It led to a walkway in the heights of the town. The planks of the walkway were illuminated by the rays of a full moon that darkened as clouds passed overhead. Spectral cries from the ground added to the familiar atmosphere outside of the council chamber.

Tored was confused, and didn't know where to go or how his actions in this strange vision would affect his real journey through the stronghold. He took a moment to consider the layout of Tor Varnos and compared it to what he knew about the layout of the stronghold.

The stronghold has a keep tower that is its largest structure. What's the largest structure in Tor Varnos? Of course. The town hall!

He walked hurriedly down the walkway then turned left onto a larger walkway that sloped downward toward a broad stair. He descended the stairs, noting that the town was oddly deserted. As he approached the town hall, he noticed the hall of clan Tyron—his old clan—ahead of him. His father and Tyvel, along with Pan Taros, stood abreast in front of the hall, and again blocked his passage.

The booming voice of Pan Taros broke the eerie calm of the night as Tored approached. "Here walks a man who has betrayed his people. A man who has abandoned them, and left them to suffer a cruel fate—the same fate I suffered after he mismanaged our affairs and led us into a misguided war with the witches."

The din of assembled voices in the Tyron hall again piqued Tored's interest.

What is happening in there? But this isn't real!

"I wanted to help our people! It's true that great men fell during the battles with the witches, and those remaining have been found wanting as leaders. Is this my fault? Your policies would have doomed us all to death. I saved our people! I left them so they could begin a future without being haunted by reverberations from the past. I care about our people, but I had to stop meddling in their affairs. I am a warrior, not a statesman!"

Pan Taros looked unmoved, but Tyvel's eyes were rimmed with red. "You must tell them, son! Enter the hall and tell your people why you abandoned them. You left them dishonorably, and they were confused and frightened. You must set that right."

Tored wanted to follow his father's command and walk into the Tyron hall. He wanted it more than anything since failing to prevent the death of Taros Ranvok. But part of him remembered what was really happening, and he resisted the terrible temptation to seek redemption. Even the illusion of redemption held a strong appeal.

"Father, I...This isn't real. I can't set things right. At least not now," Tored said solemnly.

"Son, I don't understand. Look, just join the rest of the clan and tell us what is going on," said Tyvel.

Suddenly, a spectral glow fell over Tored and his two elders. A howling spirit flew over the far balcony and rushed toward them—its jaws impossibly misshapen by its cry of anguish.

Tored's instinct was to strike the ghost down, but he realized he wasn't holding a spear any longer. He was forced to duck, and though he evaded it, he was close enough to the spirit as it passed overhead that he felt the bitter cold air it left in its wake.

The ghost continued to wail as it rose higher in the air, passing over the nearby clan hall.

"Tored! The spirits are active tonight. We must seek the shelter of the hall!" cried Tyvel.

"Yes, Tored. Perhaps there's still time for you if you listen to your elders instead of defying them," added Pan Taros.

Tored rose, ignoring the words of the men, and jogged toward the town hall that lay slightly below where they stood.

When he got to the hall, the windows were all closed and the front door was shut. He approached the door and heard a chorus of bestial cries from within.

His mind struggled to place the sound, but then a memory resonated, and he was certain of what he'd heard.

Wyverns!

He knew this wasn't the right way. He looked around wildly as he tried to figure out where to go next. Restless spirits continued to ride the winds of the night and invade the heights of the town. Travel on the exposed walkways was becoming increasingly dangerous.

If this illusion is constructed to keep me away from the central tower, maybe I have to approach the danger.

He thought about the most dangerous place in the town and then had an idea.

Perhaps I have to leave the town. I will lower a ramp and descend to the ground. It could mean my death in this realm, but perhaps it will be my salvation in the reality of the stronghold.

Tored cautiously followed the walkways to the lower levels of the town. He passed two more low-ranking clan halls, and Pan Taros appeared twice and tried to convince him to enter each one of them. But Tored just ignored him.

He finally reached a walkway near ground level and found the winch that controlled the nearby ramp. He unlocked the mechanism and the handle spun wildly as rope unwound. The ramp hurtled toward the ground and landed with a crash.

Suddenly, his father was at his side.

"Tored, you need to make your peace with the past. You need to let go of your shame and your anger," the old man said, pointing upward toward the Tyron hall on a higher level of the town.

Tored looked into his father's eyes and almost forgot where he was. He was angry that something had co-opted his father's memory and was trying to use it to deceive him. But, as he considered what this image of his father said, a serenity he hadn't felt in years came over him. "You are right, Father," he said after a time. "Farewell."

But a great unease assailed him, and soon it developed into a paralyzing fear. He felt angry and confused as he stood trying to make his limbs move down the ramp but found he lacked the will.

Is this what other men struggle with?

The sensation of fear and its power were breathtaking. A myriad of doubts assailed him.

Am I making the right decision? What if this is real and I'm abandoning my people, again? What if Hemlock is already dead?

He grabbed his head without knowing why, and cried out with impotent rage. The sound of his own scream seemed to backstop his courage. Gathering himself, he leapt onto the ramp and ran toward the ground, heedless of a crowd of menacing ghosts that gathered around the base of the town.

His surroundings changed again, and Tor Varnos was gone. In its place was a large room with rounded corners. It was well-lit by torches, and the walls were dominated by great slabs of slate. They were covered with strange, angular chalk drawings and interspersed with unintelligible numbers and diagrams. There was a large workbench topped with many tools, glass jars, and a large hourglass gilded in gold and boasting the most cunning gem work Tored had ever seen.

But the most remarkable thing in the chamber hovered in the center of it, above a green marble dais. It was a golden Chalice that shone with an otherworldly brilliance. Runes and symbols were worked into its sides, and as Tored watched, the symbols slowly drifted and undulated over the face of the metal. There was a low humming that seemed to emanate from the Chalice, and the impression of powerful magic at work was impossible to ignore.

The dais itself had an hourglass, similar in size and shape to the one on the bench, embedded into it and mounted on a swivel.

Tored's instincts were to back out of the room because he respected magic—especially powerful magic, as this clearly was. But his duty to Hemlock was foremost in his mind, and the sound of crackling thunderclaps from outside the open windows of the chamber underscored the need for decisive action.

But his warrior's mind struggled with what to do. The images written in chalk around him seemed to mock his efforts to understand what he was looking at. There were images of worlds—a concept he'd only recently come to understand during his brief journey between the City and Ogrun. The planets were arranged horizontally with a jagged orange line connecting them.

They must be the strands of Maker's Fire.

The planet on the right was the largest, and the planet just to the left of it had a circle around it. Underneath each planet was a number. The circled planet had a one under it. The planet to its right had a one above a horizontal line and a seven beneath the line. Tored knew little about numbers, but he could see the values were increasing dramatically from the circled planet going right to left.

It looks to be written by the same hand that drew that disgusting graffiti. The Sorceress!

More thunderous explosions rocked the night sky, and a great wind blew in through the windows and made some papers on the desk fly about the room. Tored crouched and looked around him. As the wind subsided, there was nothing in the room to suggest the disturbance had originated from within it. Tored felt even more confused and pressured for time.

"Father, guide me!" he cried, approaching the table. He gritted his teeth as he grabbed the gilded hourglass, expecting to feel a painful jolt of magic coursing through his body—but nothing happened.

Then a surge of wind knocked him off his feet, and once again set the papers around the room fluttering. The floating Chalice was glowing more powerfully, and its color was changing from a lustrous gold to a deep, fiery red. It began to give off a palpable heat, and the humming in Tored's ears became deafening.

He heard triumphant laughter from the courtyard and knew something was very wrong. It was the voice of the Sorceress that laughed with a power and volume that reminded him of the witches in his old realm.

...

Cold enveloped Hemlock like an icy maw as the apparition of Falignus embraced her. It wasn't exactly a physical embrace, but something about it restrained her and seemed to siphon her life force at an alarming rate. She was on her knees before she knew it. Next, she was on her back as the shimmering form greedily drained her.

She became aware that she had unconsciously begun to draw energy from the celestial realm. She could feel the burden she placed on hundreds of other heroes as the shade of Falignus continued to drink from her essence.

Though the rate of drain was prodigious, the rate of incoming energy was greater. Her strength was slowly returning, and she became aware of her surroundings. She heard a blast above her and felt intense heat as a sheet of fire blazed over her prone body. Then she heard an anguished roar and the beat of retreating wings.

Penelope!

I AM BURNED! THE PAIN! FORGIVE ME!

"OH MY GOODNESS!" shouted the Sorceress between bouts of mirthless laughter. "WHAT CAN ACCOUNT FOR THIS POWER!!?"

Hemlock could see the stars of the evening above her, but they were outshone by a burst of fire that leapt from the Sorceress' outstretched hands and towered hundreds of feet above the stronghold, lighting up her surroundings like daylight.

Hem

Hemlock felt the flow of power leaving her body, entering the shade of Falignus, then transferring to the magic item in the wide tower. The power then flowed directly into the Sorceress.

No wonder Falignus is still a spectre! She's taking all of his energy as he drinks it from me.

Hemlock tried to move, but her body was still too weak to overcome the dull, heavy sensation of Falignus on top of her. And while the incoming energy was stronger than the drain, Hemlock knew the supply was not infinite.

Tored, you have to succeed—and soon!

As if in answer to her entreaty, the sound of a great calamity arose from the wide tower. She heard the sound of arcing lightning and falling rubble. A large brick landed a foot away from Hemlock's head as an explosive force washed over her. Since she was on the ground, she avoided most of it but she felt Falignus' spirit get swept away then heard the Sorceress scream.

She sensed that an invisible, magical shockwave had accompanied the blast—traveling between the item in the tower and the Sorceress. The power of the shockwave was epic, and Hemlock expected to find the Sorceress vaporized in its aftermath.

Her strength was coming back, and she rose to her knees as the sound of hundreds of wyverns rising into flight reverberated over the courtyard.

