Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III

by Irene Radford

  The distinctive purple and red that dominated the colors of those bardos proclaimed them the possessions of Zolltarn, self-styled king of all Rovers, member of the Commune of Magicians, and Jack’s grandfather. That clan had an abundance of babies born in the last four years—to replace the men who had died quite suddenly the year before Zolltarn changed his loyalties from coven to Commune. The dragons had a hand in the loss of those men, and the Rovers had never quite trusted them as a source of magic or as a benign presence since.

  Zolltarn used dragon magic and his membership in the Commune to serve his own ends. Only he of all master magicians dared ignore a summons from Senior Magician Jaylor.

  “I might have known that Zolltarn would end up with the statue of Krej,” he muttered.

  “Amaranth. I need you to look again. Where are the children, where are the Rovers for that matter? They wouldn’t abandon their steeds and bardos.” He relinquished the moments of quiet single vision in favor of information.

  He saw again the bardos still harnessed to the steeds; the riding steeds wandering about the large courtyard, grazing on the overgrown herb garden; a woman he did not know sitting on the step beside the well, face buried in her hands, her shoulders heaving with sobs. Beside her stood a familiar and unwelcome figure. He sensed more than recognized the aura of his old enemy Lanciar from SeLenicca. What was he doing in Coronnan? And if Lanciar was about, Rejiia could not be far behind.

  Then the Rovers and several other figures emerged from inside the building. They looked nearly transparent, outlined in silver like a dragon. All of them had become ghosts!

  At that moment Katrina stopped their steed abruptly at the gate tower. Jack slid from its back, half planning to dismount, half falling from distorted balance and perception.

  “We’ve got some real problems here. Stay outside the walls, Katrina. Whatever happens, you and Margit stay outside the walls.” He walked quietly through the gate, keeping to the shadows.

  “Your problems are my problems, Jack.” Behind him, Katrina dismounted and followed closely on his heels.

  Vareena rose from her seat by the well and marched out into the courtyard. Steeds milled about, placing their burdensome sledges at odd angles. She stumbled over an abandoned pack, slipped in a fresh pile of dung and landed heavily against the sledge cabin. A tin weasel with flaking gilt paint grinned down at her as it teetered on its porch.

  “S’murghit!” she cursed in very unladylike tones. “I refuse to be responsible anymore. I’m leaving.” She righted herself and aimed for the gate.

  “Wait, you can’t abandon us. You’re the only one who knows what’s going on,” the blond man who remained human grabbed her sleeve and kept her from retreating out the gate.

  Another steed—taller and stockier than the beasts that had come with the Rovers—blocked the exit. Its sides heaved as if it had run a long distance. She’d not shove it aside without help, not for a while yet anyway.

  “You can leave this cursed place with me,” she said flatly, shoving her way through the crowded courtyard. Ghosts began appearing among the steeds. She bounced away from them into more animals, dogs and chickens as well as the pack beasts.

  “No, I can’t leave. They have my son. I can’t find him without your help, and I won’t leave him with these people.”

  “A child?” Vareena stopped short, heart aching for the lost souls condemned to this place. Why had this man been spared but not his son?

  “My son is still a baby, a tiny baby with black hair and brilliant blue eyes. Please help me find him. Please help me to hold him one more time before this terrible curse takes him from me forever.” The man who had appeared so confident when he walked through the gate looked helpless now. A great deal of pain and longing poured out of his eyes.

  “Vareena!” Marcus pelted out of the library into the courtyard. “Vareena, don’t leave me, please. I need you. I love you,” he panted as he skidded to a halt scant inches from her.

  “Marcus?” Vareena peered at his insubstantial form, not certain she had heard him correctly.

  “Yes, Vareena. I love you. I have from the moment I first saw you. Please stay. I can find an answer to this problem. I know I can.” He rammed his right fist into the pocket of is trews while his left hand reached out tentatively as if to brush a stray lock of hair from her brow. A sharp tingle of energy repulsed him before he made contact with her.

  “No, Marcus, you do not love me. You can’t.” Not Marcus, her heart wailed. Why couldn’t it be Robb? ’Tis Robb I love. Will always love.

