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

invisible creatures back to Coronnan soon.
    “Are the enemy troops massing for an attack?” Robb asked.
    Leave it to him to ask the practical questions.
    “Curiously, no. They’re waiting for something. Something big. Something disastrous for us. Well, come along. I’ll take you to the supply hut. I’ll try to keep the quartermaster from skinning all three of us alive for daring to ask for something. Anything.” Woodpecker strode toward the doorway, still muttering.
    Marcus and Robb followed the Battlemage across the camp. They passed dozens of men on the way. All of them moved quickly away to avoid any contact with the magicians.
    “Fear is a wonderful thing,” Woodpecker continued his litany of complaint. “Fear gives us mages all of the privacy we could want and then some. No one interferes with our work. But they won’t help either. S’murghit! They won’t even feed us. Have to do it all ourselves so they don’t taint their precious mundane lives with magic. If I didn’t know that King Simeon’s rule would be worse than putting up with these lumbird-brained fools, I’d desert to the enemy. Or go outlaw. I’d get more respect in Hanassa!”
    Marcus resisted the urge to make the ancient ward against evil by crossing his wrists and flapping his hands. No one went to Hanassa voluntarily. No one except mercenaries, outlaws, and rogue magicians—all determined to make trouble for the rest of civilization. King Simeon hailed from Hanassa before he’d married SeLenicca’s very young Queen Miranda. And look at the mess he’d made there!
    “Stand aside. I have need of a few things,” Woodpecker demanded of the three armed men at the supply hut.
    “Orders are no one gets anything until the next boatload of supplies comes upriver,” the sergeant sneered. Three gold stripes on the sleeve of his green uniform tunic shone brightly in the freshly ignited rushlights beside the door. His collar and cuffs were threadbare and his left elbow nearly poked through the cloth. But his boots were new and shone with fresh polish.
    Marcus nearly salivated with greed at the thought of the warm and dry feet those boots would give him.
    “You dare give orders to me, Giiorge?” Woodpecker asked. “Didn’t I bind up an ax wound on your left side with barely a scar after you dropped your guard and allowed a wounded enemy to sneak up on you?”
    “Um . . .” Sergeant Giiorge shuffled his feet and blushed.
    “One pair of boots for my journeyman. He might very well be the one to throw the spell that wins the next battle. You and all of your men owe the Battlemages more than your lives.”
    “Two minutes inside. And don’t tell anyone I was the one that let you in.” Sergeant Giiorge unlocked the door and then gestured to his men to move forward two paces, just enough room for Woodpecker to get between him and the door. They kept their backs sternly to the doorway and the activities of the magicians.
    “Not very grateful, if you ask me,” Robb muttered.
    “The best we can hope for,” Woodpecker replied. He brought a ball of witchlight to his hand and scanned the shelves inside the hut. A few uniform tunics, some blankets, and mess kits. Not much left to supply an army.
    “One pair of boots left. Take them and hope they fit.” Woodpecker thrust the solitary pair into Marcus’ hands and sidled out of the hut.
    The moment all three of them were clear of the doorway, Sergeant Giiorge locked it again and resumed his post.
    “Follow me back toward the enclave, then leave as soon as no one is looking,” Woodpecker ordered as they hurried back the way they had come.
    At the edge of the empty circle around the Battlemage’s hut, Marcus and Robb veered off toward a clump of trees beside the paddock. Marcus plunked himself down on the ground beneath the spreading branches of an oak. Pale green swelled the ends of the branches with the promise of new life and plenty of shade come Summer. He pulled off both his boots and