The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

leader bowed to her demands, she must be very strong-willed. Quinnault was glad she was on his side. She couldn’t lie to him. He’d know it in his mind and in his heart. So would the dragons.
    “You need to protect your shipping channels without challenging your neighbors by building an extensive navy.” Kinnsell removed the elaborate headdress of veils and shook his head as if freeing it of the weight. Taller and older than Katie, he, too, bore a head full of red hair, cut short. His complexion and green eyes matched hers. A similarity of jaw and mouth shape suggested close family ties. Father and daughter?
    “Agreed,” Quinnault said warily. These people knew too much about his situation and he had no bargaining tools other than the unacceptable marriage treaty with SeLenicca. He clamped down on those thoughts lest the Varns read them.
    You have the Tambootie. He cannot harvest it without your permission. Our family covenant requires your permission and trade of equal value.
    “The mudflats of the Bay offer a natural protection for your harbor but prevent shipping into the harbor,” Kinnsell continued. He drew the arc of the bay in the ground with a stick. He marked the mudflats with squiggles. “We will build a series of jetties and bridges among the islands at the beginning of deep water. Flat-bottomed barges can transport people and cargo from the port into your city.” He finished off the drawing with the exact placement of the four islands.
    Nimbulan had suggested the same solution to the problem. It would work. Quinnault forced himself to reply levelly. “Such a venture will take many moons to construct. Possibly years. Plenty of time to post the banns and prepare a great marriage ceremony.”
    Kinnsell sighed again as if incredibly weary. “We have the technology to build the port in the space of one long night.”
    “My boatmen will need many seasons to learn the changes in the currents to guide the barges through the mudflats safely.”
    “We will lend one, I repeat, one, of your boatman a device that will show him the shifting currents and channels. Marry the girl tomorrow and while you conceive the first child, we will build your port. But we must have the Tambootie. Three quarters of the original demand delivered in halves.”
    Can you spare that much Tambootie? he threw the question at whatever dragon might be listening, and he had no doubt they heard every word of every conversation he conducted.
    (Not all at once.)
    “Two thirds. Half of it this season. The remainder next year. Too heavy a harvest will cripple the trees and prevent them from leafing out properly next year.” Quinnault didn’t know where that information came from, but he sensed it was true. “If you destroy the trees, you won’t have a source for your medicine should your plague break out again.”
    “You will marry the girl in the morning?” Hope colored Kinnsell’s voice for the first time.
    “My western and southern borders are still vulnerable.” How much could he trade for the Tambootie?
    “Ties of friendship and trust will protect you better than anything we can give you. Will you marry Katie in the morning?”
    “In the evening. We will have to prepare a gown and a feast.” And convince the Council. Soothe the ruffled feelings of the Commune. Placate the ambassador from SeLenicca . . .
    A candlelight wedding in an ancient temple. Her mental sigh of delight filled Quinnault with deep satisfaction.
    And the fairy tale gown of your dreams, white satin and pearls. He completed the mental picture for her. Seamstresses would have to work all night and all day tomorrow to alter his mother’s gown to fit this slight woman.
    Katie smiled at him, only for him, and he knew the bargain was worth going to war with SeLennica. The dragons had said she would do. He agreed.
     
    Nimbulan eased behind a tumble of boulders near the gateway into Hanassa. He fished some oddments from his pack for a disguise. Behind another jumble of rocks, Rollett squatted and made similar preparations. No sense in risking a magical delusion slipping if they had to hold the spell too long. Nimbulan loosed his hair from its queue restraint and tangled it into a rat’s nest with his fingers. Then he slipped an old black patch over his right eye. The molded fabric was threadbare and ragged around the edges. An equally ragged robe, similar to the one General Ambassador Jhorge-Rosse wore, covered his ordinary shirt and trews. The last item