The Sorceress was still intact, but she was splayed out on the ground about twenty-five feet in front of Hemlock—apparently unconscious. Hemlock turned toward the tower and surveyed its wreckage. The part of the stronghold where the keep had stood was smashed and leveled out to the former midpoint of the adjacent walls. There was a wide scattering of stones and boulders amongst which the body of the great bat lay along with many of the wyverns who had been resting on the walls close to the tower.

I have to find Tored! My goodness, so many wyverns are dead. And likely their people with them.

She rushed into the rubble, desperately looking for her friend with a growing dread at the apparent loss of life. She remembered the shade of Falignus, and expected it had not been destroyed, so she was wary of attack as she searched. Just as she was beginning to despair in not finding her friend, a voice called to her from one side of the opening that had been blasted in the walls.

Tored stood there, resting against the jagged edge of the remaining wall. His arm hung limply at his side and there was a huge, bloody gash on his face.

"You yet live!" he said weakly.

"As do you!" she said with tears of joy welling up in her eyes.

Hemlock bid him to approach and sent him a hand signal that there was still danger. She saw Tored tense up. He found an elongated piece of stone to wield as a makeshift weapon as he reached her.

"Tored, I found Falignus. But he's...become something else—something terrible. But I think he's still alive, if you can call it that."

"I see. What would you have me do?"

"Keep a watchful eye while I check on Penelope. She was wounded by the Sorceress."

Tored nodded and took one of the blades when she offered it to him, dropping the stone.

Hemlock reached out to Penelope with her mind and the griffin answered quickly.

You survived?

Yes. Are you alright?

Your sister is tending to my wounds. Are you still in peril?

No, I don't believe so. Tell my sister we'll be back soon.

I will. And I'm sorry for deserting you. I am not worthy of your companionship.

Penelope, the Sorceress would have incinerated you if you'd stayed another second. I understand.

Thank you. But I am still shamed. I will inform your sister.

Hemlock turned to Tored. "Penelope lives, and Mercuria is seeing to her burns."

"That's good. Otherwise, how would we return to the City?"

"You make a good point."

"What happened in that tower?"

"Should we see to the Sorceress, first? Is she still alive?"

"Yes, I think so. But she received a massive wave of magical energy when the tower exploded. I wouldn't worry about her."

Tored kept an eye on the Sorceress as he answered her question. He told Hemlock about his experience in the illusory image of his old town, and about the room with the Chalice.

"Then something changed, and I could tell a great power was flowing through the cup," he continued. "So, I finally did the only thing I could think to do. I grabbed the gilded hourglass, took a running start, and hurled it at the Chalice with all my might. The next thing I remember is waking up in the rubble and finding you."

"Amazing! That's good work, Tored. You are lucky to have survived the blast."

Hemlock related what had happened in her encounter with the Sorceress as the people of Ogrun began to gather around the gates of the stronghold.

"Is the Sorceress defeated?" yelled one of the bolder ones.

"Yes!" replied Hemlock hoarsely.

The people streamed into the courtyard and began to frantically search the rubble. When they located the remains of a wyvern, they cried out and others met them with small litters to remove the winged bodies.

Hemlock was very curious about these goings on, and a look at Tored showed he felt the same. The smiling face of Esmeralda emerged from the gathering crowd before Hemlock could approach the rescuers. The little girl was followed by a woman whose resemblance to the child identified her as her mother.

"These are the people I was telling you about," said Esmeralda.

"Hello, I'm Tiffan. My husband, Canthos, and I are so very grateful for what you've done. Canthos was fighting in the arena when you came. You saved his life," said the woman.

Hemlock was too tired for pleasantries. "What are they doing?" she asked, pointing to the citizens. She noticed Tored was still looking down at the Sorceress, and around them for signs of Falignus.

"Oh, they are taking the fallen wyverns to their human counterparts. If both rest together, the wyverns that are not too badly disfigured by their injuries may yet return to life, and in doing so will allow the person bonded to them to live a long life."

Hemlock felt a wave of relief.

"We should tie her up," said Tored, pointing to the Sorceress.

Hemlock nodded, and they cut some thick leather from the harness around the neck of the great bat. When Hemlock bound the Sorceress, the latter groaned and streams of blood came out of her nose. But she didn't awaken.

"What are we going to do with her?" asked Hemlock.

Esmeralda's face darkened. "We should kill her for what she's done to us!"

"Esmeralda!" cried her mother, kneeling. "These are adult matters. Say goodbye to these brave people then leave us."

The girl nodded, and approached Hemlock with her arms wide. Hemlock knelt down and embraced the girl for several seconds.

Esmeralda next approached Tored, who looked mightily uncomfortable. He winced in pain as he hugged the little girl with his good arm, but the smile on his face made Hemlock smile in turn.

"Alright, honey. Run off to Daddy. And be careful amongst the rocks!" said Tiffan.

When the girl was out of earshot, Tiffan leaned in toward Hemlock and spoke in a soft voice that was filled with passion. "We want you to kill the Sorceress. I didn't want Esmeralda to hear it come from me—from all the adults of Ogrun—but we discussed it while we waited to see what would happen. We all said we would kill her ourselves if you weren't able to. But now, looking at her lying there helpless, I can tell that we'd struggle to do it. You should be the one to kill her. Please. Before we falter."

Hemlock was conflicted.

_The Sorceress deserves to die. But why must it be by my hand? A hand that already has so much blood on it. Why must it fall to me?_

She looked at Tored, but knew that the warrior would be of little help in the decision—her decision.

Suddenly, there was a strange sound like the reaping of stalks of wheat and the movement of liquid occurring in unison. Hemlock turned and saw the shimmering wraith of Falignus that she'd been looking out for. Somehow it evaded all detection and was now on top of the tied up Sorceress, drawing the life from her like a child sucking the juice from a slice of orange.

It was over before anyone could act. The Sorceress' flesh drew in on itself and hung over her bones. The garish facial tattoos faded and darkened, and the strong jawline of the woman sunk in, parting into an excruciating death mask.

The effect on the wraith of Falignus was equally dramatic, though opposite. The shimmering outlines of his figure became more distinct. Soon, flesh tones and the textures of fabric emerged from what had been nebulous and incorporeal.

It was now a man that knelt over the hideous, dried corpse of the Sorceress. Pale skin covered veins and sinew, and an angular face with a shock of dark hair atop turned toward Hemlock with the look of someone staring into the sun.

The voice was feeble and strained, but the puissant intonations were unmistakable. "I've wanted to do that for a very long time," said Falignus.

Chapter Seven

Merit was so far from his home in the Wizard Tower that the inner voice that normally plagued him had become confused. Merit had discovered he could cause it to lapse into long periods of silence by asking it difficult questions.

I must return to the tower.

_No, I have business outside the tower_ , he thought.

I don't know where I am. I must return to the tower.

I don't know how to return. Can you direct me there?

Merit relished the silence that ensued, although a small piston on the back of his head began to pump spasmodically. The creak of the heavy, wooden wheels of the cart that bore him and the occasional emanations from his mechanical body were the only sounds he heard. The wizards walking around him were quiet except for the periodic, soft grunts of effort from the ones in front of him dragging the cart.

Unfortunately, the lack of conversation in the recent part of the march into the southern farmlands was the result of tension from a prior argument. Gwineval and Renevos were having a difference of opinion on tactics, and it erupted into a shouting match that caused the two leading wizards to proceed in brooding silence from that point on. Their subordinates followed the lead of their betters.

Merit realized the time had come for him to step in and try to broker some sort of agreement between the two recalcitrant mages.

"Gwineval, Renevos, I wonder if we might stop for a moment so I can discuss something with you―in private?" he said.

Gwineval shot him an annoyed look, but then his features softened and he nodded in agreement.

"Alright," said Renevos.

"Stop the cart," said Merit. The wizards in front of him began to slow, and then stopped, causing a sudden squealing sound of metal on metal from the cart's axles.

Merit moved to the front of the cart while navigating past empty crates that posed as trade goods, and pushed a small, hinged stair down from the front of the cart. He proceeded down it, slowly. Gwineval and Renevos stood a few feet away waiting for him, each uncomfortable being near the other. The eight wizards with them moved to the other side of the cart, and the low murmur of their conversations soon drowned out the natural sounds of night in the southern meadows.

"We're near Castle Stargis, aren't we?" asked Merit.

"Yes, only an hour or two away, by my reckoning," said Gwineval.

"You must let me join in the attack, Gwineval," said Renevos.

"Impossible! Your impudence has been demonstrated. You will lead a few men in a reserve position and guard the flank of the main attack," said Gwineval.

"Gwineval..." said Merit.

But Renevos talked over him. "What impudence? I told you, Ataros used the teleporting magic when he was too tired. Ask Otticus. If the men obey their training, the runes are perfectly safe."

"Even if that's true, it was your job to deliver that training! Ataros is dead—dead because I had to end the suffering of the chattering mass of flesh he became after using your unproven teleportation magic! You won't be making any more rash decisions during this campaign."

"Gwineval?" said Merit, softly.

This time he got the attention of both wizards.

"I saw what Ataros was doing right before he died. He was showing off. I don't think he paid attention to his training," said Merit.

"Renevos selected the man to receive the new runes. Renevos trained him. If Ataros didn't heed his training then maybe it's because he wasn't trained well enough!"

"I take responsibility for picking the man. Perhaps his temperament wasn't good for being one of the first to use the new teleportation. But I trained him quite thoroughly, rest assured of that," said Renevos, folding his arms under his long, braided beard and looking away.

"When I read about Julius' assault on the Light Dancers in the old City, he discussed facing these runic obelisks that Jalis and DuLoc now seem to be using. If they've build one of them near Castle Stargis, our only hope will be destroying it. Based on what I read in that book, Gwineval, you will need all the spell power you can muster. Julius was able to destroy them by himself, but his lieutenant required assistance. Hemlock told me what Renevos can do—his attack spells are first rate. You're going to need him," said Merit.

