Dragon's Rise

by Lou Hoffmann

  Thurlock did stop the well-intentioned assault on Lucky’s back, but his eyes narrowed in a look that Lucky interpreted as an “are you out of your mind” expression.

  “What are you talking about?” Thurlock asked. But then he followed immediately with, “Never mind for now, just get your breath back and straighten yourself up. We need to get inside for this meeting. It’s past time.”

  “We’re late?”

  “A little. But you say that like it’s a bad thing.” Thurlock wore a small but smug smile as he stepped up to double doors made of stone just like the rest of the building. “Thurlock, of Ol’Karrigh and Luccan, of Ol’Karrigh and Drakhonic,” he said, and though there was no guard or doorkeeper in evidence, the stone doors opened ponderously, with a grating sound.

  They stepped through to find a busy lobby with a long, curved desk occupying the wall opposite the doors. Men and women behind it scurried around checking parchments and providing notes and keys and whatnot to various people as their turn came at the counter. It kind of looked like a bank, Lucky thought, and started to step into the shortest line.

  “No,” Thurlock said. “Come on.”

  They rounded a curved corner beyond the end of the desk, and started up a wide, elegant staircase. Perhaps the upscale trappings in the lobby and richly patterned, thick carpet on the stairs should have prepared Lucky, but the room at the top—eight flights up—left Lucky openmouthed with surprise.

  Expansive, with high ceilings and triangular windows filling half of the circular walls, it felt light and airy, and Lucky thought perhaps the word majestic could be used to describe it. Also, intimidating. Because seven people sat facing the door on a raised stage at the far end of the room, the narrow rectangle of the table before them harshly cutting off a third of the round space. Behind them, a brilliantly painted mural, much larger than life-sized depicted—so the engraved plaque said—“Shahna’s Victory Over the Northern Menace.”

  Three of the seven people on the stage wore blue robes with gold-colored trim, three wore plain black robes, and one, in the center, wore a white robe with black jewels set into the hem, lapel, and belt. Suspended over her head—apparently by magic—an engraved sign in polished wood read:

  Lady Ihrvania (Ol’Taryn)

  Secretary of the Sunlands Council of Wizards and Witches

  Similar signs identified the blue robes as members of the Rules Committee: Jehmes (Sehlskin), Lohlina (Ol’Taryn), and Behrus (L’Rence). The three black robes belonged to Jahno (Tohmkit), El’Rah (Ol’Karrigh), and Lady Relian (O’Shanadah) who were part of Internal Justice. Lucky wondered only briefly about how to pronounce the names and family lines. He had other things to think about.

  Along the sides of the room, silhouetted by the bright light from the windows behind them, people stood in small groups, some silent, some whispering or shuffling about. There wasn’t a single chair anywhere in the huge chamber other than the throne-like ones the seven sat upon.

  Thurlock surreptitiously touched Lucky’s hand, and for a second all sound from outside was cut off as Thurlock spoke to him—only to him, Lucky was pretty sure. Thurlock seemed to have created the magical equivalent of a soundproof booth.

  “They’re putting on a show, Luccan. Apparently you and I, together, intimidate them. Imagine how their knees would knock if Han was here too.”

  Lucky held back his smile. He’d been feeling pretty apprehensive, and Thurlock’s effort at humor helped.

  “This is simply a place for public hearings—not some kind of throne room,” Thurlock continued. “The people here are ordinary enough, and truth be told, they can’t hurt either of us in any way. Not here and now. Not today.”

  They drew close and Lucky saw the mouth of Lady Ihrvania begin to move. The magical soundproofing disappeared as she was saying, “…require you to stand and state your full name, place of birth, mother’s name, and your purpose in appearing before us.”

