by Lou Hoffmann
Luccan had asked whether he and Thurlock were a couple—something he used to wish were true, but never even came close, the old wizard being far too heterosexual for that.
“But you are gay?”
Han had answered truthfully. “Well, I’m a man, and all the people I could be romantically attracted to are men. In Earth, that makes me gay.”
“What about in Ethra? You wouldn’t be gay in Ethra?”
“In Ethra, we don’t have a label like that. We’re just people.”
Luccan’s response to that had been far too optimistic. “So… nobody hates people like us… you in Ethra?”
How Han wished that were true, but it wasn’t. Case in point, Tahlina. He felt bad for her son, who shared the trait. She hadn’t expelled him from the home—Han had seen that happen in Earth, but in Ethra, where people still depended on seasons and soil for their lives, people would rarely throw away a family member. Especially a strong young son.
Han didn’t dwell on it for long—he had no time. He felt like he was in the middle of a game of political chess—just the sort of game he hated the most. While strategy was one of his strongpoints, he found strategy with troops and weapons came much easier. Predicting an enemy’s moves was a fair gamble. But when it came to other matters, he found it hard to even know who the enemy was, much less what they might do. The board was set, but more than half the chessboard was hidden from him, and whoever the enemy was, they’d had several turns before he even knew play had started. He wasn’t supposed to be the player; he was supposed to be a piece on the board. Let the hand of Thurlock, with Behlishan behind him, pick him up and put him down where he would. But the Sisterhold was noticeably short on wizards named Thurlock at the moment, so Han had to do his best to fill in.
He’d woken up early that morning with his fever down and his mind almost clear. Immediately, he realized he had to try to do something to help with the situation the Sisterhold—and by extension the Sunlands—was in. After hearing a few reports, he realized that with Liliana and Thurlock both missing, what leadership remained—primarily Lem and Rosishan and a couple of rather inept wizards—had been stretched far too thin. People who were in a position to help—troops on the ground, so to speak—would be arriving shortly to meet with Han.
He spent the time before they came dealing with his personal needs and trying to regain some sense of dignity, but he felt ridiculously inadequate anyway. He couldn’t possibly look very in-charge, propped up on a collection of pillows in his infirmary bed with various bits and bobs the nurses left on the bedside table and a tube attached to his leg to drain the festering wound. At least he’d managed to shave and put a shirt on, and he hoped the herbs simmering on the small stove against the far wall masked the smell of infection and sweat.
He was already worn out, truth be told, just from the effort of trying to look presentable, and he knew it would have been better if he could have followed the healer Tahlina’s orders.
“Stay still!” she’d said. “Sleep. It’s the best thing you can do to help your body heal.”
He agreed, having gained some battlefield medical skills of his own over the years. And honestly, the idea of sleep beckoned like a secret garden. But he couldn’t go there, not yet. Not that Rose and Lem weren’t capable, but the twin jobs of managing the Sisterhold and governing were too much for two people, even as skilled as they were and with the help they’d had. Han was needed, if simply to add another brain for problem-solving and—when he was capable again—one more body to do the work.
But for other reasons, some of what plagued the hold and the country were specifically his problem. For starters, everything that had happened to Lucky and around him over the months they’d been absent from the Sunlands pointed to a crisis on the horizon, and crises most often rode in armed for battle. And, too, the military effort in the south at the Fallows, if the sketchy reports he’d received so far were accurate, had gone badly wrong. Battles and military matters of every kind were absolutely Han’s business. He felt himself personally responsible for every man and woman in service and for the outcome of every skirmish. If all that wasn’t enough, Thurlock remained absent, and he was Han Rha-Behl Ah’Shieth—his very name meant Wizard’s Left Hand. In military terms, the man on one’s left hand took the role of shield man. Han had an obligation, a duty by oath, to make sure the old man was safe and well.
