The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

witchsniffers.
    “Not that way, Lan. I feel people up this canyon. Lots and lots of people!” Myri held him back.
    Nimbulan turned to retreat. Two dozen archers faced them, arrows nocked, bowstrings taut.
    “So we meet again, Nimbulan. This time on my terms, on my battleground, without any of your dragon demons to defend you or your witch,” Moncriith said mildly, working his way through the ranks of soldiers to face Nimbulan.

Chapter 35
     
    D oubts nagged at Quinnault. He didn’t have enough to do to keep them at bay. Katie was closeted with the women, preparing for the wedding. His servants and stewards bustled about the palace, preparing for the ceremony and the banquet to follow. Even the magicians all seemed to be occupied, looking for omens in arcane spells and rituals.
    More often than not, he was in the way—just like the day they had prepared for battle. This time his chief steward and the senior ladies of the court had become the Battlemages.
    He chuckled at the idea of viewing a wedding in the same light as a major battle.
    Memories of Katie and her argument with her father came back to haunt him. I am in charge, she had said. They’d do it her way or not at all. Do what?
    Kinnsell had left, accepting her edict that the Varns would harvest the Tambootie, build the port, and leave, never to interfere with Kardia Hodos again. What rare qualities of leadership did Quinnault’s bride possess that allowed her to command meek obedience from her father?
    Quinnault wondered if she’d order her husband around with the same authority. The telepathic bond between them meant that she could manipulate him with a thought. Would she? Or would she keep her vow to suppress her talent? He didn’t know if that was possible. He’d never heard of any drugs that effectively masked a talent without putting the patient to sleep for days on end.
    And what about Kinnsell’s plot to kidnap magicians for study? Katie claimed that was the core of their argument last night.
    Quinnault had no doubt that Kinnsell had the means to remove several powerful magicians from Coronnan without detection. Would he obey Katie’s edict or appear to accept her orders and then do precisely what he wanted later?
    Kinnsell hadn’t been seen all day. Would he come for the wedding? As Katie’s father, he had every right to participate in the ceremony.
    Too many questions and no answers.
    Too many people rushing about the Great Hall, including Lord Konnaught. Quinnault’s fosterling stood in the center of the dais, hands on hips, lower lip thrust out belligerently. No one paid him any attention.
    Quinnault decided he’d ignore the brat, too.
    Since he couldn’t talk to Katie or her father, Quinnault decided to talk to someone else. Piedro, the Rover assassin. He’d feel a lot better about the ceremony if he knew who had hired Piedro. Nimbulan had told him often enough that Rovers were incapable of independent thought, all were manipulated by the clan chieftain who was always the dominant mage. He wondered if last night’s attempt to strangle Katie and place the blame on Quinnault was part of the aborted poison plot arranged by Televarn.
    “Bessel,” he called to the journeyman magician who directed apprentices on the placement of witchlight torches around the great hall. “I need your assistance.”
    The young man detached himself from the younger students almost eagerly.
    “Do you know who sealed the dungeon cell last night?” Quinnault asked as he guided Bessel toward the cellars.
    “Gilby and I did it, Your Grace, along with Master Maarkus.” Bessel thrust his shoulders back proudly.
    “Can you undo it by yourself?”
    “I can let you in and out of the cell, sir. But since the three of us set the spell, only the three of us can break it and allow the prisoner out. Do you wish to interrogate the prisoner now?” Bessel loomed back over his shoulder at the hectic preparations for the wedding.
    “Yes, now. Before his employer tries something else.” Quinnault signaled two guards to follow them.
    Together they wound their way through a series of cellars, then down another spiral staircase into the chambers cut from the bedrock of Palace Isle. A long corridor broken by the doorways of a dozen cells stretched before them. All the doors except one stood ajar. Quinnault hadn’t jailed anyone but Piedro in years.
    “Are you going to torture the prisoner now? Can I watch?” Konnaught asked as he hurried down the steps behind