Lucan

by Susan Kearney

  She frowned. “I already hear ships coming. We don’t have much time. They want you really badly.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, apparently they think you’re the only guy on this moon who knows how to bring down the rest of the shields before Avalon falls into the sinkhole.”

  “We need to leave Carlane. Now.”

  “I need to leave. You could make a deal with them.”

  “Like I would trust them after they just tortured you?” Did she think so little of him that she believed he’d abandon her to those bastards? “When I go back to Avalon, it’ll be under my own terms.”

  At the roar of the skimmers approaching, she trembled and increased her pace. “Let’s go.”

  “Tell me there’s a secret tunnel out of here.”

  “I’ve got something even better.”

  The Round Table was constructed by a strange carpenter from beyond the mist.

  —ARTHUR PENDRAGON

  17

  A cannon?” Lucan took Cael’s arm and led her out of the master suite.

  She shuddered. “If there was another way to flee—”

  “If you hate the cannon, we can take a skimmer.” He must have sensed her dread. For a man who could walk away without saying good-bye, he could be amazingly perceptive.

  “The military’s got to be tracking every skimmer that flies in and out of the city.” She hurried back to where they’d left Depuck.

  “He’s gone. He said he was going to hide.” Lucan tugged her through the room. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “This way.” She turned down another wing, and they ran down the hallway.

  She still couldn’t believe Lucan was here. If he hadn’t shown up, she would have died. Hideously. She’d needed him, and Lucan had come for her. He’d saved her life. He cared about her. She’d seen it in his horrified expression, in his raging blue eyes and gentle hands. Even more astonishing, he had dragonshaped.

  It was all too much information to process, especially on top of her injuries and healing, which had sapped precious energy. Still, Cael held on to the comforting fact that they were a team again, and for now, she let the rest go.

  “Tell me about the cannon. Why so reluctant?” he asked, matching her jogging run.

  She wished she could sprint, but her body had yet to fully recover. As they ran, she appreciated that he let her set the pace.

  Cael also appreciated that he didn’t question her courage, only her reluctance. And she wished she could give him a better reason than childhood terror.

  Cael had to rest a little and slowed to a fast walk. “It’s always frightened me. I’m not exactly sure why. Perhaps because I don’t understand how it works.”

  “That makes sense.” He took her hand. “Does anyone in the military know about the cannon?”

  “It’s possible.” She sighed. Elder Selick had betrayed her, and there was no telling what sacred information he had revealed. “But since the military probably believes I’m dead, I doubt anyone will consider that we’re going to use the ancient escape route.”

  “We can’t make assumptions. Your captor’s probably already late reporting to his superiors. Those reinforcements we hear could be routine, or they could suspect we’ve gotten away.”

  “If we weren’t so weak, we could fly out,” she said, “but flying’s not an option. This way.” She led Lucan out a side door and into the back compound, looking over her shoulder at the sky, her pulse skipping in dread. “The ships are closer.”

  “I hear them.”

  Hand in hand, Cael and Lucan sprinted across the grass. They raced past sculpted hedges, beds of blooming flowers, and several tropical fish ponds. Panting, she headed straight for the expanse of wide stairs that led into the ancient temple, built in honor of dragonshapers. By dragon standards, the shrine was cozy. Mammoth columns, separated by a distance wide enough for her to pass through in dragon form, supported the domed roof.

  As they ran up the worn stone steps, she breathed in the familiar scents of incense, wax, and old dust that had settled into ancient cracks on the stronghold’s thick walls. The chamber’s wide entrance narrowed and Lucan slowed, craning back his head to read the inscriptions that wrapped around the graceful columns.

  “No time for that.” She tugged him through the corridor with its magnificent stained-glass windows. Usually she stopped to light ceremonial tapers and ring bells, a tribute to her dragon ancestors, but today, ritual was abandoned for urgency. She hurried directly for the temple’s center.

  Lucan had slowed again to peer at the vaulted roof. Natural light filtered through the upper windows, flowed over the walls, flickered over the golden floor. He let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Wow.”

