The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

He writhed and screamed, as if burning. Burning within and without. His limbs became rigid, his body shrank and changed. His red hair lightened and faded. A feral quality filled his widened pupils. He opened his mouth and growled.
    The primitive sounds echoed along the stone corridor in a fierce howl of rage and anguish.
    The hair on the back of Darville’s neck and arms stood up in eerie primeval distrust.
    A rusty-gray weasel emerged from beneath the pulsing magic in Darville’s weapon. A weasel frozen in cheap tin, gilded with false gold.

Chapter 33
     
    “S et me down, Gliiam,” Jaylor commanded the juvenile dragon beneath him.
    The equivalent of a draconian laugh rippled through the long body. Sunlight glistened and reflected off his translucent fur and green wing-veins.
    “I am not one of you. Set me down,” Jaylor commanded with the full authority of the Senior Magician.
    The dragon nimbus broke through the void, into the air above Coronnan. For a moment, Jaylor thought the winged creatures were complying with his demands.
    Gliiam took wing and swept out to sea. On the swirling air masses of a gathering storm he dove and climbed, turned circles in a tail length, and sported with the waves below.
    Jaylor searched the nimbus for Shayla. All of the dragons within sight wore a color on their wing-veins and horn tips. No all color/no color female dragon was present to help him, understand his plight, or control the exuberance of the young male he rode.
    (You are one of us now. Look at yourself.)
    Forcing panic down, Jaylor looked, really looked at his hands, where he clutched the green spine ridges. His skin was nearly transparent. Further inspection of his body revealed a similar fading of muscle and bone.
    (You ventured into the void once too often. You belong to us now.)
    “I am needed in Coronnan. You must let me go back to my duties.” How many trips had he made into the realm of the magic in the last two days? There was the transport from the clearing to Coronnan City. That shouldn’t count. Yaakke had performed that spell. But there had been the ritual star, transports across the city, and two seeking spells for the queen. All necessary. None could have been avoided. Well, maybe one of the transports across the city.
    (The king has taken care of our enemy.) The image of Krej shrinking into one of his own macabre sculptures flashed before Jaylor’s mind. (You are no longer needed there.)
    “We must still deal with the woman, Janataea. She is the deadlier of the two.”
    (That is true. But her brother is our enemy, not the woman. She did not arrange the destruction of the nimbus.)
    “She will destroy Coronnan. You will never be allowed to return. Shayla wants to return with her young. I can hear her plaintive call.”
    (Shayla is unable to return.)
    Something was wrong in that statement. Dragons couldn’t lie, yet the word “unable” hung in the air around them with many meanings. He dismissed that argument until he’d had time to think on it.
    “My wife and my son need my protection.”
    (And if he is not your son?)
    Regret jolted Jaylor’s heart.
    “That makes no difference. The child needs me to guide him through a difficult life. He is a magician born. Coronnan is suspicious of all magicians. Glendon will be suspect because of his grandfather’s evil. I love him. I must guide and protect him, regardless of whose seed started his life.”
    The dragons hesitated.
    “My son is innocent. His mother is good-hearted. They need me, lest they be forced to follow the ways of Krej and Janataea because the mundanes refuse to understand them,” Jaylor pressed his argument. “Send me back. I love them dearly.”
    (There are things you must see first. You may not wish to return to the troubles of Coronnan afterward.)
    “I will always return to Brevelan.”
    (We shall see.)
    Gliiam headed west, up the Coronnan River to the besieged city of Sambol. Time slowed. The combatants moved through the sluggish current of hours passing at less than half their natural rate. And yet, the strict forward movement of time seemed distorted and distended. Jaylor didn’t know if what he saw was happening now, in ages past, or in some distant time in the future.
    For that matter, what did “now” mean?
    Jaylor saw death, fire, rape, and pillage. The river ran red with the blood of natives and attackers, innocent citizen and professional soldier alike. His heart swelled with grief at the sights and sounds of