Behind her, a thick tail tapered to a sharp arrowhead point. It looked as lethal as its counterpart. Her wings, too, could be considered weapons. At the end of each rain-bowed vein lay a wicked hook. Jaylor revised his preconception of her size. Two sledge steeds together would match her width. Two more would be needed to fill the height of this magnificent dragon.
But her best defense was her shimmering opalescence. In flight she would be invisible.
Jaylor should have felt intimidated by her. Instead, he was filled with a glowing sense of affection. The great eye that scrutinized every bit of him—inside as well as out?—held only curiosity, no malice or greed. And, thankfully, no hunger.
You may touch, Shayla responded to his unspoken desire. The words were as clear in his mind as if the immense creature had spoken.
He reached a tentative hand to her velvet-soft muzzle. When he would have pulled his hand back she butted into his outstretched palm, just as any tame steed would nuzzle for attention or treats. The smooth fur that covered her body invited an extended caress. He reached around to her cheek bulge and scratched.
Ahh! He felt her sigh of delight.
“Awroof,” Darville begged for his share of attention. He stood with his front paws on the same log as the dragon. He seemed taller, closer to his true height as a man. But he still held the form of a wolf. Jaylor gave the wolf his requested scratch while keeping his other hand on the dragon. Now that he was touching her, communicating with her, he couldn’t bear to lose contact.
“Oh, my!” Brevelan gasped.
Jaylor turned to look at her and smiled. He extended his hand, inviting her to share the wonderful experience of tactile contact with Shayla. His arm came around her shoulders quite naturally. For a moment the image of family flooded him. He shrugged it off, but it returned.
You did well. You all came. Shayla rotated her eyes to see both of them at once.
“We were followed,” Jaylor explained.
I know. He used timboor to hear your footsteps. We must hurry. The dragon indulged in one last caress and then reared up and turned. Her movements were graceful and precise. None of her dangerous claws, or wing hooks, or sharp tail spines touched her guests. Instead the massive tail seemed to encircle them and guide them toward an opening in the cliff.
You must remove Darville’s enchantment now.
“Me?” Jaylor stopped and clasped his hands behind his back in uncertainty. “You’re the magic dragon. I’ll need your help.”
Only you can save him from degenerating into a wild beast.
“I can’t do it alone.”
The air is full of magic. For a brief time I can give you more. It must be enough.
They have found her! I can feel it. The core of magic has expanded to include them.
They seek to reverse my spell. But they can’t. They never will. It is a special spell, a secret. When the magician tries to unravel the magic around the wolf they will both be forever frozen in undeath.
I will rejoice with Simurgh to add them to my collection.
Chapter 17
Baamin lit a small oil lamp in the dim recess of his inner study. The day had suddenly gone dark. Chill dampness promised rain. He shrugged off the sudden iciness climbing his spine and returned to the fascinating book on his desk.
As much as he would have liked to dwell on the early life of the great Nimbulan, there wasn’t time now. He had to skip large sections of the magician’s private journal.
He paused and read a paragraph here and there. The painful Great Wars of Disruption were retold in heart-wrenching detail. Each contender for the throne, in that long ago civil war, had brought to his cause a different magician. When armies failed, sorcerers fought. Many died.
The words recounting each death tore at Baamin three hundred years later. He knew what it was like to lose a friend and compatriot. As long-lived as magicians tended to be, very few of his contemporaries still survived. He remembered the agonizing sense of loss at each death and felt again the reduction in magic caused by their passing.
Dragon magic needed numbers of men working together. It grew and expanded like a living being under the careful cultivation of the Commune. A strong Commune was the direct result of a strong nimbus of dragons. And there were so few dragons or magicians left! The fate of the kingdom hinged on the dragons.
Now Baamin faced the need for strong magic and a strong king without the means to provide either.
