by Lou Hoffmann
“But I haven’t done any real magic by myself for so long, Han. And my wand doesn’t even work now.”
Han shrugged. “Maybe you need a different wand. Or something. Or no wand at all. You don’t know until you try, Rose.”
“Well, Thurlock seems to think I’m not very capable. He didn’t even trust me to take care of the Hold while he’s gone.”
Genuinely surprised, Han said, “You’re wrong, Rose! That’s not it. Sure, he probably thought things might happen that would require a bit of a strong-arm tactic—more my field—but he also expected you’d be gone at least part of the time. He wants you to talk to Ghriffon. We expect there’s another battle coming—at least one, maybe more—and Thurlock hopes you can secure a pledge of help from the flame eagles.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He was going to, but the Battle of Hoenholm happened, and of course the confrontation between Lili and Luccan, and the stuff with Mahros. And we have the shifters to deal with, to say nothing of the surviving orphans—”
“Those poor children! I’ve been helping Shehrice with them. I just don’t know how anybody could….” She more or less choked on the words and then stopped.
Han thought she might start crying again, so he didn’t say what he thought: I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot more orphans before this is all over. Instead, he steered the subject back to a safer topic. “All that stuff set Thurlock back, timewise, and in the end, he left in kind of a hurry. So he asked me to tell you about Ghriffon.”
“When were you going to do that?”
Han was actually glad to see her eyes blaze at him and hear the challenge in her voice. She was back to normal.
He said, “Tomorrow?”
She started to berate him, lovingly, he assumed, as he walked out the door, down the hall, and up the stairs. He could still hear her, though it might have been in his mind only, when he reached the infirmary and started looking for Tennehk.
After he found his friend in a room full of supplies stocking a cart with linens and other nursing supplies, he sent Rose a mental request, closing that conversation before moving on to the next, and asked her to please let him know when she was leaving to meet with the flame eagle king. He added that he loved her. She started a new rant in response, but he sent her a mental smile and blocked her.
“Tennehk,” he said. “I know you’re on duty, but if you have a moment between patients, I need to talk to you.”
“Hey,” Tennehk said. “I already know! The whole Sisterhold is talking about you and Henry, and he’s quite a nice catch. I’m happy for you, and hope it works out.”
“Thanks,” Han said. “That is part of what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t want any bad feelings between us—you’re a very good friend, and I don’t have all that many. I don’t want that to change.”
“It never will. You know me—not the ‘pick a man and settle down’ type, and also not the jealous type. But I do get how it is when there’s one person you know is right for you over all the others. I care about you, and I want you to have everything you want. We’ll go on being friends—I’ll just seek my pleasures elsewhere.” He smiled one of his quick, mischievous smiles.
Han smiled back. “Good. I also want to talk about business, though. Do you have time? It should only take a minute.”
In a few short sentences, Han told Tennehk what Thurlock wanted him to do—track Mahros. “I doubt we’ll be able to bring him in or stop him—he’s very powerful. But I’d like you to find out what he does and says, try to ferret out what’s planned. If you find the rogue Guard soldiers who were with him at Hoenholm, I do want to bring them in. I think Mahros is smart enough not to have them with him, though. He’ll have others taking their place by now.”
Tennehk had a whole network of spies who worked for him, paying them from what the Sisterhold and the Sunlands paid him. He spied for the money—as a result of his skills he was one of the richest people in the Sunlands. But that wasn’t the only reason he did it. He loved his country and the honest, fair, inclusive, and equitable way of life it represented, and he did what he could, using his resources to keep it free and healthy.
“All right,” he told Han. “I can do that. I’ll get my people on it right away.”
“And there’s something else. Two something elses. These are my initiatives, not Thurlock’s. First, whatever intelligence you might be able to gather from the Fallows, the East March, and West Haven. The Fallows, we’re looking for… strange things happening. Evidence of, let’s call it, death magic—the black mists and so forth like what was present at Hoenholm. You’ve heard about those?”
