The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus) (30 page)

Read The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus) Online

Authors: Irene Radford

Lanciar wondered if she’d indeed been a virgin or merely used her magic to create that illusion.

You can’t trust a dark-eyed outlander.
The oft repeated phrase burned into Lanciar’s mind.

“I’ll leave when I accomplish my mission,” he reiterated.

“You have met my daughter Maija,” Zolltarn continued as if Lanciar had not spoken. “A comely girl.”

“She’s a good cook.” Lanciar wasn’t about to admit how beautiful he found the girl with her flashing eyes, bright smile, long legs, and lush bosom. He didn’t really mind her reprimands about his soldier-bred language. From that first night when she’d asked him to abandon his campsite and join the clan, he’d admired her.

But the promise of a romp in her bed had remained an elusive taunt between them. All he wanted from her was a romp. A commitment for more would tie him to the clan and he did not want to stay with them any longer than necessary. He wanted his son free of Rover ideas and morals—or lack of morals.

He sensed a trap in Zolltarn’s words and the girl’s seduction. And he’d witnessed almost no immoral conduct or indiscretions.

“Maija has no husband. She has courted a number of suitable men from other clans but found none of them to her liking. Not all of the men are willing to follow me because I am a powerful magician and have ties to the Commune of Magicians. They know that once they mate with one of mine there is no escape. They remain part of my clan even if their bride dies.”

“I presume, then, that the choice of mate belongs to the women in your clan.” Lanciar found himself edging away from Zolltarn, off the road, away from these people and their alien customs.

“ ’Tis the way of the Rovers. Once she chooses, she must be faithful. Before she chooses, she must remain untouched. Upon occasion we have relaxed that rule and met with disaster. My eldest daughter Kestra died and her child was stolen from us because we sought a different solution to our needs. Never again.”

“I’m surprised you have not pushed Maija to choose sooner, bring new blood, another man into the clan.”

“Ah, but now she has chosen. And she will take your son into her household as soon as he is weaned.” Zolltarn stared directly at Lanciar.

“I think I need a drink.”

“Maija brews the best ale of all the Rover clans.”

Eight black articulated limbs quested outward from the slime-coated, bulbous body of the spider. Vareena stared at the malevolent creature, frozen by fear.

Poison dripped from the clacking pincers on the forward limbs. Its eyes, positioned near the joint of each leg, flashed demon red. The thing could easily enclose her fist within its eight arms.

Her heart pounded as loud as festival drums. Cold sweat trickled down her back.

The spider inched forward, tasting the air with each legtip, glowing as redly as its eyes.

“Stargods protect me,” she whispered, trying to edge away from her stalker. The stone walls on three sides of her hard bed within the monastery stopped her retreat.

The spider moved forward faster than she could edge away from it.

Could she run for the doorway before it swung out on its web and latched onto her vulnerable neck?

Surely Robb must sense her fear, hear her thudding heartbeat, and come to her rescue.

The door remained stubbornly closed. The entire monastery was wrapped in the preternatural silence of the gloaming.

The spider came closer.

Panic propelled Vareena out of bed and across the room. She tugged at the door. It remained firmly closed and latched. She kicked it and bruised her toes. She pulled with both hands. It did not even rattle.

Something heavy and hard landed on her hair.

She screamed . . .

And awoke in bed drenched in sweat.

Cautiously, afraid to move lest she bring the spider upon her, she brought a wisp of witchlight to her fingertip.

Search as she might, she could not find the spider. An empty and torn cobweb hung from the far corner of her cell. She’d thrown witchfire at it before claiming the room as her own.

The sweat beneath her shift chilled rapidly. She needed to move or wrap the covers more tightly about her. But if she did that, she might disturb the spider.

The door burst open. Marcus and Robb, both bleary-eyed with sleep-tousled hair stood side by side. Each carried a large ball of witchlight. The direction-less light illuminated every corner of the room.

“Spider!” she hissed at them, almost daring them to search her blankets.

Marcus strode forward with confidence and whipped the bedcovers away from her. He shook them vigorously.

Nothing scuttled away from his search.

“You must have had a nightmare,” Robb said behind a yawn. “We’ve both had them since coming here. Go back to sleep. The dream will fade with the dawn.”

“I can’t go back to sleep.” She wished one of them, either of them, both of them, would hold her tight and banish the fear with their strength. Their ghostly energies kept them from touching her.

“Then get up and do something. Best way to banish a dream is to use the privy and let it drain away. Bake some bread, clean something, count the bricks in the wall. You’ll be sleep again in moments.” Robb backed out of the room.

“He’s right, Vareena. You need to do something to shake yourself free of the dream.” Marcus shrugged and exited as well.

