The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

“What are you doing here?” he asked.
    “An assassin from Rossemeyer is after me. I need your protection,” Bessel panted as he skidded to a halt in front of the Senior Magician. He bent double trying to catch his breath.
    “You were told to stay with Nimbulan.” Scarface made a solid barrier in front of the door and sanctuary.
    “I forgot some of my things.” Bessel looked anxiously over his shoulder. The assassin stalked across the new bridge that connected University Isle to the Palace. He carried his sword lightly. A triumphant smile split his dark face.
    “I’m a member of the Commune. You must protect me, Senior Magician Aaddler!”
    “You are but a journeyman, not a full member of the Commune. I have decreed you exiled from the Commune until the issue of your use of rogue magic is resolved. Protect yourself.” Scarface whirled and slammed the door in Bessel’s face.

    Palace Reveta Tristile courtyard, early morning
     
    “May I help you mount your steed, Your Grace?” King Quinnault asked his queen, tugging his forelock and bowing deeply, like any of the stable hands who might have offered the same service.
    “What do you think you are doing, Scarecrow?” Katie whispered to him. She tugged on his cupped hands, trying to get him to stand upright.
    “I’m helping my wife mount her steed. And a noble steed it is, even if it is barely big enough to mount a child,” he replied with a grin. The king’s matching white steed stood nearby, head and shoulders taller than the queen’s mount.
    “But you’re dressed for riding. And Buan is saddled and anxious for a hard run.” She eyed the beast’s restless feet, as big as dinner platters and unmindful of any human appendage that might get beneath him.
    “I’m going with you, love.”
    “Please don’t do this to me, Scarecrow. You’ve got to stay and find a solution to Lady Rosselaara’s demands. And . . . and we can’t leave Marilell alone. I don’t trust anyone.”
    “I’m only going as far as Myrilandel’s house with you. Then I’ll come back and search the laws and old treaties for a precedent that will placate the widow. And I’m bringing the baby with me.” He gestured at the maid who stood near the doorway with the squirming princess firmly clasped in her arms. A full escort of guards waited beside her, also ready to ride.
    “I can’t take all those guards with me. I need secrecy. You know what my father is like, what technology he controls. We can’t let these men see it.”
    Quinnault’s face took on the closed, emotionless look she knew too well. His stubborn face. No sense in arguing with him. Short of a full-scale invasion within the next ten minutes, he’d not change his mind. She couldn’t change it for him, even if she used her telepathy.
    “Maarie Kaathliin, the absence of an armed escort while you ride about the country is a clear signal that something special occurs. I won’t let you go alone.”
    “I’m going for a ride with friends. I don’t need an armed escort when I have a magician with me. They will interfere with my mission.”
    “The armed escort has orders to stay well behind you. They are sworn to secrecy. They have proved their loyalty time and again. I trust them with my life, so should you.”
    Katie bit her lip. She couldn’t think of a single argument to sway him.
    “I thought I was meeting Nimbulan, Myri, and Bessel here.” Only the two steeds stood in the forecourt. She had expected to have to walk to the mainland stable rather than have the mounts ready for her less than an hour after her interview with Nimbulan and Scarface.
    “We’ll meet them at their home on the way out of the city. South, you said?” Quinnault bent once more, holding out cupped hands to assist Katie into the saddle.
    She placed her left foot into his palms as she grabbed the saddlehorn. She barely had time to swing her right leg over the steed’s back to keep from plummeting over it and onto the cobblestones on the other side.
    “Easy, Scarecrow!” she gasped as she fought for balance.
    “Sorry, love. Your steed is a lot shorter than I’m used to.” His grin didn’t reach his eyes.
    “And I’m shorter than an adolescent child!” Back home, small stature and efficient metabolism were assets in a resource-deprived culture. Here, those qualities made her the butt of many jokes.
    But the easy banter didn’t break the tension she sensed in him.
    “Quinnault, I need to do this privately. My father is