by Lou Hoffmann
Han continued to look at them, listening to them too, now. Their thoughts were a jumble of guilt overriding an apparently habitual sullen defiance. They were, in fact, more sorry than not, and Han supposed they would not have done what they’d done had Mahros not interfered with their minds. But maybe they were easy pickings? Maybe it was like the way people would do bad things when they were drunk that they wouldn’t when sober, even though they wanted to. Regardless, these men had aided and abetted the murder of children.
No. Just no. Han was not inclined to kindness or understanding, and he was not prepared to talk to them this night. He spoke quietly to Lem. “Keep them here. They’ll face military trial when I’m back from campaign. They’re to be treated civilly, but they’ll have no privileges beyond the right to eat, sleep, and exercise. No visitors.”
“Families?”
“No. Have the sergeant dismiss them.”
He walked away, thinking that overall, this might have been one of the worst days of his life. More than ever he wanted sleep, not wanting to endure another minute of thinking about things too horrible to contemplate. Like murder. Like war.
Chapter Twenty-Six: We Have to Go to War
THURLOCK SQUEEZED his tired eyes shut against the light, opened them, and stared at the piles of parchments, books, and magical gadgets strewn across the table in his tower room.
Enough, he told himself. With a wave of his hand he extinguished all the lights except a rainbow-flamed candle, which he then carried with him to the bath. Soaking tired muscles helped shut his brain down, and sleep wanted to follow. After twice narrowly escaping drowning in the tub, he got out of the bath. In his room, with its worn rug and the comforting quilt his sister had made for him so very many years past, he turned down the covers and sat on the bed.
Immediately he changed his mind. Robed and cloaked, he stepped to the door, but then turned back and snatched the quilt off the bed before heading downstairs.
On the stairwell, low voices came from the room across from Luccan’s, which Thurlock had installed Rio in, since Henry wasn’t there to use it. Honestly, though, he hadn’t expected the room to get much use. He hesitated, contemplating whether to bother Luccan and Rio, but he had something to say to Luccan that might be important, so after a moment, he knocked.
To his surprise, Luccan responded immediately. “It’s open, Thurlock. Come in.”
“Luccan,” he said, standing in the open door. “I want you to remember that your room is the most heavily warded place at the Sisterhold, and possibly in all of the Sunlands. That’s important, because your life matters a lot—more than I can say.”
Luccan said, “Uh….”
Wanting to be sure he conveyed the right message, Thurlock added, “Rio, your life also matters a great deal. I’m sure your father would want you to be safe, whenever that’s possible.”
Rio’s eyebrows shot up, probably because Thurlock had been so busy he’d hardly spoken to him so far. “Thank you, sir?” he finally said, putting a question at the end of it.
“You are very welcome. Good night. Both of you rest easy tonight. Dream of peace.”
With that he stepped out and continued down the stairs, out through the living room where the huge fireplace waited dark and lonely, through the dining room where the chandelier cast the candle’s rainbows against the walls, through the cheerfully moonlit kitchen and the always-messy mud porch. He exited the back door and let it slam behind him just for proof of life.
He headed to Han’s small house, where he quietly lay down a spell of peace and protection, hoping to provide for his closest friend and ally an oasis of rest from the troubles and cares of making war.
That took only scant minutes, and then, with his long legs and more vitality than a man his age had any right to, he made it across the green, past the hulking manor house—lights on only in the infirmary—and all the way to the top of the Oakridge in less than an hour. There he cast his cloak on the ground, and then lay down and covered himself with the quilt. Facing east, he pillowed his head on his hands and closed his eyes against the passing moonbeams.
He let sleep drench him all the way to the bone, keeping not even a wizard’s magical eye on the real world while he visited his youth in his dreams. He had no need for fear, here and now. He’d sleep until the God’s Breath, fabled dawn wind, brushed him awake, and then he’d raise his staff in thanksgiving while Behl’s own light filled him with new light, magic, and life.
