Chapter Twenty Two
Hemlock awoke.
She could hear shouting around her above a shrill ringing sensation in her ears. The last thing that she could remember was the strange vision that she had had of the otherworldly space and the aid that she had received somehow from distant entities in that space. Then she remembered her fatal strike on the Witch and the malicious energy wave that had resulted from the Witch's destruction.
The death of Taros Ranvok came back to her in a flash of pain and anguish. Wait…is Tored still alive? Is Safreon still in control of that demon? And Gwineval… While his transformation had made her shudder, had he prevailed?
She then became conscious of her surroundings and realized that the sounds of frantic footfalls were all around her. She spat out a mouth full of dirt from a painful jaw and lifted her head to look around. Her entire body felt weak, her joints were swollen and her muscles ached acutely.
Tanna Varran warriors were sprinting past her while a few kneeled down to tend to her. She could hear reports that the Witch's forces were in full retreat and being routed.
"You did it!" a Tanna Varran exclaimed, "You killed the Witch!"
"Tored?" she managed to ask.
"Alive and recovering," the Warrior responded.
Hemlock heard a shrill, high pitched whine. It seemed to be emanating from the direction of the Town, whose upper levels were visible to Hemlock from her prone position.
"Something is happening," observed one of the Tanna Varrans, looking toward the noise.
Hemlock made to rise.
"Stay down," cautioned the Tanna Varran," you are too weak."
Ignoring him, Hemlock unsteadily rose and looked toward the town.
She immediately saw the chaotic mass of the creature that Safreon had been struggling with. It had swelled to such a height that it was almost touching the bottom level of the Town. The blue lattice of magical energy still enclosed it, but seemed to be weakening.
Hemlock saw the hideous mouths of the creature cry out in unison, producing the same high pitched whine that she had heard moments before.
As she began to run awkwardly toward the creature, intending to try and help Safreon but not entirely sure that she could, she wondered if Gwineval might be needed to battle this creature in addition to the Wizard Guild forces.
Looking toward the other side of the Town, she saw no sign of Gwineval’s hulking, magically transformed body.
She considered using her wings to advance on the aberrant beast before her, but they felt odd on her back. When she tried to take off, she realized that they had been damaged at some point during her recent fighting. She unstrapped them as she ran. Dropping them eased her burden somewhat, enabling her to run faster. Still, she was struggling to maintain her balance, for she was greatly fatigued – more so than she could ever remember.
I must help Safreon, she thought to herself over and over again, urging herself on through the pain.
She finally neared the bluff where she had last seen Safreon. She could see the foul form of the creature more closely now. She fought back an urge to vomit, for the sight of the creature, along with the sensations provided by her sense of its innate magic, were intensely revolting to her.
Tanna Varrans were running past Hemlock toward the front line that opposed the forces of the Wizard Guild. Hemlock marveled at their apparent faith that she and Safreon would deal with the incredible creature which now was rising straight from the depths of some nether region and emerging right under their Town. Hemlock admired their discipline, for the appearance of the creature was terrible indeed.
She pushed forward through an assembling unit of Tanna Varran ground troops, and finally Safreon was visible.
Hemlock cried in alarm out when she saw him.
He was straining against some invisible force, which was drawing him slowly, but inexorably toward the blue magical barrier and the many gaping maws of the mysterious creature held within. Safreon held the Wand of the Imperator extended before him, directed toward the creature; the Wand still emitted the blue lattice of energy which restrained the inchoate and undulating amalgamation of mismatched limbs and orifices.
Safreon struggled against the Wand and pulled at it, attempting to resist whatever force it was that seemed to draw it toward the creature. His features were contorted in pain and his face was like a choppy sea, awash in waves of anguish. But Hemlock detected calmness about him as well, as if the pain was flowing over and through him, without perturbing some bastion of inner peace.
Hemlock then saw that Gwineval was struggling beside Safreon. He had apparently returned to his more mundane form, and his bared muscles (for he wore no clothing), awash in green scales, flexed as he grasped at the Wand and appeared to Hemlock to try to pull it toward himself.
Hemlock approached the scene as quickly as she could, in what amounted to a half sprint, half stagger.
She saw Gwineval arch his back in effort as he struggled even more mightily to wrest the Wand of the Imperator away from the pull of the creature. Safreon was pulled slightly toward Gwineval in the struggle and Hemlock could see his face even more clearly. She also noticed that Safreon was still being drawn toward the thrashing creature that was held within the blue lattice even though Gwineval seemed to have slowed the progress of the Wand toward the giant creature.
"Gwineval, NO! HELP SAFREON!" Hemlock shouted, shocked to see that Gwineval seemed more interested in saving the Wand than Safreon. But she was too far away and the din of the battlefield was too great for either of them to hear her cries.
A single thought entered Hemlock's mind then, as she desperately tried to close the distance between her and her struggling mentor, Safreon.
Looking at Gwineval she thought one word: Traitor.
Safreon slumped to his knees, somehow maintaining a hold on the Wand despite the pull of the creature, against which his resistance seemed to falter. He maintained his odd outward appearance of intense pain mixed with stoic detachment.
