The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

characteristics in the wild torchlight that filled the city tonight. That could be Rollett standing to Nimbulan’s left and slightly behind him. Another teenager and a middle-aged man also stood nearby. Then her gaze lingered on the back of the man that seemed to be in front of the group. He turned his face to glare at Nimbulan.
    Moncriith. She’d know him anywhere.
    What was her husband doing with their archenemy?
    The hairs on the back of her neck prickled a warning before she heard a soft footfall. Carefully she shut out the telepathic communication from Nimbulan. All these weeks as Yaassima’s pampered prisoner and she still wasn’t sure of the extent of the Kaalipha’s powers.
    A heavy hand rested on her shoulder. Not Yaassima. She turned her head to look at this new companion.
    Nastfa, her constant guard, stood beside her. Golin slept somewhere else in the suite. Nastfa held one finger to his lips to signal silence.
    That brief moment of physical contact told her more about Nastfa. He had never been loyal to Yaassima. He’d only used his position among the elite guards as a way of saving himself when he found himself trapped here. When he’d completed his spying mission for the King of Maffisto.
    Myri nodded her head once in compliance, eager for this man’s help. She shot one more glance out the window. Moncriith still stood with Nimbulan. She had to set her escape into motion by herself.
    The senior guard squeezed her shoulder gently, reassuringly. He held both hands together and rested his cheek on them, pantomiming sleep, then he pointed to Yaassima’s private chamber. Abruptly he looked up, almost startled. A moment later he laid his face back onto his hands.
    The Kaalipha slept lightly.
    Myri nodded again, uncertain what the man wanted of her.
    Nastfa fished a small vial from his pocket. The enameled metal tube was sealed tightly with wax. He pointed again to Yaassima and pantomimed a deeper sleep. Gently he placed the vial into Myri’s hand and closed her fingers around it.
    The moment of physical contact relayed his emotions to her empathic talent. He hated the Kaalipha as did his king. Even before Yaassima’s humiliation of him in the Justice Hall the other night he had hated her. But he feared her also. Feared that if he tried to kill her himself, he would fail. He didn’t know where the loyalty of his men lay. His years of entrapment had eaten away at his confidence.
    “When?” Myri mouthed the word, lest Yaassima awaken and overhear through the dragon pendant.
    A tiny bell rang within the Kaalipha’s bedchamber. Myri looked toward the sound, startled. The door to Yaassima’s room opened and her sleepy-eyed maid—the only servant Yaassima trusted near her regularly—shuffled out, headed for the carafe of wine and cups that always sat on the side table.
    Yaassima must have drained the carafe by her bed already. Most nights the wine was all that allowed her to sleep. She frequently ordered Myri to bring the wine so the Kaalipha could regale her with bloodthirsty tales of her dragon ancestor Hanassa.
    “I’ll take the wine to Yaassima. Go back to sleep, Haanna.” Myri waved the woman back to her pallet in a tiny alcove.
    She could trust only herself. She had to get the children out of Hanassa tonight.
    Haanna flashed Myri a grateful smile and stumbled back to her bed.
    With shaking hands, Myri poured the bright red wine into a goblet of fine porcelain. She stared at the vial a few seconds, indecisive.
    Yaassima rang her bell again. “What keeps you, Haanna. I’ll send you to the pit if you don’t hurry,” the Kaalipha called querulously.
    Smiling slightly, Myri pocketed the vial and withdrew powders left by Erda to make Myri docile and obedient. She hadn’t taken any drugs for days. There should be enough here to send Yaassima to sleep for days. Or forever.

Chapter 25
     
    “T here is nothing of import happening here.” Moncriith signaled the mercenaries to follow him. “Back to the palace. The Kaalipha will want to be a part of the execution of these foreign magicians.”
    The troop of mercenaries wheeled as one man and marched back toward the palace. Nimbulan and Scarface had no choice but to follow them. They needed Moncriith to get them into the palace without a search for weapons or magic.
    “I have to find access to the pit, after we rescue Myri,” Nimbulan whispered as they neared the palace entrance.
    “You’ll have to give the boy up for dead. No one survives