by Lou Hoffmann
Rio caught his eye. “Hey, Lucky. Listen, I’ve told your uncle about things at home. He’s talking to the wizard Thurlock about it. That’s part of what my father wanted me to do—make sure they knew. But he also wanted me to stay and help if I can. So I’ll be here for a while. We’ll have time to talk about the bad stuff. Today—we can just be together, right? I wish I could say that was my idea, but it was Han who suggested it. I just want to spend the day being happy to see your face.”
Lucky smiled. “Such as it is,” he said, and laughed.
“Big nose and all.”
Lucky only laughed more, because Rio and he had argued over whether his nose was huge (Lucky) or perfect (Rio). He clasped Rio’s hand in his and said, “I can’t think of a better way to spend my time.”
LUCKY RODE K’ormahk, but they didn’t fly. Rio rode a mare named Hestiah, which meant star—a fitting name for a horse traveling with K’ormahk, but she was as earthbound as any horse without wings. Still she was a beauty, and though Rio had been days in the saddle coming to see Lucky, and Lucky’d done his share of riding on the Nedhra trip, they decided to take their horses out for a swift ride in the valley below the Oakridge.
Without explaining, Lucky steered them away from the area where Mahros had been doing his awful work and went instead to the other side of the ridge, into the fields, still touched with green despite summer’s burn, that stretched from the ridge to the orchard. Rio’s smile faded from time to time, but it never quite left his face, and whenever he caught Lucky looking at him, it spread and lit a silver glimmer in his dark eyes, like a spark of happiness. It was easy for Lucky to think that must be what Rio felt, because he felt it too. He couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sunny morning, and he couldn’t imagine more precious company than the young man riding at his side.
They descended from the higher ground of the Sisterhold, and started across the low, level fields at a trot.
Rio smiled over at Lucky and said, “Race?”
In an instant, they were off. K’ormahk wanted to fly, but Lucky asked him not to because that just wouldn’t be fair. Still, fleet though the little mare might be, she didn’t stand a chance against K’ormahk’s long legs and powerful build. Lucky reined to a stop near the trees, dismounted, and settled himself on the bank of the stream before Rio and Hestiah ever arrived.
“Not fair!” Rio said, laughing, as he sat down next to Lucky. “K’ormahk should have to run on three legs to give Hestiah a fighting chance!”
He took his shoes off, set his feet in the water, and lay back on the bank, holding an arm out in invitation for Lucky. Lucky leaned over and kissed him once, long and sweet; then he took his sandals off, immersed his feet, and lay down so that his head rested in the crook of Rio’s shoulder. He wanted to stay there forever, but Ciarrah, in her sheath on his belt, was digging uncomfortably into his side. He sat up, removed the belt, and laid it—with the Blade still attached—off to the side with his sandals. Then he snuggled back up to his boyfriend.
“You don’t mind if I call you my boyfriend, do you, Rio?”
“Well, no. But I’m not sure what exactly that means.”
So Lucky explained how Earthborns used the term, and Rio laughed, thinking it was kind of silly. Lucky laughed too, agreeing that maybe it was.
“But listen here, boyfriend,” he said. “I still like calling you that.”
They were both still new to the idea of being more than friends with someone. They’d had little time together before, and they’d been apart for a while since then, so their caresses were a bit hesitant. Lucky treasured every touch, no matter how awkward. As for conversation, listening and talking to Rio had been easy right from the day they met, and Lucky found it no different now. They lay on the streambank, comfortably close, and told each other so many things about the time since they’d last been together—how often they’d thought of each other, what they’d missed about not being close, what had happened in all that time that made them happy or sad or scared.
“When I saw the horses start to fail,” Rio said, “I thought that was the worst I could ever feel. But Lucky, what the drought has done to my father—you can’t imagine. I am very happy to be here with you, Luccan. But I wish I could be there at the same time. Not that I can fix anything, but… maybe I could help a little.”
“But he sent you here. And he sent your brothers away too?”
