Dragon Nimbus Novels: Vol II, The

by Irene Radford

  A soft whimpering sound drew his attention into the room behind him. Kalen stood, dressed and ready to flee, with a baby in her arms.

  Nimbulan cocked one eyebrow upward. “Do you have Maia’s baby?” he asked. His task would be much easier if he didn’t have to go looking for yet one more person.

  “We have a daughter, Nimbulan. I have named her Amaranth. I hope you approve,” Myri snarled. “Maia lost her baby son—Televarn’s child, not yours. She sleeps soundly in the other room. We mustn’t let her betray us to Yaassima—if the Kaalipha ever wakes up from the drugs I gave her—or to Televarn.”

  Nimbulan kissed her again, long and hard, before speaking again. “We must be on our way immediately.” He had no doubt that Televarn, Moncriith, and Yaassima would follow them with murderous intent.

  “We have to get Powwell out of the pit,” Myri reminded him.

  He snatched another quick kiss from Myri to keep him from doubting the outcome. He trusted Rollett to secure the gate. Once beyond the city, Myri could call the dragons. Shayla must restore the Covenant then.

  “How sweet. The lovers reunited just in time to die together,” Yaassima said, coming into view from one of the rooms within the suite. Televarn stood beside her, holding the sagging woman up with one arm around her waist. His other hand held a beautiful goblet of delicate porcelain.

  “You really should have used some of your own magic in the sleeping potion, Myrilandel. My mixtures are so easy to counteract,” the Rover chieftain said. His wide smile nearly interfered with his words. “Scarface, relieve the magician of his weapons and wake up the traitorous guard. We’re going to have a party in the Justice Hall.”

  Chapter 27

  Televarn continued to hold Yaassima up on the long trek from her apartments to the Justice Hall. The bell clanged harshly again and again, summoning the entire city to witness judgment. Maia stumbled behind them, while Scarface and the guards herded Myri, Nimbulan, and Kalen ahead of them. Why was Scarface still holding Nimbulan’s staff? He should have discarded the powerful tool rather than keeping it close to the magician. So close that Nimbulan could grab and use it in a heartbeat.

  Scarface honors his debts. Especially a life debt to me, Televarn reminded himself. He won’t dare betray me. Stop worrying. Still he wished the staff had been discarded elsewhere. He needed someone to intervene between Scarface and Nimbulan.

  The guard, Nastfa, was still frozen by Nimbulan’s spell and useless to Televarn’s plans.

  He’d known the guard was a spy for the King of Maffisto since he arrived in Hanassa six years ago. Why Yaassima hadn’t discovered this truth remained a mystery. Maybe she believed Nastfa had switched allegiance to her. Maybe her own arrogance blinded her to the possibility of spies and traitors within her ranks.

  Nastfa was immune to the promise of a route back to his home country in return for his group siding with Televarn and the Rovers in the rebellion against Yaassima. At least he was until he awoke from the trance. The offer couldn’t be made in front of the Kaalipha either.

  Patience, he reminded himself. Everything was falling into place. Patience.

  Yaassima stumbled frequently on the route to the Justice Hall. She cursed at each false step. By the time they encountered the back door to the circular room, she could almost stand upright by herself. Televarn kept his arm around her, needing her weak and dependent.

  “I’ll reward you for delivering Nimbulan to me, Televarn. But I won’t reward you with the woman as you requested. She defied my laws. She must die with the man she calls husband.” Yaassima struggled to stand upright on her own two feet.

  Televarn adjusted his grasp to keep her off balance. She was so tall—taller than Myri, who stood eye-to-eye with him—his shoulder felt dislocated by her weight.

  “What of the babe?” Televarn asked casually, as if Myrilandel’s life or death meant nothing to him. He shifted his stride, keeping it uneven so Yaassima would have to concentrate on her steps and not her plans.

  “Hanassa is my heir. I will raise her properly to control the power bequeathed to us by the dragons. I see now that Myrilandel would interfere too much with the raising of the child. She must die.” Yaassima shrugged off his arm and straightened her long, bumpy, back. She glared at him, as if she knew his intentions. But she didn’t reprimand him. “Open the door for me, Televarn. I must confront my people with justice.”

