Dragon Nimbus Novels: Vol II, The

by Irene Radford

  In the background a loud chugging noise beat against Myri’s physical senses. Pain lanced from her ears across her eyes. She felt Nimbulan and Scarface wince, too. Amaranth whimpered, too exhausted from the heat to cry loudly.

  Maia seemed to accept the heat and noise as natural. Had she been here before? How and when? No one had been known to escape from the pit and live.

  Hopeless resignation weighed heavily upon Myri. The people who had been consigned to the pit trudged through their days waiting for death to release them from the heat and the drudgery. The guards didn’t care about anything except the end of their shift. They feared something down here almost as much or more than they feared Yaassima.

  Myri stretched her senses, counting the lives she encountered. Hundreds of despairing personalities blurred together. Her talent couldn’t sort them.

  “I can’t sense Powwell,” Kalen cried. “I can’t find him anywhere in the pit!”

  Chapter 28

  The shouts and clanging of men beating their weapons against the gate echoed down the tunnel. Nimbulan only hoped the lock would hold against them.

  “Powwell!” Kalen darted off into a side tunnel, calling anxiously.

  Myri set off in a different direction, stretching her senses as far as she could.

  “We can’t afford the time to aimlessly search.” Nimbulan pulled her back. “We have to do this right or we’ll never get out of here. Kalen, Myri, come back. We’ll do this with a plan!”

  “I fully intend to get out of here, if for no other reason than to make you pay for deserting the children and me, love,” Myri replied. A half grin mocked the severity of her words.

  Kalen returned grumpily, frowning at Myri’s gesture of affection.

  Nimbulan had no doubt he’d hear about his intense sense of duty for the rest of his life. In that moment he vowed to make up for every slight he’d given her since their first meeting. “I love you, too. Now stay with us, both you and Kalen, and let’s get on with the business of escaping this hellhole.”

  “Where are Powwell and Yaala?” Nimbulan addressed the prisoners in the command voice he usually reserved for the battlefield.

  All of the denizens of the pit turned back to whatever they were doing, without bothering to answer. The guards cowered deeper into their private thoughts and fears.

  “The Kaalipha has been stabbed. There’s a riot in the Justice Hall. You are free. We can open the gate for you,” Kalen added.

  Two men near the entrance who rubbed oil onto strange metal tools looked up again. A flicker of interest crossed their eyes. Two men darted furtively up the tunnel toward the gate.

  “Armed men are coming closer with every heartbeat. Tell us where we can find Powwell, and we’ll help defend you,” Nimbulan added.

  Some of the people heard him. Dully they shifted toward the interior cavern. The guards looked up with a spark of interest and . . . and hope?

  “Powwell!” Kalen screamed.

  “Pwl, pwl, pwl,” the caverns called back to her.

  “Follow those people into the next cavern.” Scarface gestured with his staff. “We have to find a hiding place. Those guards will break the lock any minute now. They don’t usually go beyond the gate. This time, I think they will.”

  “Did anyone see what happened to Golin and Nastfa?” Myri asked. “They helped me. If they lead those guards, we’ll be safe.”

  “They are hardened assassins, Myri. Their fate is their own and not your concern,” Nimbulan said, drawing her farther away from the entrance.

  He tied his ratty black robe into a sling for the baby. The heat building in his skin knew a moment of relief. They’d all be shedding layers of winter clothing before long.

  As he draped the carrier around Myri’s neck, he glanced at the tiny red face drawn into a whimpering pucker. A sense of wonder nearly paralyzed him. He’d helped create this tiny morsel of life.

  He traced the line of the child’s cheek. Amaranth turned into his caress, seeking comfort and nourishment. She waved her tiny fists in delight.

  A wave of possessiveness engulfed him. “My daughter. We have a daughter.” Finally he looked into Myri’s eyes for confirmation that this was indeed his child. His wife smiled and time stopped around them.

  “You also had a son,” Maia said defiantly. She crossed her arms across her breasts, drawing her shoulders down. “But he died before he had lived a full moon. He might have lived if you had taken me back to the city with you. There are plagues in Hanassa that kill the innocent and leave outlaws and misfits untouched.”