“Yes. I think they’ll go back as soon as they sell the horses.”
“You’ll be going back too.”
“I don’t know,” Rio said, running a hand through Lucky’s hair. He raised his head slightly so he could look into Lucky’s eyes, planted a quick kiss on the end of his nose, making Lucky laugh. But then he fell back and said, “He left it up to me, whether I go back or stay here. He knows how much I’ve missed you, but also, he thinks I might be able to help with things here, in some way. He knows… the bad things happening in Ethra… he has a sense of them. And he knows that Thurlock and Han Shieth—and you too—will be at the center of whatever struggle. And… he believes I might help.”
“You sound like you don’t understand why he would think that.”
“I don’t!”
Lucky raised up on his elbows and faced Rio. “Well, I do!”
“Yes?”
“Yes…. But unfortunately,” he said, settling back down against Rio’s side, “I don’t think I can explain it.”
Rio broke out in a hearty laugh at that, and the next thing Lucky knew, they were up, standing in the stream, splashing water at each other just for the fun of it.
Finally tired of their mock fight, they lay back down.
“I’m getting hungry,” Lucky said.
“It’s past lunchtime, judging from the sun. Do you want to go back?”
“Not yet.”
Lucky listened to Rio’s heart beating until the rhythm lulled him to sleep. When Rio extracted himself and placed his shirt under Lucky’s head as a pillow, he started to wake.
Rio whispered, “Shh, I’ll be right back. You don’t have to wake up.”
The summer world seemed a lot colder and darker without Rio, and soon Lucky realized why.
There she was—his mother on her monstrous horse. She didn’t see him, and he knew she was intent on doing something awful, so he followed her. He rode K’ormahk—or maybe he rode Dragon Han, it seemed to keep changing—so it was easy for him to catch up to her. When he did, she turned to face him, but instantly changed. First, he thought he saw Mahros’s face, then that of a stranger, and finally Relian, smiling a smile that flashed lightning at him and hurt his eyes. He closed them, and when he opened them again, three people stood there—the stranger, Mahros, and Relian. They still looked in his direction, but not at him, at something beyond him that he couldn’t see. They each turned and walked separately away into a crowd of others—wraiths and shades, tall thin Terrathian Primes, their pathetic, weightless “Echoes” dangling from their shoulders, even Earthborn soldiers with their death-dealing guns. All together, silent in the still of night, the crowd flowed down a steep hill toward a large camp where the Sunlands gold-and-green banner flapped violently in a bloodred wind.
Lucky woke himself with a shouted “Nooo!”
Rio came running from the bushes, fastening his clothes. “Stars and gods, Luccan! I was only gone for a few seconds. What’s wrong?” He held his hand out to help Lucky to his feet.
“My mother, Rio. You saw her. You know she was a monster.”
Rio didn’t answer, but that was okay. Lucky knew there was no response to such a statement that could possibly make sense.
“She wasn’t the only one,” he said. “That’s the problem now.” He put his sandals on, and his belt with Ciarrah in her sheath. Possibly, if he’d not laid her aside, he wouldn’t have had the awful dream. But then he wouldn’t have seen….
“I have to go back, Rio. Right now. Something’s happening, or else it’s going to happen soon, and my uncle needs to know.”
Lucky turned with a half smile and met Rio’s worried eyes.
“I love you,” Rio said. “I just want to be sure you know.”
Chapter Twenty-Five: The General Will See You Now
HAN LOOKED out the window of his headquarters office to see Thurlock walking toward his door with Bayahr and Tiro. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for more of his boss’s ire. The old man had seemed pretty cranky—but he’d listened calmly—when Han had spoken to him that morning, relaying what Rio, Morrow’s son, had said about the first drought ever happening in Stablemaster Morrow’s lands. Time moved differently at Morrow’s farm, which wasn’t a part of Ethra at all, nor any other world. Lucky’s description of the climate there matched what Han figured was normal. That was less than a year ago as time had passed in the Sunlands, but time could never be trusted when traveling—even inside Ethra, but especially from world to world. According to Rio’s report, Morrow’s land suffered now in its second year of drought.
