by Lou Hoffmann
“Salamanders,” Thurlock corrected.
“Right, in the Greenwood—”
“A lot more than usual,” Thurlock interrupted again. “I believe the lab we laid waste to in the city may have been operating for some time.”
“Makes sense,” Han said. “But now it seems they’ve disappeared. People have been thinking they’ve all been slain, but reports have come in from the west coast that blues are gathering, flocking—”
Thurlock snorted.
“What?” Han asked.
“Blue dra… er, salamanders do not flock.”
“Right,” Han said. “That’s what I said when I heard about it, but—”
“From who?” Thurlock said.
“Tennehk.” Han was getting annoyed with Thurlock again—he didn’t like to have his words dismissed, and he especially didn’t like to be interrupted before he could finish saying them. But he looked around at the others present and saw the doubt on their faces too—even Tiro looked puzzled. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll show you the conversation, so you’ll hear it for yourselves.” As tired as he was, it took some effort to project his memory to everyone present, but at least it was easier than showing a whole room full of wizards, witches, and scholars the entire Battle of Black Creek Ravine, which he’d had to do the previous summer at the university. After a couple of deep breaths….
Tennehk sat across from him at a table outside the manor house, cups of coffee steaming in the cool morning air. On a break from his work in the infirmary, he looked frazzled. They’d exchanged the usual greetings, but Han knew this wasn’t a social call, so he wasn’t surprised when Tennehk got right down to business.
“I’ve only got a minute, but I’ve got some intelligence that’s a little weird, so I wanted to share right away. As you know, we’ve had more than the usual number of blue drakes haranguing folks in the Greenwood. But now, they’re gone—or at least they seem to be. Hunters are taking credit for having obliterated them, but I think it’s unlikely. Partly because… well, it’s just plain unlikely, but also because now there are sightings in the west. West Haven at first, then Home Port, and now it seems they’ve moved on to the coast of the Northern Ice, and they’re flocking near the cliffs around Hope Inlet.”
“Flocking?”
“That’s what I’ve heard. That’s what some trusted people have seen.”
Han said, “Huh,” because that was all he could think of to say. He chewed on the idea a bit and then added, “Strange.”
“Exactly. I have to get back to work, but I’ll have another report on other stuff soon.”
Han let the projected memory fade. He didn’t waste time polling his visitors about whether they believed him now—Thurlock and Tiro both knew Tennehk’s reports were reliable. He directed his next words to Bayahr. “I’m wondering if you might be able to go by that route on your way to the cairnwights’ lands. At least you can assess the situation, but perhaps you can also do something about it. I know you’ve got a great deal of ability with the elements, and these flawed creatures might be vulnerable to some manipulation. What do you think?”
Bayahr looked to Tiro. “If my comrade doesn’t mind?”
Tiro said, “I see no problem with venturing west and then north, as long as we can travel mostly underground and the wights and wolves won’t suffer with the weather. It will, however delay our ability to help their homelands.”
Bayahr answered, “I can, I think, minimize the time lost by using a couple of wizardly tricks.”
“Ah,” Tiro said. “Well, then.”
Now Bayahr turned back to Han. “As to my prowess with the elements, young man, they may be overdone in the stories one hears, but I might be able to coax a wind to whip up the waves and upset the drakes. Generally, they can’t swim.”
Han smiled. “Perfect.” He thanked him and Tiro, and then turned to Thurlock. “Sir, what about Morrow’s lands? Can you do anything about the drought?”
“Not me,” Thurlock said. “Not any wizard or witch I know. I can brew a storm, now and then. But change the climate for a season or longer? No.”
Tiro spoke up. “L’Aria and I will retreat into the water once we’ve delivered the wights and wolves through the caves. We’ll try to find what is causing the absence of the rains. We cannot go into Morrow’s land, I’m afraid, or at least I can’t, as I’m bound to Ethra. But water is different—I hope it might all be of a piece, so to speak….”
