The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

by Irene Radford

  “Not a transport spell,” he replied when he controlled his breathing once more. He sought a metaphor the woman would understand. “I control a dragon. A very special dragon that lets me hide inside her. She will take us wherever you want to go. But first we have to get to her.”

  “A dragon!” Maia crossed her wrists, right over left, and flapped her hands in the bizarre ward against evil. Her eyes grew wide with respect and . . . and terror. “You control the renegade dragon, Hanassa?”

  “Whatever. Now come along this side path. We have to get to my dragon before she flies away on her own.” He doubted Jamie Patrick would order the shuttle returned to the mother ship by remote, but he never knew what his sons might do. One day soon he’d have to beat some discipline into them—as he should have when they were little, but he was too busy courting political favor to bother with children then.

  He kept his arm around Maia’s waist as they returned the few steps to the barely maintained side path. Deep shadows from overhanging trees cloaked them. Kinnsell shuddered in atavistic fear of the unknown darkness. He kept up a prattle of words to mask his uneasiness. “My dragon will shelter us and give us hot food and drink and comfortable beds until dark. Then she will fly away with us. Anywhere you want to go.” As long as it’s to the castle of my bushie lord. Once I show you to him, I’ll control the majority of King Quinnault’s Council and the king’s daughter. I’ll direct when and where technology is introduced. And I’ll collect tithes from these bushies as well as the rewards of bringing this world back into the fold of Terra’s Empire. None of my relatives stand a chance of winning the election as emperor once I bring this planet back into the fold.

  “I have never touched a dragon before. But I have seen one,” Maia said, caressing his face with gentle fingers. “I did not trust the dragon. I could not penetrate her thoughts. But she touched mine. She blocked out Televarn’s voice, and I did not know what to do without him.” Her wonderful hands slid down his back. “You can replace Televarn in my mind. Your talent is strong, Master Kinnsell. You can replace Televarn in the minds of all the Rovers. Your control of the Rovers can extend to all those who have even a trace of Rover blood in their veins, like Nimbulan and Lord Balthazaan.”

  Heat flooded Kinnsell’s veins wherever she touched him. He recognized the subtle psi power and allowed himself to enjoy her for a moment. Her words brought a smile to his face as well. His family enjoyed a similar mind-to-mind contact. But the O’Hara clan had better control, no one person could remain in the mind of another without permission. These Rovers needed a leader to direct them. Kinnsell was willing to employ them if they bent to his control as easily as the rest of this planet. He lengthened his stride.

  “You will not be able to penetrate my dragon’s thoughts. Only I can do that,” he said, warming to his story. Cyber controls could be defined as a form of mind-to-mind contact.

  The nagging cough returned.

  Maia touched his temple with the fingertips of her right hand and his chest with the flat of her left hand. Heat radiated from the points of contact. An electric buzz shot through his veins. The cough eased. She lingered, not releasing her healing touch. His vision narrowed, blotting out all but Maia. His thoughts focused on her bright beauty.

  He raised his hand from her waist to the swell of her breast. She didn’t pull away. He risked opening his palm to cup her fullness. Her nipple budded tight beneath his fingertips. His heart beat loudly within his ears, pounding out a staccato rhythm.

  He turned her within his arms and kissed her deeply. She opened to him, moaning her pleasure. This trip did have some benefits, after all.

  He stepped off the path into the dense underbrush. They could linger a while. No one would find his ship. They had plenty of time before they had to meet the lords at sunset.

  “This way!” a feminine voice shouted over the sound of many steeds’ hooves pounding the packed dirt of the road. His passion had deafened him to their approach.

  Not just any feminine voice commanded this small cavalcade. His daughter, Mary Kathleen O’Hara, led the charge. Led them straight past him along the path that ran only to his shuttle.

  Late morning, University Isle, Coronnan City

  Bessel wasted one heartbeat of time staring at the door Scarface had just slammed in his face.

  The assassin roared in triumph as he dashed across the bridge, sword raised.

