Dragon's Rise

by Lou Hoffmann

  Lucky heard the little dragon speak in his mind—just like speaking with Han, but more in ideas than words. The sensation sort of itched and tickled, but Lucky understood her.

  “Sahsha,” she communicated.

  It was her name, and Lucky told her all of his names in return.

  And then she said, or made him understand, “I will not forget you.”

  She flew away without further ado, her emerald wings flashing bright in the sun.

  Lucky turned to Thurlock expecting wisdom or scolding, but the old man was dumbstruck.

  Finally Thurlock said, “What a wonderful thing,” and turned toward Zefrehl.

  “Where are we going?” Lucky asked.

  “The Quarter. We need to talk with some people there, let them know why you left—which you can also explain to me—and make sure they don’t feel they are to blame.”

  “I don’t think they’ll want me back there, though. I did magic.”

  “Did you? We’ll see how they feel about it, I suppose. Sherah is there, so that’s where we are going, regardless.”

  “But what about Mahros? I mean, his dead body is still there.”

  “Yes. Or at least I think it’s dead.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes. Some wizards have the ability to temporarily vacate their body. But I’ll send the Watch. Hopefully, they’ll find him one way or the other.”

  They rode double, and Lucky found he could almost see over Thurlock’s shoulder.

  “Han,” he mind-spoke. “I think I’ve grown.”

  Han’s silence on the other end bothered him. Nevertheless, he fell asleep leaning against the great bulwark that was the wizard Thurlock.

  LUCKY HAD been all wrong about the way the people of the Simple Way would think about him. Although there had been some outcry—the Followers had malcontents as does every community—concerns had been laid to rest when the people whose lives (and kitten) Lucky had saved and those who’d worked with him in the bucket line spoke out in gratitude, and Almirah, Kahnalee, and Arnohk added their influential voices. Then the elder Traveler, whose name Lucky still didn’t know, explained that his “people” had started tracking Lucky as soon as his departure was discovered.

  “One among us who has the needed skills saw that Luccan had sent that spoiled energy into total retreat. The young Suth Chiell’s signature was all over the magic he’d done to accomplish that.”

  Having forgiven him—and even being grateful for what he’d done in the fire and afterward—the people of the Quarter wanted him and Thurlock to stay for a feast and celebration of life in their honor. But Lucky, still confused about whether he’d done good things or just made things crazier, was glad when Thurlock said they needed to leave.

  “Thank you,” he said, speaking to the crowd, “but I believe it’s best if we make haste to leave the city. We’ll return when times are better, and you have our gratitude.”

  Lucky was so pleased with the idea of getting the heck out of Dodge, as the Earthborns sometimes say, that he didn’t even care Thurlock had spoken for him without asking. Zefrehl had been tended and watered while they spoke with the people, and she was waiting with Sherah. Thurlock whistled for Sherah, and both mares trotted out from the stables just as Thurlock and Lucky arrived. They mounted up, and Thurlock gave Sherah directions in his usual undetectable way. Then Thurlock settled into his saddle and pulled out the note Lucky had written him.

  It was still sealed, and Thurlock looked at him with what might be called side-eye as he broke the wax and unfolded it. Lucky tried to decipher his expression as he read it, but the only thing he saw for sure was a softening of the hard line of his mouth just before he folded it carefully and put it in one of his bottomless pockets. After a few minutes riding side by side in silence, Thurlock reached over and gave Lucky’s shoulder a squeeze. Lucky looked at him and as surely as if he could read minds the way Han could—which he couldn’t—he knew that what had touched the old man’s heart were the last words in the note, “I love you both.”

  He was glad he’d thought to add the postscript, but he hoped Thurlock knew he hadn’t done it to try to stay out of trouble. He really meant it. They were his truest family, and he felt fortunate indeed to have them. Hank George, back in Black Creek Ravine when Lucky was twelve, had taught him what it was to be loved and love back. But if it hadn’t been for Han and Thurlock, he might have forgotten the lesson.

