The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

the next. Now, they vanished one at a time like links in an anchor chain disappearing beneath the water.
    They’d stumbled onto something strange—to say the least.
    He wished Rejiia had accompanied them so that she could explain the phenomenon. His former love had an instinctive grasp of otherworldly puzzles.
    Jack, too, would be a great help.
    He had to find his son and flee. Now. Before things got worse.
    Feeling almost blind with numb senses and numb magic, he grasped the doorjamb for balance. A burning energy repulsed his hand. He peered more closely at the spot. His magic kicked in, opening all of his senses.
    “What?” The dim outline of another hand—almost invisible, like a dragon sliding in and out of view—shone with a silvery energy. He traced with trembling fingers the almost-visible hand up a black-clad arm to a shoulder and a black vest trimmed in bright purple and red. An abundance of silvery embroidery shone through the misty veil that seemed to separate him from the man.
    “Zolltarn?” Lanciar gasped.
    “Of course. Who else would I be?” the Rover leader sneered, then flashed his amazing smile. Lanciar immediately felt more comfortable, ready to listen to the older man’s wisdom. But his voice sounded as if it came from a great distance.
    “What happened to you? You—you’re as transparent as a ghost,” Lanciar said.
    “Nonsense, boy. You are the one fading in and out of view. Come in, come fully into the room. Then you will be one of us. You must be one of us if you hope to marry my daughter.” Zolltarn opened his arms as if to embrace Lanciar, an all too familiar and disarming gesture. The curious burning energy kept them apart.
    Lanciar breathed a little easier. He knew Zolltarn’s charm all too well, knew how he lulled suspicions with the little deceptions of friendship.
    “One of the clan.” Lanciar stated flatly. He’d resisted all attempts by the Rovers to draw him into their direct mind-to-mind connections by ritual or coercion. He’d postponed his marriage to Maija for days, keeping his individuality for as long as possible by sheer force of will.
    He wanted a drink. Desperately.
    “Can you help me?” He turned to the sobbing blonde.
    “Stay out of the library. Stay away from the other ghosts, the true ghost as well as all these new ones. Just turn around and walk out the gate before you, too, are cursed and trapped here forever.” She gulped back her tears and faced him resolutely. “Get out now! And take me with you. I forsake my destiny though I’ll be cursed through all my future existences. I cannot be responsible for all of these ghosts.” She gulped back a new round of sobs and stiffened her spine. “I’m sorry, Robb. I must also forsake my love for you.”
    “I’m not leaving without my son,” Lanciar told her. He looked for a trace of the smallest children among the Rovers. They should be too young to be linked with the Rover magic. But each one had been in the arms of a Rover woman. If touch or proximity to the library turned one into a ghost, then he’d lost his son, too. Forever?
    “What do you know of this curse, woman?” He grabbed her arm, shaking her gently. “I’ve got to find my son among them. Help me find my son. Then I will leave and take you with me. Not before.”
    “ ’Tis my destiny to serve the ghosts, not to understand them. They cannot leave here and must be fed. Your son is lost. Leave now before you too are cursed.” Her eyes widened in horror. “I’ve never had more than one ghost before Marcus and Robb came. Now there are dozens. Dozens! Where will I find enough food for them all? Now I will never be allowed to leave this cursed place.”
    The statue of Krej sat in the place of honor at the front of the lead sledge—Zolltarn’s conveyance. The hideous visage seemed to wink and grin at Lanciar in silent laughter as yet more gilt paint flaked off its tin hide. One front paw seemed to shed its metal coating and become true fur.
    “I’ll think of something. I need some ale in order to think.” Lanciar wove through the scattered sledges seeking Maija’s bardo. She did indeed brew the best ale he’d ever tasted.
    But maybe he’d had too much already.

    What strange being is this who stares at me from his perch atop the Rover conveyance? I can see the true nature of a man as a ghostly aura around the tin statue with the flaking gilt paint that renews itself only to flake off once more. Another ghost, as I am.