  Having acknowledged her attraction to the dark-haired magician, she knew she could not abandon Robb or his friend now. She needed to see this through to the end, even if she remained here the rest of her life, like her mother, and her mother’s mother before her.

  Once cursed by the monastery and the hoard of gold, the women of her family were cursed forever.

  Her last hope of freedom slid away.

  Chapter 33

  “Making your own luck doesn’t always work,” Marcus said as he trudged back to the library from Vareena’s side. She’d stay to help. Now he needed to stay by Robb until his friend also figured out the source of the curse.

  He watched the Rovers step through the constant veil of mist into his reality. His heart lodged in his throat. How could he push Robb to discover the secret with all of these Rovers complicating things?

  “This is bad luck for all of us,” Robb agreed.

  The hair on the back of Marcus’ neck stood on end. An unnatural chill climbed his spine. He whipped around to face the ghost of Ackerly. The misty form coalesced into a nearly solid being. His aura pulsed brighter as he sped across the massive library, sacrificial knife raised over his head.

  “He’s a Bloodmage,” Robb hissed. “He gains power from inflicting pain and drawing blood!”

  “Zolltarn, look out!” Marcus called. He dove for the Rover, knocking him to the ground. Ackerly’s knife sliced through the air where Zolltarn’s neck had been. In the same movement, Marcus drew Zolltarn’s long dagger and turned on the ghost.

  “Eat iron!” he yelled, stabbing at the air around him.

  A wail of pain and frustration pierced his ears. He wanted to clutch his ears and curl into a fetal ball but dared not shift his attention away from the knife. The ghostly sound faded.

  An eerie silence fell upon the library. No one moved. No one breathed.

  “M-my thanks, young magician,” Zolltarn said. He remained on the flagstone floor staring about him, eyes wide, showing more white than black. He tried working his mouth into one of his engaging smiles and failed. “I owe you my life and my soul.”

  Marcus nodded but kept searching for the ghost.

  “Best we all retreat,” Robb said, ushering the Rovers away from the gold.

  One young man sneered at Robb, still clutching an awkward double handful of coins.

  “Go!” Zolltarn said, resuming his natural authority over his people. “The gold will still be here tomorrow.”

  “And many tomorrows after that,” Marcus muttered.

  “Unless my luck changes.”

  “Make your own luck,” Robb reminded him, patting him on the back.

  Together they retreated, blades at the ready.

  But the ghost remained quiet and out of sight.

  “I think saving the life and soul of a Rover chieftain is a bit of luck,” Robb continued when the haze separated them from the darkness in the library. “Rovers have power, and Zolltarn is more powerful than most. He’s indebted to you.”

  “What did he mean that I saved his soul?” Marcus asked quietly.

  “I meant that for a Rover to lose his life to a Bloodmage binds his soul to the murderer. When that Bloodmage is a ghost . . .” Zolltarn shuddered rather than complete the sentence. “My debt to you is immeasurable, young magician. I offer you any of my daughters as your wife.”

  “Uh . . . no thanks. I may have spent the last three years wandering, but the Rove
r life is not for me. I want a nice little cottage with a wife and a dozen children and a dozen more apprentices.” He felt immeasurably lighter for having voiced his longtime dream. The possibilities seemed firmer.

  Robb raised his eyebrows at him. A big grin tugged at his mouth. “By any chance did you ever tell Margit this is what you want out of life?”

  Marcus shrugged. Had he? No matter. He loved Vareena now. He’d likely never see Margit again.

  “We will be on our way, young magicians,” Zolltarn dismissed them. “We had planned to spend some time here and celebrate the marriage of my daughter Maija to soldier Lanciar. But we do not willingly share space with the ghost of a Bloodmage.” He bowed deeply, all the while edging toward the gatehouse.

  “Good luck getting out of here,” Marcus snorted, keeping his attention on the library.

  “What?” Zolltarn stared at him with eyes narrowed in speculation.

  “Explain the situation to Zolltarn, Robb. I’m going to see if we can persuade the ghost to drop his knife.” Marcus took a deep breath and stepped back in the direction of the library.

