The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

serious error in judgment when he stepped through the dragongate this time. But the gate had always worked the same way.
    (No it hasn’t always worked the same. The destinations changed. The frequency of opening changed,) a voice in the back of his head reminded him—a dragon or his conscience? He looked around for the source. Maybe the dragon in the distance had heard his cry for help after all.
    The only living being he saw was Yaala. She sat huddled in the tiny shadow of a boulder watching him work. The few large rocks on this plateau offered her scant protection from the diffuse rays pouring through the ash haze.
    Powwell’s darker skin fared a little better than Yaala’s. The backs of his hands had begun to darken and redden, though. They’d both have painful blisters before long.
    She had draped a kerchief over her head, knotting it above her left ear, Rover style. She’d worn the same headgear in the pit, protecting herself from the intense heat of the lava core. Now she needed it as a barrier between her fair skin and the pounding rays of light. But the kerchief didn’t shade her eyes or protect her face.
    He hated the thought of her reverting to the grimy desert rat who had first befriended him in the pit. She’d remained aloof from everyone but him in Coronnan City. Her mother had outlawed her and condemned her to the pit. Yaala had nothing and no one outside of Hanassa. Now he had delayed her return to Hanassa and her beloved machines. Would she ever truly belong anywhere?
    Wasn’t that a definition of a renegade?
    The kardia shifted beneath Powwell’s feet. Not much. A precursor to the main shock. He braced himself for the rolling disturbance, like being aboard a ship in a storm. Just a little quake this time. No new fissures opened in the dry ground. But the movement disrupted his balance. He sat down heavily. Instinctively, he reached with his magic to find the nearest pole for a sense of where and when to reestablish his equilibrium. Nothing. The moon and seasons eluded him as well.
    All he knew was the relentless sun. They had to get out of here soon.
    Thirst tasted sour in his throat. He sipped a little of his dwindling water supply. They each had a leather container of water and a pack of journey food, enough to take them from one village to the next in Coronnan.
    His waterskin seemed far too light. Not enough to last in this searing heat. He thought he’d rationed his water wisely, only taking a few sips each hour as marked on his sundial.
    “Powwell, I see shadows!” Yaala called. She rose from her crouched position beside a boulder.
    “Shadows? Where?” He peered at the few boulders, willing their shade to expand.
    Hot wind sand-blasted his face. The sun seemed brighter. Less ash obscured the horizon. The wind increased, grew hotter yet. It came from his left away from the direction he’d placed his cairns of rocks.
    He turned in place, awakening all of his senses for hints of change. A shimmering distortion, like a mirage in a distant heat haze, grew between himself and Yaala within the minuscule puddle of shade cast by the nearest boulder.
    “The gate is opening!” Yaala dashed toward him, through the forming gate, and disappeared within the shifting swirls of light! Just like Kalen had when she’d been thrown into the lava core before the dragongate fully formed.
    “Yaala!” he screamed and dove after her. He couldn’t let her die in the volatile gate. Stargods only knew where she’d end up. They had to complete this quest together.
    Loneliness and despair swamped him. He’d not lose another dear one.

    Mining village in Balthazaan Province, south of Coronnan City
     
    Bessel sensed the grief of his gathered siblings. Nine all told counting himself. They stood in a circle around their mother’s bed in descending order by age maintaining the ritual death watch.
    He watched the grief play over the faces of his oldest brother and two older sisters, the ones he knew from his childhood. They choked back sobs and closed their eyes against tears. He did, too, as much for the lost companionship of his family as for the death of their mother. The fourth young adult in the circle, another sister one year younger than himself, had been only a small child when he left the mining village. He barely remembered her.
    The five siblings born after his father’s accident in the mine wept openly, darting glances of fear toward their father. Maydon had always ruled the family with a