The ridges over Gwineval's eyes flared upward, and he glared—first at Merit then at Renevos, who still looked toward the distant horizon. "Hem..." he began, looking at Merit, but then clamped his jaw shut. He clenched his clawed hand into a fist and slammed it into his other palm. Then he started to walk. Merit feared he was storming off, but he just started to pace back and forth. Gwineval stopped and looked up and to his left for several minutes. When he finally spoke, he grunted as if each word were something distasteful being spat from his mouth. "We'll attack in two wings. I'll command the left wing, Renevos the right. Merit will stay behind with Otticus to guard the flanks."

"Otticus won't like being left out of the action," said Renevos under his breath.

Gwineval snarled. "But he's got your precious teleportation runes so he'll be able to move the fastest if we're surprised."

The logic of the statement silenced Renevos. He nodded to Gwineval to continue.

"If we spot the enemy, your wing will hold fire until I select a target. Once I strike, you will back me up with secondary strikes. If there's an obelisk, that will be our primary target. Half of each of the wings will be armed with the Tanna Varran blades. If the Seekers are here, that should enable us to deal with them. Otticus should have one of these blades, as well. Any questions?"

Merit thought about the plan. Having one man in reserve didn't seem adequate, but he feared raising the issue and inflaming Gwineval in the process. "It makes sense," he said.

"I agree," said Renevos, with a hint of petulance.

"Fine, I'll brief the rest of them," said Gwineval.

"HALT!"

The cry had come from the front of the wagon and the assembled wizards. Merit recognized Otticus' voice as the one who had cried out the warning.

Merit looked down the path and spotted a dozen cloaked figures approaching. They didn't heed the warning and continued to walk calmly down the dirt road.

"Form up!" cried Gwineval.

"They look like Seekers!" said Renevos as he ran awkwardly forward.

Merit was left alone and moved toward the back corner of the wagon.

The lead figure raised his forearm and the distant group halted. The evening was bright enough to allow the figures down the road to be seen fairly well. The lead figure pulled his hood back, and Merit relaxed a bit when he saw a full head of brown hair topping the flesh of a living man's face.

"What are a bunch of wizards doing on Stargis lands?" called the man.

Merit heard Gwineval murmuring then Otticus' voice rang out again. "We are merchants. We seek counsel with Jan Adaya at Castle Stargis."

"If you're merchants, then I'm the Maker himself! I am Jan Adaya. State your business!"

Gwineval spoke again and Otticus replied, "It's not conversation fit for the road. Might we meet under a warm roof and talk at length?"

Jan Adaya turned back and conferred with his men. Merit noticed that the men seemed unusually tall, and remembered this was a common trait of the noble lines of the southland.

"Follow us. There is a large farm about a half mile down the road. We will meet there, and you may camp there for the night, if you wish," said Jan Adaya.

Gwineval agreed, and Merit clambered back into the cart. Soon they were underway, shadowing the southern men at a distance of fifty yards. Every so often, a southern man turned back to inspect the wizards, and his eyes invariably lingered on the cart where Merit lurked amongst the crates for fear of other eyes that might be on the caravan. The men were all fair skinned and long of limb. They had pronounced chins and long, prominent noses. They looked so similar that Merit wondered if they were all from the same family. But there were twelve of them of similar age, so this seemed unlikely.

When Gwineval moved close to the cart to make a comment to Otticus, Merit motioned to him.

"Why do the men all look so similar?" he asked.

"The noble families of the south are close knit. They aren't inbred, but neither are they bred amongst a wide swath of the population. The field laborers look different, and seem to descend from a different stock. They are slighter in stature."

Gwineval looked tense, so Merit allowed the serpentine wizard to return to his thoughts. They reached the farm in about half an hour. The southern men all gaped as Merit dismounted from the cart and joined the wizards.

The man known as Jan Adaya stepped forward, his elegantly embroidered green coat was hooded and extended down to his knees. The leader of the southern men was heavily armed with a long sword at his waist, and a long bow and full quiver strapped to his back. He led the wizards and southern men to a nearby barn, lit with lanterns. Merit noticed two men and a woman scurrying away from the barn as the groups approached. These were shorter than the southern noblemen, and their simple attire marked them as peasants. Merit noticed the awestruck looks they cast his way before disappearing around a corner.

Simple, wooden chairs had been placed around the interior of the barn, and Jan Adaya bid all present to sit. The peasants appeared again, and presented each man with a piping hot cup of tea.

Gwineval pulled his hood back as a peasant farmer offered him a steaming cup, and the man cried out, dropping the cup onto the hay strewn floor. The peasant pardoned himself, retrieved the cup, and urged his companions out of the barn in haste, leaving the nobles and the wizards casting appraising looks at one another.

"So, Gwineval, you have made the journey yourself, I see," said Jan Adaya.

"I have. Thank you for inviting us here," said Gwineval.

Jan Adaya nodded to Gwineval. "Please allow us to observe our tradition," he said then bowed his head toward the floor, reverently. The other nobles followed suit. "We honor the Maker and ask for his favor on this assembly. In his name we gather."

"In his name," said the other nobles.

"Gwineval and wizards, welcome to Stargis lands. We regret the unusual location of this meeting. But, then, these are unusual times, aren't they?" said Jan Adaya, motioning to the barn around them.

"Indeed they are," said Gwineval. "We have come to discuss a matter of great importance with you. It concerns recent news out of the eastern mountains."

"Yes, I've heard some of this news. Does it also concern the rogue wizards who recently left your tower?"

"Yes, it does. Have you had contact with them?"

"We have. In fact, they are our guests at Castle Stargis right now. When I heard a caravan was approaching and they were only seen traveling at night wearing concealing cloaks, I hoped it would be a delegation from the City. Is that what you are? Or do you only speak for the Wizard Tower?"

"I carry a scroll signed by Samberlin. I speak for the City as a whole."

"Good. Let's get into it, then. What have you heard, and what is your take on it?"

"The rogue wizards, led by one known as Jalis, have taken control in the east. They have entered into an alliance with a long departed... Well, we'll call him a wizard, I suppose. His name is DuLoc. He claims to be a lieutenant of the Imperator."

"The Imperator? The enemy of the Maker? Interesting. It so happens that Jalis is also among our guests at the Castle. His description of DuLoc is quite different. He says DuLoc is interested only in liberating people from the domination of the City."

"That doesn't surprise me. Jalis is a liar."

"If he lies, he has chosen his lie well. It's a message that many find appealing."

"He is familiar with you and your concerns. It shouldn't be a surprise that he has come up with an appealing lie."

"Well put. So, assuming what you say is true, then we have a group of heretics camped outside our castle. This is dire news, indeed."

"What has Jalis been doing, exactly? Did you reach an arrangement with him?"

"Yes. We agreed to allow them to install a magical tool outside the castle. Apparently it allows their golems to function, and they have offered the golems to help us work the fields more quickly and plant greater acreage."

"Is he building a stone slab—an obelisk?"

"Built. Yes, he's just completed it with his cohorts. In fact, we are scheduled to see a demonstration of the new golems tomorrow morning."

Merit shook his head. He had hoped that Jalis hadn't had time to complete an obelisk. Their mission had just become much more difficult. Merit glanced at Gwineval, and saw the strain on the wizard's features. He hoped Jan Adaya wouldn't notice it.

"Is it only the one obelisk? Or are there more?"

"It's only the one. It took them quite a while to build it. They worked around the clock to complete it."

"That's because they plan to use it to control Castle Stargis and everyone in the area. It's a base of power for them."

Jan Adaya sat back in his chair, looking increasingly concerned—like Gwineval.

"What can they do with this thing?"

"Based on reports from the east, they can see and hear things that happen around it. And they can kill a man with it. Perhaps many men. We don't totally understand what it can do."

Jan Adaya reddened. "Those bold devils! Is this why there are reports of strife in the east? Is this what they did to the miners there?"

"Yes. And when some miners rose up against them, they killed them all. Men, women and children—entire settlements have been wiped out. This is what you are facing. You are in great peril!"

Jan Adaya's skin tone returned to normal, and his eyes waxed philosophical as he looked into the air. The man beside him whispered something, but Jan Adaya bade him to be quiet.

"So, you've come here and inflamed us—told us that Jalis and his wizards are no less than agents of the ancient evil one. But it's not like you City-folk have been great friends of ours. We've been alright because we've towed the line with you over the years. You've allowed us to run our own affairs, but we've always known you've done so because it's been expedient for you. If our food production ever faltered, you would have destroyed our way of life and taken control yourselves.

"Now you have a rival, and they have offered us an alliance that will compromise your hold over us. If I were you and I wanted to destabilize things, I'd drum up a similar story and come here sowing seeds of doubt. Do you deny this?"

"Most assuredly! You've heard the reports from the east. Did we make them up?"

"Perhaps you orchestrated them, somehow. Perhaps there's been battle between you and Jalis and that's the source of the unrest."

Merit saw Gwineval beginning to tense up. He feared the wizard's temper would get the best of him. But Gwineval turned and pointed at Merit.

"This automaton is not just a machine. There is a man imprisoned within it. His kind have served us in the Wizard Tower for generations—since the days of the Imperator. It is only recently that we learned he is more than a mere machine. An injury revealed the man within the machine. He has become an expert in history since he was revealed to be a man. In this short time, he has read more books on Imperial history than any wizard I know. It's all he does—and he doesn't sleep. I'm going to let this man who had everything taken from him by the magic of the Imperator describe what these obelisks are, and what they've done in the past. Merit?"

Merit stood up uncertainly. He expected the voice inside of him to denounce him, but there was only a comforting silence in his head as he began to speak.

"In the time of Julius, there were obelisks throughout much of the City—remnants of the Great War that followed the death of the Imperator. At that time, they were used by leeching monsters to give them sustaining energy. The obelisks radiate magical laws. People who control the laws can harness the power of the obelisks. But people who disobey or simply don't understand the laws can be attacked by the obelisks. The Imperator created the obelisks to control people. During his time, people's lives were totally controlled by them. Do you know how they are made? The Imperator corrupted and trapped a bit of the Maker's Fire and mounted it atop each obelisk. The laws enforced by these obelisks are based on a rejection of everything the Maker stood for.