Han hesitated. He wanted to ask for L’Aria’s help in battle—she’d saved lives in Black Creek Ravine the previous summer. On the other hand, he didn’t want to put her in danger, and with the things they’d both recently gone through, he thought she and Tiro needed to be together. Finally he said, “Tiro, please stay safe, both of you. I’m rather used to L’Aria’s sass.”
Tiro shared one of his rare smiles. “I’ll do the best I can, and we’ll Sing for your safety and success as well, Han Shieth, when we can.”
ONCE THE garrison had quieted for the evening, Han’s sergeant had gone home, and his office had become a lonely place, Han packed up some and took his work home with him. Something tapped against the window of his little house just as he was putting his solitary dinner on the table, which was otherwise crowded with scrolls, books, maps, diagrams, and two different prototypes of magically enhanced crossbows.
He looked down to the small window-box planter outside, and saw half-hidden in nasturtiums, a tiny parchment scroll with the stylized T on the wax seal that meant it came from Tennehk. He smiled as he stepped out to get it, wondering if he’d been so absorbed in his worries he’d missed both a mental call and a knock on the door, or if Tennehk was just reverting to old habits. Just before he reached for the message, he glanced up at the full moon, yellow in the clear eastern sky. A large bird crossed in front of it as he watched, and Han thought of Henry—something Han did often.
He felt a wave of loneliness as he realized it had been three days since he’d even seen Henry’s face. He’d stayed away ever since the shifters’ little ceremony pledging loyalty, which Han still felt uneasy about. Thurlock had thought that commitment from the shifters was a good thing, and he didn’t share Han’s misgivings at all.
“You’re obviously a leader, Han, and you’re coming into your own destiny. I told you that was in the works. I don’t know why you should be surprised.”
Nevertheless.
Thoughts of Henry and the shifters led to thoughts of Henry and the shifting lessons, though, and that led to thoughts of Naht’kah and her unwelcome assurance that his shift would, at some point, become truly physical. He hadn’t told Thurlock—or anybody else—about that. He wasn’t sure why he’d kept it to himself, but he had no plans to spill that particular kettle of beans any time soon.
He sat down in front of his supper bowl—which actually did have beans in it—but when he went to pick up his spoon, he realized he still held Tennehk’s message, and opened it up.
H—
Some good news, some not so great. Get in touch. I’m on overtime at the infirmary.
—T
A chill passed up Han’s spine, raising the hair at the back of his neck. He recognized it for premonition, and it made him not want to find out what Tennehk knew. He shook his head, wondering how he’d ever come to be a warrior, a general, the Wizard’s Left Hand, and a god-be-doomed dragon, as all his life his first impulse was to avoid unpleasantness. But experience had taught him that if he dreaded something, to delay dealing with it only made it worse. He was tired and wanted nothing more than some time alone with his beans and his worries and few hours’ sleep. But this would be important, so Han wasted no time.
Two spoonfuls of spicy beans, a half mug of mead, and a quick walk across the green later, he found his friend and favorite spy tending pots of boiling bandages and healers’ tools.
“Tennehk, what’s the news? Damn, you look as worn out as I feel. Did something happen?”
“An influx of people feeling disorient
ed and depressed, which connects up to the intelligence I’ve got. I’m sure you already know Mahros is dead—or at least everybody believes he is. After his run-in with Thurlock, his body was picked up by the Watch. It disappeared from the city’s night house, but officials wrote that off to some fanatical followers sneaking in and stealing it for rituals, or something. Anyway, dead or not, he hasn’t been seen or heard from since, and it appears he had more of a hand in the unrest at the Sisterhold than I’d thought. Ever since he’s been out of the picture, people who were acting belligerent are showing up not remembering why they’ve been angry, and they get depressed when they realize the trouble they caused. Two of the people we had to hold for their own safety were involved in the attack on Luccan when he first came home.”
“So… mind control? The healers see it that way?”
“Pretty much, although I’ve noticed some at least have been people that weren’t always the best citizens to begin with.”
“Hm. Maybe that made them more vulnerable.”
