The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

ask questions when he should have been able to pluck the information from the mind of any one of his followers. Why?
    Erda, the old wisewoman of his clan—every clan possessed an Erda, but this one was the oldest, most powerful and HIS —shuffled past him into the slave pens. She carried a pot of gruel, the standard meal for captives. As soon as the slaves had eaten, they would be linked together by ankle chains and led to the lush plateau northwest of the city to work the only fields near enough to Hanassa to provide some food for the inhabitants.
    Televarn’s obligation to lend his slaves to Yaassima for this work irritated his pride. He should make the decision where and when his slaves worked. He should be the one running the city and raiding rich caravans for food and other necessities rather than supervising work parties.
    “Erda, where have you hidden Kalen?” He grabbed the old woman’s sleeve to detain her.
    Erda glared at his hand, reminding him of the effrontery of touching an Erda without permission.
    Televarn’s irritation made him reckless. He left his hand in place.
    “Televarn seeks the one who is dangerous. Your death I see in her eyes.” She didn’t pull away from him, just continued to stare at his hand on her arm, reminding him of his trespass.
    Televarn jerked his hand away from her arm as if she offended him, rather than the other way around. “The girl child is important to my plans. Where is she?”
    “Seek her where you want her to be,” Erda spat at him and continued into the fenced area where twenty hungry slaves awaited their meal.
    “What is that supposed to mean?” His words echoed in the cavern. He’d broken the oldest rule of etiquette within the clan by shouting at Erda.
    Erda shrugged and plodded on.
    “Stubborn old bitch. I’ll find Kalen and make her my chief adviser and wizard. There will be no place for old crones who spout nonsense and call it wisdom when I rule Hanassa.”
    Erda didn’t reply.
    “Seek her where I want her to be,” Televarn mumbled to himself, stroking Wiggles into submission as he paced the cavern once more.
    “I want her at my side, reading minds and magically lifting weapons away from my enemies. Kalen isn’t by my side. But she might be reading minds and lifting weapons away from my enemies. My biggest enemy is Yaassima, in the palace. Myrilandel is also in the palace. I’ve waited too long to claim her.” He ran his hands through his thick hair, grooming it for his imagined reunion with his former lover.
    “Erda, is the witchchild in the palace?” he asked politely.
    The old woman pretended not to hear him. He knew she had. She heard everything that happened among the Rovers.
    “I can’t get into the palace. I don’t know that you could either, Wiggles,” he mused.
    He took a deep breath, reluctant to admit he had only one way to contact Kalen. He had to touch her mind. When she’d first become his ally—back in Coronnan before he’d taken Myrilandel through the dragongate—Kalen had made him promise never to read or control her mind, like he did with all the members of his clan. She had never participated in the rituals designed to bind every Rover to him.
    Promises had never bothered him before. Why did he consider respecting this one to Kalen?
    Because the child was dangerous. The promise was for his own safety as well as her whims.
    He had to risk it. He’d completed the first stage of his plans with Nimbulan’s death and the elimination of Amaranth. Myrilandel was now alone and vulnerable, ripe for his plucking. She had nothing left to bind her to her old life in Coronnan. But he had to get her away from Yaassima before he could reclaim his lover and bind her to his will.
    Myrilandel had to see him as her rescuer. She had to witness how tenderly he cared for Kalen, her adopted daughter, how he planned to honor the witchgirl and allow her the freedom to maximize her talents—something Nimbulan couldn’t do for her in Coronnan where witchwomen were exiled. He expected loyalty from Myrilandel. He knew better than to expect anything from Kalen that didn’t suit Kalen.
    He and the child were well suited to each other.
    He sought his dark and quiet corner of the cavern, way in the back. Years ago he’d scraped away the debris and made a soft meditation nest of furs and pillows. Plain colors, without Erda’s distracting embroidery, soothed his eyes and comforted his body. In one fluid motion, he crossed his legs and