And I still can’t reach Thurlock’s mind, no matter what I try. He sighed. Gods, I miss the days when making sure his socks were clean and his blood pressure was low were my biggest worries.
Of course, those days never had existed in truth. But for a while, when he had accompanied Thurlock to Earth to find Luccan, he’d managed to pretend it was true—at least if he blocked out worries over the search for the Suth Chiell. The fruitless year before Luccan—or Lucky as he was known in Earth—had shown up on the magical radar had seemed to consist of not much more than mundane chores. Even then, though, Han knew he’d only been fooling himself, and since Luccan was found, not a single day had been idyllic or peaceful or easy in any way.
Han put his ruminating on the back burner when Lem and Rose arrived within minutes of each other. Rose’s spirits seemed high now that both Han and Luccan had returned, but that didn’t surprise Han. Rose had always embodied a peculiar mix of formidable, mouthy, and optimistic. He loved her for that character, and he knew she treasured him as well, as she would a brother. Lem, however, hadn’t shaken his worry for Zhevi even after Han explained about Tiro and the route they were taking home, and made it clear he and Luccan had arrived first only because of K’ormahk’s magical speed.
They had no time for small talk or further reassurances, though, before Joh came in and took a seat on the bench against the far wall. An accomplished horsewoman and fighter with considerable experience, with Liliana absent and Lem otherwise occupied, Joh had taken charge of the day-to-day doings of Shahna’s Rangers. Two other rangers stood by her. The rest of the bench was taken up by Ringo and Link, the chief officers of two Behlishan’s Guard battalions.
Joh addressed Han, respectful but not formal, while they waited for the remaining attendees to arrive and the council to begin. “It’s good to have you back, sir. How are the healers treating you?”
Han smiled. “Mostly pretty well, although they always seem to have an excuse for making things hurt.”
Led by a muscular woman named Mahri, four senior officers of the Sisterhold Police Watch crowded into the small room and stood at parade rest, flanking the stove against the far wall. They were the last of those Han had asked to come. It was time to begin.
Since not all present had been there to hear the discussions at the table the previous night, Han started by once again running down the events of the last few months where they concerned the Suth Chiell, and his own experiences as well. Some of the truth, however, hadn’t been told last night and wouldn’t be told now. Specifically, no mention was made of Lucky’s visit to the Wraith Queen, or Han’s interaction with Naht’kah. The horror of the prison caves had to be made known, however. Children being kidnapped and enslaved and even killed—that was something they must deal with as best they could with their limited resources, and Han already had a plan. He laid it out before moving on to any other matters.
“A small force should be plenty. We’re low on available cavalry, but horses can’t work well in the tunnels, anyway, and that’s where fighting is most likely to occur, particularly if, as I suggest, you manage to keep the element of surprise. A company or so, individuals well suited to all types of action including hand-to-hand fighting, dealing with magic, and facing nonhumans—I fought a caveblight while I was there. And, of course, take people who have experience with rescue missions.”
Further discussion led to an agreement for mounted scouts to join the expedition from Shahna’s Rangers, and a plan to wait until Zhevi and possibly L’Aria were available to accompany the group too, as they’d been there before. “We got there overland after runni
ng from a storm,” Han said, “and I’m not sure exactly where we were, but there are only a few mountains in the area that could hold those caves, so I’ll work on pinpointing which one and determining the best way to get there. Truthfully, it’s not far. It should be a quick mission, there and back again in a matter of a few days.”
Moving on, Han set the scope for the remainder of the meeting. “We won’t be able, here and now, to come up with clear answers for all the other troubles we face, but we can begin by making sure we are all aware of what needs doing. Later, I’ll meet with some of you in smaller groups to come up with ideas on how to deal with specific issues. I’m still recovering from a hell of a hard time.” He smiled in chagrin, making it less of a complaint and more of a confession. “I’m healing, but I’m already exhausted. So this meeting will be it for a while unless Thurlock comes home. I know every one of you has talent and smarts we need. I’m hoping you’ll put your minds to things and together we can come up with plans quickly.”