Morrow had sent Rio to the Sisterhold with the news, thinking correctly, Han thought, that the trouble in his lands might reflect a deeper sort of trouble everywhere. With no rainfall, the land wouldn’t support Morrow’s entire herd, so he’d also sent his older sons into Ethra—to their mother’s home—with some of his horses to sell. As Han was building his army up as fast as he could, he wanted the fine horses Morrow had raised—as many as he could buy. He’d sent messages to Rio’s brothers, and he’d dispatch someone to bring the horses home after he finished with whatever Thurlock’s business was. He hoped that was soon, because he wasn’t looking forward to another visit with the Premier Grouch of the Sunlands.
Thurlock’s cold reception when Han had gone to tell him the bad news about the drought in Morrow’s lands had hurt. Thurlock had been his sole friend—no, more than that, his only close family even if not by blood—for a very long time. Han had accepted his destined identity as the Wizard’s Left Hand, his shield man, willingly and long ago, and he’d served Thurlock loyally in that capacity. He’d never before stood up to Thurlock the way he had the previous night, and he hadn’t been comfortable doing it.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t even considering backing down. If Thurlock gave orders to do things a different way, he would have little choice but to do it. But he knew his business—war and soldiering had been his other job for two centuries—and he was confident he was right about strategy against this enemy—the Terrathians and everything they’d brought with them or dredged up from Ethra’s own dark side. To kill an octopus, strike at its head. The head of this tentacled demon was in the Fallows, growing stronger day by day.
Han’s staff sergeant, Lahry, opened the door, stuck his head in, and said, “The wizard’s here. Thurlock, I mean, with another wizard and Tiro L’Rieve.”
Han raised his eyebrows. “And you imagine that I’m brave enough to not see them?” The sergeant laughed, which was Han’s goal, and he smiled back, yet it was with some trepidation that he said, “Yeah, Sarge, thanks. Send ’em in.”
As they came in, Han leaned back in his chair, palmed his eyes, and yawned. “Oh!” he said. “Sorry. That sort of snuck up on me.”
“That happens when you don’t sleep,” Thurlock said. “You should allow yourself to rest before you start making mistakes and put the whole country in danger.”
Han’s heart fell. Apparently Thurlock remained angry with him, and more than likely he planned to insist on doing things his way. “Yes, sir,” he said.
To his surprise, though, Thurlock shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. That came out all wrong. What I meant was, you are the one with expertise that might save this country—and possibly the world—and we need you to be at your best.”
Han didn’t know what to say, so he sat, trying not to rudely stare and also trying—unsuccessfully—to suppress another yawn. Meanwhile, Thurlock watched him, possibly waiting for a response, Tiro stared openly at Thurlock with a patient but annoyed expression, and Bayahr picked up the hunk of obsidian Han used for a paperweight and began to examine it closely.
Thurlock started speaking, and Han, knowing the old man very well, quickly recognized the signs of a long rambling speech that would say little of importance. But instead, Thurlock stopped himself.
“Let me get to the point, shall I? You were right to assert yourself last night, Han. I must apologize. You are a superb strategist, tactician, officer, soldier, and warrior. In short, you know your business. I on the other hand, know people fairly well, and can push magic around a bit. That doesn’t qualify me in military matters. I bow to your skills, and will do everything I can to support your strategy.”
Han accepted that with the grace with which it was given. “Thank you. I’m relieved to hear it.”
“So, then, as the Earthborns say, are we cool?”
Han laughed, reminded that wars and differences of opinion notwithstanding, he loved the old man. “Yes. We are definitely cool.”
“Good. Now, Bayahr and Tiro and I have come to discuss some of the peripheral matters that have cropped up. I don’t suppose the Guard has any tea in stock and the means to heat water?”
Han smiled, rose, and opened the door to the outer office. “Lahry, can you send someone to the manor kitchen? I don’t want to poison my guests with what they call tea over at the mess.”