Darcine might appear to be reviving. But Baamin suspected it was only temporary and dependent on Shayla’s gravid condition. The last two times Shayla had bred, the normally indecisive king had undergone similar periods of renewed strength and determination. Each time the baby dragons had been slaughtered, King Darcine had fallen gravely ill. If anything should happen to the dragon or her litter this time, the king would not survive.
A sentence caught Baamin’s eye.
The pattern has become clear. Lord. . . .
The name was smudged and unreadable. Perhaps Nimbulan had deliberately obscured the name to avoid calling its owner and thus giving him power.
Lord . . . has been gathering an alliance among the other lords for many years. He has carefully arranged marriages for his numerous children into the homes of his strongest enemies. Through these children he has formed a network for coercion and extortion. Few noble families dare contest his bid for power.
Was history repeating itself? Krej had at least seven legitimate children and untold numbers of bastards. Even those too young for marriage had been betrothed in rites as binding as a wedding. Nearly every noble family was allied to him in some way. His network was in place.
And there was a rogue magician within the boundaries of Krej’s province.
Baamin longed for proof that Krej had hired the rogue to work mischief among the dragons.
Krej’s right to the throne was strong. If Darcine should die before Darville was found, there was no one else strong enough to hold this country together.
Was that Krej’s plan, too? Had he arranged the slaughter of the dragons to weaken the king and make his own leadership seem essential to the welfare of Coronnan? It seemed logical until you considered young Darville. He was a prince of character and wisdom, in spite of his high spirits and preference for long, solitary, and dangerous hunts.
Where was the boy?
Shayla protected a golden wolf in the southern mountains. What was the connection?
Baamin turned several more pages. This history was compelling in its parallels to modern times. But he needed information about magic, not politics.
I must break the habits of a lifetime. No more can I dip deep within myself for the source of my magic. Now I must take the time to locate an outside source, gather it, change it, and throw it back out. Inefficient as this method seems, it is necessary.
Magic was so much easier when I could close my eyes and find the power beneath my feet. With my own magic, the words of a spell were changed by that power into deeds. It seemed I need only open my eyes again and find the deed accomplished.
I only wish my beloved Myrilandel could share in this new force. Alas, women and children no longer have the ability to work with us. Since we must banish the old form of magic, we must also exclude them from the joys of this new force and the intimate ties of those who join together with it.
“So I must delve deep within myself for the source of personal magic,” Baamin mused. “Not so different from dipping into the reserves of magic I have gathered.”
He closed his eyes. Nothing came to mind. What should he try? Something simple to begin with. Perhaps Jaylor’s old trick. From memory he recited the words that would form the image of a cup filled with cool wine. At first he saw it in the cellar. Then he put the cup on his desk.
The crash of broken crockery startled him out of his reverie. On the floor, beside him, lay a broken wine cup; one just like those reserved for students. He had brought the cup through the sealed doors and into his study! Only the cup had
slipped to the floor and crashed. He had forgotten the slope of the reading surface.
“I’m as bad as the apprentices!” Baamin’s eyes watered from his near hysterical mirth. “Imagine me, Senior Magician and University Chancellor back among the rawest of students.”
Never, in her dreams or in her conversations with Shayla, had Brevelan imagined a dragon could be so wonderful. She had seen vague images of the dragon and her consorts, but never this full, splendid view of power and iridescent light.
A bubble of joy replaced the weight of dread in her midsection. She wanted to laugh and sing with her companions. Shayla’s magic already encircled them, bound them all together. Brevelan need only enrich the bonds with her own magic song.
The weight of Jaylor’s arm about her shoulders made the circle of her love complete. Together they strode into the cool depths of the cave Shayla called home.
The entrance was just large enough for the dragon to spread her wings in preparation for flight. Deeper into the mountain it opened into a massive room, dry and cool. In one corner was a nest of dried leaves and everblue needles, with some feathers and bits of raw wool for softness.
Brevelan refused to think about where those bits came from. The bowl of the nest was wide and sheltered from the wind. Perfect for Shayla’s brood.
