The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

route—or open an entrance.
    “Let’s go find out what Piedro is up to.” He turned his back on the wonderful treasure and marched back down the turret stair. When he reached the first landing, he heard Yaala’s and Powwell’s footsteps following him sluggishly—reluctantly?
    Back in the main corridor, Rollett waited for his companions to catch up. He noted a rectangular book-sized bulge in Powwell’s tunic, right below the pocket occupied by Thorny. Rollett decided to ignore the theft temporarily.
    A little farther along, they found the wall of tapestries that hid the side entrance to the Justice Hall. The last time Rollett had been through this doorway, he’d led a dozen men on a raid. How many of them had survived the trap laid by Piedro?
    He held back an obscene tapestry while Powwell poked his head and his magic sense through the doorway. The younger man stopped short, gagging.
    “What?” Yaala pushed her way past him. She turned back to Rollett, eyes wide, throat working convulsively, skin pale and sweating.
    Rollett swallowed his sudden fear and looked as well. He immediately wished he hadn’t.
    The severed heads of two of his informers lay atop the raised altar stone, still dripping blood.

Chapter 25
     
    Early morning, the second day after the dark of the moon, in the home of Myrilandel, Ambassador from the Nimbus of Dragons
     
    B essel slipped out of Myrilandel’s house early. He needed to retrieve a few more personal belongings, and he wanted another look in the library. No one had told him he had to stay in the house, just out of Scarface’s way, and the day looked too warm and fair to spend it indoors.
    After the full day of testifying before the Council of Provinces or being locked in Nimbulan’s study reviewing his magical education, both he and Mopsie were ready for some fresh air and exercise.
    He’d broken his fast alone on some mixed grains that had stewed into a wonderful cereal overnight. A little dried fruit and thick cream in the bowl had filled his belly nicely. Even Guillia at the University—wonderful cook though she was—didn’t have quite the right touch with cereal that Myrilandel did.
    Mopsie hadn’t liked the cereal, but he’d loved the juicy bone Myri had given him last night, and he’d lapped up a bowl of cream this morning as if he hadn’t eaten in a moon or more.
    Myri and Nimbulan had stayed up late last night talking over Bessel’s report of Scarface’s removal of books from library circulation, the investigation of Jorghe-Rosse’s death, Scarface’s increasingly fanatical policies, and the seeming absence of the dragons. Myrilandel had commented that the dragons still spoke to her but from a great distance. They gave no explanation for wandering farther afield than usual in their hunting. Bessel hadn’t been able to stay awake until they came to some conclusion. He presumed they still slept this morning. He and Mopsie had had the kitchen to themselves.
    The dog ran a little ahead of Bessel and back again along the road. “Are you scouting ahead for me, Mopsie?” The dog wiggled his hind end and extended his pink tongue in a happy grin. Bessel drew a scent picture from the dog’s mind of all the other dogs who had passed this way, piddling on appropriate marking spots. He was amazed at the varied information carried with each scent. “You are a terrible gossip, Mopsie.”
    The dog agreed and ran off again.
    They headed away from Ambassador Jorghe-Rosse’s home. The trip to the University would take at least half an hour longer this way, but Bessel wasn’t about to risk attracting the attention of the vindictive warriors again. He hoped Lady Rosselaara had accepted the Council’s verdict of death by accident.
    The city came to life as they walked. Merchants emerged from their homes setting up booths along the major thoroughfares. Smells of cooking meats, baking bread, and stewing fruits tantalized Bessel. Mopsie enhanced each scent and noise for him. Bessel’s other senses of sight and touch amplified as well. He turned circles as he walked, appreciating life as he hadn’t in many years.
    Mopsie licked his chops and stopped to sniff at the butcher’s tent.
    “Sorry, pup, I can’t afford to buy you a bone today. You’ve eaten well enough for now.” He scratched the dog’s ears in compensation for the lack of another treat. As a journeyman magician, he was entitled to a small allowance, payable at the full moon, his portion of the fees