Dragon Nimbus Novels: Vol II, The

by Irene Radford

  “We are only on loan until he’s ready to reclaim us,” Maia said weakly. She dipped her head, suddenly very busy folding a mountain of diapers.

  “You don’t say that as if you believe it.”

  “I say what I am told to say.”

  “Told by Televarn. I know something of the way he controls your actions and your mind. You don’t have to put up with him.”

  “You don’t know anything.” Maia closed her mouth with a snap and turned her rigid back on Myri.

  “I know that Televarn has to control everything he touches—including the minds and thoughts of his clan. You don’t have to go back to Yaassima’s brothel. You have other choices. Other men are not so selfish. Another man will give you a healthy baby. Your baby died because its father was too closely related to you. My husband didn’t father your child. Televarn did.” Myri repeated the rumors she’d overheard in her exploration of the palace. She longed to say more. The necklace reminded her that Yaassima heard every word spoken in Myri’s presence.

  “For women in Hanassa, there is no other choice. I accept Televarn’s orders or Yaassima’s, and they both want me to be the toy of any man they choose. Any other action brings death or the pit.” Maia gulped, then firmed her chin.

  “As soon as any child I bear is weaned, Televarn will take him from me, just as he took my first son from me,” Maia continued. “I thought that Nimbulan was strong enough to change things in the clan, but he deserted me. He deserted you, too. We’re both Yaassima’s whores right now. That jewelry marks you as clearly as the tattoo she put on my butt.” Angrily Maia flipped up her skirt and dropped her drawers enough to reveal the outline of a dragon drawn in blue ink spread across her left cheek. “The dragon bitch enjoyed every scream I let loose. She watched while her men did this to me, and she drooled while they did it. I couldn’t sit or lie on my back for over a week afterward.

  “Does Televarn know?” Thankfully Amaranth drifted off to sleep, little milk bubbles caressing her puckered lips. The baby wouldn’t know the horror Myri felt at the evidence of Yaassima’s continued cruelty. Some of her resentment of the Rover woman drained away. They had both been used by Televarn. They were both victims of Yaassima’s complicated plans.

  “I don’t know. He wasn’t there when they did it to me. He won’t like it if he sees it. It marks me as Yaassima’s property, not his.”

  Myri longed to reassure the woman that she would include her in the escape plans. She couldn’t promise. Kalen, Powwell, and Amaranth had to take priority.

  “Neither Televarn nor Yaassima will give up anything they possess,” Maia reminded her. “Remember that when you try to escape. They’ll kill you rather than give you up. Your children, too.”

  “What makes you think I plot escape?” Myri asked mildly, remembering that Yaassima listened.

  “Because you’re a dragon just like the Kaalipha. You have to try, and you will die in the process.”

  Nimbulan and Rollett wandered into a wineshop—one of a dozen or so scattered throughout Hanassa. So far they’d discovered no inns. People either slept in the cave of their sponsor or sat up all night, drinking and gambling. All of the businesses seemed to be owned by the Kaalipha and run by people loyal to her. How deep that loyalty ran, Nimbulan couldn’t tell without a great deal of money for bribes. The guards at the gate had stolen his only valuable coins.

  Perhaps they’d get a little information in this hovel built out from the back side of a large rock formation. He assumed that all life within Hanassa took its orientation from the palace which dominated the south wall of the crater. The outcropping stood between the wineshop and the palace. The gate—the only gate into or out of the city—lay on the west side of Hanassa. This place was dirtier and more decrepit than all of the other wineshops combined. The Kaalipha’s authority seemed less present, out of sight of the palace.

  The stench of unwashed bodies, spilled wine, garbage, and refuse assaulted Nimbulan’s senses. He shuddered in revulsion beneath his enveloping robes. He thought he’d become inured to the filth in the city. This shop was worse, much worse, than he’d thought. Information might come cheaper here.

  Rollett loosened his belt knife. His eyes shifted restlessly in the gloom. Instinctively he stepped behind Nimbulan, guarding his back.

