The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

by Irene Radford

  Brevelan felt his gentle memories. She had no energy left to strengthen his feeling of quiet nostalgia. She lay back upon the bed.

  “It was easy for me to slip away from tutors and guardians. They were more interested in their own positions than in me. That’s how I met Jaylor. He had slipped out, too. He likes being outdoors. He claims he can’t think or study behind stone walls,” he chuckled. “But when we were together, neither of us did much studying.” His grin lifted with remembered mischief.

  Brevelan drew Darville’s emotions into herself. Carefully she allowed her body to relax while she wrapped Darville’s pleasant reverie around her contact with Jaylor. Maybe this trip through childhood memories would encourage his spirit to return.

  “We were constantly in trouble. No one had ever allowed either of us to play before. We gave each other that ability.”

  “I’m happy you found one true friend. It’s important to someone in a position of power. Jaylor will always be someone you can trust.”

  “Because he loves me and not my position. He has his magic. That’s stronger than any temporal power I could grant him.”

  They were quiet a moment. Brevelan used the time to check her tie to Jaylor. It was stronger and so was the Tambootie smell. She relaxed a little more, easing the tired strain on her neck and back.

  “But it was you who rescued me, nurtured me, taught me to trust again.” He whirled to face her. “I can’t lose you, too!”

  “His spirit has not drifted farther away. I must believe he means to return to us. When he can.” She tried to let Darville feel her concern for both of them. It was a weak attempt. Too much of her energy was still channeled into her fragile contact with Jaylor.

  “We need him to restore Shayla.” Darville sounded defeated. “I sense the male dragons want to leave the kingdom if she and the litter she carries aren’t returned soon.” Despair tinged his posture as well as his voice.

  “How are you linked to them?” Was it similar to her own awareness of Shayla, a link she held even now entwined and braided with her contact to Jaylor?

  “They, the entire nimbus, are just there, somewhere in the back of my head, or my heart. I don’t know which. I do know where each one is, when they mate, when they have disputes.” His excitement turned to a deep sigh. “When they die.”

  Brevelan looked deeper into herself. Only Shayla was there. Her mates were missing.

  “And your father?” she prompted.

  “For three hundred years, there has been a special . . .” he reached for the right words. “A special link between a king and his dragons. The royals are aware from birth, but only the anointed and consecrated king is bound so tightly his very life is affected by the health of nimbus. I’ve never had the ‘why’ explained.”

  They both shivered. Shayla was encased in glass. What had that done to the king?

  They had no way of knowing what was transpiring in Coronnan City. Jaylor had had no contact with Baamin since the night in Shayla’s cave.

  “So that’s why your father has always been sickly,” she stated flatly.

  “Ten and twelve years ago several villages, not just the one here, went dragon hunting,” Darville explained. “I was twelve the first time. Too young to lead the Council.”

  Mica came in from her scout of the clearing. She butted her head into Darville’s ankle. He stooped to pick her up. With the purring cat on his shoulder, he continued his narrative. His words took on the cadence of the cat’s purr. The rhythm drifted over Brevelan like a soothing song.

  “Over the centuries, people have forgotten the wondrous things dragons did for the kingdom during the Great Wars of Disruption. Nimbulan lured the dragons to Coronnan—they were mostly very young dragons seeking nests of their own. I don’t know how he gained their loyalty, but they went into battle for him, found a lord worthy of the crown, ended the long years of civil war.”

  “Why kill them? I really can’t understand why our people went so far out of their way to murder such wondrous creatures.”

  “Not everyone can see the beauty, the majesty, the magic in our dragons. They have forgotten why we owe the dragons a debt of gratitude. Some know only that they raid cow pastures and scoop boatloads of fish out of the bay. The original pact with the dragons guaranteed them hunting rights and tithes of livestock. In normal years there is more than enough for both people and dragons. But in bad years, when people are living on the edge, just barely surviving, they look for a cause. Some found the dragons’ natural feeding habits a good reason for their own failure.” They both shivered at the implications.

  The magic umbilical tugged from Jaylor’s end. Some portion of him was aware of the conversation. He had something to add.

  “Jaylor thinks Lord Krej deliberately impoverished his province to foster that notion. The Equinox Pylons have gone undecorated for over a dozen years.” She felt lighter, less tired. Jaylor wasn’t actively trying to escape his ties to Coronnan. He was interested. He would return.

  But when?

  Darville whirled about, his shaggy blond mane flying in agitation. “Krej can’t undermine the welfare of his own people! He took oaths when he assumed the lordship.”

  “Men can break oaths, can never mean to keep them even when swearing.” Like a husband who vows to cherish a new wife and then abuses her.

  “I have to remember my ‘wonderful’ cousin is really a traitor, capable of anything. Last year, when Jaylor was engrossed in his exams, I was very lonely. Krej became a constant companion. I thought he was a friend, too.” He sighed. Mica butted her head against his chin in sympathy.

  Brevelan felt his loneliness. It became her own. She reached a tentative hand to touch his cheek. The contact sent tingles through her body. She was reminded of the times Jaylor had kissed her. She needn’t fear a man’s touch, only certain men’s. She spread her hand to cup his face. He leaned into the caress and kissed her palm.

