The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

he couldn’t face the rite of passage with the Tambootie smoke until his body entered puberty. He needed that trial to achieve journeyman status. Technically he couldn’t leave his master or be inducted into the Commune of Magicians without the trial. He needed to set out tonight if he was going to reach Brevelan’s clearing and the dragon in two weeks.
    “I have eyes and ears beyond my magic.” Jaylor closed the door to the bedroom, separating them from Brevelan and the now quiet baby. “You were supposed to report to me before the coronation began. Where have you been, Yaakke?”
    “I—ah—I overheard—ah—” How did he explain how he heard the smuggler when he wasn’t supposed to use any magic at all?
    “Just this once, I wish you would answer a direct question. I’m not going to steal your dinner or beat you for impertinence.”
    Yaakke fought for the right words. His long habit of keeping his mouth shut and his mind sharp to avoid bullies and punishment stalled the words in his throat.
    “ Stargods , I’m not an empath like Brevelan. I can’t read you,” Jaylor ground the words through his teeth.
    Yaakke hung his head. Fear of punishment clawed at his throat, killing the words. He had to try. He had to make Jaylor see how valuable he could be to the Commune.
    “I overheard a smuggler. . . .”
    “Criminals aren’t my problem. I need your help now. Did the witchbane in the Grand Court affect you?”
    “Witchbane?” Yaakke shuddered again at the thought of losing his magic and therefore his right to call himself anything but “Boy.”
    “The purple smoke one of the acolytes was dispensing instead of incense.”
    “I didn’t like the smell, so I armored against it right off.” Yaakke looked at the food still clutched in his fist. “The smuggler might be important to the king. He’s taking . . .”
    “That isn’t important now. The king’s health is. Is your magic intact?” Jaylor pressed for an answer.
    “I guess so.” He’d tell about the smuggler and SeLenicca and the dragons later, when Jaylor was ready to listen.
    “Show me your magic.”
    Yaakke shrugged and brought a globe of witchlight to his outstretched palm. Shadows dissolved in the direction-less glow. He extinguished it with the pass of a hand before anyone from the kitchens below them could investigate.
    “Good. You can eat on the way to the palace.” Jaylor latched onto Yaakke’s arm and pulled him toward his room.
    Yaakke crammed the last of the bread and meat into his mouth. He didn’t wait to swallow before he mumbled: “But, Jaylor, I’ve got to go . . . to tell you . . .”
    “You need to follow my orders.” Jaylor dragged him into the private room, still holding his collar. “We’re ready, Brevelan.” He grabbed his staff and headed back down the stairs. Brevelan slung a shawl around herself and Glendon, hurrying in her husband’s wake. She didn’t even notice the smell of the meat Yaakke had eaten. Usually the smell of an animal’s death pained her.
    “Where are we going?” Yaakke asked, swallowing the last bite of his hasty meal. He figured he’d need all of his strength for whatever Jaylor planned.
    “The king is ill,” Jaylor announced grimly, checking the back stairs for privacy.
    “Did the assassin get him after all?”
    “So you know about that.”
    “I’m sorry I didn’t help, Jaylor. But I was too far away and there was a guard standing very close to me. I couldn’t throw any magic without . . .”
    “Never mind apologizing. Fred and I handled it. Now get a move on. We’re needed at the palace.”
    “Fred?”
    “Darville’s personal bodyguard. The sergeant.”
    “Oh, him.” Yaakke relaxed as if a weight lifted from his shoulders. “Is it okay if he sorta recognized me?”
    “He’s loyal to Darville first and the Council second. He won’t betray us.” They hurried into the muddy yard at the back of the inn. The hoarse caw of a crow or jackdaw greeted them, then faded with the last of the daylight.
    Yaakke looked toward the roof of the ramshackle stable for signs of Corby, the jackdaw who seemed to have followed him all day. The lumpy thatch betrayed no unusual outline.
    “Is the king’s sword arm acting up again?” he asked to cover his search for Corby. If that was all that was wrong with the king, maybe he could get Darville to listen to his news about the smuggler.
    “I’m afraid so. The wound, where the rotten magic in Janataea’s witch blood burned