The sergeant smiled. “I’ll send Rehnolds. She’s bored, anyway. And coffee for you?”
“If they’ve got the beans, that would be marvelous.”
Han sat on his desk, instead of behind it. “What’s on the agenda, Thurlock?”
“To begin, Bayahr has been talking with the cairnwights. He thinks he may be able to help them directly, at least with a temporary fix.”
Han looked at Bayahr. “Well, that’s good news. I could, of course, use your monumental skills at the Fallows, but I agree we can’t just let things go up north—the wights and wolves and who knows what other inhabitants of those climes are in danger of being exterminated. But if you don’t mind my asking, what’s that going to look like? I mean, what’s your remedy?”
“As you know,” Bayahr said, sounding more wizardly and less rotund-old-guy-who-rides-a-donkey, “ice is the crystalline form of water, so when water is frozen, it falls in my area of expertise, like every other crystal and stone.” He talked on for a few minutes, describing how to strengthen ice. Then he said, “I hope that will help some. For the rest, I shall manipulate time—”
“You can do that?” Thurlock asked, obviously surprised and interested.
“Yes! Well a little bit. I’ve made it a focus of study these last few decades. Turns out crystals are an excellent aid in the cause.” He held up the obsidian. “I’d be more than happy to show you.”
“Yes, please. Truly marvelous, but when we already have some time stocked for the lesson. I admit I’m not much good, really, with crystals. I can do no more than the basics in that realm, so it would likely take a while for me to catch on.”
Han said, “So you’ll strengthen the ice, and manipulate time—I’m not sure how that’s going to help.”
“Neither am I,” Bayahr said and laughed in a rather jolly fashion. “I’m not sure how, that is, but I am sure it will help as soon as I figure that out. I have other things planned as well, though. I asked Thurlock to bring me to you because I need some help, and you seem to be the man with personnel resources, at the moment.”
“What do you need?”
“Eldos—that’s the cairnwight who speaks our language—he said part of the problem is that both wights and wolves cannot maintain their strength to hunt, so they go hungry and weaken further. To make matters even worse, the weakest clans fall prey to those farther north, who are as yet less affected. So, I wonder, can you spare a few people…?”
Bayahr had let the question hang without further explanation, but Han
understood. He looked at the parchment rolls on his desk. Volunteers had come pouring into the Sisterhold garrison since he put out the second call a week ago, and if he remembered correctly a group had just arrived from the northern edge of the Greenwood. They would be hunters and archers, because that’s how the people in that part of the country lived. A key point, they would be relatively used to the cold they would encounter in the Northlands, whereas even though it was too warm for cairnwights and glacier wolves, it would probably be pretty darn cold for the Sunlands’ more southern citizens.
He found the parchment he was looking for, read through the list of names, ages, qualifications, and special skills. “Yes,” he said to Bayahr. “Will… about twenty be enough? They’re hunters by trade or at least for sustenance. Come from the northern Greenwood.”
Bayahr was almost ridiculously delighted, so Han asked his sergeant to draft some orders for the group and get them equipped and into Bayahr’s camp. The plan was for them to leave that night and travel through the caves, which Bayahr assured he could either find or create for as long as they needed them.
The tea and coffee came, and all four of the men received their cups gratefully, and took a quiet moment to sip and savor.
“Oh,” Bayahr said, breaking the silence. “I almost forgot to mention. The young wizard, Craytonh has some skills with rock and stone, and he will be going to the Fallows in my stead. I hope he might be useful.”
Han looked thoughtful, chewing his lip, eyes squinting as if that could help him think harder. “Say, Bayahr…. Uh, you too, Tiro. I wonder if I might ask a favor?”
Both wizard and shifter looked surprised but muttered assurances.
The room stayed quiet while Han went back to thinking hard, and then, when Han spoke, it was to Thurlock. “I had some intelligence come in over the last couple of days, sir. You already know there have been blue drakes—”