The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus)

by Irene Radford

The ghost, in turn, stared at the intruders, eyes wide in shock and horror.

  “You have to make your own luck, Robb,” Marcus whispered. “I can keep the secret a little longer until you figure out the answer. You deserve this triumph, if for nothing else than to prove yourself right and me wrong.”

  CHAPTER 30

  “Stop staring at the dumb steed and mount it!” Margit ordered Jack from atop her own mount.

  “We go through this every morning and every morning, for the last three, you stare at the beast an hour before you get up the courage to mount. I’m tired of waiting for you. We’ve a long way to travel yet.”

  Margit’s steed pranced closer to Jack. He shied away from the animal as well as from the placid pack steed he had ridden yesterday. At least he’d learned to cope with the double vision and now knew which image of the steed might step on his foot and which was only an illusion.

  Morning had passed halfway to noon. Jack had tried mounting the beast four times and had not yet come close to touching the animal.

  He eyed the steed warily. “I never used to be afraid of these critters. I’ve ridden wilder beasts over the years. Why now?”

  The cat inside him squirmed uncomfortably. Amaranth swooped low upon Margit, laughing at her discomfort as well as Jack’s.

  “Surely you can master the spirit of a cat, Jack. You have the strongest soul of any man I have ever met.” Katrina sidled her steed close enough to Jack to ruffle his head.

  He inclined his neck to lean into her caress. A deep thrumming sound began in his chest and climbed to his nose.

  Why didn’t he retreat from this beast? Because Katrina rode it. He trusted Katrina more than himself at the moment.

  The thrumming deep inside him matched the tingle in his fingers and behind his eyes, almost like the summons spell gone astray. He’d tried for three nights running to anchor the distress call that both he and Margit had intercepted and failed. He sincerely hoped the alien presence in his body hadn’t interfered with his magic.

  The cat—Rosie, as it thought of itself—purred in accompaniment to Katrina’s caress.

  At least Rosie liked Katrina. He remembered a time when Rosie was still within Queen Mikka that the cat took a sudden and unexplained dislike to her husband. Darville had worn scratch marks repeatedly.

  The pack steed sidled and shifted closer to Jack. He jumped back hastily.

  Margit laughed again.

  “You didn’t sneeze when Amaranth touched you because he isn’t a true cat,” he grumbled at the apprentice magician. “But you sneeze every time I think about coming near you.”

  “My instincts are true, Jack. I have the purrrrfect defense against you.” With another chuckle she dug her heels into her steed. “Now, let’s go find Marcus. We can’t delay any longer.” Her beast lunged forward at a rapid clip.

  “I’ll walk.” Jack decided, handling the reins of the extra steed to Katrina.

  “She’s right, Jack. We have a long way to go to Queen’s City.”

  “A long time for me to figure out what to do with this troublesome cat. At least the queen is free of it. My spell didn’t completely fail.” He smiled up at her as he trudged up onto the road from their campsite. He’d spent quite a bit of time obscuring all traces of their presence. Most of that time he’d been merely stalling.

  “Why didn’t the cat go to Amaranth as you directed? I would think it would want to return to a cat’s body after all this time.” Katrina kept her mount walking at Jack’s pace. Margit trotted ahead of them.

  “I’m guessing that Rosie has gotten used to the superior intelligence of humans. She—it—recognizes the difference between being a pet and controlling a human.” Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from licking them and laving his ears.

  “I’m sorry, Katrina, but I think we’ll have to postpone our wedding again until I solve this problem.”

  Katrina half-frowned but didn’t say anything.

  “I do still want to marry you, when you are ready,” he reassured her.

  “I know, Jack. Strange, now that you want to postpone the wedding, I want it more than anything.”

  They both chuckled.

  “We’ll work it out, love. By the time we get to SeLenicca, we’ll work it out.”

  Amaranth flew past them, nearly brushing Jack’s head with his extended talons. He dropped onto the pack saddle of the steed Jack should be riding and set about preening his wings.