  Chapter Nineteen: Power—Magical, Personal, and Political

  THE ROUTE they traveled to get back to the university was much shorter and more direct—and less disturbing—than the way they’d taken to get to Almirah’s café.

  “Thurlock,” Lucky said as they entered through the university gate once more. “Why did we take the long way to get to the café? I mean, it wasn’t like the scenic route or anything.”

  “I needed to see the city. I learned things I should know. So did you, which was equally important. By the way, have you been in touch with Han?”

  That was something that had been bothering Lucky and now he shared his worry. “No! I mean, a couple times, for a few seconds we connect, and then it’s like I lose the signal, or something. It’s kind of scary. I mean, since we got back from Gahabriohl, our mental connection has been stronger than ever, effortless both ways. What do you think is going on?”

  “Ah. Well, I don’t know, Luccan. Some kind of magic, maybe, or perhaps just the world’s energy is so confounded at the moment that things like mental signals aren’t getting through. I don’t know much about mind speech—I don’t think anyone really knows how it works.”

  “Thurlock,” Lucky said, “that’s hella scary.”

  “It is. I won’t pretend it doesn’t scare me too.” Thurlock let an ominous silence rule for a quarter mile or so, then continued. “Since we’ve been here, I’ve learned that what I thought was bad is indeed worse. The rot that has been planted has taken root and gone to seed in the population. People are believing lies, and they’re afraid. To make it so much worse, they’re afraid of the wrong things. I could go into more detail, but I think you’ve seen it, and I believe you understand the significance, even if you don’t yet quite realize how much you know.”

  Now it was Lucky’s turn to be quiet. But after they’d trotted on a few blocks farther, he couldn’t hold back what he felt. When he spoke, it was almost an outburst. “I’d rather not know, Thurlock, sir. Really. I just want to start the whole thing over and skip this mess.”

  Thurlock reached over and patted his shoulder, then gave the back of his neck an understanding squeeze. “Wouldn’t we all,” he said with great feeling. But then he breathed in deep and sighed before continuing in a businesslike tone. “When we get back to the residence, we’ll have only a few minutes to refresh ourselves, and then I’ll escort you to the research library and get you started on your task.”

  “Wait…. Aren’t we leaving the city? I mean, it doesn’t seem like a very friendly place, and you said—”

  “I’ve killed… I’ve probably killed another wizard, Luccan. Authorities, such as they are, will want to talk to me.”

  Lucky hesitated, rearranging the reins in his hands, shifting in the saddle, nervous. But he had to ask. “Won’t they want to talk to me too, sir?”

  Thurlock smiled, but it wasn’t a happy expression. “They certainly will. I plan to say no. And yes, I have the power—magical, personal, and political—to do that. I try not to throw my weight around too much, because usually rules are for the good of all. But in this, at this time, with so few people we can trust….”

  From the troubled sound of Thurlock’s breathing and the way his cheek was twitching, Lucky thought he had more to say. He waited, but after they rode into, through, and out of the busy merchants’ district, he decided he’d waited long enough and he asked his question. “So, where will I be, if you’re going by yourself? I mean, I’m sorry, but it didn’t work out so well when you left me at Followers Quarter.”

  Rather
than answering right away, Thurlock stopped outside the tea shop they’d visited before near the theater. “Let’s have tea,” he said.

  This time they dropped their reins and left the horses at the edge of the street, and Lucky followed Thurlock into the small, cheerful establishment. He was pretty sure Thurlock had something on his agenda there other than tea, but anyway Lucky didn’t mind the idea of snacking on some of the fancy little cakes. It wasn’t the owner, Uhlrik, who came to the table, but a smiling young woman.

  To Lucky’s astonishment, she curtsied. While she asked for their order and Thurlock gave it, Lucky tried to imagine L’Aria doing such a thing, and consequently had to hold back an urge to laugh out loud. He redirected his attention in time to hear Thurlock add an additional request.

  “Chahndra, please tell your grandfather I wish to speak with him on a matter of importance.”

  She nodded, and in a moment, brought their tea and cakes. Lucky shoved his concerns aside to concentrate on snacks until Thurlock quietly answered his earlier question.

