The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

by Irene Radford

  Some of Baamin’s emotions reached Jaylor through the spell. Jaylor’s disquiet grew. Which strange event should he relate first? “I believe a rogue magician frequents the southern mountains. He disguises himself as a one-eyed drunk, but he looks upon himself as a younger red-haired man.”

  “We must beware of anyone in disguise, Jaylor. I, too, have encountered a rogue in a different guise.” An impression of a shaggy-headed monster, very like a spotted saber cat but with bright red hair, superimposed upon Baamin’s features then vanished before Jaylor was certain of what he had seen.

  The lines of worry deepened on the old man’s face.

  “I encountered Rovers inside Coronnan. The border is nearly gone and no magician guards it,” Jaylor continued.

  “Dragon dung! Lord Krej swore to me, two days ago, that Journeyman Tomalin was stationed there. Have you seen the boy?”

  “No. I have seen no one from the University.” Jaylor sensed the summons diffusing. The spell wasn’t weaker, just more spread out. As if someone were eavesdropping. He tightened his control of the flames and pressed on with his report. “I have found a great golden wolf that a dragon protects.”

  “Stargods guard us all! Jaylor, anything to do with the dragons is important. There are very few of them left. If a dragon protects a wolf, then the wolf is important.”

  “He was injured but is healing. He appears more intelligent than a beast should be.”

  “Stay with the wolf and the dragon. We need more information before you return to the capital.” This time the magician’s agitation nearly broke the contact.

  Jaylor forced his mind back into the flame. It burned brighter, the image steadied. Wasn’t Baamin doing anything to maintain this spell? Again he sensed that this conversation was not private. He had to phrase his next comments very carefully. “I am told the dragon saved the creature from some kind of trouble at the solstice.” More than a moon before Jaylor began his journey.

  “A number of the Rovers went missing about the same time. Could the soul of a missing man have been trapped within the wolf’s body? Any missing man? Someone we know perhaps?”

  Baamin’s image drew away from the glass. The swirling colors in the border of the spell faded to blinding white. “If that is the case, after so many moons he will still think himself a wolf when the spell breaks. Beware, Jaylor. Beware of attack when you least expect it.”

  The danger was clear. Jaylor remembered the dripping fangs aimed at his throat. But how was he to break the spell? Baamin clearly expected him to. He didn’t know who had thrown that particular piece of magic. Each magician left a trademark in the colored aura of his spells. That trademark made it possible to trace the path of the magic and then reverse it.

  But Jaylor was useless at following traditional magic forms, and this didn’t smell like a University spell.

  “Sir, has my friend returned to the capital?”

  “Your friend?” Baamin looked distracted and uneasy. “Oh, um, your friend, of course.”

  Jaylor breathed a little easier. Roy had been absent from Coronnan City for several weeks before Jaylor was sent on his quest. Not unusual. But always before, Roy had left a secret message for Jaylor regarding his destination and expected return. Just one small precaution against assassination.

  “Sir, I need some books from the library on shape change spells if I am to finish this quest.”

  He could almost see the volume he needed. But it was an ancient tome, too fragile to leave the stasis spell placed on it for more than a few moments.

  “Books are off limits on quest, my boy. You must continue alone.” The old man looked more sad than querulous. “Befriend the dragon. Do whatever it asks. The dragon is our only hope. You must find a way to secure the border in your sector. I will work on the other points that have been breached.”

  The border breached at other points as well? What did one say in the face of such a tragedy? Without the magic border, Coronnan would be open to attack from foreign armies as well as outlandish cultures. Chaos—or growth—would soon result. The people of Coronnan weren’t ready for either.

  “There is other news as well,” Baamin continued. “Two ambassadors are on their way to Coronnan. The kingdom of Rossemeyer seeks to marry their princess to our prince. Refusal will be considered a declaration of war. Their enemy, SeLenicca, claims any alliance with Rossemeyer will require retribution from them.”

