Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III

by Irene Radford

  “No one will disturb you on the main road. Go up to the village if you are frightened.” Laislac pushed his steed onto the side trail.

  Lord Andrall looked as if he would protest the safety of the road and village. Then he firmed his jaw and turned in the wake of his great-brother. The men at arms followed. The retainers and servants milled about, uncertain of which way to go.

  Ariiell rolled her eyes up in exasperation. “I’m not going to be left behind.” She joined the trek up the hillside. Behind her the others followed her lead.

  “This had better be good, Rejiia.”

  In the back of her head she heard a malicious chuckle.

  Chapter 34

  “Where’d he go?” Margit stared at the space where Marcus had just been. She shook her hand to free it of the curious burn on top of the bruising from connecting so firmly with his jaw. “The bastard must have used the transport spell to disappear on me again. S’murghin’ coward couldn’t tell me to my face he expects me to sit quietly at home bearing his brats and babysitting his apprentices! What makes him think I want that kind of life? What makes him think . . .”

  “I’m right here, Margit, right where you dumped me on the ground.” Marcus’ voice came to her from a great distance.

  “Where?” She looked around for the source of his voice. Only Jack and Katrina with the blasted flywacket and another man and woman and a lot of steeds and sledges stood in the courtyard. “Where?” she repeated.

  “Right here!” the once-beloved voice sounded angry now. “You could have told me your dreams. Instead you let me ramble on about my hopes for the future and you never said a word. You could have told me you don’t really love me. You only wanted to use me as a means to wander the world.”

  The thickening fog distorted the air into a vague manlike shape, like looking at a dragon, but . . . but dragons had more solidity.

  “You never said anything to me about settling down. All you did was retell your adventures on the road. I thought you wanted to keep traveling, take me with you on your journeys.” Margit gulped back a sob, trying to rekindle the anger that had propelled her. “Jack, what’s going on?” She looked to the one magician who might figure out this puzzle.

  “Your anger must have heightened your senses for you to see him in the first place,” Jack sighed. “Engage your TrueSight, Margit. Then look slightly to the side of the distortion. Do you see him?”

  “I’m not sure. He looks sort of like a scrying image gone awry, almost there but not quite.”

  “I’m here, Margit. And our betrothal is off. I’ve found another. Vareena.” His voice caressed the name. The figure that might be Marcus reached out as if to embrace the short woman standing off to the side. But he didn’t touch her.

  Vareena heaved a weary sigh and stepped away from him. She’d be pretty if she weren’t so old. Nearly thirty. Past being a spinster. Margit classified her as a maiden aunt, destined to care for her brother’s families, if she had any.

  “Robb, tell him that I do not love him,” Vareena said wearily. “I cannot love him.” She sounded more exasperated than aggrieved.

  “I can’t tell him anything, Vareena.” Another ghostly voice that sounded like Robb but not quite, from somewhere near the largest of the sledges.

  Margit looked closely. Definitely another man shape within the light distortion. And beside him another and another. The flutters and fluctuations in her perceptions made her dizzy.

  She closed her eyes to regain her balance. When she opened them again, the wavering light remained.

  “What’s going on, Jack?” She looked at his solid body rather than at all of the almost-people who milled around the courtyard. Katrina looked as bewildered as she. Only Vareena and the other man who did not seem a part of the entire proceedings acted as if all was normal.

  “I was just about to find out when you interjected with your rather—um—forceful opinion,” Jack replied. The corners of his mouth twitched even though he kept them in a stern frown.

  Just then a caterwauling rose all around them, like a thousand cat fights all at once. Chills ran through Margit, but she didn’t sneeze.

  “Now what?”

  “They’re all fighting over the gold,” Marcus said. He sounded as if a great weight pressed against him.

  Margit’s heart almost moved in empathy with him.

  But the hurt was too great.

  How could he have just presumed she wanted a home and children? Kardia Hodos was a big planet, and she intended to see all of it.

