Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III

by Irene Radford

  “I’m Bessel, and I’m very interested in learning more about your dogs.” As if on cue, the three large dogs rocked and stretched onto their feet, then ambled over to sniff Mopsie.

  Nose to nose, nose to tail, they introduced themselves. When Mopsie had been approved, they all wrestled a few moments, tugging on ears and nipping tails. But then they settled around the fire, each dog at the feet of his master.

  “I don’t understand. Can dogs smell underwater?” Bessel mused. He rested his elbow on one knee and propped up his suddenly heavy head with his hand.

  Mopsie stretched and shifted, edging marginally closer to the fire and the fish cooking on a spit above it. Leauman smiled at the dog and then at Bessel. One of the dogs growled low in his throat at Mopsie. The little dog gazed back with wide innocent eyes and dropped his head onto his paws. A moment later he repeated the maneuver. This time the warning growls were louder. Mopsie had the grace to look guilty, but he didn’t back away from his intended prize.

  “What’s to understand about Mopplewoggers? The dogs stand in the bow of the boat and yip once for starboard, twice for port. We follow the dogs and never run aground. Ignore the dogs and you run afoul of a sandbar or flotsam, just like that stupid pilot, Raanald, two days ago. If he’d kept his dog and not bothered with the machine, he wouldn’t have lost his passenger and brought this country to the brink of war.” Aguiir hawked and spat again.

  Bessel cringed a little, not knowing if he should mention that he had ridden on the barge with Raanald two days ago.

  “Mopsie doesn’t look like a Mopplewogger,” Bessel said, caressing his familiar’s silky ears in an attempt to keep him from creeping closer to the fire and their dinner.

  “Yeah, he was a surprise all right,” Leauman laughed. “One of the pilot’s dogs was in heat when she got turned loose. She must have mated with half a dozen strays around the port. Every pup came out different.”

  “Is one of your dogs Mopsie’s dam?” Bessel inspected each of the lounging animals for any trace of resemblance to his dog.

  “Naw,” Waaterrsoon spoke for the first time. “My Swabby brought the bitch home with him. She’s heavy with pups again. This time I made sure she only mated with Swabby.” He petted his dog vigorously, possessively.

  “What about Mopsie?” Bessel asked. “Why was he running loose on the docks eager to follow anyone home?”

  Not just anyone! They all looked at him strangely, their thoughts as clear in Bessel’s mind as if they had shouted them aloud.

  “If you don’t know why you’ve been claimed by a Mopplewogger, then you aren’t ready to partner one,” Leauman stated. He abruptly ended the conversation by reaching for one of the fish spitted above the flames. The sweet meat nearly fell from the bones. He cupped a hand beneath it, to keep the flesh from dropping into the flames. Gently he blew on it to cool it, then fed a morsel to his dog before eating himself.

  The other two fishermen did the same. Only then did Bessel take his own fish. Mopsie sat up, brushing his tail rapidly in the mud. By this time his fur was more black than white. Like the others, Bessel fed the dog first, recognizing the importance of a familiar in his life.

  Mopsie had found him when he most needed a friend and defender. Could the dog sense the future? Maybe he just sensed emotions and recognized in Bessel similar needs to his own.

  These men and their dogs had welcomed him, fed him, and offered the warmth of their fire; more consideration than Scarface and the Commune of Magicians had offered one of their own.

  “If Raanald had kept his dog on board the barge, then he wouldn’t have relied on the confused readings of the depth finder. If he had listened to a dog, he probably would have avoided grounding on the sandbar, Jorghe-Rosse wouldn’t have fallen into the bay, I wouldn’t have had to resort to rogue magic to rescue him, and I’d still be a part of the Commune,” Bessel sorted the chain of events out loud, no longer caring who heard and who didn’t.

  “But if it had happened that way, you wouldn’t have needed Mopsie and he wouldn’t have found you,” Leauman added.

  “I think all of Coronnan needs to know more about the bay fishermen and their dogs,” Bessel said. Surely one of the many books in the library discussed the unique relationship.

  Probably one of the books Scarface had locked away.

