Dragon Nimbus Novels: Vol II, The

by Irene Radford

  Shayla broadcast the vision of a blazing desert into their midst: Wave after wave of rolling, red sand hills met the raiders. Sun burned through their clothing, parched their throats, and drained their bodies of sweat.

  Myri saw what they saw, but with a curious transparency. None of the illusions of heat and arid air touched her. But her empathic talent forced her to share their emotions and pain.

  Desperately she clasped the silver cord attached to her heart with both hands, trying to communicate with her husband. It had never worked over this great a distance before. Maybe danger would fuel her pleas.

  Nothing. She looked around for another avenue of escape from the raiders and from her own empathic link to them.

  One man stood free of the illusion. He grinned at Myri and stalked toward her, swinging his club and whistling a jaunty tune—the same tune he’d whistled as he thrust a knife into Nimbulan’s gut last spring. Televarn. The Rover chieftain who oozed lies and tricks with every word he spoke, every magical spell he wove.

  Shayla added the image of a blessed oasis with a creek to her illusion. The people stumbled into a real creek, pressing their faces into the refreshing water. Shayla pushed the image of a shallow pool, no more than half a finger-length in depth.

  The true creek ran nearly as deep as half a man. The dragon increased the sun’s temperature in the vision, urging the evil men and women to press their faces deeper, deeper into the water. Relentlessly she pressed the dragon dream into their minds.

  Air evaporated from Myri’s lungs in empathy with the men and women around her. Fleeing villagers as well as the dark-haired, dark-clad raiders staggered in the imagined desert heat. Only Televarn remained upright. He continued his approach toward Myri.

  She tried to run. A new cramp stopped her. Powwell and Kalen weren’t there to help her. They, too, rushed toward the creek to drink.

  Shayla! Myrilandel shouted. Stop the dream. They die. They will all die.

  (And so they should. They dared harm you. They must die, by their own foolishness.)

  If they die, then I will share their deaths. I am linked to them by my talent. I feel what they feel.

  (You will be free of them in a moment. You need not share their fate.)

  Televarn, their leader, is immune to your visions, as am I. He continues his pursuit of us. The children can’t flee with me because of the dragon dream.

  The vision evaporated.

  A harsh blow to the back of Myri’s head shot pain down her spine. Black spots crowded her vision. She stumbled. Powwell recovered enough to catch her. Kalen dragged her forward.

  (Not that way. Evil men await you there!)

  “Yes, this way, it’s safe. I know it’s safe,” Kalen insisted.

  Myri tried focusing on the trees around her and the path Kalen followed. Two of everything swam before her.

  Two Televarns grabbed her harshly by the neck. She flailed against him. He tightened his grip, threatening to choke the life from her.

  Other men bound Kalen and Powwell with stout ropes. Powwell kicked at his captor. Piedro punched him in the jaw, smiling vilely. Kalen screamed and thrashed. Abruptly she ceased, staring ahead with blank eyes.

  Myri lurched forward, trying to get to her daughter.

  “One more move, and I slash your belly open. I have no use for another man’s child, Myrilandel,” Televarn hissed in her ear.

  She stilled her struggles.

  “That’s better, cherbein. I always knew you loved me best. As soon as you are rid of Nimbulan’s brat, you will be my mate again. For all time.”

  The trees seemed to double. The colors shifted and swirled into a mighty vortex. Had Shayla superimposed another form of vision on her eyes? What did it all mean?

  “I can’t have you remembering the way to your new home, cherbein.” Televarn laughed as he pounded something into Myri’s temple.

  The silver cord connecting her heart to Nimbulan’s dissolved. Just as blackness enveloped her, she heard Shayla bugle her distress to every mind that could hear.

  (The Covenant is broken!)

  No, Shayla. Don’t break the Covenant, she sobbed. Don’t desert us when we need you most.

  Chapter 2

  Intense magical power swirled around Powwell in ever tightening eddies. Pain assaulted his joints. A great roaring filled his mind.

  His talent cried out for the opportunity to tap the surging power and use it. Almost instinctively he drew the power into himself as if gathering dragon magic. The special place behind his heart where he stored magic couldn’t hold the energy. It coursed along his nerve endings and erupted from his fingers and toes and the ends of his hair to rejoin the force that generated it.

