Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III

by Irene Radford

  “Bessel has knowledge that I require. I will interview him.” And then convince Quinnault to grant him a pardon if necessary to keep him close to her on her quest. Powwell would have been a better choice, he had actually lived the dragon dream with them. But he had disappeared the day after the dragon dream. Yaala had never returned to court from Myrilandel’s clearing last winter. Presumably, she followed Powwell (or led him) into Hanassa.

  Frustration gnawed at Katie. If she knew her father, she hadn’t much time to thwart his plans. She couldn’t do anything while cooped up here at court. And she dared not venture out without the protection of at least one magician. Was frail Old Lyman hearty enough to ride with her?

  “Then, I fear, Your Grace, you must wait until I have completed my investigation to interview him,” Scarface replied. He looked as if he intended to stalk out of the solar without waiting for permission to withdraw from the royal presence.

  “You’d best hurry your investigation, then. I intend to ride on my mission within the hour with Bessel at my side.”

  “At your own risk, madam.” Scarface deigned to glance briefly at her, then back at the wall behind her left shoulder.

  Katie tilted her head in question but didn’t dignify the remark with words.

  Scarface sighed and then explained. “Bessel is out of control.”

  “I thought he exercised admirable control,” Katie remarked. “His testimony in Council yesterday was most concise and logical.” She needed to draw Scarface out, get him to say something, anything, that would give her a clue as to why he had become so implacable of late. Then she’d know how to appeal to his better judgment and have him release the journeyman magician.

  “You cannot know, Your Grace, the evil in the power that tempts him.”

  “Explain it to me, then.”

  Scarface shuddered deeply. Then he looked to the door and to Nimbulan for some kind of reprieve. Resignedly, he turned back to Katie.

  “Imagine, if you can, being forced to watch renegade soldiers torturing your closest family for information they did not have. Imagine yourself bound and gagged by magic so powerful you cannot even close your eyes to the carnage wrought in the name of justice. Then picture the glee on the faces of those same magicians as they revel in the pain of their victims, draw power from their screams of agony. And nothing could stop them except another magician more powerful than they. These magicians forced me to become a Battlemage. As soon as I had enough power to escape them, I ran to Hanassa to become a mercenary rather than continue to wreck havoc in their employ. Nothing could control the terror these men brought to Kardia Hodos until the dragons blessed us with their magic. Dragon magic allows—no, demands—that many magicians with honor in their souls combine their powers and amplify them beyond the dreams of the most powerful solitary magicians and control them. I must control Bessel. I must control all solitary magicians who attempt to bring down the Commune.”

  “Don’t you mean that the Commune must control those who attempt to bring down the Commune?” Katie raised her eyebrows and stared at Scarface, daring him to countermand her.

  Scarface did not look away as he spoke again. “I lead the Commune. The responsibility for its failures and its successes are mine.”

  “Bessel is one young man who respects both you and the Commune,” Nimbulan protested. “He would never . . .”

  “He used rogue magic once. He will use it again. The lure of the ley lines is addicting. He will learn to fear the Commune because we must prevent him from tapping illegal sources of power. With fear comes hatred and the need to destroy. I have seen the pattern before.” Scarface sighed deeply as if Bessel’s one action was a deep personal insult.

  “The Commune can control Bessel. He is more valuable as an ally than an enemy,” Nimbulan argued.

  “I have no choice. The young man must remain in his sanctuary or be declared a fugitive from justice, subject to immediate execution by any who can capture him.”

  “I have requested an interview with Bessel as part of the investigation, Master Aaddler. I am your queen. You may interpret that request as an order.” By invoking his true name, Katie hoped to force him to answer. She’d use every trick at her disposal to have Bessel as her escort, but she wouldn’t stoop to reading Scarface’s mind, even if she were able to penetrate his personal armor—which she doubted she could.

  Scarface merely stared at the wall, not intimidated in the least by her.