  “Never mind that nonsense, Ihrvania,” Thurlock said. “You know who I am, and you know who I bring with me. Make a note of that. I’ve agreed to meet with you”—Lucky noticed he didn’t say, appear before you—“to report an unfortunate incident that occurred yesterday outside the city, but within the jurisdiction of the Watch, on the road at Stehldan’s farm. The incident resulted in the death of wizard Hehlios Rhonald, of the Ol’Karrigh line. As he was a full member of C.O.W.W., I agree it’s appropriate for you and the other Council members on the panel here to have full information about the event. Please review this summary first,” he said, stepping forward to hand a scroll to Ihrvania. He waited for the scroll to become seven scrolls and get passed around before continuing. “As you can see the Watch has questioned both Luccan and myself and concluded no charges will be filed. When you’ve completed your review of the facts as they are presented in that document, please proceed with your questioning in the normal fashion.”

  The varying effect Thurlock had on people never ceased to intrigue Lucky. This time. Ihrvania looked red-faced with embarrassment. Jahno Tohmkit smiled in apparent delight. El Rah nodded without any real change in his bored expression while Behrus looked confused, and Lohlina didn’t seem to be paying attention. But the expressions of Jehmes Sehlskin and the Lady Relian turned to sneers. If Lucky wasn’t mistaken—and he usually wasn’t when it came to judging people’s intentions—their contempt was a cover-up for enmity and perhaps anger. His interest piqued, he decided to take a look with the Sight—only for an instant. Thurlock, he reasoned, hadn’t told him not to, so….

  While the panel asked Thurlock questions, and he presumably told his tale, another magical barrier—Lucky didn’t know who created it—prevented him from hearing. Lucky used the time to refine his focus until he knew exactly what he wanted to See and precisely where and how to Look at it. Then he turned the Sight on, just barely—he thought of it as on its lowest setting—and opened his Eye.

  He Looked at Jehmes and Saw nothing of importance. But then he Looked at Relian, and there it was, an echo, a remembrance of the cold darkness Lucky knew far better than he ever would have wanted. The substance of that darkness wasn’t there any longer; its touch had come and gone. And the Lady Relian wasn’t tied to it in any physical way, yet he recognized the scar it left in her mind, a change like a tear in the fabric of who she was. Whatever the force was, it had touched this woman long enough to either turn her heart, or tap into something already there. Hate? Envy? Greed? Malice? Lucky didn’t so much care for the word evil, but maybe it was the right one after all.

  He turned the Sight off less than a second after he’d switched it on. Shortly after that, Thurlock ended his report, his expression remaining calm and neutral. Lucky resolved to do his best to imitate that demeanor and tone. He set his expression to match that intention just before a kind of buzzing went through the air, and he realized he was now magically isolated from Thurlock, and it was his turn to be questioned.

  El’Rah Ol’Karrigh—a man whose dark coloring didn’t resemble Thurlock’s at all, despite the shared family name—cleared his throat before speaking with an accent that clipped each syllable sharply. “Luccan, I understand you might feel uneasy. Please just try to answer clearly and concisely according to your memory. There are no wrong answers.”

  The Lady Ihrvania asked the first question. “Yesterday, sometime between noon and dusk, were you on the road traversing Stehldan’s farm, approaching Nedhra City?”

  “I was on the road approaching Nedhra City. I know the name Stehldan’s farm only from hearing Thurlock use it a few moments ago, here in this room.”

  The woman scribbled something on a sheet of parchment. “We’re here to talk about the death of the wizard Hehlios. Did you witness his death on the road yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  They seemed to be waiting for more, but Thurlock had earlier advised, “Don’t elaborate,” so Lucky didn’t.

  El’Rah spoke up again. “Why don’t you start by telling us what happened just prior to that
incident, Luccan.”

  So Lucky told them about the arrows, the ambush, the wagon pulled across the road. He didn’t mention the Charismata, just said the horses bolted, and he thought that was okay, because he didn’t get sick at all, as he would if he’d been dishonest. When he finished speaking, El’Rah asked him to continue with what happened next.

  “I saw a man standing in the road. He had a staff, and his arms were held up in the air, and he was chanting. There was a… curtain, or a wall, maybe, made of magic and blocking the road.”

  Relian said, “And you could see this so-called magical wall, could you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Lucky said. “I could.”

  She snorted, but Ihrvania, who seemed perhaps to be in charge, gave her a sharp look, and then asked Lucky the next question.

  “What did you do then?”

  “Nothing. I kept riding.”

