The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

tentacles ran into the beast from the floor and out of it into tiny tube tunnels high up on the wall. He was reminded of the mass of wire-thin lines within the hollow slapping rock.
    “What’s the fuss?” The woman Scarface had called Yaala approached them from yet another cavern, deeper and lower into the volcano.
    An older man of scarecrow proportions gestured mutely toward the gate and the guards. Yaassima’s men were scrambling to their feet, pretending to look alert and concerned as the noise from their approaching comrades increased. Yaala lifted her eyes to the newcomers. Puzzlement crossed her face.
    “Are you new prisoners? I’ve never known Yaassima to send a baby down here,” she said approaching Myri.
    “We flee the Kaalipha.” Nimbulan addressed her. “But we can’t leave without Powwell.”
    “You can’t escape Yaassima.” She shrugged one shoulder and turned back toward the inner cavern.
    “Yaassima is dead,” Kalen insisted. “We saw Televarn stab her with a poisoned knife.”
    “Truly?” Yaala turned back, interest animating her face. Nimbulan noticed the draconic characteristics then, in the long straight nose and high forehead. But her fingers weren’t overly long and the strands of hair that strayed below her knotted kerchief were darker, more yellow. Her eyes were a definite blue, not the pale, nearly colorless orbs of Yaassima and Myri. He wondered if she had the pronounced spinal bumps of the vestigial dragon horns like Myri did, or if that trait was tied to the long fingers and nearly transparent skin.
    Myri looked as if she was about to protest Yaassima’s death. None of them knew for certain who lived and who had died in the Justice Hall.
    “The child speaks the truth,” Myri said. “We saw Televarn stab Yaassima and twist the knife as he pulled it out.”
    “We must hurry,” Nimbulan added. “We don’t know how long the guards will be disorganized and allow us through the gates.” Rollett, are you safe? Did you succeed?
    No answer.
    “I . . . I’m not ready to take control of Hanassa. I don’t know how to use all of Yaassima’s toys. I need more time!” Yaala looked anxiously from the noisy monster to the chain of passageways back to the surface.
    “Hanassa isn’t worthy of you, Yaala. Come with us.” Powwell entered the cavern from the same interior room Yaala had come from. His skin had taken on a ghastly gray pallor that didn’t bode well for his health. He touched the woman’s shoulder affectionately, staring at her.
    Myri reached out a hand to him. Powwell grasped it and pulled his foster mother into a tight hug, baby and all. Then he reached to gather Kalen close, too. The little girl edged between Myri and Powwell, effectively breaking their embrace.
    Through the cord connecting him to his wife, Nimbulan sensed her need to touch the young man with healing and strength. Strength she couldn’t spare until they were all safe. He also sensed her puzzlement over Kalen’s obvious jealousy.
    “There isn’t time to waste arguing,” Nimbulan intervened. “The guards are close on our heels. We don’t know their loyalty. We have to hide, then sneak past them.”
    “They won’t cross the threshold. They’ll barricade it and starve us out rather than risk ambush in the pit. I’ve seen them do it before, the first time I organized a rebellion,” Yaala said bitterly. “Now I know better. There is no escape from the pit until I know how to shut down every machine and deprive the Kaalipha of her so-called magic and her weapons. But I also have to know how to restart them, so I can take control away from her. I’m not ready!”
    “Machines?” Nimbulan stepped forward, curious. He needed to examine the chugging black monster. His fingers itched to sketch the machine and record it in his journal. Only the Stargods could have built so fantastic a device that gave an individual the power to mimic magic.
    “Yes, machines. Yaassima doesn’t really have any magic. It’s all tricks, powered by ’tricity,” Powwell explained. “I know how to stop them. And I know another way out, if you are willing to trust me.” He looked Nimbulan squarely in the eye; no longer a boy, hardened into a man, making a man’s decisions.
    “I trust you, Powwell,” Nimbulan replied. “I always have.”
    Rollett! Answer me, boy. We’re going out another way. Escape now, while you can.
    No answer, nothing but the confusion of a dozen minds in chaos.
    He’d just have