The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

commented on a tight mental line. Best if the magician in the crowd did not eavesdrop.
    Magic? Quinnault cocked an eyebrow at her. His slightly bemused expression could not hide his unease from her.
    Katie searched the crowd for signs of the man with the gaudy orange shirt with purple piping. She should have been able to pick him out in a moment among the more soberly dressed folk.
    I sense magic and conspiracy in this brawl. Someone deliberately fed fear into these people.
    “Disperse to your homes now to celebrate Sawheen, our Holy Day of Remembrance,” Quinnault commanded. “You are good people. You don’t need to listen to those who would use you to fight their fears. You need only live your lives in peace. A peace we have fought for. But now the fighting must cease.”
    “What about the foreigners? What about . . . ?”
    Katie searched the crowd for the speaker. It sounded a lot like Orange-shirt, but she couldn’t be sure. The voice seemed to come from all directions, followed by ripples of unease. She spotted Liam Francis working his way through the crowd with deliberation. Sean Michael and Jamie Patrick approached from other directions, their bright red hair obvious beacons in the mob. She hoped they honed in on the disruptive magician.
    “If you notice people from other lands crowding our city, be assured they bring trade, they bring friendship. I work with their leaders to avoid another war. We all work for peace and prosperity,” Quinnault responded.
    A mood of calm followed his words, more overwhelming than the anonymous voice.
    Katie bit her lip in confusion. Was it right for her husband to use magic to influence the crowd in the same manner another had used magic to bring the crowd to riot?
    (Sometimes, Katie, one must fight fire with fire or magic with magic,) a dragon voice reminded her.
    “What do we do now, Quinnault?” she asked. Her brothers disappeared again, swallowed up in the mass of people. She had no idea if they found their quarry or not.
    “We need to know who started this and why,” Quinnault replied. “My investigators must ask questions and keep their eyes and ears open for more signs of trouble. I’m certain there will be more.”

    Sunset, neighborhood temple three islands west of Palace Reveta Tristile, Coronnan City
     
    Katie sank to her knees on the cold stone floor of the little neighborhood temple. The last rays of sunlight streamed through the high narrow windows, adding luster to the icon tapestry of the three Stargods descending upon a cloud of silver flame on the back wall of the sanctuary. Beside her, Quinnault bowed his head and murmured the prayers for the dead. Nimbulan, Myri, and Yaala occupied the space just behind the royal couple. Around them—with a buffer zone of empty space out of respect for Quinnault and Katie—the entire congregation recited the same petitions.
    A red-robed priest joined Katie in her prayers. She glanced briefly at him. He kept the cowl of his garment over his head, concealing his face. Unusual that anyone not of the royal entourage would come so close.
    The priest jostled her elbow slightly as he made a very Terran sign of the cross, touching head, heart, and both shoulders. She’d grown used to the locals using almost the same gesture but with a different invocation from the one she’d learned as an infant back home.
    “Almost like being at home,” the priest whispered in a Terran accent.
    “I should have known you’d show up eventually, Sean Michael,” she whispered back to her older brother—the middle one in age of her three siblings. “You aren’t supposed to be here. We agreed, no more family contact. We take no more chances contaminating this culture.”
    “Have to check on my baby sister.” He bowed his head again to avoid Quinnault’s inquisitive look.
    “Liam Francis already did.”
    “Ah, but our youngest brother has not reported back to us. I suspect he has found a tavern and a lady to entertain him for the evening. Like the dark-eyed beauty over there.” He gestured with his chin toward a woman with Rover coloring and Rover-gaudy clothing strung with chains of coins who knelt directly behind Nimbulan.
    “Or Liam Francis may have gone looking for a disruptive magician. I thought I saw you and Jamie Patrick following the same psychic scent.”
    Sean Michael raised a rusty red eyebrow at her. “We found nothing.”
    “Could you look again?”
    He nodded. “And when may I see my favorite niece, the