  An unholy screech from atop the walls interrupted Robb before he could speak. Lumbird bumps raced up Marcus’ arms and spine. Both he and Robb turned toward this new menace, blades at the ready for the ghost.

  “Stargods, save us all!” Zolltarn crossed himself three times, flapped his wrists in the ward against Simurgh and crossed himself again. “An evil creature out of myths! What strange place is this?”

  A black cat swooped down on black-feathered wings. Its blacker than black fur seemed to absorb all the sunlight. The beast let loose with another of its eerie cries, half yowl, half the screech of an enraged eagle.

  Everyone ducked as it passed.

  Marcus heard many strange invocations against the ancient winged demon Simurgh. As soon as he felt the passage of air on his hair from the cat’s flight, he glanced up to follow its trajectory. Surprisingly it landed neatly on the outstretched arm of a Rover-dark man standing in the archway to the gatehouse. He might have the coloring of a Rover, but he dressed like a Commune magician in blue tunic and trews. Behind him stood a blonde woman. The misty veil of unreality separated them from the rest of the milling crowd of Rovers. Marcus was certain neither of them had been in the courtyard a few moments before. Neither of them was dressed in the garish purple and red on black. But the man’s eyes bore the same shape and intensity as Zolltarn’s.

  He’d seen those eyes before.

  “Stay out of this cursed place,” Vareena ordered, marching quickly up to the newcomers.

  “We seek only a night’s shelter,” the stranger said.

  “With the spawn of Simurgh on your shoulder you seek more than that,” Zolltarn challenged. But his smile returned full force, driving away the sense of foreboding that hovered among his people.

  “Perhaps I seek my grandfather,” the stranger returned the smile. He clutched the hand of the young woman behind him and strode forward.

  “Jack, have you returned to the clan at last?” Zolltarn asked, striding to meet him. The Rover spread his arms wide intending a fierce embrace. Jack remained in place, arms firmly at his side. Zolltarn bounced off him before Jack could rebuff him. Zolltarn frowned deeply. Jack merely nodded with a grimace.

  “You look like a ghost, Grandfather,” Jack said, peering at all of the Rovers with curiosity.

  “I know that man.” Robb whispered to Marcus.

  “He does seem familiar, but I’ve never met Zolltarn’s grandson. I know a lot of men named Jack, none of them magicians. A magician would change his name to something more lofty to command respect,” Marcus replied. “Jack doesn’t seem like a Rover name either.”

  “Perhaps you knew me under another name, before I learned of my heritage. Before I earned Master status in the Commune,” Jack said.

  Marcus searched his memory for any apprentice or journeyman with Rover heritage.

  “Um . . . Yaakke had very dark hair and eyes,” Robb reminded him.

  “Yaakke? The lost journeyman?”

  “One and the same. And this is my betrothed, Katrina of SeLenicca.”

  “You escaped SeLenicca?” Lanciar pushed his way toward them—of all the Rover party, he alone remained fully human. “Thank the Stargods you survived.”

  Vareena followed Lanciar, shaking her head.

  Marcus moved to Vareena’s side. “It will be all right. We’ll get this fixed soon,” he whispered to his love.

  She had eyes only for Robb.

  “Aye, Lanciar, no thanks to you, I survived,” Jack said, ignoring the others. His voice and face remained calm, almost devoid of emotion. But his eyes took on a haunted look. “I survived. With Katrina’s help, I escaped Rejiia’s foul prison, and the kardiaquakes and the destruction of Queen’s City. The last I saw of you, you were meekly obeying her orders and boasting of your membership in the coven.” Both men’s auras flared with wild and violent emotions.

  “But did you find the dragons?” Marcus moved to stand between the men before they engaged in a physical, or worse, a magical duel. The barrier of energy around him repulsed them in opposite directions.

  Vareena tugged on Katrina’s hand, urging her toward the gate. But Katrina held firmly to Jack, or Yaakke, or whoever he was now. Older, more mature and sure of himself with only a trace of the cockiness of his youth.

  “Yes, I found the dragons and returned them to the lair, again with Katrina’s help.”