AFTER THURLOCK left the room, Lucky and Rio stood at the window, staring at each other for long minutes. Finally, Lucky let go of Rio’s hand and threw his arms around him instead, hugging him tight, trying to say without words that he never wanted to let go.
But then he did let go.
“I’m going to my room, Rio,” he said. “I think that’s what Thurlock was telling me I should do.” He stood there, though, without moving, wanting to ask Rio to come with him, but not having any idea how to say what he wanted. Read my mind, he thought. Read my eyes. Read my body!
Finally, when the words wouldn’t come, he turned and left, crossed the hall quickly to his room and strode to the window, and stood waiting and hoping amid shadows made of moonlight, maple branches, and restless wind. He turned when he heard the door close quietly behind him, and there stood Rio. Beautiful, strong, perfect Rio, eyes full of mischief and joy, teeth giving his full, delicious bottom lip a shy bite.
In the morning, Luccan awoke to the sound of the God’s Breath soughing through the maple branches, and the old tree too near an old house squeaking and scraping its complaints. Shadows moved, but the dawn was still too nebulous to make them into shapes. Wrapped in Rio’s arms, he’d never felt safer, never held more joy inside, never known such warmth.
He turned and looked into Rio’s eyes as he awakened.
Rio smiled back at him, until he didn’t. Somber, he said, “Time to get up, isn’t it, Lucky? We have to go to war.”
LUCKY’S MORNING progressed in a rush of activity, none of it self-directed. He felt as though he were caught in a flood and could only hope to keep his nose out of the water if he didn’t fight the current. That was okay, though. He would have been lost if left to his own motivations, because he had no idea what needed doing, or what he, as at least the figurehead leader, if not leader in fact, should be doing to help the cause.
He and Rio had gotten up, washed, and dressed before dawn cast enough light to give the world color, and they stepped off the stairs into the living room just as first Thurlock and then Han came through the front door. Good mornings exchanged all around were nothing more than the quickest of formalities. The business of war was at hand.
“What more do you have to do before you’re ready, sir?” Han asked Thurlock.
“Nothing at all, Han, save call Sherah. I had thought I would have more to prepare, but realized at some point last night that I am as ready as I’m going to be. I’ll be okay for the road when the troops are.”
“Good,” Han said, nodding vigorously. “I thought I’d address the troops before they left, but I’ve decided to do it when we reach the staging area at Blackstone Junction. I’ll have them form up there, still very much in safe territory, and I’ll address them before we part ways.”
“I’ll have a gift for them too,” Thurlock said quietly, leaning a bit on his staff.
Han smiled. “Thank you, sir. I was hoping for that.”
Han was already dressed and armed for war, and now he fingered the hilt of Chiell Shan and chewed his lip thoughtfully. Lucky expected some profound statement after all that thinking, but none came.
Han repeated, “Thank you.”
Something passed between Han and Thurlock—not mental speech but an understanding so long entrenched and solid it left a print on the physical world. The soft sounds of wind, the chatter of birds, the buzz of insects, even the sounds of breath right there in the brightening living room of Thurlock’s house—all of it ceased, suspended for that moment in time. Appreciati
on, acknowledgment, familiarity, and most of all friendship flew between Han and Thurlock, wingtips brushing Lucky’s skin on the way by and raising gooseflesh. Rio took hold of his hand, and Lucky knew the moment had touched him too.
After that, Han’s “Okay, then, we’ll breakfast with the officers” seemed anticlimactic, to say the least.
The breakfast was simple. The officers ate what the troops ate—thick, hot, buttery oatmeal, slices of bacon, fresh berries in cream, and strong unsweetened tea—at a table set off from the others in the giant mess hall. Not all the troops could fit into the mess at the same time, so even while Lucky ate and received various bits of advice from the officers seated nearby, the occupants of the hall were constantly shifting. Flatware and metal trays and cups competed with several hundred conversations the entire time. Lucky had never experienced anything like it, and he found himself strangely excited to be part of something so big.
After breakfast, Han took Rio and Lucky to his office—Lucky mostly to tag along, Rio because he needed to sign papers to be part of the Guard.
