Lucan

by Susan Kearney

  He who betrays the will of the Goddess will come to an evil end.

  —THE ELDERS

  15

  In dragonshape, Cael flew across the mountains, stopping several times to eat platinum to restore her strength before crossing the polar cap and soaring over the crowded continent of her homeland.

  Cael yearned to fulfill her promise to visit Jaylon. But since the military might be watching the medical center in Feridon, she’d go to the residence first. Nisco and her husband, Depuck, lived next door. Her sister had sounded frightened during her last call, and it was very odd that neither Nisco nor Depuck was answering Cael’s calls.

  No doubt, General Brennon would be watching her residence, so she had to enter the city in secret. Cael humanshaped and changed into a disguise she’d used before to hide her identity. With a wig of dirt-brown hair and a long-sleeved, nondescript gown in a coarse fabric, Cael drew little attention. She leased a skimmer with a false ID she’d acquired years ago and kept hidden in the lining of her backpack, an additional precaution in a life that was already filled with too many precautions.

  But so far those precautions had kept her alive. If she’d asked the Elders’ advice, they would have told Cael to hide. But she needed to make sure Nisco was all right and needed to see Brennon’s papers with the formula that the private investigator Trelan had sent to Nisco before he’d died. And Cael was determined to visit Jaylon. Then she was going back to Avalon for the Grail.

  She was done hiding out in the mountains.

  Cael flew her skimmer toward the green, parklike square of land along the lake and frowned at the lack of activity in Carlane. Where was everyone? Her own home looked deserted, as did the ancient temple next door, which was large enough to hold her dragonshape, if necessary.

  Bypassing her own residence, Cael landed next to Nisco’s detached garage. After killing the skimmer’s engines, Cael heard the roar of several motors that were much too loud to be private vehicles. At the unexplained noise, her hearts began to pump harder.

  She hurried around the garage as several military skimmers shot straight up from the front lawn, then poured on the juice toward the capital’s center. Alarm shot through her.

  Cael turned the corner, and the scent of blood hit her. She spied an injured man lying in the front yard. By the Goddess! Her brother-in-law lay unmoving in a pool of his own blood.

  “Depuck.” Hurrying across the freshly mowed grass, Cael kneeled beside him. Blood gushed from a head wound that required immediate attention, as did a deep gash in his arm.

  Cael had to stop the bleeding or her brother-in-law would die. She removed Depuck’s belt and made a tourniquet for his arm. As she applied pressure to the head wound, she worried that she’d find her sister in a similar condition. Or worse. Only Cael’s medical training allowed her to cage her panic and treat Depuck.

  While she applied pressure with one hand, she felt for a pulse. Please, be there. She ached to feel life, the kick of a heartbeat. Yes. Depuck’s pulse was weak, but it fluttered wildly.

  The head wound concerned her most. She opened his eyelids, and when his pupils narrowed, she deemed he was strong enough for her to move off the lawn. He was heavy, but she dragged him onto the front porch.

  Cael dug into her pack for medical supplies. “Nisco! Are you here?”

  No one answered. Sickened, scared, fingers shaking, Cael pushed down her fear. She couldn’t heal Depuck unless she stopped trembling. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she sought once again to calm her nerves and set aside her frustration.

  She released the belt and applied a pressure bandage to Depuck’s arm, then turned her attention to his more severe head wound. With quick, efficient stitches, she sewed up the gash. The jagged injury required two layers of stitches, one deep near the bone, the other on the surface skin. Grateful that Depuck remained unconscious during her ministrations, she sewed with a hand that steadied as she performed the familiar task. As she worked, she prayed he would regain consciousness soon.

  Whoever had taken off in those skimmers had left Depuck for dead. Should she call for an ambulance? The military had spies in the city. Before she could make up her mind, Depuck groaned. His eyes opened, and her scales undulated at his panic.

  “Where’s Nisco?” Cael asked, her voice urgent.

  “Not sure. A man… grabbed her.”

  “He took her?” She tipped a flask of water to his lips.