  Nimbulan stared at Scarface, jaw slightly agape. Then he closed it with an audible click of his teeth. The silent tension among them grew almost like a living thing that squeezed the air out of the room.

  “I will bring Bessel to you, Your Grace,” Nimbulan said defiantly.

  “I could force you into exile for violating the law of the Commune,” Scarface snarled at Nimbulan.

  “No, you can’t. I’m not a magician anymore.”

  For the first time since he’d lost his magic, Nimbulan didn’t shrink from admitting it. Katie wanted to applaud him.

  “You have taken binding oaths. Be warned, Nimbulan, you are in contempt of the Commune. Both you and Bessel had best watch yourselves.” Scarface stalked out without even bowing to his queen. “I refuse Bessel permission to leave his sanctuary. If he flees my authority, he announces to one and all his guilt in the matter of Ambassador Jorghe-Rosse’s death. If he steps outside of Myrilandel’s home, he is fugitive,” he added as he disappeared through the doorway.

  “Is there any way I can have that man demoted to the scullery?” Katie asked.

  “Not without a major mutiny within the Commune,” Nimbulan replied with a smile that more closely resembled a grimace. His skin looked too pale, almost clammy. She knew from experience he’d never admit to pain.

  “I don’t know what has gotten into Scarface. He used to be so pleasant to work with,” she said rather than acknowledge infirmity in stalwart Nimbulan.

  “Responsibility weighs heavily on Scarface’s shoulders. Guilt, too, I guess. His past is full of contradictions.”

  “Enough of that man, Nimbulan. I need your journeyman on this mission.”

  “Does this have something to do with the dragon dream you had Shayla impose upon us last autumn?”

  “Yes, it does.” How much more did she dare reveal to him? Telling him her father’s plans for bringing Kardia Hodos into the Terran Empire felt very much like betrayal of her family. But her family as a whole would not accept Kinnsell’s actions. Surely her brothers could see through their father’s plans and intervene?

  And after that? Though her heart ached to hold Liam Francis, Sean Michael, and Jamie Patrick close against her heart one more time, she knew she had to give them up.

  She had come to Kardia Hodos hoping for safety from the plague. She had found love and friendship beyond her hopes.

  She couldn’t help but smile at her love for Quinnault which grew daily beyond her wildest expectation.

  “Scarface has sent all of the magicians who came to the Commune as my friends into retirement. My journeymen and apprentices have been dispatched on meaningless quests and never returned. Now he condemns Bessel without trial for an offense that Scarface himself is guilty of.” Nimbulan bowed his head sadly.

  “What?”

  “Yes.” Nimbulan nodded. “I don’t know how or why, but Scarface was in deep communion with rogue magic at the time of the storm. He couldn’t have sensed Bessel’s tapping a ley line otherwise. And there was something strange about that storm. . . .”

  “Could Scarface have manipulated the storm for reasons we cannot guess?”

  “Possibly. He wants to exile or execute Bessel without a trial, but that seems very out of character considering the story he just told us. Something strange is going on here. We must watch him very carefully.” Nimbulan paused while he looked out the window. “I presume you need a magician as bodyguard on this quest of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bessel is threatened by both the Commune and Rosse
meyer. I will defy Scarface and send the boy with you. But he is not a strong magician. You need someone else as well.”

  “Someone I trust, and I no longer trust anyone under Scarface’s influence.”

  “Myrilandel does not use her magic often, but she is strong when she needs to be. With the diplomatic immunity you granted her, she may use her solitary magic to protect you.”

  “I couldn’t take her away from you, Nimbulan.”

  “Then I must go with you as well. Amaranth is old enough to be left with some trusted friends. The cheese maker in our market square has many children of her own and always welcomes Amaranth into her household. How long will we be gone?”

  “I don’t know. A few hours, perhaps a day or two.” Her father wouldn’t have parked his shuttle very far from the capital. He didn’t enjoy walking and hated riding steeds.

  “Is your husband in agreement with your plan? And what of your young daughter, Queen Maarie Kaathliin?”

