The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

by Irene Radford

Erda, who had strummed the lute, uttered the first phrase of a chant in an ancient language Nimbulan didn’t understand: the ancient pictorial language represented in the embroidery they all wore. The next person to her right repeated the phrase, then the next, and the next around the circle. By the time the words had reached Nimbulan, they had become a one-note song, sung to the peculiar rhythm of stamping feet and twisting hands.

  A web of energy, sparkling white, like snow crystals, followed Televarn’s progress through the clan. In and out, around and around.

  A thrumming sound rose through Nimbulan’s feet, into his body and out his hands along the growing intricacy of the magic. The pulsing energy shifted to match the vibrations of the Kardia beneath him. He looked up to the clear sky and the cold white stars beyond. The web extended up and through their patterns as if the ley lines of Kardia Hodos wound their way through the universe and he was at their center. All of it hummed and danced in tune.

  He was caught up in the wonder of the music of life, all connected, all in tune, all one.

  The magic spread inward, as well as outward, engulfing the lodge. A dome of shimmering white enveloped the clan and their home. The lodge became a piece of the magnificent web, so much in tune with the clan and the magic that it ceased to stand out as a man-made structure in the midst of the wild creation of the Stargods.

  The energy dome magnified before his vision. He saw each filament of magic, woven into the intricate protection. The web began and ended with Televarn’s heart, stretching out to each person in the clan, binding them all together. Nimbulan saw the common element in their blood that allowed them to work this wonderful magic. A tiny amount of it showed clearly in his own life force.

  Suddenly knowledge of the great-great, multi-great grandmother who took a Rover as a lover awoke in him. Unhappy in her marriage, she cherished her fifth child sired by her lover rather than her husband. Four children stood between the child and inheritance. She had been certain the exotic heritage of the boy would never taint the lords of Baathalzan’s pure line of descent from the Stargods. Fate had eliminated all other heirs, war and disease taking them one after another. The Rover’s secret child had inherited and survived to sire more children. Much diluted, the Kardiagenea, the ability to tap the magic of all life in concert with others of his kind, had come down to Nimbulan.

  A wobble in the web of magic filaments revealed imperfections in the inborn talents of many of these people. The ones with the purest Rover blood, the ones who showed signs of diminished intelligence and bone deformations due to inbreeding, had weak and warped talents.

  The clan needed the strength of outside blood to strengthen the magical talent inbreeding destroyed.

  Nimbulan reached out and traced a filament of this web of life extending from his own body to that of Maia. No weakness showed in her.

  His mind melded with hers. He saw through her eyes, sensed the powerful unity of the spell, felt the cold ground beneath her bare feet, knew the longing in her body for the joy of sex tinged with the need to conceive another child now that her first baby was weaned. Her feminine longing, bordering on an ache, returned to him, enhancing his own desire. He explored the sensations with wonder.

  Tentatively, he reached beyond Maia to Televarn’s uncle and knew the satisfaction of completing the protective ritual properly with exact numbers of male and female. Nimbulan’s presence in the clan was welcome if for no other reason.

  On and on around the circle, Nimbulan touched briefly each member of the clan. Their personalities opened to him as they never had before. And he knew they would never again be able to creep up behind him in surprise.

  Finally he touched the last person in the circle and centered his consciousness on Televarn. The man’s thoughts did not open. Nimbulan could not share the sensations of the Rover king’s body. Yet he sensed Televarn was totally connected to every person in the circle by a one-way path of communication. Televarn dominated every personality in the clan.

  The Rover king completed the ritual by turning three times deosil, sunwise, before the only door of the lodge. The web snapped inward, collapsing into the Rover’s body as if he had pulled a flexible string.

  The winter lodge was now protected from discovery by outsiders. Would the same protection prevent Nimbulan from escaping with the secret of Rover ritual magic?

  The connections to the others in the clan dissolved. Nimbulan’s entire body tingled with reserve vibrations. He could increase that humming music of life and recapture the unity within the spell. If the others helped. If they wished. The absence of their minds in his mind left him curiously empty and refreshed at the same time.