  “Don’t know. She fought and got away, I think, but he was chasing her again, and then I lost sight of them.” Depuck struggled to sit up. “Find her.”

  “Lie still. Just tell me what happened.”

  The water seemed to make it easier for him to speak. “I was in the vegetable garden when I heard Nisco scream. I dropped everything. Ran here. Before I reached the house… something caught me in the arm and I spun. Then my head burned. Before I blacked out, Nisco was fighting off a man, then she got free and ran away but he kept chasing her.”

  “Was the man wearing a uniform?” she asked. Depuck shook his head. “No uniform. That’s all I know.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find her. Maybe she’s hiding. She said she had something to show me.”

  “Before the attack, Nisco was excited about papers a PI had sent her. She said she had to show them to you.”

  “We were supposed to meet here. Did she say why I had to see them?”

  “No. But she’s very organized. Perhaps her notes…”

  “Notes? Did she leave them on the computer?”

  Depuck tried to sit up. “Don’t you care about her? They might hurt her… or worse.”

  “Easy.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and he lay back down. “Of course I care about her. The information she received from the investigator may be our best lead to find her. I’ll look inside.”

  “Try her desk. Her computer password is oregimo.”

  Cael stepped through the open front door and winced. Nisco’s house looked as if an earthquake had shaken it. Not one picture remained on the walls. Every drawer was opened, smashed, and tossed aside. They’d slashed the couch and pulled the stuffing out of the cushions. Knocked over lamps. Broken cabinet doors, which hung at crazy angles. The intruders had definitely been searching for something.

  Stomach churning, already suspecting the entire house had been ransacked, Cael checked the study, stepping over debris. Just as she suspected, the computer’s memory hardware was gone, the monitor shattered along with the message machine. When she turned over a smashed bulletin board, she saw that every handwritten note had been ripped away. But when she went into Nisco’s studio, she found her sister’s most recent sculpture, a figure of the Goddess, sitting on the table, the clay still wet. Cael picked it up. Scratched into the base’s bottom were the words “Go to the Kisster.”

  Sweet Goddess. Kisster was Nisco and Cael’s secret childhood name for Sonelle. When Sonelle was little, to get her way, she’d go around kissing her teachers, her parents, and her sisters.

  Nisco obviously had left that note for Cael, and she’d wanted Cael to join Sonelle in Feridon. But had Nisco left the message before the attack? Or after?

  If Nisco had eluded the man chasing her, it was possible she might still meet Cael at the medical center. But if he’d caught her, she might be a hostage. Without another clue to Nisco’s whereabouts, Cael decided to head to the medical center. If Nisco wasn’t there, Cael would move mountains to find her.

  Still very worried about Nisco’s disappearance, Cael returned to Depuck, who was lying where she’d left him. “Did Nisco say anything else?”

  “She was close-mouthed, even with me.” Depuck’s angry eyes bored into hers. “You’re wanted for murder. The military came here because of you. You should turn yourself in. This is your fault—”

  “I’m sorry. So sorry. I didn’t know I was putting you both in danger.”

  “Your ignorance won’t save her.” His eyes closed but at least his breathing remained shallow.
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br />   Depuck was right. She had to set aside her worry and guilt. She had to do something. “I’ll find her.”

  On the off chance her sister might answer, Cael flipped open her communicator and called Nisco. Her sister didn’t reply, but Cael left a message. “Nisco, Depuck’s suffered no permanent injury, but he’s been hurt. Call me.”

  Standing, she gripped the rug he lay on with two hands. Slowly, carefully, she dragged the rug and Depuck inside, knocking aside a broken table, a shattered urn, and a toppled potted plant.

  Suddenly, she felt her necklace slip away and cold steel bite into her neck. She couldn’t breathe. A noose of steel chain was cutting off her air. Her captor yanked the chain, pulling her upright, forcing her to release the blanket.

  Holy Goddess.

  Her thoughts spun wildly. Even if she’d had the ability to dragonshape, if she tried with the chain around her neck, her head would be severed.