Han walked over to the window so he could peer through the trees and across the green at the wizard’s house. The tower windows glowed with the clear light of Thurlock’s magical lamps. The old man was up and working.
“I’ll talk to Thurlock,” he told Tennehk. “I’m pretty sure he’ll agree that regardless of their past records, we need to make it clear that their actions under dark influence will not be held against them. Otherwise it’s likely they’ll end up causing more trouble, one way or the other.”
“Yeah. Let them live with themselves easier too. I’ll alert my people to keep an eye on them. Need to pay them, though.”
“Leave me a bill in the usual way, Tennehk. I’ll see to it you get paid before I leave on campaign.” Paying for spies was one expense Han wouldn’t attempt to economize on, though he valued intelligence about a battlefield enemy more than this sort of political news. The Earthborn Sun Tzu, in The Art of War, laid it out plainly. War disrupts a lot of lives, hurts lots of families, and often leaves them poorer than it found them. Every advantage was necessary, and knowing what your enemy was doing was the greatest advantage of all. Spies are necessary, he said, and begrudging the money they cost is “the height of inhumanity.” And if they’re expensive, “none should be more liberally rewarded.”
“Was that the good news or the bad? And do you have anything about the military situation?”
“Not sure if that’s the good or the bad. I thought you could decide.”
Tennehk’s flashed smile somehow took some of the burden off Han’s shoulders, but the slight relief lasted no more than seconds.
Tennehk sobered and answered Han’s second question. “Yes. I’m relieved to say a couple of my people have finally reported in from the Fallows. That, in my opinion, is the good news. The intelligence may be more of the not-so-good stuff. There’s quite an operation going on near the Giant’s Hand. But the enemy is up to something else too. They’re hiding it pretty damn well. I know they’ve got some… troops, let’s call them, and supplies, maybe weapons, coming into the foothills around the valley. Looks like they intend to engage there. But a goodly number of them show up, and then they’re gone. I haven’t been able to find out where they’re going.”
This wasn’t all news to Han. Combining this intelligence, Luccan’s dreams, visions, and library findings, and his own knowledge, experience, and instincts, he was more certain than ever that he understood the enemy’s strategic intentions—including the part they didn’t want him to see.
“Thanks,” Han said. “Useful info.”
He put a hand on the door handle preparing to exit the supply room, but turned back around before opening it. He smiled gently. “Stay safe, Tennehk.”
“Hey, you too, Han,” Tennehk said, returning the smile in kind. “I’ll let you know if I find out any more.”
“And send me that bill.”
Tennehk laughed, this time at Han’s retreating back. “Oh, I think you know I will.”
HAN FOUND Thurlock in his tower, working just as hard as Han in preparation for the coming fight. His part would be crucial. Magic and Naught and the strange immaterial beings Ethrans called gods—these were things Han had no power to fight, and they were the very foundation of the enemy’s strength. Thurlock was spending these last available hours to dig through everything he could find, trying to garner solid information about how the Terrathians and their allies—Earthborn and Ethran, dead and alive—were doing the things they were doing, and what might stop them.
“You look exhausted,” Han said.
“And feel that way. But you’re faring better now? Tea?”
“Sure, thanks. Some better, I guess.”
Thurlock shoved some papers to the side, set out cups, saucers, sugar, and spoons, and set the kettle over the flames. While he measured tea into an ancient ceramic pot, Han picked up the conversation, responding more fully to Thurlock’s comment.
“I’ll sleep in the saddle tomorrow. I’ll be fine.”
“Have you given more consideration to what we talked about? Are you still planning on riding out with the troops?”
“Yes, definitely. We’ll all ride out together—you and Luccan too, with the splinter group—for reasons of deception. Then you, Luccan, and the selected unit ride around the back route toward Giant’s Hand while I’ll rejoin the primary attack force and take my half to Erihk’s Fall. We’ll run a two-pronged attack they hopefully don’t know about, counter to their attack that they think we don’t know about.”