“When will the babies come?” she asked timidly.
Winter Solstice. The dragon yawned. Before long I will not be able to fly.
“How will you eat?” Jaylor asked as he poked among the piles of loose rock that had been cleared from the center of the cave.
The fathers will share.
“Fathers?” he asked.
Brevelan smiled. Her magician had not been privy to the images of the mating flight. He had no way of knowing Shayla’s preference for multiple fathers for her litter.
“Fathers,” Brevelan answered. “ ‘The more fathers, the larger and stronger the litter,’ ” she quoted.
His mouth lifted in a long lazy smile. The line of his thoughts was clear.
Sit, my friends. Shayla curled her tail around her haunches. Once more she dipped her elegant neck so that her eyes were level with Jaylor and Brevelan. In the dim light of the cave interior the irises appeared quite red, slashed by a long, horizontal pupil. Deep inside the dark slash were all of the colors reflected by Shayla’s soft iridescent fur.
Brevelan stared lovingly at the dragon, entranced by the penetrating gaze of her hostess. Shayla seemed to read her soul, strip it bare, and judge her mettle. Brevelan quivered a little as she adjusted her body and mind to that friendly but intimidating stare. Jaylor mimicked the gesture.
Drained by the dragon’s scrutiny, Brevelan accepted the invitation to sit. A pile of leaves, without feathers and fur, near a large rock looked made for her. She sank into it, grateful for this small comfort. Her light pack made a wonderful pillow for her head against the rock. The minor injuries inflicted by the rockfall hadn’t bothered her until she thought about resting. Now stiff muscles and aching bruises surged to the surface. She eased herself into a more comfortable position.
As usual, Puppy sat, leaning his weight against her. His head tipped and rubbed her shoulder. Mica scampered into her lap and commenced an overdue bath.
Brevelan accepted as natural that Jaylor chose to pace rather than sit. While his mind worked, his body needed to keep moving. His restless energy brought to mind why they were here and the dangers that awaited them.
There is not much time. The evil one comes.
Inside Brevelan’s head appeared the image of the one-eyed derelict. A second image appeared of the spotted saber cat’s head perched atop the powerful body of a man. Brevelan didn’t need Shayla’s mental pictures. She would know her enemy anywhere, in any disguise, by his insane laughter.
“Why can’t you just change Darville back to his normal form?” Jaylor stopped prowling long enough to address Shayla directly. As tall as he was, head and shoulders above Brevelan, he barely reached Shayla’s shoulder. Above him towered the dragon’s long neck and graceful head. “For that matter, why did you allow it to happen in the first place?”
Brevelan pulled the wolf closer, cherishing the last few moments of their companionship. Once the spell was thrown from him, he would be a prince and no longer her familiar.
By the vows that were taken many years ago, I grant him protection. The same vows limited my powers.
“What?” Now Jaylor sat, suddenly and not altogether gracefully, on a nearby rock. “Isn’t that why we came? So you could transform him?”
I make the magic for you to gather. I do not force it to bend to my will as mortals do.
“I’m not very good at gathering magic. I work better with my own brand.” Once more he put his hands behind his back.
For this you will need both my magic and your own. I shall guide you.
“For this I need to know how it was done. I can’t reverse an unknown spell.”
Was that truly panic in his eyes? Brevelan sent a small amount of courage toward him.
“For this spell, you need only watch a master and weep that you will never be able to do it yourself.” A new voice announced from the cave entrance.
Brevelan didn’t need to face her enemy to know he was disguised in the second image Shayla had sent her. The bronze and gray fur of the spotted saber cat head gleamed in the sunlight at the entrance to the cave. Oiled human muscles rippled along the magician’s strong arms and bare torso. His sturdy legs anchored his barely clothed body in a broad stance.
On another man, a man less evil, his naked splendor could have been compelling. Brevelan nearly gagged with fear and remembered pain. The last naked man she had seen had tried to rape her on their marriage bed.