  No one seemed to notice their entry. Strangers must not be that unusual here. Nimbulan sat down on a backless stool, the only empty one, near the center of the four-table room. One leg was shorter than the others and he teetered precariously, grabbing the table for balance. The crude planks wobbled when he braced his weight. Five cups of wine already on the table sloshed onto the stained and scarred surface.

  Rollett remained standing, wary and alert. Nimbulan had never fully appreciated the young man’s ability to observe and absorb detail until now. By the time they left, Rollett would know much more about the people in this wineshop than Nimbulan could have found out in days of conversation.

  Five pairs of eyes glared at him with anger and distaste. The owners of those eyes all wore the uniform loose black robes and turbans of Rossemeyerian mercenaries. Dangerous men to offend.

  He shrugged and held up his hand to order his own drink and one for Rollett, though he knew his journeyman wouldn’t drink it until he had finished observing.

  After several long moments of silence, Nimbulan raised his eyes from his cup of rancid wine to confront his equally silent companions. “Where does one find a woman in this town?” he asked.

  The man across from him smiled so that the scar running temple to temple across the bridge of his nose whitened. His eyelids didn’t shift. “Depends on what kind of woman you want,” he replied.

  “The Kaalipha keeps the best ones in the palace for her private guards. Our sponsor has a few for his men. Lots of hiring right now. You interested in hiring on?” asked the fair-skinned teenager to Nimbulan’s left. His skin wasn’t dark enough for him to be a native of Rossemeyer.

  Nimbulan schooled his face to keep from betraying his questions.

  “How’s your sponsor pay?” This was the most information Nimbulan had been able to glean from a night of drinking in every shop in Hanassa.

  “One Rosse a day during downtime. Two while on campaign. A share in the loot if we win,” Scarface answered. “And free access to his women. They aren’t the youngest or the prettiest, but they’re all pros and you don’t have to tip unless you really want to.” He grinned again, revealing several gaps in his teeth.

  “What’s he hiring for?” Nimbulan asked.

  “Big invasion of Coronnan from SeLenicca. Every sponsor in Hanassa is looking for experienced men. Your robes and turbans mark you as veterans.”

  Nimbulan nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You want to look at the women first?” The teenager laughed and slapped Nimbulan’s back.

  “I like blondes myself,” Nimbulan said.

  Everyone in the room stilled.

  Nimbulan’s heart beat loudly within his chest. What had he said wrong? Rollett shifted his body closer to Nimbulan, so that their backs touched and no one obstructed their peripheral vision.

  “Only true blondes in the city are the Kaalipha and her heir,” the teenager whispered. He hadn’t removed his hand from Nimbulan’s back. “Don’t talk about them, and don’t ask to see them. Kaalipha Yaassima sells all blonde captives within a day.”

  Nimbulan’s skin crawled. How else would one describe Myrilandel’s almost colorless hair other than blond? One of the two women had to be his wife. The vision had shown Myri to be in Hanassa. What was she doing in the palace, the Kaalipha’s designated heir? He believed she had been kidnapped by Televarn.

  Reluctant babble broke out across the room as the drinkers recovered from Nimbulan’s stated preference. He knew the Kaalipha was respected, almost revered, she had the power of life and death over all within Hanassa and dispensed her favors liberally, with conditions. He hadn’t known the depth of fear she inflicted upon her people.

/>   “We need the work. Blondes or no blondes in the brothel.” Nimbulan decided to change the subject. Maybe he could work his way back to Myri and the Kaalipha later.

  “You got into Hanassa, you can’t be a spy for Coronnan. Spies get murdered in the entrance tunnel. Our captain needs men willing to commit for a year. His Majesty of SeLenicca put out a call for every mercenary company that’s willing. Paying well, I hear. No questions asked. Seems there’s to be no restraint on looting and slaves when he wins the war.” Scarface’s mouth twitched as if savoring a fine delicacy. He placed his hand on the teenager’s shoulder. Indirectly, he was in contact with Nimbulan.

  Magicians did that to read a stranger’s mind. Was he overly suspicious or were these men magicians in disguise? That would account for the pale skin.

  Nimbulan gulped back a retort. He had to get back to Coronnan fast. Quinnault needed this information to mount a defense. What had the new king done to precipitate an invasion? Nimbulan had only been gone a few days.