  “I take it you like the body you inherited,” Jack said to his familiar. He wanted to caress the soft black fur of his friend, but Rosie prevented him from coming any closer to the steed. How had the queen managed to ride so fearlessly these last three years?

  Amaranth purred his contentment while continuing his bath. As he lifted his hind leg to wash the fur along that quarter, his talonlike claws embedded into the pack saddle for better balance. But he missed the saddle and clutched the steed’s mane. The steed spooked and reared, rolling its eyes and screaming its outrage.

  Amaranth shrieked and flopped around, trying desperately to disengage his claws.

  With a long and frightened neigh the steed bolted. Katrina tried to hang onto the leading rein. It whipped through her fingers, cutting deeply as it burned free of her grasp. Her steed pranced wild-eyed and nervous at the strange noises and the smell of blood. It gathered its legs under it, ready to bolt after its companion.

  Lanciar watched as one by one the Rovers winked out of sight, including the children—including his son. His jaw dropped. A fly buzzed around him. He knew he should close his mouth and yet. . . .

  “I wish I hadn’t drunk so much.” He had trouble thinking clearly. His head buzzed and his eyes ached.

  Beside him, the unknown blonde woman sobbed as she dropped his arm and buried her face in her hands.

  “Oh, no,” she moaned, rocking from foot to foot. “Not more ghosts. More ghosts for my people to feed. They’ll surely forsake the Stargods now and let us all starve.”

  The air smelled strange, slightly acidic, slightly rancid sweet, like a spell gone wrong. The wind rushed into this bizarre building, filling the vacuum left by the disappearing people. But not enough wind to account for the loss of all these people.

  He remembered the fierce gusts that rushed through Hanassa when the Rovers had transported out. Then the Rovers had disappeared all at once from one heartbeat to the next. Now, they vanished one at a time like links in an anchor chain disappearing beneath the water.

  They’d stumbled onto something strange—to say the least.

  He wished Rejiia had accompanied them so that she could explain the phenomenon. His former love had an instinctive grasp of otherworldly puzzles.

  Jack, too, would be a great help.

  He had to find his son and flee. Now. Before things got worse.

  Feeling almost blind with numb senses and numb magic, he grasped the doorjamb for balance. A burning energy repulsed his hand. He peered more closely at the spot. His magic kicked in, opening all of his senses.

  “What?” The dim outline of another hand—almost invisible, like a dragon sliding in and out of view—shone with a silvery energy. He traced with trembling fingers the almost-visible hand up a black-clad arm to a shoulder and a black vest trimmed in bright purple and red. An abundance of silvery embroidery shone through the misty veil that seemed to separate him from the man.

  “Zolltarn?” Lanciar gasped.

  “Of course. Who else would I be?” the Rover leader sneered, then flashed his amazing smile. Lanciar immediately felt more comfortable, ready to listen to the older man’s wisdom. But his voice sounded as if it came from a great distance.

  “What happened to you? You—you’re as transparent as a ghost,” Lanciar said.

  “Nonsense, boy. You are the one fading in and out of view. Come in, come fully into the room. Then you will be one of us. You must be one of us if you hope to marry my daughter.” Zolltarn opened his arms as if to embrace Lanciar, an all too familiar and disarm
ing gesture. The curious burning energy kept them apart.

  Lanciar breathed a little easier. He knew Zolltarn’s charm all too well, knew how he lulled suspicions with the little deceptions of friendship.

  “One of the clan,” Lanciar stated flatly. He’d resisted all attempts by the Rovers to draw him into their direct mind-to-mind connections by ritual or coercion. He’d postponed his marriage to Maija for days, keeping his individuality for as long as possible by sheer force of will.

  He wanted a drink. Desperately.

  “Can you help me?” He turned to the sobbing blonde.

  “Stay out of the library. Stay away from the other ghosts, the true ghost as well as all these new ones. Just turn around and walk out the gate before you, too, are cursed and trapped here forever.” She gulped back her tears and faced him resolutely. “Get out now! And take me with you. I forsake my destiny though I’ll be cursed through all my future existences. I cannot be responsible for all of these ghosts.” She gulped back a new round of sobs and stiffened her spine. “I’m sorry, Robb. I must also forsake my love for you.”