  She’d spent so much time here, she sometimes forgot how mesmerizing the platinum pictures on the ceiling could be. Quadruple spires carved in tiers of marbelite depicted Dragonian life, the Goddess, and the esoteric realm of reincarnation. The Elders had used those carved and gilded images, messages from her ancestors, to teach her what it meant to be a dragonshaper.

  “Come on, Lucan. I need help.” Hurrying into the next chamber, she headed straight for a lever in the wall that engaged an ancient device built with gears and machine parts and metals from meteors that had crashed into their moon millions of years ago. The antiquated floor trembled, the massive weight rumbling as the stone slabs slid open to reveal another archaic device. Smelling old and dusty, the intimidating cannon perched on a plain black pedestal that rose high above the base.

  “Oh, my God.” Lucan’s eyes widened in awe. “That’s the Round Table.”

  “Table?” She looked from him to the round platform.

  “Nothing,” he muttered, but his eyes had taken on a wild gleam.

  Cael had used the cannon only once, and that memory made her go cold. Could they both fit inside the structure? Was the device powerful enough to blast the two of them through the opening in the roof?

  While she set coordinates, Lucan leaped onto the round base and inspected the cannon. Tubular in shape, about a body length wide, the cannon looked like a huge pipe, the mouth pointed at the open dome. He skimmed his palm over the surface.

  He looked impressed, but he didn’t understand that this device might very well kill them both. Cael could point out a pictograph that depicted a dragon who’d failed at her attempt to clear the sanctuary’s circular opening. Her blood had stained the roof for two decades. But Cael didn’t want to think about the gruesome story, never mind repeat it.

  She gestured for Lucan to walk around the cannon to the other side. “Climb in.”

  “And then what?”

  Her hearing keen, Cael picked up the drone of military skimmers closing in. “Ships are almost here. Get in.”

  She pulled another lever, and several large, rough-hewn stones rose from the edges of the platform. At the sight of the stones, Lucan’s gaze flew to hers in surprise and excitement. “This is unbelievable.”

  “It’s very old.”

  He stared at the pillars that powered the cannon. He was mumbling under his breath, something about Stonehenge and Knights of the Round Table.

  She gave him an odd look. “What’s Stonehenge?”

  He shook his head in amazement. “This place reminds me of another… it doesn’t matter right now.” He gestured to the large circular stones. “What are these ring stones for?”

  “Those power the cannon.”

  She pulled a second lever, and steep stone steps rose out of the floor. “Climb over the lip and slide to the bottom.”

  She had to give Lucan credit. He didn’t hesitate. Taking the steps two at a time, he climbed over the edge and slid into the cannon’s mouth. He landed on the bottom with a thud, then held up his arms, ready to catch her.

  She scooted over the lip and slid down the polished stone into his welcoming arms. “I’ve only done this once. It’s not… fun.”

  Lucan cocked his head, questions in his eyes. “It’s going to shoot us
into the air, right?”

  “Sort of.”

  “And then what?”

  “We dragonshape or we die.”

  “Then why do we need the cannon? Why can’t we just dragonshape and fly out of here?”

  “We’re too weak. Besides, the cannon can shoot us faster than we can fly.”

  “Can it shoot us all the way to Avalon?”

  She nodded. At the roar of skimmers overhead, she had to shout. “But I need to find Nisco.”

  “How?” he asked, eyes bleak.

  “She left me a message to meet her at the medical center. I have to believe she got away.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’ll find her.”

  Outside the temple, commanders shouted orders to soldiers. Cael fingered her necklace. “You ready?”

  He nodded.

  She pushed a series of dark spots in the stone control panel, then turned to wrap her arm around Lucan. “Hold me.”

  He complied, his touch gentle. He smelled musky, and to her, it was the most beautiful scent ever. She was alive. In his arms.

  Soldiers stomped through the temple.

  “Tighter. Hold me tighter. And remember to follow me after we dragonshape.”