When he finished, he looked around the room meeting each person’s eyes momentarily, but what he was thinking was, When did I turn into a politician?
Foremost on Rose’s mind, the Sisterhold seemed to be holding on to stability and peace in the community by a few slim threads. Nedhra City had pulled back its liaisons to the Sisterhold and closed its office near the manor, and no one really knew why except that Liliana—with whom they usually conducted government business—wasn’t there. The winter had been harsh too, and full of the unexpected. Blue drakes and other beasts had encroached on the hold’s lands almost to the near edge of the Greenwood, and business had turned sour for farmers and crafters who usually found markets elsewhere in the Sunlands and beyond….
More alarming than any of that, unrest had developed right there at home. People had been hurt in brawls and feuds, and two people had been killed. Rose and Lem, with the help of the Watch and the Council, had barely managed to keep things from blowing up. Han, as a military commander, didn’t ordinarily have authority over the governing of the hold, but Thurlock wasn’t there, and the usual authorities were failing, and Rose asked for help.
After a pause for lip-chewing and thought, Han threw out an idea. “Maybe we should have regular opportunities for people to come and meet with us. If we make it clear we’re going out of our way to hear what people have to say—and that we’re doing everything we can when we can—folks will be less likely to let panic take over when there are some things we can’t fix.”
“Good idea, Han,” Rose answered. “But I have to wonder, when am I going to have time? Lem too—he’s been running himself ragged trying to keep up with things.”
Han nodded. “I know. I’ll try to be available to help as soon as I’m able, though I admit the business at the Fallows, the children in the tunnels, and Thurlock being missing are going to have to be priority for me. Could we recruit help? Maybe some elders, active leaders, some promising younger ones. You know—people the citizens already respect and trust. And Luccan’s here. He can take part as soon as he’s rested up. He’ll learn a lot that way too.” He looked around at the others present. “Any volunteers here?”
Except Ringo, who already had his assignment, all the senior officers present raised hands, and a younger member of the Watch volunteered his grandfather. That got a few chuckles, but the people in the room who knew the older man agreed it was a good idea.
When Han learned the old man’s name—Alahn Kahrry—he said, “Oh! Yes, I know of him.” The Kahrry family was a branch off the Ol’Karrigh, so the old man was a relative of Thurlock’s. “Let me know what he says, Jaydehn.” Han gave the boy a smile that reflected his hope that things might soon improve—or at least not get any worse.
Finally, Han listened to reports about the situation at the Fallows. The troops—his troops, the people he was responsible for—were unable to communicate with the Sisterhold, so little was known, but what few reports Lem had received seemed to indicate a something alarming was happening.
After a long, silent moment, Han said, “I’ll give it some thought and decide how to proceed.” He brought the meeting to a close without addressing that situation any further. He truly didn’t know what to do—not something he was used to at all.
He had little time to think on it before he had to move on to something more urgent—the reason he’d asked Tennehk to meet with him.
“Hey!” Tennehk said as he came in the door. “You look a hell of a lot better than you did last night. Feeling any better?”
Han was anxious to skip the small talk, but before he could answer, a young woman he didn’t know by name delivered his willow-bark tea. Han checked it was at a drinkable temperature with a careful sip, then drank the whole bitter cup before answering. “That should help, I’m told.”
“It should,” Tennehk said. He came and sat on the bed, careful not to jar Han’s injured leg. “What do you need me to do?”
Although Tennehk was a caregiver by profession, he was also very skilled in martial arts. What’s more, he knew how to be on duty without being seen as such; in Behlishan’s Guard, he had often been assigned to intelligence gathering—spying—or to be an unobtrusive bodyguard in case things went bad when talks were taking place. He’d left the military, but from time to time filled a stealthier role in the Sunlands affairs. Han trusted him implicitly; he was the perfect person for what Han had in mind.