  “C’mon Mopsie. Let’s see if you are truly a water dog.” Bessel ran for the nearest river access and dove in.

  Mopsie ran for the assassin, growling.

  Bessel caught a brief glimpse of the little dog leaping for the man’s sword hand. His teeth latched onto the wrist, forcing the assassin to drop his weapon.

  Then cold, muddy waters closed over Bessel’s head. The swift current pulled him down, down, down.

  Bessel let the river current carry him as he swam upward. He shook water from his eyes while he kept his hands and feet moving. He heard another splash and looked back toward the bridge. Mopsie landed in the water in a great spray that dampened the assassin on the bridge.

  “Good boy, Mopsie,” Bessel called to his familiar. “You gave me time to escape.”

  The bedraggled dog paddled strongly toward Bessel. He yipped a greeting and aimed to intercept his master.

  “You are the most pathetic looking mutt.” Bessel couldn’t help grinning broadly at the sight of all that soaking fur streaked with mud. No wonder the dog had looked so forlorn and lost when they first found each other on the docks. Mopsie had been swimming in the Bay while Bessel had tried to rescue the ambassador.

  “Maybe you are a water dog after all, pup.” With determined strokes, Bessel set out for the mainland to the south of the city.

  Mopsie growled a warning. Bessel looked about him for signs of the assassin. He saw the black-clad warrior on the bridge of University Isle shaking his fist at Bessel. Then the warrior scrambled toward the nearby dock where the University kept several boats tied.

  Bessel swam with long strokes away from the continuing menace. The river offered hundreds of hiding places but few landings big enough for a boat. He knew he could escape the assassin as long as he stayed in the river.

  Already the cold water sapped his strength and set his teeth chattering. He had to find shelter quickly. He headed for a series of aits hidden behind University Isle. Some of the tiny, temporary islands had withstood the river and the weather long enough to grow tall grasses and scrubby trees. He might not be able to build a fire to warm and dry himself and the dog for several hours yet. But he’d be able to get out of the water and probably out of the wind.

  Mopsie barked again.

  “What?” he asked the dog, treading water. He had to work at staying in one place in the strong current, but he didn’t dare proceed until he knew the next danger.

  Two quick barks. Bessel automatically looked left. He dove down and away from a heavy tree branch before it connected with his head.

  “Thanks, Mopsie,” he said when he resurfaced beside his new friend. He took a moment to scratch the dog’s ears. “Now how did I know that two yips means left? And I suppose one means right?”

  Mopsie barked once in agreement.

  “Do you know any fishermen we can hide out with until it’s safe to go back to Master Nimbulan?”

  The dog barked one more time.

  Chapter 28

  Late morning, side trail off the Great South Road

  Katie dug her heels into her steed’s flanks. “We can’t be late,” she mumbled to herself. “We can’t be late.” Her words took on the rhythm of hooves striking the roadway.

  She yanked the reins for the animal to turn left along the side path. Roussin told her the path had been widened from a deer trail by Rovers who used to camp in the clearing where Kinnsell had landed his shuttle.

  Foam flecked her steed’s mouth around the bit. Sweat gleamed along its neck. But its breathing and cadence remained steady. She’d driven the steed hard since Ro
ussin had shown Myri the location of the bizarre dragon in a small clearing south and west of the city.

  Quinnault led the way through this wilderness. Nimbulan and Myri kept up with them, through Myri looked decidedly green at the corners of her mouth and the edges of her pinched nose. Their mounts showed similar signs of fatigue. The guards lagged behind, but they kept her within sight until just before she turned off the main road.

  Deep shadows darkened her vision the moment they left the road for the woods. She clung to the reins, praying the steed sensed the trail better than she.

  She should have come yesterday, or the day before when Kinnsell first made his threats to bring technology to Kardia Hodos, when she’d first thought Kinnsell might own the ring that choked Marilell. But then Ambassador Jorghe-Rosse had died and caused a diplomatic crisis. By the time she and Quinnault had dismissed the emergency Council meeting, dawn of the next day hovered on the horizon.

