Bessel stepped away from him. Surreptitiously, he crossed himself in a ward against the evils of the unknown.
“My husband’s heart is weak from all those years of warfare that left this kingdom teetering on bankruptcy—a bankruptcy of people as well as money. He wore out his heart and himself weaving great magic in battle after battle. Now he pays the price. Where are the healers? Lyman promised to summon them.” Myri ran to the door, looking up and down the street anxiously. Then she rushed back to Nimbulan’s side. She knelt beside the litter. The guards had laid the aging man before the unlit hearth.
Bessel forced his mind to light the fire. No other magicians stalked the room; he could use rogue magic for the task—so much easier than the increasingly elusive dragon magic. In a heartbeat the fire leaped high, warming the large room.
A whoosh of displaced air erupted beside Bessel, nearly knocking him into the wall. He clutched the baby tighter to make sure he didn’t drop her. As he struggled for balance, Lyman popped into view, much as he had disappeared moments before.
“The healers come,” the old librarian announced breathlessly. “Now make yourself useful in the kitchen, Bessel. Kaariin is here to tend the baby. Stay out of sight, and keep your mutt quiet. Scarface is hot on the heels of the medical people. He’s angrier than a wet lumbird and looking for a victim.” Lyman transferred Princess Marilell to the arms of the breathless maid who dashed up the steps from the street.
“Lyman, how did you do that?” Bessel asked, too amazed to obey. “Dragon magic only allows levitation, not transportation. And no one could transport a living being from place to place even when solitary magic was legal.” He dropped his voice as the thought formed into words. The royal couple and their guards were too occupied making Nimbulan comfortable to pay attention to his almost accusation.
“Shhush, boy. The answer is in the timing. And if you ever figure it out, guard the secret with your life. You may need the spell in the days to come, but never use it carelessly. Now I must be off. The dragons call me.”
Another whoosh of displaced air and he was gone, almost as if he’d never been there.
“Maybe he only sent an illusion along with a powerful summons,” the queen whispered into Bessel’s ear.
“Is there anything you don’t see or hear, Your Grace?” Bessel asked.
“Very little. Now do as your master says, mull some wine or prepare snacks, or anything you can think of, in the kitchen and out of sight.”
Bessel scuttled down the hall to the back of the house just as he heard Scarface’s roar of anger in the street.
Chapter 35
The pit, near the dragongate, beneath the city of Hanassa
Yaala whipped her belt knife upward and held it across Hanassa’s throat. With her free arm she pinned the consort’s arms. Beside her, Rollett drew his own blade and held it up in a fighting stance. Powwell whipped his staff around to fend off any attackers.
“Kill them, kill them all!” Hanassa cried. She held her body tensely, poised for flight at the first sign of weakness in Yaala’s grip.
“If I die, you die, too, Hanassa. I’ve waited a long time to avenge my father’s death.” Years of anger, frustration, and loneliness concentrated in Yaala’s hand, making the knife blade waver up and down across the great vein of life in Hanassa’s throat.
Rollett shot her a strange look.
Her determination wavered a moment. If she killed Hanassa, then she condemned Kalen to a ghostly existence as a wraith. Powwell would never forgive her.
If she killed Hanassa solely to exact vengeance, then she succumbed to the renegade dragon’s violence. Rollett would never forgive her.
She’d never forgive herself.
But she couldn’t let Hanassa go free either. The tyranny had to end.
The Rover guards lowered their sword tips but did not drop their weapons.
“Tell them to throw their swords and clubs into the pool of water beside Old Bertha,” Yaala commanded her prisoner, loud enough for the Rovers to hear.
“Never. You must die!”
Yaala nicked Kalen’s skin. Three drops of blood trickled onto the blade.
A screech of fear and pain echoed around the caverns. Hanassa hadn’t uttered a sound. The wraith had.
The Rovers threw their weapons away. All except Piedro.
Cautiously, Yaala edged forward toward the mouth of the tunnel, keeping her prisoner in front of her, the knife still dangerously close to drawing blood.
