Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III

by Irene Radford

  A few more paces took the mounted party out of sight and out of earshot. Kinnsell stood up, brushing dead leaves and dirt off his brocade tunic and plush trews.

  “Come, Maia. We have to hurry.” So much for his plans to lie with the sultry woman before taking off. He had no intention of being anywhere in the vicinity when his treacherous daughter returned with the materials to torch the shuttle.

  Katie’s party and their steeds had churned the muddy path into a sopping mire. Kinnsell picked his way carefully along the sides until he reached the clearing. If these stupid bush dwellers had the sense to install climate control, he wouldn’t have to ruin a decent set of boots!

  He held his breath against a new round of coughing as the mud seeped through to his socks and chilled his feet and legs.

  “Stargods protect me!” Maia exclaimed. She stared straight ahead, eyes wide. Over and over she crossed herself, followed by the bizarre gesture of crossed wrists and flapping hands.

  Kinnsell followed her stunned gaze. He saw the shuttle where he’d parked it, settled only slightly deeper in the mud than he remembered. Weak sunlight sparkled on the silvery tiles of the hull. The glare made him squint and lower his gaze.

  “What is your problem, woman?” He faced Maia, hands on hips, aggravation and unease making him snap his words.

  Maia pointed at the shuttle. Her mouth formed the word “dragon” but no sound emerged.

  “That is my ship. I told you it is a kind of a dragon.”

  “A . . . a . . . atop the silver thing,” she choked.

  Kinnsell glanced again in the direction she pointed. Then he looked away again quickly. The glare hurt. “The sunlight reflects the silver skin, makes it brighter, just like sunlight on water.”

  “Not that. A real dragon. A real dragon is perched atop the silver one!”

  Maia backed up as if she wanted to flee but didn’t dare take her eyes off the thing that frightened her.

  “Nonsense. There are no real dragons. Only my mechanical one.” Kinnsell tried again to look at the shuttle.

  This time a slight shift of the sparkling light made it a little easier to observe more closely. Something big did indeed perch atop the shuttle. Something almost transparent but with just a hint of silver revealing the massive bulk. Bright red outlined the extended wings and claws.

  Then the standing dragon opened its mouth and roared. Flames burst forth from behind teeth as long as daggers.

  Kinnsell almost wet his pants as he ran back down the path toward the road.

  Chapter 29

  Late Morning, Kaalipha’s Palace, city of Hanassa

  Powwell ignored the sounds of Yaala vomiting out in the corridor. He thought she’d would have grown used to this sort of thing by now.

  But did anyone ever get used to violent and bloody death?

  Rollett didn’t look any better than Yaala, but at least he kept his breakfast down. “They were my men. They depended on me, and I failed them.” Rollett swallowed nervously.

  “They chose to live in Hanassa, a city of murderers, thieves, extortionists, rapists, and every other kind of criminal you can name. They came here because they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, obey the laws of the outside world. As long as they lived here, they couldn’t hope for a clean death in old age,” Powwell reminded him.

  “Not all of them. Some of them came here as slaves—like you. They didn’t have a choice. They relied on me!”

  “I haven’t time to hold your hand, Rollett, and make you feel better about yourself.” Powwell resolutely swallowed his revulsion and stepped into the Justice Hall, senses alert to any danger or presence.

  His resources had worn thin again. He pushed the limits of his magic for his own safety.

  When he was certain no one hid in or around the huge room, Powwell crept forward. He clung to the shadows as long as possible. Thorny gibbered in his pocket. The hedgehog didn’t like the smell of blood. They needed to scuttle away in the dark tunnels and hide.

  Powwell hushed his familiar. He didn’t like the smell of blood and fear either. But he had to find Kalen—or rather Kalen’s body. The wraith was the only thing left of his sister. He had to use his magic to help Kalen regain her body. She couldn’t do it alone. The blood on the altar could give him valuable information.

  At last he took the remaining four long strides between the back wall and the raised altar below the dais.

  “How’d they raise this stone without ’motes?” he asked. “There’s a lot of blood on the manacles, so they managed to open and close them, too.”

