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Authors: Irene Radford

The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus) (21 page)

BOOK: The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus)
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“Just hold that lace pillow nice and gentle, Lady, while I strap it on tight,” Zebbiah said.
The nameless woman did so while she took one last look at the palace where she had wandered aimlessly for . . . at least five days before she awakened and two days since then.
“Zebbiah, do you think I have the right to give myself a name, since neither you nor my daughter remembers my true name?” she asked intently.
Yesterday, while she’d packed the lace, he and Jaranda had scavenged food and other journey supplies. They had tried to leave at dawn as planned. An explosion outside the palace walls had frightened the pack beast. It sat and brayed as if in pain for a long time. It did not understand that the terrible noise was probably only someone clearing rubble. The beast would not rise again, no matter the enticement or provocation, for almost two hours until the city that surrounded them on three sides had quieted.
Now they seemed about to set forth. Into danger? Perhaps only adventure. But she still had no idea who she was or why she and her daughter had been abandoned in the palace. Something about her daughter having red hair rather than the blonde of a true-blood?
“Choose whatever name you like, Lady,” Zebbiah said as he secured more straps on his pack beast. The obnoxious creature let out a mournful bray, extending its neck and laying back its ears as the Rover cinched the girth strap tighter. It shifted its rear hooves restlessly. Both the Rover and the woman moved out of range of those dangerous feet.
It kicked back once and arched its back. But since it had not connected with anything, or anyone, it settled again.
“I’ll think about a name as we walk to the docks. Are you certain the ferries are still running upriver?” The traffic on the river she had observed from the palace windows was sporadic at best.
“Sure as sure. My uncle’s cousin’s nephew has a boat waiting for me. We can pay them with that linen doily you found tucked inside your favorite pillow,” he answered, still concentrating on the packing. “Lace still has some value here, mostly to people trading outland, but hard work and sharp weapons have more. We’ll save the Tambrin lace for trade in Coronnan.”
From the palace windows she had watched the river. Some people left on outland barges, others moved back into the city in small groups. In the city, she had watched a few people trying to clear away rubble and start new buildings, others attempted to rebuild their damaged homes and businesses. No one stopped the looters, or bully gangs that robbed at will. No one traveled alone. Almost everyone, men, women, and children, carried weapons.
She knew that was wrong. Weapons had no place in this peaceful city. She had never carried a weapon, wouldn’t know how to use one if she had. What little crime prowled around the edges of civilization should be handled by the city guard—or in extreme cases by . . . She couldn’t remember who judged the more serious crimes, only that a feared authority existed.
None of the returning citizens or gangs came near the palace. No one came to check on the unnamed woman and her child who had been abandoned in the palace—except this itinerant trader. She trusted his strong arms and his politeness. Mostly she trusted his greed. He could have stolen the lace and sold it outland at a profit. But that would be the end of that market. By taking her under his wing, he guaranteed a continuing supply of lace. As long as she gave him a valuable product to sell, he would protect her and her daughter.
“Have an eye to everything around you as we walk, Lady. I don’t think anyone will accost you on the way. Rovers still have a reputation in this land.” He flashed her a smile that bordered on vicious. “I’d like to concentrate on protecting the beast and the lace. So keep one eye on your daughter and the other on everyone and everything around you. Once aboard the ferry, my people will keep you from harm.”
As if to emphasize his warning, the sounds of harsh words, blows exchanged, a scream, and running feet came from just outside the walls.
The woman shuddered and closed her eyes a moment. Her people should be working together to rebuild, not fighting and stealing.
“And these relatives of yours will take us all the way to the headwaters of the River Lenicc? All the way to safety.”
“He said so. There’s a caravan gathering to go over the pass into Coronnan. We’ll be safe with them, but we have to get going. The journey is long. As it is, we might have to spend the Winter in an abandoned monastery I know of on the other side of the pass. Find your daughter, Lady, and let us leave.”
The ground shook once again as if to emphasize his order. The roof above the lace workroom collapsed, sending bricks and beams spraying over the courtyard. Zebbiah crouched down with his arms over his head and neck until the avalanche of debris ceased.
“Jaranda!” the woman screamed. “Where are you, baby?” Panic filled her heart.
The pack beast brayed again in protest at the disruption. It kicked out and then threatened to park its rear end down on the cobbles.
Zebbiah cursed and kicked the creature to keep it on its feet.
“Jaranda!” she called again. She whirled about, desperately seeking a sign of her child.
“Here I am, M’ma.” The little girl skipped over loose cobblestones and fallen bricks from the far side of the courtyard, seemingly unconcerned despite the recent danger. She bounced a ball from the royal nursery.
The woman nearly sagged with relief. She crouched down and hugged her daughter close.
“Lady, you have never questioned traveling so far with me. You, a woman alone and unprotected. Me, a man you don’t know, have no reason to trust.”
“You have not given me a reason not to trust you. As you said, prejudices must be learned. I have forgotten everything.”
They stared at each other for a long silent moment, assessing, weighing, enjoying.
He looked away first.
“Jaranda, my love, I think I would like the name, Trizia. Do you like that name? It means noble lady.” She pulled the little girl against her leg in a fierce hug, unwilling to let her stray again, even for a moment.
“You are M’ma,” the little girl insisted. She stamped her foot in irritation. “M’ma.”
“Trizia doesn’t fit,” Zebbiah added. He yanked the pack beast’s halter to start it moving.
“I thought you’d say that.”
 