  Then they had spent an entire day hearing conflicting testimony and weighing evidence.

  Anxiety gnawed at her. Rouussin said the shuttle was still in the clearing. Where was Kinnsell, and what was he up to?

  Katie couldn’t tell what or who lurked beneath the thick tree canopy. Just enough light filtered through the interwoven branches overhead to allow undergrowth to flourish.

  No time to give in to her fears now. Nimbulan and Myrilandel and Quinnault were behind her. Quinnault rode ahead, slashing at encroaching branches and vines. They would protect her from the childhood monsters that leaped from her imagination into the trees. That wasn’t really a Sasquatch and its mate beneath that oak. The last of the legendary pairs of Bigfoot had been captured and held in a protective zoo just after the first atmosphere domes had been constructed. The pair had failed to breed in captivity so none could have been transplanted to Kardia Hodos with the first terraforming project.

  The shadows were just shadows.

  They pelted up the narrow track for another kilometer—she had to think in miles she reminded herself. They traveled less than a mile. The dense forest opened. More light came through the canopy. The trees were younger, farther apart. Saber ferns and brambleberry bushes filled in the blanks between trunks. The rich scent of thick humus and fresh leaves about to burst forth from winter’s sleep filled Katie’s senses. She slowed the steed.

  Her companions slowed, too. Not far now. Katie searched for signs of the shuttle’s passage through the trees.

  A path of singed branches led the way better than the track they followed. Only a shuttle’s engine could have burned its way through the trees at that level, along that trajectory. Kinnsell hadn’t been careful about damaging the forest when he landed.

  Marsh plants dominated the foliage. Underground springs softened the soil. The steed slowed more on its own, picking its way carefully around treacherous mud.

  A glint of silver caught Katie’s eye. She kneed the horse forward, too anxious to worry about the footing.

  Two tall Tambootie trees, stripped of their leaf buds, formed an archway to a wide clearing. A small pool reflected green light onto the side of the sleek shuttle. The landing pods had sunk deep into the soft ground. Sunk so deep Kinnsell would burn twice the normal amount of fuel breaking free.

  The soft red glow of the alarm light blinked steadily beneath the hatch keypad. No one was within the shuttle. Kinnsell’s footprints had been obscured by rain and the passage of wild animals at least two full days ago.

  “Leave it to Kinnsell to choose his landing for convenience rather than safety.” She almost laughed in relief.

  “Watch the mud, Katie,” Quinnault warned, dismounting before she could.

  “This is indeed a strange dragon,” Myri gasped. She crossed herself, paused, then made the more ancient ward of flapping hands over crossed wrists.

  “But this dragon does not breathe and has no mind of its own,” Katie replied. “It presents no danger until a human enters it and starts the engines. It is but a machine.”

  The wind and rain and natural cleansing agents in the environment could cope with the pollution left behind by one shuttle. But when the populace learned of the miracles of technology represented by those who flew shuttles, they always wanted more. The people wanted to control the forces of nature with technology. They didn’t want to leave such powers only to magicians. Technology made mundanes the equals of magicians. Technology led to pollution. Bodies adapted to pollution, built up toxins in their body. The plague virus ate pollution in the air, the water, and inside human bodies. When it ran out of toxins, it ate living tissues and spread to the next host with minimal contact.

  Kinnsell had to be stopped before he contaminated the entire world.

  “I hope he hasn’t changed the security codes,” she said, marching toward the craft. Quinnault surveyed around the shuttle. Myri and Nimbulan came right behind her, holding hands like young lovers. Myri blushed and cupped her belly protectively again.

  Before Katie reached the hatch, her boots sank into the soft mud. She lifted one foot carefully, wondering where to step next. The hatch and its keypad lock had sunk to a level she could easily reach, if she could get to it.

  “We need solid ground,” Katie looked around for inspiration.

  “Branches,” Nimbulan said. “We’ll cut some of those everblue boughs and lay them across the path. That should secure Katie’s footing. She weighs the least of any of us. I’ve only my short sword with me. It will have to do.” He unsheathed his basic weapon/tool. Quinnault did the same.

