Hemlock And The Wizard Tower (Book 1) (10 page)

Safreon
strode across th
e dusty thoroughfare known as Martle B
oulevard with an arm to his face to shield him from the sting of the blowing sand.  Though the hour was late, there was a steady trickle of foot traffic moving about: mostly drunks and other
ill-doers,
and the pickpockets and thieves that preyed upon them.

He was
agitated
and
his large brow was
furrowed
in concer
n. 
He had gone home after Hemlock had relieved his watch.
  He
was
restless, however, as he lay in his chamber listening to the howling winds blow through the Warrens
, and thinking of his argument with the girl
.  He tried to distract himself by work
ing on an alchemical project.  But a
s he sat before the glass jars and beakers
,
pouring, measuring,
mixing, and reading from ancient tomes, he
grew
increasingly
ill at ease.

Finally, he
surrendered to an urge to
find Hemlock and
make sure she wasn’t still angry with him
.  Safreon knew better than to ignore
his
forceful
hunches
–although they
sometimes
amounted to nothing.
 
Grabbing his staff, he left his modest home and strode into the night.

He moved through the neighborhood in a pattern designed to cover the majority of Hemlock’s favored
monitoring
positions.  He also used their call
,
which was an
o
wl’s hoot intoned in a special pattern.

After a few hours
without any sign
of her, Safreon became truly concerned.
  This brought him to Martle B
oulevard and
to the doorstep of
their favorite pub: the Red Imp Inn.

As he pushed open the heavy o
ak
en
door
of the pub,
the characteristic smells of the Inn overtook him.  A heavy scent of smoked beef mingled with beer and tobacco greeted his nose.  Under normal circumstances, he always savored this smell, for this was where he, Hemlock, and other friends and allies typically gathered for merriment and relaxation.

He noted
a few slumping forms at the bar–
none that he would consider frie
nds–and the weary looking bar
keep and proprietor of the place.

The barkeep
w
as an irascible old w
oman named Marta Martle. 
Safreon recalled that her family had owned the I
nn for several generations and
that
the street had been named in honor of her grandfather who had led a notable
monster
slaying expedition
,
which had met with
stunning
success.

Unfortunately, few of the virtues of her forebears seemed to have been passed down to Marta.  She was unfriendly and at times
,
decidedly hostile.  She view
ed
her lot in
life with disdain; she lived each day as if she carried
a great burden which one sensed th
at she yearned to unshoulder.  But
the one virtue that she had inherited was a strong work ethic and sense of duty. 
She
couldn’t bear
the thought of being
remembered as the Martle who had lost the Inn and the family’s position of honor in the Warrens. 
It
kept her going
,
despite her
poorly
disg
uised distaste for the role of inn k
eeper.  Making matters worse, her only son was an unbridled drunkard, so Marta had no
immediate
prospects for passing on her
duties
.

As Safreon approached the bar, Marta eyed him coolly.

"
Have you seen Hemlock tonight?
"
he asked hurriedly
,
immediately regrett
ing
not putting on an air of normalcy first.

"
What’s got you all tied up in knots?
"
asked Marta suspiciously.

"
No matter,
"
Safreon responded in a more controlled manner
.
"
I have a bit of news to tell her and I thought I could save some time by
asking around
before I begin to search.
"

"
I think you have me mistaken for a City clerk.  I have to attend to my paying customers
,"
Marta mumbled as she began to stride down the bar.

"
Perhaps a tip would loosen your tongue?
"
Safreon broke in
,
as he tossed a few silver pieces onto the
lacquered
bar
top
.

Marta glanced at the silver and turned back to Safreon with a penetrating glance.
"
You
want this information real bad–but you’re paying me real good–
so here
it is:  I saw Hemlock tonight;
about
two
hours ago.  She came in and ordered a drink and then left.  Didn’t talk to no one.  There you have it
–
that’s all I know.
"
  She started to walk off again
,
cupping the silver in her hand.

Safreon grabbed her arm and
took stock of
her
with an incendiary gaze:
"
Did you notice anything… unusual?
"
he asked and the final word hung in the air like challenge.

Marta glanc
ed at Safreon’s hand on her arm.  He knew that
it was not something
that
she would have normally tolerated
, b
ut something about Safreon’s gaze held her in his sway.

