The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

approaching.
    “You didn’t answer my question, sergeant. Nor did you salute a captain. Insubordination. I could have you flogged.” Nimbulan’s voice turned iron cold. Myri shivered from the implied menace behind his words.
    “I smell the demons in you.” The sergeant looked right and left hastily, betraying his nervousness.
    “Moncriith makes witchsniffers sergeants over men with better leadership qualities,” Scarface mumbled under his breath. Then louder he said, “Hanassa is rife with incompetents like him stumbling over their own feet, changing orders almost as fast as they make them. Any true mercenaries Moncriith hires will be demoralized and in disarray by the time they get here.”
    “I am a good leader!” the soldier protested. “I earned my rank.”
    “Did you truly?” Nimbulan pushed doubt into his words. He lifted his hands, still palm outward, still holding his magic tightly bound.
    Beside him, Scarface did the same with a gesture of fluttery finger weaving. Powwell eased himself to stand next to Nimbulan. The toe of his boot touched the Senior Magician’s foot. Their auras combined as did their magic.
    Myri sensed the doubt growing in the archers. Their bow strings lost a little of their tension. The men holding swords dropped the tips a fraction.
    Nimbulan and Powwell built upon the results of Myri’s emotional attack.
    Amaranth opened her eyes, focusing on her mother’s face. The baby’s emotions came through to her clearly. She feared the death of the men.
    Your daughter is an empath! Myri screamed mentally to her husband. Kill them and you will kill her. Carefully, she clamped down on her own talent. She had the closest ties to the baby. Amaranth would know everything she felt, everything she absorbed, everything she broadcast—for good or for evil. All of the turmoil and chaos of the past night must have awakened Amaranth’s talent early.
    What of you, beloved? Nimbulan asked. The silver cord between them raced with their combined heartbeats.
    I will survive. I have control over my talent now. The deaths of these men will hurt me, but not slay me. Our daughter will follow them to the void if they die violently in her presence.
     
    “What do you mean to do with us?” Nimbulan asked evenly to the soldiers who still confronted him. “You’re renegades, out to kill all strangers rather than save your energy and your weapons for the campaign you were hired to join.”
    Before the mercenaries could react, Nimbulan pointed the index fingers of both hands at the men. Faint blue sparks sizzled along his skin, shooting out of his fingernails. He directed the compulsion magic to engulf the mercenaries in a cloud of glowing blue sparkles. The cloud spread over the entire patrol.
    He couldn’t have commanded that much magic on his own. He nodded his thanks to Powwell for the boost to his magic.
    Scarface aided him with his own spell, binding the men in place while Nimbulan questioned them.
    The sergeant stared straight ahead, eyes glassy, barely breathing. His men froze in place. The blue sparks caught their expressions of horror.
    Amaranth wailed as if stuck with a pin. Myri shied away from the freezing pain that bound the men’s muscles in knots.
    “Get this over with. Quickly, before Amaranth stops breathing,” she ground out through her nearly paralyzed jaw. She edged over to Yaala and Maia, putting a little more distance between the baby and the paralyzed men.
    Nimbulan nodded briefly to his wife. He forced down the panic of haste. He’d only be able to complete the task safely if he mastered his own emotions.
    “When do you march across the border into Coronnan?” he addressed the mercenaries.
    “Tonight, as soon as word arrives that King Quinnault has married the Princess of Terrania,” the sergeant replied in a monotone.
    Terrania! Was Quinnault totally insane?
    “What about the troops coming to join you from Hanassa with Lord Moncriith?” Nimbulan forced out the words while keeping his rage and fear under control. If he vented his emotions, his daughter would suffer.
    “They will have to catch up with us in Coronnan.”
    “Why not wait?” Nimbulan asked coolly. Through the silver cord, he sensed Myri using his emotional control of his magic to counteract the overwhelming fear within the mercenaries. Her muscles relaxed a little. Amaranth’s breath continued uneven and difficult.
    “We raid and pillage randomly. No pitched battles until we confront