The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

the Council, stop where you stand!” Two guards followed the boy, a lot less careful of whom they pushed aside and how roughly. A fat baker waddled in their wake. The Rover woman stuck out her foot and tripped the baker.
    The tall man peeked out from his hiding place. He hoped the boy escaped. Judging by his physical condition, he needed the bread more than the fat baker. Too many people in Coronnan needed bread they couldn’t afford. The combination of war and crop failure was eating away at the kingdom’s vitality. Conditions must have worsened if the boy risked theft practically beneath the palace walls.
    A crashing splash brought shouts of anger and dismay. The escaping lad had pulled the linchpin on the far side of the bridge, collapsing the span into the rushing river with the two guards on it. Merchants and customers alike, but not the Rover woman, hurried to haul the Council’s men out of the water.
    The river wasn’t deep right there, as the fugitive knew from experience. He didn’t spare the men any remorse. They probably needed the bath. Two down, one to go. Then he could complete his mission in the University.
    The one remaining guard shouted orders as he trudged toward the collapsed bridge, knocking over an awning that sheltered a pile of baskets in his clumsy frustration. Other patrons of the market, led by the ancient woman in Rover black with bright purple accents, howled and shoved each other. Confusion reigned.
    Altogether, a typical day at the market.
    No one barred the path anymore.
    The tall man slipped silently onto the bridge. A tiny brindled brown cat clung to the shadows at his side.
    The hair on the back of his neck prickled as if he were being watched. He checked over his shoulder. The movement dislodged the hood of his cloak. For one brief instant his face and head of distinctive blond hair were exposed to the feeble sunlight. Even though he’d restrained his mane in a fashionable queue, the bright color, combined with his height and the presence of the cat were dead giveaways to his identity. Hastily he adjusted the folds of thick oiled wool.
    With renewed purpose, he took the last two steps toward the end of the bridge, confident of his safety and success now that he’d escaped the Council guards. The future lay in the information he must impart to Baamin, Senior Magician and Chief Adviser to the Crown.
    “Excuse me, Your Grace.” A heavy hand landed on the man’s shoulder. “The Council requires your presence. Immediately. The flagship of Rossemeyer has been spotted at the head of the Great Bay.”
    “S’murgh it!” Prince Darville cursed. “Inform the Twelve Lords of the Council of Provinces that I must consult with my adviser before I can join them. The marriage treaty carried by the ambassador from Rossemeyer is too important for me to judge alone.” He couldn’t tell the guard his real excuse for seeking out the Senior Magician when he’d been forbidden contact with the University. That was too private, too essential.
    “I’m sorry, sir. I was told to bring you back to the Council Chamber without delay and without any magicians.” The soldier looked as if he wished to give in to his prince’s demands, but was afraid to ignore the order the Council had given him.
    “Then come with me while I consult with Lord Baamin. I will return with you to the Council shortly.” Darville began to step off the bridge. The young guard couldn’t be more than eighteen and was probably as green as the hills. He’d never question royal authority.
    “Come with you . . . in there?” The man-at-arms stared in terror at the walls of the University. His jaw flapped in protest, but no words emerged. His feet remained firmly rooted where he stood on the bridge.
    “Yes, in there. Where else am I to find the Senior Magician?” Darville had never understood the superstitious fear of magic that ran rampant among the populace. He’d grown up with a fledgling magician as his best friend. He’d fallen in love with a woman who wielded magic as easily as she sang a lullaby.
    Pain stabbed his heart. The child Brevelan carried in her womb belonged to Jaylor, his best friend. She’d chosen the father of her child, ill and weak though he was, over the lawful ruler of the realm.
    He pushed the pain of those thoughts away. He had to think of Coronnan and the future; not his private regrets.
    “What is your name, young man? I’d like to be able to address my escort and bodyguard by name.”