He was reminded of how he had sought a kind of refuge with Nimbulan the Battlemage during the wars. Once he’d found relative safety, companionship, and comfort with the magicians, he hadn’t wanted to venture out into the real world at all. For many years he’d found it difficult to even go into the markets for supplies on his own.
Then one day, a year and a half ago, Nimbulan had set out on the long journey to Hanassa in search of his kidnapped wife, Myrilandel, and their two adopted children, Powwell and Kalen. Rollett couldn’t let him go alone. He could not let his fears confine him within the safe walls of the University of Magicians when Nimbulan needed him. Then Scarface had entered the picture and forced or coerced Nimbulan into leaving Rollett behind in Hanassa.
Powwell and Myrilandel had escaped with Nimbulan and Scarface, but not Rollett. And presumably not Kalen.
Powwell had confirmed Rollett’s suspicions in his tale of Nimbulan’s retirement and Scarface’s elevation to senior. Scarface, ex-Battlemage and ex-mercenary, wouldn’t be happy until he controlled every aspect of every life around him.
Rollett needed to go home. Now. But he also had a duty to his men here in Hanassa. They relied upon him, trusted him with their lives.
“Show me the machines,” Rollett said grimly.
“Why?” Yaala asked. Suspicion darkened her pale blue eyes. They weren’t as colorless as Yaassima’s and were much more expressive. Dared he read her mind?
He couldn’t afford to waste his magic. He’d wait until she did something threatening. Then he’d invade her mind and strip it of every bit of knowledge he needed to escape Hanassa once and for all. With his men.
“Show me the machines and how they work. I need to understand everything about them if I’m to overpower Piedro and get us out of here. The city won’t last another moon until your dragongate opens and food can come through,” Rollett finally said.
“I’m not leaving until I find Kalen.” Powwell placed his hands on his hips and jutted his chin in the most decisive posture Rollett had seen in the boy.
“She’s not in the city, Powwell. I’d know if she got left behind.”
“You didn’t know about the pit and the dragongate. You don’t know the palace,” Powwell replied. “She’s here somewhere. I sense her presence.” He lifted his nose almost as if sniffing for her distinctive scent. The hedgehog poked his head out of Powwell’s pocket and mimicked his action.
Strange, Rollett always thought of familiars as belonging to women’s magic. He’d found so much satisfaction working with the men in the Commune he’d needed no companion but his staff. He couldn’t remember if Powwell was particularly gifted with dragon magic or not. The boy—almost a man now—had spent so little time at the University with the other apprentices and journeymen, that Rollett hadn’t had enough time to truly know anything about him except his unusual attachment to the girl Kalen, his half sister.
“I’ll show you what I can,” Yaala finally said after spending a long moment looking longingly toward the machines and back toward the passageway into the city.
Which did she prefer, the machines or the power of the Kaalipha? He wished he could trust her. Or at least understand her motives. Later. He’d know everything about her before he put his next plan into action.
Rollett listened carefully to her detailed explanation of generators, transformers, resistors, and currents. Her rather plain face glowed with a special beauty when she spoke—almost like a proud mama showing off her numerous children.
A piece of him wanted to reach out and teach her how to trust again. But he didn’t dare trust her, so why should she trust him?
He shook off the emotion and concentrated on her lecture—sermon?
Generators made the mysterious ’tricity from steam. Transformers changed the raw energy into a usable form, as a magician transformed dragon magic. Currents flowed through the wires. Magic flowed through a man’s blood.
“I’ve used ley line magic to power my talent, and I’ve used dragon magic. ’Tricity isn’t so different,” he said.
“I thought the same thing,” Powwell agreed. “But I’ve touched this power, and I don’t think it’s safe for men to use.”
“Yaassima’s tricks with lights, making the altar stone disappear, and her sudden appearances on the dais were all illusions powered by this ’tricity.” Rollett confirmed Yaala’s lesson.
“Yes.” Yaala nodded slowly. She kept her eyes on Rollett, searching his face for something.
“Then we don’t need magic, we need ’tricity to overpower Piedro and reclaim the city.” Rollett mulled over a number of possibilities in his mind. Magic and ’tricity. ’Tricity and magic. Where did one end and the other begin?
Ideas begin to awaken in his brain. With ideas came plans and hope. But first he needed more information.
“I wonder if we can use ’motes to stabilize the dragongate?” he muttered.
Powwell’s eyes went wide with speculation. “The gate worked often and well while the generators ran continuously. Now the dragongate has shifted, stalled. Maybe it doesn’t have enough power to open more frequently, and it doesn’t have the power to keep it locked in one time span.”
Yaala shook her head in dismissal of the argument. “Yaassima had ’motes—triggers—hidden all over the palace, some in her jewelry,” Yaala continued. “The ’tricity never touched her body, only the ’motes. She used them to channel the ’tricity into specific chores. The hollow rods used on the gate lock and to stun people at the entrance to the palace were also a kind of ’mote.”
Rollett had experienced those hollow rods. The guards struck a special rock with the wand to make them emit an ear-piercing sound that froze mundanes for long moments—but only made magicians uncomfortable. The guards used that time to search suspects and those who wished to enter Hanassa. They also used the wands as a kind of detector for metal weapons. An effective security device.