“Heard about, yes. Really get what they are, no.”
“You’re not alone. I’ve seen them and don’t quite get it. Even Thurlock doesn’t quite know what they are. But that’s the kind of thing we’re looking for. We know they’re present at the Giant’s Hand, but we don’t know if that’s the only place. I’m also wanting to know if they’re building up an army of Earthborns, with their guns.”
“Guns! That’s something we really can’t stand up to…. Sorry. I don’t have to tell you that. But, here’s a question for you. How close do you want me to play this? I mean, I’ve got people, then I’ve got sort of the inner circle. I can’t trust everyone the same.”
“Mm.” Han chewed his bottom lip. “Well, I’d rather the enemy not know how much we know about their setup. So, inner circle?”
“Got it. But be aware that means it may not be as fast as you’d hoped. Inner circle is a small group, and we’re already busy. But you said you had two more requests. What’s the second?”
Han nodded emphatically. “Nedhra City. I know you’ve got people there, right? I just need an ear to the ground. Not the university and the council and all that—Thurlock’s going to be there, and he’ll check that out. But what’s happening with the garrison there—they’re always overly independent, but lately I hardly hear from them. If you can find out what’s up with that…. Also, in the streets. We’ve had unrest here at the Sisterhold. People have been acting unusually hostile toward each other all over the countryside. I want to know how bad it is in the city, and if there are problems, who’s behind them. Can you do it?”
“The streets, for sure. The garrison… I’ll do what I can. You know we’re just not set up for this, right, Han?” Tennehk chuckled. “I mean, it’s me and a few nosy people who know how to be sneaky.”
Han returned his smile. “You’re the best option, Tennehk. And nosiness is a powerful tool, I think.” Sobering, he said, “Seriously, whatever you can do, I’ll appreciate.” He spoke honestly—he had confidence in Tennehk’s organization. But he did harbor a fear he hid even from himself as much as he could. What if all the resources the Sunlands had at their command—not just spying, but armies and wizards and whatever—didn’t prove to be enough? Maybe that fear showed through.
Tennehk directed a piercing look at him, his brows drawn together. “Hey, this is the Sunlands,” he said. “Whatever dark thing is going on out there, we’ll beat it. Right?” He held his arms out, inviting a hug.
“Right.” Han hugged Tennehk, which made the third hug he’d dispensed in a matter of hours. He thought that was plenty, and he didn’t stop to speak to anyone else on his way to his quarters, for fear they’d need a hug too.
SHERAH RESPONDED to some invisible message from the wizard by moving into a canter, and Zefrehl followed. Both horses, it seemed, were as happy as Lucky was to leave the place behind. They passed through a pair of stone pillars, which meant they’d left the stead they’d been riding through, and started up a series of low rises, each a little wilder and a little more wooded than the last. By the time they started down the other side, they were in heavier woods, though the land still felt bright and spacious. Ahead they caught glimpses of a small, peacefully blue lake, the road they were on winding along not far from its shores.
About an hour had passed since they left the place of
the snake attack, and, exhausted by the fright as well his careful use of magic, Lucky badly needed the respite Thurlock had promised. Cool relief washed over him when Thurlock guided Sherah off the road toward an open area beside the quiet water. It meant he could rest, and he’d also have some time to come to grips with a rising sense of dread which, for reasons he couldn’t explain, got worse mile by mile as they drew closer to the city.
So the horses could drink where the water was cleanest, Thurlock set his magical picket around them near a small stream that fed into the lake. Lucky gave them each a couple of handfuls of grain, mainly to thank them for working hard and for not freaking out about the snake, and then he and Thurlock set to a meal of cheese, apples, and Fiddle Faddle—another of Thurlock’s favorite Earthly treats. They washed it down with good water from upstream in the small brook, and then Thurlock cleared his throat in a meaningful way.
“What?” Lucky asked.
“Let’s talk about the Charismata.”