  Then abruptly the sensation of being caught in an airless vortex ceased. Powwell’s ears continued to ring in the sudden silence. His body ached as if he’d been dragged through the surf of the little cove by the village.

  An enticing melody hummed within his mind. He knew a compulsion to turn around and reenter the vortex.

  Intense fear of the unknown kept Powwell rigid, with his back to the alluring song.

  Inside his tunic pocket, Thorny, his hedgehog familiar, gibbered in fear. The little animal’s bristling spines pricked Powwell’s chest through his layers of winter clothing.

  With Thorny’s help, Powwell oriented himself to the planet. He located the South Pole of Kardia Hodos. With that position firmly anchored into his consciousness, he knew up and down, right and left, night and day. Only then did he became aware of moving his body.

  Pain throbbed behind his eyes. He tried to raise his hands to press his fingers against his eyelids.

  Something held his arms at his sides, at the same time pulling his hands forward. He twisted a little and winced as scratchy rope bit into his chest where it pinned his arms at his sides. More rope bound his hands in front of him. A dark-skinned man dragged him forward by his wrist bonds. His skin chafed and burned beneath the constant pressure on the ropes.

  Powwell risked opening his eyes a little and stumbled over rubble on a rough path. Black and gray surrounded him.

  He was underground. The entire weight of Kardia Hodos seemed to press upon his head and chest, robbing him of air.

  No. Only his imagination and fear made him breathe so shallowly, fighting for every scrap of air.

  A new noise rushed toward him like surf over the Dragon Teeth rock formation in the cove. Yeek, kush, kush. Yeek, kush, kush. The sound grew with every step forward. It echoed and multiplied until it overshadowed the sound of Powwell’s heart throbbing in his head.

  The air heated until it rasped against Powwell’s throat. He longed for a drink of water—even the sulfurous stuff in the hot spring near the clearing.

  Despair washed over his emotions like a living entity, compounding the heat. He began to sweat.

  He wanted to roll himself into a ball, just like Thorny did, and ignore the world until all this strangeness went away and he was safely back in Myrilandel’s clearing.

  He thought of cool green trees, shaded saber ferns, and clear mountain streams. The heat intensified.

  “Move, move, move. We haven’t much time!” Televarn whispered hoarsely. He prodded the man dragging Powwell with a stick—as if herding cattle.

  Memory returned abruptly to Powwell. Televarn had raided the village with fire and sword. The Rover chieftain had kidnapped the pregnant witchwoman and her flywacket. He’d also snared Powwell and Kalen. Why?

  At least their captor was Televarn and not Moncriith the Bloodmage. With Televarn, they had a chance to live and maybe escape. Moncriith didn’t want any magicians or politicians left alive except himself.

  Powwell hoped the Rovers hadn’t brutally murdered anyone in the village. Moncriith would have burned them all in his obsession to burn Myri at the stake and thus rid the world of demons.

  Quickly, Powwell checked the line of marching bodies in front of him. An older Rover woman, clad in black highlighted by red and purple, pulled on
Myri’s bonds, somewhat more gently than the Rover man dragged Powwell.

  Ahead of them, a younger Rover woman, also in black but wearing a fire-green vest and blood-red trim on her skirt, yanked at Kalen until the little girl fell flat on her face.

  Powwell almost cried out in protest of the rough treatment.

  Kalen appeared nearly unconscious as the Rover dragged her to her feet. Myri moved in the same disjointed daze.

  Televarn ignored Powwell, as if he expected his captive to be unaware as well. The Rover wanted them dazed and obedient for a reason. Just before the massive field of magic had engulfed him, Powwell remember Televarn saying something about not knowing the way to their new home.

  Powwell kept his eyes half-closed. He could still see, but Televarn couldn’t tell that he was awake. He needed time to gather information and plan.

  A dour-faced older Rover yanked on Powwell’s bonds. He stumbled forward on nearly numb legs. Two half running steps later, full sensation returned abruptly to his body. His legs felt like tree sap in the grinding heat. His head pounded more fiercely than before.

