WHEN THURLOCK “got his wizard on,” as Han liked to call it, he was a very tall man, with very long legs, and could set a decidedly brisk pace. He grew into that persona the instant he heard Zhevi’s message. Luccan’s life was beyond precious to him, both because he was the long-awaited Suth Chiell who merged the Karrighan and Drakhonic houses and because he simply was Luccan, and Thurlock loved him as if he were his own grandson. And Han? Thurlock sincerely hoped Han would outlive him, and to lose him now would be tragic for the Sunlands and personally for Thurlock. He’d grown extremely attached in the centuries of their alliance. Yes, truth be told, he loved Han too. If he’d had a son of his own, he couldn’t have hoped for better than Han Shieth.
With both of them in mortal danger, Thurlock gave new meaning to the word haste. He headed directly for the veranda outside Luccan’s room, finding guards posted along the way at the main gate to the manor’s grounds, where the main walkway met the smaller one that they needed to take, at the steps to the veranda, and at the french doors leading into Luccan’s chamber. At each station, the guards—members of Behlishan’s Guard rather than the Watch, so likely posted on Lem’s orders—gave challenge. Not to Thurlock, of course, but they apparently figured a dog and a very large black bird with a bald red head could be troublesome.
Each time, Thurlock growled, “Let them pass. They’re with me,” and swept on by with Maizie and Henry doing their best to keep up.
Once inside, Thurlock stopped to take in the scene, and it truly scared him. The room was so cold that frost had begun to form on the edges of things. Maizie immediately jumped onto the bed where Luccan lay unconscious. If it wasn’t for irregular twitches of his lips, Thurlock would have thought he was dead. He looked like a corpse.
No. He looks worse than that.
Han lay sprawled on the floor on his back. Thurlock sensed his living presence, somehow, but he detected no motion of his chest, no warm breath raising clouds of mist in the frigid air. His eyes were wide open, but…. Thurlock stepped closer to make sure he was really seeing what he thought he saw. Yes. Yes indeed, his eyes have changed. Only the barest rim of white was visible around irises gone huge. Their color had changed from golden-brown to deep red, uneven streaks of metallic gold converging at narrow horizontal pupillary slits.
They were the eyes of a dragon.
Before Thurlock could do anything further, Henry, perched upon Han’s arm, spread his wings, and leaned forward until his beady bird eye looked directly into Han’s eyes. After not much more than an instant, Han gasped in a breath. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, they retained their new color, but otherwise had once again become the eyes of a man. In the same instant, Henry changed forms. Han sat up, and for a hung second the two men sat looking each other in the eye. Simultaneously, as if guided by some inner knowledge, each raised a hand to touch the Mark on the other’s shoulder. A flash of light, red and gold, flared around them, then faded instantly, leaving a faint odor of struck matches, cedar, and sweet grass.
HENRY GOT to his feet, and then offered his hand to help Han rise.
Never too proud to accept an assist when he needed it, Han gladly clasped hands with Henry and stood. He felt dizzy only for an instant. “Well met, Henry,” he said.
Henry’s answer was the slightest of smiles, the barest of nods.
Han turned to Thurlock then. “Sir. I’m so relieved that you’re here. Zhevi gave you my message?”
“He did indeed, and when I came into this room, for a moment, I thought your worst fears had come true. I’m happy you’re alive, and—except for the change that’s come over you—looking fairly well, all things considered.”
“Change? I’m the same as ever, except wounded and exhausted.”
“Hm. I think you know what I mean. But in order to keep you from denying it ad infinitum, walk over to the wall and look in the mirror. What you’ll see when you look at your eyes is the remnant of how they looked before Henry woke you from whatever state you were in.”
Han did look in the mirror for an instant, but immediately looked away. He shook his head, denying it. His eye color looked a little different, but certainly that was a trick of the light. He turned back to Thurlock to say as much, but Thurlock raised one eyebrow, and Han realized he couldn’t get away with a lie, so he said nothing.
“You always knew it would happen someday, Han Shieth.”
“No!” Han said, perhaps more emphatically than he’d intended. Then, much quieter, “It… it should have been my brother.”
