The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

behind them, weeping loudly. She hugged the baby to her chest, clinging to the squalling form as if her life depended upon never letting the infant go. But no tears marred her innocent looking face. Wiggles wrapped his nearly boneless body around Kalen’s neck like a fur collar. Only his nose twitched, seemingly investigating the baby Kalen clutched so tightly—a sure sign that the animal communicated with Kalen. They were followed by members of Yaassima’s private guard, dressed in black and keeping their eyes glued to the floor. Was that Nastfa hidden in their midst? The head of the elite guard wasn’t where Televarn had left him, behind Nimbulan and Myri. No time to worry about him.
    Maia slipped in behind them, eyes searching the shadows of the huge Justice Hall. Televarn doubted that Yaassima saw her. The Kaalipha’s eyes were riveted on Myrilandel in pure hatred.
    “Nimbulan, Magician of Coronnan, you conspired to steal my most precious possession from me. My heir and her child,” Yaassima said. “Myrilandel, you conspired with this foreign magician to abandon your true heritage. I took you in, treated you like a daughter, made your child my heir!” She screwed up her face in anguish.
    Televarn wondered if any of her outrage and sense of betrayal were real. Yaassima didn’t give in to emotions that couldn’t benefit her.
    “Do either of you have anything to say before lawful execution by beheading?” Yaassima recovered her poise and glared at her prisoners.
    “If I swear in blood to be your obedient heir and raise my child to follow the dragon heritage of Hanassa, will you allow my husband to live?” Myri held her head high, proud and defiant.
    Televarn had never wanted her more. Her strength and courage were worthy of the Rover Queens of legends. With her by his side, he could rule the world.
    “No, Nimbulan must die!” Televarn hissed into Yaassima’s ear. The magician had to die once and for all. Otherwise Moncriith wouldn’t know when to launch his attack. Myri would never be his while her marriage vows bound her to Nimbulan.
    “Myri, are you sure you want to do this?” Nimbulan asked. He tilted her face toward him with a gentle finger. She seemed to melt into his touch.
    “I will do anything to spare your life, beloved. I’m still angry that you deserted me and the children, but I do love you.” Myri kissed his palm. Her bottom lip trembled and tears overflowed her beautiful eyes.
    Angry heat flooded Televarn’s face and chest that she should express so much sentiment for Nimbulan . Nimbulan, the aging magician who forsook the power of his Commune, refused to lead Coronnan, and stood behind a king when he could have been king himself with more power than any three monarchs in the rest of Kardia Hodos.
    “He’s a sniveling weakling, Myrilandel. Why waste your love on him when . . .” At the last minute, Televarn closed his mouth over the words that would proclaim his intentions.
    “You love her, too!” Yaassima’s eyes grew round and wide; their colorless depths took on a dark purple shade that did not bode well for him.
    “As do you, Yaassima. You want her body in your bed as much as I want her in mine. Kill Nimbulan, and we can share her.”
    “An excellent idea. But I do not share what is mine, Televarn. Send the magician to the pit and take Nastfa and Golin with him. I see them hiding behind their friends. I want to know that they suffer a long time before they die.”
    “Never! Nimbulan must die now,” Televarn screamed. “All my plans are for naught if he lives. Kill him.” He thrust his knife into Yaassima’s back, waving for his followers to do the same to his rival.
     
    Two dozen Rovers cast off concealing cloaks and hoods. They drew swords in unison. Yaassima’s guards reacted quickly, extending their own weapons in mute challenge.
    Shouts and cries and the clash of weapons wielded in anger erupted throughout the Justice Hall. Myri grabbed Amaranth away from Kalen, desperate to know the child was safe. Her head spun with the rapid shift of emotions and her knees nearly buckled with relief when she saw Yaassima sag under Televarn’s knife. At the same time her healing talent burned within her, trying to drag her to the victim and heal her.
    Between two ribs. Not mortal. Televarn’s aim was off. The painful wound evaporated from her consciousness. Yaassima would survive without Myri’s attentions.
    “Run, both of you,” Scarface directed as he tossed