  No, he hadn’t heard. He hadn’t listened. He never listened to anything but what he wanted to hear because he presumed his luck would make everyone agree with him.

  “Your luck just ran out, Marcus,” she muttered as Jack and two blobs of watery light moved toward the loudest of the disagreements.

  And then she heard something that chilled her even more than the screeching fights and arguments by unseen ghosts: the distinctive hiss of long metal blades sliding out of wooden scabbards.

  She whirled around to find a new party of a dozen steeds ridden by nobles and men at arms.

  “Whatever happens, do not touch the gold,” Robb whispered to Jack. He slammed his weight into two Rover men who grabbed each other by their shirts, clutching fingers far too close to the vulnerable throats of their opponent.

  “Zolltarn!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Zolltarn, control your people!”

  Jack bounced off two women, one heavily pregnant. They separated, mouths agape, panting for breath as they stared at the man who had the audacity to interfere. The burning energy that must separate the women from the normal world kept Jack from touching them directly, but his impact against the barrier should have been unpleasant enough to force them apart.

  Someone grabbed the back of Robb’s shirt and spun him around. Then a fist connected with his jaw and stars spun before his eyes.

  “Robb!” Vareena screamed. And then she was kneeling beside him, hands reaching out to examine the huge ache in his teeth that spread from his chin to his eye. This time she forced her hand through the burning energy. Her fingers caressed his jaw, feather-light. The sharp pain eased to a dull ache.

  For a moment his gaze caught hers. Suddenly his heart raced in his chest, opening him to new emotions, new truths about himself. A kind of serenity filled him. All because she touched him.

  “We’ll discuss this later. Right now, I have a brawl to break up.” He heaved himself to his feet, wishing he could return her caress, perhaps kiss her cheek in tentative promise. “Later,” he affirmed to them both.

  The world seemed suddenly brighter and all of their problems surmountable.

  And then the world tilted, light flashed, and the misty veil around the world expanded.

  A gaggle of newcomers at the gate flashed swords. “Where’d she go?” Lord Andrall shouted.

  Robb felt his skin grow cold as he recognized the king’s adviser and his lady and their simple son astride the magnificent steeds clustered around the gatehouse. The other lord and lady could only be Lord Laislac and his second wife—his first wife had died quite mysteriously, and with a scandal Robb couldn’t remember, some years ago. Their attention all focused on a very pregnant young woman—now in the ghostly reality—wrestling with a Rover woman over a scarf heavy with gold coins.

  “Give it to me, you ignorant slut. I need that gold. In the name of the coven, give me that gold!” she shouted.

  “Get out of here now, Vareena,” Robb implored. “Run as far and as fast as you can. Save yourself from the coven.”

  Everyone and everything in the courtyard stilled. The name of the coven had that effect on people.

  Marcus looked around to see who had invoked them. The band of magicians was dedicated to the overthrow of every peaceful government in all of Kardia Hodos. His gaze lighted on the young woman in elegant velvet riding clothes. Hints of red glistened within her blond hair. Her aura almost shouted magical power within the orange-and-yellow laye
rs.

  He blinked and looked again, more closely. She had touched the gold a Rover woman had fastened to a sash. In touching the gold-laden sash she joined the growing crowd of those trapped in this other reality. She broadcast greed to any receptive magician within a league’s distance. So did the Rovers.

  “Did I hear someone say gold?” One of the lords at the gatehouse dismounted hurriedly. If he wasn’t careful, he’d trip over one of the Rovers and become a ghost himself.

  “Lord Laislac.” Vareena dipped a hasty curtsy to him.

  He ignored her.

  Marcus already knew Lord Andrall and his lady. He’d heard tales of their simple son. The other woman in the party must be Laislac’s wife. The one he’d married in haste after his first wife quite conveniently fell from the castle ramparts. Or was pushed. The scandal had circulated in the capital for a few weeks and then disappeared in the wake of newer gossip. Laislac had married a much younger woman the day the official mourning period ended.

