Dragon's Rise

by Lou Hoffmann

  Han seemed in a forceful mood, more “take charge” than Lucky was used to seeing him. Lucky figured he might have gotten used to being the boss while Thurlock was gone.

  “Okay,” Han said, actually interrupting Lucky’s little speech to Zhevi. “Fine for all the greetings and apologies. We need to get down to business.”

  Lucky shut up immediately, but Thurlock looked surprised.

  “Feeling a bit rushed?” he asked Han.

  “Look, sir,” Han said, “I know you’ve only been gone a week, but in that time a lot has happened, and it all leads to more things needing to happen. I apologize if I haven’t been civil enough. I didn’t intend to be rude. But the fact is, it’s up to me to get things moving, particularly in terms of military involvement, so yes, I’m a bit rushed.”

  Thurlock said, “Ah. Well, I’m sorry I put so much on your shoulders, Han.”

  “You know,” Han said, “it’s fine. I discovered I can handle it. But you’re back now, and some of the decisions that must be made will be yours. Let me get you up to speed—and perhaps you have news to share as well—and then you can do your deciding so I can do the getting-things-done.”

  “Yes, I do indeed have news, and let me tell it before we move on. Luccan and I were attacked twice on the way to the city. Nedhra seems to be collapsing in on herself. People are overcome with fear, and whatever evil is afoot has infected some of our best wizards and witches, including Mahros, who may be dead or more likely has gone away to lick his wounds, and the Lady Relian who attacked Luccan in the university library. And….” He hesitated. “And I took Hehlios’s life in defense against some very destructive magic he attempted to use against the Suth Chiell and myself.” He sat back and sighed in a way that almost seemed defensive before adding as an afterthought, “Oh, and yes. I visited Ephemera, the temporary world of the Terrathians.”

  The others present greeted whatever part of the news they hadn’t known with mutterings of dismay. They had questions, and Thurlock answered until he, apparently, decided he’d said enough. “Your turn, Han,” he said.

  Han then briefed Thurlock—and Lucky and Bayahr by default—about the mixed success of the mission to save the children in the prison caves and Maizie’s part in it. He talked also about Zhevi’s journey to find L’Aria, and with permission disclosed L’Aria’s newfound ability to shift and the difficulty she had doing it. When he revealed that the cairnwights had come with their wolves to ask for help, Tiro spoke up to say he’d agreed help should be given, and then told the story of L’Aria’s journey to bring them safely to the Sisterhold. L’Aria herself talked about dawn cats acting against their nature and ghostly apparitions in the tunnels under the world. All of them answered Thurlock’s questions before finally they arrived at a pause in the discussions.

  During that silent moment, Han sat with eyes on Thurlock, apparently waiting for some guidance. Thurlock looked, to Lucky’s perception, either stunned by all the hard news, or else deep in thought.

  Unable to hold his tongue, Lucky said, “All the stuff going on, everywhere—it’s like someone put poison in the water.”

  All eyes turned to him, some looking confused. Thurlock and Bayahr exchanged glances.

  It was Tiro who said, “He’s right. His analogy is right, that is. Literally speaking, the waters seem as of yet the cleanest part of Ethra, but let’s speak instead about the magic. Luccan, the Wraith Queen showed you how life works, here in Ethra, did she not? Remind us.”

  Lucky had spoken out of a troubled feeling, not out of any real understanding. But now, when Tiro referred to the Wraith Queen’s work, everything fell into place. All the things he’d seen in his mother’s darkness; what the pitiable Terrathian creature had said and shown him; the wizards infected with evil; the fear and decay rampant in the streets of Nedhra City and the rotting energy currents beneath its streets. Not least, children everywhere being hurt and killed—all of it came together in his mind. He grasped the broad picture of what was happening in Ethra and how right the metaphor of poisoned water had been. Fear turned his heart cold.

  Shaken, he did his best to answer the question Tiro had asked. “Yes, it’s the magic. Life here in Ethra is made of the… force, the energy that runs through her. We call it magic. Forgive me—I’m sure most of you already know this….”