  “While I’m dealing with reports and tending to a couple of other chores, I believe the best place for you will be at the university’s research library. I’d like you to try to find images that match those that have come to you in dreams… or visions, perhaps, and the scenes you were shown by the Terrathian being. It could be a great help to us to know where the major battles will be fought.”

  “But, like I said….” Lucky let his objection dangle. He’d already told Thurlock what he thought.

  “Yes, yes. I understand. I’m not sure I agree that your stay at the Quarter was such a disaster. Something important happened because of it—that laboratory dismantled and Mahros… eliminated. Also significant, the people of Followers Quarter got a wake-up call, as the Earthborns say. They like to be separate and apart from the rest of the city, but in this… well, I think they see they are included in the trouble whether they like it or not.”

  Thurlock tested the temperature of his tea, then drank down the cup and poured another. “That’s so very good,” he said before continuing to address Lucky’s concerns. “For the time you won’t be at my side today, I’ll ask some trusted people to look out for you, on the sly, but mostly, I’m putting my trust in you. You still have growing and learning to do, Luccan, but you’re not a child anymore. I’ve weighed the options and decided it’s better to leave you to your task there while I go about my business. I’d like to leave tonight. Originally, I’d planned to stretch the visit another day, but I fear that what works against us is moving fast. I want to finish things up and get gone.”

  Thurlock stopped talking long enough to eat three of the cakes left on the plate—which didn’t take long as he downed each in one bite and barely chewed. Then he smiled at Luccan. “And there are young people who work at the library. You never know, you might enjoy your time there—it could be a bit of a break from the troubles. And just in case you ever wonder, my boy, I want you to know that I love you right back.”

  The lack of transition between the first part of Thurlock’s statements and the last sentence left him momentarily confused, speechless, with his mouth open. Then he never had a chance to respond, because Thurlock got up, bid Chahndra good day, and headed for the door, leaving Lucky to stuff down a final cake, wash it down with tea, and rush to catch up.

  “Uhlrik is at home, and asked that I visit him there,” Thurlock said as he started up a narrow wooden staircase at the side of the building. “It’s usually best with Uhlrik not to talk more than you have to in order to be polite.”

  The door creaked open in response to Thurlock’s knock, and Lucky followed him into a cramped upstairs apartment full of the kinds of things he expected in the apartment of an old man. Family portraits lined the walls, some so realistically rendered they resembled photographs, some that moved like video clips of happy moments. Faded woven throws covered a narrow bed in a room they passed by on their way through a tiny kitchen. A very large stringed instrument—a harp of sorts, Lucky guessed—occupied about a quarter of the tiny room where Uhlrik sat at a worktable snipping pungent dried herbs into a pan of water.

  “Good day, Uhlrik,” Thurlock said.

  He returned the greeting only with a grunt and Thurlock’s name, then nodded at Lucky and said, “Luccan.”

  “Uh, hello, sir,” Lucky said, feeling pretty awkward.

  “You want me to keep an eye on the boy, yes?” After a brief glance up at Thurlock and Lucky, Uhlrik had returned to making precise, even cuts, and even though Lucky could see no heat source under the pan, the water had begun to simmer. The bright scent of the steam restored Lucky’s tired muscles with a few breaths.

  “I do,” Thurlock answered. “I’ll be nearby, but otherwise occupied.”

  “He’s got plenty of power of his own, no?”

  “He does. But at times he still needs help.”

  “As do we all, eh, old man?” Uhlrik chuckled, a slow sound like an engine that wouldn’t quite start.

  Thurlock’s smile was in his voice when he replied, “So true!”

  “Of course I’m glad to help. I’ll need an eyelash, young man. Come here and blink a few times over the pan.”

  Confused, Lucky cooperated perhaps too much.

  “Enough! I only wanted one lash. Now it seems I’ll be watching you for a week. That’s all. You may go. Thank you for stopping by.”

  Chapter Twenty: Two Pledges and One Good Spy

  HAN SAT up straight, stretching to relieve his aching back.