  Nimbulan pitied her. She was as much Televarn’s victim as Myri was.

  “Neither of you told me about my children,” he said. A bit of anger crept into his tone. “I couldn’t meet my responsibilities to them if I didn’t know they existed.”

  Did either woman consider him fit to help raise the babies? His shoulders felt tremendously heavy with the conviction that Rollett was the only young person he had successfully helped raise—he’d only had a few moons with Powwell and no time at all with Kalen. He hoped Rollett was managing at the gate and could hold it long enough for Nimbulan to get back there with this motley group.

  Quickly he sent a telepathic message to his journeyman. His mind met only confusion, no specific identity. Perhaps the depth of the cave system and the configuration of the rocks blocked his talent.

  “You weren’t around to tell about babies or anything else,” the women replied in unison.

  “I would have been if I’d known.”

  “Hmf,” Myri snorted and centered her attention on her squirming child. Maia turned her back on them.

  “I promise I’ll protect you both,” Nimbulan said to the women. “You and the children.” Possessive protection welled up in him.

  “Time enough to play proud papa later,” Scarface nudged him forward. “We’ve got to get out of here. With or without the boy you seek.”

  The chugging sounds grew louder as they passed through a low, narrow tunnel to the next cave. Nimbulan resisted the urge to cover his ears. He had to absorb every sound, lest he miss some trace of Powwell.

  Beyond the threshold of this cavern lay a huge black metal monster, chugging and belching. Yeek, kush, kush. Yeek, kush, kush. Long, thick tentacles ran into the beast from the floor and out of it into tiny tube tunnels high up on the wall. He was reminded of the mass of wire-thin lines within the hollow slapping rock.

  “What’s the fuss?” The woman Scarface had called Yaala approached them from yet another cavern, deeper and lower into the volcano.

  An older man of scarecrow proportions gestured mutely toward the gate and the guards. Yaassima’s men were scrambling to their feet, pretending to look alert and concerned as the noise from their approaching comrades increased. Yaala lifted her eyes to the newcomers. Puzzlement crossed her face.

  “Are you new prisoners? I’ve never known Yaassima to send a baby down here,” she said approaching Myri.

  “We flee the Kaalipha.” Nimbulan addressed her. “But we can’t leave without Powwell.”

  “You can’t escape Yaassima.” She shrugged one shoulder and turned back toward the inner cavern.

  “Yaassima is dead,” Kalen insisted. “We saw Televarn stab her with a poisoned knife.”

  “Truly?” Yaala turned back, interest animating her face. Nimbulan noticed the draconic characteristics then, in the long straight nose and high forehead. But her fingers weren’t overly long and the strands of hair that strayed below her knotted kerchief were darker, more yellow. Her eyes were a definite blue, not the pale, nearly colorless orbs of Yaassima and Myri. He wondered if she had the pronounced spinal bumps of the vestigial dragon horns like Myri did, or if that trait was tied to the long fingers and nearly transparent skin.

  Myri looked as if she was about to protest Yaassima’s death. None of them knew for certain who lived and who had died in the Justice Hall.

  “The child speaks the truth,” Myri said. “We saw Televarn stab Yaassim
a and twist the knife as he pulled it out.”

  “We must hurry,” Nimbulan added. “We don’t know how long the guards will be disorganized and allow us through the gates.” Rollett, are you safe? Did you succeed?

  No answer.

  “I . . . I’m not ready to take control of Hanassa. I don’t know how to use all of Yaassima’s toys. I need more time!” Yaala looked anxiously from the noisy monster to the chain of passageways back to the surface.

  “Hanassa isn’t worthy of you, Yaala. Come with us.” Powwell entered the cavern from the same interior room Yaala had come from. His skin had taken on a ghastly gray pallor that didn’t bode well for his health. He touched the woman’s shoulder affectionately, staring at her.

  Myri reached out a hand to him. Powwell grasped it and pulled his foster mother into a tight hug, baby and all. Then he reached to gather Kalen close, too. The little girl edged between Myri and Powwell, effectively breaking their embrace.

  Through the cord connecting him to his wife, Nimbulan sensed her need to touch the young man with healing and strength. Strength she couldn’t spare until they were all safe. He also sensed her puzzlement over Kalen’s obvious jealousy.