  “Stargods! How long before I can expect raiders on the border?” Both SeLenicca and Rossemeyer claimed the mountains southwest of here. No one controlled the passes and hidden valleys, except possibly the Rovers. Sudden blizzards sprang up at all times of the year. Armies from either country could cross the pass in two days—weather permitting—and simply walk across the dissolving border.

  “By the dark of the next moon both armies will wish to remind us of our trade-treaty obligations. If the dragons would give me enough magic, I could summon a storm to detain the ambassadors and delay a decision. I fear you are on your own. You must seal the border and discover why the dragon protects the wolf before then.”

  “If you had enough magic? What is happening, sir?” Jaylor forced himself to maintain the spell. The questions raised occupied too much of his concentration.

  “The rogue in disguise is perverting my spells. I can’t maintain this summons much longer.”

  He wasn’t doing much to hold it together as it was.

  “Are you certain the man is a foreign rogue, sir?” Silly question. The Commune had too much control over their members for one to step outside the bounds of University training. Masters of dragon magic could combine and thereby increase their powers to overcome any individual magician. All of the rogues who couldn’t or wouldn’t gather dragon magic had sought more agreeable locations three hundred years ago, when the Commune established the border.

  “A rogue of great power, Jaylor. I know not his origins. He or his accomplice stalks you even now, since you are so close to the last breeding female dragon.”

  “I don’t think the one who stalks me is from some other country.” Jaylor allowed an image of the one-eyed derelict to form on the glass. The image shifted and changed to a red-haired man in his prime, broad shouldered, lean of hip. He dared not risk giving the image a name or full details of his face. That could summon him into the spell, allow him to eavesdrop or, worse yet, interrupt the communication.

  But the vivid color of his hair should give his identity away.

  “Then his magic is of a nature totally alien to us. I know not its source, nor its potential.” The image wavered. “Even now he pulls this spell away from me. I dare work no magic at all, for it just makes him stronger and me weaker.” The sound of his voice faded. “Be careful, Jaylor. Be careful.”

  The spell dissolved from both ends.

  Darville stirred. As usual, he was curled up on the hearth. From there he could open one eye and observe all of the hut, as well as the door. Not much passed his notice.

  His body would not settle. The usual comfortable positions pulled his muscles wrong, twisted his bones. He stretched out, resting his head on his paws.

  Something was wrong. He could sense it, feel it, taste it. He couldn’t see as much in this position, but he felt better. Brevelan was fully in his sight. That was important.

  He smelled disquiet in her. Something to do with the man. The man he now knew must be protected along with Brevelan. The dragon had told him so.

  Perhaps he should be out there with the man. Then he could keep both his people under his eye. He yawned and stretched up to a sitting position. One hind foot twitched. He bent his head so he could scratch his ears. He didn’t really itch. It was just something to do while he puzzled out his next move.

  “What, Puppy?” Brevelan’s voice washed over him with love.

  His tail thumped. He knew it did and wondered why. It was as out of place as he was. Something was definitely wrong. He wasn’t sure if it was outside himself or inside. He just knew he had to
move, had to seek the source of his upset.

  “Out?” Brevelan asked. She rose and shook her head. There was love in her voice. He thumped his tail again and rose to all of his feet. He needed to be higher, to view things from a different position. He jumped up and placed his front paws on the wall beside the door.

  His back stretched. He savored the tight pleasure of that stretch. Better. But still not right.

  “Oh, all right.” Her hand pulled the leather thong on the door and it swung outward. He slid through the narrow opening. His nose twitched.

  Ahead was the scent of the man’s fire. It burned hot and strange, but he sensed no danger. He smelled the rich warmth of the flusterhens, roosting for the night. The goat was there as well. He found Mica’s scent mingled with the man’s. That was fine. She would alert him to any danger.

  His head swung from side to side as he trotted around the edge of the clearing. All was in order. Everyone who should be there was in place. No one who should not be there intruded.

  Instinctively he lifted his outside leg and left his mark. The action seemed out of place as well. His scent was strong. No one threatened his territory. So why was he so restless? What was wrong?