  Now it was Jehmes who asked in a derisive tone, “You did nothing? Why would you, the future Suth Chiell of the Sunlands, so I’m told, do nothing in the face of such a frightening—it was frightening, wasn’t it? Of course it was. You are supposed to be so very powerful, aren’t you? Destined to save the Sunlands from… hm, gods know what? Why did you do nothing?”

  He may have thought his belittling tone would somehow cow Lucky, but the truth was Lucky had been the subject of far worse taunting in his life, and besides, he knew his own worth. This small-minded man’s words didn’t even come close to touching Lucky’s hard-won belief in himself.

  Lucky said, “You asked me five questions. I’ll answer them all, in order. One, that’s right, I did nothing. Two, yes, it was frightening. Three, I don’t know how powerful I am ‘supposed to be.’ Four, some people think I will. Five, I did nothing because I had no idea what to do.”

  Finally, Jahno Tohmkit, who’d smiled with delight earlier, sat forward in his chair. His expression quite serious now, he said, “Fine, then, Luccan. Just tell us what Thurlock did.”

  “He rode past me, threw his staff into the magical wall and broke through it.”

  “And what happened?”

  “The staff hit the man in the road, and he disintegrated. The magic disappeared.”

  “What did you do?”

  This repeated question was asked quite forcibly by Relian, who’d stood up in her chair and was pointing at him. She didn’t specify when, and although Lucky suspected she might mean something else, he answered as if she’d kept to chronological order.

  “I survived.”

  “Enough,” Ihrvania said. The buzzing went through the air again, and Lucky could tell the barrier of silence had been disabled.

  With the exchange of a few words the Council asked to “interrogate” Thurlock’s staff, and he agreed. He suspended the staff in front of them with magic, and El’Rah laid a hand on its globe and went into a sort of trance. The procedure was brief—perhaps a minute or so—and when it was done, El’Rah smiled.

  “Such a fine instrument, Thurlock. Thank you. I, of course, found nothing amiss.”

  Relian spat, “I’m fairly certain you found nothing at all.”

  “True enough. What do you suggest?”

  But Relian merely made a sour face and shook her head.

  “Thurlock and Luccan,” Ihrvania said, “you may leave. Remain in the city, please, until we render our decision as to whether the Council needs to take any action regarding the death of Hehlios Rhonald of the Ol’Karrigh. We’ll have that decision by nightfall. Make sure we know where to find you.”

  Thurlock nodded at her, and then briefly met the gaze of each of the examiners before turning to Luccan. “Let’s go, then,” he said.

  Chapter Eleven: Ordinary Things in Extraordinary Times

  IT HAD been a full day, and when they rode back through the arch at the foot of the hill and into the city streets, the slow summer sunset coated everything in gold like honey. Stored warmth rose up from the cobbles, and neither Thurlock nor the horses seemed to be in any hurry to move. Lucky almost dozed in the saddle until Thurlock’s voice brought him unwillingly to wakefulness.

  “I think we should see a play, Luccan.”

  “A play?”

  “Yes. There’s a theater not far off our route from here to my apartment where some of the finest players regularly appear. Players of any ilk rarely come to the Sisterhold, so when will we have another chance? Think you can stay awake?”

  Thurlock seemed to be set on the idea, so Lucky said, “Sure,” even though he privately wondered if it would be dark enough in the theater for him to sleep unnoticed.

  “Excellent,” Thurlock said, and his spirits seemed to lift as Sherah picked up to a trot with Zefrehl following suit.

  Lucky picked the theater out from the surrounding buildings when they were still two city blocks away. It was a tall, round, haphazard fire-trap sort of wooden building painted in garish colors unlike any of its staid, single-level neighbors. Ramps and walkways circled it outside, and at intervals, open arches like numerous blank eyes revealed nothing at all about the interior. Thurlock stopped a block before they got there in front of a stable, where they left the horses in the care of a smiling, clear-eyed woman who reminded Lucky pleasantly of Aunt Rose. He said as much to Thurlock.