“I want you to write two letters to your father,” Han said before he let Rio have the enlistment scroll. “One will go out immediately after we leave, the other is for later, if you don’t come back. I know that sounds like a cruel thing to say, but war is cruel all the way around, and the possibility of dying is real. If you can’t face that—can’t write that letter—you shouldn’t go with us.” He laid parchment and quills on the table within Rio’s reach.
Rio nodded and reached for the parchment. “I understand.”
“When you’re done with those, if you want to write to anyone else also, go ahead, but let’s be quick.”
Mayli and her sisters were there too, along with Cray and Hal.
Han turned to them. “Same goes for you. If you’re going to war with us, you’ll join the Guard and be soldiers. I’ve had your agreements drawn up. Do you have letters to write as well?”
Mayli shook her head, and her three sisters mimicked the gesture. “I’ve already written it,” she said, and produced a folded packet from her pocket. “I wasn’t sure what to do with it, so I’m glad to hear I can leave it here.”
Cray stood silent.
Han turned to him. “You?”
He shook his head. “We don’t… it’s just me and Hal now. Our family is gone.”
Han nodded slowly, put a hand on Hal’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry, boys. Hal, you are too young. I can’t let you come with us.”
Cray interjected, “What about Mayli’s sisters? Why are they allowed to enlist?”
“It may surprise you to learn—as it did me—that they are actually older than Mayli, not younger.” Han looked at Craytonh, eyebrows raised. “Not that it’s your business, and of course if you do enlist, you will be more careful about how you question me. Right?”
Cray looked more or less mortified, but that eased when Han smiled at him.
“Anyway, Haldon,” Han said, “I would greatly appreciate it if you would remain here at the Hold and help with all the things that will need doing. You won’t be alone. You’ve met Lem, he’ll be in charge here at the garrison. Rose, Shehrice, and Cook will all need help at the Hold. There are some very young orphans being cared for at the manor too. And there are always chores at the infirmary, in the garden, the woodlot. Your hands will be appreciated.”
Hal looked a little scared, but after a moment he put on a brave face and agreed. Han handed the enlistment agreement to Craytonh for his signature.
By the time everyone else was done signing, Rio had written four letters. One for delivery to Morrow immediately, and one each to Morrow, Rio’s six brothers, and his mother for later, should need arise. He was the last to sign his enlistment paperwork, and then they all made ready to go.
ALL OF the newly enlisted young people, along with Luccan, were to be part of the Central Command Unit, and they would most likely stay close to Han and Thurlock, along with a few other people of both the magical and the military sort, for the duration of the battle. They’d be going on horseback, but it wouldn’t be their turn at the stables until nearly all the regular cavalry had been there to fetch their mounts and gather their gear for the long ride south. While they waited, Han sent Rio, the sisters, and Cray to the armory to get fitted with mail shirts.
“What about weapons?” he asked them. “What experience do you have?”
Mayli reported rather smartly that she and her sisters had been competitive archers in their years attending a city school, to which Han nodded. Cray said that during a rebellious stage he’d taught himself to throw knives. Han smiled.
Rio stayed quiet.
Han said, “I suppose you have little use for weaponry on Morrow’s farm?”
Rio nodded, sucking in his upper lip as if trying to keep from speaking—an adorable expression Lucky hadn’t seen before, but one he struggled to interpret.
Han apparently didn’t have time or patience to wait for Rio to decide to speak. “Just tell me whatever it is you’re trying to keep yourself from saying. It will be okay.”
Rio inhaled deeply as if steeling himself and said, “Well, at my mom’s house? I hung out with these guys—maybe they weren’t really nice guys? But they taught me how to use a bow and a crossbow. Also I made myself a sling a few years ago, and sometimes I sneak out beyond the pasture and practice hitting giant wasps. I really hate giant wasps.”
