The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

herself.

Chapter 15
     
    ‘ G ood thing the old commandant wandered off and drowned himself in a creek two inches deep,” Jack’s chain partner whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Died with a smile on his face, I hear.”
    Dragon-dream! He’d heard of that happening before. Where? When?
    Jack didn’t reply until the black-uniformed guard making his rounds passed beyond them. Speaking was forbidden in the yard during sun breaks as well as in the mines.
    “Why is it good?” He kept his faced turned toward the sun, absorbing as much warmth and light as possible. His body turned toward a natural tug, and he knew that direction was south. Without knowing why, he checked the position of the sun against the length of the shadows. The sun had just passed the Vernal Equinox.
    “The old commandant would have ordered you whipped for disrupting the routine when you broke that hammer.” The partner also continued to bask in the sunlight.
    “Not my fault the equipment is shoddy and worn out,” Jack protested, still in whispers.
    “That was the old commandant. The new one knows that slaves are in short supply. Most criminals are sent to reinforce the army at the front rather than here. Now that Coronnan is setting up an invasion, Simeon doesn’t have enough troops.” News of the last battle had come with a private message to the commandant a few days ago. Two dozen of the youngest and healthiest miners were due to be shipped out when the pass cleared. Jack and his partner weren’t among them, though both could bear the hardships of army life.
    Something was wrong with Simeon sending slaves from this mine to battle Coronnan. Jack didn’t know what.
    “We live longer and work harder when the commandant feeds us and goes lighter on the lash,” the partner finished.
    “How long has the new commandant been here?”
    “Two years. Maybe more. Hard to keep track of time in a place like this.”
    “Why can’t we speak?” Jack muttered into his beard and turned his back on his companion as another guard strolled around them. He’d counted four uniformed men in the yard, armed with clubs and whips. Nearly one hundred prisoners—he refused to think of himself as a slave. The weapons were not formidable. Surely one hundred prisoners could overpower four guards and escape.
    “Same reason chain partners are changed every few days. They don’t want to give us the opportunity to plan an escape or learn to trust each other.” The partner stretched his arms over his head as if offering prayers to the sun.
    “Who needs plans? We’re strong from hard work. Why can’t we bash a few heads and break out?”
    “Where would we go?”
    That stunned Jack. He hadn’t thought further than escape.
    “CRAWK, Crawk, crawk, crawk . . .” A jackdaw, perched atop the commandant’s quarters, mocked Jack’s shortsightedness with a raucous cackle. He watched the bird preen himself a moment, absorbing the familiar movements in a memory that seemed to have been washed as clean as a cooking pot.
    His hand hovered over an imaginary kettle as if wielding a dishrag. He’d washed pots before. But where or when?
    “CROOAWK, Crooawk, crooawk . . .” the jackdaw cawed again, this time as if encouraging him to drag more memories out of his tired brain.
    “So far, the guards have allowed me to stay as your partner for three weeks,” his partner said, breaking into Jack’s thoughts.
    “Because I’ve been walking in my sleep for three years?”
    “Probably. You haven’t spoken or even acknowledged anyone with a flicker of an eye or a nod of the head. They don’t consider you a threat.”
    “Hmf.” Jack looked away again.
    A slight, stoop-shouldered, man with a thin, patchy beard edged closer, as if listening. Jack turned his back on the man. The listener was new to the mine, new since . . . yesterday!
    Jack smiled inwardly at this minor triumph of memory. Then he frowned. A newcomer eavesdropping bothered him.
    He allowed his eyes to focus on the jackdaw with the white spots above its eyes—almost like bushy white eyebrows. Why did that thought resound through his body as if it were important?
    “CRAWK, Crawk, crawk,” the bird encouraged him again.
    Jack suddenly knew he’d awakened to the same raucous call every morning since arriving in the mine. The bird was tied to him in some way. He longed to go back into the mine and hold his staff again. His tool of magic had to be the key to his memory. It was still lashed to a