The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

square of precious glass framed in gold. Rollett’s journeyman’s glass was smaller and framed in bronze. Apprentice glasses were little more than a shard without a frame.
    Nimbulan dented the gold rim with his belt knife until he could slip a broken fingernail beneath it. He stripped away the expensive casing, ripping his fingernail further.
    The thin rim of gold weighed heavy in his hand. What to do with it? Rollett squeezed his bronze frame into two small coins. With magic, he imprinted them with a fuzzy image similar to the coins of Rossemeyer. Nimbulan chuckled to himself as he formed his gold into three slightly larger coins. What mintage should he mimic? A mercenary from Rossemeyer might have coins from a dozen countries. He settled on the image of the king of Jihab, a country that hired many mercenaries to protect their jewel merchants.
    Slowly, Nimbulan counted one hundred heartbeats. Then another one hundred. The slaves were well within the city. The sentries assumed a pose of casual wariness. Rollett offered Nimbulan a supporting arm. They dragged themselves toward the gate, leaning on their staffs, as if incredibly weary.
    “Who are you, and why do you approach the Dragon’s City of Hanassa?” the first sentry asked when Nimbulan shuffled to a stop in front of him.
    “Dragon’s City?” he returned the question in a weak and shaking voice. The dragons, the real dragons, had said they wouldn’t approach the city. “I hope the dragons inside need another soldier for hire.”
    “You don’t look strong enough to wield a belt knife, let alone a sword.” The guard with a wand stepped forward.
    “Lost my sword to the bay in the s’murghin’ battle with Coronnan a few weeks past.” It had only been two days since King Quinnault and Nimbulan won that battle, but the guards wouldn’t know that. “Had to jump ship to avoid the witchfire. S’murghin’ unfair of that upstart king to fight with magicians. An honest soldier ain’t got a chance against ’em,” he grumbled.
    “We haven’t heard of any battle.” The guard raised the wand above the striking rock.
    “You’ll hear soon enough. King Quinnault wants all of Kardia Hodos to know no one can defeat his magicians and their new powers. . . .” He trailed off and froze his body as the wand and the rock resonated with that horrible sound.
    It took all of his willpower to keep from clutching his ears with both hands. His muscles twitched for release as the guard lingered over searching his body for concealed weapons. He didn’t even dare flick his eyes toward Rollett, to see if the boy remained as rigid as the mundane slaves.
    The guard found Nimbulan’s little belt knife—an eating tool more than a weapon. He ran his thumb along the length of the blade, testing for sharpness. It barely creased his skin. Grunting, he returned the blade to its sheath.
    Nimbulan sucked on his cheeks to keep from flinching as the guard’s hand patted his groin. Did his hand linger overlong? A test or personal perversion?
    The guard found another knife, a longer blade inside Nimbulan’s boot and a few base coins tucked inside his shirt. Then he searched the multiple folds and pockets of Nimbulan’s all-concealing black robe.
    “Gold!” The guard’s eyes widened as he felt the weight of the three coins.
    “A good day’s haul. Drinks are on you when we go off duty,” the other guard laughed.
    “He’s clean,” the first guard said as he pocketed the coins.
    “This one is clean, too,” said a second guard, straightening from searching Rollett. The horrible humming ceased abruptly.
    Nimbulan wondered if the word “clean” triggered the release. He rotated his shoulders and looked up at the guards. “You gonna search me?”
    “Already have. Aander here will carry your knives to the far side of the tunnel and give them back to you there. Enjoy the Kaalipha’s protection for two days. After that you have to find a sponsor and join normal work details or leave.” One of the guards opened the gate.
    Nimbulan moved past the iron bars. A strange tingle snaked across his skin. Some kind of magic, but unlike any he’d encountered in all his years as a Battlemage. He willed his body not to shiver at the alien touch. Nor did he look at Rollett to see if he felt the same tingle. Aander watched them too closely.
    A long dark tunnel stretched forward, perhaps three hundred long paces. Lanterns at the far end revealed another barred gate and four more