  Hundreds of people would witness the execution. Televarn had made certain his agents prepared the populace and the palace denizens while he crept into Yaassima’s bedchamber by a secret route. Some of the tunnels he had crawled through not even the Kaalipha knew about. Certainly, she wasn’t aware of the opening in the interior wall of her bathing chamber. The laundry bin covered it. Maia had discovered it when she overturned the bin in a fit of rage just yesterday.

  Maia’s uncontrolled thoughts were easy to read at a considerable distance.

  “Nimbulan must die first, Yaassima.” Televarn tried to keep the begging quality out of his voice. “Myrilandel must watch him die and know that she brought this on herself.”

  “Yes. She must suffer by watching him die. I give you the privilege of holding her head so that she may not turn away.” Yaassima shook off the last effects of the sleeping potion.

  Televarn smiled to himself. Little did the Kaalipha realize that the drugs and spells he’d used to counteract the potion had left her mind open and vulnerable to his suggestions. The enthralling ecstasy she always experienced after an execution would seal her doom. A true Bloodmage, like Moncriith, drew power from blood and death. Not Yaassima. She used them like sex to satiate her bizarre appetites. When she dipped her hands in Nimbulan’s blood, she’d be powerless to defend herself from Televarn’s poison-dipped blade.

  Yaasima stepped through the narrow bronze door—miniature duplicate of one of the panels that sealed her private suite. The lights blazed as the doors swung forward. Smoke swirled and thunder clapped. The audience hushed, then gasped in awe as the Kaalipha of Hanassa, descendant of dragons, stepped through the tapestry and appeared as if by magic.

  “I’ll wrest the secret of that trick from her before she dies,” Televarn said as he followed Yaassima through the doors. He watched with the crowds as Scarface and a cortege of mercenaries escorted Myrilandel and Nimbulan through the other door, below the dais. The couple held hands and looked proudly ahead of them. Kalen stumbled behind them, weeping loudly. She hugged the baby to her chest, clinging to the squalling form as if her life depended upon never letting the infant go. But no tears marred her innocent looking face. Wiggles wrapped his nearly boneless body around Kalen’s neck like a fur collar. Only his nose twitched, seemingly investigating the baby Kalen clutched so tightly—a sure sign that the animal communicated with Kalen. They were followed by members of Yaassima’s private guard, dressed in black and keeping their eyes glued to the floor. Was that Nastfa hidden in their midst? The head of the elite guard wasn’t where Televarn had left him, behind Nimbulan and Myri. No time to worry about him.

  Maia slipped in behind them, eyes searching the shadows of the huge Justice Hall. Televarn doubted that Yaassima saw her. The Kaalipha’s eyes were riveted on Myrilandel in pure hatred.

  “Nimbulan, Magician of Coronnan, you conspired to steal my most precious possession from me. My heir and her child,” Yaassima said. “Myrilandel, you conspired with this foreign magician to abandon your true heritage. I took you in, treated you like a daughter, made your child my heir!” She screwed up her face in anguish.

  Televarn wondered if any of her outrage and sense of betrayal were real. Yaassima didn’t give in to emotions that couldn’t benefit her.

  “Do either of you have anything to say before lawful execution by beheading?” Yaassima recovered her poise and glared at her prisoners.

  “If I swear in blood to be your obedient heir and raise my child to follow the dragon heritage of Hanassa, will you allow my husband to live?” Myri held her head high, proud and defiant.


  Televarn had never wanted her more. Her strength and courage were worthy of the Rover Queens of legends. With her by his side, he could rule the world.

  “No, Nimbulan must die!” Televarn hissed into Yaassima’s ear. The magician had to die once and for all. Otherwise Moncriith wouldn’t know when to launch his attack. Myri would never be his while her marriage vows bound her to Nimbulan.

  “Myri, are you sure you want to do this?” Nimbulan asked. He tilted her face toward him with a gentle finger. She seemed to melt into his touch.

  “I will do anything to spare your life, beloved. I’m still angry that you deserted me and the children, but I do love you.” Myri kissed his palm. Her bottom lip trembled and tears overflowed her beautiful eyes.