  Odd, he thought. I can ride a horse or swing a sword for hours and never a twinge, but sitting here leaning over my desk makes me feel like an old man.

  On reflecting, he realized he was an old man. At least, most people didn’t live two-and-a-quarter centuries, and even the few who inherited the longevity of the original Karrighan bloodlines would be fairly decrepit by that age without special help. His own long life and relative youthfulness was magical, he knew. Possibly his being Dragon-kin helped, but mostly it came from Thurlock because he’d bonded himself to the wizard’s welfare. And partly, Han suspected, because the wizard shored him up with an injection of magical youth from time to time.

  So maybe that’s why I feel so worn out, then. I haven’t seen the wizard much over the past year. Maybe he hasn’t had time to work in a booster spell.

  He glanced down at the maps, rosters, and communications blanketing the desk, arranged in more or less orderly piles. To the left, things he’d seen and signed or modified, to his right, things waiting for his attention, and in the middle, his war maps, which he’d just finished updating with the latest information. Framed in lacquered sehldar, one more map hung on the otherwise blank, whitewashed wall above his desk, and Han studied it, looking for movement—either a line slowly crawling across the bespelled parchment, or a flashing sun symbol. Either would show him where Thurlock was—right that moment, in real time. The only motion he saw, though, was the flicker of reflected flame from his lamps.

  He sighed. The map was a new thing, provided in the hopes of preventing a complete loss of contact, like what had happened last fall. It had been working fine, showing Thurlock’s—and presumably Luccan’s—progress through Nedhra City, until a few hours ago, when it went still. He’d tried reaching out mentally for the wizard’s familiar mind, and tried speaking directly to Luccan’s. No luck.

  He didn’t even know whether they were in trouble, and he had no quick way to find out.

  I hate this. I’m supposed to be such a warrior, and yet for all my abilities, I can do absolutely nothing.

  He remembered he had a meeting with Tennehk coming up—that very night. Maybe he could add this to Tennehk’s long list of spying tasks. He’d already overspent his intelligence budget, though, and he suspected that even as extensive as Tennehk’s network was, it was already stretched pretty thin.

  He fervently wished, at that moment, that he didn’t even have the map. It only made him worry more, and as a result amounted to one
more headache on top of all the others. A wave of discontent rocked him like a rush of energy, and he longed to be out in the open somewhere—anywhere—alone except for Simarrohn. And maybe Luccan. Although Luccan was another headache in the stack, just then. Because he was with Thurlock, and where in all the worlds was that?

  He stood up in disgust and walked over to the only window in the room. What he could see from there amounted to very little, except that several barracks were in view, and they all had light shining from windows and smoke rising from chimneys. That was unusual, because Behlishan’s Guard was a part-time occupation for most of its soldiers. A lot of people from outlying areas had responded to the call to report in, and more would be coming. Soon, not only would all the barracks halls be full, but there would be tents pitched on the perimeter.

  Han was gathering his resources for war.

  Without turning around to look, he thought about the overcrowded state of his war maps. He was glad for the magic that allowed him to remove and replace marks and symbols. He’d never really investigated the electronic devices in Earth, but he’d had the Delete key explained to him, as well as copy, cut, and paste. He thought what his core map collection could do might be similar, but the only technology used in making that possible was spell craft. The idea had been Thurlock’s, but it wasn’t high-end magic, so some of the Guard’s own magic users had done the reportedly tedious work.

  Han had just finished adding markers to show the locations of the latest troubles—magical attacks, unusual unrest, or—of the most obvious importance—appearance of the black mists or things that clearly didn’t belong in Ethra. All told, far too many incidents had occurred in places near and far, and Han had to respond to all of them in one way or another. All too often, it meant sending Guard soldiers, and he worried about how thin he was spreading them. Even with the reserves, it wasn’t looking good, because he knew—knew to the core of his well-schooled military soul—that real war was coming. In ordinary times, for ordinary events, the Sunlands military was well trained and equipped and prepared. They were able to defend against a focused attack, carry out a pitched battle, or quell isolated problems anywhere in the country. But they weren’t prepared for this, because… who would ever have thought this would happen?