  He concentrated on his hand, willing the magic to reach out and connect him to Maia once more. Wispy tendrils of magic shot from his fingertips but stretched toward Televarn, not his lover. He retracted the probe and moved closer and closer to Maia until his hand rested on her shoulder. She did not respond to his tentative touch. All her attention was on Televarn.

  Televarn, whose mind and intentions had remained closed to Nimbulan’s probe. Televarn, who commanded this clan and had ordered Maia to lie with Nimbulan. New blood in the clan was more important than any of their personal desires and emotions. Televarn directed Maia’s love affair with Nimbulan as he directed everyone within the clan with direct mind-to-mind control.

  Nimbulan shuddered in the cold. If he took this system of magic to his apprentices, would they, too, become totally dependent upon one dictatorial mind? Would the absence of Rover blood in their heritage prevent them from performing this ritual?

  A more shattering thought shot ice through his blood. Televarn might have inserted the seeds of mind-to-mind control in Nimbulan’s brain without him knowing it. If he had, there was a good chance Nimbulan might not be able to break it, or escape it.

  Chapter 22

  “I don’t like you very much, Moncriith.” Lord Kammeryl d’Astrismos paced his Great Hall. His fingers twitched as he fussed with the alignment of a bench against the trestle table, then moved on to kick at the fresh rushes and finger a tapestry. “Give me one good reason why I should put up with your preaching and the stench of old blood that surrounds you one more day.”

  Stargods, can’t you stand still one moment! Moncriith clenched his teeth rather than blurt out his thoughts. The lord’s constant prowl around the room made him dizzy. Thank the Stargods none of the lord’s toadies were present to rush in a new bed partner. The denizens of this dark castle seemed willing to sacrifice anything to avoid one of Kammeryl d’Astrismos’ rages. This restlessness was always the first warning sign of an imbalance in his temper. An imbalance caused by his own self-doubt. Only deflowering a virgin returned his self-confidence.

  Otherwise, he’d been known to set out on a lightning raid, burning, pillaging, and raping every village he encountered—including some of his own.

  Just last week Kammeryl had informed his valet, who informed the sergeant of the guard who informed Moncriith that he “felt like a god,” when he claimed a girl’s, or boy’s virginity and initiated them into the joys—and pains—of sex. Moncriith wondered if Kammeryl had invented his descent from the Stargods and suffered major self-doubt when he remembered his lies.

  The lord’s red hair, the visible symbol of his Stargod heritage, was definitely the result of dyes. He’d cropped his hair short to fit under a war helm today. A new, more-vibrant-than-usual shade of red colored it.

  “You will tolerate me. Lord Kammeryl, because your retainers would rebel if you threw me out.” Moncriith remained serenely still and calm in the face of Kammeryl’s increasing restlessness. He had no self-doubts to plague him into rash actions.

  Kammeryl stopped in his tracks. He stared a long moment into Moncriith’s eyes. Amazement and possibly a little fear colored his expression. Then he threw back his head and laughed, loud and long.

  “Do you think my people will honor your prattling warnings of demon possession over their oath of loyalty to me?” Kammeryl aske
d, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes with his sleeve. The moment he recovered, he resumed his pacing. “No one will renounce their oath to me because they know I will exact a swift and terrible vengeance.”

  “No, Lord Kammeryl, I don’t believe they will follow me rather than you. I know they will. Preservation of their souls is more important than any temporal power. They know I may slaughter a goat or sheep in performance of my rituals. I do not lie about what I do, nor do I hide behind threats. One animal is a small price compared to losing an entire village to one of your raids. Are you certain a demon does not possess you? The Stargods desert those who succumb to the lure of demon power.” Moncriith sat easily into the chair beside the lord’s demi-throne. He leaned back into the depths of the pillows meant to cushion the delicate bones of the lady of the manor.

  The chair had been empty for many years and was not likely to be filled by a “lady” ever again. Kammeryl d’Astrismos had an heir by his long-dead wife. He needed no other consort as long as the constant parade of virginal bed partners satisfied him.

