Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III

by Irene Radford

  Stunned silence followed her words. One by one the Rover brawls stilled. The combatants dusted themselves off and offered a hand up to the people they had been fighting only moments before. Only the pregnant girl continued to tussle for possession of a coin-laden scarf.

  “That goes for you, too.” Vareena shoved herself between the two women. The energy barrier that separated her from the ghosts forced the last combatants apart. The scarf tore and both women moved to attack Vareena. They bounced off her into the arms of their families, waiting to receive them.

  “Now, Robb, see that Rejiia is locked in one of the towers,” Vareena ordered. “Please.”

  “One of the lesser towers, I think.” Robb grinned back at her, still anchoring Rejiia with magic from his staff.

  “Jack, you and Marcus go to his room and do whatever it is you have to do. Zolltarn, see that your people find places to settle. Lord Laislac, I suggest you do the same for your party. And as for you, Ackerly, you’d better stay in the library where you belong.”

  Surprisingly, everyone obeyed her.

  Satisfaction nestled comfortably on her shoulders.

  “You can’t have the big room,” the pregnant girl said imperiously to Zolltarn. “I carry the heir to all of Coronnan. Therefore I am entitled to the biggest room with the private facilities.”

  Zolltarn snarled at her. The expression carried almost as much weight as his smile.

  The girl backed away from him, but she did not bow her head or lower her eyes.

  “You, Lady whoever you are, can have the scriptorium above the south wing all to yourself. I’ll stand guard at the foot of the stairs if necessary to keep you there and out of mischief.” Vareena glared at her.

  “That will not be necessary, miss,” the other lord said. “The six of us will settle into that same scriptorium. My daughter-in-law will not disturb you.” He bowed slightly and offered his arm to his lady. They retreated in silent dignity.

  Lord Laislac and his lady followed suit. The moonfaced young man with a little drool at the corner of his mouth copied the men in offering his arm to the pregnant girl. She batted it away and huffed in the wake of her elders. The simple boy shrugged and flashed a smile to one and all.

  “Good luck,” Vareena called to him, utterly charmed. “I wish I could do something for him,” she said to herself.

  “Perhaps we can do something for him,” Jack said. “But that is a plan I cannot implement without some serious consultation with the Commune. Marcus is ready. Do you want to see him off?”

  “I . . . uh . . .” What did she want? Marcus had earned her respect as a clear thinker and leader in this adventure, but he wasn’t Robb. “I think I’ll remain out here and keep order. My eldest brother has just arrived at the gate looking very puzzled. I’d best inform him of this newest crisis and arrange for food for all of these people. You and I may have to go hunting later.”

  She picked up her skirts and rushed to the gate to confer with Uustass. She hoped he had some better ideas for provisioning two dozen Rovers, two lords and their retinues, an exiled queen, and a host of magicians.

  “Hurry back, Marcus. We need whatever answers you can find quickly.”

  She’d never wanted to leave this place more. Freedom beckoned to her just beyond the room where Jack and Marcus had firmly closed the door against intruders. She fingered the silver-and-amethyst amulet. Boldly, she pulled it from beneath her shift. She needed to see it in the sunlight as a symbol of the future freedom she only dared dream of.

  These invaders with their iron and their greed do not frighten me. But the wounds I suffer from their iron will plague me forever. For that they must pay.

  They have betrayed me, as Nimbulan did. As my son and daughter did when they rejected me as their father, preferring Nimbulan to raise them.

  They will all die before another night passes, or they will wish themselves dead. In this place, such wishes come true.

  Chapter 37

  Marcus stuffed his few possessions into his pack. Excitement fluttered in his belly, making his movements jerky and imprecise.

  “Be sure to check on Old Lyman,” Margit said, throwing open the door to his room with a bang.

  Marcus jumped a little at her abrupt entrance. Then he settled into his packing once more.

  “He was ailing when I left. Sleeping more than waking and acting a little confused when he did bother to open his eyes.”

