The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

the cave mouth. Neither guard stirred. Powwell circled the perimeter, careful to stay between the guard and the light of the fire. No sense in betraying his presence with a moving shadow.
    He slid into a short corridor. The sound of soft snores and restless bodies shifting beneath bedcovers greeted him. Now all he had to do was find Myri and Kalen among the dozen women Kaalipha Yaassima kept for the guards’ pleasure, and an equal number of children belonging to those women. Myri should be among them. He hadn’t seen her since the Kaalipha had removed her from Televarn’s custody three weeks ago. She must have had the baby the first night here. Would the Kaalipha send her to be made available to the guards so soon? She had to be in this dormitory. Except for Yaassima’s private maid, women weren’t allowed to sleep in the palace proper. The Kaalipha surrounded herself only with men she could manipulate and control.
    With his back against the rock wall of the inner corridor, Powwell sidled into the women’s chambers. He dropped the spell of invisibility before it drained too much of his energy and waited for his eyes to adjust to the minimal light cast by the still active fire in the central hearth of the cave.
    Whoever had built up the fire might still be awake. Powwell froze, willing himself to blend into the rock wall. He scanned the dark forms upon the scattered pallets for signs of movement or a glimmer of Myri’s white-blond hair reflecting the firelight. One of the figures, larger than the rest, grunted and shifted. The blanket rose up.
    A lump choked Powwell’s throat. He heard his heart pounding in his ears so loudly the women must surely awaken at the echoes.
    “Got to get back to work, love.” The rising figure resolved into a naked man. He pinched his partner’s bare backside and replaced the blanket. Then, as he reached for his discarded clothes on the floor, his gaze locked with Powwell’s. They both froze in place.

Chapter 9
     
    “F ifty ships to sabotage and barely one hundred obstacles embedded into the mudflats,” Nimbulan pounded the ramparts of the old keep with his fist. “Not enough. Not nearly enough.”
    Exhausted and filthy with soot and sweat, he watched the small fishing fleet, King Quinnault’s poor excuse for a navy, launch into the swollen tide.
    Not once during this very long day of frenetic activity had he forgotten that Amaranth had died trying to summon help for Myri. She must be in terrible danger for the familiar to leave her.
    He needed to be with his wife, protect her, comfort her in her grief.
    Myri would feel Amaranth’s death, possibly try to share it. That agony would only compound whatever she suffered in Hanassa. He had to go to her. Then what?
    “At least I know she’s alive,” he reminded himself. The slender cord of silver magic connecting his heart to hers pulsed with life. Amaranth had restored it somehow.
    Myrilandel lived, in Hanassa, the hidden city where nightmares were born.
    Nimbulan rested his head on his arm. Fatigue weighed heavily on his eyelids. He didn’t dare give in to it. In a few moments full dark would be upon them, and he’d have work to do.
    Behind him, the glowing sun sank below the rim of the western mountain rage. With the loss of heat and light from the sun, an easterly breeze sprang to life.
    Out in the bay, fifty ships hoisted sail, catching the increasing wind that now favored their invasion of Coronnan City and the rich river delta.
    Nimbulan focused on the small boat leading the defense of Coronnan. King Quinnault’s pale blond head shone in the dying sunlight as he stood in the prow of the boat he shared with Journeyman Magician Rollett and a fisherman, a beacon to rally his people.
    Lord Konnaught wasn’t in the second boat, as Quinnault had ordered. Where did the brat get to? He was probably tucked snugly into bed with a hot posset on this cold and clear night.
    You shouldn’t be out there, Your Grace. Konnaught is right this once. The kingdom can’t spare you. Nimbulan hoped his telepathic call reached the king. Quinnault had so little natural magic, the chances of him hearing, much less heeding, the message were slim. The dragons were the only ones who could engage his telepathy—and they had left Coronnan.
    The Covenant is broken.
    Nimbulan hoped he had enough tricks up his sleeves to convince the mundane lords he hadn’t yet resorted to illegal solitary magic in order to hold the kingdom together. He hoped