The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

out stylized numbers in red beside the carefully printed words in white against a black background. The words meant nothing to him. Yet.
    The numbers decreased on the left and piled up on the right at an alarming rate.
    “I said, sit down, Magician,” Raanald shouted with curled lip. But the anxiety in his eyes as he looked back to the beeping black box kept Bessel rooted in place. “Hard a port!” Raanald shouted.
    The rudder and pole men in the rear quarter of the barge struggled with their tools.
    A wave caught them crosswise. The deck tilted sharply to the left. Bessel grabbed the machine housing to brace himself. His staff tangled with his feet. He crossed his ankles to keep his most essential tool within reach.
    The dignitaries slid down their benches into the flimsy railing of the luxury barge. Hard wood cracked and splintered. Fine silk gowns and robes flew in the rising wind. Limbs tangled. Ladies screamed and men gasped.
    “I said hard a port,” Raanald screamed.
    The rudder man shoved his tiller, hard. Wood snapped as the rudder grounded in the bar. The tiller moved freely, disconnected from the rudder.
    The barge swung sideways and leveled. The awning whipped away from its supports, flying toward shore in the rising wind. Another wave slapped across the deck, drenching the tangled passengers. They screamed again. Ambassador Jorghe-Rosse muttered a curse in his desert warrior language.
    Bessel didn’t need to know the words to understand the meaning. He closed his eyes and concentrated, breathing deeply. At the first deepening of his trance, he sent his magic into the damaged rudder. The wooden mechanism resisted his control. He concentrated harder. His stomach growled with hunger. His legs and back ached from the strain. Sweat broke out on his brow, washed away by the spray of the next huge wave that roared toward shore from the open sea.
    If only he could tap a ley line to fuel his magic, he could handle the storm, the rudder, and the passengers. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He had to rely on his weak dragon magic.
    Help! he called telepathically to any magician who might hear him. I need help saving these people.
    A long pause of nothing. Sweat streamed from his brow and down his back as he wrestled with several options. None of them acceptable. He ached for permission to tap the forces he knew could help him. He knew it would never come.
    Whatever happens, don’t let anything happen to Jorghe-Rosse, Master Scarface returned to him when Bessel thought the emptiness in his head would last forever. Peace depends upon Rossemeyer’s goodwill. They are looking for excuses to invade us again. You must save their ambassador at all costs!
    His master’s authoritative tone calmed Bessel a little. Concentration came a little easier. He had to get the barge back under control and into the deeper channel.
    The strident beeping of the black box interrupted his thoughts.
    “Stay off the bar. Hard a port, you s’murghin’ swabbies. I said HARD! ” Raanald dashed from his station by the precious machine to the rudder. “I knew there was a bar here, but the machine said it was ten yards to port!”
    An onerous shudder passed through the barge followed by a jerking halt. The deck canted wildly to the left, upsetting the already disoriented and disgruntled dignitaries again. They landed in a heap against the damaged railing. More of the slender wooden staves that formed the decorative fence broke. Several pieces of wood fell into the churning bay, swirled in the obstacle’s eddies, and sank.
    Ambassador Jorghe-Rosse bent over his lady, protecting her with his body. The next wave sent him crashing through the decorative wood into the thrashing waves.

Chapter 14
     
    Early evening, on the royal passenger barge in the Great Bay
     
    B essel cast aside his formal magician’s robe and heavy boots as he dove after the ambassador. He kept his staff pointed ahead of him, channeling his senses along it for greater awareness.
    All of his instincts told him to stay aboard and solve the problem with dragon magic. Nimbulan had taught him problem solving. But he knew he’d not be able to tap enough communal magic to dissipate the obstacle that held the barge, calm the waves, and rescue the ambassador.
    A mundane rescue first. Then he’d worry about the other dangers. Thank the Stargods he could swim.
    Cold water enfolded him, numbing his thoughts and turning his limbs to jelly. He scanned the turbulent water for