The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

Nimbulan his staff. He blocked an attack from a Rover with his own staff. Three quick moves sent the dark-haired man reeling backward. He fell over one of the elite guards. Their limbs and weapons tangled, bringing more men into the heap.
    Myri’s talent relayed the pain of the blow from one man’s chin to her own jaw. She had to blink hard to keep her balance. She shifted forward to keep from falling.
    Nimbulan fended off another Rover with his staff and his fists.
    The blow to the side of his head sent pain pounding into her temple. She clutched the baby tighter, trying to block her talent. Her jaw ached as she ground her teeth together. She concentrated on biting the insides of her mouth rather than thinking about the chaotic pain generating emotions around her.
    Nimbulan wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her up. The warmth of his body and the strength of the cord that pulsed between them gave her a measure of new strength and stability.
    On the dais, Televarn and Yaassima struggled. The Kaalipha raked the Rover’s face with her talonlike fingernails. At the same time, Televarn pushed against her jaw, trying desperately to keep her from gouging out his eyes.
    Myri cried out in pain as he twisted the blade in Yaassima’s back—the same way he had twisted the knife in Nimbulan’s wound over a year ago.
    Life and death hung in the balance. The void stretched wide before Myri. She held back. Saving Yaassima would not gain freedom or peace for the children or herself. She had to deliberately turn her back on a life that needed healing.
    Suddenly the Kaalipha wrenched the bloody knife from her own side. She thrust the blade into Televarn’s throat. Her gleeful laugh rose shrill and piercing above the chaotic noise of dozens of other individual brawls. Triumphantly, she withdrew the knife, twisting it. Then she plunged it deep into Televarn’s heart.
    “You need more than a poisoned knife to kill a dragon, Televarn,” Yaassima sneered.
    Breath left Myri’s lungs in a sharp spasm as her talent changed focus from Yaassima to Televarn and back again.
    She had to get out of here before someone died and took her with them into the void.
    “Bring me my child. Return Hanassa to me!” Yaassima screamed to any who could hear.
    A guard lunged for the precious bundle Myri carried.
    She whirled sideways and back out of his reach. He took two running steps closer, stretching his arms to grasp the baby.
    “No one will take my baby away from me!” Myri cried as she pivoted and kicked. Her foot landed squarely in the man’s stomach.
    “Ooof,” he grunted, expelling air as he stopped short in surprise.
    Protective triumph replaced Myri’s empathic sharing of the man’s pain.
    “This way.” Kalen pulled at her sleeve. “We have to save Powwell.” Her eyes lost the feigned wide-eyed innocence she’d been portraying since Myri had awakened her. Only desperation shone through. Her ferret chittered anxiously on her shoulder.
    “Lead the way, Kalen.” Nimbulan knocked a black-clad palace guard senseless with his staff. With his free hand he herded them toward the interior doorway.
    “Not that way,” Scarface called behind them. “Rollett has dismantled the gate. We can get out of the city.” He gestured toward the exterior of the palace.
    “Not without our son,” Nimbulan said. He saluted Scarface. “Tell Rollett we’ll join him soon.” With a few swipes of his staff, he cleared a passage for Myri and Kalen.
    Scarface shrugged and followed. Maia grabbed his arm. “You’ve got to protect me. My people will kill me if I do not bring them the child,” she panted as she ran to keep up with him.
    Myri reluctantly nodded to Maia, knowing the truth of her statement. But she’d have to watch the woman. She couldn’t be allowed the opportunity to steal Amaranth.
    Scarface blocked an overzealous Rover as he shifted the aim of his throwing knife from Nimbulan to Maia. “Come, then, but if you betray us, I’ll kill you myself,” he grunted as he tripped one of the black-clad guards.
    Pain and fear receded as Myri separated herself from the two dozen or more individual fights in the Justice Hall. No one seemed to know who to fight for or against.
    She’d last seen Nastfa and Golin and some of the other black-clad guards fighting with the Rovers against Yaassima’s more loyal followers. Moncriith and his followers entered the fray, surprising Nastfa from the rear.
    Good-bye and thank you! Myri thought