  Her attacker yanked tight on the chain, forcing her to straighten or risk a broken neck. Lungs burning for air, she clawed at her neck, trying to ease the metal noose.

  From behind, her attacker looped another chain over her wrist, then captured the other, clamping her arms behind her back. Her ankles received the same treatment. She stood on tiptoe, and only then did the chain around her neck ease slightly, enough for her to drag in a painful breath.

  “What do you want?” she gasped.

  “We’ll start with Nisco. Where is she?”

  “She was supposed to meet me here.” Cael’s stomach knotted, and she prayed Nisco wasn’t being held captive, that somehow she’d gotten safely away. “Nisco’s husband saw someone take her away before I arrived.” It was a lie, but she needed to keep this villain from going after her sister.

  “And the linguist? Tell me where he is, and as I promised Elder Selick, your death will be merciful.”

  “Elder Selick?” she gasped, unable to keep the dismay from her voice. No wonder her captor had known exactly how to contain her powers by surprising and immobilizing her. The Elders knew her vulnerabilities.

  Rion had warned her, but she’d assumed Elder Selick had attacked her at the retreat after hearing Cael admit she’d shared her dragonblood. Yet her assumption had been wrong. Selick had been hiding in that room, planning to attack her before she’d mentioned one word about sharing her dragonblood.

  “Where’s the linguist?” her captor repeated. Sword drawn, the masked man walked in front of her and held her sacred dragon necklace like a trophy. He was large and muscular, and yet his movements were surprisingly stealthy and agile.

  Openly, he wore the uniform of the Division of Lost Artifacts, and General Brennon’s audacity rocked her. But was this conspiracy to find the Grail widespread or confined to only General Brennon, his men, and Elder Selick? It sickened her to think other Elders and military leaders might be involved, too. For all she knew, the conspiracy reached into the highest levels of society and extended into the very heart of their culture.

  Her keen hearing picked up the rumble of ships heading their way. If she could stall, maybe she could survive.

  Ignoring her aching toes and seeking to ease the fiery pain in her throat, she lifted her chin. “If I’m going to die, at least tell me why. Why do you want the linguist?”

  He placed her necklace around his own neck, and his contempt sent icy fear down her spine. He had no respect. No honor. And behind the mask, his calculating, cold eyes held no mercy. “The linguist can read the inscriptions and knows how to bring down the shields. Avalon is sinking. He may be our last chance to find the Grail.”

  “We don’t really know that Lucan brought down the first shield. It’s possible—”

  He placed the tip of the weapon to her throat. “You were with the linguist at the Elders’ retreat.”

  “And then we split up.”

  He slashed her arm and she screamed.

  “A lie! You were seen flying him above the city.”

  “True, but then he left me.” By now, her captor had to hear the ships approaching, but he gave no indication of it. Hoping to keep his attention on her, hoping the ships were rescuers and not his co-conspirators, she asked, “If you needed Lucan’s help, why did you try to kill him in the fire? And blame him for Shaw’s murder.”

  “Quentin assured us he could bring down the interior shield, but he overestimated his ability.”

  Quentin? Was he a traitor, too? “I know nothing that can help you.”

  Her captor brandished his sword. “Tell me where he is.”

  “Quentin?” She raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea.”

  He slashed out again, slicing deep into her shoulder. She screamed at the searing pain.

  “Not Quentin. The linguist. Tell me where he is. Now.”

  “I’ve already told you. I don’t know.”

  “You will tell me—”

  “I don’t—”

  “Or die from a hundred cuts.” He slashed her again, this time drawing blood on her thigh.

  Drowning in a quicksand of agony, she had to swim through the hurt, no matter how thick or deep. She had to stop the pain from pulling her under. Help might be coming.

  He raised his sword just as men entered the house. More masked men.

  Through a haze of anguish, she realized they weren’t here to rescue her.

  A burly man strode through the door. Through his mask, his eyes flicked over her wounds. “Have you found the linguist?”

  “I’m working on it.” The swordsman raised his sword. When he struck again, she braced for more agony. Tried to be stoic. But as the metal sliced through her, as if of its own accord, her mouth opened and she screamed. She lost her balance, and the chain around her neck tightened, choking off her cry.

