The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

got to help me, Jack. I can’t carry you,” she pleaded with him. The twelve steps up to the next level of cellars appeared a mile high with his weight holding her back. She remembered how slippery and narrow the stone slabs were and how easily she had tripped on the worn centers.
    Dutifully, Jack tried steadier steps. His right, her left, they wobbled and nearly fell.
    “Together, Jack.” She paused to regain her balance. “Right, left.” They took two steps together and remained in rhythm.
    They traversed the short corridor with relative ease. The stairs seemed another matter. Jack’s bare feet recoiled from the cold stone. Katrina’s torn indoor slippers didn’t insulate her feet much either.
    “If I had my staff . . .” Jack looked around him.
    “Here, use this burned-out torch as a cane.” Katrina picked up the nearest fallen brand. About as long as her arm, the handle was sturdy and whole. The oil-soaked rags wrapped around one end had ceased smoldering in the damp straw, but made a decent base.
    Katrina stepped onto the first stair. Jack followed. They paused. She climbed. He climbed. Haltingly they rose to the next level.
    “I don’t like the sound of your breathing, Jack. You sound kind of wheezy.” She paused while he took short shallow breaths, wincing with every intake.
    “Got to keep going. Worry later.” Grimly he took another step, putting as much weight on her shoulders as he did the improvised walking stick. “I can’t waste magic on myself. Got to conserve it for the tasks to come.”
    The cellars above the dungeons were deserted. Barrels of dried goods and casks of ale lay on their sides, some still rolling against a new tilt to the floor. Ropes of onions and garlic had been flung from their ceiling hooks. One barrel of flour had burst when it collided with a wall. The white powder was scuffed and filthy from running feet.
    “Looks like a band of Rovers wreaked havoc in here,” Jack surmised.
    Katrina just grunted and hastened to the next flight of stairs. She didn’t like the way the outside wall bulged and water seeped through the gaps in the stonework.
    These steps were easier, because they were wide enough to hold an entire foot and had recently been scrubbed clean of cellar-damp slime. But there were fifteen of them and Jack was already tired.
    As she placed her foot on the first wooden plank, another quake shook the floor. They didn’t bother counting stairs or pausing until they were at the top.
    Jack’s weight dragged against her shoulders. She loosened her grasp and he slumped to his knees. A new round of coughing claimed his strength. When he was done, he collapsed into a fetal ball on the kitchen floor. Each intake of air sounded like a boat whistle.
    “Please get up, Jack. Oh, please. We haven’t much time,” she pleaded.
    His eyes opened. Fever bright and unfocused he mumbled something. “Water,” he repeated the sound, a little closer to a recognizable word.
    Mercifully a pitcher remained upright on the long work table in the center of the kitchen. A cup rolled on the floor, handle broken, rim chipped, but the bowl was intact.
    A few sips, most of which dribbled from Jack’s mouth along his cheek to the floor, seemed to revive him. He rolled to his knees but didn’t have the stamina to rise further.
    Katrina placed the fallen torch into his hand once more and crawled beneath his other arm. Straining her back and thighs, she heaved him upright. They proceeded to the back door.
    More painful steps up into the garden. Then a level path to the street.
    Noise assaulted Katrina’s ears as soon as they rounded the end of the manor house. Everywhere, people ran screaming. Children cried. Steeds wailed and dogs howled. Fires burned out of control. Houses gaped and split, while near neighbors remained intact.
    A stream of frightened citizens clogged the broad street. All headed out of town toward the hills and safety.
    “The river’s broken its dike.”
    “Rovers fighting the palace guard.”
    “Flooding in the factories.”
    “Fire in the slums.”
    “Rovers looting the shops.”
    Comments flowed around them. How much was fact and how much was rumor?
    She turned into the crowd, hoping the press of bodies would carry them.
    “Turn back,” Jack ordered.
    “Don’t be a fool, Jack. We’ve got to get out of town.”
    “I have to go back to the factory. I have to get some Tambrin lace to patch the dragon’s wing.” He wrenched free of her grasp,