  Marcus peered around Zolltarn’s sledge to see if any of the Rovers acknowledged the presence of nobility. They didn’t seem to care. But the statue on top of the sledge, the tin weasel with flaking gilt paint, began to rock and shift. Both front paws and about half of the tail seemed to have shed its tin coating. A spot of drool dripped from the exposed teeth—real teeth, not metal castings.

  “Robb, Jack, look at Krej!” he called, fascinated by the partial animation. At one time Krej had been the most powerful lord of the land—first cousin to Darville’s father and regent during Darville’s magically induced illness at the beginning of his reign.

  “Krej and Lanciar in the same area?” Jack held his staff out, prepared to use it as a defensive weapon, physical and magical. “Rejiia can’t be far away.”

  Katrina touched Jack’s shoulder and pointed to the top of the southwest tower. Marcus followed her pointing finger with half his attention, keeping one eye on Krej.

  Atop the tower the light sparkled with new magic. The wind blasted outward and down into the courtyard whipping dust into everyone’s eyes. Marcus forced himself to keep his gaze trained on the area. He didn’t know the secret of the transport spell, but he’d witnessed it often enough to know when someone used it.

  Black and red dominated the spot. The light coalesced into the figure of a black-haired woman with a silver streak running from one temple down the length of her waist-length tresses. Her black gown molded to her tall figure, outlining all of her curves and emphasizing the length of her legs.

  “Rejiia,” Jack confirmed.

  Marcus’ armor snapped into place. Beautiful, deadly, vicious. Krej’s daughter. She’d learned a lot from her father before the lord had thrown one spell too many and had it backlash off King Darville’s sword and crown. He’d been captive in the weasel statue ever since. Without Krej’s disdainful supervision, Rejiia had learned a lot more about magic and about evil than her father had ever dreamed of.

  She would continue to menace Coronnan until she sat on the throne with the Coraurlia—the magically charmed glass crown in the shape of a dragon—on her head; or until someone managed to kill her.

  “Release my father!” she called in an imperious tone. But there was a tightness in her neck muscles and the way her hand clenched around a small wand set with a black crystal on the end. She must use the wand as most magicians used a staff. A pretty and feminine affectation. And undoubtedly just as deadly as the woman who used it. She pointed the crystal directly at the statue of her father.

  The tin weasel rocked again, but it remained firmly anchored atop the sledge.

  Then Marcus noted that Zolltarn rested his hand on Krej. He flashed his brilliant smile at Rejiia. She flinched ever so slightly.

  As long as Zolltarn had some of the enchanted gold in his possession and touched the tin statue, the statue traversed both realities and was subject to the magic of neither. A dark aura surrounded the statue, as black as the void.

  Something was terribly wrong with Krej.

  Rejiia must have sensed it, too. She disappeared in another flash of light and swirl of wind. Just as suddenly, she reappeared directly in front of Zolltarn and the statue.

  The black aura moved higher. The statue rocked harder, puffing up to almost twice its normal size.

  Marcus jumped to stand between Margit and Vareena and the magic about to go awry.

  Chapter 35

  “Give him back to me!” Rejiia said through clenched teeth. Her body seemed as tightly controlled as her jaw.

  “And what of our son, Rejiia?” Lanciar asked. “Don’t you care anything at all about the child the Rovers hide from you?” The mass of Rovers and newcomers separated for him as he marched over to her side. Outrage poured from him like a leaking bucket. Magic power raced from his fingertips up his arms to his shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to backhand the woman and knock her clear out of his life into her next existence.

  “The child is just one more crime for which Zolltarn and his Rovers must answer to the coven. My father is in greater danger. Release him!” Rejiia reached out with her hand and her magic to encircle the tin weasel.

  Light flashed, and the world tilted. Rejiia joined the Rovers and the others trapped in some reality different from Lanciar’s.

  Part of Lanciar wanted to laugh. Disgust invaded a bigger part of him.

  “Is this place truly safe?” A new voice asked from the gateway. A feminine voice speaking Lanciar’s native language.