Piedro took one step forward, raising his sword. “You haven’t the guts to take a life,” he sneered.
“Perhaps not. But I do,” a solemn voice announced from the main cavern.
All the Rovers fell silent, backing away from the frail old man who stood beside Old Bertha. He wore an old-fashioned blue tunic that hung nearly to his knees, belted with a silk sash. The tunic and trews had been dyed Commune blue. He carried a long staff nearly twice his height. The length of wood was so twisted and gnarled from a lifetime of channeling magic, Yaala couldn’t see a pattern in the grain that mimicked the man’s magical signature.
“Lyman!” Powwell breathed in relief.
“Iianthe! You cannot still live. I felt you die decades ago.” Hanassa struggled in Yaala’s arms, ready to break free. She looked right and left, up and down, disregarding the knife at her throat.
“Iianthe, the purple-tipped dragon born your twin, died more than twenty years ago, Hanassa,” Lyman replied. He swung his staff in a sweeping circle, moving it so fast it blurred in the dim light. A challenging hum followed its rapid passage through the air. “But since you refused to live out your true destiny, I was forced to assume a human body and finish it for you. Now the dragons have sent me to make certain you do not leave here with the knowledge of the machines and how they work.”
“You expect to fight me in that frail old body. I, at least had the good sense to choose someone young and strong.” Hanassa broke free of Yaala’s grip. She thrust Piedro aside as she marched to meet the old magician’s challenge.
Yaala stumbled against Rollett. He steadied her with one hand around her waist, never dropping his confrontational stance before the Rover guards. The warmth of his hand and the gentle squeeze of his fingers gave her a sense of rightness.
You did right not to kill. His thoughts came to her unbidden. Something lit deep in his eyes. Respect?
Suddenly her previous attraction to Powwell faded. If she ever loved—truly loved—she would love a man like him: mature, decisive, experienced in the ways of the world. Someone to challenge her spirit and her intellect.
“The wraith fights you for control of the body, Hanassa,” Lyman reminded his onetime twin. “This body is mine alone.” Lyman crouched in a fighting stance, his staff suddenly still. The artificial lights within the cavern highlighted his body in layers of purple-and-crystal light. The strange aura shaped itself into the outline of a dragon.
Yaala shook her head to clear it of the confusing images. Rollett mimicked the motion.
“Stargods preserve us!” Piedro crossed himself several times. He dropped his sword. It clattered against the rock in an ominous chiming.
Hanassa launched Kalen’s body at Lyman with fingers arched into talons, teeth bared, and a snarl erupting from her wide mouth.
Lyman blocked her attack with his staff. He swung it down and around, clipping Hanassa on the temple with one end.
Hanassa staggered back. She stumbled against the rusting hulk of Old Bertha.
Yaala winced as pieces of metal crumbled beneath the impact.
“Get out of the cavern!” Lyman called. He pointed the staff at his opponent. A blast of blinding purple-white light shot forth from the staff with a deafening explosion. Hanassa flew backward, into a wall, slamming her head against the rough stones.
Yaala grabbed for the tunnel walls to catch her balance as the magical attack shook the entire system of caves and tunnels. She missed the wall. Rollett caught her against his side. He wrapped on
e arm around her shoulders, steadying her—steadying them both.
“We’ve got to get above ground,” he said quietly, almost calmly. “He’s filled with dragon magic and will stop at nothing to kill Hanassa, regardless of Kalen’s spirit.”
“Kalen needs that body. I can’t let him kill my sister,” Powwell cried, dashing forward.
Rollett and Yaala both grabbed their friend. Yaala caught only a handful of cloth near the neck of his tunic. Rollett had better luck, latching onto his arm.
“Lyman will spare Kalen if he can. If anyone can,” Yaala soothed Powwell. “He’s a Communal Magician, he values life.”
Another magical blast sent Hanassa reeling facedown into the pool of hot water. The tunnel shook. Rocks tumbled from the ceiling.
“We have to save ourselves now!” Yaala dragged Powwell out from under the falling rock.
