The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

open.
    Powwell drew alongside her, ’mote pointed directly at the gate. He must have the proper one.
    No time to think, only to escape to the other side of the gate.
    “I will protect you, men, from the wraith. Don’t let the gate stop you,” Piedro called from behind the refugees.
    Rollett reached the crossed iron bars first. He grabbed the gate, ready to slam it closed as soon as Yaala and Powwell passed through.
    Powwell skidded on the sand, sliding out of control. He slammed into the bars, in the far corner away from the opening. He dropped the ’mote.
    The guards pelted forward, barely ten paces away.
    Yaala grabbed Powwell’s tunic and dragged him through the gateway. Without thinking, she scooped up the black box and aimed it at the lock.
    “Stargods, I hope it’s not broken,” she prayed.
    Rollett slammed the gate closed, pressing all of his weight against it.
    Archers followed the initial wave of guards. The nearest Rover raised his belt knife ready to throw it the last three paces into Rollett’s back.
    She turned off the lights.
    Three very long heartbeats later, Yaala heard the lock snick tight.
    Then they were off again, deep into the labyrinth of caverns. As they passed through the living cavern, the sounds of pursuit died down. At least the gate had slowed the Rovers.
    “We’ve got to keep moving. I don’t trust that lock,” Rollett panted. He bent over, hands clasping his knees as he tried to ease his breathing. “Piedro is a very powerful magician. I felt his spells all around me. My armor almost collapsed under his assault.”
    “The lock will hold,” Yaala reassured him. Still she headed toward the caverns where her machines resided.
    “We’re too late. We can’t hide anywhere, and your cursed machines won’t help.” Powwell stared blankly toward the gate and the clang of wands against the metal bars. “The consort is too strong. She overpowered my blood magic to hold me in thrall. She’s even corrupted Kalen’s ferret familiar. That takes more magic than any one of us could dream of. Nothing will stop the renegade dragon from killing all of us. Not ’tricity, not magic, nothing.”

Chapter 30
     
    Early afternoon, the northern edge of the River Coronnan near the Great Bay, outside Coronnan City
     
    B essel hauled himself out of the river near the confluence with the Great Bay. He’d run out of islands. The assassin had kept the stolen boat within sight for most of the length of the river. When Bessel managed to get out of sight of the warrior and crawl out of the water, the islands around him were flat, low, and lacking enough vegetation to hide him.
    The coast north of the city offered him better refuge than any of the temporary aits. Here, at least, he could find shelter from the rising wind under a tree or behind a sand dune.
    Mopsie trudged out of the water beside him. He hung his head tiredly for a few moments before shaking. Bessel was too tired and cold to duck the spray. What was a little more water when half the river weighed down his clothes?
    The other half of the river matted Mopsie’s long ropes of fur.
    Bessel followed the dog’s example and wrung some of the dripping water from his tunic. He shed his socks and twisted them somewhat drier. He looked at his cold-reddened toes mournfully. “I’d better let the socks dry a bit before putting them back on. Stargods only know where my other boot ended up.”
    A muddy and rocky beach stretched before them, separating the bay from the land. A few gentle grass-covered hills marked the end of farmland and the beginning of the mudflats.
    “Where to now, Mopsie?” Bessel asked, looking over his shoulder for traces of the assassin or of habitation.
    Mopsie yipped once and trotted forward, angling to the right. After half a dozen paces, he stopped again to shake. The other half of the river burst free of his fur.
    “You still look a mess, pup.” Bessel ducked the spray this time. When the dog had finished and trotted forward again, Bessel shared a sense of lightness and freedom with the dog. “Is that what a familiar does, Mopsie, shares everything, the good and the bad?”
    Mopsie grinned his agreement, his little pink tongue making a bright splash in the middle of the muddy white fur. The dog continued along the beach, looking back expectantly. Bessel followed, trusting his familiar as he had trusted few human beings except Master Nimbulan.
    Shortly the dog’s ears perked up a bit, and he raised his nose