The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

Believe me, I know what it’s like to be owned by a familiar.”
    “Uh, sir, I think I might need to learn something about self-defense and disguises.” Bessel paused in his retreat toward the back stairs—the servants’ stairs in any other household. If Myrilandel made use of any servant except an occasional nanny, Bessel had never seen them.
    “Why?” Nimbulan dropped the arm he’d been gesturing with. “Has someone from the University threatened you?”
    “No, sir. I had to pass the Rossemeyerian Embassy on the way here. One of their warriors came outside and watched me very closely. He unsheathed his sword and said something, but I couldn’t hear the words.”
    Why didn’t he admit that he knew what the man had said? Maybe the man hadn’t said the words, only thought them.
    “Did you read his intentions in his mind?”
    “No, sir. I won’t eavesdrop unless invited.” An embarrassing flush heated Bessel’s face.
    “Even to save your life?” Nimbulan raised one eyebrow in question.
    “I . . . I don’t know. I’ve never been that desperate.”
    “Think about it while you settle in. And think about invisibility spells. I used to be quite good at hiding myself while in full view of those I wished to escape. Sometimes I didn’t even need magic.” The elderly man chuckled as he set his daughter onto her feet. He knelt before her and tousled her hair. “But I’ll never escape you, Ammie.”
    The little girl laughed wildly.
    Bessel wondered how much Nimbulan could teach him now that he’d replaced his magic with a loving family. Then his old teacher stood, slowly unbending his limbs. A grimace of pain crossed his face and he coughed.

Chapter 23
     
    Afternoon, the pit beneath the city of Hanassa
     
    “A re you sure this thing will work?” Powwell asked as he eyed the little black ’mote suspiciously. He held the box so the wraith could view it, too. The misty apparition hadn’t left him for more than a few seconds since she’d returned, not even while they slept and ate. The iron gate had remained opened after the guards left. She could come and go as she pleased. So why didn’t she go?
    At least she’d ceased her wailing.
    “I’m not sure of anything,” Yaala replied. She repeatedly touched various parts of Little Liise, the generator that chugged happily along converting steam to ’tricity. Mostly Yaala fiddled with a control panel she had exposed on one end of the machine. “Touch the left button and see what happens.”
    Powwell held his finger over the button she indicated. Sometime in the past it had been painted red. Generations of use had worn the paint off and there were only a few wisps of color left to suggest its purpose. He closed his eyes and pushed hard on the button.
    “Nothing’s happening.” Rollett scanned the caverns, holding out his staff as a sensor. He seemed unaware of the wraith hovering right in front of him.
    “Wait a moment,” Yaala advised as she fussed with buttons and switches on the nearby transformer. “Push it again.”
    Powwell pushed the button.
    Still nothing.
    “Point the ’mote toward the light control panel embedded in the wall.” Yaala heaved a sigh of resignation. “I thought you knew a ’mote had to have a purpose and line-of-sight contact with its objective.”
    “Now we know,” Rollett replied with a grin. “Just like FarSight. The magic lets you see farther than your eyes alone, but you have to be in line of sight.”
    Powwell and Rollett looked at each other. They both shrugged. More and more, ’tricity sounded like magic. But Powwell knew it wasn’t magic. It was dangerous to touch, dangerous to any but the most expert engineer—Yaala.
    And the machines would let the plague into Coronnan. He knew that the moment he smelled the metallic/chemical taint in the air beneath the pervasive sulfur when they arrived by the dragongate. He’d never forget the smell of the plague in the dragon dream.
    The wraith wrinkled the part of its face that might be a nose, mimicking his own action.
    Powwell pushed the button again, trying to ignore the wraith. The lights dimmed to a faint glow. Heavy darkness crept closer to him. His senses started adding up the grains of dirt and piles of rock in the mountain above him.
    The wraith cooed gentle comfort into his mind, just like Kalen had.
    “Now push the green button, the one on the right,” Yaala instructed, before he succumbed to panic.
    She looked happy, so Powwell guessed the