“Kalen!” Powwell screamed. Tears streamed down his face. His tunic tore as he ripped out of Yaala’s grasp.
“No, Powwell,” Rollett said. “I can’t let you do this.” He slammed his fist into the boy’s jaw.
Yaala braced herself to catch Powwell as he fell backward into her arms.
The next blast of magic knocked the ground from beneath her feet. They both fell. Rollett crashed on top of them followed by a tumble of rocks.
She couldn’t breathe. Something hit her head. Starbursts blinded her. Blood clouded her vision.
She fought for consciousness and lost the battle.
Afternoon, the pit beneath the city of Hanassa
Powwell struggled to push Rollett off his back. “Yaala, are you all right?” He shook his friend, trapped beneath him.
He heard the Rovers tripping over each other in their mad dash to escape the wrath of Hanassa.
Yaala moaned and rolled her head as if in pain. Then she fell silent.
“Get off me, Rollett.” Powwell shoved upward with his elbow.
Rollett groaned and rolled drunkenly to one side. “We ga get oot ah here,” he slurred, holding his head and shoulder.
“I’ve got to help Kalen. Take care of Yaala.” Powwell drew his knees up under him. The battle still raged around Old Bertha. Lyman crouched on one side of the old generator. Hanassa drew on Kalen’s magical talent and created a geyser directly in front of the old librarian.
In fine Battlemage fashion, Lyman channeled the spurt of hot water back into the broken pipe that passed above the lava core. Boiling water built up within the rusted metal, forcing a new opening. Steam shot out of a dozen rust holes in a variety of directions.
Scalding water struck Hanassa in the face as she crept forward. “Yieeee!” she screamed and dodged back behind the shelter of the machine.
Powwell crawled quietly toward her. He winced for her as she pulled her hands away from her face. A long red weal ran from her left temple to the corner of her mouth. Big tears dribbled from her eyes. She blotted them away from the painful burn, crying more at the pain of touching the wound.
Don’t hurt my body. I need it back! The wraith added her own mournful cries to the noise.
Powwell needed to go to his little sister. He didn’t know how to force Hanassa out of the body and keep her out short of killing the body. Hot moisture prickled the backs of his eyes.
“Leave her, Powwell,” Lyman insisted in a ragged whisper. Exhaustion made his eyes droop and his shoulders sag. “You can’t win this battle. The only way I can defeat Hanassa is to kill her—if I can. But I do not yet know the cost. Take your friends and get out of here now.”
“The dragongate. It’ll open soon. We’ll go out the dragongate.” Powwell looked longingly toward the little tunnel that opened onto the lava core.
“Over my dead body, boy!” Hanassa jumped up in front of him. Her fingers arched and flexed. Her very long nails looked more like dragon talons than human digits.
Powwell didn’t doubt she could render his flesh into slender strips with little effort.
Get it out of my body! The wraith pleaded on a sob.
Powwell reached a tentative hand toward the misty form that circled him and Hanassa.
“Powwell, feel the hot wind!” Rollett called. “The gate is opening again. The gate is opening.”
“I’ll be free at last! You can’t stop me. I’ll bleed this world dry.” Hanassa turned and ran into the little tunnel.
“Stop her. We can’t let Hanassa leave this place,” Lyman gasped. He wiped his face wearily with a shaking hand.
Powwell scanned his companions. Lyman was exhausted. Rollett tried staggering to his feet and sat back down heavily. No help from either of them. Yaala, his dear friend, lay unconscious, blood trickling from her temple.
Hanassa skidded to a halt at the edge of the pit. The gate swirled in a kaleidoscope of colors. Green dominated the forming image. The green of Coronnan?
“I’m sorry, Kalen, I’ve got to close the gate forever. Thorny and I have got to close it.”
Noooooooooo! The misty form darted after Hanassa at the end of the tunnel.
Thorny hunched and bristled his spines. Powwell couldn’t tell if his familiar reacted in gibbering fear or thought this was another setup for blood magic—the only magic left to them.