The blue energy that flowed out of the Wand now seemed to lose focus. It began to flow around and over, and then behind Safreon, enclosing him within the magical blue force field.
She saw Gwineval yell something at Safreon and then he stretched his serpentine leg and placed it on Safreon's chest.
Why doesn't he resist? Hemlock wondered desperately.
With a great kick, Gwineval wrested the Wand from Safreon, sending the suffering Alchemist tumbling backwards into the blue lattice and finally into the mass of the writhing creature of chaos.
"NO!" cried Hemlock.
Gwineval had extended an arm and had attempted to grasp Safreon, but had quickly cried out in pain and recoiled, as the blue fire burned him badly.
Hemlock could see that Safreon was burning alive in that blue fire, yet he did not move. He lay completely still even as the burning tendrils of the chaos beast tore flesh from his own burning body.
Gwineval raised his arms and the fire in the tip of the wand shone brightly. The blue rays halted and yellow beams burst forth from the Wand and enveloped the blue lattice, and within that, the chaos creature and Safreon.
Slowly, under that dazzling light, the blue lattice and the two forms within it began to fade. The creature cried its shrill whine several more times, each one sounding more disembodied.
Hemlock was getting closer to Gwineval, stressing her remaining endurance to the limits with her limping run.
"Gwineval, stop!" she cried.
Gwineval, hearing her, turned his head toward her for a moment, but quickly returned his attention to directing the intense yellow rays of the Wand toward the blue lattice.
And then the dazzling light faded with a resounding pop and the blue lattice was gone. The chaos creature and Safreon were also gone.
Safreon is dead.
Some part of her mind registered this fact. She halted and stood, in a daze, as Tanna Varran warriors continued to rush past her. He
r mind reeled under the impact of Safreon's death.
Her consciousness, clinging to violent impulses like a drowning man does a life raft, focused on Gwineval then.
Hemlock saw that he was on his knees, weakly trying to rise.
She limped forward.
"Gwineval, you are a TRAITOR!" she cried as loudly as she could, with a tinge of madness in her voice.
…
Falignus leaned out of the window, fully exposing his face to the open air of the battlefield. He could smell a scent of sulfur and ozone in the air which resulted from the magical torrents of fire that he had been directing for many minutes now. He stood in the eye socket of the only remaining Wizard Guild Harvester.
The wind in his face felt oddly reassuring as he took stock of the progress of the battle. The Witch had apparently perished and her ghostly horde had retreated in disarray. Thus a long standing ambition of the Wizard Guild had been fulfilled. Falignus had heard a rumor pass through the ranks that the Witch had been slain by the young girl named Hemlock. Falignus found this concept both amazing and unsurprising at the same time. He had suspected that this girl was descended from an ancient blood line like the one that he believed also ran in his veins. His dark prescient rituals had convinced him of her power and great destiny. In any case, if she was responsible for the death of the Witch, Hemlock's action had unwittingly advanced the designs of the Seventh Circle and by extension the Wizard Guild as a whole.
But, weighing the import of his concerns, Falignus considered that Gwineval had brought an incredible level of power to bear against the Guild during the battle. While in his transformed state, he had destroyed three Guild harvesters and a great many wizards had died by his hand. Many City forces had also perished, and worse yet, those that had survived had witnessed the inability of the Guild to resist Gwineval's onslaught.
"That is a decisive setback for us. Somehow we must recover our appearance of invulnerability. At least Gwineval is also known to be a Wizard himself," Falignus thought grimly.
His thoughts then returned to the tasks at hand and soon he was directing the lurching Harvester to move toward the Tanna Varran town to investigate something that had just happened nearby: Gwineval's transformative magic had suddenly waned and he had retreated to the Tanna Varran Town in haste. Falignus had seen a great demonic creature there, struggling against magical wards. And then suddenly the creature had been enveloped by a scintillating vortex of light and dispelled.
It must be related to Gwineval's transformation. This must be the magical force that I foresaw. But what was the source of it?
He paused for a moment and hummed a phrase while moving his arms rhythmically. Then he touched his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, his sight was enhanced. He quickly focused in on the scene near the base of the town.
He could see Gwineval there, holding an item that made him gasp aloud.
"A Wand of the Imperator," he whispered aloud.
This explained much to the now brooding Wizard.
Regaining his composure quickly, Falignus called down into the torso of the Harvester, where several subordinate wizards were stationed and busy controlling the Harvester and providing spell casting energy to Falignus.
"Kraven! I am sending our forces forward to attempt to retrieve an item from the Tanna Varrans and Gwineval," called Falignus, his voice echoing within the iron interior, "Leave the Harvester and survey the battlefield from above."
Here Falignus paused, for he knew what he should order Kraven to focus on: the Wand of the Imperator, borne by Gwineval. But something within him was arguing for a different order altogether, an order that seemed to fly in the face of reason. Before he knew what he was doing, Falignus made to issue the latter order to Kraven.
Kraven stood across from Falignus, waiting expectantly beside the other great eye socket.
"Look for a young girl. She is beautiful and deadly. She is likely to be gravely wounded, though. She is not a Tanna Varran, but is from the City. See if you can locate and capture her and bring her to me: alive."
