Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III

by Irene Radford

  “Poking around the library has to be better than sitting out here doing nothing.” Robb heaved himself to his feet.

  Marcus followed suit, curious as to what Robb hid.

  “Have you figured out how to avoid the true ghost?” Vareena asked.

  “We need information,” Marcus stated firmly. How many times had Jaylor, and before him Baamin, pounded that idea into his thick head? Information was the key to power. Information was the key to problem solving. Depending upon luck only worked when backed by information to point him in the right direction. He squared his shoulders, swallowed his instinctive fear of the ghost and marched in Robb’s wake. He knew something, too.

  Vareena shuffled along behind him, still shredding the petals from a daisy. She hummed a tune with a catchy repetitive rhythm under her breath. He’d heard that song before. It played itself over and over in his mind without end, like an obsession. Even the bees in the herb garden around the well seemed to buzz in time with it.

  “You know what I miss most in this place?” Marcus remarked.

  Robb kept walking. Vareena caught up with him and rewarded him with a smile. The haze seemed suddenly thinner, and the bees hummed louder.

  “I miss music. We have no instruments. We don’t sing or dance to pass the too many idle hours. Even the birds are silent here.” He continued staring at Vareena, hoping to lock her gaze with his own. If only he could look deeply into her eyes, he could convey all of his feelings.

  “I thought I heard music on the wind, last night,” Vareena said. “I thought it was the villagers.”

  “The wind was from the wrong quarter,” Robb announced as he grasped the latch on the library doors. “This place plays tricks on your mind and distorts truths.” He paused a moment for a breath and then thrust both sides of the double portal open.

  “Hey, you, Ghost of this library. I’m not afraid of you. What are you going to do about it!” he called into the echoing emptiness.

  “Who are you, Ghost? Does the name Ackerly mean anything to you?” Marcus grinned at Robb’s look of surprise.

  “Where’d you come up with that name?”

  Marcus shrugged. “I probed a wall last night.”

  “Do you know who Ackerly was?” Rob’s eyes remained wide and fixed on Marcus rather than on the gathering of mist under the gallery.

  “I read it somewhere in a history book.”

  “You read it in Nimbulan’s journals. The founder of the Commune of Magicians had an assistant named Ackerly who betrayed him. They fought with magic, and Ackerly died. No magician since has been named Ackerly.”

  “Ah, that explains some things.” Marcus started backing out of the library as if afraid. He needed Robb to find the next clue. He needed his friend to succeed.

  “First time I’ve ever known you to be the timid one, Marcus.”

  “That was before my luck ran out.”

  “Then make your own luck.” Robb marched into the library and stood in the precise center of the room, legs spread sturdily, hands on hips, head thrown back in defiance.

  The gold lay temptingly to his right and left.

  “Stargods, Robb, you don’t even have your armor up.” Quickly, Marcus brought forward his own magical shields and extended them to his friend.

  No sooner had his protection snapped into place than the misty form drifted forward. It glowed with a dark yellow, almost goldenrod color, around the edges. The dripping sacrificial knife pulsed with preternatural colors, seemingly growing sharper and hungrier by the moment.

  Marcus gulped but stood his ground. Robb still stubbornly refused to armor himself.

  “Come and get us, Ghost of Ackerly the traitor,” Robb taunted. “Kill us so you won’t be alone. Kill us and you will share this monastery and all its secrets with us as we become true ghosts as well.”

  The ghost reared back, stopping three arm’s lengths from the two magicians.

  “What are you afraid of, Ackerly?” Marcus asked, trying very hard to make his voice strong and assertive. “Afraid that if we join you as ghosts, you’ll have to share something?”

  The ghost moved his head back and forth, looking first at the knife, then at Robb and Marcus.

  “Well, I guess he won’t interfere if we take some of this gold to the villagers to pay for our keep.” Robb said.

  “Gold!” a new voice exclaimed from the doorway.

  Marcus looked over his shoulder, keeping the ghost and Robb still within his perceptions.

