The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

magic left over are really weird, but I can’t say why.” The cell next to this one smelled equally strange, too, as if the thief had lingered there but hadn’t thrown any spells within the room. The grisly statue of Krej’s mother, Lady Janessa, was still there. She’d been dead when Krej and his sister Janataea had ensorcelled her into an onyx statue of a harpy. She couldn’t be revived and was useless to the coven. Krej still lived within his tin prison. He might revive if they could figure a way to break his own backlashed spell.
    “Well, if we can’t tell who and how let’s look at where,” Darville ceased his restless pacing a moment. “Where could the thief expect to take Lord Krej when he’s been transformed into a statue of a weasel?”
    “Somewhere close,” Jaylor pronounced. “The statue might be the size of a real weasel, but it contains Krej’s full weight and mass. That much dead weight concentrated in a small form would challenge a very strong man.”
    “A strong magician could transport him,” Yaakke interjected. That’s what he would do.
    “If the magician who sprang the traps doesn’t have the secret of transporting a living being unharmed, I don’t think he’d risk damaging Krej.” Jaylor finger-combed his beard; a familiar gesture when he was deep in thought. “But he might try levitation. That’s how Krej got Shayla back to his castle last spring after he’d turned her into glass.”
    Yaakke thought back to the magic probe he had dodged this morning. He hadn’t revealed the secret of the transport spell to the smuggler from SeLenicca. Nor the queen’s dual personality. He was sure of it. But maybe . . .
    A blush crept up from his toes to his hairline. In all the rush and excitement he’d forgotten to relate important information. A smuggler. A ship to SeLenicca. Were all the mishaps connected?
    “Does this corridor lead to the tunnels and maybe access to the river or another part of the city?”
    “It does,” Darville said. Traces of suspicion crossed his eyes. “But only if you know the tunnels exist, how to get out, and which walls hide doors.”
    Jaylor and Darville looked at each other for a long moment. If Jaylor’s magic weren’t dormant, Yaakke would swear they were talking mind-to-mind.
    Yaakke looked down the dark length of the nearly empty prison carved out of bedrock. He squinted his eyes for traces of magic. Patches of red-and-black mist glowed in the shape of footprints.
    “Who’s red and black?” Yaakke asked Jaylor while following the faint traces of a magician’s path. Magic tended to take on the color of the magician’s personality. No two alike, though shades of a color might be similar.
    “Red and black?” Jaylor looked surprised.
    “Maybe not black. Something very dark. And the red is bright, like blood.” The footprints were small, the stride short. Traces of delusion faded in and out, altering the shape and length of the telltales. Who was this magician?
    “The assassin in the Grand Court was short!” Yaakke exclaimed. “And his beard was cut square, like he was from SeLenicca. There’s a smuggler’s ship going to SeLenicca tonight!”
    “What? Tell me everything you know, Yaakke,” Jaylor ordered. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
    “You wouldn’t listen and then we got caught up with the healing and I forgot.” Yaakke’s mind and mouth closed with a firm snap. Survival depended upon keen observation and keeping his secrets. He hadn’t really forgotten to relate this information. Long habits of silence had pushed the incidents to the back of his mind. Ten years as the smallest and weakest kitchen drudge had taught him that.
    “This is too important for you to hide behind big innocent eyes and silence.” Jaylor grasped Yaakke’s chin and forced him to look directly at him.
    Yaakke saw anxiety and authority in Jaylor’s gaze. He also saw a potential for violence within this big man. But none of his anger and aggression was directed toward Yaakke.
    “Tell me what you know, Yaakke,” Jaylor pleaded.
    Yaakke filled his lungs and forced himself to trust his master. Never, in the months they’d been together, had Jaylor raised a hand to him. Not once had he given Yaakke reason to doubt his intentions.
    “Yes, sir.” Carefully, Yaakke related his morning’s adventure, including his first suspicion that Margit the pasty seller had thrown a defensive spell at the beginning of the argument, finishing with an