The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

weakly. The merciful blackness retreated and pain roared through his body. More pain as someone shifted and carried him. He thought he screamed. Perhaps that was only a dream, as well. The pain receded and so did his mind.
    Candlelight burned behind Darville’s eyelids. He swam upward to a level of awareness that acknowledged the pain in his arm and shoulder, yet not so far up that the sharp burning mastered him.
    Voices whispered around him. He heard bodies shuffling through a room. Something sweet burning in the grate tickled his nose and beckoned him to a higher level of wakefulness.
    “I hate using the Tambootie as a remedy for pain.”
    Was that Brevelan’s voice he heard?
    “ ’Twas the Tambootie in the woman’s body that caused the burn. Like to like, a poultice of the Tambootie to draw the magic poison from his wounds.” That had to be Zolltarn’s arrogant presumption that only he had an answer.
    “The only thing that filthy drug is good for is dragon food,” Brevelan argued.
    Darville sensed the petite woman hovering over the bed where he lay. She would be facing the Rover, hands on hips, feet anchored, daring him to interfere with her patient.
    “A boiled preparation of the leaves, mixed with eel oil, garlic, and mashed tubers works wonders on burns.”
    “ ’Twas the Tambootie that drove Janataea insane. I’ll not use it. All I need is a little quiet and a chance to work my own kind of magic. I’ve stabilized him, but he needs another session to promote his own healing.”
    “Mikka?” Darville croaked. He didn’t need drugs or healing spells. He needed to know that the vision of his wife saving herself with a shape-change was true.
    “Bring the bird in,” Brevelan ordered.
    “The dust and mites in her feathers will contaminate the burns!” Zolltarn seemed adamant in his desire to be in control.
    “She won’t remain a bird long. As soon as she sees that her mate lives, she’ll return to her own form voluntarily.”
    “And if he dies from his wounds?”
    “He needs a reason to live. Seeing his love safe will give him one.”
    Quiet prevailed a moment. Darville risked opening his eyes a slit. He had been set on a soft mattress in the master bedroom. The master wouldn’t be needing it anymore. Lush curtains in maroon and green protected the bed on three sides. The hangings were drawn back on the side facing the huge fireplace. Logs, as thick as his thighs, burned brightly, throwing warmth throughout the room. The Coraurlia rested on a feather pillow beside him.
    The door creaked open. Carpets and wall hangings muffled any footsteps. Jaylor poked his head into the opening of bed curtains, keeping his body hidden. “You’re awake.”
    “Barely.” Darville’s head and body throbbed with renewed pain by the effort of that single word. The darkness began drifting over his mind again. He willed it aside.
    “Ready for company?”
    “Only if it’s Mikka.”
    “Your wish is my command, Your Grace.” Jaylor moved slowly and carefully into view. On his outstretched arm—an arm misshapen by layers and layers of wrapped quilts—perched the largest eagle Darville had ever seen.
    “When you were a cat, Mikka, I had to pad my shoulders from your claws. My tailor will have a fit if he has to protect my arms from those talons.” He tried to chuckle, but his entire left side hurt too much.
    “Dreeek?” The bird cocked her head and opened her eyes wide in question.
    Darville patted the wide bed on his uninjured side. “Come, Mikka,” he coaxed.
    The eagle hopped awkwardly from her perch on Jaylor’s arm to the bright coverlet. “Dreeek?” she asked again.
    “My beautiful Mikka. Come back to me.” Moisture gathered at the back of his eyes, tears of pain and loneliness, and tears of tremendous hope. “Come back to me, Mikka.” The tears spilled and fell freely.
    “We’ve got to hurry,” Brevelan interrupted. “The Council and their troops are less than an hour away. They’ll condemn Mikka in this condition. They’ll condemn all of us for trade in black magic.”
    Darville had never before seen her wring her hands in agitation.
    He’d conquered his enemies, and still he must fear his own Council.
    “Jerook!” Mikka squawked and flapped her tremendous wings.
    “Out, Jaylor, Zolltarn. They need privacy for this.” Brevelan shooed the men with more frantic gestures of her hands.
    “I’m a magician, I can help.” Jaylor protested.
    “You’re a man and she’s