Lucky sighed and rolled his eyes. “Okay.” He didn’t know why the idea of something called the Charismata bothered him, but it sounded somehow frivolous, or fairy-tale-ish, and he wasn’t living in a fairy tale.
Or wait. Am I?
“Don’t assume the worst. It’s an inherent talent that comes down to you through your Ol’Karrigh ancestors, and it doesn’t hurt a bit. In fact it can help a great deal.”
“Do you have it, then?”
“No,” Thurlock said around a mouthful of Fiddle Faddle. He swallowed and washed it down with water, then continued. “It skips around a great deal in the bloodline, and it’s actually pretty rare. We know that you have it, though.”
“You know?”
“Oh yes. It’s part of the testing we do to see if a child is indeed destined to be Suth Chiell.”
“Testing?” Lucky held out his hand for some of the goodies.
Thurlock passed him the box. “You go ahead. I’ve had plenty.”
“You sure?”
“There’s always more where that came from. Yes, the testing… when we’re looking to find the next Suth Chiell, which we of course do whenever there isn’t one, we—”
“Excuse me. Who’s ‘we’?”
“A… committee, let’s say. Some older wizards who have membership both in the Sunlands governing council and the Grand C.O.W.W.—oh sorry, jargon there—the Grand Consortium of Witches and Wizards. Chiefly myself, your Aunt Rosishan, your mother… well, she was part of it, anyway, a wizard named Bayahr, a couple of other worthies and some hangers-on. But, as I said, mostly me. Now, if you’ll avoid interrupting—”
Indignantly, Lucky said, “Sorry!”
“That’s what’s called an interruption, Luccan. Do try, please. So the Charismata—one of the tests used to find the Suth Chiell—”
“Excuse me.”
Thurlock sighed and reached for the box of sweets. “What is it, Luccan?”
“Well, sir,” Lucky said, leaning forward to pass the goodies. “I’m not supposed to interrupt, but it’s me you’re talking about—my life, and when you mention this testing, I wouldn’t mind knowing a little more about it. Because, frankly, I’ve accepted your word that I’m supposed to be Suth Chiell, but if there’s any doubt, I don’t mind if the country looks at some other applicants. It hasn’t exactly been fun and games so far, you know.”
Thurlock put down the box of Fiddle Faddle and focused his deep gray eyes on Luccan. “I’m sorry.”
The compassion Lucky saw, heard, and felt coming from the old man threatened his equilibrium. Truthfully, he thought he’d been complaining of something nobody else would understand. Who but he wouldn’t want to be the ruler—sort of—of a whole country? But Thurlock’s expression made it clear he did understand, and he felt bad for Luccan. Maybe even pitied him. Lucky appreciated the wizard’s compassion, but he made up his mind then and there he wouldn’t be pitied. He’d play the role set for him to the best of his abilities, and if it was hard, so be it. He’d either measure up or he wouldn’t, but no more feeling sorry for himself, because he didn’t want other people feeling sorry for him. That wasn’t the brand of love he wanted to deserve in his life, however long or short it proved to be.
“Thank you for understanding, Thurlock,” he said, “but your apology isn’t needed. I apologize. Yes, I would like to know more about this testing, and you can tell me sometime, but I’m not really questioning my destiny, and maybe now is not the time for that conversation. You wanted me to know about the Charismata. What is it, and why is it important?”
Thurlock looked back at him, tilted his head as if trying to see something. Then he smiled. “Yes, well, it’s something you’ve always had, and you’ve used it before. It allows you to charm another being into liking you even if they have a predilection to do the opposite, although its effects are temporary. The more someone is bent on harming you, the shorter the duration will be. Still, it can save your life in a pinch, and that’s why it’s important.”
“So… I’ve used it before? It’s automatic, then?”
“Not exactly. When you’ve used it, you did so unwittingly, but some part of you called upon it. The problem with leaving it at that is the unreliability of it. If you learn to identify the intention that brings it forth, you can do so deliberately. We should practice.”
“I’m game to give it a try. How do we go about it?”