  “We’ll work it out, Brevelan. But you must rest, even if you don’t sleep.” Gently he guided her shoulders back onto the bed. A deep warmth and contentment engulfed her.

  She closed her eyes for just a second. The thin strands of copper, silver, and glass that held Jaylor to Coronnan dissolved.

  Chapter 24

  Quiet drifting. Light and shadow. Heat from the sun, cool from the moon. He slid upward until the colors and patterns of Coronnan melted together. A copper thread dangled from his hand.

  He caught a purple updraft, found a dragon playing there. He grabbed hold of a silvery green wing and allowed the creature to guide him through the pink air.

  Upward they soared. Blue wind rushed past them. The yellow-red-green-yellow sun came closer. Their speed slowed as they reached the ultimate height. They hovered a moment, cherishing the wild sense of life pumping through each of them. Their hearts beat as one, and the wind harmonized by thundering past them in an interesting counter rhythm.

  Below, the green land divided itself into puzzle pieces with bluish-silver lines of magic. The lines resembled the fragile cord, sometimes copper, sometimes silver, bonding him to the body he had abandoned an eon ago. A few white cloud puffs obscured any other borders, the ones established by men but recognized by no one else. The magic border that should surround this insignificant patch of green had faded to nothing.

  Sharply downward they plunged, so fast their breath was pushed back into their throats. Sharp cold air became a wall. They pushed it aside with the blink of an eye. A steep cliff of black granite rushed to greet them. At the last moment they flattened wings and pulled up to soar again over the top. Flushed and exhilarated, they leveled off.

  Together they surveyed the snowcapped mountains. Their bellies were numb. The game lurking in shadowed ravines offered no interest or relief. But a Tambootie tree needed cropping. Compulsively they snatched at the top layer of new leaves as they skimmed past, away from the sheltering mountains.

  Over level ground again, a different dragon flew under them. He switched from the gre
en wing to the blue back. A moment’s unsteadiness. Then he found a new pulse and he merged his identity with the older dragon.

  This dragon flew more intricate patterns. They dipped and soared, played with the wind, spun and reversed in a tail’s length.

  A city squatted like an ugly beetle on the islands of the Bay delta, enmeshed in an intricate web of bluish-silver magic.

  They spied on puny creatures below as they went about incomprehensible tasks. Some battled, some coupled, some slept.

  Many men met in a closed room.

  Time rolled forward and back, sometimes quickly, sometimes drifting as lazily as he.

  A familiar man, cloaked in a dirty aura, met two others by a chattering stream in southern forests, just below the clearing where six magic lines converged. They felt anger in one man, fear radiated from the others. Beside them stood Shayla, encased in magical glass. Sparkles of sunlight on her covering blinded them.

  Or was it their tears?

  He and all of the dragons shuddered. Heat built deep within them. Flame touched their tongues and needed release. He dropped the slender thread that bound him to his other life, his other love. Strands of copper drifted away from him. She would not approve of their actions.

  Another dive. Terror filled the faces of the men. They should turn back. Men are not for killing.

  No! Turn back!

  What matter? That one had ensorcelled Shayla and the litter she carried. That one had endangered all. That one deserved to die by dragon fire.

  He felt the contempt of the angry man who didn’t fear a flaming dragon anymore. Bits of an angry soul reflected from the glass that was Shayla. The two were intertwined. Kill the man and they would kill Shayla.

  “Noooooo!” he screamed.

  “Master?” The kitchen boy poked his head around the corner of Baamin’s quarters.

  “Yes?” he replied wearily. The boy moved closer. He seemed taller, more defined than just a few days ago. Adolescence must finally be catching up with him.

  “Master, you haven’t eaten in two days.” Worry creased the boy’s brow.

  Baamin felt a small surge of gratitude before his worry and fatigue filled him again. No one else cared what happened to him. Krej had taken over the Council and the magicians. Since then no one had consulted him about anything. So he sat, alone, in the dark of his study with only his books and his nightmares for company. He brooded, he plotted and schemed.

  And reached no conclusion.

  He didn’t trust Krej, Lord of Faciar, Regent of Coronnan. Yet, what else could they have done but elect him regent?

  Stargods! There was no one else to lead this kingdom against its enemies. No one until Darville returned. Dragons only knew when that would be!

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You need food to replenish your magic.” The boy placed a plate of soft cheese and bread on the desk, next to Baamin’s elbow. The flowing sleeves of Baamin’s robe spilled over a text, he didn’t remember which one.

  “What good is magic? Krej is solving our problems with armies and spears.” And doing it very well, with energy and organization. Coronnan hadn’t seen the like for more than ten generations.

  “Armies destroy much more than just other armies. Nimbulan said so.” The boy stared at the arc he drew on the stone floor with his bare toes.

  Interest flowed through Baamin’s veins again. “You read the journal?” How was that possible? The boy was so stupid no one had bothered giving him a name!

  “Bits, sir.” He still refused to look up.

  “How many bits?” Baamin reached to lift the boy’s chin so he could see his eyes, see if intelligence glimmered there.