Yaassima’s guards must have had some kind of protection from the sounds. Rollett wondered how to mimic that for his men.
“None of these tricks will help us get out of Hanassa,” he sighed in resignation. There had to be another way; ’tricity was the key. “We can’t slap a wand to stun the guards. Half of them are Rovers and immune to the sound.” With their mind-to-mind connections, all Rovers had the possibility of magic even without the specific talent. “We need a dragon to dig us free or fly us over the rim of the crater.”
“None of the dragons will come near Hanassa,” Powwell reminded him.
“Yeah, I know. They say that Hanassa, the renegade dragon, still rules here,” Rollett replied.
“How can that be?” Yaala looked at them both, eyes wide with wonder. But her pointed chin trembled with a touch of fear. “My ancestor took human form and founded this city over seven hundred years ago. Once in human form, he had to live and die a normal life span.”
“Dragons are very long-lived. Lyman told me that a dragon can live a thousand years or more.” Rollett began to pace. He circled the generator, the one Yaala called Liise, touching it occasionally, trying to understand the how and why of Hanassa the renegade dragon. Hanassa had stolen the machines from the Stargods and used them to mimic the magic of the three divine brothers.
“Dragons live a long time in dragon form,” Powwell corrected him. “When they take human bodies, like Myrilandel did, then they are limited to the life span of the body.”
“But Myrilandel borrowed an existing human body. She didn’t shapechange,” Rollett argued. “When her body dies, her spirit could move to a new body if she chooses.”
Stunned silence greeted that statement.
“Couldn’t she?” Rollett repeated.
“Yes, she could,” Yaala whispered. “I don’t think she would want to, though, because she has embraced the limitations of humanity.”
“What if Hanassa never accepted his human body as anything but a temporary host?” Bizarre thoughts plunged into Rollett’s mind faster than he could assimilate the
m all. “What if Hanassa’s spirit hides in these caverns waiting for a likely body to inhabit, then steals the body until he no longer needs it or it dies?”
“The wraith,” Powwell and Yaala said together.
Chapter 20
Before dawn, Library in the University of Magicians, Coronnan City
Kinnsell walked to the back of the library. He stretched his stride, covering the twenty-five meters in short order. He ignored the tantalizing shelves of books along the way. He didn’t have time to dawdle and read titles, caress bindings, or smell the unique combination of old paper, ink, and leather.
Iron bars blocked his exit. Behind the locked cage stood another library, as large or larger than the front portion. The stairway to the gallery and more books also lay behind the gate. Deep shadows hid these books from casual view. Kinnsell needed a lot more light to read the spines of even the closest volumes.
“More secrets?” he asked the books. They didn’t reply. Not that he expected them to. He shook his head. Of course the magicians had to lock away most of their knowledge. The only way they could maintain control of the populace was to keep them ignorant.
“Education will be the first thing I introduce to these people once I am in control. Then the wheel. After that, progress will be unlimited. They’ll thank me in the end.”
He pulled a small, zippered wallet from inside his tunic. He brushed a dozen tiny tools made of the finest alloys with his fingertips. A hooked probe about the size of a toothpick seemed the proper piece to pick the lock. He could have used his telekinetic powers to manipulate the lock, but those skills didn’t come as easily to him as telepathy. He might need his strength later, to free the woman.
The hair on the back of his wrist stood up in alarm as he inserted the probe. What? Cautiously, he channeled a little of his psi powers along the probe and met a wall of resistance.
“Aha!” He smiled. The master magicians had set the lock with telekinetic powers. Only stronger powers would release it. Presuming, of course, the opener used his mind instead of a key.
Kinnsell swallowed the atavistic fear that shot along the probe and up his arm. Merely the power of suggestion. His technology had to be stronger than the magicians’ psi powers. This was just the first test of his skills.
With a little fiddling, the lock tumblers shifted under the probe. The gate swung open on well-oiled hinges. Kinnsell slipped through the opening and relocked the gate with the probe. He shook off the lingering tingle of distaste that infected his fingertips. The next person through here would find the lock much easier to manipulate.
Thousands of books lay between himself and whatever exit he might find back here. He wanted to linger and learn from them. Not enough time today.
“I’ll be back,” he promised himself. “I’ll own all of you before I’m done with this planet. And I’ll know why the magicians hide you. When I am emperor, I shall make books a priority. E-readers are efficient, but books are life.” He caressed a book spine and moved on.
Half the wealthy merchants, nobility, and financiers in the Empire collected books. They would lobby for his election on that proclamation alone.
Sure enough, a small postern door lay secluded in a dark corner, almost hidden among the shadows between the stacks of shelves. He thought he’d spotted it during his search of the exterior grounds of the University. He bent low to lift the antiquated latch. The little door refused to budge.
“Mere locks won’t stop me.” But the mechanism resisted his tools. He turned his concentration on the lock. This was a trick his family didn’t know about. No one in the O’Hara family had been able to use telekinesis since the first Mary Kathleen seven hundred years ago. But Kinnsell could. He’d kept his talent hidden all his life, using it to keep a competitive edge over the other contenders to the imperial throne.