"I'm not sure if Jalis has managed to build this type of obelisk, but I'm sure what he's built is related to it. DuLoc was around during the time of the Imperator, and he understands how the original obelisks were built. I'm certain his intention is to subjugate you."

As Merit struggled to regain his seat, he caught Jan Adaya's eye. He saw a look of pity and wonder in the man's face before Jan Adaya composed himself and returned his attention to Gwineval.

"I must admit to being somewhat convinced," muttered the man.

"Then you'll help us?" said Gwineval.

"No."

Gwineval's eyes flared, but Jan Adaya raised his hand in a conciliatory gesture as he continued. "But neither shall we hinder you. As I mentioned, there is a demonstration of the new golem planned for tomorrow. All the wizards will be in the valley outside the castle in the hour after dawn. At that time, you will appear atop the hill overlooking the valley. When we see this, the gates of Castle Stargis will be closed."

Gwineval exchanged a grave look with Renevos before replying, "We only brought a small party to avoid being spotted by Jalis before we reached you. There are only ten of us plus our mechanical friend, Merit. If you don't help us, we'll be outnumbered."

"There are only sixteen wizards with us, including Jalis, so your numbers are not that far from theirs. And you must be worth three or four of their lot yourself, Gwineval," said Jan Adaya.

"It may be so, but they have their obelisk," Gwineval grumbled, no longer concealing his derision.

Jan Adaya rose, and his men rose with him. "This is our offer," he said. "If you do not appear above the valley within the hour after dawn has broken, we will consider our offer refused. If you attack after that, you can consider it an act of war which will force us to aid your enemy."

"Why would you do this?" cried Gwineval. "They mean to destroy you!"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps living under their shadow would be little different than living under the shadow of the City. When our agents return from the east, we may learn more. But, in the meantime, I'll not risk my kingdom to intervene in a quarrel between wizards," said Jan Adaya, sticking his jaw out and looking inclined to brawl.

Gwineval shook his head but didn't do more to inflame the southern lord. He rose and the wizards rose with him. Both groups filed out of the barn, and Jan Adaya led his men down the road to Castle Stargis without another word.

"Do we accept their offer to camp here?" said Renevos as they watched the departing men.

"Do we fear treachery from them?" said Otticus.

"No, I don't think they'll betray us. Jan Adaya is pig-headed, but I don't think he's that impulsive," said Gwineval.

"But if they do intend to avenge years of feeling subjugated by the City, what better way to have their revenge? I think we should withdraw back to where we first met them. We'll camp outdoors and post a watch," said Renevos.

"Fifteen wizards and the obelisk—can we do it?" said Otticus.

Gwineval turned on him hotly. "We must do it! If we don't, then who will? If we lose both the east and the south, the City will be choked off. And our best routes for river trade across the veil are through the south. We must hold this realm at all costs."

Merit looked over the assembled wizards as the weight of Gwineval's words sank in. Brannor, leader of the First Circle wizards, did not recoil. His lanky frame rippled with muscles that weren't lessened by the shadows of his long robe. Merit knew he had trained for years for that moment. He had not been present at the battle of Tor Varnos, and was eager to prove himself. Caetor, aging leader of the Fourth Circle, stood beside Brannor and looked far less certain. His graying mustache twitched with anxiety as he looked between Gwineval and Renevos. Otticus looked as eager as ever. Merit knew he just was very excited about trying his teleportation runes in battle. Renevos looked nervous. He, too, had never seen a battlefield, though his recent quest with Hemlock had proven his mettle in smaller combats. The handful of other wizards stood in the shadows and seemed to be hanging on every word spoken.

"We will withdraw as Renevos suggests. Otticus, I always find you lingering around the tower when you should be asleep. You will take the first watch," said Gwineval.

The short warrior seemed to stand a bit taller upon receiving the order, and Merit thought he looked fearsome in his determination.

As they left the farm, Merit looked at the abundance of farmland surrounding the road for miles in every direction. It was a bounty that had sustained the City for centuries.

Gwineval is right. We can't let DuLoc control this.

Merit didn't know what his part in the upcoming battle would be, but he prepared himself to play whatever role he could.

The night passed without event. Merit stood with Otticus during his watch, but the young warrior wasn't in the mood to talk. Gwineval took the next watch himself. Merit tried to start a conversation several times, but got the same reaction he had from Otticus—a gruff acknowledgement, and little else.

"I wish Hemlock were here," Merit said after a time. As soon as he saw the look of consternation on Gwineval's face, he immediately regretted saying it, though he knew the wizard shared his sentiment.

When the first bird song rang out, Gwineval had the wizards up and marching toward Castle Stargis. They marched in the dark for about forty minutes before the deep red of the impending dawn disturbed the dark sky ahead of them.

After another half hour, Otticus told the group to look above the trees ahead. Merit could barely make out the silhouette of the tapered towers of Castle Stargis in the distance. As they continued to walk for several more minutes, three towers rose before them. They were shaped like frozen drips of water, tapering to a point at the top and flaring steeply down into a broad egg-shaped bottom, met by conventional stone blocks. The tops were painted a bright red and tipped with a gold spire in the shape of a flame.

"Amazing," said Merit. Nobody replied.

Soon, they reached a copse of trees and the road cut through it. Gwineval led them to the edge of the trees. They could see Castle Stargis to their right, though the sun rose directly behind it, making it difficult to see it in detail. The great gates were open.

"There," said Gwineval, pointing to some tents at the top of a hill to their left. "It's Jalis' campsite. We'll take Jan Adaya at his word that the rebels are in the valley, below."

"The smoke is still rising from their cooking fire," said Otticus.

"It's what you'd expect," said Gwineval, pointing to Renevos. "Take your men and fan out. We'll pull Merit up to that campsite and leave him there during the battle."

"Can't we leave him in the woods?" asked Otticus.

"You are our reserve, Otticus. You will guard him!" snapped Gwineval. "Advance!"

Merit rarely regretted his lack of a mortal body, but he did in the ensuing moments. A feeling of hopelessness began to weigh on him as he watched his friends marching to face their foes.

In the distance, the gates of Castle Stargis closed with a gentle thump. Not a soul was seen moving within the Castle or on the walls. Merit didn't doubt that many eyes were glued to the scene of the spectacle that was about to unfold, but they were careful to conceal their interest and maintain their air of neutrality.

They crested the hill and entered the small encampment. There was a cooking fire, several tents, and various sundries like trunks and a great cauldron. A quick search showed the camp to be empty. In the valley below, Merit saw Jalis and the rebel wizards. They were dressed in unusual garb that reminded Merit of the way Hemlock described DuLoc. They wore waistcoats with buttons down the middle and long tails, along with flared pants that looked ill-suited to the rigors of travel.

The rebel wizards were gathered around a stone golem that stood about ten feet tall. It was simply rendered in the form of a man, though it still managed to look vaguely fearsome despite the lack of detail. Beside the golem was the object they had come to destroy—an obelisk covered with glittering runes and topped with a glowing sphere. Merit immediately noticed something unusual about the obelisk. Everything he had read led him to expect the glow to be red, but it was blue. He wasn't sure of the meaning of this difference.

Merit took his eyes off the valley and saw that Gwineval left Otticus and him alone in the camp. He realized Otticus was cursing sharply and continuously.

Down in the valley, Jalis and the rebels noticed the two groups of tower wizards on the hilltop. They yelled and pointed, and soon formed into a line behind the obelisk and to the side of the golem. In another moment, a shimmering blue shield appeared in front of their position.

Then a voice reverberated at a deafening volume over the valley, and Merit realized it was Jalis' voice. "JAN ADAYA! PEOPLE OF THE SOUTH! RISE TO MEET THE INVADERS FROM THE CITY!"

Merit saw the flicker of blue shields from both friendly flanks, and knew the battle was about to be joined.

Jalis' voice rang out once more. "RISE! INVADERS FROM THE CITY!" And, as if to accentuate the point, he conjured a great ball of fire that floated over Castle Stargis.

A great crackle echoed over the valley and a jagged bolt of lightning hit the rebel shield. It was the signal from Gwineval. Immediately, the tower wizards began to bombard the distant blue shield. Bolts of lightning seared the air, and sheets of fire dripped flames onto the intervening grass as they screamed toward their target and impacted the rebel shield with a massive display of pyrotechnics.

Then the rebel wizards answered with their own battle magic. All of their fire was directed at Gwineval's detachment. Merit almost lost his footing as a cacophony of fire, lightning, ice and hail rained on their position. As the smoke and debris cleared, Merit's spirit leapt as he saw the glittering blue of Gwineval's shield had endured. Merit looked at Renevos, hoping to see him offering some aid to Gwineval. Instead, he saw Brannor and two other First Circle wizards had left the safety of Renevos' blue shield and were charging the rebels, tattoos ablaze with magical force that gave the fighting wizards superhuman speed. Merit knew their tattoos would provide limited protection against battle magic, but he marveled at their courage, nonetheless.

"That should be my charge!" cried Otticus.

As if in answer, five First Circle battle wizards darted to the side of the rebel position and charged out to intercept Brannor and his two fighters.

Merit involuntarily covered his head as another round of massive explosions rocked the valley. The rebel shield still looked strong, but Gwineval's was wavering. Then a massive flash dazzled Merit's eyes, though they had seemingly become used to the incessant flashes of light. He saw a great bolt of lightning leave Renevos' position then fork out into six separate bolts as it hit the rebel shield. There was a heartbeat's worth of silence before the accompanying shockwave shook the valley. Nearby tents collapsed, and Merit feared Castle Stargis itself might crumble to ruins under the force of the blast.

The castle stood intact, but many of the rebels fell to the ground, although their shield held strong. Merit was shocked to see the rebel protection held. Then he remembered the obelisk that pulsated behind their shield and stood unscathed. All of the rebel wizards regained their footing, save one who lay unmoving. Merit strained to see if Jalis was the one who had fallen, but was unable to identify him.

Brannor, his men and the rebel fighting wizards joined in the melee. Sword swings and counter swings were exchanged so quickly that Merit could barely track them. Blazing tattoos and screams of exertion abounded, but the outcome remained in doubt.

