Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III

by Irene Radford

  “Breathe into him on the count of five,” Lyman instructed as he knelt beside Rollett’s still unmoving form. He passed the witchlight to Powwell. The younger magician looked barely able to hold himself up, let alone maintain the dim glowing ball.

  Lyman cupped his hands over Rollett’s chest and pressed down. “One, two, three, four, breathe.”

  Yaala followed his rhythm. Two times, three times, and a fourth they forced Rollett’s heart to beat while Yaala breathed for him. On the seventh try, or was it the eleventh, Rollett gasped and coughed. He tried sitting up, but Lyman held him down.

  “Rest a moment, boy,” Lyman said, holding Rollett down with one finger. “We’ve brought you back from the dead, don’t hasten to return there.”

  The kardia shifted beneath Yaala’s feet. She braced herself against the rolling motion. “That was stronger than the last one, and closer,” she said. “When was the last one?” She realized she’d been so preoccupied with Rollett, she had forgotten the reason for their perilous route to this situation.

  “We have to get out of here before—” A crash of falling stone and a shower of dust in the corner of Liise’s cavern punctuated her statement.

  The cave system had been her refuge from her mother’s tyranny for many years before her official banishment. The machines had been her only true friends. She belonged here.

  No longer.

  Sadness and regret welled up in her throat and dissipated again as Rollett struggled to his feet. She slid an arm under his shoulders, guiding his rise.

  A sense of rightness filled her, replacing the loneliness of many years. She had to find a new family, a new purpose for living. She’d start with these three men.

  “This will never be Liise’s cavern again. She’s dead, and so are all the rest of my machines,” she whispered. “No reason to stay.”

  “Powwell!” Lyman left her to support Rollett alone while he kept Powwell from falling flat on his face.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Yaala barely spared a backward glance as she half-led and half-carried Rollett up the slope toward the living cavern and the exit.

  “I don’t think he much cares if he lives or dies,” Lyman said, pushing Powwell to follow her. “I know how he feels. We have both lost a sibling today. There is this terrible emptiness.” He placed his palm against his chest then resolutely closed his hand into a self-contained fist.

  He and Powwell stood together with heads bowed, swaying as they shared the bond of grief.

  “I lost my twin centuries ago.” Lyman gulped. His voice trailed off and his chin quivered. “I lost Hanassa when he turned renegade, but always I had this faint hope he might be redeemed. Now I have truly lost Hanassa. We will never complete each other again.” He bowed his head again, seeming much older than he had when he arrived in the caves.

  “I killed her, Yaala,” Powwell whispered. “I came here to save Kalen, yet I ended up killing her.” Tears streaked his face. The little ball of witchlight flickered, reflecting his waning strength and wandering concentration.

  “I’m sorry, Powwell. I’m truly sorry. I know how much you loved Kalen. I know what it is like to lose someone you love dearly, to be helpless as they die before your eyes. But we have to save ourselves now.” Yaala led them into the living cavern. They staggered forward. The sounds of collapsing tunnels pursued them the entire distance. The dust grew thicker until they breathed more dirt than air.

  For the first time, she became aware of the miles of kardia that rested above their heads. It could all come tumbling down at any time without warning.

  At last the large cavern with tons of stored food lay before them. The walls seemed more stable here, the air a little cleaner.

  Yaala deposited Rollett on a heap of grain sacks next to a barrel full of pickled meat and vegetables. She gave him and Powwell a handful of each. They nibbled halfheartedly. Lyman dug into the supplies with a little more energy.

  The pile of stores showed signs of pilferage—torn sacks, open barrels turned on their side—but more than enough remained to fulfill their immediate needs.

  “I’ll get water for us all,” Yaala said retrieving four carry skins.

  “Did Kalen as the wraith survive?” Yaala asked as she knelt by the underground stream, letting the natural flow fill the portable bottles. She held her breath, fearing the answer.

  “Doubtful,” Lyman replied.

  “And . . . and is Hanassa truly gone?”

