The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

waving an arm above his head to keep the litter in place a few moments more. “Brevelan, wait!” he called.
    Brevelan turned her wide blue eyes toward Baamin in near panic. “Help me make Darville understand,” she pleaded.
    “Don’t go, Brevelan.” Darville nearly skidded on the rain-slick paving. He came to an abrupt halt within a finger’s length of the small woman with witch-red hair.
    “I have to take Jaylor back to my clearing.” She turned away from the prince, hiding her face.
    Baamin stepped back one pace to observe them. Their love for each other was so obvious, touches of her coppery aura entwined with the prince’s golden afterimage. Baamin ached for their necessary separation.
    Women were a mystery the old man wasn’t sure he wished to understand. Love and sex wasted too much energy. Energy that Baamin needed to devote to magic and diplomacy. He remembered, fleetingly, the one woman who had claimed his love. After one night together she had deserted him rather than spend her life as the lonely and forgotten mistress of a magician.
    “The best healers in the kingdom, in the entire world, are trained at our University,” Darville asserted. “Come back to the capital with me, Brevelan. We’ll care for Jaylor together.” The prince cupped her delicately-boned face in one of his large, warrior’s hands.
    “You have a kingdom to rule, Darville,” Baamin reminded him. “Your Council is divided. Your cousin seeks to usurp your rightful throne by fair means or foul. You cannot spare the time or energy to heal your friend.”
    “I will heal Jaylor.” Brevelan straightened to her full height, seeming to stretch upward and outward with power.
    Baamin had never seen anything like it in a female. Where did the girl get the magic to give her that kind of an aura? Stargods! Women didn’t have magic!
    Correction, women didn’t have traditional magic. Since Shayla, the last breeding female dragon and source of magic, had flown away, all that was left in Coronnan was the solitary magic thrown by rogues. Without limitations and controls, solitary magic had been outlawed in Coronnan hundreds of years ago.
    “Please stay, Brevelan,” Darville pleaded. His hands began to shake with the strength of his emotions. “I need you. I can’t think straight without you. Your love was all that kept me from sinking permanently into the feral instincts of a wolf body. You have to stay with me.” Darville’s mane of blond hair glistened damply in the combined light of dawn and dying torches. His queue had come undone hours ago. His wild tangles added a sense of untamable vigor to the planes and angles of his too-thin face.
    “You have the ability to heal yourself, Darville. Jaylor won’t survive without me.”
    “Then come to the capital at least. I need you near me.”
    Baamin had never seen his prince so insecure, so vulnerable. Those moons of ensorcellment in the guise of a wolf had taken a heavy toll on Darville’s mind as well as on his body. These were weaknesses the prince had best hide from the Council and Lord Krej. That greedy cousin wouldn’t relinquish his regency powers easily.
    “All the minds and emotions of the throngs that dwell in your city would kill me, Darville. You know that better than anyone. Let me go in peace. Please.”
    Darville’s hand dropped to his side. His fist clenched tightly. A muscle in his jaw jumped. Then he bowed his head in acquiescence. “Go quickly, then. Before I lose my courage and command you back.”
    Baamin nodded to his apprentice, Yaakke. The boy tugged on the harness of the left leader steed. The litter swayed and lurched as the beasts began their plodding journey. Jaylor groaned from the depths of the blankets. Brevelan turned her back on Prince Darville as she reached a loving hand to soothe the ailing magician.
    “I love you, Brevelan,” Darville whispered.
    “I love you both,” she whispered back.
    Neither of them seemed to notice Brevelan’s cat, Mica, who crept from the shadows and parked herself on Darville’s foot.
    “Merrow,” she begged for attention from the prince. He didn’t respond. “Merrower!” This time the cat rubbed her head insistently against Darville’s leg.
    Baamin stared at the creature, eyes wide with questions. He swore the cat had spoken out loud, first in reassurance, then in petulant tones.
    Before he could puzzle out just how telepathic the cat was, the raging arguments inside the castle spilled into the