The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

by Irene Radford

  The two glared at each other a long moment.

  Bessel wanted to crawl under the table to avoid this embarrassing family squabble. He’d had enough of those at home—a place he sincerely wanted to forget. The Commune was home now.

  “I wish all of you could have personally experienced the dragon dream,” King Quinnault said. “But since Shayla only granted this vision of potential disaster to a few of us, then you must accept my word that we face dangerous times, my lords. Very dangerous. Now, please, disperse to your religious and family duties properly warned and fore-armed with knowledge.”

  Attend me, I have tasks for you, Scarface ordered Bessel telepathically.

  Bessel nodded his acceptance of the order. So did Powwell.

  Behind Quinnault King Kinnsell scowled. He jerked his head several times in brief nods of signal to several people in the room. The gesture happened so fast Bessel missed who replied and who didn’t.

  He sensed a tension and defiance in the air, almost tasted it like Powwell had tasted the scent of the plague in the dragon dream.

  Chapter 2

  Two hours before sunset on the Holy Day of Remembrance, outside the meeting chamber of the Council of Provinces, Palace Reveta Tristile, Coronnan City

  Powwell followed Scarface out of the Council chamber. Curiosity burned within him. For the past year, since he had escaped the outlaw city of Hanassa with Scarface and the others, the Senior Magician had gone out of his way to avoid noticing Powwell, or any other student who had come to the University under Nimbulan’s tutelage. He wouldn’t even allow mention of Rollett, the journeyman magician who had failed to escape the city of outlaws, let alone discuss a rescue attempt.

  Powwell was afraid his search for his lost sister Kalen would take him back to Hanassa. The city had almost killed him. If he ever saw the inside of the collapsed volcano again, he was almost glad Rollett would be there to help. If Rollett still lived.

  “Powwell, you spend far too much time in the library pursuing your own research. I need you and Bessel to go on a quest together,” Scarface said. He refused to meet Powwell’s stare of astonishment. “You’ll have to lose your dependence upon a familiar to complete the quest, though. Get rid of that nasty little creature.”

  Powwell tucked Thorny into his tunic pocket as he clenched his jaw against an angry retort. Scarface had no patience or understanding of the unique relationship between a magician and a familiar. If given a choice between working with his familiar or his staff, Powwell had to choose Thorny.

  When he could control his words, he replied, “I’ve only been a journeyman for a few weeks, sir. The Commune can’t send me on a master’s quest yet.” He had too many things to learn in the library before he embarked on his own quest—one that had nothing to do with Scarface or the welfare of the Commune.

  “What kind of quest, sir?” Bessel asked.

  Scarface shifted his attention to the older journeyman. “Gilby has been missing six moons in his search for Jaanus, another journeyman magician who has been missing for well over a year. I need you to find them both and bring them back. Coronnan cannot afford to lose any more magicians, especially if a plague threatens us.”

  “Sound reasoning, Aaddler,” Nimbulan said from behind them. “But I think retrieving Rollett from Hanassa would be a more successful quest.” His tone left Powwell with the impression he had more to say on the subject. Nimbulan’s left hand came up, palm out, fingers slightly curled—his old magical gesture used as an extra sense to gather information or concentrate his thoughts.

  Tension flowed out of Powwell at the sound of his adopted father’s voice. Nimbulan would look out for his best interests, even if Scarface had forgotten how.

  If only the old man could take him into the void to search out Kalen . . .

  “We all know your obsession for keeping your students close to you, even though you have nothing left to teach them,” Scarface snarled in contempt. “What else do you hesitate to say?”

  “Bessel is your Senior Journeyman. He has responsibilities here,” Nimbulan replied.

  “I have apprentices who can take over his duties.”

  “Apprentices, sir, not journeymen,” Bessel said, his voice and posture quite apologetic. “Apprentices don’t have the training yet to help you with the younger students, to prepare your potions for special spells, to monitor your glass for important summons, or to research new spells for you. They aren’t mature enough to sit quietly in Council meetings, observing the reactions and whisperings of the lords and ambassadors.”