The lock yielded to his mental touch after only a few moments of concentration. He should be panting and sweating with fatigue. Instead he felt as if he’d opened the lock using only mundane means.
Curious. What was it with this planet? He could eavesdrop on mundanes with little or no effort—except the bushie lord. And now locks moved at the merest thought. But magicians, men who merely had strong psi talents, could block out his strongest efforts to read their minds.
He had a glimmer of an idea of why his family went bush so readily on Kardia Hodos. Would the augmented powers stay with him after he returned to Terra? No one could oppose his election to the imperial crown if it did. And if he met opposition, he’d just change their minds for them.
He slipped through the doorway—so small and narrow even he had to duck, and he was several inches shorter than the bushie natives. As he straightened his back and drew a deep breath, he caught sight of the cook running from the kitchen building behind the residential wing to his right. The only woman allowed on University Island, and now she was running away in the middle of the night. She should be busy fixing the next meal for the hundred or more magicians and apprentices. Curious.
Well, he searched for a woman who should be secreted in the University but wasn’t. Why not follow the only woman who did live here?
Guillia. He plucked her name from her mind quite easily. She was mundane, then. Her thoughts were more chaotic than most women suffering PMS. Something about a conspiracy . . .
More curious. A conspiracy within the Commune might serve him well. “A house divided . . .”
The woman led him along a convoluted path across several bridges and down streets that were barely wide enough to call alleys. During the day, these streets were crowded enough to be called major thoroughfares.
Even at this early hour numerous people moved about, finishing up late business in the taverns, the end of gatherings, and parties in the homes of the wealthy, getting ready for morning trade. Kinnsell felt comfortable for the first time since coming to this disgusting planet. His rapid pace stirred his blood until he was quite warm. Crowds pressed in on him. Wonderful crowds of people. That’s what he missed about the bush. Civilized planets were crowded. No one was ever truly alone in a domed city. He heard a thousand different hearts beating the staccato rhythm of life and sighed with relief.
Guillia almost slipped away from him in shadows cast by torches and candle lanterns. But he’d touched her mind. She couldn’t elude him long. There, two blocks ahead, she turned into a tidy little stone building with a tall steeple reaching toward the heavens.
A church? Ah, yes. His esteemed ancestors had started the cult of the Stargods here. They’d modeled it after their own beloved faith, merely substituting the three O’Hara brothers for the Holy Trinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Of course the churches would have steeples and the natives would make the sign of the cross as a ward against evil.
Kinnsell stepped into the nave of the church. He paused a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior and to catch his breath. One of the many things he intended to change on this planet was the minuscule windows in the churches. They deserved tall stained glass panels. He would definitely leave the augmented butane torch with his bushie lord. He’d make a fortune melting local sands into fine glass. The limited capacity of the fuel tank would make him greedy and eager to serve Kinnsell again in return for a refill.
Kinnsell moved from the dim porch into the nave where a hundred candles lit the worship space. Out of long habit, Kinnsell touched his head, heart, and both shoulders then bent one knee in obeisance to the altar. So what if he worshiped a different god than the ones revered here? The intent was the same.
He searched the open space for signs of Guillia. If the natives used pews, they had cleared them away after their last worship service. He saw no hiding places in the square room. Not even pillars to support the roof.
His skin prickled as if someone looked over his shoulder. He looked in all directions. Something more than pews was missing from this church: crosses. No crucifix hung above the altar, no wings extended from the nave to make the building into a cross
. The icons on the walls, too, were devoid of crosses. How could these people believe in an afterlife—which he knew they did—without the dominant symbol of faith?
But then they didn’t believe their god had died for them and then resurrected to a new life. They knew only that their Stargods had cured a plague and given a select few psi powers—what they called magic.
He shuddered and crossed himself again and again to make up for the lack of religious symbols and for the blasphemy of his ancestors.
The sense of being watched increased. He needed to get out of here.
“Are you looking for someone?” a woman asked quietly from behind him.
Kinnsell whirled to confront her. A short woman looked up at him through liquid black eyes. Her thick black hair was bound into a neat bun at the back of her head. A delicate mole lay just to the right of her mouth, enticing him to kiss her.
She looked so small and lonely he needed to enfold her in his arms, protect her, love her. . . .
Kinnsell checked his lustful response to her. He’d met women like her before. They used their minor psi talent to entice men, mold them to their will. Once alerted to their mental entrapment, he knew how to build barriers against it.
Then he noticed the olive tones of her skin and the bright red, purple, and black of her clothing. She wore large hoops in her ears and a dozen bangles on each arm. Just like the gypsies back home on Terra.
“Are you Maia?” He spoke as quietly as she had. His heart beat double time in excitement. This task was proving easier than he expected. He hadn’t even had to rouse the woman from sleep. The bushie lord would have his captive and Kinnsell would have the entire planet at his disposal.
He needed to cough and control his breathing.
“Who are you?” She backed up, looking about for an avenue of escape, or to make certain he had brought no accomplices with him. She looked like a frightened deer he’d seen in pictures of old Terra. Another ruse.
Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III Page 19