  “Remind us,” Tiro said again, in a voice that would have put one of Thurlock’s wizardly Commands to shame.

  Lucky glanced around, saw all eyes intent on him. “In Earth,” he said, becoming more certain as he spoke, “the scientists say energy can be changed, but not destroyed. When an Ethran life ends—large or small, human or… whatever—the magic doesn’t end, but returns to Ethra… to her veins, her heart. It stays there, keeping her alive, until it… all starts over again. Like the way water becomes clouds and clouds turn to rain and rain falls—well, yeah. You know what I mean.”

  Thurlock rose suddenly and began to pace. “That’s it,” he said. “Veins. The Terrathians—they took the children, especially those who had magic, and siphoned the blood from their veins, processed it in some way to remove the… life from it. Their small hearts pump and pull in liquid to replace it, but that weak substitute can’t sustain life. They’ve managed to…. Luccan, what was it the Terrathian told you—they’d tried to alter life, and…?”

  “They thought they were making themselves better. Smarter. Maybe immortal. They fed on the life force of their world until they almost killed it. When it was already too late, they realized they’d gone too far. They used the last of their world’s life to make a temporary world, a place to stay until they could find another world to take—”

  “Yes. Yes. And there you go—that’s why I could never pin down the location of Terrathia! It’s gone. Their home base now isn’t truly a world, it’s a temporary holding pattern cobbled from the remains of one and maintained with the purest energy they could find—the life force of children. Sad, or rather horrid story. But they know they can’t keep that place alive forever. As a permanent replacement they want Ethra, a world so rich in life that magic abounds everywhere. They are draining her veins—very apt, Luccan—draining her of life, and the emptiness draws in what is available to replace it. And that, my friends, is a contaminated version of what we’ve long known to exist in the seams between worlds, the stuff of Naught and the baneful god born of it, Mahl.”

  “Terrathians, you say.” Bayahr sat with his hands folded on the table in front of him, looking perplexed. “Well, it’s true we’ve known since Willock that more worlds exist than we have reached. Your explanation fits quite well with the sense I have of Ethra distressed deep into the bedrock. Many people don’t think of the stone as holding life within it. It moves slowly, it’s true, and it’s not easy to see or sense, but I assure you it’s there, and the roots of our world are feeling the onslaught of this ‘poison’ as you called it. But well, of course the question, my dear people, is this: If the Terrathians have been the cause of this blight, how do we rid our world of them before it’s too late for her too?”

  “All due respect, Bayahr,” Han said. “That is one of the tasks, and yes, the central one. But it’s more complicated than that. I’ve yet to tell you what I’ve learned in these past days about what’s happening in the Fallows. I have had intelligence through the messenger relay, and it isn’t good. Gerania has lapsed into unconsciousness repeatedly since shortly after she sent the Droghona north with Koehl and the others. She has been waking to a semiconscious state from time to time, takes a small amount of sustenance, rants about awful visions, and falls back into her slumber. While she sleeps, she was, to quote the report, ‘cold to the touch and pale as the dead.’ All that should sound familiar. And it should sound scary, but the good news there is she has begun to improve, even tending to command duties from time to time.”

  A murmur of relief circled the room like a wave, and Thurlock took that opportunity to magically refresh the teapot and then fill cups in the ordinary way. Han waited u
ntil he’d finished the task, then cleared his throat to speak. He looked around the room at each of the others, meeting each gaze as if to be sure they were paying attention.

  Bayahr gasped. “Han Shieth, what has happened to your eyes?”

  Before Han could speak, Thurlock said, “The Dragon, Bayahr. Surely you expected it to show sometime?”

  “Oh my, yes. Forgive me. I’d nearly forgotten.”

  Han remained quiet for a moment, and Lucky started to worry about him.

  “Don’t worry about me, Luccan.”

  Han’s thought came as a surprise, but a timely one.

  “You’re not happy.”

  “War, nephew. Whether we call it that or not, that’s what we’ve got. I hate war. But I’ll be all right, and so will you. Let’s go fishing in the morning.”

  Not thinking about how it would look to the rest of the people in the room, Lucky smiled.