Thurlock looked around, then pointed at the lake. “In there,” he said, “are some fish. They do not want to like any human, as they know humans eat them and are generally far too dry and airy. See if you can get one to swim into your hands.”
“Uh… I thought this was for using on humans.”
“We’ll work up to that. It works on any creature with a modicum of consciousness—actually it can even work on vegetation and the like. Let’s start with the fish, though, shall we?”
Lucky rather hesitantly walked down to the water’s edge and then out on a log, thinking to get into deeper water where more fish were likely to be hanging around. He knelt on the log, but then it rolled, and he landed in the water with a splash. He couldn’t help but laugh at himself, though the water was fairly cold and far from comfortable, as he was fully dressed, including the mail shirt. But it was plenty shallow enough for him to stand, and the bottom was firm gravel, so he stayed where he was, cupped his hands together, and dipped them into the water.
Of course, the fish had all darted away lickety-split when he splashed into their safety zone, and though he stood patiently, not a one came back anywhere near him. “Thurlock,” he said, frustrated, but he kept standing there.
“It’s about intention, my boy. Intention requires focus. Think about your intentions toward the fish and know that they can sense and believe you not only do not mean them harm, but that they would find joy in swimming into your hands.”
Sure, Lucky thought. That’s easy for him to say. He heard Thurlock crunching more Fiddle Faddle. But as he stood there, trying to find the magical footing from which to launch the Charismata, he realized that he had to believe before he could know that they believed. And, how do you go about believing something?
Just do it, Lucky.
Not too much longer after that, a little brown trout came nosing into his open hands and lay on its side to look up at him. He felt a great deal of love for that little fish, but he let it go with a kind of blessing. Two more fish and a frog later, he got out of the water.
“That was lovely work,” Thurlock said. “Here, let me dry you off.”
Lucky stood waiting for a towel, and then when Thurlock instead accomplished the task with a wave and a word, said, “Duh.”
“Pardon.”
“Nothing. Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome. We need to get to the city tonight, so let’s get back on the road, yes?”
Over the next few miles, with Thurlock’s encouragement, Lucky charmed a dragonfly, a songbird, and finally a hawk. The latter was deeply miffed with itself for givi
ng in, apparently, and in a matter of less than a minute turned an angry squawk and a sharp beak on him. It only pinched his wrist, rather than harming him, but flapped off to a tree branch overhead, where it continued to scold Lucky until he was out of earshot. The big bird had found the situation demeaning, and Lucky decided never to charm a bird of prey again unless he had an extremely good reason. Definitely not for practice.
About an hour outside of Nedhra City, the steads, with their hundreds of acres, gave way to small farms. After they passed near what might be called a tiny village, they rode into a section of the road heavily shadowed by the overarching branches of wide-trunked, ancient trees—oaks, and what looked to Lucky like either chestnuts or walnut trees. He looked up into the branches, wondering if the nuts he saw growing were ripe enough to eat.
“Horse chestnuts, they call these trees in Earth, Luccan. Here we call them foolfodders. You can’t eat what they—”
The end of Thurlock’s sentence was lost to the ludicrous-seeming flutter of an arrow’s fletching, as the missile sailed past Lucky’s ear.
“Fly!” Thurlock shouted, and Lucky did, urging Zef from a walk to a gallop in less than seconds—and nobody had to tell him to raise the hood of his mail shirt.
Their escape was brought up short by a blockade—a wagon drawn crosswise between high banks on either side of the road, the horses stamping nervously in the traces, the driver not yet down from his seat.
In one swift motion, Sherah leaped over the wagon, clearing it easily, but Zef was not a match for the wizard’s mount—few horses were. She reared, bunching for the leap, but shied, nearly throwing Lucky in the process. Lucky held on desperately, aware of an arrow coming from behind him and glancing off his mail shirt at the shoulder. Thurlock, ensconced in a golden shield of light, produced a barrage of magical attacks aimed at the ruffians pouring down onto the road from either side—simple gestures and single words that tripped people up, bowled them over, or knocked them senseless.