  Powwell almost applauded Bessel for speaking up for himself, something the Senior Journeyman rarely did—if you could find him outside the library. Bessel spent more time in the treasure trove of knowledge than Powwell did.

  Nimbulan nodded encouragement to Bessel to continue.

  “I would be happy to hasten the studies and exercises of some of the older apprentices, sir, so that they are ready for advancement when I am ready for my master’s quest.”

  Powwell almost snorted in disgust at Bessel’s humble tone and posture. As usual, Bessel seemed more interested in compromise just to keep his place in the University rather than fight for what he knew to be right.

  “It is not your place to question my orders. Either of you.” Scarface’s clenched lips turned as white as his scar. The anger that always simmered within him seemed ready to explode.

  “But it is their place, as the only two journeymen available, to offer observations to help you in your decisions,” Nimbulan said. “I trained them to think and not just to obey orders blindly.” His face worked as if he held back a big smile.

  Powwell wanted to grin, too. Scarface had shown exemplary administrative skills in guiding the Commune this last year. He had stepped into the vacuum left when Nimbulan lost his magic and nearly his life. But Scarface’s temper had won him few friends.

  “I won’t accept your quest, sir,” Powwell replied. He stared directly into Scarface’s hooded eyes so the man would know his determination. Thorny squirmed within his pocket, suddenly uncomfortable with Powwell’s boldness. “I have made no secret that as soon as I figure out where she is, I will leave here to rescue my sister. If no other method exists to find her, I must prepare myself to enter the void to seek out her life force.”

  Powwell would know her distinctive orange-and-brown signature colors in any guise. Now that he was close to learning a way to find his sister, he wouldn’t let Scarface interrupt his quest.

  “Powwell, the void is far too dangerous!” Bessel protested. He looked almost as white with fear as Scarface did with anger.

  “To enter the void, you must tap illegal magic,” Nimbulan reminded him. “Your oath to the Commune prevents you from using those powers.”

  “You took oaths of obedience to me, young man. You owe me and the Commune.” Scarface returned Powwell’s stare.

  “No, sir. I took an oath of loyalty to the Commune, Coronnan, and my king. I can best fulfill that oath by returning Kalen to the people who love and care for her. She has a valuable talent. If necessary, I’ll go to Hanassa to find her. While I’m there, I can investigate what happened to Rollett—a stronger and more experienced magician than either Gilby or Jaanus.”

  “I do not believe you can assist anyone but yourself on such a wild lumbird chase. If your sister lives, her talent is based upon rogue magic. She must remain in exile from Coronnan. But your sister is dead. We both watched her fall into the pit of boiling lava along with Yaassima, the Kaalipha of Hanassa.”

  “But Yaassima went into the void between the planes of existence, not the pit. The dragons spat her out again in our presence. Yaassima was thrown into the pit before Kalen. Therefore, I must presume my sister lives.”

  “You tread on dangerous ground, Powwell. If you flirt with rogue magic to enter the void, then you betray the Commune and me, your master.”

  “Nimbulan is my master, no other.”

  Scarface raised his fist as if to strike Powwell. />
  Powwell reached out with his magic, stopping Scarface’s fist in midair.

  Thorny bristled, stabbing Powwell through layers of clothing. Powwell absorbed the pain, letting it fuel his magic.

  “Consider yourself confined to your rooms except for kitchen duty until further notice. I must think on a proper punishment for this defiance,” Scarface ground out, still unable to move his hand against Powwell. The Senior Magician wouldn’t think about lowering his hand, only smashing Powwell’s restraints.

  Powwell turned his back on the Senior Magician and walked away without releasing Scarface’s fist. If Scarface had realized that Powwell had tapped illegal powers—through Thorny—retribution would be swift and terrible.

