The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

Council, signed the treaty. You must comply or Rossemeyer will invade. We will be fighting a war on two fronts,” Lord Andrall reminded him.
    “I am already fighting a war on two fronts, my lords. Have any of you even taken the time to read the treaty?” Darville threw the offensive document into the center of the table. No one reached for it.
    “Section three, clause four, paragraph two,” Darville quoted. “ ‘The Regent of Rossemeyer will station at least one member of his family with each battalion.’ Clause five, last paragraph: ‘In the event Rossemeyer finds itself at war, Regent Rumbellesth reserves the right to call his troops back to defend their homeland, without notice.’ That means he can declare war on us at any time and already have troops in place—troops our armies have come to trust. And he will have a member of his family ready and able to usurp the throne as well.”
    Darville circled the room once more, anxious, restless, angry. He’d taken the time to change to a mud-brown field tunic. Now he needed to be out in the field. “Read it, my lords. Read the s’murghing document and then tell me the treaty is to our advantage.” He pounded his fists on the table.
    No one dared look at him. Not even Lord Krej.
    “Moments ago I was informed that the city of Sambol, which guards our western border, has fallen to King Simeon’s army once again. Our crops were damaged by the long winter and too wet spring. There will not be enough food this winter to feed both the people and an army. And while I battle these devastating problems, you,” he pointed an authoritative finger across the table at each and every one of the Twelve, “you restrict my every move, refuse to pay your tithes, post spies and guards, and deny me access to my most trusted adviser.” And then there was his traitorous stomach that cramped in rhythm with Shayla’s labor.
    Dead silence reigned. Every man in the room sat in guilty awareness.
    “No more!” Darville shouted his disdain for the men. “Wars and kingdoms cannot be run by committee.”
    “Now just a moment, Prince Darville.” Krej’s face was turning as red as the maroon of his tunic. “You have no right to override the Council. We are a ruling body of equals, our provinces are interdependent. None of us has more power or resources than another. Our monarch is a neutral arbitrator with a tie-breaking vote. A leader, but not a dictator.”
    “The army mustering below this window gives me the right to overrule your shortsighted decisions. An army of five battalions loyal to me, paid by me out of my income from the city.” He paused for breath while he allowed that information to sink in.
    “During all those months that I did all of the data work of the Council and little else . . .” Darville gestured to the stack of bookkeeping records by his chair, “I discovered that all of you have neglected to pay your tithes for many years—even when my father was alive and duly crowned. Therefore, I declare all of you in arrears and your titles forfeit by right of the compact of Nimbulan. All of you signed that compact when you inherited your titles. This Council is dissolved as of this moment. My troops and a fully loyal Palace Guard will arrange my coronation and I will proceed with ruling this country as it should be! From the front. I ride within the hour.”
    He stalked to the doorway, paused, and turned back to face the silent men. “You may regain your positions of authority when you join me at the front with a full complement of troops and supplies.”
    “Guards, seize him!” Krej screamed.
    “Why, Krej? What reason could you possibly have to prevent me from defending our country from invasion, pillage, and rapine?” Darville thrust men and chairs aside as he lunged toward his cousin.
    The massive throne fell backward. The crash of dense wood on denser stone riveted the attention of all in the room. Only Krej’s drawn sword was between the two rivals for the throne.
    They both stared at the quivering sword. Deathly quiet hung around them and the menace of a naked weapon, drawn in anger in Council. No one looked away from the sword as the sound of heavily booted feet marched into the room.
    Fred led a squad of armed men into the chamber. They ringed the room, fingering their weapons. But they looked to Darville for direction. He gestured for them to stand at the ready, their weapons still sheathed.
    “You cannot endanger yourself on the field of