  “Why? Why would anyone accept you as a leader, Moncriith? You own no land or gold. You have no trading empire. The temple threw you out years ago. The magicians scoff at you. What can you offer the rabble? Not protection, not food, no tangible power of any kind.” Kammeryl barked, leaning over Moncriith’s chair, hands resting on the padded arms. The knuckles on his hands showed white.

  “I have shown them the demons who feed upon war—demons who inhabit the bodies of magicians and witches—and possibly lords—and force them to perpetuate wars. The people want relief from war. I have shown them a way to get it. We must kill all of the magicians.” Moncriith relaxed into the chair, more certain than ever of his control over Kammeryl d’Astrismos and his followers. “Support of me would prove to one and all that demons do not possess you.”

  “Relief from war? Bah! Peace is an archaic concept, a myth as unreal as dragons and flywackets.” Kammeryl resumed his pacing, glaring at any servant who dared enter the Great Hall to prepare it for the evening meal.

  “And yet, at your last battle many hardened soldiers reported seeing both a dragon and a flywacket—evil demons though they are.” Moncriith crossed himself. He’d suffered several serious scratches from Myrilandel’s flywacket—clear proof of her association with demons. “Think about it, Lord Kammeryl. Think of the power you would wield if you brought peace to Coronnan. Tax revenues. Trade profits. Ambassadors from all over the world bringing you gifts of gold, silk, and slaves.”

  “Slaves are illegal in Coronnan.” Kammeryl paused in his pacing, right hand rubbing his chin in consideration. The florid color in his cheeks intensified and his eyes glowed. Some poor child would end up beaten and bruised when the lord released his emotions in bed.

  Moncriith felt a reaching out of his magic talent in anticipation of the unknown child’s pain. He preferred fueling his magic with the blood of his enemies. His spells had a sharper focus when combined with anger and hatred. For now he’d settle for absorbing the power of pain inflicted by another.

  “As the ruler of a united Coronnan, you would make your own laws. Think of the exotic treasures that could be yours for the asking. Nubile young slaves taught from childhood to please a man of your appetites, without having been touched, waiting for you to tap their erotic knowledge.” Moncriith held back a smirk. No sense in letting this lord know he was being manipulated. He had no intention of allowing the likes of Kammeryl d’Astrismos to survive long enough to reap the benefits of peace. His temporal power was necessary now as a catalyst for the populace. As soon as the mission had been accomplished, all of the demon-possessed lords and their evil magicians would perish in the flames. Just like Myrilandel and her familiar.

  “Coronnan can’t know peace until it is united. Conquering the other lords is the only way to do that. Quinnault de Tanos and his band of minor landholders can’t stand against me in battle.” Kammeryl resumed his pacing, deep in thought rather than restlessly seeking a diversion. He clasped his hands behind his back, a sure signal that his restlessness was appeased by serious thought for the moment.

  “What if every peasant in the land acknowledged you as their lord, including those who follow de Tanos?” Moncriith dangled the possibility like bait.

  “The other lords still have armies to force their tithes and loyalty.”

  “But if every soldier was occupied enforcing taxes and loyalty, they wouldn’t be available to battle you and your armies.”

  “Some of the lesser lords would have to offer me alliances to maintain order. Me, instead of de Tanos,” Kammeryl mused, counting on his fingers. He stopped at eight—Quinnault’s four and four others who wavered back and forth with their loyalty. The exact number of lords Moncriith figured would flock to Kammeryl’s side for protection.

  “Alliances lead to unity. Six small lords command more troops and land than any one of the major lords. Begin now, before the campaign season and by the time the fields are planted, no one lord could stand against you.”

  “What if they band together against me, like de Tanos is trying?”

  “They can’t if all their peasants desert them for you. Only I can make certain they do.”

  “Why should I trust you to convert these people to me?”