  “My dagger is sharp. I’ll help.” Myri pulled her own blade out of her hip sheath.

  In short order they laid a dozen branches across the mud. Nimbulan breathed heavily, strain showed around his eyes, and his skin looked waxy pale from the small exertion.

  Katie looked to Myrilandel to see if she noticed the undue fatigue in the older man. Her friend already placed her hand upon her husband’s chest. A faint eldritch glow of blue healing connected them.

  Nimbulan pushed her hand away after only a moment. The blue light lingered, stretched thin, still connecting them. They both stared at her hand in silence for a long moment. “You can’t, love. Not now. ’Tis too dangerous for you to use your magic.”

  She glared at him with a determined set to her chin. Then Nimbulan nodded his head in acceptance. She raised her hand again but held it several finger-lengths away from his chest. The light blazed again, then died gradually. Nimbulan’s face remained quite pale, but his breathing came easier.

  Katie turned her attention back to the shuttle. If anyone could keep Nimbulan healthy, it was Myrilandel. She’d brought him back to life before.

  There was only one reason why Nimbulan would not wish her to use her healing talent. She must be newly pregnant and feared to hurt the baby’s development.

  The fanning twigs of the cut branches with their blue needles spread out in front of Katie’s feet and wove together in a blanket only a little paler than a clear summer sky. Katie stepped gingerly on the thickest portion of the branches. They sank a little into the mud, but held before her boots suffered any more damage.

  She reached up and touched the flat keypad. Seven, one, eight, two, seven, two, eight, one. A soft whirring sound signaled the hatch opening to her command.

  A blast of stale air greeted her. She wrinkled her nose at the slightly metallic, almost chemical scent of recycled air. The smell of home.

  “Isn’t that the same smell Shayla gave us in her dragon dream?” Nimbulan asked, holding a hand over his mouth and nose.

  “Yes,” Katie agreed, startled by the revelation. Quickly, she placed a fold of her heavy riding skirt across her face, then jabbed the close command on the hatch. The smell had become so ingrained in her memories of home, she had hardly noticed it in the dream. Now that she had inhaled nothing but the fresh air of Kardia Hodos she recognized the truth. This recycled air contained the scent of the plague.

  “We have to leave right now. I can’t risk contaminating myself or yo
u with any more exposure.” Katie gulped back her tears of fear and disappointment.

  Near noon, side trail off the Great South Road

  Kinnsell watched Katie and her entourage ride back down the path toward the road. Katie sobbed quietly.

  What had happened to upset Katie so? She never gave way to her true emotions in public. Always, always, she found a way to convert a bad situation into laughter. In all her twenty-five years, Kinnsell had only caught his daughter crying once. The day he divorced her mother and married his pregnant mistress.

  “We’ll bring incendiary materials back to cleanse us of that . . . that . . .” the older man in the party said. His shoulders slumped in defeat. Nimbulan, the trusted magician who deceived the lot of them by claiming he’d lost his magic. Psi powers didn’t get lost. But sometimes they hid for a while.

  Nimbulan’s skin looked waxy with a blue tinge around his lips. His fingers had swollen where he gripped the reins tightly. Probably just a heart condition. It had to be just a heart condition and not the first symptoms of the plague. Ill health would mask psi powers. The magician had lost his psi powers over a year ago. The length of the illness suggested a heart condition. The plague didn’t linger that long once it chose a victim. Usually.

  But the unpredictability of the plague and its mutations often devastated entire city domes before the first diagnosis.

  “I will prepare a cleansing ritual for all of us before we destroy that renegade dragon you call a shuttle, Katie,” said the tall blonde woman who always clung to Nimbulan’s side. Myrilandel, rumored to be half dragon. “Meet me by the mainland stand of Tambootie trees. South of the first bridge.” She kneed her steed and galloped ahead of the rest. No expression animated her face. Only the defiant stiffness of her very erect spine suggested any emotion at all.