  Rollett shrugged. Yaala wept silently in the corridor.

  Powwell screwed up his courage and touched the coagulating blood with sensitive fingertips.

  Power jolted up his hand and into his arm as if he had touched a ley line. He sucked up the energy greedily. And with the power came knowledge. The last moments of the dead man’s life flashed across his mind.

  Pain, humiliation, fear. Accelerated heartbeat. Quivering panic. Then a sharp agony in the back of his neck. Sharp awareness that this was the end. Almost a sense of relief. A flash of bright light and sudden awareness . . . Blackness.

  Powwell lived through the shaking limbs and cold sweat only slightly distanced from the events. When his heartbeat returned to normal, he replayed the events through his memory, watching for glimpses of the people around the execution. He recognized Piedro standing on the dais as he passed judgment for treachery. The Kaaliph hadn’t changed much since he’d helped Televarn kidnap Powwell, Myri, and Kalen a year and a half ago.

  Powwell watched through the dead man’s memories an entire clan of Rovers dancing around the altar stone in a stylized ritual. The magical power they generated from the dance raised the altar stone. Rough hands from behind forced his hands into the manacles at one end. His partner faced him at the other end, equally afraid, mumbling prayers to a dozen different gods. Then he shared the sensation of the cold stone on his throat as the outlaw was forced to bend over the substitute executioner’s block.

  But when he tried to focus on the figure beside the new Kaaliph of Hanassa, his eyes slid up, down, and sideways. He couldn’t examine any feature of the vaguely feminine creature. As if Kalen had merged with a dragon!

  A sharp pricking pain in his chest brought him back to the reality of the deserted Justice Hall. Thorny wiggled uncomfortably in his pocket. Fully extended spines threatened to rip holes in the sturdy cloth of Powwell’s tunic. Something akin to a sob of grief shook both of them.

  Powwell jerked his hand away from the altar. Blood still dripped from his fingertips. Power continued to tingle through him. He hated the thought that he gained from the terror of a man’s death. He’d only known one Bloodmage. The thrill of harvesting power from pain and terror had driven that man to insane abuses of his magic.

  “Thanks for reminding me, Thorny. Keep reminding me of the cost of this power.” He caressed his familiar through his pocket until the hedgehog relaxed his spines and Powwell could safely pet him directly.

  “What did you learn?” Rollett asked from the shadowed doorway.

  Yaala remained in the corridor. Her squeamishness at the grisly deaths encouraged Powwell that she would not revert to her mother’s cruel methods. Or Hanassa’s—whoever had governed the Kaalipha’s body.

  “I’m not sure,” he replied to his fellow magician. “The images are complex and distorted. I need time to sort through them. Let’s scout the royal suite through Yaala’s back door. I think we need to concentrate on Piedro and his consort. They have to have a weakness.” He stalled.

  He couldn’t reveal all that he’d learned—the wraith would take the knowledge and try to regain her body alone. She wouldn’t succeed and might kill herself with the effort. Nor could he let the others know that he was now in full possession of his magic. He wasn’t even sure he could force himself to use this magic since it was powered by blood.

  He wanted to run away from the power and curl up into a tight ball, just like Thor
ny. He didn’t dare.

  “I don’t think you are going to spy on anyone, young magician,” a man snarled from the back of the dais. Piedro stepped through the waterfall tapestry. “You escaped my slave pens once before. You’ll not live long enough to do so again.”

  Two dozen Rover guards crowded into the room from the main doorway, swords, arrows, and ’mote wands aimed at his heart.

  Then Powwell saw the consort standing next to Piedro. Black SeLenese lace of finest silk covered her from head to toe. A shift in the open pattern of the lace revealed her gray eyes and the ferret familiar draped across her left shoulder.

  The wraith howled and dove for the consort. Hanassa, within Kalen’s body raised her right hand within the lace veil and wiggled her fingers in a mocking shooing gesture.

  The wraith screamed in agony and scuttled through the exit, back toward the pit and safety.

  Powwell wanted to run after her, but found his feet unable to move, pinned by magic.

  The consort laughed hysterically at his predicament.