  He couldn’t leave Hanassa without Myri and Powwell and Kalen. He had to find Maia and her baby, too.

  “Moncriith’s coming!” a man shouted from the doorway.

  Several drinkers scrambled out the door. Rollett took one step away from Nimbulan, as if to follow them. When Nimbulan didn’t immediately run from the pub, Rollett resumed his protective stance.

  Why not run? Moncriith will recognize you, he asked telepathically.

  Nimbulan didn’t answer immediately. His senses reeled with this second blow. Moncriith. The Bloodmage who had stalked Coronnan from one end to the other preaching against demons. He saw Myrilandel as the source of all demonic evil in Coronnan.

  Our drinking companions look wary but not alarmed, he replied finally. Then out loud he asked, “I heard Moncriith died a year ago. Struck down by King Quinnault’s magicians in battle.”

  “Take more than a dragon to kill that one. Better hide your magic deep, stranger,” the teenager advised.

  Nimbulan raised one eyebrow in question.

  “The dragon bitch has her knickers in a twist about foreign magicians. She gave Moncriith permission to sponsor his own mercenary camp if he’d root out a foreign magician with a blue aura,” the young man continued.

  Dragon bitch? Myrilandel carried dragon blood in her veins.

  “New law announced three or four weeks ago, right after the Rovers delivered the heir to the Kaalipha. Seems some foreign magician was holding the woman hostage with magic. Most crimes, the Kaalipha gives a man a trial before she lops off his head. For the crime of being an unidentified magician with blue in his aura, it’s immediate death and a huge reward to the accuser. That’s when we became mercenaries instead of Battlemages for hire.”

  “But there’s no blue in your auras,” Nimbulan protested.

  “Why take the chance?” Scarface replied. “Moncriith can’t be trusted. He sees auras, the Kaalipha doesn’t. He could accuse anyone and she’d be happy to execute the man just to see the blood spill. We’re safe as long as we don’t work magic in Hanassa. You, on the other hand, radiate blue in all directions.”

  Chapter 22

  Televarn tapped his foot impatiently. Wiggles raced around his toes in sympathy. Kalen had sent him a message by way of her familiar to meet her in this narrow corridor near the palace kitchens. She was late.

  Why was it that in the outer world women jumped to his command and took no action without his permission? But here, in Hanassa, he did nothing but wait for women to make up their minds?

  It was all Yaassima’s fault. She’d pay dearly for giving women ideas of power and independence.

  Soon. He was almost ready to depose the Kaalipha and yank her dragon throne right out from under her skinny bottom.

  He smiled slightly. Yaassima had done him a favor without knowing it. She had placed Kalen in a position of trust within her household.

  He had to watch Kalen closely. He’d spent several moons corrupting her before he’d kidnapped Myrilandel into Hanassa. Why the girl had chosen to betray Myri, the only adult who had not used Kalen and her talent for their own ends, he had no idea.

  Televarn had promised Kalen power in the new regime. That promise had granted him cooperation—not trust or loyalty.

  The girl owed loyalty only to herself and could betray him at the least offense. When she did, Yaassima’s retribution would be terrible and swift.

  When she betrayed him. Why hadn’t he thought “If she betrayed him?”

  He expected betrayal, just as Kalen did. Better the snake he knew than the viper he didn’t.

  Wiggles stopped playing with Televarn’s foot. The creature ceased all motion in mid-ripple. His back fur stood up. Then he darted along the corridor to the next bend. He seemed to flow around the imperfections in the tunnel like liquid fur.

  Televarn held his breath. Why had the ferret deserted him? His hand shifted to his belt knife without conscious thought. The fine blade he had stashed at the entrance to the pit rather than risk the searches at the palace gate.

  Piedro guarded the growing stash of weapons in the pit. He also sought the secrets of the monstrous machines Yaassima seemed to cherish.

  Two heartbeats later, Kalen appeared. She bent to gather the ferret into her arms. A smile lit Kalen’s eyes as she nuzzled her familiar.

