The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

We’ll have to leave her behind. But you have to get me out. Soon, Powwell. Soon, please.
    That last message had bothered Powwell. He didn’t want to leave Myri behind. He’d promised Nimbulan he’d take care of the witchwoman. He’d promised.
    Thorny, he alerted the hedgehog before reaching inside his pocket to pet the miniature hedgehog. The timid creature kept his spines relaxed and soft. Calming energy soothed Powwell’s fears and firmed his resolve.
    Time had run out. He had to get Kalen and Myri out of Hanassa tonight. This morning he’d watched as two of the Kaalipha’s personal guards, uniformed and sober, had slapped chains and a gag on Kalen and dragged her into the palace. Usually such rough handling preceded an execution.
    He placed each foot soundlessly in front of him. He’d make less noise if he ran barefoot along the baked mud roadway. Impractical at best, even in warmer weather. No one maintained the roads here. Cracks, stones, and refuse littered them, traps for the unwary.
    At the next cave mouth, Powwell paused, listening with every sense available to him. Thorny wiggled a little, adding his senses to Powwell’s. Light snores filtered through the darkness. Two, no, three people slept within. He peered with his Sight beyond Sight into the interior; an easy spell that didn’t require much strength. The fire had burned down to a few shapeless coals. He should be safe crossing in front of the opening. If anyone were still awake, they’d have built up the fire on this freezing night. At least there wouldn’t be snow. This high desert rarely saw any moisture at all.
    He looked up through the tunnel-like opening of the city walls to check the stars. The great wheel had turned past midnight. The guards should be dozing. He ran soundlessly toward the first of seven rock outcroppings strewn across the bowl of the crater that housed the city of Hanassa. Mud huts clustered around each of the outcroppings. The jumble of buildings and pathways created a mapless maze.
    The setting moon hid behind the crater walls. Faint starlight glimmered just brightly enough on the minerals embedded in the rocks to show him a rough outline of obstacles. He paused, wrapping the deepest shadows around him like a cloak. He checked landmarks, orienting himself to his memorized path. The escape had to succeed tonight. If he was caught, he’d never get another chance.
    He counted his heartbeats. One hundred. The sentry should pass in front of him now. He detected no movement, no sound. Where was the man? The next leg of Powwell’s journey across the outlaws’ city was the most exposed. He had to wait for the sentry to pass before proceeding.
    At last he heard a faint trickle of water. Ah! The sentry taking a piss. Couldn’t he use the latrine at the beginning of his patrol route?
    Powwell wrinkled his nose in disgust. He couldn’t get out of this hole in the mountains soon enough. He’d wasted too much time learning Hanassa and its routines. During those weeks of patient observing, he’d become so frightened by the violence and cruelty of the outlaws that he would resort to blood magic to get Kalen and Myrilandel out of here.
    Yaassima had killed her consort because he was liked by the outlaws of Hanassa and therefore threatened her control over him and the inhabitants. Then she had killed her own daughter because the girl refused to dip her hands into her father’s blood.
    He shuddered in revulsion. He’d seen Moncriith in the city yesterday. Moncriith also reveled in blood. If he and Yaassima teamed up, no one in the city would live long.
    A little blood magic paled in comparison to the river of death Powwell imagined running through Hanassa.
    Thorny puffed up inside Powwell’s pocket.
    Not you, Thorny. I’d never sacrifice you, he soothed his familiar. Moncriith is hanging around. He’ll slaughter anyone or anything to bolster his magic. But I won’t. All I have to do is prick my hand a little. If he had to resort to blood magic, maybe he should use one of Thorny’s spines. Involving his familiar might increase the effectiveness of the hideous procedure.
    The sentry burped loudly. Stale ale fumes wafted past Powwell’s nose. He grimaced and held his breath until the man responsible for the security of this portion of the city staggered past, hiccuping and bleary-eyed. From his ragged clothes Powwell surmised he must be one of the common road bandits. The patrols were bands of outlaws who paid part of