“No, Powwell. The gate is our only hope of escape from this hell,” Rollett reminded him. The older journeyman crawled toward him, holding out his hand in entreaty. “Please, Powwell, in the Stargods’ names, I beg you, don’t close the gate. That’s home out there. We can be home in two moments.”
“Yeeees! I’m free,” Hanassa screamed in triumph. She looked up at the wraith rather than forward into the gate. The scene solidified (liquefied?) into storm-tossed waves.
Powwell grabbed one of Thorny’s dried spines from his pocket and jabbed it hard into his hand. “Yeeow!” He held his yelp of pain deep inside his chest, letting it grow with the flow of blood from the deep wound.
Power grew with the pain. Each drop of blood increased the magic singing in his veins. He knew every grain of dirt and mineral within the cavern. His magic invaded every crack and crevice. His mind flowed outward, melding with the cavern until he couldn’t tell where the tunnels ended and he began.
“I’m sorry, Kalen. I’m sorry, but this is the only way to keep Hanassa or anyone else from controlling you and your destiny.”
He sought the weakest point within the tunnel and pulled—
The tunnel collapsed upon Hanassa and his sister, sealing access to the gate forever.
He sensed the weight of the entire cavern system landing on Hanassa’s head, splitting it open. Sympathetic pain slammed into his own skull. He fell to the ground, screaming at his physical pain and the emptiness in his heart.
Chapter 36
The pit beneath the city of Hanassa
“Wake up. You’ve got to wake up,” Rollett pleaded with her. She moaned slightly but didn’t rouse.
“Wake up!” He slapped her face lightly, afraid of hurting her, of breaking those fragile facial bones.
Her eyelids fluttered.
A huge boulder broke loose from the ceiling and landed in the middle of Old Bertha. Powwell had upset the delicate balance within the mountain that supported the caves.
“We’ve got to get out of here, Yaala.” He slapped her a little harder. She moaned and rolled away from him.
Rollett risked a glance toward Powwell. The boy had his hands clutched over his head and had rolled into a fetal ball, sobbing uncontrollably. The little hedgehog poked its nose out of his pocket. It trilled a soothing sound.
Lyman seemed to have disappeared again.
“Stargods, I can’t carry you both. I’m sorry, Powwell, I’ve got to save Yaala. The city needs her.” He wouldn’t admit that he needed her.
Rollett hoisted Yaala onto his shoulder and wove his way out of the deep cavern. The roar of multiple cave-ins thundered against his ears. The opening to the lava core adjacent to the dragongate collapsed. Dust exploded in a huge ball, filling the hot air.
He choked and
coughed. With one last look of regret toward Powwell, he increased his speed toward the exit.
His last vestige of hope died along with access to the dragongate. He’d climb out of Hanassa tonight. Demons take Piedro and this cursed city. He hoped Yaala would rouse enough to climb with him. Otherwise he’d have to carry her.
Little Liise, the only operating generator, chugged steadily within a side cavern.
That persistent, unwanted hope flowered once more deep inside his gut. His magic talent stirred in response to the emotion.
He set Yaala down beside Liise. She roused a little, flailing about with both hands clenched into fists.
“Wake up, Yaala. You’re all right. Wake up.” He shook her gently.
Finally, her eyes flew open and she dragged in a deep breath. She coughed the dust-laden air back out again.
“It’s getting hotter in here. The volcano is getting ready to erupt!” She bounced to her feet and staggered back into Liise. “My head . . . what happened?” She touched her temple with delicate fingertips. They came away bloody.
“The lower caverns are collapsing. Powwell destroyed the dragongate. I think he killed Hanassa and Kalen when he did it,” Rollett explained as he set about examining the generator with minute care.
Should he take the raw energy as it left Liise headed for a transformer, or take the refined ’tricity after it left the transformer?
He opted for raw power. His body would become the transformer. That’s what happened when gathering dragon magic.
Which conduit? He reached out tentatively with his dominant left hand and touched one of the wires. A slight spark made him jerk his hand away. His fingers tingled just as if he had tapped a ley line, but the power he tapped was stronger, more intense.
Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III Page 31