  The opening of the door brought a chill to Brevelan’s shoulders. She should be used to the wolf’s comings and goings by now. He wanted out at the strangest times.

  How odd, she mused. She’d never had to housebreak him as she would a puppy or a feral animal. Darville knew not to soil her house.

  When she opened the door, she saw the glow from Jaylor’s fire. That banished her questions about the wolf and brought images of the man to mind. Images of his hands on her face, his mouth hot and seeking on her own. She should fear the man and the lust that drove him. Instead she wanted once more to experience the gentle warmth in her belly when his hands caressed her hair. She wasn’t used to gentleness. If he’d beaten her, she could have resisted him.

  She returned to her stool by the hearth with a sigh. The pot of herbs bubbling on the grate required a stir. It was something of her own invention to ease the birthing pains of the carpenter’s wife. It would also dull the pain of severe injury. Puppy might need it again. Twice now he’d been injured. Twice she’d nursed him back to health.

  He was just a wolf. What was so extraordinary about him? She heard the wind stirring her thatch. A song rose to her lips in response. With the tune she secured her home and protected her clearing.

  “Puppy!” she called the wolf from the doorway. It was time she slept. She didn’t need the animal’s restless wanderings to disturb her.

  “Awroooo . . .” he howled mournfully in the distance. “Awroooo.”

  “Puppy!” Brevelan ran toward the sound. Jaylor’s strong arm about her waist stayed her headlong plunge into the undergrowth. “Puppy, what’s wrong?” she cried, struggling against the pinioning arm.

  “Stay here.” Jaylor commanded.

  “He needs me,” she insisted.

  “Awroooo. . . .” Brevelan shuddered at the distress in the call.

  “Stay here,” Jaylor said again. He released her. “There’s magic in the air, too much magic.” He swung his staff above his head in an arc. An eerie glow filled the clearing. “I can find him by this light, but no intruder can use it to find us.”

  “Awroooo . . .” Darville was silhouetted against the dark trees. He stood facing the back path to the village, neck fur bristling, tail erect.

  “We are being watched,” Jaylor whispered. His arms re-described the arc and the light vanished. “Get inside.”

  Brevelan resisted the pressure of his hand on her back. Darville’s call was full of pain. He needed her.

  “Go! I will see to the animal.” He shoved her in the direction of the hut even as his long legs took him across the open space.

  “Puppy,” she called as Jaylor’s hand came down on the wolf’s neck.

  The wail ended abruptly. Wolf and man turned and loped back to the hut together.

  “Who is it?” she asked as Jaylor leaned heavily against the closed door. He seemed out of breath from his brief exertion.

  “Which village do you hail from?” he returned.

  She was silent.

  “Don’t bother.” His eyes closed in weariness. “With that hair I can only guess that Krej’s castle was very close to your home.”

  “How did you know?” She was too shocked to be defensive.

  “Rumors of strange happenings, his neglect of his responsibilities. There’s a rogue magician in this village. He obeys a man with hair as bright as Lord Krej’s.”

  “You bring that man,” she spat, “here?” She allowed her disgust for the man who had probably fathered her, as well as a half dozen other bastards, to color her voice.

  “He’d have found you sooner or later. I am not his quest.” Jaylor turned to peer out the door. “The clearing is armored. I don’t know if it will hold against this rogue.”

  “Could Krej’s rogue capture rare animals and imprison them as sculptures?” She needed to talk, to keep her mind occupied so she wouldn’t remember how empty her home had felt until Jaylor once more filled the room.

  “Who knows what powers a rogue can tap? Perhaps they seek to add a dragon to the collection. Or a golden wolf.” He sank down to the floor, back still against the door. Fatigue rimmed his eyes. He’d been working magic again. Strong magic.

  Silence surrounded them. Brevelan, too, sank to the floor. Her arms reached for her pet. She buried her face in his fur and clung to him. He filled her arms with warmth. But he wasn’t Jaylor.

  “Light the torches! Let’s burn her out.” Men’s voices, angry, insulting, broke the silence.