  “No one but us needed to know before this,” Aguiir said.

  “But we never had to choose between faithful dogs and machines before,” Bessel added. “We never had the Commune declare certain knowledge forbidden to everyone, including magicians, before.” Without that knowledge, the plague could come to Coronnan and they’d have no defense against it.

  “I’ve got to go back and save those books. We can’t afford to let Scarface lock them away forever.”

  “Someone chased you and Mopsie into the river, boy. Whatever you’re running from is still waiting for you in the city,” Leauman warned.

  “I know. I have to accept that risk. The books are more important. Protecting Coronnan from men like Scarface and Raanald is more important. If I’d had time to investigate invisibility spells, this would be a lot easier.”

  Noon, shuttle clearing off the Great South Road

  “Stop, Master Kinnsell, the dragon can’t hurt you,” Maia called.

  Kinnsell slowed his steps as he moved away from the shuttle. He looked all around him very carefully before coming to a complete stop.

  His lungs burned from his sudden burst of speed. He dragged in air, trying desperately not to cough. Cold sweat beaded on his skin and his knees shook so badly that he almost couldn’t stand.

  “It’s only a little dragon. It won’t hurt you,” Maia reassured him again.

  Rational thought began to filter back into his brain. “It looked mighty big and dangerous to me.” Kinnsell felt his forehead. Perhaps his coughing bouts had induced a temporary fever. He had to have imagined the beast sitting atop his shuttle. Dragons did not exist.

  “Certainly, dragons look dangerous,” Maia laughed. “But they are oath-bound to protect humans. That is part of their covenant with the magicians.”

  Then Maia had seen the beast, too. Had one of Katie’s companions left a post-hypnotic suggestion on them so they’d stay away from the shuttle?

  Kinnsell relaxed a little, content with his logical explanation for the sight of the silver-and-red monster with fiery breath. He turned back toward the clearing.

  “You’re right, Maia. The dragon can’t hurt us.” It didn’t exist. “But it might tell my daughter that you and I escaped, so perhaps we’d best begin our journey.” He held out his arms to escort her back to the shuttle.

  Fortunately the draconic illusion had disappeared by the time they entered the clearing again. Kinnsell marched up to the shuttle hatch, resolved to be on his way within moments.

  He ran his fingers over the lock keypad. It did not respond to his usual codes. Eight, one, seven, two, seven, two, eight, one. He’d used the same code for years. Why didn’t the bloody hatch open? He drummed his fingers on the metal/ceramic alloy of the hull. What random numbers would Katie use to reset the lock? He tried her birthday, his code backward, the coordinates for Earth, the coordinates for Kardia Hodos—he had to try those twice before he got the numbers right—and a straightforward one, two, three, four, five, six. Nothing worked.

  “Dammit!” He kicked the hatch.

  “Perhaps I can decipher her spell,” Maia suggested, quietly. “A woman knows another woman’s mind.”

  “Go ahead and try. But Katie is devious in her logic. There are thousands of combinations she could have chosen.” He stepped aside while the dark-eyed woman stared at the numbered keys.

  She stared a long time. Finally, she looked away rubbing her eyes and shifting her feet up and down in the mud. “Piedro says he cannot channel magic through me unless there is a second Rover with me. Piedro has replaced Televarn as head of the clan. I do not like him as well as Televarn, but he is satisfactory as a lover and his voice i
s strong in my head.” She closed her eyes and looked off into the distance.

  Lover? Had Maia slept with every man on the planet? He frowned, wanting to push her aside and handle the lock himself. He also wanted to drag her down in the mud and prove that he was a better lover than the Rover trash who invaded her mind.

  “Tonight we will be together, King Kinnsell.” Maia caressed his face. Then she abruptly returned her attention to the lock.

  She lied. He knew she had no intention of willingly sharing a bed with him, no matter what she promised. Kinnsell realized Maia would never tell the truth if a lie sounded better, and she would not tell the whole truth if she must tell any of it.

  She stared hard at the keypad for a long moment. “I cannot see the heat of Her Grace’s hand on the puzzle. Your heat has masked it.”