Merit saw the terrible snaking of Imperial magic lurching out along the ground from the obelisk. He saw a stout figure beside the stone slab and knew that Jalis himself was directing the runes. The glowing, blue runes advanced toward the fighting wizards in fits and starts, but they came quickly nonetheless.

Merit knew they had only moments. He tried to yell for Brannor as loudly as he could. What he ended up doing was overheating one of his boilers and causing a great shriek of escaping steam to resound across the grass. But it was enough to get Brannor's attention, and he noticed the runes approaching. He yelled to his men to disengage and backpedaled in a fighting retreat. One of the tower fighters could not break free from an opponent's grapple, though. In the next moment, the runes were washing over the unfortunate man. He barely had a moment to cry out before his body erupted with disintegrating flame and his smoldering skeleton fell to the ground.

Brannor had slain two of the rebel wizards, so his retreat was tenable, though his pace was desperate because of the advance of the runes. A smaller, blue shield appeared behind Brannor. As he and his companion passed through, it solidified and prevented the rebels from advancing. A rebel fighter took a fireball in the face as he struggled against the shield. The remaining rebels retreated to the shelter of the oncoming runes, which deflected additional spells from Renevos.

"Otticus, the runes will force Renevos to retreat. And Gwineval's shield is almost down!" cried Merit.

The young wizard got a wild look in his eye. "I'll take care of it!" he shouted, and ran off in the direction of Brannor.

"Otticus!" cried Merit as loudly as his depleted boilers would allow. But it was no use. In the next moment, the strange new tattoos on the young man's arms flared, and he blinked away. Merit thought his eyes were deceiving him under the constant distraction of explosions and thunderclaps, but he remembered the new teleportation runes. He scanned the battlefield and found Otticus on the far side of the valley. He was near Castle Stargis, and outside the advancing Imperial runes. His tattoos flared again, and he ran down the hill, into the valley and toward the unprotected rebel flank.

The imperial runes were only fifty yards from Renevos's shield when Otticus burst into the rebel position. He beheaded two wizards before they knew what had hit them, and soon was engaged with another battle wizard.

The Imperial runes faltered then faded away. Merit saw Jalis run behind the other rebels in the face of Otticus' enraged charge. The volleys of rebel magic stopped, and all attacks from Gwineval's position also halted.

Merit turned and saw Gwineval step forward near the edge of his shield. He looked like he was weaving something into the ground around him then he stretched his arms aloft. Merit was transfixed as Gwineval's scaly arms began to quiver, and it seemed like he was having some sort of fit. A great rumbling was the first sign that something unusual was happening. A sudden darkness was the next. Merit could scarcely believe his eyes as he looked skyward and saw an onslaught of dark storm clouds rushing toward their position at an impossible speed.

Merit gasped.

Is it possible? Is Gwineval attempting the Defiler's Wrath spell? But that's an Imperial spell!

It was a legendary battle magic spell that had only been cast by the greatest wizards of the past—all descended from the Imperator's line. According to the books Merit read, Julius had cast it once as had the Imperator himself.

The great magic came on too quickly for any additional consideration. The dark clouds that now completely obscured the sun belched out a roiling bolt of white-hot energy at the rebel shield with a ferocity and scale that defied description. The blast tore Merit from his feet and sent him tumbling. Nearby tents flew aloft in the wind, and the great iron cauldron rolled at least twenty feet.

After a few moments of disorientation, Merit scampered to his feet. The sun was pushing through dispersing darkness above, while below, in the valley, the smooth stone of the obelisk stood unprotected. The rebel wizards around it attempted to gather into some semblance of a formation. Otticus was among them, immediately fighting for his life as he ran in avoidance of rebel battle magic. He disappeared in a blink only to reappear close to Renevos' shield.

"Gwineval!" came a cry from Merit's left. Gwineval was face down on the ground with Caetor attending to him.

Merit's concern for Gwineval was mixed with a sudden sense of urgency. "The obelisk!" he cried, but his weakened voice didn't carry.

All he could do was watch and hope Renevos understood the dynamics of the situation. In the next moment, it became clear he did.

Renevos unleashed a bolt of lightning directed at the tip of the obelisk, followed by another, then another. His companions joined him in a ferocious bombardment of the apex of the runic slab. Merit knew the damage they were meting out was prolific, but the obelisk still stood. Worse yet, Jalis was reforming the rebels.

Just as Merit's hope gave way to despair, there was a flash. An odd, shrill whine came from the obelisk followed by a shower of sparks. Several rebels were burned by the sparks, and they lost their footing again as the stone slab cracked in two with the force of an earthquake then melted into nothingness in the next instant.

"NO!" cried the unmistakably piercing voice of Jalis.

It didn't take long for Renevos to direct fire and lightning at the prone rebels, but amazingly, they managed to get a shield up in time to protect themselves. Brannor ran toward the retreating rebels, who now numbered only six.

But Merit noticed something was wrong. The great golem, which had stood motionless during the entire battle, was now moving. It bore dozens of marks from deflected fire and lightning, but seemed no worse for the wear. And it was moving toward the group struggling to care for Gwineval.

Merit's boilers were still empty so he could do little more than wave his stubby arms and hope to get someone's attention. But the next moment, he heard a footfall behind him, and something shoved him to the ground, violently. He managed to roll onto his back, and got a good look at the person who had kicked him down. The man was portly, of medium height, and he wore the same garish waistcoat as the rest of the rebel wizards. His beady eyes, black rimmed glasses and greasy, food-flecked mustache were all too familiar to Merit.

"Grubbins! Are you mad? You'll be killed if they find you here!" Merit managed, noticing footprints leading from the great cauldron to where Grubbins now stood.

"So, the little machine thinks it feels compassion? I'm going to end this charade here and now!" snarled Grubbins, raising a rolling pin over his head. The vengeful wizard smashed Merit over and over again. Although Merit didn't exactly feel pain, he was conscious of the potentially fragile tether to existence that his body represented. Luckily, his body didn't seem much affected after several blows.

"You're tougher than I thought! I'll grant you that. But we'll see how you fare against this knife!"

Grubbins dropped his rolling pin and pulled a long, thin cooking knife out of his waistcoat. He knelt on Merit's chest and began piercing his body. Merit instantly knew this damage was more serious. He felt the sensation of steam lines getting cut, and one of his boilers was pierced. Suddenly, Merit's sight went dark as he heard a momentary buzzing sound all around him.

He saw—or rather felt—strange movement in the ensuing moments of darkness. First he became aware of a great power surrounding everything, and then three other powers that rested in juxtaposition to it. He realized in an instant that these were the forces of elemental magic—the Maker's Fire and the earth, air and water that offset it. Above these forces were the chromatic dimensions of light, and the essential forces of life and death. Intermingled with and bordering these were the conceptual entities of speech, numbers and language. His centuries of service in the Wizard Tower gave him a unique perspective on his newfound sensibilities, and left him completely certain of their meaning.

I'm a wizard!

Merit's vision returned in a slow dissolve. He saw Grubbins rising and immediately noticed that his waistcoat was smoldering.

What happened?

He had a clue in the next moment when he tried to get up. His body didn't respond with much more than a few fitful twitches. He knew he was seriously hurt.

"So, guess I hit something important, there! What's wrong? Are you paralyzed? Alright, then. Let's finish it!" said Grubbins, retrieving his knife as he rose.

Merit's wonder at realizing he was a wizard, but also paralyzed, instantly gave way to a palpable fear that the next strike from Grubbins might actually kill him. The many years he'd spent with the wizards flashed before him in his mind's eye. Did he remember any spells?

All I need is one spell. And it has to have a somatic casting because I can't speak!

It came to him as Grubbins straddled his prone body. The rune of repulsion could be traced in the air to achieve a small burst of negative force. And he remembered the movement from one of Gwineval's recent classes. But would his body respond?

As Grubbins drew back, Merit managed to gain control of his arm. It moved somewhat erratically, but Merit traced out the rune with his arm as he focused his mind in the elemental realm of air and on the color red.

Grubbins shrieked as he was thrown twenty feet into the air and flew back, out of Merit's field of view. Moments later, Merit heard Grubbins land on the ground with a hard thump, and he thought he heard the snap of a bone. Grubbins howled.

"Impossible! You can't use magic! You're just... just... It can't be!"

Then Merit heard retreating footsteps breaking into a run. He'd managed to scare Grubbins off.

Merit lay for several more minutes. He heard some sporadic battle magic in the distance, and many shouts that sounded like they came from where Gwineval had fallen.

Merit tried to rise again several times, unsuccessfully. Though he regained a modest level of control over his body, he still lacked the strength to fully rise. And, every so often, his vision would fade to black again, only to return gradually a few moments later.

He heard someone approaching.

"Merit!" cried Otticus, leaning over him. "Are you okay?"

"Hurt," Merit managed.

Otticus looked around and got an angry look on his face. "I see a rebel wizard making for the tree line. Did he do this to you?"

"Let him go," Merit wheezed.

Otticus looked crestfallen. "Why? He nearly killed you by the look of it. I'll make him pay!"

"No!" Merit said more forcefully.

Otticus seemed momentarily subdued by the remark.

"Gwineval?" Merit asked.

"He's hurt really bad. Did you see that spell he cast? What was that? I've never seen anything like it! But he hurt himself doing it."

"The golem?"

"We destroyed it—just in time."

"Jalis?"

"Escaped! Renevos pulled us back to deal with the golem."

Merit reclined on the ground, content in the knowledge that their mission had been a success. Jalis was still alive—but so was Gwineval.

They'll be able to heal him. They always do.

Then he remembered what he had read about the Defiler's Wrath spell, and the effect it had on Julius after he cast it for the first time. It had started his descent toward the dark path his father, the Imperator, had walked. Merit tried to assure himself that Gwineval would resist whatever the long term effects of the spell would be, but a shadow of doubt lingered despite his best efforts to ignore it.

Chapter Eight

Hemlock's first instinct was to hug Falignus, but the thought simultaneously excited and repulsed her. The painful sensations of his recent embrace were still fresh in her mind.