  “I’m not leaving without my son,” Lanciar told her. He looked for a trace of the smallest children among the Rovers. They should be too young to be linked with the Rover magic. But each one had been in the arms of a Rover woman. If touch or proximity to the library turned one into a ghost, then he’d lost his son, too. Forever?

  “What do you know of this curse, woman?” He grabbed her arm, shaking her gently. “I’ve got to find my son among them. Help me find my son. Then I will leave and take you with me. Not before.”

  “ ’Tis my destiny to serve the ghosts, not to understand them. They cannot leave here and must be fed. Your son is lost. Leave now before you too are cursed.” Her eyes widened in horror. “I’ve never had more than one ghost before Marcus and Robb came. Now there are dozens. Dozens! Where will I find enough food for them all? Now I will never be allowed to leave this cursed place.”

  The statue of Krej sat in the place of honor at the front of the lead sledge—Zolltarn’s conveyance. The hideous visage seemed to wink and grin at Lanciar in silent laughter as yet more gilt paint flaked off its tin hide. One front paw seemed to shed its metal coating and become true fur.

  “I’ll think of something. I need some ale in order to think.” Lanciar wove through the scattered sledges seeking Maija’s bardo. She did indeed brew the best ale he’d ever tasted.

  But maybe he’d had too much already.

  What strange being is this who stares at me from his perch atop the Rover conveyance? I can see the true nature of a man as a ghostly aura around the tin statue with the flaking gilt paint that renews itself only to flake off once more. Another ghost, as I am. Another with a mission. Shall I release him from his tin prison so that his gold will become real and cease to flake? I could possess the gold then. But that would deprive him of his life.

  I sense that soon this ghostly man will separate from the tin statue that traps him. If he is not released before then, both the inert beast and animated spirit will drift forever in time, unanchored in any reality. He will cause havoc in all realities if that occurs. He has not much time.

  But this place is a strange meeting of vortexes. Anything can happen, and time moves differently here. That is how I know my children live though three hundred years have passed. They must survive. Otherwise all I did for them is worthless.

  I will know this man’s true heart so that he can not betray me as others have.

  As long as I have the gold, I can accomplish anything. Gold is power.

  CHAPTER 31

  “Katrina!” Jack sent a magical probe into the steed’s mind, forcing it to remain in place. He gulped down his fear and grabbed the reins, yanking them down hard to keep the steed under control. His stomach heaved in fear of the steed and for Katrina’s safety. His magical bond with Amaranth stretched thin to the breaking point.

  “I am stronger than this!” he muttered through gritted teeth. “First things first.” He lifted Katrina free of her skittish mount. He cradled her in his arms, soothing her shock and pain. A cursory examination of her bleeding hand showed him deep cuts from the leather.

  “I don’t have the healing touch, love, but I’ll do what I can,” he apologized. “It’s going to hurt terribly, but I have to wash it.”

  She nodded, white-faced. “I trust you,” she whispered so softly he wasn’t certain he heard her as she clung to him with her free hand, resting her head upon his shoulder.

  He kissed her temple and carried her to the creek beside the road.

  Margit wheeled her horse and galloped back to them. “I’ll take care of her. You go after that demented cat of yours,” she said. “We can’t afford to lose the supplies on the steed.” She swung her leg over the saddle horn and dropped to the ground in one swift movement.

  Jack released Katrina reluctantly. He took off running after the steed that was rapidly disappearing in the distance. “Stop, s’murghit,” he panted. He couldn’t call up his FarSight or enter the beast’s mind while he put all of his energy into running. He didn’t dare stop running lest the steed and Amaranth got too far away.

  The steed would not cease its blind flight until Amaranth stopped shrieking and flopping about in panic. He could still hear his familiar protesting in the distance.

  Quiet, my friend. Quiet, he whispered directly into the flywacket’s receptive mind. The bonds between them guided his words. Hush, little one. He repeated the lulling words over and over, all the magic he could muster while maintaining his ground-eating lope.