  Wiggles joyfully slithered up to her shoulder and draped himself around her neck like a lover. His needle-sharp teeth chattered perilously close to the great artery in her neck.

  A lump of apprehension formed in Televarn’s throat. What if the animal had turned rabid? He kept his hand on his knife wondering if he could move fast enough to kill the ferret without harming Kalen.

  He pushed aside his concern for the girl. She was a tool. Nothing more. Tools could be replaced.

  “You’re late,” he snapped out his words more harshly and louder than he’d intended. It might be the middle of the night, but the nearby kitchen bustled with activity all day, every day, without stop. The staff never knew when the Kaalipha might order a meal for one or a hundred. Any one of them could spot him talking to Kalen and report to Yaassima.

  “I don’t have the freedom of the palace like some people,” she returned, just as harshly.

  “Where is Myrilandel, and will she help us overthrow Yaassima?” He started pacing, pointedly not looking at the little girl. She’d grown in the two weeks since he’d seen her. Her body was losing its boxy shape and had started showing signs of the curves she would eventually develop. But she was still a little girl and he was not interested in her. Myrilandel was the only woman he lusted after.

  “She will help. I have made certain of that. But she refuses to believe Nimbulan dead. Tell me again how you accomplished it so that I can give her the grisly details. Maybe then she will accept my word as truth,” Kalen ordered. She continued to caress Wiggles rather than direct her gaze to Televarn.

  Televarn looked at her through narrowed eyes, resenting her lack of respect for him. He had to play his hand carefully with her or trigger betrayal.

  He turned his thoughts to the problem before them. Myrilandel had to be convinced that her husband had died. She would never become his queen as long as Nimbulan lived. She’d made vows before a priest, vows that could only be broken by death. Once released from her miserable husband, she would welcome Televarn again as she had for a brief time a year ago.

  “I didn’t see Nimbulan die,” he admitted.

  “What do you mean, you did not see him die? He has to be dead!”

  “I set the trap. Wiggles was part of it and returned to me when it was sprung. Ask him how the magician died.” Televarn resumed his pacing. A niggle of doubt thrust its way into his brain. Nimbulan had to be dead. Wiggles had slithered under the sealed door. But he couldn’t leave the magician’s private quarters until the door opened—the magic of the spell bound him there as it did the Water. The Water had supported Wiggles, kept him from drowning. Nimbulan had the only key to the door.

  “
Someone drowned in your trap,” Kalen muttered, gazing deeply into the ferret’s eyes. A look of rapt joy softened her features while she communed with her familiar. Hints of adult beauty—cold and austere—showed in the planes of her face and the luster in her clear gray eyes.

  The only other time he’d seen her look so happy, so vulnerable was . . . never. Televarn wondered when she had become so bitter.

  “Wiggles ran past a male, with Water following close behind in an angry wave. As he exited the building, he brushed against two more males, taller men. They smelled mature. The first one’s scent wasn’t as strong.” Kalen looked up, startled. “Nimbulan might not be dead. The male who triggered the trap was just a boy.”

  “S’murgit! That man has more lives than a cat. What do I have to do to kill him?”

  “Nothing. All that is important is that Myri believes he is dead and that Yaassima ordered the assassination.”

  “The Kaalipha put out a contract, and I accepted it. But she won’t pay up until I can prove he’s dead.” He slammed one fist into the palm of his other hand. He needed that money to pay men to storm the palace. Hundreds of men fighting alongside every Rover he could secretly gather into Hanassa. They wouldn’t do it without money. A lot of money.

  But if Myrilandel or Kalen could be coerced into killing Yaassima first, his plan would prove much easier to carry out.

  “Tell Myrilandel what you know. Tell her how Wiggles witnessed the death of the only person who could open Nimbulan’s sealed door. Remind her that Yaassima controls the reward for the death of Nimbulan and Quinnault. Tell her whatever you have to so that Myrilandel demands revenge. Revenge by her own hand. Yaassima will die and Myrilandel will be my queen. I will give her children she can adore, children who have no connection to the magician who enslaved her for her talent.”

  “If either woman lets you live long enough to rule.” Kalen smiled sarcastically with one corner of her mouth. She continued stroking Wiggles.