Hemlock And The Wizard Tower (Book 1) Read online

  Hemlock and the Wizard Tower

  The Maker’s Fire – Volume I

  4th edition

  By B Throwsnaill

  Published by Bill Ainsworth at Amazon.com

  Copyright 2012 by Bill Ainsworth writing as B Throwsnaill

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

  This book is dedicated to my family.

  Kindle 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 Amazon.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

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Prologue

  Hemlock sat nervously in a darkened bedroom as she watched an elderly man, who was dressed in a long, green robe and adorned with several long necklaces of blue and green trinket gems, lean over the bed.

  Her sister, Mercuria, lay in the nearby bed on her side, clutching her stomach in obvious pain. Hemlock noted that her younger sister's blond hair, which was usually nicely brushed, was now sweaty and matted. Mercuria's fine facial features, which resembled Hemlock's but were cast in a darker complexion, were distorted with pain.

  The man began to murmur softly, and then he retrieved a small vial from his robes and took two swigs into his mouth, swallowing hard as if the taste was unpleasant.

  Mercuria moaned softly, turning her face into her pillow to muffle the sound. Despite her concern for Mercuria, Hemlock almost chuckled at the gesture, which personified her sister's unwavering consideration of others over herself, no matter what the situation.

  By this time the old man's murmuring had risen to a chant. He began to rhythmically move his arms over Mercuria's body, starting with her head, and moving across to her feet; he then repeated the back and forth motion several times.

  Mercuria's features softened just a bit, and Hemlock became hopeful the healing would be fully effective. She could sense the restorative magical energy projecting toward her sister from the hands of the healer. But based on her experience of prior castings, she perceived that the intensity of the magic seemed to be lacking.

  The man's chanting ended.

  Hemlock watched as Mercuria opened her eyes, and then their eyes met. Hemlock felt a twinge of despair as she saw that pain still registered in her sister's gaze. Mercuria did not get up, and remained in the same position. Although Mercuria had clearly experienced some relief, Hemlock knew the spell had failed to fully take effect.

  Hemlock looked angrily at the man, who had risen to his full posture and had rested his hand gently on Mercuria's prone form. The man gestured to Hemlock and then toward the door of the bedroom.

  "Mercuria, rest if you can. Frascont and I are going to speak for a few moments in the kitchen," Hemlock said softly.

  Mercuria nodded gently in response.

  Hemlock saw that the man had waited for her to exit first, and she paused to allow him to do so instead.

  She followed him out of the bedroom and into a worn hallway that was floored with creaking boards and finished in old, dusty paint. Hemlock and her sister lived in a small apartment, and the hallway led to the kitchen, which was also the main exit to the streets outside.

  "It didn't work again," Hemlock noted with a tone of frustration in her voice.

  The old man stiffened a bit as he responded: "I did everything right. I even consumed a little extra of the potion. It should have been fully effective."

  "Well, it wasn't. We shouldn't pay."

  "Look, I have the same expenses as before, and I am doing the same things. My skills are as good as ever. The Wizard Guild still charges me the same for the potion. If you don't pay me then I won't be able to come back. And you won't find anyone else who'll do better than me or for less coin. It's not my fault."

  Hemlock believed the old man. She knew something had changed about magic in her neighborhood in recent months. Spells simply weren't as effective any longer. She thought of her sister, lying in pain in the next room, and her jaw stiffened.

  "I'll give you all of the coin I have. Cast the spell again, and use twice the potion. I want her on her feet again."

  Hemlock knew that she would be spending the last of her savings, which was a dangerous step to take when faced with the uncertainty of when she would come into money again.

  The old healer had already started back toward the bedroom when Hemlock stopped him with a question.

  "Frascont, what is causing these spells to weaken?"

  "I...I don't know," he responded. He then glanced around the apartment furtively before continuing: "but I would venture to guess the Wizard Tower is behind it."

  BOOK ONE

  Chapter One

  The night air was crisp as Hemlock, a lithe figure wrapped in a gray cloak, approached the decaying remains of a once proud structure. Heavy beams of wood, now sundered, splayed out like broken ribs, leaving the main structure sagging in some places and collapsed in others. One section of the old building, more stubborn than the rest, remained standing at its full height, and it was toward the top of this section that Hemlock directed her attention. She was able to make out a small glowing ember atop that old roof, and she shook her head condescendingly as she sprung onto the wall and scampered up the side of the building easily.

  As she gained the roof she saw an aging, balding man sitting cross-legged and puffing gently on a long pipe. His cloak and pants were a worn and non-descript brown, and were slightly ill-fitting on his large, portly frame. The familiar scent of his tobacco comforted her.