  “I cannot sense my twin within this mountain. I haven’t the strength to search farther.” A set look came over Lyman’s face.

  “And the dragongate?” Rollett gasped in whispered tones. “Have we totally lost that exit from this hellhole?”

  “Yes,” Powwell answered. A tiny spark of animation came into his eyes. Or was it merely a reflection from the ball of witchlight? “I fear the false gate that only opens once each moon is gone as well. We must fight our way out of Hanassa now.”

  “I can’t leave as long as Piedro lives,” Rollett announced in a stronger, more resolute voice. “The consort might not guide him anymore, but he’s still a bloodthirsty tyrant. My men deserve better.”

  “The people of Hanassa are outlaws—assassins, highwaymen, and murderers,” Yaala argued. “They deserve what they allow to happen here.” For the first time, she saw the truth surrounding the city she should have inherited from her mother. A new sense of lightness invaded her being. Her spirit had freed itself of Hanassa, even if she physically remained here.

  “Not all of the residents are criminals.” Rollett shook off her supporting arm and walked weakly to the creek on his own. He drank deeply of the sulfur-laden water, then continued. “Some of them are political fugitives, some merely mercenaries for hire. Some even still hold a tiny glimmer of honor. They deserve better than Piedro’s lust for power without the sense to wield it justly.”

  “Without the dragongate, Piedro is confined to this city. The city will take care of him. Why should we care as long as we get out?” Lyman asked. Craftiness replaced the grief on his face.

  “Because the city will starve before they can oust Piedro. He’ll deliberately starve my men, my friends, before he allows them to escape.” Rollett’s knees wobbled as he returned to the food supplies.

  Lyman and Powwell looked ashen in the fading glow of witchlight as they struggled once more to their feet, exhausted and burdened by grief. Their skin seemed grayer than just the dust would account for. “All three of you have got to rest a little longer. Drink deeply and eat as much as you can.” She seemed to be the only one strong enough to make a decision. But her head ached terribly with every thought and movement. She followed her own advice.

  “No time,” Powwell ground out between gritted teeth.

  She ached to see the bleak expression in his eyes. Thorny seemed strangely quiet within his pocket. They both suffered from the loss of Kalen and the drain of blood magic.

  “Piedro is mine. I claim the right to remove his head.” Powwell’s words filled the suddenly quiet cavern with dread.

  “Not if I get to him first,” Rollett replied. He kept moving upward toward the iron gate.

  The ground shook again, precursor to another larger quake. As one, they hurried up the slope, eating as they walked.

  “I claim blood right for revenge.” Powwell stopped moving. His stance challenged them all to contradict him. “Kalen was my sister. Her death is a direct result of Rover manipulation. All Kalen wanted out of life was control of her own life. Piedro is only the latest in a long line of people who used her for their own greedy ends. His head is mine.”

  “Piedro was as much Hanassa’s victim as Kalen was,” Yaala insisted. “Let’s just concentrate on getting out of here alive. All of us, together.” She reached out both hands to include all of them.

  “Are we certain that Hanassa died?” Rollett asked.

  “Yes,” Lyman said sadly. “Through all of these centuries of separation I have been aware of his presence in this existenc
e. Always, no matter what form I took, dragon, human, or ghostly guardian of the beginning place, I knew he waited and brooded and plotted escape. And I hoped. . . . Now there is nothing, only an echo of him in the blood of his descendants, those capable of hosting his spirit within their bodies.”

  “Kalen, my sister, was descended from Hanassa?” Powwell jerked away from the older man. He stepped backward, as if needing to flee into the lower caverns—flee into the death and destruction that hovered there.

  “Through her mother, I believe. Not through your common father,” Lyman said. He stared directly at Powwell.

  “As long as any of his descendants live, then Hanassa has a body to flee to.” Rollett searched the shaky cavern with his eyes. His gaze slid over and away from Yaala. “Do we have to hunt them all down and kill them to prevent Hanassa from wreaking havoc all over Kardia Hodos?”