  “My husband will agree when he learns you will join us. I just wish he could come, too. I need his strength and clear sight where my emotions might get the better of me.” One of them had to stay with Marilell, to protect her from Kinnsell or whoever threatened her.

  “Now is not a good time for Quinnault to be absent from the capital. Leave the expedition with me. I will make the arrangements and see to it that Scarface gives Bessel permission to leave the city. Do you know which direction we will travel?”

  “We head south, I think.”

  “Just what are we searching for?”

  “Once before, many generations ago, three O’Hara brothers came to Kardia Hodos and cured a virulent disease. I just hope my brothers can arrive in time to prevent the next plague.”

  Early morning, the hidden library in Hanassa’s palace

  “Books, the knowledge of the ages,” Rollett whispered, too awestruck to raise his voice. He reached a tentative hand to brush his fingertips across the spine of the nearest volume.

  The faintest whisper of power tingled against his skin.

  “Books,” Powwell repeated. He rushed into the room and started reading titles. He pulled volume after volume from the shelves. Dust rose in massive swirls like columns of smoke.

  Rollett choked back a cough. Powwell barked from deep in his lungs, stirring the dust into a wilder storm.

  “Have you read these books?” Rollett asked Yaala.

  “I . . . ah . . . I don’t know how to read. Yaassima didn’t think it a skill I would find valuable. But the last engineer taught me to read diagrams. Each engineer has passed on the knowledge of this library to his successor.” She pulled a tall volume from a shelf just to the right of the entrance—easily grabbed by a person who had only a stolen moment to get in and get out. She opened the well-worn book to a page in the middle. Lines snaked around the pages in geometric patterns. At certain intervals blobs and crosses indicated something important. Yaala traced the pattern with her finger.

  “This is a circuit board inside one of the ’motes.”

  Rollett looked at her blankly.

  “The lines are wires. This is a resistor, and this a switch,” she explained, pointing out the various symbols. “This diagram is greatly magnified so I can learn the exact pattern and find broken places in the ’mote.”

  “Look, Rollett, this is an herbal remedy book compiled by Kimmer—he’s the scribe who wrote so many of the books in the University library.” Powwell thumbed through the small volume quickly. “And this is a . . . Stargods! This is a journal of one of the Stargods. In the original hand! Do you know how valuable this information is? We have to get these books back to the University.”

  “No!” Yaala protested, much too loudly. “These books are mine. Hanassa stole them from the Stargods along with the machines and willed them to his descendants. They are mine!”

  “To what purpose?” Powwell returned angrily. “The books serve no one but you, and you can’t even read. The world needs this information.”

  “The books remain here, protected and secure. The only people who can come here revere the books. They don’t burn or ban them.” Yaala faced him, hands on hips, lips pursed in determination.

  Rollett stared at her a moment, struck by the intensity of her commitment.

  “Who is burning and banning books?” Rollett asked.

  “No one,” Powwell answered.

  “Scarface has talked in the Council of Provinces about putting certain books behind locked doors to keep the knowledge contained within them from falling into the wrong hands,” Yaala answered. “He’ll destroy them, mark my words, I know that man. He’ll destroy anything he can’t control. I will never allow him to control these books.”

  “These books must remain hidden a while longer,” Rollett agreed. He’d discuss ownership of the books with her later. She must see that knowledge and, therefore, the books belonged to all. “We can’t move this many books until we know how we are going to escape Hanassa.” If we escape Hanassa. “We have to scout the city better, we have to know what we are up against. That is knowledge more immediately valuable than this entire library of collected learning.”

  I have to save these books as well as my people in the city, Rollett thought to himself.

  For this treasure I might agree to stay in Hanassa. With Yaala at his side if she wouldn’t yield to him?

  That thought brought him up short. He wanted nothing more than to be gone from this city with or without the daughter of the late, unlamented Yaassima. But if he opened the city to the outside world, then the library would be available to all magicians, priests, and healers. He could rule the library—but he’d have to rule Hanassa as well.

