Free The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus) by Irene Radford Page A

family had suffered their share of grief, with the death of her mother, grandmother, and sister-in-law, with her need to become mother to her family at the age of seven. But they’d been blessed as well. Blessed in ways the villagers rarely recognized. She had five healthy brothers. Two of them were married and helping run their wives’ family farms. Her father continued as a wise judge and leader despite his reluctance to utter more than four words at a time. The village prospered most years. Since the war with SeLenicca, trading caravans used the nearby pass more often, bringing trade goods for surplus crops. Even now, when Winter stores grew thin and new crops had yet to ripen, they all had enough to eat and more to share with the ghost.
    But he’d be gone after tonight. She choked back a sob. The ghosts were her friends. They listened patiently as she explored the problems of growing up the only girl in a household of brothers, the only sensitive in the village, the only woman in a position to care for all those around her, family and villagers alike. The ghosts understood her.
    “Almost there, little sister.” Uustass helped her up the last few steps of the broken path to the gatehouse.
    The wind ceased to pound at her senses the moment she stepped within the massive walls of the building. But then her ears started ringing in the comparative silence. She clutched her temples, trying to make sense of the noise. A hum, deep in her mind, at her nape announced an eerie portent.
    “What ails you, Eena?” Uustass clutched both of her elbows.
    She leaned into him, using his solid presence to balance the sudden numbness between her ears.
    “The ghost is passing. We must hurry!”
    “I wish I understood this strange compulsion of yours to tend these bizarre beings. Yet you can’t summon the ghosts of our loved ones. You don’t even know if these ghosts were once human.”
    “Whatever they are when they come to me, they were human once. I must help them . . . him. Something is amiss. Hurry, Uustass.” She pushed him out of her way and dashed through the relative comfort of the tunnel beneath the gatehouse into the pelting rain of the courtyard. The day seemed darker and heavier here than out in the teeth of the storm.
    Her feet automatically took her toward the cell where she had placed the little ball of cold light so that Farrell did not have to pass his last day in darkness.
    Natural green firelight flickered beneath the closed doorway. Vareena stopped short, heedless of the cold sheets of water that poured upon her from the leaking gutter of the colonnade.
    “Now what ails you?” Uustass sighed wearily.
    “I did not light the fire.”
    “Then the ghost must have.”
    “But he was too weak to leave his pallet. I left no firerock and iron to strike a spark.”
    Uustass drew his belt knife; the one he used to free young sheep from brambles and cut lengths of rope for various chores around the village. Sharp enough to slice through tree limbs the width of his wrist.
    A measure of confidence returned. Whoever had invaded the sanctuary of the ancient monastery must respect her brother’s strength and purpose.
    Cautiously, Uustass pushed the door open. Rusted hinges creaked. He stood back, peering inward, waiting for an attack.
    The fine hairs on Vareena’s neck stood up. From the safety of the steps she inspected the small visible portion of the narrow cell. She saw only the slack figure of her ghost, fully formed in this reality, his arms neatly crossed on his chest, legs crossed at the ankles and shiny gold coins holding down his eyelids. She doubted he had composed himself so peacefully before experiencing his death throes.
    “I only see the body,” Uustass said, sheathing his knife. “Just like the other times. Once they’ve died, they are visible to normal people.”
    “Wait!” Vareena whispered frantically. “There, to the right. Something moved.” Her hand went to her throat as she swallowed back a