Falignus looked down and seemed to comprehend that he was kneeling over a corpse. His strained smile faded as he looked at the faces of the people around him. He struggled to stand as Hemlock looked on and felt unsure how to react.

He lost his footing and stumbled forward then fell to the ground again. Hemlock rushed to his side as screams of alarm came from the courtyard.

"The Shadow Man!" cried Tiffan, turning to flee.

Next, a chorus of voices shouted, "Run! The Shadow Man is back!"

Hemlock yelled to the townspeople to wait, but they didn't listen. Soon, they had all fled. Fortunately, they had finished recovering the fallen wyverns prior to the calls of alarm.

Hemlock helped Falignus to his feet. She saw Tored looking on with an air of disapproval about him that seemed to permeate his stoic exterior.

Falignus' flesh felt cool to the touch as Hemlock put an arm around him. She steadied him by holding his upper arm with her other hand. She then maneuvered him to a cluster of ruined stone blocks with a fragment large and flat enough for him to sit on.

"It's an amazing feeling to dwell among the living, again," he said in a low voice. Then, looking at Hemlock, he continued, "What led you back to me?"

"It's complicated," said Hemlock.

Falignus nodded as Hemlock noticed Tored in her peripheral vision and remembered that the two had never met.

"Falignus, this is Tored from Tanna Varra."

Falignus sat up erect and faced Tored. "So," he began, "I meet the great tactician at last! The man who defeated my wizards in the recent campaign."

Tored didn't respond.

"You are a man of few words, it would seem," added Falignus.

"Hemlock feels you are necessary. So, in that regard, I am pleased you have been found," said Tored.

"I've heard a found tool regarded more warmly than that, but I won't hold it against you. I'm sure I would feel the same if our roles were reversed."

Falignus turned back to Hemlock, cringing as if the movement caused him pain. "So, tell the tale that led you here."

"First, I want to hear about how the Sorceress enslaved you like that. That's how it was, right?"

Falignus sounded slightly bored as he spoke. "Of course. Fine. After you left me, I trekked across the desert hoping to die. I suppose I did die, but it didn't turn out as I'd hoped it would. I was expecting some tunnel of light followed by an unburdening of all my worldly concerns and the like. Instead, I descended into a kind of near death state, but I couldn't die. So, I kept walking and feeling worse and worse.

"Eventually, I came upon a caravan. When they made camp for the evening, I descended on one of their scouts, and before I knew what was happening, I'd fed on him. It restored me, but that was little comfort. The anguish of un-death was replaced by the suffering of a wounded body with little protection from the elements. I feared to enter the camp after what I'd done to their comrade, so I buried his body, and retreated to a small dell I located near the camp.

"I tried to follow them when they left the next morning, but the sun was too painful. I waited until night then followed their path. I never caught up to them, but I came to a small oasis with a deep well. There was another caravan camped there, and I was able to steal some provisions from them, and hide in a small ruin at the outskirts of the trees.

"I stayed in this place for many weeks, stealing food from caravans where I could. After a while, I started to fade away again, so I fed on another poor soul. I was sighted a few times and forced to flee into the desert. I was killed again, but this just returned me to the un-death. After feeding the next night, my body was restored—though the remnant of the new wounds made me suffer greatly for several days until they faded.

"Soon, the caravans became less frequent, and the fearful looks of those who did stop showed that word of my exploits was beginning to spread. I considered trying to move, but I feared being trapped in the desert and forced to endure the terrible pain of the un-dead existence for a long while.

"Over the ensuing months, there were always enough travelers to satisfy my unique needs. So I existed in a state of mild discomfort like that, trying to plan what my next move would be. I realized that my magic only worked when I had recently fed and was well rested. As I got stronger, I managed to cast some illusions to give me better places to hide and make it easier to hunt and steal. I even managed to steal some Oberon and created a garden that was shielded by illusion so I could grow my own food. But, I found that nothing I planted would grow.

"It was around this time that the Sorceress attacked me. She dispelled my illusions, and I was unable to hide from her as she circled on her bat in the air above me. I was still too weak to match her spells with my own. She set me on fire until I faded into un-death. Then her bat dropped that enchanted box you see over yonder, and she was able to command me to enter it by using her magic.

"It didn't take long for her to figure out how to exploit my feedings for her own benefit. She had a magical power source that I never figured out—though I judge from the condition of the stronghold that you destroyed it—whatever it was."

"So, what you did to the Sorceress was one of your feedings?" said Tored.

"Yes," said Falignus.

"And you will continue to have to feed periodically?" said Tored.

"Yes."

"Hemlock, how do you propose we satisfy his need? We'd have to execute someone or allow him to kill."

"I don't know. We'll have to figure something out. There are plenty of rogue wizards to slay. And what about the Seekers?" said Hemlock.

"The Seekers?" said Falignus. "I've told my story, now you tell me yours."

Hemlock exchanged a wary look with Tored before recounting events since she left Falignus in the desert. Falignus remained silent throughout her tale, though his eyes widened when she got to the part about Amarank, the earth spirit.

"So Amarank still lived after all of these years? And she was guarding a Wand that was keeping her strange offspring alive?" said Falignus.

"Yes. And it was her child that inspired me to find you."

"What could that child have to do with me?"

"It was the child of Amarank, who was made by my father, the Red Mage, and Julius—a union of the two bloodlines. But it was crippled and never grew beyond an infant. Still, it had powers from both of our lines. It had the prescience of your line along with the perception of mine. It was aware of what was happening and what could happen. And, it said that I will need both bloodlines to defeat DuLoc."

"Interesting. So, you assumed that if you found me, I'd help you against this DuLoc?"

"Yes. Will you?"

Falignus hesitated. "I don't know. I've only been human for less than an hour and here you are regaling me with tales and quests. I'm still re-learning how to breathe."

"Don't assume you will continue to draw breath if you don't make the right choice," said Tored.

"Tored, wait," said Hemlock.

"Ah, now I understand. Either I agree to help or you abandon me again?"

"I didn't say that," said Hemlock.

Falignus stood unsteadily but waved off aid from Hemlock. "In that case, I agree to help."

"That's not exactly convincing," said Tored.

"I will confront your enemies with magic and steel!" said Falignus sarcastically, deciding to sit again.

"Look, I know you care about the City. DuLoc will destroy the City, remake it in his own image with him as supreme ruler, and his laws will reign over everything."

Falignus considered this then replied, "And what makes his vision worse than either of ours? He's just another person seeking control."

"He doesn't want people to have choices. He wants laws for everything. You wanted power—but you wanted it to help people. Even though I don't agree with your methods, at least your motives are the same as mine. DuLoc is different."

"Don't you think he believes he'll be helping people?"

"If he does, he's wrong."

"And what happens when we defeat DuLoc? Won't that leave you and me in the same place we were before he came? How will we resolve our differences?"

"I don't know. I'm focused on DuLoc. We can worry about everything else when the time comes."

"I do love the City. And I...care...for you. If DuLoc is your enemy, I will fight at your side against him. But you have to accept what I am now. I'm not the same man I was before we fought in the desert. Part of me has been consumed by darkness and will never be the same. Some of my abilities are no longer available to me. Whether they will return is anyone's guess."

"Maybe there's a way to..."

Falignus engaged her with a smoldering stare. "There's no way back from this path. My father and his line spent a generation searching for a way to avoid paying the price of dark magic, but found nothing. You will have to accept me as I am. Can you do that?"

"Yes," said Hemlock, feeling troubled, but remaining undeterred in her certainty she needed his help.

"Then it's decided," said Falignus, pausing as something on the ground caught his eye. After a time, he pointed to a fragment of slate on the ground. It was only a foot wide, but it still bore the chalk writing that Tored had seen in the room with the cup.

"I am feeling a bit weak. Can someone retrieve that flat stone for me?" said Falignus.

Hemlock picked it up and puzzled at the strange writing. She knew of numbers, but had never seen them written amongst odd symbols like these. She looked at Tored as he approached.

"This is a part of a great wall of writing that surrounded the magical cup I destroyed in the Sorceress' stronghold," he said.

"Is that right? Please bring it here," said Falignus.

Tored grabbed Hemlock's arm as she made to walk toward Falignus. She answered the questioning look he gave her by nodding and breaking free. She gave the piece of slate to Falignus.

"What is it? Is it magic?" she asked.

Falignus examined the writing for a full minute before responding. "In a sense, it is. But where magic bends the laws of the universe, these numbers attempt to describe the laws."

"Like the Imperial magic?"

"No, this is different. If I am reading this fragment correctly, the Sorceress was exploring the nature of reality. Tored, can you describe exactly what you saw in the room with the cup?"

"Hemlock, are you sure you can entrust him with this information? His loyalty is not yet clear," said Tored.

Hemlock shot Tored an annoyed look.

"Fine," said Tored, describing the room and what he had done to destroy the cup.

"So, there was an hourglass and then another embedded in this pedestal?" said Falignus.

"Yes."

"Fascinating. I believe the Sorceress was experimenting with the nature of time. It sounds like she was able to measure the relative passage of time at the different layers of the multiverse by teleporting the hourglass then comparing the passage of sand between the mounted one and the returned one. I wish I had realized she was engaged in important research. I might have tried to spare her life."

"If she was so smart, why was she so cruel to the people of Ogrun? She behaved like a ruffian. Look at her drawings," said Hemlock, pointing to the obscene graffiti that covered the interior of the courtyard.

"It is a mystery, but I have a suspicion. I was able to detect an air of fatalistic despair about her. I think she figured out this world is just an echo of the City, and that she herself was just an echo of something greater. As she discovered the multitude of worlds out there, it must have driven her mad," said Falignus.

"She didn't care about anyone. But how could she see the same things I do and draw such a different conclusion. Every bit of the worlds, and the fire that links them, speaks of my father and his vision. She understood it and decided to destroy instead of heal. I don't get it."

"But the Red Mage is your father, Hemlock. The Sorceress probably considered herself a god until she learned her true place in this existence. Perhaps I, more than anyone, can sympathize with her. How do you think it feels to be descended from a line that contravenes what appear to be the basic laws of existence? It makes you feel like an outcast, and it makes you resent the higher order that seems to be pressuring you to adhere to its laws. It makes you feel rebellious. Maybe this was what drove her."

