The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

magician, Televarn decided to return to the palace and alert his spies to the impending revolution. He’d also get Piedro out of the pit with the huge stash of weapons. Piedro was a good man to have watch the Kaalipha’s apartments. He was patient and ruthless. He’d enjoy killing anyone who went into or out of Yaassima’s private quarters without permission.
    I’ll have to warn him not to touch Myrilandel or Kalen, Televarn reminded himself. Piedro was as dangerous as he was useful.
    The palace guards searched Televarn with efficient speed and sent him on his way. The Rover chuckled to himself. He’d had several blades made of the special iron the Kaalipha used on slave chains. The wands were not tuned to that substance. He had enough weapons on him to murder all four of the guards at the gate and they never found them.
    Just inside the main tunnel, he ducked into a dark side passage that would take him to the Justice Hall and then down into the pit. He stumbled over something large and inert. It groaned and shifted away from his boots.
    Televarn stared at the crumpled figure lying prone on the ground, hands bound behind his back. Dim torchlight reflected off scar tissue on the man’s face.
    “Are you alive, Moncriith?” he asked. Best if he kept his distance until the man was fully awake. One blast of a defensive spell thrown when the Bloodmage was half awake could kill any innocent bystander.
    “Of course, I’m alive. Nimbulan didn’t have the guts to kill me or even do me serious harm,” Moncriith said as he spat dirt from his mouth. “Untie me.”
    “Nimbulan?” Cold raced up and down Televarn’s spine. Kalen had been right after all. The Water spell had claimed a different life from the one intended.
    “Yes, Nimbulan. You failed in your assignment. I don’t intend to disappoint the Kaalipha in mine. Untie me!”
    “I can’t. He’s wrapped magic into the rope that binds your hands and ankles.”
    The knots were very professional, the work of a mercenary and a magician. Scarface wasn’t the only magician disguised as a professional soldier, but he was the best of the lot. If he had allied himself with Nimbulan, there was trouble brewing this night. More trouble than Televarn could invent.
    His plans began to evaporate. Maybe he should just grab Myrilandel while she slept and flee through the dragongate.
    No. He’d worked too long and too hard to depose Yaassima. Everything was in place. He just needed to rearrange his plans. Maybe he could use the chaos created by Nimbulan’s rescue attempts.
    “Use your magic to break the bonds,” Moncriith ordered. “If we time it right, Yaassima will execute Nimbulan for us.”
    “Yes. He will try to free his wife. I can arrange for Yaassima to discover him,” Televarn replied. He continued to examine the knots, but didn’t try to release them.
    “You can turn Myrilandel’s anger toward Yaassima to your advantage,” Moncriith coaxed.
    “What will you gain? You want to kill Myrilandel, too.” Televarn didn’t trust Moncriith. No one did.
    “I want revenge against the Commune of Magicians and I want the Crown of Coronnan. I can’t successfully invade with my mercenaries as long as Nimbulan lives to guide Quinnault. If you keep the demon Myrilandel here in Hanassa, I have no need to seek her death.”
    “I thought you were recruiting on behalf of SeLenicca.” Televarn began working on the knots. The spell on them was hastily constructed and easily broken down.
    “I’m using SeLenicca just as you have been using Yaassima.”
    “We’ll need to coordinate our plans. Timing will be everything. Nimbulan has to be dead before we attack the palace. But Yaassima has to still be enthralled with his blood. She’s usually senseless for half an hour after an execution.” Televarn sat back on his heels, thinking.
    “I will sense his death.” Moncriith licked his lips as if savoring the taste of death already.
    Televarn resisted warding against evil with gestures and spells. Moncriith would interpret them as fear—or worse—cowardice. Televarn had no intention of appearing weak and therefore vulnerable to this very dangerous Bloodmage.
    “Nimbulan’s death will be my signal to dismantle the slapping rock at the palace gate. I saw the girl Yaala work on it earlier. This is the first use the girl has been since Yaassima refused to execute her when I ordered it. Yaala showed me how to put the rock to sleep without knowing it. You must hurry,