"
Well, there was one thing…
"
she began
,
as some other bar customers took notice of their exchange.

"
She had a
cloak
on and all
,
but I saw her bend and it looked like she had on a pair of them wings like those strange
Bird Men
like to wear
,"
Marta responded with her eyes cast skyward in recollection.

Safreon didn’t need more than a moment to be gripped with a terrible feeling
,
bordering on terror.
“You
mean the settlers from Tanna
Varra
?
"
he exclaimed.

"
Yes, them
bluish
folk.  Now get your hands off me before I call Horace!
"
Marta
spit,
recovering her usual demeanor.

Safreon
recoiled and
sat at the bar for
a moment, mouth agape, considering
the implications of this information. 
He knew that Hemlock desperately wanted to move against the Wizards, and he had to accept that her possession of the wings could be more than mere coincidence.

He hadn’t yet confided in her that he had a contact within their
ranks
,
and
that certain political factions
within the wizards
were struggling to control the future of the Guild
.  Safreon knew that the wizards
could be a threat to the Warrens.  In fact
,
he even suspected that they were responsible for the faltering magic in the neighborhood of late.  He was working with his contact in the G
uild to discover if that was
true.

Yet h
e hadn’t
shared this information with Hemlock
.  Despite her burgeoning powers, he still worried about her headstrong nature.  He feared that she lacked the self
-
control
,
at her
relatively
young age
,
to use
her
power responsibly
, and
so he often delivered information and training to her in measured doses
.
H
e felt
it
kept pace with her maturation process.

As he sat on that barstool in the Red Imp Inn, however, he was assailed with the undeniable feeling that he had made a grievous error in judgment in not sharing the information with Hemlock.  He had seen the waves of worry that had passed over
her
each
time
their
conversation had turned to her sister and
her
struggles
with her health. 
And h
e
recalled now
the
determined
look in her eyes as she had proposed moving
directly against
the
wizards
.

There was no reason for Hemlock to need those Tanna
Varran
wings besides
as a tool
to cross the Moat of Acid sur
rounding the Tower of the Wizard Guild
!  She had moved forward with her plan without him!

Suddenly
,
he surged off the bar
stool and sprinted for the door–
knocking over a tipsy
bar patron
in the process
,
who swore before he recognized the source of his upheaval.

There was only one way that Safreon could realistically help Hemlock,
and
it
could only work if Hemlock had delayed
the execution of
her plan or, by some miracle, had
actually entered the Tower and
gone undetected up to this point.  He
knew that he
had to contact the
w
izard
known as
Gwineval
,
and hope that
he would be willing and able to
get to Hemlock before any of the other inhabitants of the Tower discovered her.

…

The
w
izard Gwineval was concerned.  He had noticed an unusual occurrence within the  secure walls of the Tower.  If his senses hadn’t deceived him (and since his
"
augmentation
,"
they had been so acute as to
warrant
little doubt
that he had seen something
)
,
there was
someone or something
loose in the Tower.

His reptilian tongue flicked over rows of serrated teeth as he walked purposefully through the great
new
Oberon
distillery
that had recen
tly been completed in the Tower–
his two subordinates fearfully in tow.  He felt a twinge of guilt for having mistreated them recently.  Lately, he was having
violent
flares
of
anger–
no doubt a side effect of his recent transformation.  As a Wizard of the
fifth
circle
,
he had chosen to devote himself to the discipline of
magical
body augmentation and conversion.  He had chosen to augment himself with reptilian abilities
,
for he fancied the cunning and calm
nature of the l
izard.  And
he had always feared water and
had
hoped to be cured of that fear
, which he was
.  The transformation had many effects: most positive
,
but
some
undeniably negative as well.  The
ironic magnification of his anger
and a general loss of patience were those new qualities that
he
considered negative, and they surprised him since he had expected an opposite effect in these areas
.

As he walked, he couldn’t help but marvel at the
distillery
.  There were vast numbers of cast iron boilers used to purify the Oberon – huge pumps to move it from stage to stage in the process, and enchanted bellows that
would soon rain a byproduct
of Green Dragon fire down over the boiling vats to distill the Oberon down to its powdery essence.  All
of these machines were idle–
merely waiting for the final component of th
e wizards’ plans to increase the Oberon harvest to reach maturity
.