A stream of red and blue flame erupted from Jaylor’s staff, aimed at the intruder. The plait of fire sped toward its target almost faster than the eye could follow. An arrow point formed at the end of the magic spear. The monster’s eyes narrowed and he waved his own staff—straight grained with lumps at irregular intervals down its length—in a wide arc.
Jaylor stood frozen in place, arm still raised, staff in hand. His red and blue arrow melted to mist.
Darville growled and gathered his hind legs beneath him for a lunge. Saliva dripped from his fangs in his eagerness to taste the magician’s blood.
Thorm raised his staff again.
Brevelan leaped in front of her pet. She had to protect Darville from any further hurt at the hands of this monster.
Darville swung around Brevelan and lunged for the enemy’s throat. A reddish haze spread over and around Thorm as he laughed once more. A wall of magic stopped Darville’s lunge. He tore at it with teeth and claws.
Jaylor broke free of his paralysis. A second braid of fire erupted from his staff and met the same fate as the first. His intended victim only laughed, that taunting, high-pitched laugh he’d heard at the rockfall.
“I penetrated your style of magic long ago, University man.” Thorm sneered. He made it sound as if the hallowed institution of learning were merely a refuse pile, its students so much dirt and offal. “I can stop any spell you throw. Dragon magic is useless against a true magician!” he crowed.
Jaylor stepped toward Thorm, staff raised, and stopped, frozen in place again. A hazy green bell pulsed and swallowed him.
“NO!” Brevelan screamed. The force of Jaylor’s mental pain at the paralysis nearly knocked her from her feet. She launched herself toward him to break through the magic. “Stop him, Shayla. Stop him before he hurts someone.” Another pain assaulted her. From behind her she felt a crippling agony in her legs and arms. Shayla! Her beautiful, wonderful dragon was hurt.
Instinctively, she sent forth all of her strength and courage to support the dragon. Another wave of despair rocked her. She matched it with a high piercing note of healing song.
“Shayla!” The music echoed and reverberated back to her. “Fight for your life, Shayla!” The notes died in the vast emptiness of the cave. There was
no mind or soul there to receive her healing.
Chapter 18
Brevelan turned to look for Shayla with her eyes when she could no longer find the dragon in the place within her heart.
Her movement must have attracted Thorm’s attention. The air crackled with energy. She could smell it, taste it, almost wade through the thick wall. A haze of green magic enveloped her, just as it had Jaylor.
The confines of that nasty bell of red and green shimmering lights held her body frozen. Trapped with her was the reek of Tambootie smoke.
“Jaylor!” she called. The words echoed within her mind, for no sound erupted from her body. She called again with her magic, pouring as much emotion as she had left into her cry.
Just a faint tickle of responding fury reached her through the spell. Jaylor lived!
“Puppy?” If the wolf were still free, perhaps he could divert the magician’s attention long enough for Jaylor’s magic to release them.
The wolf’s response was stronger, but still masked. She forced her eyes to move to her right where she had last seen him.
Teeth bared, neck fur on end, he was crouched to spring for Thorm’s throat. She could hear his deep, menacing growl, muffled by yet another magic barrier.
“Think you can wreak revenge on me, Wolf?” Thorm sneered with Krej’s voice. “You’ll have to be faster and stronger than that.” He laughed. The irritating waves of his cackles echoed around and around the cave.
Brevelan sought Shayla again. Her mind reached nothing. Her eyes found only a dim outline of the magnificent body. The dragon, too, was captured in the web of magic, unable to move. But unlike the others, her mind was as frozen as her body. Horror gripped Brevelan. She tried again and again to find a glimmer of the dragon, in her mind or in her heart.
Nothing.
Something within her died. She went limp, no longer resisting the magic. The disguised rogue was too strong. He held their defeat within the sweep of his knobby staff.
The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I Page 17