  “Lyman is older than dirt and always acts confused. Untangling his cryptic statements is one of the best learning tools at the University,” Marcus countered.

  “Ask about Jaylor’s newborn twins as well,” Jack added right on Margit’s heels. He caressed his ever-present flywacket, murmuring to it. “Gossip among the Masters said that one of the twins was too small and weak to survive long. Such a loss will devastate Jaylor and Brevelan. We need them both hale and thinking clearly as long as the Gnuls have power in Coronnan.”

  “Yeah, I noticed Jaylor was acting distracted, always wanting to be back at the clearing rather than in the University. I thought he was just acting the new father,” Margit confirmed. “But there wasn’t the triumphant shout announcing the births either.”

  “I’ll check on both of them—not that I can be of any help. Now can we get on with this? Is there anything special I should know or do to survive the transport spell?”

  “Marcus, good, I caught you before you left,” Robb burst into the little room, Vareena right behind him. It was getting crowded in here.

  Presumably Katrina was helping Queen Miranda settle in with her daughter and Rover escort. Otherwise, she’d be pressed as close to Jack as Vareena was to Robb.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Robb.” Marcus indulged in one last back-slapping hug with his friend and partner. “Thanks for showing me how to take responsibility and not trust in my luck so much.”

  “I think today is my lucky day,” Robb looked into Vareena’s eyes for one long adoring moment before turning back to Marcus. “Check out Nimbulan’s diaries for any reference to Ackerly. There has to be a clue there as to how we can separate him from the gold.”

  “Look in the library for early references to exorcism of ghosts and blood magic,” Jack added. He began his deep breathing in preparation for a trance. “Just think about the courtyard of the University. There’s a big everblue tree with a bank of calubra ferns at the base on the north end.”

  “I know the place.” Marcus breathed deeply on his own, fixing the memory of the University firmly in his mind as he’d seen it only a moon or so ago. “I always pictured Margit nestled in among the lower branches for a shady study place.”

  “How did you know?” Margit asked.

  The sense-robbing blackness of the void closed around him before he could answer.

  Before he could register the mind-numbing cold and the tangle of colored umbilicals that entwined with his own life force, a sharp jolt through his feet brought him into the exact spot he had visualized.

  “Merawk!” Amaranth protested in the branch above with a flutter of wings and scraping of talons on bark. Then the creature flapped his wings and flew up the cliff face behind the library toward Shayla’s lair. He had his own errands to run.

  Marcus took a deep breath that smelled of home.

  “Marcus, you are the last person I expected to invade our meditation session,” Master Slippy exclaimed. The lanky magician gestured to the silent students sitting cross-legged all around the compound. The leaves on the trees around them had faded and begun to change color and the sun angled quite low.

  “How—how long have I been gone?” He had meticulously counted the days in the monastery—difficult because of the perpetual twilight the gloaming had imposed upon him. High Summer should still brighten the courtyard.

  “Many moons. Since early last spring.” Slippy looked puzzled.

  “The ghost was right. Time does move differently in his domain.”

  “Time cannot be distorted, boy,” Slippy reprim
anded him. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

  “Maybe time isn’t distorted, but our perceptions are. I need to report to Jaylor, right away.”

  “Not today, young man. Our Senior Magician is sorely troubled at home. I could have told him that families interfere with magic. But he wouldn’t listen. No one listens to me anymore.”

  Marcus noted the increased amount of white hair in Slippy’s faded strawberry-blond queue. The hairline on his forehead had receded another finger-length since Marcus had last seen him as well.

  “This will not wait, Master Slippy.” Marcus kept his voice down in deference to the apprentices hard at work within their own minds. “There is great trouble brewing in Laislac near one of the minor passes.”

  “Another invasion? I thought SeLenicca broken and beyond organizing anything.”

  “That is probably true since their queen has taken herself into exile at an abandoned monastery. No, the trouble involves the coven, and the Rovers, and a ghost, and . . . it’s too complex to relate all at once.”