  “Yes! They seem cut from a similar cloth, and you know, if I’m not mistaken, they may be from a similar family line on the paternal side. Some Drakha in the mix, I believe.”

  “You know that woman?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  Lucky, walking a few steps behind Thurlock, peered closely at him. He could have sworn color rose up his cheeks. “Um… Thurlock,” he said but realized that what he was about to ask was none of his business.

  “Well, some people in the city aren’t afraid of me, Luccan. Some might even like me a little.”

  The thought of Thurlock having wizardly liaisons with stable keepers unsettled Lucky for no reason he could think of, and he stumbled over his own feet. Fortunately he couldn’t dwell on the idea, because Thurlock declared they were too early to go to the theater, and stepped off the boardwalk and into a small tea shop. They took seats at a little round table with a single bud in a vase set in the middle of it, and were greeted by an older man whose face reminded Lucky of the pink-cheeked, bespectacled Santa Clauses he used to see everywhere in Valley City in December.

  He asked Thurlock if he wanted “the usual,” but after he got a smile and a nod in response, he stood for a full three minutes at least, unmoving, staring straight into Luccan. Finally, he nodded to Thurlock. “Okay,” he said. “I think perhaps you’re right.” When he turned to walk away, the table groaned under the sudden weight of teapot, cups, saucers, spoons, and an enormous plate of cakes.

  It took Lucky a few minutes to realize that the harmless “little old man” running the tea shop was nothing of the sort. He swallowed back a sudden fear. “Thurlock,” he said, and nothing else.

  “Yes. It is wise to remember that people aren’t always what they seem.”

  The old man spoke in his most wizardly voice, the one that always transported Lucky to some other place inside his head, a place of knowing, of recognition, perhaps apprehension.

  “This man, Uhlrik, is a powerful witch, Luccan, a good ally, but not one who is easily won over. He knows me and my reputation, but that isn’t enough. He had to see you for himself.” Thurlock stirred sugar into his tea and took a large chunk of golden, berry-filled cake from the platter. Although he looked like an overgrown, eager little boy with a sweet tooth, his words sounded like a proverb. “Always look for that kind of ally, Luccan, the kind guided by their own lights. They are the least likely to fail you in a time of need.”

  The tea was good and refreshing, the cake was sweet but nourishing, and when they left the tea shop, Uhlrik said, “Thurlock, Luccan, let me know how to help when the time comes.”

  LUCKY DID no sleeping at the theater. Thurlock seated them high in the loges so they had a bird’s-eye view of the stage, which was a circula
r platform in the middle of the round. Looking around, Lucky realized they also could see most of the audience, and he thought that might be equally entertaining if it wasn’t for the magical technology of the program. The square of parchment was designed to be returned and would go blank at the end of the play, but in the meantime, it doubled as a magical window one could use to get a close-up view of the action on the stage.

  When he saw that the play was entitled The Fall of the City of Suns, it snagged Lucky’s attention. He was surprised—and not a little disappointed—to see nothing on the stage that resembled what he’d seen when Ciarrah had shown him a city with that name. There were no statues with six-rayed suns atop them. The streets were not gleaming golden. The people did not rejoice. And in the play, the city’s downfall was fault of the prince—the very prince whose shoes he had filled, Lucky thought. The city burned, was flooded and then buried because that prince refused to appease a god of fire.

  Which, given what Lucky and Thurlock had heard that day about the message Mahros and Hehlios had been spreading in the city, seemed like purposeful propaganda. Lucky divided his attention between the play and the effect it had on those watching. He noticed Thurlock rarely glanced at the stage at all, instead watching the people the entire time. Many of the audience members left early, leading Lucky to believe the production wasn’t what they expected. Among those who stayed, some seemed angry, some confused, some scared, but none simply entertained.

  Thurlock led him out of the theater immediately after the short final act—the burning of the prince in a divine blaze—pulling him through the crowd by magic, literally. Even so, Lucky caught some of the faces watching them as they passed, and he thought of the saying, “if looks could kill.”

  When Thurlock had bid the woman at the stables a lengthy, private good-night and he and Lucky were again mounted and riding back to the university, Lucky asked, “Did you know what the play was going to be?”