  Beneath their feet, the ancient stones began to rumble, the cannon’s engines beginning to fire. Heat from the rocks engulfed them. The large ring of stones drew in energy from the cosmos, and bolts of electricity arced around them.

  Lucan held her tight. One moment they were standing inside the cannon, the next they were in midair. Above Feridon. Just as quickly, they began to fall. Wind rushed through her hair and cooled her flesh.

  They’d made it through the ceiling, into the cloud cover over the outskirts of the city, not far from Jaylon’s medical center. But the speed of their plunging descent had made holding on to Lucan impossible. Flung from her arms, he tumbled. But even as he fell, he craned his head to look for her.

  She reached for him with her wings. She’d dragonshaped.

  He hadn’t.

  Cael. His mind called to her.

  Lucan was plunging like a skimmercraft diver with no parachute, tumbling through the air, plummeting toward Pendragon. In moments he would smash into the ground.

  I’m coming. Without hesitation, Cael dived, tucking her wings in tight, streamlining her body. She caught up to him, adjusted her speed, and then flew under him, matching their rate of descent. Climb on.

  Lucan grasped her back. And slipped. She stabilized, felt him seize her neck. For a moment, Lucan remained airborne, then pulled himself over, straddled her shoulders, and clung—not an easy task.

  Got you. Lucan’s mind linked with hers as he wrapped his arms around her neck.

  Hold on.

  She needed to climb into the clouds before Feridon’s citizens spotted her in the sky.

  “Hurry.” Lucan’s words conveyed an urgency she shared. They flew over the city, and she picked up a thermal current and spiraled, climbing high into the cloud cover. She didn’t need a clear view to find the medical center. Jaylon had been sick for several years, and she’d visited often.

  But Cael was finding flying an effort. Her injuries and healing had depleted her platinum reserves. Hunger drove her forward. She must feed soon—or fall out of the sky from exhaustion.

  No.

  If she did, her mate would die. And she would be alone.

  Her wings ached. Her lungs heaved with effort.

  She had to reach the medical center. Her wings felt so heavy, the man on her back like lead.

  She couldn’t stay high enough or level. We aren’t going to make it.

  We will. You can do this.

  She tried to relax, tried to make her limited energy last. But it was no good. She corkscrewed downward, dived through the traffic streams, barely avoided a building’s canopy, fought the wind shear and vortices whipping around the skyscrapers.

  Set down on that rooftop, he instructed.

  He’d picked a building large enough to support her weight. Saving every drop of energy for the rooftop landing, she tensed, dropped. Her feet touched and she collapsed.

  LUCAN REMOVED HIS tunic, wrapped a naked and unconscious Cael in it, and carried her from the rooftop. He opened a door, followed a stairway down to a hallway. She needed clothing, hydrogen, platinum, and time to recuperate.

  He needed recovery time, too—not so much from physical exhaustion as the enormity of what he’d seen. A round table with names of knights engraved around the rim. Twelve knights, plus Arthur Pendragon. And the round table was motored by a device that looked like a miniature Stonehenge. The concept blew his mind.

  Lucan tried several locked doors along the long corridor before one opened. After peering into an unoccupied room, he slipped inside, placed Cael in the only chair, and looked around. Cleaning supplies, brooms, chemicals, and a mop surrounded him.

  No handy uniforms hung inside. He had two choices, stay and hope she recovered, or leave and search for platinum and clothing. He didn’t like either option. The idea of leaving her unprotected tied his gut into knots.

  When the storage-room door suddenly opened, Lucan grabbed the intruder, a woman, by the wrist and dragged her inside. Tall, busty, and with sharp brown eyes, the woman didn’t resist or call out for help. She didn’t seem particularly surprised by their presence, either.

  She carried clothing in her free hand and thrust it at him. “Here. These should fit the High Priestess if you roll up the pant cuffs. I’m Lady Barena. I came to serve.”

  Was this some kind of trick? “Who knows we’re here?”

  Barena raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know about any others. I saw my lady land on the roof. Her loyal followers know that she often needs clothing after she lands. All who help clothe her… are blessed. Do you require…” Barena peered at Cael. “Is the lady… ill?”

