The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

dreamed repeatedly that Rejiia had stolen his son and was using the baby as a focus for her tortuous rituals to raise power. Rather than have the dream—vision almost—repeat endlessly he had walked the colonnade until the others roused at dawn. They, too, had wandered about heavy-eyed and listless.
    “Do you have a better suggestion?” Lord Andrall sat on the sloped edge of the sledge, adding his weight on the barricade. He had discarded his single piece of gold to free himself of the gloaming. But he hadn’t told Lord Laislac or any of the others in his party how to emerge from the perpetual mist.
    Lanciar found the man much easier to work with when he could see him and a barrier of energy did not separate them.
    The sound of men and tools ramming into the gate pounded in his ears. The wooden planks of the outer door buckled under the pressure.
    “We don’t have much besides these bardos to block the outer gate. This one is all that will fit in the gatehouse. We’ll have to close the inner portal—if it will still close—and push the rest of the sledges in front of it.” His military training quickly assessed the situation and made his decisions almost before he thought them through.
    “Weapons?” Lord Andrall tilted his head.
    “A few of your retainers have swords. Most of us have daggers and eating knives. We also have five magicians.” He shrugged his shoulders.
    “You . . . you will kill my people?” Vareena looked ghostly pale. She swayed slightly as she wrung her hands.
    “Please sit somewhere, Vareena, before you fall down,” Lord Andrall suggested. “We will do our best to spare these frightened villagers while defending ourselves.”
    “Let’s just hope our magicians find a solution to the problem of the curse before they break through,” Lanciar added. Then he began directing the closing of the inner gate.
    The assault on the gate came again, stronger this time. More of the wooden planks screeched and buckled. Lanciar dragged Lord Andrall off the sledge and into the courtyard. “Get that inner gate closed now. Use magic if you have to. Two more bardos ready to move in front of it!”
    Just then, the flying black cat—had he heard Jack call it a flywacket?—swooped into the courtyard. It landed neatly on the stonework around the well. Before it could begin to preen its wings, it caught Lanciar’s gaze.
    A blurred and confused image of mounted soldiers racing through the foothills to this lonely spot on nearly blown steeds flashed before his mind’s eye. The scene repeated itself twice more, becoming clearer each time.
    Just then the four other magicians emerged from Zolltarn’s lair.
    Jack stretched his arm for the flywacket to perch on. The bird/cat (or was it dragon/cat) pushed down with his wings once and glided over to his companion. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes for a moment. “I think I need a drink,” Jack said as if cursing.
    “Somehow I thought you’d say that,” Marcus replied. His eyes had the same half-glaze as Jack’s. He’d probably shared the information.
    “ S’murghit! I think we have a problem,” Lanciar muttered.
    “Watch your language around the children,” Vareena hissed at him.
    “We haven’t time to do all that we need to,” Marcus protested.
    “Then we’ll have to improvise,” Robb replied.
    “Time to make our own luck, people,” Queen Miranda insisted upon hearing the news. “Magicians, get to work on whatever spells you have to cast to lay the ghost to rest and remove the curse of the gloaming. Lanciar, you and Lord Andrall devise and direct a battle plan. I shall keep you informed of the attack from the top of the tower.”
    Lanciar didn’t wait for Andrall to finish bowing to the queen. “Rovers,” he shouted, “on the ramparts with any loose rubble you can find. Start tearing the walls down yourselves if you have to. Throw it at the attackers, but watch your aim. We want to scare them off—not kill them. Ladies, boil water to pour down on the villagers. That should hurt and discourage without seriously maiming and killing.”
    Everyone hopped to obey as if he were truly a general and not just a middle-rank officer.
    Lanciar nodded his head to his queen. She didn’t know how run a battle, but she knew how to delegate to someone with experience. She might have been a flighty, self-absorbed teenager when she turned over the rule of her country to Simeon, but now she showed the makings of a true leader. He looked