The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

climbed up a sliding ladder searching for a different volume. Like a bay crawler he pulled himself along the shelves sideways.
    “I know who threw it and how he did it. But there are pieces of his soul wrapped up in the spell.”
    “An evil soul within the spell?” The old man gasped as he stumbled to the chair opposite Jaylor. Elder Librarian breathed deeply, searched the shadowed corners for answers, and finally looked back to Jaylor. “There is a book in my quarters. A very old book that was forbidden three hundred years ago. No book should be destroyed, so, when I stumbled across it, I hid it rather than cast it into a fire. I will fetch it for you. But you will not like the information contained there.”
    “Why not?” Jaylor probed the man. The spell shattered when it hit armor.
    “During the Great Wars of Disruption, such spells were common. They hold traps of great magnitude for other magicians. The only way to break the spell is to die.”

Chapter 32
     
    E lder Librarian was not entirely correct, Jaylor mused as he carefully closed the ancient book and set it aside. He didn’t have to die in order to break Krej’s enchantment of Shayla. If, and that was a very big if, he could capture the pieces of Krej’s soul entwined in the spell and encase them with his own ephemeral spirit, then he might survive. But his own soul would be doomed to wander with Krej’s throughout the firmament or writhe in hell for all eternity. It all depended on just how nasty Krej really was and if he had allowed any of his good qualities to form the spell.
    Was Shayla’s freedom and the safety of the kingdom worth the cost?
    Without a staff the question was moot.
    He shook his head and paced the outer room of the suite he and his companions occupied. Mica sat in the middle of the hearth rug bathing an already immaculate paw. Brevelan and Darville slept in the inner chamber. He should join them. The moon had set hours ago. The night was far advanced.
    This was a decision only he could make, and his resolve still wavered.
    Brevelan and Darville had helped him before when he broke the spell of diversion on the road. He couldn’t allow them to help him again at the risk of their lives and their souls. Mica purred her agreement.
    “I’ve found a way around Krej’s traps twice,” he quietly told the darkness in the corners of the room. “I’ve got to try. For Darville and Coronnan, I’ve got to try.”
    Darville stirred in his sleep as Jaylor quietly rustled among the packs. At the first indication of his friend’s wakefulness, he stilled his hand on the three pieces of his staff, now tied into a bundle like so much kindling. Regret for the lost tool—an extension of himself clouded his vision.
    “What keeps you awake old friend?” Darville whispered. Brevelan slept soundly on.
    “I must finish my quest,” Jaylor replied tersely.
    “Let me find my trews and boots.” Darville yawned as he too searched the packs.
    “No, Roy. I have other chores for you.” Jaylor stared directly into Darville’s sleepy eyes.
    The golden-brown pools glimmered in the reflected light of a shielded candle. He didn’t blink as Jaylor wove his next words deeply into the prince’s thoughts.
    “Brevelan will need witchbane from the healers’ quarters. She must throw it in Krej’s face, make sure he breathes it. Or she can mix it with his wine, but he must drink the full cup. It will negate his powers. But she must be careful how she handles the drug. Not one single drop must touch her skin.
    “You, Darville, must face the Council with a sword on your hip to defend against assassins. Elder Librarian will see you transformed back into a prince if I do not return. And if I fail, Darville, you will protect Brevelan. As long as I know she is safe, I am free to risk everything.”
    The words washed over Darville’s furred back. He understood each and every sentence. He would follow the directions until each command was completed.
     
    Darville scouted the crowded courtyard of the monastery. Mercenaries sat in the weak sunshine, mending and polishing their gear. Few, if any of them, paid heed to a scruffy golden dog or a multicolored cat on the prowl. Darville knew that Brevelan was hiding somewhere near the piles of war materials. It was dangerous for her to be seen by any of the foreign men. She had her task and Darville had his. As soon as they were all certain the healer was entrenched with a mug of ale and a long tale to tell a