“Twelve, thirteen, fourteen,” Marcus counted out loud the number of bags of gold on the first bank of shelves.
He counted because Robb had told him to count. He could not think beyond the straight sequence of numbers, could not plan. If he stopped counting, he’d fall into deep despair.
Yet the more he counted, the heavier he felt. Each movement and thought became an effort. The gloaming pressed against all of his senses. Soon he’d not be able to hold his head up, stand, talk, eat.
“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.” He gulped back a sob.
The monastery trapped them. His luck and his magic had drained out of him. The future looked hopeless.
“Snap out of it, Marcus,” Robb barked. He spoke slowly as if he, too, swam through the thick air.
“It all seems so hopeless.” Marcus rubbed two gold coins together in his pocket while he paused. “All this gold stashed away, gathering dust. It could be put to such good use—rebuilding the University, stabilizing the economy, increasing trade.”
“Bribing nobles to make magic legal again,” Robb added with a grin. But his smile looked false. As false as the hazy light that dominated the entire monastery.
“And the gold just sits here! And we can’t get out to put it to use.”
“Every bit of information we gather is a step toward finding an exit.” Robb placed a comforting hand upon Marcus’ shoulder. “We’re magicians, trained to think, to plan, and solve problems. We can’t always trust in luck. If we plan it right, we’ll get out of here.”
Warmth and reassurance spread from Robb’s touch. Marcus absorbed it, fighting for a small glimmer of hope.
“We’ve got to make our own luck, Marcus. Maybe there is significance in the number and arrangement of bags. Perhaps these isolated shelves in the center of the room mask an exit we haven’t discovered yet. We won’t know until we investigate.”
“What is happening to us, Robb? I’m supposed to be the one who gives you cheer and encouragement. That’s why we work so well together. You think, I plow forward with infinite optimism, making up the plan as we go.” Marcus covered his friend’s hand on his shoulder with his own and squeezed to show his undying friendship—even in this terrible time.
“We’ve been in worse scrapes before. Remember that time in Hanic when that farmer caught us hiding in his byre with his daughter. He chased us bare-assed through his fields for almost a quarter league before we got our wits together enough to throw up magical armor?” They both chuckled at the memory. “Think about something pleasant for a while, rather than what we can’t do. Think about Margit. Margit always brings a smile to your face.”
“Margit.” Marcus tried to conjure her image in his mind’s eye. Bold and forthright, she had a minor magical talent and had used it in good stead as Jaylor’s spy in the royal household. Her dark blonde braids bounced with life as she strode strongly through each task.
But she hated living indoors. And she hated cats; said they robbed her breath. When Marcus had seen her last, she had not known the nature of Queen Rossemikka’s problem—that a cat spirit shared her body.
But she had known her own heart and pledged it to Marcus.
A daintier blonde, more mature, milder of temperament and smaller of body superimposed herself upon Marcus’ inner vision.
Vareena.
“I bet Vareena likes cats as much as I do,” he said to himself.
He shook his head to clear it.
“I wonder if Jaylor has found a solution to the queen’s problem?” he mused rather than admit his sense of guilt and betrayal of Margit. He’d loved her and been faithful to her for two years and more. He’d never loved anyone for that long before.
“We won’t know what is going on in the capital or the University until we find a way to break the spell trapping us. Now count the bags. Count the pattern of their arrangement. Count the coins themselves.”
“And what will you be doing while I count?”
“Counting the graves of the ghosts. Searching the temple foundation stones for another exit. I have this odd feeling that something is missing. Something I should have noticed.”
Robb turned to retreat from the bookless library and froze in his tracks.
Alerted to danger, Marcus opened his senses and stared in the direction Robb looked—toward the back of the room into deep shadows from the overhanging gallery and more empty shelves.
And something else. A glittering mist that gathered and coalesced into a vague human shape. Dressed in old-fashioned robes of gold and brown, the figure carried a bloody sacrificial knife and a magician’s staff.
“Do you see what I see?” Robb whispered.
“I hope I don’t. That . . . that looks like a ghost. A real ghost.” His balance and perceptions twisted. He stumbled and clutched the gold-laden shelves for balance.
“That ghost looks very angry indeed!” Robb wasn’t standing easy on the rolling floor either.
“Run!”
CHAPTER 18
 
 
 
 
M
arcus skidded to a halt on the slick paving stones at the end of the colonnade. He had to bend over to catch his breath. Still, icy bugs seemed to climb his spine. He imagined the ghost slicing into his back from the base of his spine upward.
Robb careened into him. They looked at each other, eyes wide. Marcus’ heart beat loudly in his ears.
Without a word spoken, they took off again, away from the buildings toward the graveyard and the foundations for the old temple.
Vareena stood just inside the gates, holding a covered basket—probably full of food.
“What ails you, Marcus, Robb?” Vareena gasped, clutching her throat in alarm.
“A—g-gho-ghost!” Marcus panted. He leaned heavily against the gatehouse wall as he drew in deep draughts of air.
BOOK: The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus)
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