The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

touched his king’s arm, feeding him strength once more. Stargods, he wished he could give his king health and determination as well. He didn’t need the healing talent to know Darcine was dying, along with the dragon nimbus. Shayla was the only breeding female left, and her lair was kept secret even from the king. Baamin hoped Jaylor wouldn’t be the journeyman to find her. Who knew what kind of trouble he’d stir up if he did.
    “Why do we have to be so devious? Why was my boy kidnapped in the first place?” Darcine moaned.
    Baamin wouldn’t tell him the reasons. The crown prince had already proved he would rule with strength and wisdom.
    None of the Twelve or the Commune would tolerate a strong king after years of noninterference. Especially Baamin.

Chapter 3
     
    T he journeyman knows nothing of real magic. He only plays with his spells. Still, he can be useful. I shall drive him forward, make him lead me to my dragon.
    The witchwoman will help. Her wretched thirst for love will drive her to betray the dragon. My dragon. There is no lasting power in love. The love she relies on will drag her down. Maman taught me to purify my power with love for no one but myself and the power.
    I am the only one who can save Coronnan. But to do it, I must keep those inferior lords and meddling magicians in their place. Their loyalty to Darcine and his son will be their undoing.
     
    The day was late when Jaylor awoke from his nap under a sprawling oak tree. With an appeal for protection to the broom of mistletoe in its highest branches, he had decided to sleep off the effects of his magic duel in the village.
    He also had to make up for his lack of sleep the night before. Even a league away in the hills he had heard the cries and shouts of festival ringing in his ears.
    They’d called to him, urged him to join the revelry. The voices had torn at his sanity and swelled his body with desires he dared not explore.
    He knew of ten young magicians who had lost their powers. All because they took a woman too early in their training. Jaylor wasn’t willing to risk his magic for the temporary pleasures of a woman.
    In the fading light he stretched and pushed stiff muscles. A nearby stream enticed his parched throat. The skin of ale given to him in the village bumped against his side as he stood again. Ale would taste better than plain water. If ale was all the girl had put into the skin. He sniffed the ale cautiously. No obvious poison or spell.
    Better to be safe. He drank deeply from the crystal stream and thought of the fine wines in the University cellars.
    If he were still within the walls of the University, one quick image would place a cup in his hands. Mischief brightened his mind. What if he could bring wine from the University cellars to this forgotten corner of nowhere? Old Baamin wouldn’t miss one more cup. The current batch of apprentices was probably breaking several right now.
    Magic wasn’t supposed to traverse such great distances. Still, he’d never allowed someone else’s limitations to stop him from trying—especially if his stunts would irk the drunken old coot at the head of the University. Eyes closed, with the magic already gathered in his body, he formed an image in his mind.
    In the cellars, halfway across the kingdom, a cup slid off its shelf and glided to the barrel. The spigot turned. Wine flowed into the crude pottery. Dark red wine, full of fruit and light.
    Jaylor’s mouth watered again. Using the magic that flowed through his being, he reformed the image of the now brimming cup. It appeared in his hand. He nearly dropped the cup in surprise, spilling some of the precious liquid.
    His magic had crossed half the kingdom!
    He took a gulp to soothe his confusion. Then he laughed out loud, long and hard. He couldn’t pass any of the Commune’s infernal exams, but he could transport a cup of wine across three rivers, two forests, and a small mountain, without spilling a drop.
    He gulped again, then paused to savor the flavors. It was good wine. The University kept the best cellars as an incentive to the apprentices.
    His second sip was more leisurely. Jumbled thoughts crowded his mind. He used the process of sip and taste to sort them, just as he had in his student days.
    He knew his magic was different from the ritual sort prescribed by the Commune, stronger, too. When it worked. Time and again Jaylor had proved that magic didn’t have to be limited by convention and approved methods. He