The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

two men.
    “I . . . ah . . . brung yer . . . ah . . . wine, sor.” A slurred, juvenile voice stammered shyly.
    The kitchen boy slid between Baamin and the doorjamb. He seemed shorter, younger, more ragged, and more stupid than he had just last night. His shoulders were slumped in a posture of humility and defeat. In the classroom he stood straight and proud. The master resisted the urge to examine his pupil for signs of magic disguise.
    “Put down the tray.” Krej barely registered the boy’s presence.
    Boy did as he was told with a clatter, and more than a few drops of wine splattered across the desk and Krej himself. A quick picture of Krej gasping for air, his face purple, tongue swollen, life fading, flashed into Baamin’s mind. He nearly gagged at the thought of a man dying in such a horrible manner, by his poisonous hand.
    Still, the deed needed to be done. He was resolved. The only way to save the kingdom from Krej’s manipulations was to eliminate Krej.
    “Clumsy oaf! Who had the audacity to send such a stupid, filthy, miserable idiot to serve me?” The Lord Regent pushed away the boy’s attempts to mop the spill. Each swipe of Boy’s less-than-clean cloth resulted in more wine spreading across the documents on the desk and Lord Krej.
    “Go. Now, before you do any more damage,” Krej bellowed as he cuffed the boy’s ear.
    Boy ducked quickly. Almost too quickly, as if he had seen the blow coming before it was sent.
    Baamin saw a document disappear into Boy’s filthy, oversized tunic. His only acknowledgment of the theft was to close his eyes slowly as Boy scuttled past him out the door.
    Baamin breathed deeply and recaptured Krej’s attention. “If you doubt my information, then send a messenger on your fastest steeds to intercept the wounded rider Wendray dispatched before dawn. The city has fallen. What’s left of the defending army is in well-organized retreat.” Baamin paused to allow the news to penetrate.
    He fingered the vial in his pocket. If he started murmuring the proper spell now as he stood over the line of power, the magic would be at its most potent as he slipped the powder into Krej’s wine.
    “Or perhaps messages would travel more quickly if you allow your pet rogue to summon Master Haskell who’s stationed there. He knows as much or more than your own spies,” Baamin goaded as he took two steps toward the desk and the glass of wine. The words of the death spell were firmly fixed in his mind. He need only utter them.
    “Your imagination runs wild, old man,” Krej sneered. “Leave me.” He drank deeply of the wine, pointedly offering Baamin none. “Go pester someone more gullible with your dangerous maundering.” The regent’s eyes narrowed as he once more scanned the senior magician. “You belong in a monastery with the rest of the failed magicians who become false priests of the mythical Stargods. Priests are the only people willing to put up with you.” He waved a hand in dismissal.
    “Check your sources again, Lord Krej.” Baamin damped his temper and his forward movements at the slur against the official religion of the Three Kingdoms. “You might also make sure you have taken into account all that I know about you and about the king’s dragons.”
    The information to convict Krej was at hand. Baamin need only find all the bits and pieces and present them to the Council. Forfeiture, humiliation, and death were the penalty for treason. Horrible, painful death.
    “You haven’t heard the last of me, my lord.” With a smile, Baamin threw a handful of green powder that exploded into blue fire. The poison remained firmly in his pocket.
    Tricks and sleight of hand.
    But Krej’s temporary flash-blindness gave Baamin the opportunity to disappear quite dramatically.
    And left the Lord Regent alive and well, for now. Considering the death that awaited a treasonous lord, Baamin wasn’t doing Krej a favor by allowing him to live tonight.
    “Simurgh take your dragons and your magic. I am the only one who can save this country from three centuries of mismanagement. Not you, not your dragons, and certainly not some ancient legends about saving angels descending from the stars to wipe out a nonexistent plague.” Krej’s words echoed down the halls.
    “You’ll learn, Lord Krej,” Baamin muttered from his hidden alcove. “You’ll live and learn not to question legends and certainly not to tamper with the Senior Magician!” He touched the vial again. “I