  Vareena tugged on the hand of a tall, dark-haired man with wings of silver at his temple. He wore black garments trimmed with garish purple and red. He smiled, and all the light in the room seemed to sparkle off his teeth.

  “Please, sir. You must leave here at once before you are trapped by the ghost,” she protested, trying desperately to keep him out of the library. “The gold is but an illusion. Gold is the source of all evil,” she added another argument.

  “Gold by itself is the source of much pleasure and joy. Only a curse can make the gold evil. Only a curse cast by a Rover can harm a Rover, child,” the man gently disengaged Vareena’s hands from his arms. “Gold!” He turned his attention back to the bags dripping coins of many nations and denominations. “Gold to ensure our freedom, and our welcome wherever we might wander. Now I will truly be king of all the Rovers in Kardia Hodos. We must have a celebration and a coronation!”

  Almost quicker than thought he dashed to the shelves and grabbed a handful of coins. A dozen or more people trooped into the room behind him and each also grabbed as many coins as they could hold in both hands. All of them hummed that obnoxious little tune that still repeated endlessly in Marcus’ head.

  Lightning flashed. The world tilted. The veil of mist flew from the chieftain and the rest of the Rovers, bringing them all sharply into Marcus’ view and dimension. Even the ones who had not yet touched the gold shifted.

  “Oh, no,” Marcus groaned. The gold was indeed cursed. And he and Robb had fallen into its alluring trap. He fingered the gold in his pocket, longing to cast it aside and be free again.

  Then he remembered what he had read about Ackerly, confirmed by the emotions trapped within the wall: a miser who loved his gold more than his life, his magic, or his honor.

  Marcus looked to see if Robb had been watching.

  But his friend’s attention remained entirely on Ackerly.

  The ghost, in turn, stared at the intruders, eyes wide in shock and horror.

  “You have to make your own luck, Robb,” Marcus whispered. “I can keep the secret a little longer until you figure out the answer. You deserve this triumph, if for nothing else than to prove yourself right and me wrong.”

  Chapter 30

  “Stop staring at the dumb steed and mount it!” Margit ordered Jack from atop her own mount. “We go through this every morning and every morning, for the last three, you stare at the beast an hour before you get up the courage to mount. I’m tired of waiting for you. We’ve a long way to travel yet.”

  Margit’s steed pranced closer to Jack. He shied away from the animal as well as from the placid pack steed he had ridden yesterday. At least he’d learned to cope with the double vision and now knew which image of the steed might step on his foot and which was only an illusion.

  Morning had passed halfway to noon. Jack had tried mounting the beast four times and had not yet come close to touching the animal.

  He eyed the steed warily. “I never used to be afraid of these critters. I’ve ridden wilder beasts over the years. Why now?”

  The cat inside him squirmed uncomfortably. Amaranth swooped low upon Margit, laughing at her discomfort as well as Jack’s.

  “Surely you can master the spirit of a cat, Jack. You have the strongest soul of any man I have ever met.” Katrina sidled her steed close enough to Jack to ruffle his head.

  He inclined his neck to lean into her caress. A deep thrumming sound began in his chest and climbed to his nose.

  Why didn’t he retreat from
this beast? Because Katrina rode it. He trusted Katrina more than himself at the moment.

  The thrumming deep inside him matched the tingle in his fingers and behind his eyes, almost like the summons spell gone astray. He’d tried for three nights running to anchor the distress call that both he and Margit had intercepted and failed. He sincerely hoped the alien presence in his body hadn’t interfered with his magic.

  The cat—Rosie, as it thought of itself—purred in accompaniment to Katrina’s caress.

  At least Rosie liked Katrina. He remembered a time when Rosie was still within Queen Mikka that the cat took a sudden and unexplained dislike to her husband. Darville had worn scratch marks repeatedly.

  The pack steed sidled and shifted closer to Jack. He jumped back hastily.

  Margit laughed again.

  “You didn’t sneeze when Amaranth touched you because he isn’t a true cat,” he grumbled at the apprentice magician. “But you sneeze every time I think about coming near you.”

