The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

failed. He held his viewing glass to the light. There were no cracks, no flaws. Its smooth surface was perfect.
    So why couldn’t he make contact with any other magician? Several were waiting for his summons. They should be on the alert to answer through their own glasses.
    He took a deep breath. In, three counts. Hold, three. Release, three. His mind was drawn out of his body and hovered just below the beckoning void of a deep magic trance. Magic flowed through him with velvet ease. Colors wavered and swirled in the glass.
    At last!
    He heard laughter, coarse and mocking. Alert to the spell going awry again, Baamin pushed the image closer to completion. Instead of the gaunt, lined face of the man he expected, a shaggy-headed monster with the body of a man looked back at him and sneered.
    “With my head, and my heart, and the strength of my shoulders, I renounce this evil,” Baamin recited the formula of the Stargods as he crossed himself. For good measure he completed the warding with the winged gesture of Simurgh.
    “You didn’t think I could do it, did you, Baamin?” The words floated about the room, followed by the image of Baamin’s oldest enemy stepping out of the glass.
    Baamin jerked back, throwing his armor in place as he sought answers to this abomination. This was the kind of prank he would expect of Jaylor. But how could a young man conjure up this manifestation of the red-haired beast/ man Baamin had fought during his trial with the Tambootie smoke? That nightmare existed only in the shadow world of Baamin’s tortured dreams.
    Eavesdropping on another’s dreams was forbidden. To make doubly sure no one learned of his nightmares, Baamin had personally destroyed all records of his testing, all references to the beast, when he assumed leadership of the Commune.
    His gnarled staff came to hand readily. He poked the vision, making certain the staff was as armored as he. Hard flesh and bone met the probe. The beast hadn’t even bothered to cover his well-muscled body with clothing, other than a barely adequate loincloth. In Baamin’s dreams, his nemesis had the decency to wear the same robes as Baamin did.
    “Yes, Baamin, old friend. I’m real and I’ve come out of your dreams to haunt you.” The mouth of the image worked but the words came from some other, indefinable direction. “I’m putting an end to the Commune.” This time the image threw back his head and laughed long and loud. The gesture was familiar, belonging to a different man. Baamin was too befuddled by the presence of this monster to remember who.
    “Every time you and your toadies throw the smallest spell, I’ll be there to twist it round backward, sideways, or split it into good and evil twins. Dragon magic is finished, Old Baamin.”
    A knock on the door banished the image but not the voice. “Another time, Baamin. We’ll finish this when I choose, and you’ll not know ahead of time.” The rolling laughter bounced around and around the room in decreasing spirals of sound until the glass absorbed it.
    Rational thought deserted Baamin as he sat, stunned by the perversion. Had another magician read his dreams? Or had he gone insane and conjured up the beast again? The Commune had fought the monster back into another dimension after Baamin’s adolescent testing with the Tambootie smoke had made him real.
    Jaylor was the only other magician whose hallucinations had taken on three dimensions. But the red-haired beast had remained dormant at that time.
    A second knock roused the senior magician from his stupor. He shook himself to mask the trembling that began deep inside him and radiated out to his hands and neck and knees. He couldn’t allow anyone to suspect his own nightmares were interfering with his magic. Not yet, not until he had assured his supremacy over the Council as well as the Commune and University when Darcine passed on.
    “Come,” he called to the supplicant at his door. His voice broke. He was just tired. Perhaps he’d dreamed the beast/man. No magician in Coronnan could break apart one of Master Baamin’s spells.
    The door opened a crack. He could see one brown eye peering at him.
    “Be you busy, master?” The voice was shy, hesitant about bothering a master magician.
    “Not anymore. You disturbed my spell.” Baamin growled. He reached for his flask and swallowed the last of the sugar water. Then he popped a mint into his mouth to hide the lack of alcohol smell. Stargods, he’d give a year of his