The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

defiance. A worthy descendant of dragons!” Yaassima stepped back. A true smile spread across her pale features and her eyes opened wide in delight. “If Televarn has no claim on the child, then where is its father?”
    “My husband had business in Coronnan City. Televarn waited until we were alone and then kidnapped us.”
    “The husband of a witchwoman with business in the city? Magician Nimbulan is the only man that could be. And you must be Myrilandel—the witchwoman who saved the naive king of Coronnan. He’s your long-lost brother, I believe. You saved him from death, and then he exiled you. And your husband allowed it. Not only allowed it, but he stayed in the city to serve the Peacemaker rather than follow his pregnant wife into exile. What a delicious scandal. Name your reward, Televarn. You have brought me a rare prize indeed.”
    “The Kaalipha is too generous.” Televarn dipped his head in a gesture that resembled humility. But Powwell saw him bite back a protest.
    “Then I give you the commission to assassinate King Quinnault, Myrilandel’s worthless brother. I need control over Coronnan, and he stands in my way. There is a reward of one thousand gold pieces for confirmation of his death. And if his pet magician Nimbulan is caught in the backlash, I will add an additional five hundred gold pieces in Myrilandel’s name. She will be free of the blackguard.”
    “Never!” Myri cried in protest. “I will never countenance . . . uuuugh,” she ended on a groan of pain. Her hands pressed against her belly once more.
    “Oh, and take these hideous children with you, Televarn.” The Kaalipha ignored Myri’s outburst. “I have no need of them.” She flicked her wrist again, and a small knife appeared in her hand. Myri’s bonds seemed to dissolve at the touch of the blade.
    “You can’t kill my husband!” Myri screamed. “I’ll kill you myself, Televarn, before I let you harm my husband.” She lunged for the Rover. Before she had gone two steps, she doubled over in pain. Her hands clenched at the sides of her belly.
    Powwell lurched forward, needing to cradle her, protect her. The Rover who managed his ropes held him firmly in place.
    “Now see what you have done, Televarn. She has gone into labor prematurely. You’d better hope the baby lives. I have never found another person who looks as much like a dragon as me. Therefore, we are related by spirit if not blood. Go now and complete your commission.” Yaassima reached to cradle Myri in her arms. She beckoned to the older woman who had led Myri through the tunnels. “You there, Erda, you are a midwife. You will stay and see to her. Ease her pain with drugs—whatever will keep her quiet. Nastfa,” she waved at the guard in the center of the phalanx, “carry Myrilandel to my private suite. Gently.”
    “Powwell, Kalen,” Myri called weakly. “You must warn Nimbulan and my brother, the king. Kalen can talk to dragons, have her tell Shayla. You have to warn them.”
    Televarn yanked harshly on Powwell’s rope. He resisted, trying desperately to guide his steps toward Myrilandel. Televarn smiled, squinting his eyes with malice. This time he yanked so hard on Kalen’s rope that she fell to her knees. She cried out in pain as the paving stones tore patches of skin from her knees.
    “You’ll warn no one, Powwell,” Televarn said through clenched teeth. He whipped out a knife and held it to Kalen’s throat. “So much as a weak cry in the night, and I shall kill the girl and make you watch while I slit her throat. I have uses for you now, but they are not so strong I must keep you alive if you defy me. Murder is quite legal here in Hanassa, the City of Outlaws.”

Chapter 3
     
    “D on’t touch that wine, Your Grace! It’s poisoned.” Nimbulan rushed into the Great Hall of King Quinnault’s keep. He was breathless, and his heart raced from his run across the bridge from School Isle. The sense of danger intensified the closer he came to the king. Lumbird bumps stood up all along his arms and his hair stood on end at his nape.
    Silence descended upon the busy hall. Servants stopped their endless routines in mid-step. Courtiers and petitioners halted their babbling in mid-sentence. Two architects stared at him as they poised over their intricate drawings. Ink dripped from their pens. Even King Quinnault’s pack of hunting dogs ceased their constant yapping and quarreling.
    “What do you mean, Nimbulan?” Quinnault, King of