  At last, winded and nearly doubled over, gulping in huge draughts of air, he sensed that Amaranth worked his talons free of the tangled mane and the padded leather of the pack saddle. But the steed plunged on and on.

  Jack repeated his quiet litany, seeking the equine brain. Steeds usually responded to humans, being nearly as physically compatible as cats. This one’s panic blocked all of the normal channels of communication and control.

  He sensed Amaranth launching into flight, having had enough of the steed’s wild thrashing through the thickening woods.

  Track it Amaranth. We can’t afford to lose it! he called to his friend.

  Amaranth swooped onto Jack’s shoulder instead, barely digging in his claws at all. He kept his feathered wings half engaged, flustered, frightened, and bewildered. His voice reverted to baby shrieks. No telepathy at all.

  “Go after the blasted steed, Jack!” Margit ordered him with mind and voice.

  “Go, Amaranth. You can do this. The steed did not hurt you. Hunt it and show it to me as you fly.”

  Amaranth rubbed his face along Jack’s cheek, heaved a sigh, and pushed himself into the air.

  The absence of his weight on Jack’s shoulder left him feeling terribly alone, almost empty. He stared after his familiar for several long moments, then returned to the women.

  Katrina sat on the creek bank with her head between her knees, and her left hand held out for Margit’s ministrations. Margit knelt beside the water rinsing a bloody rag. Mud and everblue needles stained the knees of her leather trews.

  “I can’t make it stop bleeding, Jack,” Margit said. A touch of panic edged her voice. “It’s stiffening up, like there’s a tendon damaged.”

  Katrina gasped, then bit her trembling lip.

  Jack knew her thoughts without reading her. She feared she’d never hold her lace bobbins again.

  Margit closed her eyes, then spoke without looking at either of them. “Jaylor’s going to kill me if I fail in this mission. He told me specifically to take care of her.” She worked her cheeks in an effort to control her own panic. “Even last night when I reported that I was an unnecessary extra on this mission, he ordered me to stay with her.”

  “Let me see,” Jack took her place beside Katrina. He concentrated on sending out an aura of calm authority to both of them.

  When Margit’s eyes quit darting about, he took Katrina’s hand gently, probing the wick
ed cut across the palm, just below the finger joints. His eyes saw torn flesh and new puddles of blood. His magic found the severed blood vessels and gashed tendon. He took three deep breaths to trigger a trance.

  “Are you going to cauterize it?” Margit rested her hand on his shoulder as she watched.

  “Sort of.” Jack narrowed his focus. “A healer would do this without effort and without pain to the patient. Just bear with me, Katrina.” A nearby ley line winked at him with silvery-blue energy. He tapped it to fuel his work.

  A little magic bound him to his love. A little more opened his TrueSight to the layers of tissue and energy in her hand. Flesh became translucent. Beneath it, he saw the pulsing vessels, the twitching joints, the binding tendons and cartilage.

  “Sing something, Katrina. Sing your magic to match my own,” he breathed, still within the throes of his trance. “You knew how to heal burned-out ley lines with your Songs. Sing to heal yourself now.

  “I—I can’t.” She grimaced. Her pain became a visible layer of blackened red infiltrating all the layers of her aura. She kept trying to tug her hand out of his grasp.

  “Trust me?”

  “With my life.”

  He caught her frightened eyes with his own gaze. In a moment she quieted. Her breathing slowed to match his own.

  A small Song of magic worked its way out of his heart into his voice. Their song. The little lullaby she’d sung in their prison cell. The one that had spawned tiny, spidery ley lines of energy where no ley lines had existed for many centuries. Together they had discovered the magic all women invoked when singing over mundane tasks. Unconsciously, they set up layer upon layer of protection for those they loved.

  He’d tapped the ley lines Katrina had brought to life to release their shackles and aid their escape while Queen’s City shook and crumbled in the aftermath of multiple kardiaquakes.

  Slowly, gently, with the Song still lighting his mind and his magic, he sent a needle-fine probe of magic to the first small blood vessel. He encouraged it to mend. Then the next, a larger one this time. He needed a second, hotter touch to make it seal off.