Thurlock scratched at his currently very scraggly and tangled beard for a moment, as he did at times when pondering some wizard business. Finally he met Han’s gaze again and said, “Perhaps, Han. Perhaps not. Let’s talk about Luccan, now. Sit in the chair, there by the window, before you fall over. I can see the leg hurts you. I’ll want to hear about that later, but for now, tell me what you know about Luccan. For the sake of speed, stick to the point as much as possible.”
In not more than twenty sentences, with a few pointed questions and single-word answers interspersed, Han gave Thurlock an account of Lucky’s wanderings, his own near-death and rescue, the finding of the Black Blade, the felling of the black dragon, and the trip home. “When we got here,” he concluded, “we had a meal, I was more or less ordered to the infirmary—which I admit I needed—and Luccan went to his room to rest. There’s a lot of other stuff going on, most of it no good at all, and I tried to get some things in order as much as I could. Luccan came to the infirmary to see me, and we talked. He looked good, Thurlock. His usual self except he was tired because he’d slept poorly. He’d had some pretty awful dreams from the sound of it, but he couldn’t remember them except that they somehow involved Liliana, or some kind of weird apparition of her, perhaps. And by the way, she’s never come back to the Sisterhold since she left last fall.” Han paused to meet Thurlock’s gaze. They’d had their suspicions about Lili for a long time, though no one had wanted to admit she could have taken a seriously wrong turn in her allegiances.
“Hm,” Thurlock said. “Perhaps things with her are worse than we imagined. We’ll explore that more, but tell me. Did Luccan say what he planned to do after he left you?”
“Rose and Lem and their various advisors had decided an appearance by the Suth Chiell and a feast to celebrate his homecoming would do the Sisterhold some good. It was supposed to happen at noon yesterday.” Han stopped to think. “I… I’m not sure, but I think he planned to visit K’ormahk and also to try to complete the bonding with Cia… uh, with the Black Blade before that. At any rate, that noontime engagement on the green is when things went seriously wrong. He was—” Han had to stop and swallow back the sudden burn of threatening tears. “He was attacked, Thurlock. On the green, by our own people! Beat up and knocked unconscious.”
“Behl’s teeth!”
Thurlock’s surge of anger comforted Han a bit, because he truly believed the old man was the one person in the world who could set things right. Thurlock patted Han’s shoulder, and Henry stepped closer to Han’s chair, and those things were comforts too.
“He’s been like this ever since,” he said. “And whatever it is that’s got hold of him, it made both L’Aria and her father quite sick. Tiro said he had to go back to the wilds to try to get over it. Then there was this other business with Droghona visitors I had to take care of—”
“Droghona?”
“Yes, they came back with some soldiers from the Fallows, along with two bodies that may or may not be human…. Can I tell you later?”
“You’ll have to—we need to focus on Luccan right now. What else?”
“I… I went into his mind. I know I shouldn’t, generally, but—”
“It’s fine. I understand. What happened—go ahead and ignore the dragon part for now.”
“I tried to pull him out, and at first it seemed to be working but… things happened, and in the end, he saved me. He’s trapped, Thurlock, and it’s a horrible, terrifying world he’s stuck in. I have to go back in! With you here, maybe I can get him out this time.”
He got up and started to limp over to the bed, but the wizard said, “No,” and whisked the chair closer to the bed with a word.
“Sit down, Han. It’s very likely you’ll have to do your thing and fetch him out from wherever he is, but not yet. Let me think.”
He moved the only other chair in the room up behind him and sat absently thumbing the globe on the top of his staff, which caused it to spark and flicker, though Han wasn’t at all sure it did anything to help otherwise. He was completely surprised when he felt a blanket drop over his shoulders and realized he’d been getting cold. Henry had known that and brought the blanket. Han looked at him and mouthed a “thank you.” Henry smiled and nodded again, and then crossed the room, took another blanket off the stack on top of the wardrobe, wrapped it around himself and posted himself at the window. Maizie sighed deeply. Against his will, Han yawned a couple of times, and then he nodded off to sleep.
It was pain in his leg that woke him up, but he also got a sense of Thurlock having arrived at either answers or questions. It turned out to be the latter, first.
“Luccan is cutting his hand to shreds on the Key of Behliseth. But where is the Black Blade? Did he have it with him when he was attacked?”
“I don’t… I don’t know, sir.”
“Who might know, Han? Who was with him, closest to him?”
Han gave him the obvious answer. “Tennehk. I’d asked him to be there to protect Luccan. He rescued him, though not quite in time.”