"It's troubling. Don't you...I mean...you realize that there's always time to change, right? My father's vision was for everyone to be purified. That's what this existence is all about."

"But who understands it? What are the rules?"

"It's all been lost. That's what I'm trying to rebuild."

"Really? And when did you come to this realization?"

"It's been gradual."

"So, what are you? Some sort of self-styled messiah?"

"You make it sound so arrogant. Remember, I was just another girl from the Warrens. I never asked for this. But it seems to be my destiny, and I'm not shying away from it now."

"So, I'm to follow in your messianic footsteps while you purify the world? I get to clean up the mess while you do whatever you see fit under the guise of destiny? Tored, are you actually buying into this?"

"The reasons I follow Hemlock are my own," said Tored.

There were several moments of uneasy silence.

Hemlock had a sudden recollection. "The Sorceress mentioned something else. She asked me whether I've seen the sea beyond time and space. In fact, she asked me twice. I wonder what she meant by that?"

"A sea? Strange," said Falignus.

"What?"

"Many of my prescient visions included images of a great sea populated with strange towers. But I could never connect those images with anything in our realm. They've always been a mystery to me."

Hemlock now wished as much as Falignus said he did that the Sorceress still lived. She had many questions, but knew neither Falignus, nor Tored, had the answers.

"Please have someone gather those fragments," said Falignus. "Is there somewhere I could rest?"

"We will return to my mother's home," said Hemlock.

Falignus looked curious, for Hemlock hadn't mentioned her mother to him, but he didn't ask any more questions. He simply nodded.

Hemlock and Tored lifted Falignus and each placed one of his arms over their shoulders. Then they began the long walk back to Hemlock's childhood home.

They exited the courtyard and walked down the mountain path. When they reached the outskirts of Ogrun, they saw Tiffan and the man who Hemlock judged was her husband, Canthos, waiting for them. Both looked quite agitated when they saw Falignus.

"It will take longer, but we should skirt the City," said Hemlock. Then she remembered Tored's shoulder injury. "How is your shoulder, Tored?"

"It is fine. I was able to reset it," said Tored. He was supporting Falignus with his uninjured shoulder, so while she suspected that he was still in pain, it seemed reasonable to Hemlock that he'd be able to endure the walk.

They started to turn to the right, but Hemlock realized they would have to cross the river at some point. Tiffan and Canthos waited at the closest bridge in front of them. There were more distant bridges, but it seemed pointless to go out of their way to avoid the two townsfolk.

"Let's see what they want," said Hemlock.

When they reached the edge of the bridge, Canthos took a step forward. He was a handsome man with a stalwart appearance, though his bearing didn't suggest a life of labor.

"We don't want the Shadow Man in Ogrun," he said.

"That's fine. We'll go around the town. We're returning to my mother's house in yonder woods," said Hemlock.

"He looks like a man again," said Tiffan. "Was he under some kind of spell from the Sorceress?"

"Something like that," said Hemlock.

"We should let them pass, Canthos. He's wounded and their walk will be difficult. Let's fetch a cart for them," said Tiffan.

Canthos looked skeptical. "Things aren't always what they appear to be, Tiffan. I think we're safer if they stay out of Ogrun. But I see no reason not to give them a cart."

"That would be great. Thank you," said Hemlock.

Canthos jogged back into the town, though he appeared to be favoring one leg.

"Esmeralda wants to say goodbye to you," said Tiffan, eyeing Falignus warily. "Do you think it's safe?"

"Yes, it's safe," said Hemlock.

"Alright. Canthos will never allow it, so I'll tell her to meet you at the edge of the town as you walk. I don't understand what you are doing with...him, but I trust you have good intentions. Please, just keep him away from us."

"We'll be taking him far away from Ogrun. Don't worry about it," said Hemlock.

Canthos soon returned with a small cart. They loaded Falignus into it, and Hemlock and Tored each grabbed one side of the bar on the front. After they exchanged another goodbye with Tiffan, they set off. But after a moment Hemlock stopped suddenly.

Turning back to Tiffan and Canthos, she said, "I'm not mad about the burden you tried to place on me back there—but I don't think it was right. After everything that Sorceress put you through, you should have accepted the duty of killing her yourselves. You need to think about that. There will be other threats to Ogrun, and I may never return. You need to learn to defend yourselves or you will end up under the heel of the next tyrant that comes along. Start a militia and learn to fight. You can't remain free if you don't accept that responsibility."

Canthos and Tiffan both nodded, and two great screeches rang out from overhead. Hemlock looked up and saw two wyverns wheeling above the couple. The pair both raised an arm and the wyverns descended and landed beside them. They waved and smiled and the wyverns screeched again. Hemlock got the impression the beasts were screeching their thanks as well, though she wasn't sure what informed her opinion other than a hunch.

Pulling the cart was nearly as much work as walking with Falignus, though it did go faster and was far easier on the weakened wizard. When they reached the halfway point of their journey and were nearing the edge of Ogrun, Hemlock saw Esmeralda running toward them along with a small wyvern.

They set the cart down as the girl reached them. Esmeralda ran up to Hemlock and hugged her then did the same to Tored.

"I want to come with you!" said the girl.

"What? Are you kidding? Your parents would be devastated! Your place is here, Esmeralda," said Hemlock.

The girl looked despondent. "But I could go with you for a few weeks then come back. I want to have more adventures with you! I can learn to defeat sorcery like you do. Then I can protect Ogrun!"

Hemlock smiled and held the girl's hand. "I was like you when I was younger. I left my family to seek adventure. One thing I learned is you can never get back home once you leave. You may return, but it will never be the same. Take my word for it—stay here and grow into adulthood with your parents. Then you can decide what to do. Alright?"

Esmeralda was tearing up, but she nodded affirmatively.

"Now, run off before your father discovers where you are!"

"Alright," Esmeralda said. The thought of her father seemed to break the girl's melancholy mood, and she dashed off yelling, "Goodbye! Thank you!" as she ran.

Soon they reached the edge of the forest, and Hemlock turned back to regard Ogrun a final time. Though it was dark, she could still see the towers, and was able to imagine a future Ogrun healed from the blight the Sorceress had inflicted on it.

Hemlock located the trail that led to her mother's home and they were soon surrounded by trees and a gentle symphony of nocturnal insects. Falignus' breathing turned shallow and regular, and Hemlock knew he had fallen asleep despite the rough ride he was getting due to the uneven surface of the path.

"Have you considered how the wizard council will react to him?" said Tored.

"Badly, I'm sure. We'll keep him away from the Wizard Tower. He will stay with us in the Warrens."

Tored didn't respond, so Hemlock turned toward him and saw a scowl on his face before he was able to conceal it.

"Don't worry. We'll find room somehow. And he'll surely move on once he regains his strength," she added half-heartedly. An image of Falignus' abdominal muscles came to her mind, suddenly. She remembered how his white linen bedding had elegantly draped his midsection when they had lain together on that not-so-distant evening that now seemed like a lifetime ago.

"And what will keep him away from the wizards, then?" said Tored.

"I will. By then we should be fighting DuLoc. Once that's over, maybe Falignus can find another world to live on. Or maybe he and the wizards will make friends again."

"And what of his ambitions? People don't change overnight, Hemlock. I know he's been through a lot, but I suspect the man will return to form once he is restored and rested."

"He'll never be the same, Tored. He said it himself. He'll have to figure out how to live with himself and with others."

A half hour later, they reached the clearing where they originally landed and left the griffin to rest. Penelope was back in the same resting place, and Mercuria knelt beside her, stroking her coat gently.

"Hemlock!" said Mercuria, rising to meet them.

Hemlock embraced her sister then noticed the griffin. Sections of her fur were blackened and patchy around her head and front paws. But she was sleeping and appeared to be comfortable.

"How bad is Penelope?" said Hemlock.

"She was in bad shape when she got back here. I'm surprised she was able to fly. But I helped her, and she will be alright. It's just a matter of rest, now."

"I know this probably sounds insensitive, but when will she be able to travel?"

"Hemlock, you have to let her rest. Remember how difficult the passage was for her."

"And now we have one more," said Hemlock, pointing to the cart.

Mercuria's features darkened as she peered over the side of that cart at the slumbering form resting within. "So, you did it," she said.

"Yes. And now we need to return to the City as soon as possible. We have to make sure DuLoc hasn't returned already."

"Can't you tell that with your powers?"

"No, I can't detect people like I can in the observatory. Not yet, anyway."

Mercuria looked uncomfortable. "Well, we should go back to Mother's house and let her know you're safe."

"Alright," said Hemlock, giving Mercuria an inquisitive look.

Mercuria looked chagrined then spoke. "I wanted to wait until we got back to Mother's, but I guess I can't keep a secret. I've decided to stay here, Hemlock."

Hemlock felt a spectrum of emotions rising as she inspected the simultaneously conciliatory and appraising expression on her sister's face. On one hand, she felt upset and betrayed because her sister had been with her for all her life. But there was relief also. If war was coming to the City, having her sister out of harm's way would simplify things. Then a dark thought entered her mind.

What if DuLoc has the same abilities I do? What if he knows Mercuria is here and kills her while I'm in the City?

But she remembered that she could only sense certain people with significant bloodlines in the observatory. And her sister didn't share her unique paternal heritage.

"That's fine Mercuria—perhaps it's for the best. If DuLoc attacks the City, I'd rather you be as far away from it as possible."

"You're not upset?"

"Of course I'm upset! But I realize it will also keep you safe. And we can reunite after the battle. I'm sure Mother is ecstatic. At least you can keep an eye on her, and Ogrun. I'm fond of the place after all of these years."

They decided to let the griffin rest and returned to Hemlock's mother's home. Once there, they unloaded Falignus and brought him into the house to rest. This displaced Hemlock from her old room, so she slept on the sofa in the common room since Tored insisted on sleeping on the floor. Hemlock and he agreed to sleep in shifts to keep an eye on Falignus during the night, but Hemlock doubted whether the old warrior slept at all.