  “Then magic is legal again in Coronnan?” Marcus asked. His dream of a home and family at the University shifted slightly from a cottage in the woods to a suite of rooms in the massive stone building in the capital.

  “Not exactly,” Jack and Zolltarn replied at the same time.

  “Marcus!” a new voice announced herself from the gateway. Margit raced across the crowded courtyard, bouncing off of one ghostly Rover after another, heedless of the angry voices and offended travelers. “So this is where you’ve been hiding. This is where you came just to get away from me!” She raised her fist and slammed it into his jaw.

  The anger behind her blow pushed her through the energy barrier and knocked Marcus flat on his bum.

  Iron! They fight me with iron. I have no defense against that base metal. So cold. And yet it burns. Not like my gold that warms to the touch and invites me to caress it. The young whelps must have watched when I could not follow our keeper up the iron staircase.

  The iron cannot push me into my next existence. I want no other than what I have. I have the gold and that is all I need. I do not even need my children—proud of them as I am—as long as I have the gold. But iron will give me terrible pain that will not go away. Ever.

  I must make them flee. None of the others who have visited me have given me so much trouble. The others were company of sorts. I was content to let them fondle a piece or two of gold. They could not leave with it. And so I retrieved it upon their deaths. Quiet deaths mostly, with a peaceful passage into their next existence. They can only last one hundred days or less living under my curse. And I still had the gold.

  But these magicians tax me greatly. They have the gift to undo three hundred years of protecting my gold. I shall whisper the secret into their dreams. ’Tis their greed that keeps them here. Tonight, I shall whisper into their dreams. All of them. By morning they will either flee or kill each other. One way or another, I shall be free of them all.

  Ariiell eyed the side trail with suspicion. Why would Rejiia send her up there? This must be the wrong road.

  But they’d passed no others. She had watched diligently for signs of the place Rejiia needed her to go. With just a touch of TrueSight she discerned the signs of many steeds passing this way recently. Steeds and sledges.

  No respectable trading caravan would travel up this narrow and nearly overgrown path. They would seek the village up ahead.

  She sniffed the trail with her mundane nose, made more sensitive by magic and pregnancy. This was a talent Rejiia and the
coven did not know about. She could identify individuals by smell from one hundred paces, she could tell what Cook prepared for dinner before the dishes began cooking. And she knew that the passing steeds pulling the sledges had left a great deal of dung on the path.

  She would not traverse this trail. No matter what Rejiia ordered. She would not go there!

  “I’ll not follow orders blindly anymore. I carry the heir. I shall make all my own decisions.” She kicked her placid mare into a sprightly trot, leaving the noisome trail behind.

  “Why did you tarry there, daughter?” Lord Laislac asked as she rode alongside him.

  “I thought it might lead someplace interesting.” She dismissed the topic.

  Lord Andrall immediately looked back over his shoulder at the trail and up the hill. As his gaze came to the crest, his eyes widened. “I do not like well-traversed trails branching off to old ruins. They speak of outlaw hideouts.”

  “An abandoned monastery.” Laislac kept his voice light, but his eyes remained fixed on the same spot as Lord Andrall’s. “The locals proclaim it haunted and do not go near. Outlaws heed them.”

  Ariiell squinted and called up her FarSight. Nothing but a pile of old stones shrouded in mist.

  “Tales of haunting are often spread by outlaws and bandits to keep the locals away. I’m going to investigate.” Andrall yanked his reins so his steed would make the tight turn onto the trail. Mardall steered his own mount to follow his father.

  “Milord, you cannot go there alone!” Lady Lynnetta protested, hand to her throat.

  “Half of the men with me, weapons at the ready. The rest stay close to the ladies,” he called to the troop of retainers behind them.

  “Not without me,” Laislac muttered.

  “No, P’pa,” Ariiell protested. Amazing, just when she decided not to obey Rejiia’s orders, her father proceeded to force her to follow them. “You cannot leave us with such meager protection.” She waved to indicate her stepmother and Lady Lynnetta. Then she placed her hand on the bulge of her belly in silent reminder of the importance of the child she carried.