  “The whole Warrens is surely aware of you, Safreon. Why do you insist on giving away our best hiding spots by smoking that pipe?” she asked.

  “Hmph,” he grunted, mouth still on pipe, gesturing for her to sit beside him.

  Hemlock took his cue and sat, taking little stock in the commanding view of the marketplace the rooftop afforded. It was too familiar to register as anything but another place to spot the ill-tempered types who preyed on the decent folk who kept life moving in the district that extended from her position for a score of blocks in each direction.

  “Sometimes a visible deterrent is enough,” said Safreon, “and some evenings I’m just tired. Let the cutpurses have a night to consider the direction of their lives. Tomorrow I’ll resume stalking them.”
r />   “I make no such guarantee.”

  “Fair enough. They’ve been warned. If strong drink or malice blunts the impact of that warning, then they have made their choice this night.”

  Hemlock didn’t answer; instead she looked toward her and her sister’s apartment, the vicinity of which was visible, though several blocks away. Seeing all was quiet there, she turned her attention to the Wizard Tower, which loomed at the edge of the Warrens near the shore of Hemisphere Lake, which separated the low-class Warrens from the upper-class section which was simply called the Elite district.

  The Wizard Tower was taller than any other structure in the City of San Cyra. It rose to a height of several hundred feet, and was composed of seven distinct floors. The outer walls were round, and at evenly spaced intervals around the Tower a series of tall, ornately arched windows were in evidence. The glass of these windows did not transmit any signs of activity within the Tower other than a faint glimmer of light that emanated from behind many of them from dusk through the darkest hours of the night. At the top of the Tower there was an intricately shaped glass atrium that rose up from the stone below it at an equal width, and gradually tapered as it rose via a series of sharp angular transitions which culminated in a slender glass rod that extended upwards to form the apex.

  A shimmering light played around the top of the Wizard Tower as Hemlock watched.

  “How is your sister?” asked Safreon, breaking the silence.

  “Better, although that healer, Frascont, needed to use an extra potion to help her.”

  “How did you pay for it?”

  “I managed.”

  “I see. I can lend you some coins until we recover more money with no clear owner.”

  Hemlock turned to him sharply. “And what if we can’t wait that long? Why would a few coins taken as a finder’s fee be such a problem?”

  “You know why. Our enemies would condemn us, saying we are little more than thieves ourselves. They have connections, and those few who cherish the rule of law would listen to such criticism.”

  Hemlock looked away and exhaled forcefully. The Wizard Tower caught her eye again, and she blurted out something that had been simmering in her mind for a long time. “It’s the Wizards behind it all! They are the reason my sister suffers as she does. We need to do something about them!”

  Safreon did not respond immediately. Hemlock turned toward him; he merely sat, puffing on his pipe. This infuriated her, but she controlled her anger. She knew from past arguments it only ended up worse for her when she lost her temper. He always made her feel like a foolish child, and she didn’t want to cede him that intellectual high ground.

  “Remember that first night when you tried to rob me? You were a good thief—the best I’d encountered, in fact—even then. But you didn’t think the rumors about ‘Safreon the Vigilante’ were real, and you didn’t take the time to learn about me. Then, because of your ignorance, you made an error in judgment that led to your capture at my hands.”

  “A point you never tire of bringing up!”

  “Because it underscores a critical point. I’ve been studying this City and the people in it for years. I agree the Wizards must be dealt with eventually, but in due time and with subtlety. You don’t know the first thing about them. You look at their Tower and imagine we’ll attack it? It’s foolish nonsense. There are obstacles and wards. How would we cross the Moat of Acid? What of the Drawbridge of Ninety-Nine Tears?”

  “I don’t know,” conceded Hemlock, “but there has to be a way. And you do know things about the Wizards! If you just tell me what you know, then we can come up with a plan!”

  “You’re not ready yet, and my plans for the Wizards proceed along other avenues. Never confront an enemy at their point of strength when other, weaker options exist.”

  “Like?”

  Safreon puffed on his pipe again before answering. “Call it diplomacy.”

  Hemlock stood and turned to him. “Diplomacy? When my sister takes ill again, should I trust in your diplomacy?”

  “You must,” responded Safreon, rising. “Now calm yourself in the remaining night hours. You’ve agreed to trust me many times, yet here you are arguing with me again. You must have faith in me and my plans. Rest assured I will teach you everything you’ll need to know and more—but in the proper time.”

  Hemlock turned away as Safreon climbed down to the street to take his leave of her for the night. He had made her feel like a chastened child again. Part of her bristled at his lecture, but another part appreciated the truth in his words. She was at war within herself for several minutes, but, finally, temperance won out over defiance and desire for swift action.