  Kinnsell slammed his fist into the hatch. The first assault of pain turned into a numbing ache. The clamminess returned to his skin. He jerked his hand away and sucked on his abused knuckles. They looked alarmingly swollen.

  “There are other ways of unraveling a puzzle, though.” Maia flashed a radiant smile at him.

  Kinnsell forgot the pain in his fist, the growing anxiety inside his gut, and the pressure in his chest. He forgot her lies and deceit. “Tonight, my dear. Get that hatch open, and tonight we will celebrate in safe comfort.”

  “Yes. Tonight Piedro will reward you for returning me to the clan. Tonight we will celebrate in Hanassa.”

  “Just open the hatch, and I will command this dragon to fly us to safety.” He couldn’t remember if the bushie lord had named his castle Hanassa or something else. Many small details eluded him. Had he remembered the right codes for the lock? No matter. He would pilot the shuttle and take her where he wanted to go and nowhere else. Maia had no say in their destination.

  Maia concentrated on the keypad one more time. This time she held her palm in front of it, a hair’s breadth away. Her eyes rolled up and her expression went blank.

  Then she reached her other hand inside her bodice, deep into her cleavage and out again so quickly Kinnsell almost didn’t see her gesture.

  But he followed her swift movements closely.

  Still gazing at the lock in a trancelike state, Maia pulled a small twist of wire free of her garments. She inserted the tool into the very narrow crack that defined the doorway. A few seconds later the hatch clicked and slid open.

  If he hadn’t known better, Kinnsell would not have seen her pick the lock. But . . . “Electronic locks can’t be picked,” he gasped.

  “A lock is a lock, and all locks can be picked.” Maia giggled in triumph. “Now show me this wondrous dragon, Lord Kinnsell. I would make friends with the strange beast.”

  “Why not?” Kinnsell gestured Maia into the shuttle while suppressing a new bout of coughing. His lungs had been quiet for hours. Why now? Probably the molds and other nasty fungi growing in the mud had triggered an allergic reaction.

  The warm, slightly metallic tasting air rushed to envelop him in familiarity. It smelled of home and comfort and safety. He drank deeply of it as he stepped through the portal into the passenger cabin.

  Maia stopped short just inside the door. She stared at the comfortable blue upholstered benches that converted to beds, the softly blinking lights of the electronic readers and game boards, the food synthesizer that converted any vegetable matter into tasty dishes.

  “What sort of magic do you wield, Master Kinnsell?” she whispered, too awestruck to move.

  “The magic of technology,” he replied seductively into her ear. “Settle in one of the benches and fasten the restraints. We’ll take off in a minute.”

  “Don’t leave me alone inside this strange monster, Master Kinnsell.” Maia’s eyes remained wide open. Her pupils contracted in terror, leaving the liquid brown iris to plead with him.

  “Very well, my dear.” Kinnsell patted her hand and drew her forward into the bridge area. “Sit there.” He motioned her to the copilot’s seat. She couldn’t inadvertently change any of the controls unless he turned them over to her by voice command to the computer. A copilot could take control if the biosensors determined the pilot was dead or unconscious, but that wouldn’t happen on the quick hop to the bush lord’s castle.

  Kinnsell drew the safety strap over his head and shoulders, fastening it on the clip between his legs. Maia mimicked his actions, hiking up her skirts and petticoats to reveal most of her trim thighs. Kinnsell had to gulp back his desire once again. His eyes did not want to return to the control board.

  Finally he remembered what he needed to do. He cleared the viewscreen so that they could look out and see the real-time scene around them. Then he ran his fingers over the touchpads and began the firing sequence. Automatically he set his destination coordinates into the auto pilot. No need for the cyber-control headset. They were only going a short distance and not nearing a suborbital altitude. Almost instantly, the atmosphere jets roared to life.

  Maia reared back in surprise. But when Kinnsell proceeded calmly with the launch sequence, she relaxed, studying everything. He knew she’d never figure out the complexities of flying the shuttle. She couldn’t even read, let alone understand the mathematics of navigation.