Hemlock was restless, too. The delay caused by the recovering griffin was a great concern to her. Now that she'd accomplished her goal of recovering Falignus, the risks of her choice had come to roost in her mind. She thought of Gwineval and Merit, and hoped her decision hadn't compromised their safety.

There was no clear transition, but at some point her awareness of the dark chill of the common room gave way to the sensation of sand underfoot and the undulations of a massive sea. Waves broke on the beach she now stood upon with regularity, and the accompanying sound soothed her. But her comfortable feeling was interrupted when she noticed clouds rolling in at supernatural speed and obscuring the light of three suns.

Next, a fog rolled in and hung heavily over the surrounding sea, replacing the peaceful blue of the horizon with a hazy gray. And something loomed in the fog. Something she hadn't seen—that hadn't been there mere moments ago. And it was massive. A slender, tall form rendered insubstantial by the surrounding fog. It was easily ten times higher than the Wizard Tower. She noticed a wide shadow now fell on the beach.

Her instinct was to run, but something about the form in the dark fog mesmerized her. There was a sense of danger, but it mingled with the promise of enlightenment.

A gust of wind howled from her right, and the fog began to clear. The tall tower—for it was revealed to be a tower by the clearing fog—had the surface qualities of a natural stone peak, yet was clearly shaped by a guiding hand. It was covered by cascading water that poured from thousands of holes and gulleys along its surface. The water fell into a myriad of extending basins and also seeped into drainage holes that returned it to the interior of the structure. It was huge and imposing, created by a power she couldn't comprehend―and it frightened her. She turned to run, but then the scene changed.

She stood in the ruins of a house nestled in a valley high in a mountain range. Smoke rose from a recent fire that appeared to have destroyed nearly everything inside the structure, but a broad backed man knelt over something on the floor that was obscured from view by his bulk. Hemlock felt curious—something about the man was familiar. She approached him from the side, walking carefully through the debris.

She heard the man sobbing and could see that he knelt over the body of a woman. The body had been badly charred by fire, but the man embraced the remains.

"Hilda..." he muttered then took notice of Hemlock.

When he looked up, Hemlock saw that part of his scalp was devoid of hair and badly scarred by an old wound. She immediately recognized his broad features and bulky build. He was the ghost that helped her through the caves near the Sorceress' stronghold. But he now appeared as flesh and blood.

"What happened?" she asked. "Who are you?"

"He'll pay for this." The man sobbed, his face red with tears. He looked more terrible than pitiful in his grief. His muscles quivered with rage as he extended and clenched his fist.

Hemlock was still confused. "What happened here?"

"A massacre," the man managed.

"Was she..."

"My wife? Yes. My children are in the other room. Their throats were cut in their beds," he said, choking back fresh tears.

"My goodness! Who did this?"

The man calmed down and rose, turning toward her. "DuLoc. His name is DuLoc. I won't rest until he's dead. I'll help you, but my power is weak in the open air. Look for me in the deep rock."

The charred walls of the house started to fade, and the figure of the man faded with it. His eyes, aflame with hatred, grief and determination, were the last thing she saw.

Her eyes bolted open, and the old, pockmarked ceiling of her mother's common room was above her again, comforting in its familiarity in the early morning light. The strange dreams were over, but Hemlock felt they were more than mere flights of fancy.

Was that the sea the Sorceress spoke of? And what of the ghost? Was he among the slain miners in the eastern mountains?

Tored, already awake, was pacing outside the door where Falignus had been put to rest.

"We shouldn't have closed this door. I want to check on him," he said.

"Go ahead," said Hemlock.

Tored turned the crude handle and the door creaked as he opened it.

"He's in there," said Tored. "He appears to still be asleep."

Hemlock sighed as an attractive scent wafted into the room. She recognized it immediately.

"My mother is making her hazelnut cakes. Are you hungry?"

"I am."

"Let's leave him to rest, and get some food."

Hemlock led Tored outside to a back porch where her mother tended a crude stove made of stacked rocks and topped with an iron plate. Two dozen cakes baked in a compartment inside the stove on an iron grate. The smell of the baking and the gentle creak of the slowly rotating water wheel filled Hemlock with a profound feeling of peace.

"Good morning, Mother," said Hemlock, noting her mother looked far better groomed than when she had first seen her two days prior.

"Good morning. So, you made it back. I trust you defeated her—the Sorceress?"

"Yes. Tored and I did."

"Was it a simple matter for you, then? Did your powers end up being as formidable as you thought?"

"Yes...and no. I should have heeded your warnings better. In the end, it was Tored who saved me."

"Hmmm. It's no matter that you didn't listen. Since when have you ever listened to me?"

Hemlock started to protest, but as she took a moment to consider, she had to concede that her mother was probably right. Hemlock turned to find a nearby chair when her mother spoke again.

"Listen, Hemlock. I'm sorry that I brought a man into our home that made you uncomfortable. I guess I was blinded by a desperate love and didn't want to see the truth. It's difficult to admit it, but I'm sorry."

Hemlock was suddenly uncomfortable. Her mother had rarely apologized to her before. She took a step toward her mother, and the two of them embraced with awkward, but heartfelt, emotion.

Hemlock sniffled and choked back happy tears.

"Where's Mercuria?" she asked.

"She went to check on the griffin—should be back soon. Cakes are almost ready," said her mother, placing a tea pot on the iron plate.

Hemlock turned to Tored. He was looking at the surrounding woods and seemed remarkably relaxed.

"Tored, you've seem different since we got back—more at peace with yourself."

"Yes, I guess that's true. I had an... experience... inside the Sorceress' stronghold. It helped me to understand some things about myself. I think I've put some old demons to rest."

"Thank goodness. You haven't been the best company lately," said Hemlock, smiling.

Tored didn't respond, instead engaging her with a restrained smile. But a second later, it turned to a frown as the grating of a rusty hinge sounded from the door behind her.

Hemlock turned and saw Mercuria leading Falignus onto the patio.

"I found him clutching the mantle and trying to make his way out here," said Mercuria, helping Falignus into a seat near the stove. The slender, pale wizard shielded his eyes from the low sun. When he sat, he turned his chair to face away from the light.

"Thank you, young lady," said Falignus. "I'm afraid my condition places me at a disadvantage and has impaired my manners. Thank you for welcoming me into your home," he said to Hemlock's mother.

"You're welcome, young wizard. My girls have told me a lot about you—some good and some bad. We prefer the former around here."

Falignus chuckled. "Well put. It's a path I hope to follow in more ways than one," he said, looking at Hemlock.

She smiled then looked away, turning back to Tored.

"Will you make him use Renevos' device?" Tored asked Hemlock in a low voice as Falignus spoke with the two other women in a separate conversation.

"I'll ask him to, yes. I think he'll agree. If he does, we'll be lighter for Penelope to carry since Mercuria is staying. It could save us valuable time if Penelope can make the journey on less rest."

"Our course is set, then."

"Yes," said Hemlock, looking at the aging warrior. A sudden idea came to her, then. "You could stay here—in Ogrun. You're fond of Mercuria. You could be happy here. And you've done your part. Falignus can help me now."

Tored glanced at the woods again before answering. "A tempting offer, but I think I'll stay the course. Besides, you'll need me around when he goes mad again. You know he will, Hemlock. It's just a matter of time."

"DuLoc has made sure we don't have that. I don't expect Falignus will have time to torment himself, provided he continues to help us. But, I'm glad you're staying with me. Outside of my family and Merit, you're the only true friend I have."

"This is my tribe now, and you are the head of it."

Mercuria approached them and held out a tray of steaming cakes. Hemlock and Tored shared a smile, and each removed a pastry from the tray. Then the five of them sat in the cool air of the morning and regarded one another as they ate. For Hemlock, it was a welcome respite before the beginning of what she judged would be her final quest. She regarded each of her companions—each was something of a quest seeker in their own right. Some now following her directly, and the others now dependent on her success.

She'd always enjoyed eating the hazelnut cakes when she was a girl, but remembered they usually made her stomach feel queasy. That morning, for the first time, they went down without any discomfort.

Continue your adventure with Hemlock in volume four: Hemlock and the Maker's Fire. Available Now!

Afterward

I hope you've enjoyed reading Book III! I've been asked by some readers where the series stands and what additional books are likely to appear. My estimate is that the current Hemlock story arc will conclude in either one full length book (>100K word count) or perhaps over two shorter volumes like Book III. It's always possible it could go longer, but I wouldn't expect it to be much longer than 150k words. Once this arc completes, there will be room for further tales set in this universe, but they would have to be a bit...different.

If you are looking for some other indie fantasy to tide you over until my next book (wink, wink), look no further than the following two series. The Bakkian Chronicles by Jeffrey M. Poole is a whimsical series of books about a contemporary couple who suddenly find themselves thrust into a fantasy world. It's a lighthearted read and reminds me a bit of Xanth without the puns. Demon Gates by Robert Day is a more traditional epic fantasy series that features great action sequences and an impressive sense of depth and character. It reminds me of a narrative account of the tales underpinning a superlative fantasy campaign setting--one that I wish was a role playing game I could get lost in.

It would be remiss of me if I didn't also mention the Indie Book Blog run by Scott Poe at http://indiebookblogger.blogspot.com/ . This is a great review site that specializes in reviewing Indie fantasy. Scott has been wonderfully supportive of many Indie fantasy authors—including myself. Please visit the site and become a member. You won't regret it.

I want to take a final moment to thank you, dear reader, for taking this journey with me. Every reader that obtains a copy of one of my books is providing wind in my sails that helps to keep me writing. I only connect with readers over the internet and never see them face to face (except my beta readers). I probably need to start going to local conventions and doing book signings--but that's another story. In the meantime, the limited interactions I do have with readers online are very gratifying. But even if you never contact me, know that your purchase of my book(s) has directly contributed to keeping my fire burning. Thank you, and keep your feet on the ground and your head in the clouds!

_Learn more about the author at_ http://www.wiztower.com _._