Thurlock went to the door to the hallway and opened it. To Han’s surprise, before Thurlock could say anything to the guard, he heard a string of meows like a stream of syllables. He hadn’t lost his ability to communicate with animals at all, so he interpreted for Thurlock.
“Lemon said he’s ‘standing guard at this door, so if these big oafs have anything else to do, they can go do it.’”
In a perfectly serious tone, Thurlock said, “Well, Lemon. I’m glad to see you’re feeling helpful. Actually, these men, who are not oafs at all, are doing a good job, but I do need to send them on a couple of errands, so your help is appreciated.”
Han made sure Lemon understood, and Lemon meowed once in surly agreement.
Thurlock then said to the guards, who were looking from Thurlock to the diminutive gray cat with confused expressions, “One of you find Tennehk and ask him to come here, please. The other, find Tahlina or the healer in charge at this hour, and have them send something for Han’s pain—something that will not make him sleepy or confused, mind you. Go on now, as quick as you can. Thank you.”
After a couple of sputtered yessirs, the guardsmen were off, and Thurlock came back to sit by the bed. He sighed deeply and said, “While we’re waiting, Han, I’ll tell you my plan.”
He explained that Han would indeed have to “go in, as you put it,” and try to pull Luccan back to consciousness. He wanted to wait for the Black Blade, because this was the sort of thing the talisman might help with, particularly because of its affinity for darkness, “which isn’t, of course, to be equated with evil.” While Han did his part, Thurlock would do his best to infuse him and Luccan both with Behl’s light. “I hope that will keep you both safe until you get back to this side of consciousness, but truthfully, Han, I must say I don’t know if it will be enough.”
Han didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. After a few minutes he commented, “With Maizie there, he seems less… cold. Don’t you think, sir?”
“Yes. Yes, he does. It’s likely her presence will help. I wish I felt stronger. Truth is I’m exhausted. That won’t help matters, but Behl will help. I could get another wizard to shore up my strength, possibly—if someone strong enough is around. Mahros perhaps.”
Han said, “Not Mahros, sir. Trust me on that now and I’ll explain later—I should know more soon.” But that phrase, “shore up my strength,” had triggered Han’s memory. “But I think I know someone who might serve. Her name is Olana, and she’s a Droghona light-worker.”
A QUARTER hour later—while Thurlock and Olana discussed how she might help—Han, Lemon, and Maizie went out to the kitchen garden to beat the bushes for the Black Blade. Henry, as the Condor, was already circling overhead looking for a telltale gleam. Tennehk had reported that he’d seen the Black Blade fly in that direction when it had been torn from Luccan’s boot, and he’d sent some of the house staff out to look for it earlier, but no one had discovered its hiding place. Thurlock believed the Blade might reveal itself to Han.
“It’s tied to your Drakhonic line, after all, Han. And if Luccan completed his bond with it—”
“Her.”
“Pardon?”
“She’s a her, sir. According to Luccan.”
“Well, fine. As I was saying, if the bond is complete it… er, she will be trying to reunite with him. Maybe. But even if that’s not the case, you just might be more sensitive to her presence.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Go look.”
As was very often the case, Thurlock was right. Han walked out the kitchen door, stepped down into the garden, and made a beeline for the pea patch. There he found the Blade plunged almost completely into the ground, only a half inch of her hilt protruding next to a post supporting the pea-vine trellis. “I’ve found her,” he said without any hint of fanfare, then asked Lemon and Maizie if they had anything they needed to do outside while he dug the Blade out of the ground. “Don’t do it in the garden, though, please.”
They ran off, Maizie gratefully and Lemon grumpily, to take care of their business, and returned just as he was opening the door to go back in. He washed the soil off his hands and the Blade at one of the huge kitchen sinks, then held the door open for Henry—who remained in condor form—and headed back to Luccan’s room.
He held out the Blade to Thurlock as he walked in, but Thurlock shook his head.
“Don’t give it to me,” Thurlock answered, brows arched and sounding testy. “Give it to Luccan.”
“Uh, sir. I’m a little concerned. He’s cut his hands badly just on the Key. He could do a lot worse harm with an obsidian knife.”
“Just put the hilt in his hand, Han. We’ll watch him. See what happens.”
