The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

magician, priest, or healer would follow the crown, and the king who wore it, into hell and back at that call. He hoped the glass artifact had had time to register enough of Darville’s imprint for the magicians to find them.
    “Brevelan!” Jaylor called with mind and voice and emotions.
    No answer.
    Anxiety clawed at him. Uncertainty delayed the rebalancing of his senses. He fought for calm. His vision cleared before the dizziness truly passed. Just in time, he spotted and ducked a bolt of slimy green-black magic, as it ricocheted off the tapestried walls of his suite. It was the same color as the oily feathers on Darville’s and Mikka’s bed. His rapid dive away from the bolt set his head spinning again.
    There was a spell he could recite to steady himself. If only he could remember it. If only he had enough strength left to call up any magic. Two quick transports of two bodies, even with dragon assistance, had drained his reserves.
    He ducked the bolt of magic energy again. The noisome thing bounced against a chair, turned, and sought his life force.
    Once more he borrowed energy from the storm outside, lightning filling him with tingling strength. His body centered and balanced without an additional spell.
    A gesture and three words contained the bouncing bolt of magic. Dark green magic, almost black. That must be from Janataea. Krej’s magic was always a brighter green and deep red.
    “Brevelan?”
    His call bounced about the room, much as the magic bolt had. They had to be encountering armor somewhere. Otherwise, the magic and the word would be absorbed by carpets and wall hangings.
    This time Jaylor sought armor, rather than a person.
    There! In the corner, between the wardrobe and the wall. A bubble of “nothing” pushed his seeking away.
    Jaylor fine-tuned his barb of magic into a gentle tendril of himself, with his enormous love for Brevelan emblazoned into the address.
    The armor quivered, almost allowed the magic to penetrate. Then it firmed and rejected his touch absolutely.
    “Jaylor, what the hell are you doing?” Darville had managed to rise as far as his hands and knees. He seemed steady enough, as long as he kept his eyes shut.
    “I’m keeping you close to me, where I can protect you should you be the next target of our enemies.” Jaylor helped his friend to his feet.
    Darville leaned too heavily on his shoulder and still didn’t open his eyes.
    “ S’murgh it. I forget you’re mundane. You can’t tolerate the void. I can just barely pass through it without losing so much strength I can’t get out. Sit and empty your mind. The magic infection won’t return, you’re immune now, but who knows what damage the void will do to you.” He pushed his friend into a large chair.
    “Are we out of it? The void I mean.” Darville supported his head with his free hand. Reluctantly, he reached to remove the heavy glass dragon crown and its satchel from his shoulder. The weight must seem an incredible drag on his back.
    “Don’t take it off!” Jaylor cried in alarm. “Protection was seared into the glass when it was forged. As long as you have the Coraurlia on your person, external spells can’t harm you. And no other can wear it, unless duly crowned and anointed by the Commune.”
    Darville fingered his dragon earring. “Baamin gave me this trinket for the same purpose.”
    “The piece was keyed to Baamin. He can’t help you in his condition.”
    Darville finally opened his eyes and looked at Jaylor. “ Stargods! You aren’t the same boy I grew up with. You’re half transparent with fatigue, and still the power of magic glows through you.” The new king shrank away from his lifelong friend.
    Jaylor felt himself grinning inanely. If he didn’t smile, he’d cry. “Nor are you the same boy who dared me to defy every rule set by my University and your tutors, Roy.” Jaylor used their boyhood nickname to reestablish their old camaraderie. Age and responsibility was threatening to put tremendous distance between them. “Yesterday, you were a troubled prince who sought play to hide your frustrations. Today you are a king.”
    “And newly widowed, I fear. Krej couldn’t exact a greater revenge upon me than to kill Mikka.” Grief overtook the emotions racing across his face. His shoulders sagged inside the stiff tunic. The tall and grateful warrior seemed to shrink before Jaylor’s eyes.
    “Not quite a widower. If our enemies had wanted to kill your bride, they would have done