The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

their rent to Yaassima with sentry duty. Rarely did they perform their jobs sober.
    After another one hundred heartbeats, Powwell resumed his trek across the city to the palace—which was little more than another jumble of mud huts piled on top of each other on the outside. Rumor claimed the palace had been carved out of a vast cave system and reached far and deep into the ancient mountain.
    So far the Justice Bell had not tolled within the converted temple to Simurgh, summoning the populace to witness the Kaalipha’s judgment. Kalen wouldn’t be executed yet.
    Powwell had to arrange the escape tonight. Yaassima preferred dawn executions.
    At the seventh and last outcropping of volcanic rock, Powwell waited for the next sentry to pass. The guards were more alert here, members of Televarn’s clan. Rovers seldom drank enough to dull their senses. This man had to be neutralized quickly. The sentry’s next circuit would take him to Televarn’s slave pens where he would make a head count. Any other night the chore would have fallen to a different enclave of outlaws and Powwell could have slipped past his sleepy guards at any time.
    He couldn’t wait another night. The Kaalipha had taken Kalen.
    Using all of his senses, physical and magical, Powwell listened to the sounds of the dirt and rocks shifting and whispering to themselves in the nighttime chill. When he heard a pebble roll and strike another, he knew the sentry approached. Three breaths later a shadow within a shadow shifted.
    Powwell rolled his balance to the balls of his feet. The sentry probably weighed twice Powwell’s slim adolescent body and stood a full head taller. Powwell needed the advantage of surprise and speed. His magic was too limited in this desert. No ley lines crossed through the ancient volcano, and the dragons shied away from the area. He had no source of power other than his own growing body. Rovers had their rituals, which Powwell didn’t know or understand. The Bloodmages drew strength from pain. Powwell would save that for a last resort.
    He closed his fingers around a jagged rock he’d tucked into his pocket this morning. With every fragment of strength he possessed, he threw the rock at the passing sentry.
    A grunt followed by a thud against the baked mud street told him his aim had been true. Only one more obstacle to overcome, the very alert team of guards at the palace portal.
    Powwell paused long enough to thump the Rover more soundly on the head, making certain he wouldn’t wake up soon. From the squishy sound of the rock hitting flesh, the guard might never wake again. Televarn would seek revenge. But Televarn was already Powwell’s enemy.
    Then he grabbed the man’s sword and spear. He hefted the weight of each weapon. The sword seemed awkward and heavy in his grasp. It would hinder his stealthy movements and weigh him down if he needed to run. The spear, though, was made of wood, long and slender; just the weight and length of a fighting staff. He ran both of his hands the full length of the shaft, hoping he could imprint it with some of his magic personality through such brief contact. This was a tool he knew how to use.
    He pointed the staff at the entrance to the lower levels of the palace, pushing his Sight beyond Sight along the smooth grain of the wood. The fibers within the core of the shaft vibrated in tune with his magic. Details jumped to the fore of his vision. He saw the precise outline of the cave mouth, lopsided, jagged, obscured outcroppings that could knock an unwary man senseless. Inside, one man fed the small fire contained within a circle of stones. The other paced from the fire to the entrance and back again, brushing past a gaudy tapestry on the right-hand wall.
    Powwell’s instincts told him the tapestry was a blind. The passageway behind it led to a dead end, possibly through several lethal traps. A separate cave mouth with a heavily guarded gate off to the left was the only access to the inner caves and the palace above. This smaller cave housed only the Kaalipha’s brothel.
    While the pacing guard checked the narrow opening to the brothel, Powwell crept closer. He gripped his newly acquired staff tightly, channeling his magic through the wood. A barely visible cloud of gray mist surrounded him. With luck, he’d be invisible to the guards. He couldn’t tell for sure. He’d never tried this spell before without Kalen at his side, guiding him through it.
    Holding his breath, he stepped into