The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

the world tilted, light flashed, and the misty veil around the world expanded.
    A gaggle of newcomers at the gate flashed swords. “Where’d she go?” Lord Andrall shouted.
    Robb felt his skin grow cold as he recognized the king’s adviser and his lady and their simple son astride the magnificent steeds clustered around the gatehouse. The other lord and lady could only be Lord Laislac and his second wife—his first wife had died quite mysteriously, and with a scandal Robb couldn’t remember, some years ago. Their attention all focused on a very pregnant young woman—now in the ghostly reality—wrestling with a Rover woman over a scarf heavy with gold coins.
    “Give it to me, you ignorant slut. I need that gold. In the name of the coven, give me that gold!” she shouted.
    “Get out of here now, Vareena,” Robb implored. “Run as far and as fast as you can. Save yourself from the coven.”

    Everyone and everything in the courtyard stilled. The name of the coven had that effect on people.
    Marcus looked around to see who had invoked them. The band of magicians was dedicated to the overthrow of every peaceful government in all of Kardia Hodos. His gaze lighted on the young woman in elegant velvet riding clothes. Hints of red glistened within her blond hair. Her aura almost shouted magical power within the orange-and-yellow layers.
    He blinked and looked again, more closely. She had touched the gold a Rover woman had fastened to a sash. In touching the gold-laden sash she joined the growing crowd of those trapped in this other reality. She broadcast greed to any receptive magician within a league’s distance. So did the Rovers.
    “Did I hear someone say gold?” One of the lords at the gatehouse dismounted hurriedly. If he wasn’t careful, he’d trip over one of the Rovers and become a ghost himself.
    “Lord Laislac.” Vareena dipped a hasty curtsy to him.
    He ignored her.
    Marcus already knew Lord Andrall and his lady. He’d heard tales of their simple son. The other woman in the party must be Laislac’s wife. The one he’d married in haste after his first wife quite conveniently fell from the castle ramparts. Or was pushed. The scandal had circulated in the capital for a few weeks and then disappeared in the wake of newer gossip. Laislac had married a much younger woman the day the official mourning period ended.
    Marcus peered around Zolltarn’s sledge to see if any of the Rovers acknowledged the presence of nobility. They didn’t seem to care. But the statue on top of the sledge, the tin weasel with flaking gilt paint, began to rock and shift. Both front paws and about half of the tail seemed to have shed its tin coating. A spot of drool dripped from the exposed teeth—real teeth, not metal castings.
    “Robb, Jack, look at Krej!” he called, fascinated by the partial animation. At one time Krej had been the most powerful lord of the land—first cousin to Darville’s father and regent during Darville’s magically induced illness at the beginning of his reign.
    “Krej and Lanciar in the same area?” Jack held his staff out, prepared to use it as a defensive weapon, physical and magical. “Rejiia can’t be far away.”
    Katrina touched Jack’s shoulder and pointed to the top of the southwest tower. Marcus followed her pointing finger with half his attention, keeping one eye on Krej.
    Atop the tower the light sparkled with new magic. The wind blasted outward and down into the courtyard whipping dust into everyone’s eyes. Marcus forced himself to keep his gaze trained on the area. He didn’t know the secret of the transport spell, but he’d witnessed it often enough to know when someone used it.
    Black and red dominated the spot. The light coalesced into the figure of a black-haired woman with a silver streak running from one temple down the length of her waist-length tresses. Her black gown molded to her tall figure, outlining all of her curves and emphasizing the length of her legs.
    “Rejiia,” Jack confirmed.
    Marcus’ armor snapped into place. Beautiful, deadly, vicious. Krej’s daughter. She’d learned a lot from her father before the lord had thrown one spell too many and had it backlash off King Darville’s sword and crown. He’d been captive in the weasel statue ever since. Without Krej’s disdainful supervision, Rejiia had learned a lot more about magic and about evil than her father had ever dreamed of.
    She would continue to menace Coronnan until she sat on the