  “Enough.” There was a brief flash from the large brown eyes, then they were lowered again.

  “Enough to learn the principles of old magic?” Baamin slid a little truth spell over the boy. At first it began to glow with the green fire of truth, then abruptly died.

  Armor would bounce the spell back. This one just ended, as if absorbed and nullified.

  Brevelan awoke from her nap feeling empty, deprived, and utterly alone. Frantically she search for the slender thread binding her to Jaylor. Shredded fragments of copper dangled uselessly from her soul. All traces of silver and crystal were gone.

  Jaylor was gone. While she slept, his spirit had slipped away.

  She bent her will to the magic thread, trying desperately to repair it, to build a new one. Anything to bring him back! The silver hid from her. There wasn’t enough magic within her, within all of Coronnan to find it. She was alone.

  Never again would she listen for his steps as he explored her clearing. Mica would have to find a new shoulder to ride on. Brevelan could go back to preparing small, sparse meals for herself alone.

  She would be without her faithful wolf familiar, too. Darville needed to return to his own life in the capital. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Tears of guilt and heartbreak. She didn’t try to hide them from the golden-haired man who whittled by the fire.

  Darville came to her then. Crouched beside the bed, he pushed a stray tendril of hair away from her face. She leaned into his hand. His gentle caress cupped her face. Strength and comfort flowed between them. Since that first storm last winter, Darville had been with her constantly. In her loneliness she had hugged him close many times.

  Now it was his turn to hold her.

  “What are we going to do now?” she whispered into his shoulder.

  “Whsst, little one. When you are rested, we must go to the capital and find Baamin. He’ll know how to help Shayla, if anyone can.” He stroked her hair.

  They both looked at the extra cot by the hearth where Jaylor’s body lay. It was just an empty shell. Their friend was no longer there to give it life and animation.

  Jaylor was gone! The emptiness washed over her, pulling her into cold despair.

  Darville hugged her closer, sheltering her from the pain, making it his own. She yearned for his warmth. For a moment she allowed herself to sink into his embrace, to savor the feel of his arms encircling her. His lips brushed her hair and his beard tangled with it. She could almost pretend he was Jaylor. Then his scent filled her.

  He smelled of trees freshened by a spring rain. He had picked a few wildflowers, and their pollen lingered. Mica had been in his lap. His hair was damp, as it had been so often after a playful splash in the pool when he was a golden wolf. She savored the comfortable familiarity of him. Her fingers reached and tangled with his thick, uncombed golden hair. When she tried to pull away, he held her tighter.

  “Let me hold you, little one.” He sat beside her, cradling her against his chest.

  She needed to be this close. His heartbeat filled her mind. Her pulse quickened to match his rhythm. Their hearts entwined and beat as one. She felt her being merging with his. Wordless communication soothed them both, brought them to understanding. Her arms encircled his waist. This was Darville, not so different from the companion she had cherished for all those many moons.

  Darville kissed her cheek and eyes. How many times had his wolfish tongue caressed her? He couldn’t hurt her then. How could he hurt her now? She need not fear this man who was so much a part of her. But they were still two separate beings. She needed to join with him, to find the wholeness that Jaylor had taken with him.

  Her mouth found Darville’s lean, bearded cheek. He turned his head to capture her lips. Such a warm, undemanding kiss. Her heart swelled with tenderness. Her breasts were too small to contain her emotion. They tightened.

  She deepened the kiss, demanding more of him, and herself. Her body nestled against the firm wall of his chest. His kisses fanned over her face, down to her neck. His tongue found the most sensitive delicate hollow, his hands sent flame through them both. His desire became hers. Her need filled him and grew stronger.

  Heat built deep within her, expanded, surrounded him, and flowed back. Heat and need. There was so much they needed to share, to say to each other with voices and bodies.
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  There was a tug at her shoulder. She shrugged out of her kirtle and shift. The heat continued to build even as cool evening air washed over her sensitive skin. An ache built with the heat.

  The roughness of his shirt teased her taut nipples. Impatiently she pulled the garment up over his head. His skin covered sleek muscles that rippled and molded under her touch. Their bodies melted together as if they had always belonged together. They needed to join their bodies to complete what their souls had already begun.

  Colors burst forth. Bright splashes of copper and gold. Darts of the colors of their lives spread out across the heavens, into the void where only dragons and souls existed.

  Passion and need rose and soared within them, pulling them higher, faster, ever farther. A distant blue blended with their elements and drew others into the vortex until they were all colors, no colors, swirling in the wind created by dragon flight, soaring with dragon ease on the currents above and around them.

  They flew with dragons. A braided shaft of red and blue separated from the nimbus and twined around them, joining their union. It plaited and blended their copper and gold within its unique twists of blue and red, binding each part into a whole.

  Time drifted in lazy circles. Brevelan did not, could not fight it. She was complete. The lonely emptiness that had driven her was filled to overflowing. Her need was temporarily sated. With a deep sigh of contentment she closed her eyes and slept, wrapped in warmth and love.

  Morning light crept through cracks in the walls of the hut. Brevelan lazily opened her eyes. It was late. She needed to be up and about. There were chores to be done.