“Luccan is supposed to make a public appearance at noon today on the green. There’s so much… shit going on, I’m worried.”
Tennehk went quickly to the same page. “Right. The mood among the people… I’ve never seen it like this.”
“Exactly. And other stuff. Can you be there? Maybe get a few others you trust? Be in the crowd and close enough, just in case.”
“I’m on it. Anything else?”
“No, not unless you’ve changed your mind about taking on some political responsibilities.”
“Oh no. Huh-uh. Not me. You already know that, though.” Tennehk laughed.
Han smiled. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“Again.”
“Right.” Han chuckled, but somehow the motion caused a twinge of pain in his leg and his smile turned to a brief grimace. When it had passed, he said, “Thanks for your help with Luccan this afternoon, though.”
“You’re welcome. I’m off to gather up some people for the job, then, Han. Get some sleep, okay?” He leaned in and kissed Han’s cheek, winked, and left without another word.
Han had done all he could to make sure his nephew the Suth Chiell would be safe in the crowd come afternoon. He should just relax, he knew he needed sleep.
But, Behl’s beard, I have got a bad feeling about this, and I can’t seem to shake it.
Chapter Five: Blood Bond
THE HUG Lucky got from Han before he left the infirmary had been vigorous enough to set his mind mostly at ease about his uncle’s recovery. He’s going to be all right, he reassured himself, and then gave himself permission to stop worrying about it.
Lucky already felt exhausted. A single night of poor sleep and black dreams hadn’t done much to refill his stores of energy, which were left all but empty after months of travel and trouble on the road. A long midmorning nap would have suited him fine. But he figured when a guy has a smart uncle who’s been around more than two centuries gaining experience, it was probably a good plan to pay attention to what he says. With a couple hours left before his scheduled public appearance at noon, Lucky decided this was a good a time to follow Han’s advice.
Ciarrah, the magical Blade Lucky’s father had held during his lifetime, then somehow managed to bequeath to Lucky despite the interference of death, space, and time, was more than a talisman. Lucky didn’t fully understand it yet, but he did know that once their bond was complete, she’d be like a magical three-in-one—tool, servant, and powerful ally—all there in a single carved piece of blackest obsidian. Truthfully, it still amazed him he even had the Blade, but apparentl
y it had been meant to happen.
An imaginary marquee flashed his name in lights: Luccan: Child of Destiny. Even though he’d been told repeatedly he could choose not to, he’d come to accept the heavy role he’d been born to fill as Suth Chiell. Most days, though, he still didn’t honestly believe it, but if it was true that he was meant for big things, the Black Blade seemed to be one more piece of fate’s scheme, especially considering the freakish way it had come to him.
In dreams that were more accurately described as visions, Lucky’s dead father had directed him throughout his months-long quest toward the tallest peak in all of Ethra, Gahabriohl. On the way there, Lucky and his friends L’Aria and Zhevi had to cross Mardhral, a great, long canyon often referred to as “bottomless,” though of course that was impossible. Only one way to cross that vast divide had presented itself, a treacherous bridge of ice. So slippery had the ice become that Lucky had resorted to crossing on hands and knees, and he’d been looking down into the ice beneath him when he’d seen the black gleam of the obsidian and found the Blade. Risking his life, he’d chipped at the ice until he held the legendary weapon in his hands. But the magic of the finding didn’t stop there. High on the mountain’s side, Lucky had watched as a moment from the past unfolded, his father Lohen Chiell speaking to the Blade as he held it in his hands. A short time later, when Lucky and Han found themselves in dire straits facing a black dragon on Gahabriohl’s slope, Lucky had pleaded with the magic in the Blade, asking for aid. It had worked—the blade helped Lucky and Han defeat the dragon. And then it helped Lucky save Han’s life.
It became clear. Something lived inside the stone, more than magic—a presence. She called herself Ciarrah, and Lucky knew he needed to get to know her better.