  Now, big brother, we are together again, Kalen’s voice, but darker, throatier, penetrated his mind like iced water.

  You aren’t my sister!

  Justice Hall, city of Hanassa.

  “Run!” Yaala screamed. “Move, Powwell, move s’murghit! ” She hit every ’mote secreted upon her person in hopes one would respond.

  The altar rumbled as it slowly lowered, stone scraping stone. Lights exploded on and off around the room. The dais retreated and advanced in random jerks. The waterfall tapestry fluttered.

  She backed into the corridor, still slamming her fingers against the various ’motes. She couldn’t see a thing. The bright lights continued flashing before her eyes, even when they plunged the Justice Hall into darkness. But she had to make room for Powwell and Rollett to get through the narrow back door.

  Two bodies brushed past her. She prayed they were her two friends.

  A large hand grabbed her left arm and propelled her backward. Every dragon instinct bred into her demanded she fight the man who held her. A deeper emotion knew that Rollett protected her, keeping his body between her and the advancing Rovers.

  He’d do the same for any of his men.

  She had to trust his magic senses to get them back to the pit and safety. Her eyes hadn’t adjusted yet.

  “Powwell?” she asked breathlessly when they had turned two corners and the corridor was beginning to come into focus.

  “Here,” the young man replied from right beside her. “Your screams helped me break the enthrallment.” She heard a high-pitched chatter above the sound of their footfalls and her heart pounding in her ears. Thorny told her that he, too, accompanied them.

  “We’re all together,” Rollett reassured her. He shifted position, dragging her in his wake rather than pushing her. “Get ready to open the gate in a hurry. We won’t have much time to get through to safety.”

  Yaala pulled two ’motes from her left pocket. Which one operated the gate? She couldn’t remember. Maybe it was one of the three black boxes in her right pocket. Or the two tucked into her breast band. They all looked alike.

  “Catch!” She tossed ’motes to each of her friends. “Push every button you can until the gate opens.”

  Rollett let go her arm to grab two small black boxes out of the air. Yaala felt an immediate chill from the loss of his touch. That frightened her almost as much as the sight of Rover guards brandishing wands that she thought only she could control.

  Yaala pushed buttons frantically as the gate came into view. Her feet slid on the loose sand of the corridor. She struggled to maintain her balance while continuing to push buttons.

  At last the gate creaked open.

  Powwell drew alongside her, ’mote pointed directly at the gate. He must have the proper one.

  No time to think, only to escape to the other side of the gate.

  “I will protect you, men, from the wraith. Don’t let the gate stop you,” Piedro called from behind the refugees.

  Rollett reached the crossed iron bars first. He grabbed the gate, ready to slam it closed as soon as Yaala and Powwell passed through.

  Powwell skidded on the sand, sliding out of control. He slammed into the bars, in the far corner away from the opening. He dropped the ’mote.

  The guards pelted forward, barely ten paces away.

  Yaala grabbed Powwell’s tunic and dragged him through the gateway. Without thinking, she scooped up the black box and aimed it at the lock.

  “Stargods, I hope it’s not broken,” she prayed.

  Rollett slammed the gate closed, pressing all of his weight against it.

  Archers followed the initial wave of guards. The nearest Rover raised his belt knife ready to throw it the last three paces into Rollett’s back.

  She turned off the lights.

  Three very long heartbeats later, Yaala heard the lock snick tight.

  Then they were off again, deep into the labyrinth of caverns. As they passed through the living cavern, the sounds of pursuit died down. At least the gate had slowed the Rovers.

  “We’ve got to keep moving. I don’t trust that lock,” Rollett panted. He bent over, hands clasping his knees as he tried to ease his breathing. “Piedro is a very powerful magician. I felt his spells all around me. My armor almost collapsed under his assault.”

  “The lock will hold,” Yaala reassured him. Still she headed toward the caverns where her machines resided.

  “We’re too late. We can’t hide anywhere, and your cursed machines won’t help.” Powwell stared blankly toward the gate and the clang of wands against the metal bars. “The consort is too strong. She overpowered my blood magic to hold me in thrall. She’s even corrupted Kalen’s ferret familiar. That takes more magic than any one of us could dream of. Nothing will stop the renegade dragon from killing all of us. Not ’tricity, not magic, nothing.”