  Angry heat flooded Televarn’s face and chest that she should express so much sentiment for Nimbulan. Nimbulan, the aging magician who forsook the power of his Commune, refused to lead Coronnan, and stood behind a king when he could have been king himself with more power than any three monarchs in the rest of Kardia Hodos.

  “He’s a sniveling weakling, Myrilandel. Why waste your love on him when . . .” At the last minute, Televarn closed his mouth over the words that would proclaim his intentions.

  “You love her, too!” Yaassima’s eyes grew round and wide; their colorless depths took on a dark purple shade that did not bode well for him.

  “As do you, Yaassima. You want her body in your bed as much as I want her in mine. Kill Nimbulan, and we can share her.”

  “An excellent idea. But I do not share what is mine, Televarn. Send the magician to the pit and take Nastfa and Golin with him. I see them hiding behind their friends. I want to know that they suffer a long time before they die.”

  “Never! Nimbulan must die now,” Televarn screamed. “All my plans are for naught if he lives. Kill him.” He thrust his knife into Yaassima’s back, waving for his followers to do the same to his rival.

  Two dozen Rovers cast off concealing cloaks and hoods. They drew swords in unison. Yaassima’s guards reacted quickly, extending their own weapons in mute challenge.

  Shouts and cries and the clash of weapons wielded in anger erupted throughout the Justice Hall. Myri grabbed Amaranth away from Kalen, desperate to know the child was safe. Her head spun with the rapid shift of emotions and her knees nearly buckled with relief when she saw Yaassima sag under Televarn’s knife. At the same time her healing talent burned within her, trying to drag her to the victim and heal her.

  Between two ribs. Not mortal. Televarn’s aim was off. The painful wound evaporated from her consciousness. Yaassima would survive without Myri’s attentions.

  “Run, both of you,” Scarface directed as he tossed Nimbulan his staff. He blocked an attack from a Rover with his own staff. Three quick moves sent the dark-haired man reeling backward. He fell over one of the elite guards. Their limbs and weapons tangled, bringing more men into the heap.

  Myri’s talent relayed the pain of the blow from one man’s chin to her own jaw. She had to blink hard to keep her balance. She shifted forward to keep from falling.

  Nimbulan fended off another Rover with his staff and his fists.

  The blow to the side of his head sent pain pounding into her temple. She clutched the baby tighter, trying to block her talent. Her jaw ached as she ground her teeth together. She concentrated on biting the insides of her mouth rather than thinking about the chaotic pain generating emotions around her.

  Nimbulan wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her up. The warmth of his body and the strength of the cord that pulsed between them gave her a measure of new strength and stability.

  On the dais, Televarn and Yaassima struggled. The Kaalipha raked the Rover’s face with her talonlike fingernails. At the same time, Televarn pushed against her jaw, trying desperately to keep her from gouging out his eyes.

  Myri cried out in pain as he twisted the blade in Yaassima’s back—the same way he had twisted the knife in Nimbulan’s wound over a year ago.

  Life and death hung in the balance. The void stretched wide before Myri. She held back. Saving Yaassima would not gain freedom or peace for the children or herself. She had to deliberately turn her back on a life that needed healing.

  Suddenly the Kaalipha wrenched the bloody knife from her own side. She thrust the blade into Televarn’s throat. Her gleeful laugh rose shrill and piercing above the chaotic noise of dozens of other individual brawls. Triumphantly, she withdrew the knife, twisting it. Then she plunged it deep into Televarn’s heart.

  “You need more than a poisoned knife to kill a dragon, Televarn,” Yaassima sneered.

  Breath left Myri’s lungs in a sharp spasm as her talent changed focus from Yaassima to Televarn and back again.

  She had to get out of here before someone died and took her with them into the void.

  “Bring me my child. Return Hanassa to me!” Yaassima screamed to any who could hear.

  A guard lunged for the precious bundle Myri carried.

  She whirled sideways and back out of his reach. He took two running steps closer, stretching his arms to grasp the baby.

  “No one will take my baby away from me!” Myri cried as she pivoted and kicked. Her foot landed squarely in the man’s stomach.

  “Ooof,” he grunted, expelling air as he stopped short in surprise.