Kraven nodded and turned toward the battlefield. His magically modified wings extended, and with a great leap, he exited the Harvester.
Falignus watched as Kraven’s gray wings, which appeared to be a part of his body and were shaped like those of a hawk, unfurled and quickly bore him high above the battle and beyond the Tanna Varran scouts that sought to intercept him with their own artificial wings.
Turning his attention back to the battle below, Falignus turned to a crystal ball filled with a clear liquid that was mounted in the hull beside him.
Concentrating, he scryed with the Wizard Malvert, his ground force commander, and ordered his forces forward toward the Tanna Varran town.
"I have a company reformed and in reserve. We will attack immediately," responded Malvert confidently, though Falignus could see that the strain of battle was weighing on the leader of the First Circle.
Falignus shook his head. All the companies of wizards had been routed by Gwineval when he was transformed into that great beast. If he were able to do that again now, the wizards would surely be defeated. Falignus suspected that the Demon that he had seen had been related to that magical transformation, however, because the power of Gwineval’s transformation spell had clearly been so great. Since the Demon was gone, Falignus felt confident that Gwineval would not be able to cast that spell again.
"I hope I am correct," he thought grimly.
Falignus soon realized that the Harvester was getting dangerously close to the Tanna Varran town and their siege engines. He had intended to have the wizards bombard the town from a distance once they gained control of the battlefield, but the events of the day had changed that plan. Falignus halted the Harvester.
In a few moments after the lumbering iron golem stopped, the reformed company of First Circle wizards passed around and under it and advanced on the Tanna Varran town and into and through the front lines of the battle, achieving a breakthrough. A unit of Tanna Varran lancers quickly descended from the upper levels of the Town and engaged the Wizard company.
Falignus could see that the melee was intense, with many casualties on both sides. The wizards were showering the air with jets of fire and leaping impossibly high with their magic and pulling unwary Lancers from the air. But the Lancers were brave and well trained. They were able to use their spears to great effect, both in a hovering melee tactic and also as a thrown weapon.
Drawing power from the wizards below him, Falignus directed several lightning bolts at the flying lancers. Some missed, for the distance was considerable and Falignus still did not dare advance the sole remaining Harvester within range of the Tanna Varran siege engines. Some of the lightning bolts impacted the flying soldiers, often damaging their wings or knocking them unconscious and causing them to crash to the earth.
"Damn Gwineval’s protective spells," Falignus cursed under his breath, "our magic should be routing them."
Suddenly, down on the battlefield, a bright and forking stream of lightning began to wash over Malvert’s Wizard company from the Tanna Varran rear, incinerating wizards wherever it passed. It was intermittent and erratic, but even so, it was devastating the front of the Wizard formation.
Quickly casting his visual enhancement magic again, Falignus surveyed the scene and saw Gwineval wielding the Wand of the Imperator and blasting his wizard troops with the lightning, which did not relent, but thundered over and over again under his keen direction. The once human wizard looked uncertain wielding the Wand, yet he was still using it decisively.
Falignus, cursing to himself, scanned the front of the wizard ranks for Malvert. He could not find him. Then Falignus spotted part of an ornamental crimson battle robe lying on the ground amongst bodies and body parts. He knew that the robe had been Malvert's. It was clear to Falignus that the veteran warrior and wizard had finally met his demise.
He was about to iss
ue an order to retreat when he noticed a slightly built, hunched form near Gwineval, shuffling forward resolutely, but clearly wounded. Looking closer, he could see that it was a young woman.
Hemlock, he thought, and his pulse quickened even beyond the fever pace at which it roared within him in this moment of great stress.
He knew that he had to order a retreat, but he searched the sky for Kraven, hoping that his minion had also spotted the young girl. Falignus considered that Hemlock could probably easily slay Kraven if she was at full strength. But he quickly saw that his gamble had paid off; Hemlock clearly was far worse for wear after her battle with the Witch. Kraven would probably be able to overpower her.
Falignus spotted a winged form then, locked in a steep dive.
"Kraven has seen her!" muttered Falignus.
He saw that the winged Wizard had chosen his trajectory well, for he intercepted Hemlock directly and delivered a blow to her head. Falignus cringed at the ferocity of that blow and hoped that Hemlock wasn’t hurt badly by it. But the blow had clearly been effective, for he could see Kraven’s wings beating furiously in a climb, the limp form of the young girl cradled within his arms.
Some Tanna Varran lancers made an attempt to intercept Kraven, but his rate of climb was superior to theirs, as was his speed. He was returning to the Harvester and would clearly outpace any reaction by the Tanna Varrans.
Refocusing himself, Falignus scryed with a subordinate commander and sounded the retreat.
Looking again with his magically enhanced vision, he spotted Gwineval again. The Wizard looked frail and extended beyond all endurance, yet his eyes burned. He was looking directly at the Harvester, as it turned in retreat. There was a determined defiance in Gwineval’s eyes, the image of which remained with Falignus for many hours afterwards.
"Gwineval, your ambition has exceeded my expectations. But don’t doubt that we shall meet again," Falignus muttered under his breath.
BOOK THREE