The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

right to be. The loss of the dragons and traditional magic weighed heavily on the Senior Magician’s formerly strong shoulders.
    Baamin took a long swallow from his legendary flask, winced and cursed as he refitted the cap.
    His temper hadn’t improved much either.
    “An apt description,” Darville growled and continued to prowl his study. “I’ve been accused of being more wolf than prince a little too frequently of late.” Even his sympathy for Old Baamin couldn’t take the sting out of that particular insult.
    Once more a full moon hung above the battlements. An entire cycle had passed since Darville had traversed the tunnels to share in Baamin’s summons to Brevelan.
    The prince drew thick brocaded draperies across the window to block out the silvery glow. The noise of the sliding rings on their rod was loud and abrasive in the quiet room.
    “You have always demonstrated that characteristic restlessness, Brat. Your need to be out-of-doors, free from the constraints of court rules and strict guardians, riding fast with the wind in your face, a fierce hunter. . . . Your own personality shaped Lord Krej’s transformation spell. Even if you had never spent those four or five moons as a wolf, you would be called one.” The old man pulled out his flask once more and took a long swig of cordial followed by a mint to cover any telltale odor. The recipe for that soothing liquid was Baamin’s treasured secret.
    “Your father was more like a stag, proud and silent, easily startled.” Baamin capped the flask and secreted it again in one of his numerous pockets. “I am rather like a frog, ugly and knock-kneed, loud and offensive.”
    Darville snorted a laugh at the old man’s attempted humor. “Better an offensive frog than a poisonous eel or arrogant flustercock that is more voice than substance, like some members of your Commune of Magicians I could name.”
    “Too many of your Council of Provinces are more squawk than thought; easily led. A strong king can control and use them to advantage. An evil regent could easily destroy the entire kingdom because of them.”
    “Tell me your thoughts, Baamin. Why would the princess become hysterical at the sight of a cat? Especially a cat who is supposed to be a duplicate of her own beloved pet?” Darville stopped his pacing long enough to look directly into Baamin’s tired eyes.
    “Perhaps Mica is the cat, Rosse, who vanished from a locked tower room over two years ago. She has demonstrated some magic.” Baamin reached up a trembling hand to scratch the cat’s ears. Mica leaned into the caress and purred a little louder.
    “I don’t think she is Rosse.” Darville finally sat in his own chair, a smaller, more comfortable version of the dragon throne in the Council Chamber. He’d demanded it be brought out of storage shortly after his meeting this evening. For the first time in his life, he realized how well his frame fit the height and depth of the demi-throne.
    “Why couldn’t she be Rosse?” Baamin’s shaggy white eyebrows lifted in curiosity.
    “Did I ever tell you what happened in Shayla’s cave while the beast-headed man, who I still believe was Krej, threw the spell that changed the dragon into a glass sculpture?”
    “A little of it. I heard most of the story from Brevelan.”
    “Brevelan didn’t see what I saw.” Darville sorted through the images in his head.
    “There was so much magic ebbing and flowing, Krej couldn’t maintain the shape-change spell on me. I took back my own form for a few moments. At the same time, this cat grew into the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She rose up like a goddess, hair streaming to her hips. She lifted her arms and her voice in a glorious song.”
    He paused in his recollections a moment, stroking the purring cat. “Then she collapsed back into Mica’s body.” There, the words were out, the confused images in his mind took firm hold and became reality. “I think I returned to the wolf form at the same time, so I’ve never been totally certain of what I saw. Yet the image has haunted me.”
    “A woman trapped inside the cat’s body, just as you were trapped in the guise of a wolf?” Baamin’s expressive eyebrows crashed downward until they formed a solid line across his brow.
    “Rossemikka looks to be the twin of the woman I saw ensorcelled. Except for the streak of white hair at her temple. The princess bears a witch’s brand. Mica does not.”
    “Let me see her. Have you noticed