The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

launch the first strike within a week.”
    “No.” Nimbulan cast about for ideas. He had to either stop that invasion or get word to Quinnault fast. What had the boy done to precipitate a major invasion in only a few days?
    But he couldn’t leave without Myri.
    “Quickly, Moncriith is coming around,” Rollett ordered as if he were the new mercenary captain. “Scarface and Nimbulan, on the ground. The rest of you, put those blank looks back into your eyes.”
    “Some of you will have to secure the gate so that we can escape later. Drift away now, before Moncriith knows you are gone,” Nimbulan added.
    “If we all work together, with magic and mundane weapons, we have a chance. But we won’t be able to hold the gate long,” Scarface replied.
    “Then take a moment to reabsorb your magic.” Nimbulan held his staff upright in front of him while he anxiously took the usual three deep breaths. He’d been without his talent too long. He felt diminished, half a man. He lost sight of his quest to free Myri while he reached to restore the lost talent.
    The staff shimmered in the moonlight. A pulsing double aura spread outward from it. Deep in the core of the wood grain lay a throbbing blue light, dimmer than what he remembered it should be.
    He willed the blue light to return to his heart where it belonged. Slowly, too slowly, the blue crept out of the staff into his hands. It found his veins and merged with the blood flow returning to his heart.
    A sense of completeness pushed up his arms like the taste of cool water after a long day in the hot sun. His fingers tingled with renewed sensitivity. The ache in his wrenched shoulder and scraped knee faded. His heart beat faster, truer, more powerfully. Awareness of every cell in his body returned.
    The beacon of light settled into place with a satisfied wiggle that felt like a sigh of relief.
    Scarface pointed to Nimbulan’s left. “There’s a commotion at the gate. Maybe something we can take advantage of.”
    Two men faded into the shadows in the direction of the gate. Nimbulan had no doubt they’d return shortly with a report. He and Scarface stretched out on the ground as if Moncriith had felled them with his last spell.
    Almost as if cued by their preparations, Moncriith raised himself up on one elbow and shook his head clear.
    Nimbulan watched him through half-closed eyes. As the Bloodmage rolled and heaved his body upward, the prominence of his bones was sharply outlined beneath his bright red robe. For all the breadth of his shoulders and squareness of his shape, the man was not well fed. Or something ate away at his innards. Disease or fanaticism?
    “Bind those two with magic and mundane means. We will take them to the Kaalipha for judgment,” Moncriith grunted before he was fully erect.
    “There is a disturbance at the gate, Captain,” one of the mercenaries said in a monotone as he slipped back into line. “There is information to be gained, sir.”
    Moncriith looked into the eyes of each of the men who surrounded him, then back to the inert bodies of Nimbulan and Scarface. “Bind them and bring them along. I would know who disturbs the Kaalipha’s peace.” He shuffled off in the direction of the gate, confident that his men would follow. He shook his head repeatedly, as if trying to clear his muddled thoughts.
    By the time they reached the solitary portal into or out of Hanassa, Moncriith had regained much of his poise and his habitual confident stride.
    Nimbulan kept his head down. Impatiently, he tested the ropes Rollett had placed around his wrists. They slipped easily over his hands. He pushed them back up again before Moncriith could turn and test them.
    When a milling crowd around the gate came into view, Moncriith halted his men. They stopped moving in unison, continuing to stare straight ahead without expression. Nimbulan had no doubt they saw everything.
    A troop of twenty palace guards stood squarely in front of the gate, swords drawn, wands aimed at the crowd. Behind them, several figures crouched by the slapping rock.
    “Hey, butt-licker, them wands don’t work without the slapping rock. Can you defend yourself without them?” a slightly built man taunted from the depths of the crowd.
    “Get some good use outta that there rod. Ram it up the Kaalipha’s butt instead o’ ours,” a drunken woman yelled. he threw an overripe fruit at the rigid guards. They didn’t flinch.
    “Ain’t seen you fight with those swords before.” A