  Chapter 30

  Early afternoon, the northern edge of the River Coronnan near the Great Bay, outside Coronnan City

  Bessel hauled himself out of the river near the confluence with the Great Bay. He’d run out of islands. The assassin had kept the stolen boat within sight for most of the length of the river. When Bessel managed to get out of sight of the warrior and crawl out of the water, the islands around him were flat, low, and lacking enough vegetation to hide him.

  The coast north of the city offered him better refuge than any of the temporary aits. Here, at least, he could find shelter from the rising wind under a tree or behind a sand dune.

  Mopsie trudged out of the water beside him. He hung his head tiredly for a few moments before shaking. Bessel was too tired and cold to duck the spray. What was a little more water when half the river weighed down his clothes?

  The other half of the river matted Mopsie’s long ropes of fur.

  Bessel followed the dog’s example and wrung some of the dripping water from his tunic. He shed his socks and twisted them somewhat drier. He looked at his cold-reddened toes mournfully. “I’d better let the socks dry a bit before putting them back on. Stargods only know where my other boot ended up.”

  A muddy and rocky beach stretched before them, separating the bay from the land. A few gentle grass-covered hills marked the end of farmland and the beginning of the mudflats.

  “Where to now, Mopsie?” Bessel asked, looking over his shoulder for traces of the assassin or of habitation.

  Mopsie yipped once and trotted forward, angling to the right. After half a dozen paces, he stopped again to shake. The other half of the river burst free of his fur.

  “You still look a mess, pup.” Bessel ducked the spray this time. When the dog had finished and trotted forward again, Bessel shared a sense of lightness and freedom with the dog. “Is that what a familiar does, Mopsie, shares everything, the good and the bad?”

  Mopsie grinned his agreement, his little pink tongue making a bright splash in the middle of the muddy white fur. The dog continued along the beach, looking back expec
tantly. Bessel followed, trusting his familiar as he had trusted few human beings except Master Nimbulan.

  Shortly the dog’s ears perked up a bit, and he raised his nose to sniff the wind. Bessel did, too. Woodsmoke drifted gently toward his nose. Woodsmoke permeated with salt and . . . and fish! Mopsie yipped happily and bounded forward.

  Bessel’s stomach growled, so he followed.

  Along the beach a short distance and deep in one of the numerous coves on the uneven coastline, a group of three fishermen huddled around a small driftwood fire. The men had hauled their small boat above the ebbing tide line and turned it over to keep the interior dry. Bessel sensed rain on the wind and shivered anew.

  Three sleek, long-legged dogs raised their heads from their paws, eyes and ears alert, but not menacing.

  “Have you enough fish to share with a stranger?” Bessel asked politely. He stopped well away from the fire. Mopsie hung behind him rather than challenge the larger dogs.

  “Looks like you’re as much flotsam as man,” one of the men laughed. Deep lines creased his face around the eyes from a lifetime of peering closely at the water in all weathers. A broken tooth showed when he grinned. Otherwise he looked healthy, reasonably well fed, and no more ragged than any other man of his profession.

  “I feel like a piece of waterlogged driftwood,” Bessel replied.

  “Then come, sit by the fire, and warm yourself a bit. There’s fish aplenty if you don’t mind picking out the bones,” the fisherman said. He gestured Bessel closer. The dogs lowered their heads but kept their eyes and ears on Bessel and Mopsie.

  “Well, hello, pup!” a second fisherman greeted Mopsie. He held out a hand for the dog to sniff. “Where you been hiding these last few days?”

  “Mopsie adopted me two days ago,” Bessel said. He plunked down next to the second man. “Do you know where my fam . . . dog came from?”

  “Them Guild of Bay Pilots turned out all their dogs when they got that fancy machine. Said they didn’t need dogs to sense the currents anymore.” The first fisherman spat into the mud in disgust. “Name’s Leauman, and this here’s Aguiir and Waaterrsoon.” He gestured right and left to indicate his companions.