  “There isn’t time to waste arguing,” Nimbulan intervened. “The guards are close on our heels. We don’t know their loyalty. We have to hide, then sneak past them.”

  “They won’t cross the threshold. They’ll barricade it and starve us out rather than risk ambush in the pit. I’ve seen them do it before, the first time I organized a rebellion,” Yaala said bitterly. “Now I know better. There is no escape from the pit until I know how to shut down every machine and deprive the Kaalipha of her so-called magic and her weapons. But I also have to know how to restart them, so I can take control away from her. I’m not ready!”

  “Machines?” Nimbulan stepped forward, curious. He needed to examine the chugging black monster. His fingers itched to sketch the machine and record it in his journal. Only the Stargods could have built so fantastic a device that gave an individual the power to mimic magic.

  “Yes, machines. Yaassima doesn’t really have any magic. It’s all tricks, powered by ’tricity,” Powwell explained. “I know how to stop them. And I know another way out, if you are willing to trust me.” He looked Nimbulan squarely in the eye; no longer a boy, hardened into a man, making a man’s decisions.

  “I trust you, Powwell,” Nimbulan replied. “I always have.”

  Rollett! Answer me, boy. We’re going out another way. Escape now, while you can.

  No answer, nothing but the confusion of a dozen minds in chaos.

  He’d just have to come back for Rollett. It wouldn’t be easy, but he couldn’t leave his journeyman. He’d lost too many friends, students, and colleagues.

  But he had his wife and children back. His quest was partially complete.

  “I’m sorry to deprive you of your staff, but I need it. And yours, too.” Powwell turned to Scarface, holding out his hand for the tool.

  “No, Powwell,” Yaala screamed. “I can’t let you destroy them!” She launched herself at the young man’s back, fingers flexed as if trying to claw him.

  “You can’t stop him!” Kalen stepped between Yaala and Powwell. “We have to get out of here. The only way to do that is to destroy the Kaalipha’s power.” She clenched her fist and slammed it into the woman’s jaw.

  Yaala teetered in her tracks, disoriented and confused. Scarface rushed to catch her.

  Sounds of a scuffle broke out in the cavern behind them. Shouts of triumph and pain rang out louder, then the clash of iron weapons against stone. Screams of terror echoed through the cavern system. Underneath the sounds of battle, the rhythm of the machines beat discordantly.

  Flickers of movement, a wisp of white, caught Nimbulan’s attention. He looked right and left and saw nothing. The guards wore black, not white. The prisoners’ clothing was mired in gray filth. Who watched them?

  “This way,” Powwell called to them as he retreated deeper into the cave. He looked over his shoulder, shuddered slightly, then crossed his wrists and flapped his hands—an ancient ward against evil. What did he fear?

  “We don’t have to destroy all the machines, only Old Bertha,” Powwell said. Determination hardened his jaw. “She is the key to all the little ones that feed power into the palace network of wires.”

  “No, not Old Bertha. If you shut her down, we’ll never get her started again,” Yaala protested weakly. “Bertha is sick. I have to take care of her.” She rolled her head against Scarface’s shoulder, then her eyes closed and she went limp.

  “I’ll carry her,” Scarface said. “I want out of Hanassa as badly as you do. I’ve had enough of thieves and cutthroats and rule by terror.” He gestured with his chin for Nimbulan and the women to follow Powwell.

  They passed through four more caverns, each containing a machine identical to the first one they had encountered. The sounds of fighting behind them faded. Nimbulan breathed easier. Powwell stopped looking over his shoulder.

  Nimbulan wished he had time to stop and examine the exotic machines. Powwell pressed on through an empty cavern and then into the largest chamber they had yet encountered. Here resided a monstrous machine, easily four times the size of any one of the others. Arrhythmic coughs and wheezes accompanied the regular chugging he had almost become used to. Clearly, this machine was sick. Possibly dying.

  “Well, Old Bertha, time to put you out of your misery,” Powwell addressed the black monster. “You’ve served the dragon lords of Hanassa and that white wraith well. Now it’s time to rest.” Grimly he took Nimbulan’s staff and thrust it deeply into the machine’s belly, through an open panel.

