The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

bawdy crew, the companions moved.
    The healer’s scent was strong in his rooms. Darville found the things he had touched, learned the individual scents, minus the healer’s. Somewhere in these two rooms was the potion Brevelan needed. He searched his memory for the scent the man had carried when Brevelan was hurt.
    Mica leaped onto a sturdy table. Her nose was as busy as his own. He nudged open the lower cupboards. While his nose worked, his ears were alert. No sound of steps outside the door. Darville was sure he would smell the approach of the healer before he heard him, so distinctive and strong was his odor.
    There was nothing of interest in the cupboards, nothing that reminded him of the first time he had seen the healer.
    A jar rocked on the table as Mica sought the shelves. Darville growled a warning to her. They didn’t have much time. She had to be careful. She hissed her arrogant response.
    He sought the boxes under the bed.
    “Meroower?” Mica questioned him.
    He bounded closer, nose questing. She had found what they sought, wrapped in leather and tied with rawhide.
    “Grriipe,” he yipped instructions.
    Carefully the little cat grasped the bundle in her mouth. It was too big.
    Footsteps echoed in the hall. Someone was coming!
    Darville whined as quietly as he could. The cat spat at him.
    The person stopped with a hand on the latch, lifted it.
    They froze.
    The door began to open. Then the latch dropped. The person moved away, as if he had changed his mind.
    Impatiently Mica batted the bundle to the table with her paw. She followed in a graceful leap. Darville stood against the table, happy to stretch his back. The bundle fit easily in his mouth.
    From her position on the table Mica swatted the latch until it opened. Then they both slipped out and away. Brevelan should be back in their rooms by now with the weapon she was to steal from the watchtower.
     
    They have evaded me. The staff is broken and useless but still they find magic to counter my plots. They must have been helped. But who? Who would dare defy me?
    Baamin. The old meddler must have found a way. He is dangerous, not as weak as I thought.
    I’m not sure I have time to neutralize him.
    The Council comes.
    I will inform them of the battles my armies have won. No one will dare question my information. If I say the battle was won, then we won.
    They will be forced to see that only I can save Coronnan. Only I can be their king. The University must be terminated. Only I can control the magic.
    I’ll need more Tambootie.
     
    Night had come round again. Alone, wrapped in his nearly invisible dark cloak, Jaylor studied the village behind him and the castle above him on the hill. It was a huge castle. One of the oldest in the kingdom, dating back to before the Great Wars of Disruption, possibly even to the time of the Stargods. It stood on a strong defensive point overlooking the bay on one side, the capital valley on the other.
    From the crenellated outer wall, a single sentry commanded a full view of the narrow but fertile valley. The back of the citadel was dug into a cliff. Five tall towers soared upward, imitating the sheer, unscalable walls of the cliff face. As tall as those towers reached, the rock barrier behind was higher—so high no enemy could scale downward or drop into the stronghold and live. Neither could they approach unseen.
    There, displayed in the grand hall, protected by Tambootie wood paneling, he hoped to find and free a glass dragon.
    If he was strong enough.
    If he knew how.
    If he could manipulate any magic without the aid of his staff.
    Once again he saw in his mind the clouds of colored magic, heard Krej’s chanting voice, close to the music his daughter used as a channel, but not quite. Jaylor had always used his staff to control the raw power he drew upon. His magic was tightly focused. Krej’s was just as powerful in final effect but spread over a broader surface.
    It was the difference between a widely spread drizzle and a short intense squall. They both dumped the same amount of rain with entirely different intensity. Great bursts of energy opposing a slow, smooth dispersion. Would his magic be strong enough to blast through Krej’s before his strength was gone?
    He rubbed his hands along the short pieces of his staff. Zolltarn had set out to steal or destroy it, probably on Krej’s orders. They had succeeded.
    “It was only a focus, not a part of the magic,” he reminded himself. Still, he felt naked