  Protective triumph replaced Myri’s empathic sharing of the man’s pain.

  “This way.” Kalen pulled at her sleeve. “We have to save Powwell.” Her eyes lost the feigned wide-eyed innocence she’d been portraying since Myri had awakened her. Only desperation shone through. Her ferret chittered anxiously on her shoulder.

  “Lead the way, Kalen.” Nimbulan knocked a black-clad palace guard senseless with his staff. With his free hand he herded them toward the interior doorway.

  “Not that way,” Scarface called behind them. “Rollett has dismantled the gate. We can get out of the city.” He gestured toward the exterior of the palace.

  “Not without our son,” Nimbulan said. He saluted Scarface. “Tell Rollett we’ll join him soon.” With a few swipes of his staff, he cleared a passage for Myri and Kalen.

  Scarface shrugged and followed. Maia grabbed his arm. “You’ve got to protect me. My people will kill me if I do not bring them the child,” she panted as she ran to keep up with him.

  Myri reluctantly nodded to Maia, knowing the truth of her statement. But she’d have to watch the woman. She couldn’t be allowed the opportunity to steal Amaranth.

  Scarface blocked an overzealous Rover as he shifted the aim of his throwing knife from Nimbulan to Maia. “Come, then, but if you betray us, I’ll kill you myself,” he grunted as he tripped one of the black-clad guards.

  Pain and fear receded as Myri separated herself from the two dozen or more individual fights in the Justice Hall. No one seemed to know who to fight for or against.

  She’d last seen Nastfa and Golin and some of the other black-clad guards fighting with the Rovers against Yaassima’s more loyal followers. Moncriith and his followers entered the fray, surprising Nastfa from the rear.

  Good-bye and thank you! Myri thought toward her valiant ally. Escape by the gate if you can. Ask for Rollett. He’ll let you through.

  She ran with her companions through the twisting interior tunnels. Her senses insisted the way was familiar, but she’d never been in this portion of the palace before. Or had she?

  No time to wonder. She had to find Powwell. She had to get out of Hanassa. Now. Before the guards organized themselves and closed the gates.

  Down. Down into the heart of the volcano. The heat increased.

  Nimbulan was sweating, too. Amaranth fretted, kicking at her blankets.

  Darkness pressed against Myri’s eyes. Nimbulan lit the end of his staff with soothing green witchlight.

  Kalen seemed to know the way. In this matter, Myri trusted her. Kalen loved Powwell as she loved nothing else in this life.

  The tunnels took on an unholy red glow. Myri stumbled
and caught her balance against the rock wall. Heat seeped through her clothes from the living stones.

  Pressure on her back told her of a dozen or more men who followed her. Desperation pushed them to stop her flight before Yaassima’s rage turned on them.

  Myri ran faster. Down. Hotter. Her mouth went dry. The baby slept, whimpering with discomfort.

  At last, light appeared at the end of the tunnel. Red light, pulsing and flaring brighter, then dimming a fraction. Myri felt like she was staring at the sun after the darkness of the tunnels.

  “That’s the beginning of the pit,” Kalen said. She pointed to a massive gate of crossed iron bars straight ahead. Footsteps and shouts echoed against the tunnel walls behind them. Many men, heavily booted. Their anger twisted inside Myri.

  “They mean to kill us,” she gasped.

  They stumbled forward. Nimbulan and Scarface fumbled with the lock. Finally a blast of magic from Nimbulan’s staff broke the latch.

  “Rollett was right. Disrupt the magnetic fields and everything falls apart,” Nimbulan said with a wry smile.

  They all ran forward. Nimbulan closed and latched the gate behind them with more magic. Myri hoped the spell would hold against whatever bespelled keys Yaassima’s men had.

  Another dozen steps forward and around a bend in the tunnel, a broad cavern opened. They all stopped short.

  Dozens of people, clad in filthy rags, turned to stare at them. Some held bizarre metal tools. Others dipped water from a sulfurous smelling stream. A few lounged against rough pallets made of more rags, staring listlessly at an empty pot that sat in a niche with a rope attached to the handle.

  Six black-clad guards sat in a far corner of the cavern, playing a game of dice. They looked briefly toward the newcomers and returned to their game.