  “Possibly.” Lyman hung his head sadly. “Hanassa’s exile only included himself. His descendants have been able to leave this city and spread their seed far and wide for seven centuries.”

  “I am directly descended from the renegade dragon, Lyman,” Yaala said, her voice as shaky as the kardia beneath her feet. “Will you kill me for no reason other than that?”

  Chapter 39

  Kaaliph’s palace, city of Hanassa

  “No, Yaala, that is not what we mean.” Powwell stood up a little straighter, shocked out of his lethargy. How could he have considered killing anyone, ever again—even loathsome Piedro? Kalen’s death screams lingered, reverberating in his head.

  His sister had made one last desperate attempt to regain her body. For one brief second, both Kalen and Hanassa had been joined. And then . . . and then the collapsing tunnel had crushed their skull.

  Sympathetic pain still plagued him, nearly blinded him.

  Every time he tried to think of something else, remember the happy times with his sister—there had been precious few—her death cry dragged him back to her last agony. If he ever had to kill again, his mind would lock in a loop of reliving Kalen’s death.

  He clung to his sanity by a slender thread. Thorny wriggled in his pocket as if to remind him of life.

  His lust for vengeance against Piedro died. He sagged with relief, knowing he need not follow through with that particular quest.

  “Hanassa died with Kalen,” he said as he relived the moment of death once more. “My mind was linked to Kalen’s at the last moment. They both died. We do not need to kill anyone for fear they will host Hanassa.” He looked pointedly at each of his weary companions.

  “Are you sure?” Yaala maintained her aggressive stance.

  “I’m certain, Yaala.”

  She turned back toward the exit, spine a fraction less rigid. “Let’s get out of here. The city will kill Piedro eventually. We just have to find a way over the crater walls. Lyman, will any of your dragon friends fetch us?”

  “I do not know.”

  “We’ll have to climb, then,” Rollett said wearily.

  Powwell didn’t like the color of his skin. A hint of blue still clung to his lips and the edges of his nostrils. He breathed heavily and had to stop often. His hands looked blistered and swollen from the burns. The symptoms resembled the plague, but the smell was missing.

  The Rovers had left the iron gate open when they fled the caverns. Yaala sighed her relief. Without Liise generating any ’tricity, the ’motes would not work.

  Powwell breathed easier after passing the boundary of the pit. He’d be better yet when he had left the confines of buildings and caves. That moment of oneness with the kardia just before he collapsed the tunnel on top of Kalen had taught him just how precariously balanced the cave system was. “Stargods, I hope I don’t have to go underground again. Ever.”

  Lyman’s steps now seemed a little firmer, too. Rollett still sagged against Yaala for support. She kept her arm around his waist. They fit together as if they had always belonged side by side, two halves of one whole.

  Powwell waited for a pang of jealousy. Yaala had been his best friend and constant companion for many moons. At times he had entertained desire for her—when he wasn’t consumed by his quest to free Kalen.

  His sister had flown free of this existence.

  All he had left was Yaala. . . .

  No emotion churned within him. He hoped she’d be happy with Rollett.

  “Looks as if a lot of people left here in a hurry,” Yaala commented as they passed through the corridors of the palace.

  Bits and pieces of gilt furniture, costly ornaments, and bolts of silk pilfered from the Kaaliph’s stores littered the floor.

  “Should we try to rescue the library?” Powwell asked them all. “If Yaala had the right textbooks, she might be able to reconstruct her machines.”

  “No,” Yaala said resolutely. “Queen Katie was right. Technology has no place in Coronnan. We have magic and the Commune. Machines only breed trouble.”

  They bypassed the entrance to the secret stair without further comment.

  “I wonder if Piedro’s followers are deserting him?” Yaala mused, pointing to the debris.

  “But they still fear what the Kaaliph of Hanassa represents.” Powwell pointed to the hideous pictures of torture and depravity. The first time he’d seen the vivid depictions of perverted sexual intercourse beside the bloody executions, his face had flushed with embarrassment. He’d seen too much since then to feel anything but disgust now. He gingerly lifted the tapestries aside, touching only the blood-red borders, unwilling to be tainted by the pictures. The opening behind the wall hangings allowed them access to the Justice Hall once more.

