The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

single-minded determination. Several headstrong servants reported she had the patience to outstare and out-wait a stone statue.
    “Well, is it?”
    “Not by our definition. But it might be by the Council’s,” Jaylor hedged.
    “He’s my husband. I will help him however I can.” Mikka plunked herself down beside Brevelan.
    Yaakke placed his hands on Brevelan’s shoulders. They took a deep breath in unison. The beginning of Yaakke’s magic trance extended through his hands to include her. Jaylor and Mikka mimicked the calming exercise. Breathe in three counts, hold, breathe out. Again. A third time. The rhythm drew them all halfway to the void. Reality shifted in layers of past and present.
    As usual, the ritual sent Yaakke’s mind above his body. From there he could reach below the mask of the witchbane in Brevelan’s body and tap her empathic healing ability. Her tune started low and melancholy.
    Unusual. Brevelan’s healing tunes tended to be light and cheerful, replacing pain and illness with joy and life.
    Except that one time last spring when Jaylor had poured his life into the spell that released Shayla, the last female dragon, from Lord Krej’s glass prison. Brevelan had called Jaylor back to life with a tune as soft and poignant as this.
    Yaakke forced calm upon his mind. Panic and worry would end the spell. If Darville’s injury was as bad as the tune indicated, then Brevelan needed every fragment of help he could give.
    The tune grew in volume. The melody took on a richer more complex tone. Dimly Yaakke heard Jaylor’s deep baritone seeking the harmony of the Song . The apprentice needed to add his own wavering voice in harmony an octave above Jaylor. The Song circled and wove and blended around the three voices. Mikka’s untrained alto voice joined the spell, complementing Brevelan’s piercingly sweet soprano.
    Colored mists danced around the room in rhythm with the Song . The music lifted higher, enticing the poison out of Darville’s body, urging the blackness to dissipate into the colored fog.
    Darville dropped his head against the back of the chair. Gradually the lines of pain etched around his eyes and down his cheeks eased and flowed away.
    Brevelan brought the Song to a glorious high note and lingered there. Jaylor took his harmony to a complementary fifth an octave below her. Mikka found the third.
    Communal magic, fueled by dragons, must feel like this. Unity, companionship, binding them all together.
    Yaakke opened his mouth to silence. The large room in a stone palace faded and shimmered. Different walls, older, unhewn bones of the Kardia curved around a cave. Cold dampness. Loneliness and pain.
    He fought the vision and shook it from his mind. Reality was here in Coronnan City. He needed his concentration and strength here to heal the king.
    Darville opened his eyes in wonder, then screwed up his face in agony. His scream caught Brevelan’s shriek as they all collapsed in utter failure.
    “Shayla!” Darville and Brevelan breathed together.
    Yaakke forced himself to rouse from the exhaustion of strong magic. Shayla was lonely and hurt in her self-imposed exile from Coronnan. Had his vision shown him where the dragon hid?
    “Did you see the dragon in your vision?” Jaylor asked wearily.
    “She’s hurt, trapped by an injured wing, and she can’t fly,” Darville panted. The pain seemed to return with double intensity.
    “We’ve stabilized your wound with this spell. But I can’t heal you, Darville, or Shayla. This wound is more than Janataea’s poisoned blood. Your body is tied to the health of the dragons. The Coraurlia and the dragon blessing compound the link of your royal blood to the dragon nimbus. As long as Shayla ails, you will, too.” Tears flowed down Brevelan’s face. “I should have tried this yesterday, when I was in full control of my talent, before the dragons sealed your ties to them.”
    “Then why aren’t you hurt, too, Brevelan? Your blood is almost as royal as mine. Shayla is linked to you.”
    “My link with Shayla was severed, Darville.” Brevelan hung her head in regret.
    “If Shayla is hurt that badly, then I’d best go find her.” Jaylor stood, his hand already reaching for his staff.
    “No!” Brevelan and Darville commanded in unison.
    “I’m Senior Magician. ’Tis my duty to go,” Jaylor protested.
    “And you are the only one who can hold the remnants of the Commune together. You have to stay in Coronnan, Jaylor.” Darville