  “Then come into the library. These pesky students can survive without supervision for a while. In the absence of Jaylor and Lyman—he’s truly ill—I guess I am the most senior of the masters and the one you should report to.”

  “Is . . . is Master Lyman truly so ill?” Marcus had difficulty imagining the University without the elderly librarian. But then everyone grew old and died eventually, even Old Baamin, Jaylor’s predecessor as Senior Magician.

  Everyone died eventually and passed on to the next existence. So why hadn’t Ackerly passed on? What chained him other than his lust for gold?

  A sense of urgency drove him to ask one last question before diving into his research.

  “Master Slippy, have you heard any rumors from the capital about the priests or Gnuls breaking the sanctuary of that abandoned monastery?”

  Slippy stopped his slow steps toward the library abruptly. “How did you know that Hanic’s successor is mounting an armed force to guard a party of engineers that are supposed to tear the place apart stone by stone and kill anything that lives within?”

  Marcus had to stop and breathe deeply.

  “What ails you, boy? You are as pale as a ghost.” Slippy clutched his arm.

  “An apt description,” Marcus mumbled. He welcomed the extra support while he fought for balance. “When are the engineers leaving the capital?”

  “Two days ago, riding with all haste, guided by a local. A young man petitioned to destroy the place, the village too, if they encounter resistance.”

  Lanciar woke abruptly. He opened his eyes to dim stone walls and a fierce stabbing pain pounding in his temple. The ache in his lower back competed with the burning sensation on his wrists and ankles for dominance.

  “Am I alive?” His words came out in a dry whisper. He grimaced at the increase in the knife stabs behind his eyes.

  “You’d probably hurt less if you had drunk a whole barrel of ale,” Jack said. His tone offered no sympathy and certainly no mercy. “From what Maija tells me, that is not usual for you.”

  Lanciar tried to lift his hand to rub his eyes, his temples, his aching hair. The burning sensation on his wrists increased.

  “You are restrained, by magic as well as mundane manacles,” Jack informed him. Still no easing in his tone.

  Lanciar risked lifting his head to look and wished he hadn’t.

  “Where’s Maija?” he asked, knowing she’d soothe his hurts with cool towels, kind words, and ale.

  “Waiting outside, wringing her hands and wailing to her father. Hard to believe that beautiful girl is my maternal aunt.” This last piece of news came out in a confused mutter.

  “Then you are the legendary child of the missing Kestra,” Lanciar repeated the gossip he’d heard while traveling with the clan. Zolltarn’s oldest daughter had been ordered to conceive a child with the most powerful magician in all of Coronnan. The resulting child should have prodigious magical talents to open the dragon magic barrier that had surrounded Coronnan at the time. But Kestra and her escort had disappeared before she could rejoin the clan. All of the Rover clans had searched for her and the child ever since.

  “My father tells me that Kestra was my mother, and therefore Zolltarn is my grandfather,” Jack added no details to satisfy Lanciar’s curiosity.

  “Then we will shortly be family, Jack. I intend to marry Maija and raise my son with the Rovers—honorable rogues that they are.” A sense of satisfaction settled upon Lanciar. He wasn’t certain he loved Maija, not like he had loved Rejiia. But his affection for the sprightly Rover girl would endure a lot longer. He’d work hard to be sure of that.

  He’d even watch his language around Maija. And he’d drink a lot less ale. Maija wouldn’t have to brew so much and would have more time for him . . . and dared he hope? . . . for their children.

  “Your son?” Jack asked.

  “Rejiia rejected him at birth. I won’t allow her to kidnap him away from me again.”

  “I thought Simeon fathered her child and that it died at birth. Not unusual, considering Simeon was her uncle. The close blood tie could damage the child.”

  “Lies. Rejiia lies as naturally as she breathes. She wanted the child to be a secret. When she brought to fruit all her convoluted plans to conquer all of Kardia Hodos through magic, she’d produce the child as heir to the three kingdoms. But she didn’t want the responsibility of raising him. She can’t love anyone but herself.”

  “And possibly her father.”