  “I said ‘move,’ s’murghit. We have to get to the surface before Yaassima finds us,” Televarn hissed through his teeth. Impatiently he moved beyond Powwell. He strode ahead of the dozen Rovers to the first man in line who carried a heavy sack over his shoulder.

  Amaranth was in that sack. Powwell remembered how fiercely the flywacket had fought imprisonment within the dark canvas. From the wriggling within the sack, Powwell guessed that Amaranth still fought for freedom. But his talons and teeth didn’t seem to penetrate the heavy canvas.

  “Follow me, Piedro. I don’t want you getting lost down here and betraying the entire plan,” Televarn said.

  Piedro—the man who carried Amaranth—flashed the Rover chieftain an evil sneer, but he yielded the lead. His scalp wounds from Amaranth’s claws had clotted messily in his sleek hair.

  The black-and-gray landscape resolved into a long tunnel broken by small caverns. Powwell didn’t know of any cave system near the village and the clearing, other than Shayla’s lair. The big female dragon would never allow Televarn to hold them hostage in the lair.

  Powwell tested the strength of his bonds with a small magic probe. The ropes remained firmly knotted, sealed with a magic he couldn’t understand. They didn’t move against his sweat-slick skin. If he could break a single strand of rope, he could wriggle free and take care of Myri and Kalen. He’d promised Nimbulan he’d protect them. He’d never broken a promise before!

  Who would help Myri when the baby decided to enter the world? He had to get her back home before then. Nimbulan depended upon him to protect the family while the Senior Magician was detained in the capital.

  “Quickly. They’ll change shifts in the pit in a moment. We have to cross the big cavern in just a few heartbeats,” Televarn directed his people.

  Powwell took a longer than normal step so that his hands were closer to his chest without changing the pressure on the lead rope. Thorny, he probed the hedgehog with his mind. He knew better than to touch his familiar without warning. Thorny hunched and rolled in response to the mental caress. Then he relaxed his spines and wiggled his nose. He relayed a series of scent impressions to Powwell. This place was strange beyond new. The hedgehog had never smelled anything like this before. No plants. Few insects. A lot of fear. And too much noise. Yeek kush kush. Yeek kush kush.

  Thorny, can you talk to Kalen’s familiar? Have the beast wake her up a little. He couldn’t see Kalen’s pet on her shoulder; perhaps it was hiding beneath her skirts.

  Thorny hunched again and remained firmly locked in a defensive ball. He wanted water and quiet. So did Powwell.

  A flicker of white moved at the edge of Powwell’s vision. Lumbird bumps raised on his arms and back. He risked turning his head to see what threat he and Thorny both sensed.

  Nothing. Just more black and gray stretching in all directions. He almost gave in to the feeling of hopelessness. For Myri and Kalen, he had to fight the emotions that pressed against him from the outside. He had to appear bewitched for a little while longer.

  The tunnel walls narrowed again and lowered. Powwell resisted the urge to duck beneath the heavy ceiling. Myri didn’t duck in her unconscious movement. Televarn didn’t either and he was only a finger’s length taller than the witchwoman. To maintain the illusion of sleepwalking, Powwell couldn’t cower away from the rocks that seemed ready to drop and crush him.

  They passed through a large cavern. The path seemed clearer, well-trodden. He breathed a little easier, less aware of the tons of dirt and rock above him.

  Televarn pointed toward another narrow tunnel. Piedro stepped confidently into the darkness with the now quiet Amaranth still in the sack upon his back. The older Rover woman yanked Myri’s rope and followed. So did Kalen’s leader. Powwell gulped uneasily.

  “They’ll wake up soon.” Televarn inspected Kalen. The girl swayed as she walked. Her head bobbed. “We have to be aboveground before they come to. We can’t have them suspect the dragongate exists.” He prodded the lead Rover harshly in the back.

  Dragongate? What was that? The alluring, unknown song lingered in his memory. He needed to go back to it, to join with the intense forces that threatened to tear him apart—at the same time the vortex hinted at joining with the great secrets of the universe. Secrets beyond comprehension to mere mortals.

