The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

realizes the power we wield, they transfer worship from dragons to us. To the covens.
    Only the perseverance of our Nine has protected us from the depredations of the greedy dragons. All of the other covens have passed into oblivion.
    Now the dragons are gone. We should send out our tentacles of power unhindered. We need to found new covens and spread our dominion through the three kingdoms, and then the world.
    But Maman has left us, passing from this plane of existence into a new dimension of power. The coven is bereft. Without her central focus, the eight-pointed star has stalled, will fragment. We will lose all that we gained when the dragons departed.
    A new center for the star must be found among the remaining eight. I have the potential to ascend to the focus. But I must have more power to triumph over seven. Another seeks the same.
    I have a plan. Even now my power expands into the other territory, if I can recruit the new ninth, then no one will dare contest my move to the focus.
    The Princess Rossemikka is the key. The treaty between Rossemeyer and Coronnan is just the beginning. I will force my princess to marry Prince Darville in spite of my rival’s interference and his attempts to claim her body.
     
    A cold autumn wind rushed along the river from the Great Bay, warning of the rain squall to follow. The tall man lingering in the shadow of University Bridge retreated into the deep hood of his cloak, pleased to see that others in this busy marketplace also hid their faces. Except for his height and the breadth of his shoulders, he should blend into this black-clad crowd.
    Since the war with SeLenicca began last spring, black had become the dominant color in Coronnan City. Not for fashion. Not for practicality or elegance. For mourning.
    The man slouched purposefully. The curve of his back lessened his height and added the illusion of breadth. With luck, no one would notice anything unusual about him as he crossed the bridge to the University of Magicians.
    One last time he checked the fringe of the market crowd for the ever-present Council guards. The fugitive had crossed and recrossed six bridges among the islands of the capital city. He had wandered and slunk through as many crowded squares to end his flight from the palace within sight of his starting place. Now he examined the market square on the little island nestled between the palace and the University for remnants of pursuit. The man-at-arms who had followed him from the gates of Palace Reveta Tristile should be thoroughly lost in the wynds and alleys of Coronnan City.
    Three men with short swords on their belts stopped and hovered near the blacksmith’s booth. None were the man who had followed him so diligently. But they watched the University Bridge as if they knew who would try to escape across it.
    They had to capture the man before he traversed the bridge. Council guards and royal armies were not tolerated at the University of Magicians.
    He needed a diversion.
    “Meow?” A brindled brown cat stropped his ankles.
    “Not now, Mica,” he hissed at his pet. She was probably the most conspicuous cat in the entire capital. Her brown/ black/gold/bronze fur was unique. Everyone in the kingdom knew where Mica belonged and the name of her master. So he’d left her behind. And now she had found him.
    If only she could transform herself into the beautiful woman of his vision in the dragon lair five moons ago. Now that would be a diversion!
    In his mind’s eye he saw again the long-legged young woman with multicolored hair flowing past her hips. She raised her arms in a glorious song of freedom. Her words whispered through his mind, haunting him with a poignant message he could almost understand. Then the magic had all gone awry and the woman had vanished back into the cat body. This same cat who followed him everywhere.
    “Hey, you there!” One of the three guards advanced toward the bridge.
    The man retreated farther into the shadows beside the arched supports, ducking his head so the folds of his cloak became a mask. He shifted his balance onto the balls of his feet, ready to run. Mica slunk away quietly.
    Heavy boots splashed through a nearby puddle, spraying him with blobs of mud. A stripling lad with wispy hair and feet too big for his body ducked and dodged as he ran through the crowd, around the ancient Rover woman who read palms, past the bridge entrance, a loaf of bread barely hidden under his ragged shirt.
    “Stop! In the name of