  He fondled the joystick lovingly. Certainly he could use the touchpads to fly the shuttle. Most pilots did or they used the supersensitive cyber controls. But his family had always had an affinity for the joystick, preferring to sense the craft’s movements and vibrations through the palm of their hand and the seat of their pants rather than the technological array before their eyes.

  Kinnsell monitored the gauges. When the engines had enough power and fuel, he eased the joystick back. The engines roared again, straining to respond. He looked at the surrounding trees through the viewscreen. The craft did not move.

  “What?” he asked the computer.

  The displays told him that the weight of the mud on the stabilizing feet of the shuttle trapped them.

  He eased the stick back again while rocking it side to side. The trees seemed to shift and waver in front of him. Like riding on a teeter-totter. The shuttle jerked back and forth but still did not lift. The engines continued straining. He burned fuel at an enormous rate.

  Pressure built in Kinnsell’s chest. His head seemed detached from his body. He had trouble focusing his eyes.

  Still, he continued rocking the craft to loosen the cursed mud. Another reason to erect climate control on this planet—or at least construct decent landing pads.

  “Perhaps the dragon is back. If it is sitting atop your dragon, the extra weight would make flight difficult,” Maia suggested.

  “There are no such things as dragons,” Kinnsell asserted through gritted teeth. He continued rocking the craft. Seesaw. The trees swayed before his eyes.

  Was that a tiny bit of lift?

  Yes, he was breaking free. He wasted more fuel compensating for the planet’s gravity. He eased the shuttle up to treetop level. The shuttle remained unsteady, shaking as badly as his hands. He ignored the weakness and the need to cough and the sweat pouring into his eyes.

  When he had finally cleared the trees, he looked for his compass and couldn’t find it. The array of lights and numbers on the control panel blurred and doubled and redoubled. He closed his eyes hard, and blinked several times.

  “Wake up, Master Kinnsell. Wake up. You are losing control of the dragon!” Maia screamed in his ear.

  Kinnsell roused slightly, shaking his head to clear it. Chills racked his body suddenly. His eyes blurred again.

  “Autopilot. Set autopilot,” he said. To his own ears each forced word took on new shades of meaning. Had he really told Maia to set the autopilot or had he named the colors of dragon wingtips? No, he had named each of his four children by wife number one and their three half siblings by numbers two and three. Number four, Marjorie, didn’t like children.

  Seesaw Marjorie Daw.

  “Master Kinnsell!” Maia screeched again. “You must control the drago
n, we are going to crash!”

  Chapter 31

  Noon, the pit beneath the city of Hanassa

  Rollett watched Powwell walk resolutely toward the cavern he said housed the dragongate. Depression weighed heavily on the boy’s shoulders. His skin looked waxy and pale in the unnatural light.

  That strange misty aura still clung to Powwell’s silhouette. Suddenly Rollett knew that Kalen had become the wraith while Hanassa inhabited her body. Now she kept close to her brother, demanding his help.

  “Can we force Hanassa to relinquish Kalen’s body?” Rollett asked, determined to push the boy into action. He couldn’t allow one setback to force him to give up. If he’d done that, he’d have committed suicide a year and a half ago. But now he was out of resources. The city was out of time. They had to act.

  Powwell shrugged, studying the bloody stains on his fingers. The dried blood looked black against his increasingly pale skin. He kept his back to Yaala and Rollett. But he tilted his head much as Myrilandel did when she listened to dragons. Did the wraith whisper to Powwell?

  “We haven’t time for arguing over spells and joined spirits,” Yaala reminded them as she peered back along their escape routes. “The food in the living cavern will slow the guards down a little, but if Hanassa rules the consort’s—Kalen’s—body, then she’ll drive the Rovers deeper and deeper until they find us. Hanassa knows these passageways better than I do.”

  “Does Hanassa know the dragongate?” Powwell whirled to confront them. Hope animated his eyes and his posture.

  “He/she must if she’s been down here for centuries,” Rollett said.

  “But does Hanassa understand the dragongate?” A wide grin split Powwell’s face—a grin that spoke more of malice than of mirth.