  “My instincts are true, Jack. I have the purrrrfect defense against you.” With another chuckle she dug her heels into her steed. “Now, let’s go find Marcus. We can’t delay any longer.” Her beast lunged forward at a rapid clip.

  “I’ll walk.” Jack decided, handling the reins of the extra steed to Katrina.

  “She’s right, Jack. We have a long way to go to Queen’s City.”

  “A long time for me to figure out what to do with this troublesome cat. At least the queen is free of it. My spell didn’t completely fail.” He smiled up at her as he trudged up onto the road from their campsite. He’d spent quite a bit of time obscuring all traces of their presence. Most of that time he’d been merely stalling.

  “Why didn’t the cat go to Amaranth as you directed? I would think it would want to return to a cat’s body after all this time.” Katrina kept her mount walking at Jack’s pace. Margit trotted ahead of them.

  “I’m guessing that Rosie has gotten used to the superior intelligence of humans. She—it—recognizes the difference between being a pet and controlling a human.” Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from licking them and laving his ears.

  “I’m sorry, Katrina, but I think we’ll have to postpone our wedding again until I solve this problem.”

  Katrina half-frowned but didn’t say anything.

  “I do still want to marry you, when you are ready,” he reassured her.

  “I know, Jack. Strange, now that you want to postpone the wedding, I want it more than anything.”

  They both chuckled.

  “We’ll work it out, love. By the time we get to SeLenicca, we’ll work it out.”

  Amaranth flew past them, nearly brushing Jack’s head with his extended talons. He dropped onto the pack saddle of the steed Jack should be riding and set about preening his wings.

  “I take it you like the body you inherited,” Jack said to his familiar. He wanted to caress the soft black fur of his friend, but Rosie prevented him from coming any closer to the steed. How had the queen managed to ride so fearlessly these last three years?

  Amaranth purred his contentment while continuing his bath. As he lifted his hind leg to wash the fur along that quarter, his talonlike claws embedded into the pack saddle for better balance. But he missed the saddle and clutched the steed’s mane. The steed spooked and reared, rolling its eyes and screaming its outrage.

  Amaranth shrieked and flopped around, trying desperately to disengage his claws.

  With a long and frightened neigh the steed bolted. Katrina tried to hang onto the leading rein. It whipped through her fingers, cutting deeply as it burned free of her grasp. Her steed pranced wild-eyed and nervous at the strange noises and the smell of blood. It gathered its legs under it, ready to bolt after its companion.

  Lanciar watched as one by one the Rovers winked out of sight, including the children—including his son. His jaw dropped. A fly buzzed around him. He knew he should close his mouth and yet. . . .

  “I wish I hadn’t drunk so much.” He had trouble thinking clearly. His head buzzed and his eyes ached.

  Beside him, the unknown blonde woman sobbed as she dropped his arm and buried her face in her hands.

  “Oh, no,” she moaned, rocking from foot to foot. “Not more ghosts. More ghosts for my people to feed. They’ll surely forsake the Stargods now and let us all starve.”

  The air smelled strange, slightly acidic, slightly rancid sweet, like a spell gone wrong. The wind rushed into this bizarre building, filling the vacuum left by the disappearing people. But not enough wind to account for the loss of all these people.

  He remembered the fierce gusts that rushed through Hanassa when the Rovers had transported out. Then the Rovers had disappeared all at once from one heartbeat to the next. Now, they vanished one at a time like links in an anchor chain disappearing beneath the water.

  They’d stumbled onto something strange—to say the least.

  He wished Rejiia had accompanied them so that she could explain the phenomenon. His former love had an instinctive grasp of otherworldly puzzles.

  Jack, too, would be a great help.

  He had to find his son and flee. Now. Before things got worse.

  Feeling almost blind with numb senses and numb magic, he grasped the doorjamb for balance. A burning energy repulsed his hand. He peered more closely at the spot. His magic kicked in, opening all of his senses.