  “Not much longer if the spell keeping him within the statue isn’t reversed soon. I think Krej is dying. Let me up, Jack. I’m no longer a threat to you.”

  “You’ve lied to me before. You were the coven’s spy in King Simeon’s mines where I was enslaved for three years. You betrayed me to Rejiia and Simeon. You gloated over me while she tortured me.”

  “I have renounced my membership in the coven. And I truly regret my misguided loyalty to Rejiia. She and Simeon coerced me into betraying the only truly honest man I have ever known.” He caught Jack’s gaze with his own, imploring him to understand.

  Jack remained stone-faced and unforgiving.

  “My son needs me, needs the family the Rovers have offered us. You, Jack, are a part of that family whether you want to be or not.”

  Jack blanched a moment. Then he firmed his jaw. “What makes you think you can be a father to the child? From what I hear, you look for too many answers in the bottom of your ale mug and never find them, so you have to refill the mug until you pass out.”

  Lanciar had no answer for that. Even now his mouth watered for the taste of Maija’s ale. He knew he drank too much, had drunk too much ever since he’d discovered the depth of Rejiia’s betrayal of him and the coven. “I need the clan as much as my son does. Their petty thefts and chicanery are minor irritations. I would like to reform them, but doubt anyone could. Throw a truth spell on me if you must to determine my intentions.”

  “You know as well as I do that if you lie while under a truth spell, you will die—quite horribly.” Jack breathed deeply. For the first time since this terrible interview had begun, his eyes relaxed.

  “Yes, I know that. I also know that you awakened my magical talent, so you have delved into the depths of my soul. You can ferret out my secrets easier than I can. Throw the spell and know that I have renounced the coven once and for all.”

  “I wish I could take your word for it. But I’ve dealt with the coven too many times. I know from experience how they gain power from pain, their own or what they can inflict upon others.” Jack flinched as he spoke.

  Lanciar understood how deep his scars must run.

  “I speak the truth, I have no need to fear your spell, Jack.”

  “Just be glad Katrina is not here to take fright and thus weaken my resolve.” With a simple gesture blue sparkles shot from Jack’s fingers.

  Lanciar just had time for a single breath before numbing cold settled over his entire body.
A veil of blue haze covered everything—not unlike the few moments when he’d held the gold in his hands. And then all of his aches and pains disappeared, replaced by that terrible cold. His mind drifted free of his body and he looked down upon himself and Jack from somewhere near the narrow window at the top of the room.

  His perceptions expanded. He wanted to drift into the haze, free of hurt, free of tangled emotions, free of . . .

  Off in the distance he sensed things that he thought he’d left behind in SeLenicca: Many steeds pounding the kardia as they raced forward, men cursing and sweating as they drew weapons, fear, excitement, determination. All the things that accompanied men as they rode to battle. They rode here to the monastery. When would they arrive? Where did they come from?

  “To whom do you owe allegiance, Lanciar, soldier of SeLenicca, member of the coven?” Jack asked.

  Lanciar’s attention returned to the little room in the monastery. He had to answer every question correctly and end this interview quickly. He had to make preparations to protect the ones he loved. “I owe allegiance to my son, to myself, and to Maija, daughter of Zolltarn, chieftain of his clan of Rovers.” His voice came from a great distance. And then he realized that his body had spoken what was in his heart.

  “And what will you do when the coven commands you?”

  “I will fight them with every tool at my command. I will fight anyone who seeks to harm Maija and my son,” he answered rather fiercely. How long did he have to prepare for the coming attack?

  “Why have you turned upon the coven?”

  “Because they threaten my son.” But the coven did not employ armies. Who commanded the troops coming here?

  “Do you still love Rejiia?”

  “No.” The answer came more readily than he expected. He’d loved Rejiia passionately, devotedly. He’d schemed with her to cheat Simeon of the son he craved. He’d lied and stolen for the coven. He had betrayed Jack, possibly the only true friend he’d ever had. But no more. His son and Maija claimed him now. And the rest of the Rovers, and the motley band trapped here.