The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

Your Grace, I have a message from Bessel, relayed by the dragons. He said to get these people down to the docks. He needs everyone down on the docks.”
    Katie stared at the mob encircling Quinnault. They were moving toward University Isle. She’d have to divert them. But first. . . .
    “Luucian, go with Master Nimbulan and the others and start moving the books from the library into the tunnels below the palace. Master Nimbulan is to supervise only. He is not to lift a single book.” Quickly, she outlined the plan for to him. “While you are doing that, I need my father to find Lord Balthazaan and keep him out of the way and misinformed.”
    Luucian nodded and melted back into the crowd.
    Katie had to fight to stay close to her husband as they swept along the city streets in the direction of University Isle.
    “Scarecrow, we’re needed at the docks. Bessel sent a message.”
    Quinnault raised an eyebrow at her.
    “I’ve sent Nimbulan and reinforcements on their errand.”
    “Reinforcements?”
    “I’ll explain later.
    Quinnault nodded. “How am I going to divert this mob?”
    “I’m not sure.” Katie bit her lip and glanced around at the volatile crowd.
    “Stop!” Five master magicians commanded. They stood in a line across the path of the crowd. They linked hands. A dark green aura of power—Scarface’s signature color—surrounded them. “Senior Magician Scarface commands this mob to disperse. We place King Quinnault Darville de Draconis under arrest for interfering with the lawful work of the Commune of Magicians.”

    The docks, Coronnan City
     
    Bessel swallowed his apprehension that Lady Rosselaara would recognize him. He had to trust in his disguises and complete his mission. He nodded to the steward and climbed the ramp to the barge. He chose a seat in the back corner beneath the canopy, deep in the shadows. Here he could relax his delusion spell while he studied the depth finder.
    Shortly the crew began moving about the deck, coiling lines and performing other chores indicative of imminent launching. A subtle shift of the water’s movement beneath the deck told Bessel when the tide turned and began to recede. Just as a crewman prepared to fling the last line aboard from the dock, a long procession of black-clad mercenaries appeared at the velvet ropes.
    Deep within their ranks, Lady Rosselaara stood beside her husband’s casket, dry-eyed and angry.
    The first of the warriors slashed the rope with his sword and kicked it aside. The steward rushed to stop them and demand their passports. They thrust him out of the way as if he were merely another piece of normal dock debris.
    Raanald, the pilot and absolute ruler of the barge, stalked to the head of the boarding ramp. He stood firmly blocking the way, hands on hips, feet spread, and a scowl on his face.
    “You’re late,” Raanald spat, not moving out of the way.
    The lead mercenary hesitated. They needed the pilot to guide the barge to the port. He couldn’t injure the man, and he couldn’t get past him without injuring him.
    “We are here now. You have not left without us,” the warrior replied from behind his turban veil. His voice remained even and remote through the muffling cloth. A pulse pounded visibly in his temple. Politeness was something these men had little time for.
    And yet some of them had been quite gentle and caring toward Bessel when he appeared to be a female in distress.
    “You may travel with us, but only because it means we’re shut of you for good,” Raanald replied. “You’d better hurry. Anyone not in place in five minutes has to swim to the port, or walk across the sucking mud.” He turned his back on the newcomers and stationed himself by the helmsman on the elevated platform at the rear of the barge.
    The Rossemeyerians proceeded to crowd upon the barge in an orderly fashion, despite their rapid pace.
    Bessel allowed himself to be edged out of the sheltering shadows to stand next to the depth finder. The warriors seemed to shun it as if it would contaminate them with its arcane magic. Lady Rosselaara claimed most of the covered area for herself, the coffin, two maids, and a few select warriors. The deck of the barge wallowed a little deeper in the water with so many people aboard.
    The oarsmen shoved off. Raanald moved back to the depth finder. He stared alternately at the numbers behind the screen and at the water ahead.
    Bessel kept his back to the pilot as much as possible, hoping he had the