  Old Bertha whirred and clanged. Bright green sparks shot out from the open panel. The lights around the cavern flickered and dimmed.

  A curious emptiness tingled in Nimbulan’s right palm where he usually carried the now dead staff.

  Powwell thrust Scarface’s staff into a second opening. More sparks, louder whirring and bright flashes of fire belched from the dying machine.

  “This way,” Powwell called, indicating a narrow tunnel. “She’ll explode in about five minutes, just about the time the guards arrive to kill us.”

  Nimbulan hurried behind Powwell. He herded Myri and Maia before him. He had no need to direct Kalen, she stuck closely to Powwell’s heels, making certain Myri and the baby never came in contact with the boy. Scarface flung the unconscious Yaala over his shoulder and brought up the rear.

  At the end of the short passage, Nimbulan saw the roiling mass of fiery lava and no other exit.

  Chapter 29

  “Let me get this straight. I have to face a dragon, and if I don’t freak out or transform into a demon, then your Council will consider me human?” Katie asked Quinnault. She turned her big fire-green eyes on him.

  Residual fear lay behind her innate humor and optimism. And her mind remained firmly closed to him.

  Quinnault searched for signs of bruises on her lovely throat. Only a little redness lingered to remind them of the assassin.

  The Rover, Piedro, was safely confined to his dungeon cell. Quinnault had checked only a few moments ago to make certain his prisoner hadn’t slipped away.

  He knew how to deal with physical danger to himself and Katie. He didn’t know how to ask what had transpired between Katie and Kinnsell before Piedro had entered her room. They would have to discuss it before the wedding. First he had to make sure there would be a wedding.

  “The dragon will determine if you are fully human and worthy to be our queen,” he replied, not knowing how to address the other problems facing them.

  The maids had dressed her in a simple white shift that hung lightly on her body. The fine linen fabric revealed tantalizing hints of curves. He could see the outline of her legs and wanted more.

  “One of your magicians is going to create an illusion of a dragon, to make me think I face a monster worse than that assassin last night,” Katie continued, mulling ove
r the problem. “I can deal with that, though I don’t like other people messing with my mind.” She shook her beautiful head, the soft curls bouncing and catching glimmers of torchlight.

  Only you, Scarecrow. You’re the only one I trust with my thoughts.

  Then let me in. Let me see what truly frightens you so that I can combat it for you.

  Her mind snapped shut once more.

  I can’t let you see my secrets until we are wed, until you can’t send me home.

  “I’ve seen into your mind, Katie. You have secrets, but that doesn’t make you a monster. I know that you are good, and kind, and honest. You care for me. What more do I need to know?”

  A tear touched her eye, and she blinked it away quickly.

  “Kiss me, Scarecrow. Quickly before I lose my courage.”

  He bent his head, savoring the warmth of her trembling mouth. She stood on tiptoe to bring him closer yet, clinging to him with a kind of desperation. He enfolded her into his arms, keeping her close to his heart.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Katie. Not my people, or your father, or the dragons.”

  “I can deal with your monsters, Your Grace. I expected primitive plumbing and no central heating. Assassination and kidnap are facts of life for the nobility of my world as well as yours. What bothers me is the lack of privacy. Am I never going to be allowed to be alone?” She gestured with her head to the bevy of maids who stood behind her, respectfully looking away from their new mistress. The almost smile was back in her eyes.

  When he had left her last night, Quinnault had ordered two of them to sleep in the room despite Katie’s protestations. They should have been there before the Rover tried to strangle her. But Katie had sent them away. Had she wanted merely to guard her privacy or to have a moment to argue with her father? And how had Piedro known she would prefer to sleep alone? Most noblewomen always kept a maid in their beds if their husbands were not there to warm them.

  “Servants, courtiers, and pests are a way of life for nobility on this world, I’m afraid.” Quinnault spoke quietly into her ear so that none of the hovering servants, courtiers, and pests could overhear. He didn’t trust his telepathy to penetrate her barriers. A few more kisses and no barriers would stand between them. Not even their clothes. “There will be moments we can steal away from them, but not often. All these people are a sign of respect for my authority as well as part of our security.”