  “Han,” Thurlock said, rolling his eyes.

  With that, everything suddenly seemed almost normal to Lucky. But in the next moment, Han shattered the illusion.

  “I wish it was all I had to tell you about the situation down south. In the Fallows, as I was about to explain, the troops garrisoned there have managed to remain fairly cohesive and functional despite Gerania’s condition. Isolated patrols trying to help the Droghona keep their children safe have fought a skirmish here and there, but usually they’ve been a step behind, hours or a day too late. When they have engaged, soldiers—our soldiers—have been gravely injured. Some have died. You see, Earthborns have arrived—not many in these small encounters, but they’re armed with their awful weapons, which they don’t hesitate to use.”

  Han paused briefly, but long enough for Lucky to notice his nostrils flare slightly and his red dragon eyes flash as if he was momentarily overcome with anger. When he continued, Lucky understood. It was about Henry!

  “Most of you know what happened when I… we”—he glanced meaningfully at Thurlock—“sent Henry George, the condor shapeshifter, to fly over the Fallows. Because of that near disaster, I hesitated to send any more flyers, but then, thanks to Rose’s diplomacy, flame eagles volunteered. I couldn’t refuse without upsetting their pride, so they’ve been flying reconnaissance deeper into the Fallows. Earthborns have set up a couple of base camps, and they seem to be quite busy. Notably, everywhere they go, the mist-shadows, to use Luccan’s term, appear as well. In one place, the shadow is very large and appears exceptionally dense.”

  Luccan recalled the place in his dream, and he tried to remember the name it had been given in the portfolio he’d found in the library. He interrupted: “A mesa—plateau—called Giant’s… um, Giant’s Table or something like that?”

  “You’re close,” Han said, smiling a little. “Giant’s Hand. How do you know that?”

  “A dream,” Thurlock interjected. “I’ll explain later. Finish your report.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, that’s the same place Henry showed me in his one and only report. Definitely will be a center of the action, though perhaps not the only one. That’s it, pretty much, as far as intelligence goes. My assessment is that while we can’t ignore the other things going on in the world, it’s imperative that we move the bulk of our military, as well armed and armored as possible, as quickly as possible, to the Fallows. And then, as quickly as possible, do whatever it takes to put a stop to what’s happening there.”

  “Let’s not overreact, Han,” Thurlock said, sounding peeved. “As you know we have trouble right here at the Hold, on the roads, in the city, even underground. Nedhra City is a center of discord. The Fallows are important, the Droghona very nearly allies, now, but we can’t leave everything else unprotected and dedicate our entire strength to one piece of a problem that affects all of the Sunlands—and let’s not forget the Fallows isn’t even our soil.”

  “I didn’t say we should leave ‘everything else’ unprotected. I’ve instructed the outlying communities to hang on to some of their best and brightest for defense and to maintain community policing to solve problems before they get out of hand. I’m sending advisors and experts out for support. I intend to leave the garrison at Nedhra City fully intact. Honestly, they are the poorest disciplined unit in the country. My fault, I know, but even I only have so many fingers and toes. To the point, I don’t want them in my expeditionary forces. More important still, what they do have going for them is they know their city, they love it, and they’ll fight for it—most of them anyway—by any means available.”

  “All that’s well and good,” Thurlock said, not sounding like he meant it. “But perhaps let’s strike preemptively, at least in the city. You know as well as I do—better, I’d guess—the Warrior’s first premise. If you only defend….”

  Thurlock didn’t need to finish his sentence for the meaning to be clear. As his words died away, Han sat back in his chair and looked very directly at the old man who had been his friend and mentor, as well as his boss, for over two centuries. “Thurlock, sir,” he said, and then sighed deeply. “Do you know how to kill an octopus?”

  “Pardon?”

  “An octopus. Let’s say a large, hungry one. Eight very strong, fast tentacles to pin your arms and legs, drag you underwater and into its maw. It will consume you. What do you do?”

  No one said anything. Lucky wasn’t sure anyone was breathing.