  Only the severed heads of Rollett’s friends remained. They seemed to mock the living as they passed in front of the altar. Powwell bowed briefly to the departed spirits in respect for the knowledge and the power they had given him the last time he’d passed this way.

  They had almost traversed the room when a thunderous roar shook the entire building.

  “That wasn’t a kardiaquake,” Powwell said, bracing himself for the rolling motion he expected but which didn’t come.

  “It’s coming from outside, not beneath us,” Rollett confirmed.

  They joined the crush of people in the major corridor exiting the palace. No one seemed to notice four more bodies among the hundreds. Most of the servants, retainers, and guards carried at least one artifact looted from the Kaaliph.

  Powwell checked Yaala’s reactions to the loss of her inheritance, generations of accumulated wealth. She seemed more concerned with protecting Rollett from the jabbing elbows and careless feet of the fleeing populace. She had never wanted her mother’s treasure, only her love. When Yaassima had exiled Yaala to the pit, she had turned to her beloved machines for companionship. Now they, too, were dead. Perhaps she had finally found in Rollett someone who would respect her and maybe eventually love her.

  The crowd carried Powwell away from Lyman and the others as they neared the main exit. Everyone in the city seemed to be gathering in the open area in front of the palace. They all stopped in their tracks, astounded as a huge mechanical dragon floated down toward the ground. It spat fire from its hind end rather than its mouth and its wings looked far too short and thin to support the weight of the beast in the air. It listed badly to the left while the nose pointed down.

  A mighty roar shook the beast as the fire flared, licking the rooftops of nearby buildings.

  People screamed and pressed away from the beast, giving it room to land.

  Powwell looked frantically for Lyman. Perhaps the elderly librarian could interpret for the beast. He caught sight of the old man’s white hair off to his left. Lyman peered upward, seemingly unafraid of this new dragon.

  “Is this Hanassa’s new form?” Powwell asked, shoving his way over to Lyman’s side.

  “Doubtful.” Lyman shook his head and shielded his eyes from the bright desert sunshine. “I have never seen a dragon so big or awkward as this. And these human eyes have never seen a true dragon s
o easily. Our gaze should be sliding around the beast, looking everywhere but directly at it. I do not know what this animal is.”

  “That isn’t a dragon, it’s a machine!” Yaala yelped excitedly. She pushed and shoved people out of her path as she made her way to the place where the beast settled into the dust. Rollett limped slowly behind her.

  “Yaala, stand back!” Powwell yelled. He reached her side just as a hole slid open in the dragon’s side.

  Maia, the Rover girl the Commune had held hostage, stepped into the opening. Her face looked pale and bloated with worry and tears—or illness. Dozens of Rover guards reached up to help her down to the ground.

  “Piedro, help me please,” she wailed. “The queen’s father is dead. This beast murdered him.”

  But the smell of the plague clung to her. He and Yaala stood next to her, breathing the same tainted air.

  Chapter 40

  Midafternoon, city of Hanassa

  Joy glowed in Yaala’s chest. The Stargods had answered her prayers. They had given her this wonderful mechanical beast to replace the machines she had sacrificed.

  She dismissed her first happy reaction to the machine’s presence as the Rover woman’s words sank in. King Kinnsell lay dead within the machine’s belly. The queen’s father was a politically powerful man. What repercussions would follow?

  She stopped her headlong rush to dive into the rectangular opening where Maia still stood.

  “Yaala, don’t go near her. She carries the plague!” Powwell screamed at her.

  “Plague?” Fear lanced through Yaala. Powwell had related the dragon dream to her in painstaking detail, including the acrid chemical smell generated by the disease.

  Yaala stepped back. Rollett’s chest stopped her from running away.

  “Can you fly that thing out of here?” Rollett asked.

  He sounded so hopeful, Yaala hated to disappoint him.