Hemlock And The Dread Sorceress (Book 3) (11 page)

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, thank
ing 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.