  Only Katrina turned to look at this newest additions to the mob. Rejiia continued to struggle with Zolltarn for possession of Krej.

  “Your Majesty,” Katrina gasped as she bent her knees into a full curtsy. In the same motion, she tugged on Jack’s sleeve to bring his head respectfully lower than the trail-weary woman.

  Miranda cradled a small child in her arms. Yet another Rover held her arm at the elbow.

  This new Rover wore the same red-and-purple trim on his black clothes as Zolltarn’s clan. Lanciar did not recognize him from his weeks on the road with the Rovers.

  Lace spilled from the panniers on the back of their pack steed. But it wasn’t quite a steed. Then the beast opened his mouth and extended his neck, bellowing an obnoxious braying sound around a mouthful of big, square teeth. A team of trumpeters could not have attracted more attention.

  Everyone in the compound turned to face this new greeting.

  “Who?” Zolltarn asked.

  Lord Andrall and Lord Laislac immediately bent a single knee to her presence. Their wives followed suit—sometime during the fray they, too, had dismounted.

  “Your Majesty, may I present your new ambassador from Coronnan,” Katrina said, daring to raise her head a little. She pushed Jack forward. He stumbled to one knee. The flywacket remained firmly on his shoulder, flaring his wings just enough for them both to catch their balance.

  “Your Majesty, my position as ambassador to SeLenicca has not been confirmed by the Council of Provinces, only promised by His Grace King Darville.”

  “Miranda,” Lanciar breathed. “When did she come back to life?” In asking the question, he knew the answer. The moment Simeon died, his spells would have dissipated. The sorcerer-king had kept his wife—the hereditary ruler of SeLenicca—comatose for weeks to keep her from revoking the edict of joint monarchy. She had planned to strip him of power and divorce him. His blatant affair with Rejiia had pushed her beyond forgiveness.

  “Queen Miranda,” Marcus gasped. “What in the name of the Stargods is she doing here, dressed as a peasant and in the company of a Rover? I thought the SeLenese did not acknowledge outlanders as human.”

  “They don’t,” Lanciar confirmed. “It seems some changes are happening in SeLenicca.”

  “Rise up, all of you,” Queen Miranda said. She blushed and looked to her escort. “I am queen no longer. SeLenicca is in ruins. I have no government. Today I am no more than this trader’s partner. I make lace for a living.”

  Katrina smiled brightly. “So do
I, Your Majesty.”

  “You will have a government again,” Jack affirmed. “King Darville is committed to helping you rebuild your country.”

  “With what? The land is bankrupt. My people are scattered and disillusioned.”

  Rejiia seemed to have been forgotten in this new development. Lanciar spared her a probing glance. She raised her wand as if to strike Zolltarn on the head with it. Did she have any magic to accompany the blow? Her emotions were out of control and so must her magic be. She reeked of Tambootie.

  Lanciar guessed the dragon weed was pushing her into insanity, just as it had Krej and Simeon before their downfalls.

  “We have a vast hoard of gold here, Milady Queen,” Zolltarn announced with all the enthusiasm of a minstrel at an Equinox Festival. “You have only to claim it.”

  “No!” a dozen or more voices protested. “The gold is mine.”

  And then the ghost of Ackerly erupted from the library. His misty white form flew broad circles around the courtyard, slashing with his sacrificial knife at all who held his gold.

  Rovers and armed guards alike in both realities beat at the wraith with daggers and cook pots and anything else made of cold iron that came easily to hand. One Rover slashed the sleeve of another open with a dagger. He received a fist in his jaw in return. Another dozen brawls erupted, spilling over to the newcomers who had not yet had a chance to claim any of the hoard.

  Still the ghost circled the compound, screaming and slashing with his dripping ritual blade. Two men fell to the ground screaming, dripping blood from scalp and back wounds.

  Lanciar waved his hands at the being. Just as it flew past him, knife aimed at the great vein of his neck, Lanciar dove beneath a sledge. The wraith howled his disappointment but kept circling, seeking a new victim.