The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

place.
    “We do not have the resources to fight the square beards.” Andrall’s weariness showed in the planes of his face. “There is no prince to receive the ambassadors from Rossemeyer. They are leaving at dawn. How long before their army joins that of SeLenicca? They both want our copper and our gold, not to mention our crop lands and protected fishing.”
    “You must find a way to call the dragons, Lord Regent!” Lord Jonnias urged. “If only one dragon flew over the enemy encampment, they would run back to their own lands in cowardly fear.”
    “There are no dragons left, fool!” Krej nearly screamed. That is why King Darcine is so near death.”
    Apparently only Baamin knew that Darcine had indeed died yesterday morning at dawn. The messenger bearing those dire tidings would arrive at the castle within hours. If Darville were not present when the news reached the Council, they would be forced to name a new king.
    Krej was the only candidate.
    Unless there was a live dragon present. Shayla could refuse to consecrate Krej as king. She could choose Darville as the next ruler.
    Not even the Council of Provinces could argue with a dragon.
    Baamin closed his observations of Krej’s castle. He had to summon Jaylor. They were nearly out of time.
     
    Lights winked from the arrow-slit windows of Krej’s forbidding castle. It loomed over the valley, massive, black, unapproachable in its cliffside isolation. The sun hovered a hand’s width above the great expanse of the bay. A gloomy twilight hovered in the sheltered valley below the home of the Lord of Faciar, Regent of Coronnan.
    Darville tugged the coarse woolen peasant’s hood closer about his face. The sword strapped to his back made it impossible to humbly slump his shoulders in imitation of the other men around him. Still, it was surprisingly easy to blend in with the crowd of villagers trooping into the castle to prepare for the evening’s festivities.
    He almost wished for his familiar wolf form and senses. His tall human body just couldn’t hear and smell as well. He had to be more alert than ever. Grief for his father had to be pushed aside until a later time.
    A sensation of being watched prickled along his spine. He bent over from the waist, back still straight, to catch a runaway apple. Using his position, he looked about. No one seemed overly curious. He straightened up cautiously.
    He noticed Jaylor’s eyes dart anxiously about as he bent to heft a bulky sack to his shoulder. There was a weariness in his stance, as if he carried a burden heavier than the sack and the mended staff secreted within it. If his posture were merely an act to blend in with the peasants, Darville would applaud Jaylor. But it wasn’t. The magician had been depressed for days. When the summons came from Baamin, his mood had become worse.
    Darville couldn’t read Brevelan’s feelings at all. Sometimes she seemed to have absorbed Jaylor’s onerous worries. Other times she was bright and cheerful. Right now, she just kept her face buried in the basket of cabbages she carried. Earlier, Darville had combed a great deal of flour through her hair to mask its bright color. Now it was tightly braided and coiled at the nape of her neck, like that of any respectable matron.
    The length of her slender neck tantalized him. He suppressed the need for her that filled him day and night. Not until this adventure was finished could he indulge in the luxury of thinking of Brevelan as his own. When he ruled the kingdom, then and only then could he make Brevelan his queen.
    Torches flared at the kitchen entry. A guard, in Krej’s colors of green and dark red, scanned each face. Doubtless the Lord Regent had passed orders to watch for the trio.
    Darville only hoped Krej still believed him to be a wolf so the guards would not be on the lookout for a tall blond prince as well as an equally tall magician and their delicate witchwoman companion.
    The guard grabbed Jaylor’s shoulder, spinning him to face the light. Darville’s breath caught in his throat.
    Before his eyes Jaylor’s shoulders drooped, his profile blurred and shifted. Fascinated, Darville watched the spell of delusion transform his friend from youthful magician to stooped and wizened old man who needed the suddenly visible twisted staff of wood to support his body.
    The guard shrugged and allowed him to pass. Darville let loose the air he’d trapped in his lungs. Several more people passed through the inspection point