The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

How could he have considered killing anyone, ever again—even loathsome Piedro? Kalen’s death screams lingered, reverberating in his head.
    His sister had made one last desperate attempt to regain her body. For one brief second, both Kalen and Hanassa had been joined. And then . . . and then the collapsing tunnel had crushed their skull.
    Sympathetic pain still plagued him, nearly blinded him.
    Every time he tried to think of something else, remember the happy times with his sister—there had been precious few—her death cry dragged him back to her last agony. If he ever had to kill again, his mind would lock in a loop of reliving Kalen’s death.
    He clung to his sanity by a slender thread. Thorny wriggled in his pocket as if to remind him of life.
    His lust for vengeance against Piedro died. He sagged with relief, knowing he need not follow through with that particular quest.
    “Hanassa died with Kalen,” he said as he relived the moment of death once more. “My mind was linked to Kalen’s at the last moment. They both died. We do not need to kill anyone for fear they will host Hanassa.” He looked pointedly at each of his weary companions.
    “Are you sure?” Yaala maintained her aggressive stance.
    “I’m certain, Yaala.”
    She turned back toward the exit, spine a fraction less rigid. “Let’s get out of here. The city will kill Piedro eventually. We just have to find a way over the crater walls. Lyman, will any of your dragon friends fetch us?”
    “I do not know.”
    “We’ll have to climb, then,” Rollett said wearily.
    Powwell didn’t like the color of his skin. A hint of blue still clung to his lips and the edges of his nostrils. He breathed heavily and had to stop often. His hands looked blistered and swollen from the burns. The symptoms resembled the plague, but the smell was missing.
    The Rovers had left the iron gate open when they fled the caverns. Yaala sighed her relief. Without Liise generating any ’tricity, the ’motes would not work.
    Powwell breathed easier after passing the boundary of the pit. He’d be better yet when he had left the confines of buildings and caves. That moment of oneness with the kardia just before he collapsed the tunnel on top of Kalen had taught him just how precariously balanced the cave system was. “Stargods, I hope I don’t have to go underground again. Ever.”
    Lyman’s steps now seemed a little firmer, too. Rollett still sagged against Yaala for support. She kept her arm around his waist. They fit together as if they had always belonged side by side, two halves of one whole.
    Powwell waited for a pang of jealousy. Yaala had been his best friend and constant companion for many moons. At times he had entertained desire for her—when he wasn’t consumed by his quest to free Kalen.
    His sister had flown free of this existence.
    All he had left was Yaala. . . .
    No emotion churned within him. He hoped she’d be happy with Rollett.
    “Looks as if a lot of people left here in a hurry,” Yaala commented as they passed through the corridors of the palace.
    Bits and pieces of gilt furniture, costly ornaments, and bolts of silk pilfered from the Kaaliph’s stores littered the floor.
    “Should we try to rescue the library?” Powwell asked them all. “If Yaala had the right textbooks, she might be able to reconstruct her machines.”
    “No,” Yaala said resolutely. “Queen Katie was right. Technology has no place in Coronnan. We have magic and the Commune. Machines only breed trouble.”
    They bypassed the entrance to the secret stair without further comment.
    “I wonder if Piedro’s followers are deserting him?” Yaala mused, pointing to the debris.
    “But they still fear what the Kaaliph of Hanassa represents.” Powwell pointed to the hideous pictures of torture and depravity. The first time he’d seen the vivid depictions of perverted sexual intercourse beside the bloody executions, his face had flushed with embarrassment. He’d seen too much since then to feel anything but disgust now. He gingerly lifted the tapestries aside, touching only the blood-red borders, unwilling to be tainted by the pictures. The opening behind the wall hangings allowed them access to the Justice Hall once more.
    Only the severed heads of Rollett’s friends remained. They seemed to mock the living as they passed in front of the altar. Powwell bowed briefly to the departed spirits in respect for the knowledge and the power they had given him the last