The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

by a rock outcropping. Her hands beat at empty air as if pounding on a firmly closed door.
    The dragongate didn’t open.
    “So that’s what Yaassima wants to be—wanted me to be,” Yaala whispered. She turned her eyes away from the beautiful dragon to look at the grass.
    “Yaassima didn’t understand true dragonkind,” Powwell replied, still wrapped in his grief. “She created a myth in her own mind and then tried to change reality to fit her version. She failed.” He kept looking to the place where they had emerged from the pit. The shifting vortex of time and distance remained closed.
    Nimbulan knew he’d have to go with Powwell if the boy decided to return for Kalen. But he had to get back to the capital, too. He had to take care of Myri and her baby. He probably owed something to Maia as well. She had borne him a son, though the baby had died. His responsibilities weighed heavily on him at the moment.
    Rollett would understand. Wouldn’t he?
    Ah, Rollett, what have I done to you?
    “Ask Shayla again where we are, Myri. I need to get back to Coronnan City and warn Quinnault of the impending invasion,” Nimbulan said. He kept looking at the round tops of the hills that stretched into the distance. “You might ask when we are as well. Those hills look much older than the sharper peaks of Coronnan.”
    “I don’t think I want to hear this.” Scarface held his temples and sat heavily on a nearby rock. He began gathering loose sticks and branches, piling them into a fire stack.
    A mental chuckle invaded Nimbulan’s mind. The humor behind the brief communication was definitely draconic in nature.
    “Shayla says we are in the time you expected to be. The dragongate folds distance not time.” Myri straightened her neck and peered at the dragon with a touch of concern creasing her brow.
    “Something calls her. She must leave.” Myri looked around, rapidly shifting her focus from the nearby trees and grass to the far hills.
    Shayla bunched her shoulder muscles and spread her wings in preparation for flight.
    “Where are we?” Nimbulan asked hurriedly. His transportation was leaving. “We have to get back to the capital! We need warm clothing and food.”
    “Shayla says to beware of the massing men in the valley below.” Myri’s words were nearly drowned out by the downthrust of mighty wings.
    “Massing men?” The sense of many lives pressed against his mind. “Hundreds, no thousands of men,” he gasped.
    “Angry men,” Myri echoed his tone of concern.
    “The army of mercenaries, preparing to invade Coronnan from SeLenicca,” Scarface added. “We’re in one of the mountain passes between the two countries.”
    “Mercenary patrols there, to the west with arrows nocked and swords drawn,” Yaala gasped, jumping up and pointing.
    “The gate is opening,” Powwell shouted. “We can go back for Kalen.” He jumped up and pointed to the rapidly shifting colors within an arch shaped shadow between boulder and tree.
    “No!” Nimbulan stared at the partially opened portal. Moncriith is there waiting for us.”
    A hazy vision of the people behind the gate kept shifting out of focus, never solidifying. Blood pounded in his ears at the sight of Moncriith pushing Yaassima and Kalen into the pit. Huge tongues of lava reached up greedily to enfold them.
    “Kalen!” Powwell rushed forward to catch the little girl.
    The gate dissolved before he reached them.

Chapter 31
     
    M yri ran downhill as fast as she could. Nimbulan carried Amaranth. Yaala dragged a reluctant Powwell away from the dragongate.
    Soldiers followed them, close on their heels. She sensed more men running beside them. Still others moved to cut off their retreat.
    Nimbulan and the others stopped short before the barricade of soldiers that appeared in front of them without warning.
    “Don’t move.” One of the mercenaries stepped forward from the dozen men who aimed weapons at the party of refugees. He held his arm straight out in front of him.
    A witchsniffer. He’d followed the scent of dragon magic to capture Myri and Nimbulan and the others.
    Myri looked from the drawn swords to the eyes of the soldiers holding the weapons. Their fanatical hate nearly blistered her empathic talent. “They are Moncriith’s men,” she whispered to Nimbulan, choking back her fear of the Bloodmage who had stalked her nearly all her life.
    She wouldn’t allow her fear to keep her from protecting her children and her