  I guess I’ve severed all my ties to the Commune and Coronnan with that little act of defiance. Severed his access to the library and the information there that might lead him to Kalen as well.

  Inside the meeting chamber of the Council of Provinces

  Walk with me, Katie, Quinnault said telepathically, as he rose from the council table. I need to stretch my legs before my mind will settle and sort through this mess.

  Katie looked quickly around the room to see if any of the magicians present had eavesdropped. She knew that even if they had, they were honor-bound to respect the privacy of the royal couple and wouldn’t show awareness of the communication.

  Yes, Scarecrow, Katie replied. She slipped her hand into his, surprised by the chill in his fingers. We both need fresh air and quiet.

  Quiet is something we’ll never have while we live in Palace Reveta Tristile. Quinnault chuckled beneath his words. Around them they could hear hammering, stones scraping on each other, as the almost continuous building on the palace and the city within the new capital expanded almost daily.

  “Where shall we walk?” Quinnault asked in tones just barely above a whisper.

  “Somewhere without a dozen attending guards, courtiers, magicians, and ambassadors,” she replied equally quietly.

  “Not in this lifetime. We rule, and therefore our lives belong to the masses not ourselves.” The king sighed.

  “I know. ’Tis the same in my home. I just wish we could have a few moments away from politics.”

  Katie felt the tension in her husband at her words.

  “I wasn’t born a politician, Katie. I cannot lie and am always surprised and hurt when others lie to me. No book exists that will teach me how to bend the truth like a politician.” A look of bewilderment crossed his face.

  “I understand you must select suitable mares to mate with Buan,” she announced to the room at large.

  Quinnault’s eyes lit. Good idea. Others will follow us, but you have removed the outing from the realm of politics.

  Not entirely. The ambassador from SeLenicca has a mare he wants to breed with your stallion, and so does Jorghe-Rosse from Rossemeyer.

  “Buan has enough stamina to satisfy both and more.” Quinnault chuckled again. He lengthened his stride as if he couldn’t get out of the stuffy chamber fast enough. Katie nearly ran to keep up with him, never letting go of his hand, especially now that it warmed under her touch.

  New buildings, many still shrouded in scaffolding, seemed to sprout like stalks of new wheat on every island comprising Coronnan City.

  Two years ago, before Katie came to Coronnan as his bride, he had been lord of these islands. His stark defensive tower was now an extensive palace and administrative center. Simple farmhouses and vegetable crops had given way to dwellings and workshops for craftsmen thrown up almost overnight, elegant townhouses for politicians, and temples—dozens and dozens of little temples to serve the growing populace of the new capital of Coronnan.

  This city represented her husband’s dream of peace for Coronnan and an important place for this country within the world marketplace.

  But he’d never planned to be king. She had been raised for her role as a member of a royal family that had ruled a galactic empire for many generations.

  Quinnault nodded casually to the city dwellers as he passed them on his way to the nearest bridge. “Time was, I could name them all and their children. Now I know only one out of ten,” he muttered.

  Katie squeezed his hand in reassurance. “You know more of them than my grandfather ever tried to learn of his immediate household. It’s important for us to maintain contact with the people we govern.”

  Quinnault smiled at her with that special half quirk of his mouth. Her pulse quickened in wonder and awe at her love for him.

  They crossed the bridge in the market square. Vendors closing up their booths before the commencement of the holy day and late customers alike stopped to bow or curtsey to the royal couple. Children ran about caring little for the dignity of those who followed the king and queen at a discreet distance.

  A flicker of movement in Katie’s peripheral vision caught her attention. Just another bystander, propping himself up against the corner of a building. But not just any bystander. She nodded slightly to him and suppressed another smile. Liam Francis, her youngest brother, come to check on her—though they both knew he should not be on planet.

  Her father should not be here either, but he was always a law unto himself.

