The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

two, three, heave,” he ordered. Four pairs of hands hauled again on the ropes. “One, two, three, heave.” He may have lost his name, his memory, and three years of his life, but at least he remembered how to count.
    “Three, one, two, heave,” the guard ordered in a squeaky whisper.
    Up an arm-length, then two more. Jack and his comrades found the rhythm and pulled in unison without the off-count commands of the guard.
    Dust and smoke built to a choking density. Men coughed and sweated; hearts beat double time. No one spoke.
    Arm-length by arm-length the platform rose. Louder and louder the protests of the inner planet swelled to enclose them, cut them off from reality. New tremors sent them rocking against the smooth walls of the vertical shaft.
    The lantern dropped and extinguished itself. Direction became meaningless. There was only the burn of the rope upon sweating palms and the choking nightmare of once solid rock rippling like laundry in the wind.
    And still the roar grew. Words lost themselves. Thought ceased.
    Jack and his comrades pulled. One, two, three, heave. One, two, three, heave , he commanded them with his mind when words ceased to have meaning.
    “Light, I see a light up there,” someone croaked.
    “Pulls us up,” the guard yelled again to the men on top.
    At last the grinding tension in Jack’s shoulder’s and arms eased as the crew on top took over with a winch. He felt slack in his rope. The platform jerked upward. He clung to his safety line, fearful lest the main pulley snap under the stress.
    Faster and faster they rose to the surface. Thicker and thicker the dust filled their eyes and their lungs. Deeper and deeper grew the roar of collapsing rock and screams of dying men who hadn’t had enough warning to escape. At last the lift broke the surface. Torches still burned in the upper chamber. All but the pulley crew had deserted to the safety of outside.
    Jack pushed older, weaker men ahead of him. He and his chain-mate lifted the cumbersome length of iron links and hobbled in their wake. Find the rhythm. Outside foot, inside foot, he commanded his partner with his mind.
    As if he heard the mental order, the other man complied. Less clumsy, they sped toward light and solid ground. Smoke and collapsing tunnels followed.

Chapter 19
     
    T he lacemaker hides with a Rover. That is what Simeon fears. If he crosses the factory owner, the man’s entire tribe will curse the crown of SeLenicca.
    I have little use for Rover tricks or Simeon’s superstitions. Yet Simeon was raised in Hanassa, where Rovers are welcome. He knows more of their ways and their abilities than I do. I know only Zolltarn, the Rover king, and his treachery.
    I must bring the lacemaker to heel so that I can end Simeon’s obsession with her. The spells of the solstice will be useless if he cannot concentrate.
    How to circumvent the mysterious connections of Rovers? I must force a confrontation with Zolltarn. He witnessed Krej’s backlashed spell. He knows the construction of the magic. He also deserted the coven for the dubious honor of membership in the Commune.
     
    Chaos reigned in the yard outside the mine adit. Jack assessed the situation with two quick glances. Most of the men, prisoners and guards alike, were running for their lives.
    “Bring ropes and lanterns. We have to get the rest of the men out!” the commandant yelled from the center of the yard. “Come back here, you cowards.”
    No one heeded him. Jack dragged his sluggish chain-mate toward the storeroom for survival equipment. They hadn’t much time.
    Without thinking, propelled by his need to escape the mine, he whipped out his staff and tapped it against his leg irons. The manacles loosened. He bent and easily snapped them open with his hands. He repeated the procedure for all the other prisoners he encountered on his way to the storeroom.
    “The gate is open. This way.” Fraank dragged at his sleeve, holding him back. Fraank’s chain-mate, in turn tugged Fraank toward the gate, toward freedom.
    Patchy-beard pointed to his own leg iron in an appeal for freedom. “We’ve got to escape before the guards come to their senses.”
    Jack scowled at the man’s pleas. “We’ll never survive without food and warm clothing,” Jack yelled at Fraank over the din of men screaming and the Kardia collapsing within the mine.
    “Blankets and food. A pack steed if we can find one,” Fraank agreed with Jack. “What about him?” He pointed to the