The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

resisted. It did not want to leave the pool where it rested before flowing into the gentle creek, then into the racing river, and finally into the Great Bay. Televarn pushed with his magic; not so easy without the support of his clan and only the ferret to aid him. His family had to remain in Hanassa for now. If they should be discovered in Coronnan, all his plans would fall apart. He’d had enough trouble keeping himself hidden for two weeks while he watched and waited for an opportunity.
    Yaassima must not know that he had discovered the dragongate. He had to wait and assassinate his victims after he’d had enough time to journey from Hanassa to Coronnan City by mundane means.
    He’d used the time well, observing, planning.
    “Come!” Televarn commanded Water. A thin trickle leaped to his hand, trailing back into the pool. Wiggles touched the Water with a tiny paw, bonding with the magic and the element. Televarn took two steps away. Water remained connected to himself, the ferret, and the pool. Two more steps. Water stretched the connection and continued to follow.
    “Good.” He nodded his satisfaction. Now the hard part of the spell. He had to get the continuous stream of Water into Nimbulan’s private bedchamber.
    The thought of Myrilandel sharing that chamber with Nimbulan churned acid in Televarn’s stomach. His jealousy nearly broke his connection with Water. He forced his emotions down into a cold knot of anger. Water was cold. Water would end the life of his rival.
    He walked toward his hide canoe, following the little chirping noises Wiggles made—one chirp meant a step right, two chirps a step left. The ferret instinctively found the easiest pathway.
    At the point where the island became more water than Kardia, Televarn steadied his small canoe with one hand; his awkward left hand, not his dominant right where Wiggles clung and they both maintained the thin stream of water trailing back to the pool.
    Slowly he levered one knee into the boat. It rocked and slid beyond the reach of his leg. He overbalanced and fell into a cold blanket of mud. Wiggles wrapped tighter around his arm in an undulating wave of fur that mimicked laughter.
    “ S’murghit! Stay still,” Televarn ordered the boat and the ferret. He pushed himself up onto his knees and elbows, never letting go of Water or of Wiggles.
    Wiggles subsided. The hide canoe bobbed and thrashed under Televarn’s hand, more responsive to the buoyancy of the water beneath it and the air above than to Televarn’s command.
    His fine black trews and shirt looked ruddy brown with the mud. Ruined. His green-and-purple vest embroidered with sigils of power was equally covered in goo. He’d never hear the end of Erda’s displeasure for such carelessness. The ancient wisewoman of his clan held too much power over Televarn’s Rovers. Power that should be his.
    He stilled his growing frustration. Water pulled him back toward the pool of its origin. Perhaps Water had turned the canoe against him.
    How to make his tools work with him? What could he promise an element and an inanimate object to pacify them?
    (Freedom,) a voice whispered in the back of his head. (Release them.)
    “Enough,” he shouted. “You are mine. You will obey.” He pushed more of his waning strength into the binding. Physical contact with Wiggles helped. But the creature wasn’t truly his familiar, only borrowed. Their rapport was incomplete. Another annoyance. He’d never been able to bond with a creature so that its senses enhanced his magic and made it totally responsive to his wishes. They’d all escaped his net of control, like Water was trying to do.
    The weight pulling his arm back to the pool grew to enormous proportions, then abruptly eased. He nearly fell into the mud again with the sudden release.
    The canoe rested easily against its tether. Water remained in his hand.
    Not willing to tempt the capricious canoe, Televarn knelt in the mud as he steadied the boat with his hand. More brown-and-green goo soaked through the fine cloth of his trews. He gritted his teeth against the seeping cold and caking stiffness to his vest. Then he slid one knee into his vessel. The canoe wobbled again. He forced it quiet until his other leg rested comfortably in the bottom. He balanced against the mild rocking his entry triggered. Then the canoe subsided, almost with a sigh of resignation. Wiggles slithered off his arm and undulated around the boat, sniffing every fragment. A few