  The image of Yaala standing by his side, helping him govern, kept replacing the image of him presiding over the library. He pushed it aside, concentrating on the here and now. He had to depose the current ruler of Hanassa and make an escape route—or open an entrance.

  “Let’s go find out what Piedro is up to.” He turned his back on the wonderful treasure and marched back down the turret stair. When he reached the first landing, he heard Yaala’s and Powwell’s footsteps following him sluggishly—reluctantly?

  Back in the main corridor, Rollett waited for his companions to catch up. He noted a rectangular book-sized bulge in Powwell’s tunic, right below the pocket occupied by Thorny. Rollett decided to ignore the theft temporarily.

  A little farther along, they found the wall of tapestries that hid the side entrance to the Justice Hall. The last time Rollett had been through this doorway, he’d led a dozen men on a raid. How many of them had survived the trap laid by Piedro?

  He held back an obscene tapestry while Powwell poked his head and his magic sense through the doorway. The younger man stopped short, gagging.

  “What?” Yaala pushed her way past him. She turned back to Rollett, eyes wide, throat working convulsively, skin pale and sweating.

  Rollett swallowed his sudden fear and looked as well. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

  The severed heads of two of his informers lay atop the raised altar stone, still dripping blood.

  Chapter 25

  Early morning, the second day after the dark of the moon, in the home of Myrilandel, Ambassador from the Nimbus of Dragons

  Bessel slipped out of Myrilandel’s house early. He needed to retrieve a few more personal belongings, and he wanted another look in the library. No one had told him he had to stay in the house, just out of Scarface’s way, and the day looked too warm and fair to spend it indoors.

  After the full day of testifying before the Council of Provinces or being locked in Nimbulan’s study reviewing his magical education, both he and Mopsie were ready for some fresh air and exercise.

  He’d broken his fast alone on some mixed grains that had stewed into a wonderful cereal overnight. A little dried fruit and thick cream in the bowl had filled his belly nicely. Even Guillia at the University—wonderful cook though she was—didn’t have quite the right touch with cerea
l that Myrilandel did.

  Mopsie hadn’t liked the cereal, but he’d loved the juicy bone Myri had given him last night, and he’d lapped up a bowl of cream this morning as if he hadn’t eaten in a moon or more.

  Myri and Nimbulan had stayed up late last night talking over Bessel’s report of Scarface’s removal of books from library circulation, the investigation of Jorghe-Rosse’s death, Scarface’s increasingly fanatical policies, and the seeming absence of the dragons. Myrilandel had commented that the dragons still spoke to her but from a great distance. They gave no explanation for wandering farther afield than usual in their hunting. Bessel hadn’t been able to stay awake until they came to some conclusion. He presumed they still slept this morning. He and Mopsie had had the kitchen to themselves.

  The dog ran a little ahead of Bessel and back again along the road. “Are you scouting ahead for me, Mopsie?” The dog wiggled his hind end and extended his pink tongue in a happy grin. Bessel drew a scent picture from the dog’s mind of all the other dogs who had passed this way, piddling on appropriate marking spots. He was amazed at the varied information carried with each scent. “You are a terrible gossip, Mopsie.”

  The dog agreed and ran off again.

  They headed away from Ambassador Jorghe-Rosse’s home. The trip to the University would take at least half an hour longer this way, but Bessel wasn’t about to risk attracting the attention of the vindictive warriors again. He hoped Lady Rosselaara had accepted the Council’s verdict of death by accident.

  The city came to life as they walked. Merchants emerged from their homes setting up booths along the major thoroughfares. Smells of cooking meats, baking bread, and stewing fruits tantalized Bessel. Mopsie enhanced each scent and noise for him. Bessel’s other senses of sight and touch amplified as well. He turned circles as he walked, appreciating life as he hadn’t in many years.

  Mopsie licked his chops and stopped to sniff at the butcher’s tent.