“He’s right.” Vareena stood up and took stock of her cell. No shadows hid from her witchlight. “Childish fears. I won’t let them rule me.” With determination, she dressed and went to find flour and yeast. Time to start baking bread for breakfast.

My powers are weakening! My enemies have weathered every disaster I throw at them. Yet still they gather. Still they plot against me.

Once, long ago, when I was just beginning, all others thought me weak and of little consequence. But I showed them. I gathered secrets as a miser gathers gold. I gathered power and I learned to use it subtly, so that they never knew from whence the attack came. I taught my children to do the same. They became almost as powerful as me.

To protect myself and the source of my power, I must delve deep into my memories for a spell that will drain away all that these thieves hold dear. Then, when they are weak and vulnerable, I will scatter them, make them wander lost and alone, powerless. If that fails, I must murder them all.

CHAPTER 25

T
he unnamed woman sat staring into the crackling fire. Zebbiah and Jaranda had left her alone while they made a game of fetching water and washing the roots he had gathered earlier today. Her heart warmed whenever she saw the two of them together. Zebbiah would make an admirable father for the little girl.

Would he make as fine a husband?

She nudged the notion aside while she concentrated on the flames. Images from her past flitted in and out of her view.

She tasted a name on her tongue.
Miranda.
A common enough name since a former king and queen of SeLenicca had given the name to their only child nineteen years ago.

Miranda.
The name tasted smoky, like the air on this crisp and clear night in the middle of a remote mountain pass.

Miranda.

Could that truly be her name?

She stared into the green-and-yellow flames, seeking answers, wondering if she’d asked the right questions.

Images danced with the flames, teasing her mind. The strong, red-haired man with deep blue eyes, older than she by many years, dominated every scene she managed to mine from the deep recesses of her fragmented memory.

Jaranda’s eyes. Her daughter had inherited those midnight blue eyes. True-bloods tended to have eyes as pale as their hair and skin. Washed out. As depleted of color as the land was depleted of vitality and resources.

She heaved a sigh and tasted the name again. She heard it whispered behind her back by the other travelers. It resonated within her as if it belonged.

Queen Miranda had married a red-haired outlander: Simeon the sorcerer-king. In her youth and naïveté, Queen Miranda had granted him joint ruling powers. Then she had turned over the government to him so that she could spend all of her time making lace—the proper place for a woman in her culture.

But Simeon had imposed crushing taxes on her people. He had forced a war with Coronnan. He had enacted stringent laws. For even the tiniest infraction of the new laws he had exacted the extreme punishment, slavery or execution. The executions had been carried out as sacrifices to his blood-thirsty demon god Simurgh.

And yet Simeon himself had broken every law he enacted. He’d taken several mistresses—one of them, Rejiia, his own niece. He’d consorted with foreigners. He’d paid no tithes to the temple as required, yet he stole temple funds for his own bizarre religion.

And then he had outlawed the ancient and beautiful worship of the three Stargod brothers.

SeLenicca had crumbled under his crushing rule.

Change had come to SeLenicca. Dramatic, catastrophic, and none too soon.

The SeLenese had long believed that they were the Chosen of the Stargods. The land was theirs to exploit. Nurturing the land, growing crops, and raising livestock had been delegated to lesser peoples in other countries. By the time Miranda came to the throne, the Chosen of the Stargods had bled SeLenicca of all her natural resources. They had nothing left except their arrogance, their prejudices, and their lace.

Dared she believe that she and the meek woman who had allowed all that to happen while she closeted herself with her lace were one and the same. Did she want to be that woman?

What other reason for one and all to desert her and her young daughter in the palace when they fled the kardiaquakes and the fires and the flooding? What other reason than to condemn her for their troubles?

Miranda.

“I’ll do better when I return. But first I have to find the strength to be the kind of queen my people need. I need to remember everything, not just bits and pieces glued together with supposition.”

A noise alerted her to the presence of another. She wasn’t ready to face Zebbiah and Jaranda yet, so she continued staring blankly into the fire. Part of her senses remained focused on the shuffling steps and wheezing breath of the intruder.

Not Zebbiah.

She listened more closely and shifted her eyes, but not her head, to catch a glimpse of whoever hovered behind her, near the pack beast and the panniers; the panniers filled with her lace pillow and countless yards of priceless lace.

“You there!” She stood abruptly and whirled to face the caravan leader.

He held a long strand of lace, as wide as two joints of her pointing finger.

“Thief!” she screamed as loud as she could.

The leader took off running, trailing the lace behind him.

“Stop, thief!” she screamed again.

Loud footsteps ran closer. Men crowded close to her. Off to the side she caught a glimpse of Zebbiah running in pursuit.