  “What?” The dim outline of another hand—almost invisible, like a dragon sliding in and out of view—shone with a silvery energy. He traced with trembling fingers the almost-visible hand up a black-clad arm to a shoulder and a black vest trimmed in bright purple and red. An abundance of silvery embroidery shone through the misty veil that seemed to separate him from the man.

  “Zolltarn?” Lanciar gasped.

  “Of course. Who else would I be?” the Rover leader sneered, then flashed his amazing smile. Lanciar immediately felt more comfortable, ready to listen to the older man’s wisdom. But his voice sounded as if it came from a great distance.

  “What happened to you? You—you’re as transparent as a ghost,” Lanciar said.

  “Nonsense, boy. You are the one fading in and out of view. Come in, come fully into the room. Then you will be one of us. You must be one of us if you hope to marry my daughter.” Zolltarn opened his arms as if to embrace Lanciar, an all too familiar and disarming gesture. The curious burning energy kept them apart.

  Lanciar breathed a little easier. He knew Zolltarn’s charm all too well, knew how he lulled suspicions with the little deceptions of friendship.

  “One of the clan.” Lanciar stated flatly. He’d resisted all attempts by the Rovers to draw him into their direct mind-to-mind connections by ritual or coercion. He’d postponed his marriage to Maija for days, keeping his individuality for as long as possible by sheer force of will.

  He wanted a drink. Desperately.

  “Can you help me?” He turned to the sobbing blonde.

  “Stay out of the library. Stay away from the other ghosts, the true ghost as well as all these new ones. Just turn around and walk out the gate before you, too, are cursed and trapped here forever.” She gulped back her tears and faced him resolutely. “Get out now! And take me with you. I forsake my destiny though I’ll be cursed through all my future existences. I cannot be responsible for all of these ghosts.” She gulped back a new round of sobs and stiffened her spine. “I’m sorry, Robb. I must also forsake my love for you.”

  “I’m not leaving without my son,” Lanciar told her. He looked for a trace of the smallest children among the Rovers. They should be too young to be linked with the Rover magic. But each one had been in the arms of a Rover woman. If touch or proximity to the library turned one into a ghost, then he’d lost his son, too. Forever?

  “What do you know of this curse, woman?” He grabbed her arm, shaking her gently. “I’ve got to find my son among them. Help me find my son. Then I will leave and take you with me. Not before.”

  “
’Tis my destiny to serve the ghosts, not to understand them. They cannot leave here and must be fed. Your son is lost. Leave now before you too are cursed.” Her eyes widened in horror. “I’ve never had more than one ghost before Marcus and Robb came. Now there are dozens. Dozens! Where will I find enough food for them all? Now I will never be allowed to leave this cursed place.”

  The statue of Krej sat in the place of honor at the front of the lead sledge—Zolltarn’s conveyance. The hideous visage seemed to wink and grin at Lanciar in silent laughter as yet more gilt paint flaked off its tin hide. One front paw seemed to shed its metal coating and become true fur.

  “I’ll think of something. I need some ale in order to think.” Lanciar wove through the scattered sledges seeking Maija’s bardo. She did indeed brew the best ale he’d ever tasted.

  But maybe he’d had too much already.

  What strange being is this who stares at me from his perch atop the Rover conveyance? I can see the true nature of a man as a ghostly aura around the tin statue with the flaking gilt paint that renews itself only to flake off once more. Another ghost, as I am. Another with a mission. Shall I release him from his tin prison so that his gold will become real and cease to flake? I could possess the gold then. But that would deprive him of his life.

  I sense that soon this ghostly man will separate from the tin statue that traps him. If he is not released before then, both the inert beast and animated spirit will drift forever in time, unanchored in any reality. He will cause havoc in all realities if that occurs. He has not much time.

  But this place is a strange meeting of vortexes. Anything can happen, and time moves differently here. That is how I know my children live though three hundred years have passed. They must survive. Otherwise all I did for them is worthless.

  I will know this man’s true heart so that he can not betray me as others have.

  As long as I have the gold, I can accomplish anything. Gold is power.

  Chapter 31