The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

finder.”
    “The Guild of Bay Pilots will howl mightily in protest.” Quinnault grinned mischievously. “They’ll run straight to me and to Scarface demanding someone fix it.”
    “Once the depth finder is disabled, the pilots will need their dogs back. I know some men who would gladly turn large packs of water dogs loose on the docks. Scarface doesn’t like dogs, and they don’t like him. But the pilots can’t afford to let the magicians hurt the dogs. Chaos will reign for a while.”
    “What do dogs have to do with the pilots?”
    “I’ll explain later.” Bessel grinned widely. “I’ve got to catch the passenger barge with the depth finder before it sails to the port with the afternoon tide.” Bessel scooted out the door. He stopped short before stepping down to the cobblestones.
    Two dozen black-robed mercenaries from Rossemeyer stared at him. All of them had covered the lower halves of their faces with turban veils. All had drawn their vorpal blades at first sight of him.
    The man who stood in the center of the semicircle stepped forward one pace. “We besiege this house until Journeyman Magician Bessel is turned over to us for justice,” he announced.

Chapter 44
     
    Inside Kinnsell’s shuttle, place and time unknown
     
    K innsell dragged his aching body toward the cockpit of the shuttle. “Ignorant bushies,” he snarled. Pulling himself hand-over-hand, he managed to struggle into the copilot’s seat. He settled into it gratefully as his wobbling knees gave way. “I’ll show you real flying.” Out of long habit, he hit the mayday button to send a distress signal to the mother ship. He also pocketed a portable communicator—something strictly forbidden by the family covenant. Then he overrode the control panel with the joystick. The shuttle’s vibrations communicated to him through the length of his preferred tool.
    Gradually, he began to sense the air currents and momentum that kept the vessel floating when, for all he knew, it should be a crumpled heap at the bottom of a trackless ravine.
    The terrain whizzed backward past the viewscreen. His perceptions distorted. He needed to turn the shuttle around. The helm resisted his control.
    Gradually, he was able to maneuver the vessel into the wind. He gained a little altitude and perspective.
    Beside him, Yaala clutched the sides of the pilot’s cushioned seat with white-knuckled fists. She stared blankly at the mountainsides skidding past the windows. The young man behind her braced himself against her back and held her shoulders while he too stared at the landscape.
    Useless. Both useless. Though he had to admit they’d done an admirable job of getting the shuttle airborne and the wings extended. “You really should have just flown out of that volcanic crater and not wasted a good shuttle on blasting an exit through the crater for the rabble,” he muttered. “Totally out of fuel. Rockets burned out. Jets disabled. You barely got the wings out in time. At least I have a rudder to work with.”
    “The rabble are my people. I had an obligation to free them from their prison and slow starvation. You brought the plague to them. I couldn’t abandon them. Once we are safely landed, we can send help. Supplies and medicine can get into Hanassa.” Yaala roused a little from her fear-induced catatonia.
    “You’d make an admirable ruler, girl. Unfortunately, honor and obligation are only pieces of what keeps a person in power. You also have to balance the political forces. I don’t suppose you managed to kill that Rover person who manipulated my Maia like a puppet?”
    “If you mean Piedro, the last I saw of him he was leading the mob to kill all of us,” the young magician replied.
    What was his name? I should know after that intimate psychic link, Kinnsell thought. Rollo . . . Rufus . . . Rollett. That was it. Rollett—sounded like a stomach remedy or a chocolate bar. White and dark chocolate in his beard. Good way to remember his name.
    Rollett had probed his mind and channeled information to Yaala so she could fly the shuttle. Powwell had been the other one in the link. Powwell, the healer. Powwell had somehow eradicated most of the disease from Kinnsell’s body and repaired some of the damage. Some, not all. Enough to keep him alive a while longer.
    But Powwell didn’t call himself a healer. He thought of himself as a Bloodmage—whatever that was—and hated himself for it.
    I can use his self-loathing to make him return to