  Han nodded, acknowledging the silence. “Whatever weapon you have—maybe a knife if you have an arm free, your magic, possibly nothing more than your teeth—you stab or spell or bite it right between its eyes, because right behind them is its brain, and when that dies, it dies, and you are saved.”

  Lucky understood immediately that Han, incredibly, was schooling the millennium-old Premier Wizard of the Ethran Sunlands. Lucky shifted his gaze around the room. All eyes were riveted to Han, and Thurlock looked as if something had hit him right between the eyes. No one moved a muscle as Han’s words sank in, and then he hammered in the last nail.

  “Sir, I’m asking you to listen closely to what I’m about to say, because I mean it with all my heart. You have the power to override my military decisions. You will prevail if we disagree. The hard truth is, regardless of how we array our forces, I can’t guarantee a victory against this enemy. What I can guarantee, though, is that if you don’t let me fight this war the way I know it needs to be fought, we will lose.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Interlude

  EARLY THE next morning, Lucky was for once enjoying a sweet dream of the ice cream shop on Main Street in Valley City when Han woke him up with a shake.

  “Someone’s here to see you,” Han said. “And I think you might want to brush your teeth before you go downstairs to greet him.”

  Groggily, Lucky responded, “Can’t it wait until after breakfast?”

  “It could, but get up, get dressed, and go see. I think you’ll agree keeping your visitor waiting isn’t the best idea.”

  Something in Han’s tone made Lucky change his mind. He hurried through his ablutions and ran downstairs. His guest was nowhere to be found, but Han, who had apparently been upstairs talking to Thurlock, came down just then and said, “I’m pretty sure he went back outside.”

  As Han went to the kitchen, Lucky went out the front door, butterflies paying volleyball in his stomach. He stepped off the porch, and there stood K’ormahk, and then, stepping out from the other side of the horse—

  “Rio!”

  Rio, only a year older than Lucky, had outgrown the last of his boyishness in the time they’d been apart. His dark, coarse curls were the same as ever, sporting the strands of early silver that Rio had told him were a hallmark of his family line. He’d grown taller, his shoulders broader; the muscles of his arms rippled under his brown skin. He had more beard and a leaner face. But his nearly black eyes shone with what looked like joy, and something about the way he stood biting his perfect bottom lip—

  Lucky had never hugged anyone so enthusiastically as he did Rio at that moment. Rio
returned the embrace, laughing. Both a little shy, they looked around to see if they were alone, and when they saw nobody nearby, they let their lips touch in a sweet kiss.

  “I’m so glad—” Lucky couldn’t finish the statement, but it was all right.

  “Me too,” Rio said.

  “There’s so much—” Again, he gave up on finding the right words.

  “Yes. I know.”

  They stood and stared at each other until K’ormahk nosed in between them, and laughing, Lucky turned to hug his favorite horse.

  Calmer, Lucky said, “You must be hungry. Do you want to come inside and… whatever?” He’d been going to say freshen up, but it sounded too corny to speak out loud. “And then we can go get breakfast at the manor?”

  “I was at your uncle Han’s home for a while, so I washed up and whatnot there,” Rio said. Then when Lucky looked quizzical, he explained. “It was still dark when I got here, and I was wandering around kind of lost. He was sitting out on his porch—couldn’t sleep or something—and he saw me.” Rio stopped to smile and raise his eyebrows. “He knew me! I figured you must have been talking about me.”

  “I confess,” Lucky said, laughing. “And he remembers you from after my mother… after Hoenholm.”

  “Oh, right, of course.” Rio shook his head as if to clear cobwebs. “Anyway he invited me in for a little while. I really like him, Lucky.”

  The nickname sounded so sweet, Lucky couldn’t help but grin. “I’m glad. I like him too. More than just about anybody except you.” He sobered. “I wish—a lot of bad stuff is happening, Rio.”

  “I know,” Rio said. “It’s why my father sent me. Stuff at home too.”

  Lucky had been guiding Rio toward the manor, paying no mind to K’ormahk following along, but when Rio said that, he stopped. He found it impossible, unfathomable, that bad things could be happening at Morrow’s farm. If that was the case, things were even worse than any of them had guessed.