“Complicated,” Thurlock said and—the kettle having boiled magically fast—filled each of their cups with steaming tea. He set an opened, plaid paper package of Walker’s Shortbread cookies on the table between them, and sat down. Over the top of his teacup, he said, “I won’t pretend it’s not a relief you’ll be with me for that first part. It’s a tricky bit of magic we’ll be working, and if I had to keep tabs on the mundane stuff too… I don’t know how well that would go. I’ll have some other magical folk there, but… well, I’ve relied on you too long, perhaps, Han. You’ll have other priorities, I know. But for now… well, I’m just glad, anyway.” He followed his lame finish with a smile.
“You keep saying things like that.”
“Other priorities?”
“Yeah, but hey. I don’t want to talk about it now, okay. I came to let you know what Tennehk just told me, and to find out if you need me to do anything tonight.”
The conversation was short. Thurlock agreed to the “forgive and keep watch” approach on the people who’d been causing trouble while under dark influence. He didn’t need anything.
“Han, do get some sleep tonight if you can. I know you well enough to know you’ve already checked things through three times at least. You’ve planned as well as it’s possible to do so. Tomorrow you can deal with tomorrow’s problems. Please, my friend, rest.”
Han sighed. The wizard was right as usual. Beating the dead horse of self-doubt about the events to come would serve no purpose. “Okay, sir. I’ll sleep—if you’ll do the same. I suggest aspirin for your headache, and some deep breaths for your blood pressure. Put the lights out and go to bed.”
Thurlock’s bemused smile and raised eyebrows brought a chuckle from Han.
“My blood pressure is fine, Han.”
They laughed, said good night, and parted for once on the best of terms, Han fully intending to take Thurlock’s advice and get a few hours of much-needed shut-eye.
Sadly, it was not to be.
He was met by a breathless messenger on the way across the green to his house.
“Sir,” the young woman said, panting as if she’d run all the way from the garrison headquarters—which she probably had. “Sir, Lieutenant Lem asks you to come to the jail ASAP.”
“Jail?” Han realized that bleary one-word response might make him look drunk or stupid, so he elaborated. “He wants me to come to the jail? Now?” Probably not much better.
“Yes, sir. That’s
what he said.”
“Why?” Han shook his head in an effort to clear it. “No, never mind. I’m sorry. I’ve got the message. Thank you. Are you headed back there now?”
“No, sir. I’ve been asked to bring a healer back as well.”
Han nodded, though he was completely mystified. “Very well, then,” he said, and after receiving and returning the casual salute customary in his army under such circumstances, he started walking again, adjusting his direction to take him to the military compound instead of his longed-for bed.
He stopped at the door to the jail office and sighed deeply before opening it. Lem greeted him and launched directly into an explanation.
“They came back, sir. The soldiers who were out there in the east valley with Mahros that day. Turned themselves in. They’re all twisted up. I mean, breakin’ down in tears, sir. It’s like they did na’ know what they’d done, or why they’d done it.”
“Ah,” Han said. “Makes sense.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but how’s that?”
“Mahros is dead, Lem. Some folks got possession of their own minds back, it seems. They’re in the cells?”
“Yes, sir. Well, considering we’re looking at treason and all….”
“Agreed.”
Han pushed open the swinging doors that led to the guardhouse and went in to stand outside the cells where the traitors were held. He stood there for some time, watching them cower, sitting on their cots and stealing glances at him. He wasn’t in uniform, but there wasn’t a chance in hell they didn’t know who he was. Anger rose slowly to a rolling boil inside him. He remembered what he’d overheard in their thoughts. They might have been subverted by Mahros, but they hadn’t been innocent.
After contemplating for a long moment more, he turned to Lem. Normally not much of a stickler for protocol, this time he wanted every bit of the respect he was due. “Shouldn’t these men be at attention and saluting, Lieutenant?”
Lem turned to the sergeant who had charge of the jail that night. A look was enough. The sergeant, whose name Han didn’t know, barked out an order in a manner worthy of any drill master, earning Han’s respect and causing the men in the cells to jump up and snap to attention, their salutes more precise and their backs straighter than at probably any time since they joined the Guard.