Han dutifully stepped over to Luccan, sat on the edge of his bed, took the hand that wasn’t holding the Key, and gently placed the knife’s hilt into it. Instantly, the knife began to glow with a low violet light and give off faint warmth. Lucky’s palm remained relaxed, the fingers naturally curved around the knife, but not truly gripping it. Han looked at Thurlock.
“Hm. Promising,” Thurlock said. Then, “So here is what we’re going to do….”
Han shifted to a more comfortable position, injured leg outstretched, as soon as he realized Thurlock was going to drone on with wizardly explanations as well as instructions. Could take a while. He wished Thurlock would hurry, as his concern for Luccan hadn’t quieted much, even though he noticed that with Ciarrah in hand, people who loved him in the room, and Maizie by his side, he seemed to look less haunted—and the room grew warmer too.
He was in the middle of noticing how Thurlock never seemed to have trouble with rising blood pressure if he was holding forth in a more-or-less academic manner, when Tahlina herself arrived with the same willow-bark powder she’d given him earlier. The interruption did redden Thurlock’s face with irritation, but Han refrained, this time, from telling him to breathe. For one thing, Thurlock would only argue, “My blood pressure is fine, Han.” For another, it would be one more delay in rescuing Luccan, something he badly wanted to get on with.
After Han swallowed the painkiller, Tahlina gazed for a moment at Luccan’s prone form. She turned to Thurlock and asked in a sickroom whisper, “Would you like me to stay? I confess, though, I have no idea how to help Luccan, save perhaps to try to keep him warm.”
“Thank you, Tahlina, but no, you need not stay,” said Thurlock. “I, or perhaps I should say we, do have an idea of how to help him, and it isn’t a matter of medicine. But I would consider it a favor if you were to keep your staff on alert. I don’t know what anybody’s condition will be when we’ve finished here.”
Tahlina didn’t loiter once she’d agreed, and it turned out Thurlock had finished with his lecture on rescuing Luccan, and—finally—they got set up and Han prepared his mind to enter Luccan’s mental landscape and do battle once more.
Or he tried to prepare. I’m scared, he acknowledged, and he knew that could prevent him from doing what he needed to do.
“Han,” Thurlock said as if he could read his mind, which he couldn’t, “I’m quite sure this is a frightening proposition. But remember, if you will, you are quite an able warrior. Most probably you are the most well suited of anyone for this particular battle. We’ll be standing with you, equipped with Behl’s light. I have every faith you’ll succeed.”
Han was only somewhat comforted by that. When he asked himself why, he realized failure wasn’t what he was afraid of. He glanced at the mirror, remembering and unable to deny what he’d seen there. Dragon.
Completely unable to read thoughts, Thurlock again proved himself to be good at figuring things out. Probably the glance at the mirror clued him in. “Don’t be afraid of that, either. It will be fine. It will be more than fine. Now get ready, please.”
The last was delivered in Thurlock’s “this is an order” voice, and for Han, it was like he’d been shaken awake. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Within seconds, everyone was in place. With the bed moved away from the wall, Thurlock and Olana stood at the head, each with a hand on Thurlock’s staff, placed between them. Henry—in bird form—perched on a bedpost at the foot of the bed. Lemon—who loathed magic—remained posted at the door, having apparently made peace with the guards who’d returned to their stations. Maizie lay on Luccan’s left, her attention riveted on the boy she loved. Han sat on his right.
He emptied his mind of other things, keyed into the ebb and flow of Luccan’s mental energy, and waited. Thurlock had said he would know when it was time to enter Luccan’s mind by the change in the light, and it was true. A moment came when the room seemed flooded with daylight, faintly golden and warm, both comforting and refreshing. As he had earlier, he pressed his hand to the mark on Luccan’s chest.
Just before he left this kinder world for the hideous one where Luccan was captive, he became aware of a different light joining the yellow-gold day of Behlishan. He glanced back over his left shoulder and saw Henry, wings spread, red light bathing him almost like flame. He was quite beautiful, and Han felt his strength, felt fortified as if he’d strapped on Chiell Shan and his dragon-hide buckler.
Still, the thought of the dragon disturbed him as he let his mind flow into the hollows and folds of Luccan’s thoughts. He belatedly thought if he wasn’t wearing the garb of the Drakhonic leader, perhaps the shift wouldn’t happen. But it was too late to do anything about it, so Han put the worry as far out of his conscious considerations as he could, and went in ready to do battle.