The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

have a prince to exchange for the much needed armies. He had only a golden wolf wandering the kingdom with a journeyman magician and a witchwoman of uncertain power.
    But Baamin had access to the prince. If Darville ever arrived back at the capital.
    “Boy?” He summoned the boy’s image through his glass and his candle. He was so easy to find, even across the miles, as if Boy’s mind were tuned especially to Baamin’s thoughts.
    “Call me Yaakke, sir.” The boy’s image was clearer than most master magicians’.
    “Yaakke?” Son of Yaacob, the usurper. Now why would Boy choose that name? And who did he plan to supplant?
    “That is the name I have chosen, sir.” Behind the boy were the noises of Castle Krej’s busy kitchen.
    “We’ll explore that later, B . . . Yaakke. Have you seen my journeyman yet?”
    Yaakke closed his eyes briefly before responding. “They approached this village, sir, then turned back.”
    “Keep track of them. I need to speak to Jaylor as soon as you can contact him. And see if you can keep them out of trouble.” He’d given up trying to summon Jaylor himself. His journeyman had either ignored the spell or cut him off. What was he hiding? Or was Krej’s rogue interfering and interrupting the communication?
     
    So his beloved Brevelan was like his glass, Jaylor thought. She magnified magic. What if, instead of using his glass on a flame, he summoned Old Baamin by holding her hand and staring into her eyes? She’d have to sing to amplify the natural resonance of the land. He was impatient to experiment.
    The rain drizzled down his forehead to drop from the tip of his nose. This was neither the time, nor the place, to play with new magic techniques. He needed to be warm and dry, comfortable, before he tried something so outrageously new.
    He’d have enough problems when he finally encountered Krej. Without a staff, he’d need every bit of concentration and familiarity with the spells before he freed a dragon from a glass prison. He’d kept his senses alerted to every tree he passed, hoping against hope to find a new staff. So far nothing had called to him.
    “I think we’d best find a place to hole up until dark.” Darville scanned the dreary village once more.
    “There’s an inn several miles north.” Brevelan pointed the way. “The landlord caters to traveling merchants. Krej likes the luxuries strangers bring to his market. He doesn’t like to house and feed them. Nor does he like his villagers talking to outsiders. We might get the idea that other lords are not so harsh or demanding. No one will question the presence of strangers at the inn.”
    “Are they all legitimate merchants, or does Krej trade with magicians and mercenaries from afar, as well?” Darville stared murderously back at the castle.
    “There have been rumors of covens and sacrifices to pagan gods for years. They started with Lady Janessa, Krej’s mother.” Jaylor thought back to his early years at the University when court gossip couldn’t say anything good about the foreign wife of King Darcine’s uncle.
    “That’s one lady I don’t care to meet again.” Darville turned away from the lair of their enemy. “Her eyes are eerie, uncanny—always fully dilated. She looks at people like a slippy eel devouring a nomad Bay crawler.”
    They trudged along the wide path. The mud, churned by the huge feet of sledge steeds, made walking difficult. Twice they were forced off the track by swearing farmers prodding their beasts with loads of produce in the direction of the inn.
    “Darville,” Jaylor spoke quietly to his friend. “We are on Krej’s home territory. He must not see you.” He sympathized with the prince’s distaste for the coming transformation.
    The broken pieces of his staff were in his pack. Fortunately he’d thrown this spell often enough not to need the focus the wood provided.
    “Everyone here will gladly spy for Lord Krej,” Brevelan added. “Some say they owe their souls as well as their livelihood to him. He’d know of your presence and our purpose within moments.
    “I know, I know,” Darville groused. He turned his back as he shed his cloak and warm tunic. “Try and keep my clothes out of the mud.” He handed his outer garments to Brevelan, his pack to Jaylor. His fingers lingered on Mica’s wet fur as he set her down on the path.
    “Be gentle with me when we share a meal this time, Mica.” He rubbed the side of his nose where she was in the habit of