Han laughed. “I do too, but I confess I never thought of shooting them down with a sling.” He took a square of heavy paper and a slim charcoal stick out of a pouch on his belt, and after asking Lucky to turn around, used his back as a table to write a note. “Take this to the armory,” he told Rio. “All of you go. They’ll get you fitted out.”
Lucky started to walk with the others, figuring he was part of “all of you.”
Han said, “Not you, Lucky. You’re already set for weapons and armor, and I need you to run some errands. Take Haldon. Stop by my office and tell my sergeant I reassigned the Allisyon Pikes to Captain Jaycehn’s wave. Repeat that.”
“Um. You’ve reassigned the Allisyon Pikes to Captain Jaycehn’s wave?”
“Right. After that, take Haldon to the manor, show him around, and introduce him to everyone he should know that you can find. Cook and Shehrice are sure to be there. Tell them I want Hal treated well, but not as a guest. He’s to work in whatever way he’s suited.” He turned to Hal. “Right, son? You want to pull your weight?”
“Yes… I do. Thanks, sir.”
“You can call me Han, since you’re not a soldier. We can just be friends.”
So Lucky took Hal and went about his errands, and it was something of a relief to do so. It felt normal, and he knew that within a day, everything in the world would be further than ever from that goal. Since his recent attitude adjustment about normal, though, knowing that didn’t seem to trouble him as much. Other things, like the doom of battle and everything that went with it, bothered him more.
By the time Lucky came back, having left Hal in Cook’s care, Rio and the others had returned from the armory.
“You look like a warrior, boyfriend,” Lucky said.
Rio wagged his head back and forth. “Can’t say that I feel like one, but the armor does calm my nerves a bit. And it’s nice to think I might help protect you, with a bow.”
“Are you good at it?”
“Don’t tell my father, but yeah. I think I am.” Rio smiled.
“Sexy.”
Rio laughed. So did Lucky, but then he saw Han watching the two of them with a funny little smile on his face. He was too far away to have heard their conversation, though.
“What? Were you listening?”
“No. I wasn’t. You weren’t thinking about me, I’m pretty sure, and I don’t even have a bead on Rio’s thoughts.”
“Why are you smiling like that, then?”
“I….” He stopped, looking a little guilty. “Don’t misunderstand when I say this, but I think the t
wo of you are sweet together. And I can use all the sweet I can get today.”
“Um…. Thank you? Han, I don’t understand why you can’t be… together, you and Hen—”
“I like Rio, Luccan,” Han interrupted. “You have a good sense about people—you know how to pick the best out of the bunch, or maybe you attract them to you like some kind of magnet. Either way, good for you.”
Han turned away and closed his mind, signaling loud and clear he didn’t want any mention to be made of Henry. He must miss him awfully. Maybe it’s worse because Henry’s right here, close by, but still they hardly even see each other. And now Henry will be fighting too, I’d bet. Han probably worries about him. He paused to let his thoughts settle and realized he and Han had that in common. I’m worried too. About Han, Henry, Thurlock even, everybody, but especially….
Without letting himself finish the thought, Lucky stepped closer to Rio and pulled him into his arms, not caring what anyone thought, only grateful to have him there, alive, well, and close by.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: How to Lead from the Heart
THE FIRST wave of troops—including some who were highly skilled in close fighting and sniping—had left before dawn, not noticed by the community at all, it seemed. That’s the way they wanted it, as stealth was their purpose. They’d wandered away by threes and fives, headed for the Giant’s Hand by back road and hidden path to meet up with a force of several hundred Droghona warriors already in place.
But a couple of hours after dawn, the main force of the army Han had gathered outside the Sisterhold began their exodus in orderly regiments, regaled with cheers and well-wishes, showered with forget-me-nots and tokens. Lucky and Rio were in the last group to leave, part of Han’s tail, which of course included Thurlock and other magical folk, along with a cadre of four senior officers and twenty Mounted Guard. The crowd was quieter as they passed than they had been for those who’d gone before. Although some raised their hands to wave goodbye, and many had tears in their eyes, they showed little of the familiarity and fondness the other soldiers had received.
