The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

roof of some building.
    Myri. Oh, Myri. I miss you so. Stay safe until I can come for you, he pleaded with every scrap of telepathic talent he possessed.
    An hour later, the top of the mountain seemed no closer. Rollett was out of sight around the curve of the slope. Flies pestered Nimbulan’s face, crawling into his ears and nose. He swatted at them. Five flew off, replaced by ten more. His pack grew heavier with each step, and he longed to drain the waterskin. He dragged out his staff and used it as a prop to pull himself up one more step.
    A small puddle of shade beneath a narrow outcropping enticed him forward. His eyes welcomed the protection from the glaring light, though the temperature didn’t vary significantly. The flies continued to plague him as his sweat dried to a salty crust.
    Go home. You’re too old for this kind of an adventure. Go home where life is safe and comfortable, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered.
    “Not without Myri. I won’t leave this place until my wife is by my side once more. And not without finding an end to the murdering of my apprentices,” he called to the four cardinal directions and the four elements. When he finished this quest, he’d make a home for Myrilandel on one of those little islands in the Great Bay that Quinnault wanted to use as a ferry station and loading dock. That would put her outside of Coronnan and still allow him access to his work in the capital.
    He crouched within the shallow confines of the shade until his back protested the unnatural hunch. He sat, curling his legs tightly against his chest and rolling his hips slightly toward the back of the overhang. If he stretched out so much as a hair, the sun beat down, burning him through his clothes. Extremely uncomfortable, he closed his eyes and thought of Myri and the clearing.
    He thought about recording his impressions of Hanassa in his journal, but didn’t want to waste his energy. His eyes were very heavy and the sun too bright.
    He awoke to find the shadows had lengthened. Rollett stood in front of him, hands on hips, trying for an intimidating posture. But the weary sag of this shoulders and neck belied his expression.
    “Take a drink, and we’ll be on our way, Rollett. Our entrance might be safer after dark,” Nimbulan said.
    “Cooler anyway. We’ll need our cloaks within minutes of sunset. And there isn’t much twilight in this desert air.” Rollett continued to look around, seeking a way up to the top.
    The water refreshed Nimbulan enough that he thought he could finish the climb before full dark. He stretched cramped and aching muscles and stood up slowly.
    Thoughts of holding Myri in his arms once more filled him with determination. A few more hours and I will be with you, beloved.
    Stretching shadows obscured the faint game trail he had followed earlier. Rollett picked it out, feeling for it with the tip of his staff—a trick Lyman had taught the young man—to seek the lingering life-vibrations of the last being who had climbed this way with the sensitive staff. They plodded upward, grasping bushes and rocks for balance as the slope steepened.
    Nimbulan dug his staff into the sandy soil as a prop when the bushes weren’t close enough. His thighs grew as heavy as his pack, and his head felt as light as the waterskin.
    The shadows deepened. The sun set behind the mountain. Chill air dropped dramatically upon them. Stars burst alive in the blue-black sky all at once. The tangy smell of desert plants sharpened in the cool air.
    Nimbulan looked up to the rim of the crater. Starlight glimmered against a shiny network running along the crest. He narrowed his eyes, looking for signs of magic. Nothing extraordinary met his gaze. He dragged himself up the last few steps and reached with his left hand, palm outward, fingers curled, for the source of the now sparkling obstacle.
    He jerked his hand back, pain stabbing his fingertips. Close inspection revealed tiny punctures where he had met the obstacle. Blood oozed from the cuts He inspected the barrier again, more cautiously, with all of his senses.
    A long line of rusted metal fencing, barbed with sharp wires twisted at close intervals, ran the full circle of the crater rim. It stood nearly double Nimbulan’s height.
    “This fence stretches for miles,” Rollett whispered. “I can’t sense an end to it, as if it makes a full circle with no beginning and no end.”
    Two hundred feet below them, down a nearly straight