  Though Safreon’s smoking and their ensuing argument had likely compromised her position, Hemlock was not inclined to move for several hours. She watched over the marketplace and surrounding blocks, but her eye always seemed to stray back to the heights of the Wizard Tower and the glowing dweomer that played lazily around its apex.

  An unusual motion caught her eye several blocks to her right. She was certain she’d seen something soar from a rooftop down to the street, and now she could barely make out two figures huddled there.

  She rose, reaching a full sprint in a matter of steps. The rooftop became a blur as she sped toward its edge and then leapt into the open air. She flew for several seconds before hitting a lower rooftop of an adjacent building in a controlled tumble. She vaulted out of the tumble and jumped from rooftop to rooftop, covering the intervening blocks in an astonishingly short period of time.

  As the scene on the street came into view, she saw a man of strange appearance roughing up a drunk on the street below. The aggressor was clothed only in a loincloth, and his slender and muscular body was light blue. Upon his back rested an odd pair of wings. The wings were folded and covered in feathers. Hemlock realized this was a “bird man”—a member of a group who had recently immigrated to the City from the west.

  The Bird Man was close to wresting a coin purse from the prone man, who was putting up a surprising amount of resistance, given his apparent condition.

  “Awwww, no you dowwwn’t!” slurred the drunken man.

  Hemlock skidded down the shingled roof and then grabbed hold of an iron rain gutter. She slid down the gutter, wincing as it groaned slightly under her weight, but she reached the street just as the Bird Man was breaking into a sprint with the coin purse in hand.

  He was fast, but Hemlock was faster. The Bird Man spotted her just as she reached him, and suddenly his wings extended and his feet left the ground. But Hemlock was too quick; she got a hold of the man’s belt as he rose. Though he carried her with him into the air a few feet, Hemlock was able to strike the man several times under his arm. The Bird Man lost control of his ascent, and Hemlock rode him down into a hard face first landing in the street.

  Safreon had a term for a special skill Hemlock possessed. He referred to her as being "magically attuned." He explained that meant she was sensitive to magic. She could perceive it when most could not, and she could often understand its nature.

  Just before the Bird Man had taken flight, Hemlock detected a magical spell of activation. It had been a command word and an odd, mental visualization Hemlock had perceived as a geometric pattern.

  The Bird Man was out cold. His wings appeared to be undamaged by the crash.

  Safreon’s words re-played in her mind. How would we cross the Moat of Acid?

  “This is how,” she muttered, quickly removing the wings from the Bird Man.

  She was able to wear the wings comfortably after making some adjustments to the leather straps. They were surprisingly light, and Hemlock sensed their power of flight was more magical than physical, with the wing shape serving only to amplify the magical characteristics.

  She noticed the Bird Man’s blue skin was the result of a covering of a chalky substance she had to clean off her hands after handling him. His skin was colored normally beneath the chalk.

  She tossed the coi
n purse to the drunk as he shuffled toward her, rubbing his head and cursing. Though she needed the money, her deference to Safreon carried sway in that regard. But in another, more fundamental area, his influence did not fare so well. Hemlock was heading toward the Wizard Tower.

  After she’d walked several blocks, during which time she had resisted multiple counter-attacks by her conscience, she stood in the shadow of the Tower. Its massive size was far more imposing up close, and she wasn’t without fear as she stood in the shadows of a hovel that lay close to the Moat of Acid.

  The Moat encircled the entire Tower, and its bubbling, viscous, green surface looked very threatening. She had actually witnessed a man try to cross the Moat one night some years prior. He’d attempted to slide across on the flimsy purchase of a rope attached to a bolt, which he’d fired from a small, makeshift ballista. The bolt had given way about two thirds of his way across—and had sent him hurtling into the Moat with his face contorted in a silent scream. Hemlock had wondered, prior to this incident, whether the Moat might not have really been filled with acid. But the disintegration of this man, his partially destroyed limbs thrashing above the surface of the moat, first devoid of skin, and then even of sinew, had convinced her of the acid’s authenticity.

  These threats are real. Are you sure you want to do this?

  The thought of her sister suffering galvanized her.

  And how many others suffer as she does?

  She walked away from the Tower for a block and cautiously attempted to activate the wings. Her first attempt failed, but her second worked and she felt the wings extend on her back. She felt light, and before she realized it, she’d begun to hover a few feet over the street. She wasn’t sure how to control the flight and wished she’d observed the Bird Man more closely.

  Did he extend his arms?

  She tried that and began to climb rapidly. Fearing to rise too high, she brought her arms back to her sides and she began to descend. Feeling bolder, she raised her arms again and leaned forward slightly. This time she began to fly forward as she climbed.