  A tiny bit of Katie’s homesickness dissolved. She did miss her family. She almost gestured for Liam Francis to join her. At the last instant she dropped her hand. He blew her a kiss and melted into the crowd, one more slim young man among many—though he stood almost a head shorter than most.

  One of the ladies rushed to the queen’s side and shooed the children away.

  “Let them play,” Katie said, catching an unsteady toddler trying to follow his older siblings. She cuddled the child close for a moment. “We should have brought Marilell. She needs to get out of the palace more and breathe fresh air.”

  “We took her on the picnic. She’s had enough fresh air for one day and needs a nap.” Quinnault brushed a stray curl off Katie’s face with his long fingers. “You need a break from constant mothering. We need time together before our next child comes. Any sign of making me a father again?”

  Katie shook her head regretfully.

  The courtiers stepped back one pace, giving them a small illusion of privacy. The guards who hovered around the edges paused as well, surveying the marketplace with restless, wary eyes.

  Liam Francis popped up on the other side of the thoroughfare, then vanished again. Her homesickness came back to Katie with a sickening jolt.

  Quinnault squeezed her hand this time, as if he sensed her loneliness among this bustling crowd.

  She sighed. As long as she had her husband and daughter she had a family. But the only time she and Quinnault were ever truly alone together was in bed. And she wasn’t certain the servants didn’t listen then, too.

  Oh, how she longed to snag Liam Francis and sit quietly by the fire with a mug of mulled wine while catching up on the latest gossip from home.

  The parade of people followed Quinnault and Katie as they crossed a dozen islands between the palace and the mainland. As they stepped up on the last bridge, Katie paused a moment to look back. Their entourage had grown to include a number of curiosity seekers. Some nibbled food and sipped ale from the numerous markets along the route. Musicians played lively tunes in rhythm with their steps—or had they started marching in time with the music? A few people began an impromptu dance, others lifted their voices in songs.

  “I’ve never known a people so ready to turn any event into a party.” Katie gazed at them in amazement. Her foot tapped the dancing rhythm. Was that her brother kicking up his heels with a local woman on the fringes of the crowd?

  “After three generations of civil war, the common people have learned to grab enjoyment whenever they can, despite the feuds and jockeying for power at court,” Quinnault replied. “I want to give my people reasons to rejoice every day. They deserve it.”

  “Do you suppose it would be beneath our royal dignity to join the dancing?” She would love to maneuver close to
Liam Francis and exchange a few words, maybe dance a few steps with him, just like at parties back home.

  “Considering that I would tread on your feet and likely slip and fall on my bum, yes, this free-spirited dancing is definitely beneath my dignity.” Quinnault chuckled openly.

  Much of the daily strain of ruling slid from his face, replacing worry lines with youthful humor.

  Katie hid a laugh behind her hand. The image of her tall husband sprawling in the mud, long legs tangled in the hem of her skirts presented a decided contrast to his normal public demeanor.

  Quinnault’s mind tickled hers with silent laughter. He, too, enjoyed the image of himself as the gangling scarecrow of his youth. He still thought of himself as that awkward young man yanked from his quiet life of study in a monastery to govern his family’s lands, out of place and bewildered by the enormity of his duty.

  “You’ve never quite grown into your feet, have you?” she asked quietly.

  “I’m not familiar with that expression.” He continued smiling and nodding his head in time with the music.

  “Children and dogs tend to have feet out of proportion to their bodies. They are awkward until their bodies grow to match the feet. Once their proportions match, they become as graceful in mind as in body.”

  “Ah, yes, they do. Frankly, Katie, I’ve grown into my feet.” He looked down at the monstrous boots that covered them. “But I haven’t grown into my role as king.”

  “Yes, you have, my dear. The people adore you.”

  “My very minimal magical talent as an empath qualified me for my chosen life path as a priest. I understand what the people endure, and sometimes I can help them heal. But the politicians who make the government work talk circles around me. They lie and hide the truth behind rivers of words. I get lost in the words that mean too many things at the same time.”