  Powwell risked a tiny turn of his head to search the cave system for something unusual. Only gray rock walls shadowed with black met his gaze. Where was the light that produced shadows? He didn’t see any torches, nor did the light flicker like a natural flame. A steady glow seemed to come from the ceiling. But darkness followed them, engulfing the light soon after they passed by.

  Where are we? He tried touching Kalen’s mind. Their rapport was strong; she should respond to the lightest probe. She remained blank and unresponsive. Then he tried to bring his TrueSight to the front of his awareness—a harder task. His head throbbed and he lost focus. No magic responded to his quest. He reached deeper into his being in search of stored dragon magic.

  Nothing. He was empty. He’d used it all trying to get Myri safely into the forest. There must be a ley line nearby. He could tap the energy embedded in the Kardia to fuel his magic. The clearing was full of ley lines and so was the village.

  Nothing. Wherever they were, the land and the air were devoid of energy to fuel his talent.

  He must have been unconscious for longer than he thought. But his inner awareness of the planet and the passage of time insisted that he’d only lost his senses for a few heartbeats. Thorny agreed with him. The tiny hedgehog gibbered of dark magic and holes in time.

  Televarn urged them up the steep incline, increasing his pace with each step. Everyone breathed faster and more shallowly. Sweat poured down Powwell’s face and back. If only he had a drink of water, he could think straight.

  A gate of crossed iron bars blocked their path. Televarn touched the lock with a strange metal wand. It unlatched silently. Where did he get the magic to do that? Rovers supposedly had strange powers, but they had to have fuel like any other magician whether it be dragons, ley lines, or blood. Could Televarn tap the heavy emotions that pressed against Powwell?

  Televarn pushed the gate open. The hinges didn’t protest. It was well maintained by someone.

  At last they emerged into broader tunnels that looked as if men had attempted to smooth the walls with tools. Even without magic, Powwell knew that other lives drifted close by, possibly in adjacent tunnels. The air became sweeter and more plentiful. Each breath came easier. They neared the surface.

  With the release of the tremendous weight on his senses, Powwell began to hope. He sought landmarks and avenues of escape within the limited range of his half-closed eyes. He stretched his hearing, praying for some hint of where Televarn had brought them.

  He saw a flamboyant tapestry draped across another tunnel opening. Some private apartment?

&nbs
p; If only he had some magic to reach out with. He needed to know how extensive this cave system was and how many people inhabited it.

  They paused by a very large tapestry. It would more than cover all the walls of Myri’s little hut. Red, blood red, dominated the scenes depicted here. Executions and terrible tortures filled the weaving. Beheadings, hangings, dozen of arrows piercing a naked man. Racks and hot pokers, victims writhing in agony. Powwell almost had the impression he was watching the horrible events unfold before his eyes.

  Then they moved on. Televarn thrust aside the next tapestry. It was as large as the previous one. Powwell stared at the amazing pictures of naked men and women coupling in bizarre and obscene combinations.

  He closed his eyes in disgust. Where were they that misery and perversion dominated the walls?

  Embarrassed heat wanted to flood his face all the way to his ears. He fought for calm, breathing evenly, looking elsewhere. Desperately, he hoped his flushed face could be attributed to the unnatural heat of the lower caverns.

  Televarn peered behind the tapestry, seemingly unaware of the obscenities he held in his hand. Odd yellow light poured out from a vast open space beyond the woven wall covering.

  Sunlight? No. Too yellow, like the glow in the lower caverns that brightened and dimmed in response to the passage of people. Powwell couldn’t see any hint of the normal green firelight. Thorny wouldn’t be able to help him figure it out. The hedgehog’s eyesight was terrible.

  Televarn beckoned his troop to enter the room beyond. He pressed his finger to his lips, signaling silence. All of them moved cautiously on the balls of their feet.

  They entered a large room with a dais running the length of one wall. In front of the dais rested a rectangular stone of dressed granite. It stood about as high as a tall man’s waist. Powwell had the impression of an altar, except . . . except a sturdy metal spike was jammed into the rock of each of the four corners. Manacles dangled from each of the stakes.