The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

Yaassima, and gather his forces to resist her rule. He needed to wrest Myrilandel away from her manipulations.
    Perhaps Myrilandel could spy on Yaassima for him and learn the Kaalipha’s weaknesses. He had control of one of the Kaalipha’s secrets. But he needed more.
    How much longer could Nimbulan linger on the battlements? The tide had receded hours ago. If the Senior Magician didn’t go home soon, someone else might enter his private chambers and drown instead.
    Bare luck had put Televarn in the path of the little girl sent to fetch something from the room earlier in the day. She had the only spare key and knew that no magic seal locked the door. He had pocketed the key and sent her off to her other chores, promising to take the book to Nimbulan himself. He hadn’t, of course. He’d left Water alone to do its work.
    He checked the section of woods where two trees leaned together to form an arch. That was his exit to safety. At certain times, the dragongate shifted time and distance to open portals to different locations. This was only one of many such destinations. All of the portals led back to Hanassa and nowhere else. During the past night of waiting, Televarn had watched the dragongate open and close once, when the full moon created an arch-shaped shadow between the trees. The interval between access times shifted randomly. He had no way of knowing when the opportunity to return to Hanassa would present itself again. Today, tomorrow, within the next moment? He knew that it would only happen when there was enough light to cast the proper shadows.
    He didn’t dare leave until Wiggles returned to him. He owed the ferret’s owner the return of the smelly little beast. He owed more than he wanted to admit.
    A hot blast of wind and a faint tingle of power made the hair on his arms stand up straight. The dragongate was getting ready to open again. His own fire had created enough of a shadow between the trees to suggest an arch.
    Where was Wiggles?
    If he lingered much longer in this opening, barely two hours’ walk from the capital, he ran the risk of being discovered. Should he take the chance of returning without the ferret?
    Underbrush rattled off to his left, close to the riverbank. He stood up, ready to kick dirt over his fire and flee the open circle. Once amid the Tambootie trees, with their dormant magic embedded in leaves, sap, bark, and fruit, he could hide indefinitely.
    Nimbulan’s people would want revenge for the death of their leader. Wiggles might lead them directly here—if they had the sense to follow the creature once the trap was sprung. Perhaps Televarn should flee now and save himself. Simurgh take the ferret.
    The rustling grew louder.
    The air between two leaning Tambootie trees shimmered. The dragongate wouldn’t stay open long. Now—or wait for the next opening?
    Wiggles burst through the thick saber ferns that marked the path to the river. The animal ran with the strangely efficient undulations of his kind, tail up, middle down, shoulders up, nose down. Then his entire body shifted forward by trading ups and downs. He streaked across the circular opening in the woods almost faster than Televarn’s sight could follow.
    Three men carrying clubs followed Wiggles, barely two steps behind the ferret. One look at their blue tunics with the dragon badge over their hearts and Televarn knew they were Nimbulan’s magicians, bent on revenge.
    “Come,” Televarn commanded the ferret. He snapped his fingers and the creature leaped onto his leg, clinging to his trews with needle-sharp teeth and claws. Never mind the pain and the rents in the cloth. He had to get back to Hanassa. Now.
    The shimmering light between the two trees faded.
    Televarn closed his eyes and dove for the remnants of the strange light just as the first club caught his hamstring.
     
    “You must hurry, Nimbulan. Quinnault’s messenger is on his way to summon you to court. You must be well away before he comes or you will never be free to leave the capital.” Old Lyman hastily buckled the straps of the half-filled pack on Nimbulan’s bed.
    “I feel strange leaving without the king’s permission and without resolving Haakkon’s death. I should say the prayers at his funeral.” Nimbulan resisted a jaw-cracking yawn. He’d snatched a few hours of sleep and a meal. Other than that, he hadn’t slept in a day and a night.
    He needed to replenish his reserves. Lyman had brought food, meat and bread, and a huge