  “You must learn to trust someone, or your reign will never be easy. Trust the Stargods, Kammeryl d’Astrismos. Your family name means ‘son of the three stars.’ You are the only legal descendant of the Stargods. Trust me. Trust the vision the Stargods have given me.” Moncriith followed the lord, whispering seductively in his ear. Power, after all, was as much an aphrodisiac as all the virgins in the world.

  “You can’t carry the true word of the Stargods. The priests threw you out for working blood magic.”

  “They exiled me from their ranks because they are afraid of me. Afraid that I alone was granted a true vision of the demons that truly rule Coronnan. If they accepted me, they’d have to acknowledge the demons that possess them and kill themselves to be rid of them.”

  No sense in letting Kammeryl know that the priests had removed Moncriith from the temple because he refused traditional methods of magic. He could use those methods but chose not to. He’d seen how traditional magic caused death and destruction while promising life and healing. He preferred the honesty of drawing blood to fuel magic rather than inflicting murder as a result of magic gone awry.

  Priests of the temple were now so sheltered from life that their only contact with magic included meaningless rituals and passing apprentices through the trial by Tambootie smoke.

  Moncriith shuddered in memory of his own trial.

  “You pursue only a vision born of your imagination, Moncriith.” Kammeryl resumed his restless wanderings.

  “My vision was born of the Stargods and their desire for peace in Coronnan. When all of Kardia Hodos fell victim to the plague so many generations ago, the Stargods came here, to Coronnan. They gave our people the cure for the plague. We are their chosen people. Think how they must grieve at the way we ravage the land and each other with these endless wars. Think with your heart and your head; not your dick, Kammeryl. Think and know what destiny of greatness the Stargods offer you through me.”

  “What do you suggest as a first step?”

  “First, we destroy the magicians. Lord Quinnault’s School for Magicians is a good place to start. Nimbulan is dead. They no longer have a strong leader to rally them against you. And if you kill Quinnault at the same time, his alliance of minor lords will fall apart. Then, we offer a marriage alliance with Lord Sauria. His lands border Quinnault’s. He longs for access to the Great Bay. You can divide the islands and the trade profits between you.”

  “Magic isn’t fun anymore,” Kalen complained to Powwell.

  Ackerly leaned closer to the door that separated him from his two most promising students. The tone in the girl’s voice and the absence of her lisp alerted him to trouble. He heightened his senses a little with magic so he cou
ld hear the entire conversation.

  “Magic isn’t supposed to be fun. It’s work. Hard work,” Powwell returned.

  The children were supposed to be sweeping the floors of the bedrooms in this wing. Powwell had already discovered that brooms pushed by muscles didn’t tire him as easily as brooms pushed by magic.

  “Well, I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired, and I ache, and my head spins when he gives us those drugs.” A thump followed that pronouncement as if Kalen plunked herself down on the floor, arms crossed in her usual pouting position. Ackerly had come to dread the times Kalen resorted to a pout. Underneath the innocent charm, the little girl hid a stubborn streak that taxed the patience of all fifty inhabitants of the school. Not even her doting mother or her coldly calculating father could coax her out of a good pout.

  “The Tambootie is necessary to working magic,” Powwell said thoughtfully.

  Ackerly could almost see the boy biting his lip in indecision. A terrible habit he’d have to make Powwell break. Paying clients wouldn’t rent the services of a magician who appeared indecisive.

  “I never needed doses of the weed before I came here, and I did a lot more magic than he thinks I do now. Besides the drugs make me sick to my stomach. I can’t concentrate when I’m about to heave,” Kalen said.

  “Magic’s a lot easier for me when I take the drugs. But it nauseates me, too. What did you mean you worked more magic than Ackerly thinks you do now? Aren’t you doing everything he asks?” A clatter of a dropped broom followed Powwell’s words.

  “Of course not. I never let anyone know precisely how much I can do. Sieur Moncriith used to preach against me and make people throw mud at me for summoning witchlight. Sometimes they threw stones to keep us out of the village before we could ask for food and a place to stay. If Moncriith had known I could levitate things, he’d have demanded people burn me. They would have, too.” A touch of fear colored Kalen’s voice. Ackerly made a note of it.