  “Exhausted.”

  “Yes, of course.” Barena was clearly relieved.

  “What city is this?”

  “Feridon.”

  So the cannon had blasted them to their target. And Cael had flown them the rest of the way. “Can we expect others who wish to serve the High Priestess?” he asked.

  Barena frowned. “Is there a problem?”

  “There was an attack on Lady Cael at her home. Until she learns who was behind—”

  “An attack? That cannot be.”

  “It’s true.” Cael opened her eyes. Weary but alert, she gestured to the woman. “Come to me. Don’t be afraid.” She lifted her hand and touched the stone necklace, then beckoned the wary Barena forward again. Finally, Barena took one step, then another. Cael held out her hand and placed her finger above the woman’s pulse at her neck. “Blessed are those who serve the dragonshaper.”

  “Thank you.” Barena glowed but moved back quickly, exhibiting that duality of fear and reverence Lucan had noted before. Barena hesitated, then spoke again. “Is there anything else I can do to help you?”

  “Say nothing to anyone about our meeting. Secrecy is for your own safety. Those that seek to do harm have hurt my family. They might harm you, also.”

  “I understand, my lady.” Barena backed away. “I will say nothing.”

  Lucan stopped her before she backed out the door. “Can you tell us more about this building?”

  Barena frowned. “It’s a gambling enterprise. The premises include private rooms, many restaurants, and a shopping area.”

  “Thank you.” Lucan held open the door, and the woman left. He turned to Cael, who still looked pale, and helped her into her clothes. “Is there somewhere we can get you some platinum? And how far is it to the medical center?”

  “It’s not far. We can walk.”

  Cael shoved to her feet, then swayed. She hadn’t answered his question about the platinum.

  He stopped and turned to face her. He raised her chin with his fingertips and looked into her eyes. An undeniable connection flared.

  His voice was soft, husky. “We could be walking into a trap.”

 
“Nisco wouldn’t do that—not if she had a choice.”

  “Still… there’s something I want you to know.” He slipped his hand from her chin to her neck. He could feel her pulse beating wildly.

  “Yes?”

  She waited for him to say more. But he couldn’t tell her he was from Earth, that she meant so much to him that he hoped she’d return with him. She wanted the Grail for Pendragon, and he wouldn’t make her choose.

  Yanking her to him, he kissed her with the desperation of a drowning man sucking down air. Like a man who couldn’t bear to think beyond this moment. This place. This kiss.

  Pendragon is the banner of Briton under one great dragon and stands in token of all folk, Briton, Christian, Druid, Old People, and all believers of Avalon.

  —ARTHUR PENDRAGON

  18

  Finally, Lucan had kissed her. And she melted into his arms, surged into his kiss. Having him there with her meant everything. Instead of going to Avalon for the Grail, he’d come to help her. Even now she could feel his worry for her, as well as the constant thread of desire. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she wove her fingers into his hair, stood on tiptoes, and pressed against him chest to chest, hips to hips.

  He’d gathered her into his arms with all the urgency she could have wished for. For a moment Cael allowed her own emotions to sweep her away, but then her empathic skills kicked into gear. She read deeper, and the conflict raging in Lucan disturbed her. She sensed his real concern for her. But even as she tasted his intensity, beneath the surface, he was taut, tense, torn.

  He broke their embrace too soon. She felt him bank his desire, and he reached up to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

  Disguised in a scavenged hat and clothes that covered her scales, Cael was finally going to fulfill one of her promises to Jaylon. And hopefully meet with Nisco. Cael still hadn’t replenished her platinum stores, but her anticipation of seeing her family helped buoy her energy.

  The freedom of moving through the medical center without anyone recognizing her was liberating, but the restful pink walls reminded Cael of all her failures as a healer. Although medical science had made steady advances during the last few centuries, too many of her people came here and never went home. Many diseases had no cures. And she’d tired of waiting for a scientific breakthrough, tired of hoping that medical researchers would find cures.