The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

Tambootie. Then I shall start again. Maman will help, she is the high priestess of Simurgh.
    I cannot allow another weakling to rule Coronnan. Only I can wield the power concealed within her depths.
    Only I can have a glass dragon for a pet.

 
     

    This book is dedicated to
Tim,
my almost perfect prince
of a husband.
And in memory of Trinket,
the Siamese kitten,
who wandered into our house one day
and graciously agreed
to share it with us for
the next twelve years.

Prologue
     
    F our massive plow steeds nodded their long heads, almost asleep in their traces. Coils of steamy breath drifted from their nostrils in the predawn chill. An enclosed litter with plain black draperies was balanced across the four broad backs. The beasts shifted under the burden placed into the litter. Last evening’s spring drizzle continued in fits and starts, and their giant, unshod hooves made little sound on the still damp courtyard paving stones.
    From the exterior courtyard, the black stone walls of Castle Krej appeared wrapped in gloomy silence. ’Twas inside that the storm raged.
    Senior Magician Baamin listened to the protracted arguments with his extended senses and shook his head dispiritedly. The old man gently tucked a warm blue cloak around the prostrate form sheltered within the litter. Only then did he try to say farewell to Jaylor, the only journeyman magician who had survived the quest to find an invisible dragon.
    But at what cost? And for how long?
    The hastily constructed litter swayed. Meager torchlight cast wavering, elongated shadows—like so many ghosts released by the magic Jaylor no longer possessed—around his once strong body.
    “Go in peace, my boy,” Baamin whispered. The young man lay unmoving, unresponsive. Only an occasional shallow breath indicated he still lived.
    A tear touched Baamin’s old eyes. “So much promise wasted on a single spell. But what a magnificent spell, my boy.” He shuddered in memory of the massive amount of magic that had bounced around the Great Hall of Castle Krej a few candle-lengths ago.
    “You have made me proud to name you magician. If I had ever had a son, I would hope he would be as strong and honorable as you.”
    A small hand touched his shoulder. Sympathy and understanding radiated from the slender young woman at his side. He marveled that she could spare so much emotion from her empathic contact with the young man who meant a great deal to both of them. But Brevelan had grown beyond empathy. She had the ability to mutate emotions, ailments, and thoughts and turn them to healing.
    A rare creature out of legends.
    Why was so much talent wasted on a woman who would never be allowed to enter the University for training?
    “I will heal him.” Brevelan wiped the tears from Baamin’s eyes. His sadness lifted a little. Just a little.
    She touched Jaylor’s chest to make certain he still breathed. The faintest glimmer of coppery light passed from her hand into Jaylor’s body. He stirred and groaned within his coma.
    “If anyone can heal him, ’tis you.” Baamin clutched his own shoulder where the witchwoman had touched him. Had that bizarre light passed into him as well? “Take him back to your mountain clearing where you can keep him safe. I’ll send Yaakke with you. His boisterous spirits should keep you both from brooding, and his magic will keep you in contact with me at the University. I shall throw a summons your way at each full moon.” Baamin signaled to his youngest apprentice to join them. Subdued for once, the dark-eyed adolescent moved between the heads of the lead steeds.
    From the depths of his robes Baamin withdrew a large rectangle of precious glass, framed in gold. He tucked it into the blue cloak that covered Jaylor’s shoulders. “Here’s a master’s glass, Jaylor, to go with the master’s cloak. Tonight you have surpassed your quest and earned these symbols of your accomplishments. I doubt any other master magician in all our history could have worked that spell and survived.”
    The old man allowed his sad burdens to settle on his shoulder. He needed to go back to the Great Hall of the damaged castle. The irate lords, the confused young man who should be king, and treacherous royal relatives just might listen to Baamin’s counsel. If they didn’t, the kingdom of Coronnan seemed certain to splinter into rampaging chaos.
    Before the magician could move toward the broad entryway, Prince Darville pelted down the steps from the keep,