  Jaylor’s head rose in alarm. Brevelan’s chest tightened. “If we kill the witch the path to the dragon will open,” one of the fishermen yelled.

  “We should ’a run the woman off last summer. Then there wouldn’t be no dragon up there now,” the barkeep sneered.

  “I lost another cow this morning to the blasted dragon. I want that monster dead any way it takes to do it,” screamed a farmer who had sought Brevelan’s help when he’d nearly severed his foot with an ax. She’d saved the foot, but the man would limp for the rest of his life.

  There were other comments from men she didn’t know. But the one in command, that one chilled her bones.

  “Let’s smoke her out!” Old Thorm’s voice, and yet it was stronger, better educated than the drunken troublemaker’s.

  “Witches can’t fight a good fire.”

  She pulled Puppy closer, to still her shaking. She could face magic, or dragons, or even wild wolves. But fire? FIRE!

  Jaylor’s gaze darted about the hut, peering into the shadows. “Can you call Shayla?”

  She wasn’t sure whether she heard the words with her ears or her mind.

  “Shayla?”

  “She is the only thing he,” Jaylor nodded toward the outside to indicate who he meant, “still fears.”

  “But they want to kill her!” She’d heard that much in the muffled sounds outside.

  “Not when she flies. They want you to show them her lair. Call the dragon, Brevelan. You’ve got to call Shayla.”

  Chapter 10

  Light and music flooded the bridge between the University and Palace Reveta Tristile. Baamin made his slow, observant way toward the banquet hall and the festivities being prepared for the arrival of two rival ambassadors. The emissaries from SeLenicca and Rossemeyer each sought to secure an exclusive alliance with Coronnan. The two kingdoms had been at each other’s throats for generations. Coronnan traded with both.

  Baamin wondered if he could convince his frail king that the pattern of the future that the magicians saw in the glass was the same pattern of entrapment represented by the two rival ambassadors.

  Tonight the senior magician’s responsibilities in matters magical weighed as heavily on his shoulders as the diplomatic chores.

  Master Fraandalor, assigned to the court of Lord Krej, had just reported t
he discovery of Journeyman Tomalin’s body on the shores of the Great Bay. Death by drowning, five leagues away from his post.

  “My Lord Baamin.” A minor courtier bowed low to the magician.

  Baamin touched the man’s bowed head briefly, then jerked away as if in surprise. “What have we here. Bruce? A flower? Why are you growing flowers in your ears?” He handed the posy to the smiling man.

  “Flowers today, coins yesterday.” Bruce lowered his eyes, unwilling to meet the magician’s glance. His hands fluttered in front of him, almost seeking a warding gesture. “When you honor us with your presence, who knows what will be found in unlikely places?”

  Tricks. Simple tricks that didn’t even require magic. Still, the court expected this sort of thing.

  And feared it.

  “How fares the king?” Baamin prodded the sharp-eyed, sharp-nosed ferret of a man. Bruce was a notorious gossip. He was also master of the king’s shoes and in a position to observe King Darcine in private.

  Bruce of the Shoes shrugged, then leaned closer to whisper in Baamin’s ear. “Good thing that foreign ambassador with the unpronounceable name sent a cask of beta’arack from Rossemeyer. Liquor perks him up like nothing else lately. A good strong dose of the stuff first thing in the morning works wonders on the king’s spirits and constitution.”

  The liquor wasn’t the only cause of the king’s high spirits these days. Shayla was well and gravid. Therefore, Baamin knew, the king gained in strength. Today.

  Baamin nodded sagely. They’d seen Darcine’s spells of near manic strength before. But every day of good health was followed by longer and longer periods of depression and weakness.

  If anything happened to the dragon or her dragonets . . .

  Anxiously, Baamin looked around for signs of the forces that interfered with his magic and the dragons.

  He straightened his shoulders and stretched to his full height, slight as it was. There were appearances to be kept up. While the king felt so well and strong, Baamin would attend banquets and balls day and night. There had been precious few celebrations in the last ten years.