  The masked man whipped the sword near her face, his cruel blade hissing by her cheek. “I’m skilled at missing vital veins, arteries, and organs. Tell me where the linguist is and your death will be swift.”

  “I… don’t… know.”

  Goddess help her. She was going to die a brutal and barbaric death. A hideous death.

  But even as the pain took her under, she was glad she couldn’t give away Lucan’s whereabouts. Perhaps he would live.

  When the magic of the Great Ones is committed to human hands, those hands serve the will of the Goddess.

  —THE LADY OF THE LAKE

  16

  Pain.

  What the hell? The message ripped through Lucan’s head, the thought so intense he doubled over in the skimmer. Sweat broke out all over his body.

  Pain. Had he been injured? Twisting, he looked down, expecting to see a wound. But he didn’t have a mark on him. Yet the sharp, searing pain in his mind continued despite the fact that he saw no blood.

  Was this mental shout in his head, this pounding agony, a side effect of his dragonshaping evolution? Swearing under his breath, he braced against the nauseating torture.

  Luckily, the skimmer’s autopilot had no difficulty finding Carlane and Cael’s residence. He’d come west, across the sea and the volcanic mountains that slid into foothills before the pain had struck. Now that he neared Carlane, a marbelite and glass city sparkling in the harsh midday sunlight, the brutal shout of pain made it impossible for him to think clearly. If not for the autopilot, he might have crashed into soaring skyscrapers, aerial maglev tracks, or the traffic flowing past or moving walkways. Through a haze of agony, he spied the parklike setting in the city center that held the dragonshaper’s ancestral residence. Spectacular in size and color, Cael’s home sparkled like an emerald beacon amid ancient trees and flowering gardens bisected with pathways and tumbling streams. The verdant, luxurious landscape contrasted with the hard surfaces of the city that surrounded it.

  Pain. He clapped his hands to his temples as another mental scream ripped through him, but this time he recognized the pain was coming from Cael. It was Cael’s scream ricocheting through him.

  Holy Hell. Cael was in trouble. Terrible trouble.

 
His horror rising, awful comprehension set in. She was broadcasting her pain through their telepathic link, her screams so loud and deafening he clamped his hands over his ears, certain his head was about to explode. Her beautiful face came to his mind, and he focused on it. He could not let her suffer. No one could take this kind of pain and survive.

  When Lucan spied military ships flying from the dragonshaper’s home, he barely retained the presence of mind to change his landing site. Instinct made him cautious. Pain made him frantic to find Cael. Anger that anyone would hurt her drove him on.

  After landing at a public garage, he exited the skimmer and fought down the pain, trapping it in a corner of his mind. Heading straight for the park and Cael’s spectacular sanctum, he expected perhaps fences or guards, but nothing stopped him from crossing the immaculate grounds.

  The passersby, a few couples walking hand in hand, a child on some kind of rolling wind vehicle, and a traffic cop, gave him perfunctory nods. No one seemed to think it odd that he was jogging onto sacred ground and into dragon territory. Into Cael’s home.

  Through the mental link he felt her scream of pain, and his shoulder seemed to catch fire. The blaze seared down his torso and burned his guts. He began to shake with the depth of his fear for her.

  As another, then another, even more horrible agony ripped through him, his ears picked up Cael’s raw scream, and Lucan’s hearts didn’t just elevate, they rumbled like a starship engine.

  In response, a strange and powerful energy flooded through him.

  An owl swooped out of the trees, dipped by his head, and swerved across his path. Lucan swore. “Merlin. Take me to Cael.”

  As if the bird understood, it veered right and Lucan sprinted after him. The bird was leading him away from Cael’s residence to a mansion that bordered the parklands.

  Sweat poured down Lucan’s back, and he prayed Cael was dragonshaping right now, breathing fire and scorching anyone who hurt her. He leapt over a metal bench, dodged around a lavender fountain, and stumbled over a loose stone. But he didn’t go down.