The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

He gulped the fresh mountain air filled with the clean and natural scents of trees and ferns, of animals and life. Real scents and sounds, not the dulled echoes of memories tangled together in the void.
    “Late. Ye’r late,” a jackdaw’s mocking greeted him from the bird’s perch atop the hut’s roof. White tufts of feathers above his eyes waggled in stern disapproval.
    “Shut up, you stupid bird. How’d you get here so fast?” He’d given up questioning why Corby was so intent upon following him.
    Yaakke’s stomach growled. The tiny discomfort was a wonderful reminder that he lived. He reached for the journey rations in his pack. Gone. His pack hadn’t survived the transport. Memory of the innkeeper’s frantic search for something to sell so he could pay his taxes flashed before Yaakke’s mind. The sour taste returned to his mouth. Had he been responsible?
    Food first. Think later.
    Before leaving for the coronation, Brevelan had stashed a sack of oats by the hearth. The flusterhens would probably have laid some eggs in the coop. The goat would need milking. Enough to fill him up once he started a cooking fire.
    His stomach growled and roiled at the same time. He was so hungry he almost fainted; so hungry the thought of food sickened him.
    How long had he been in the void anyway? A day, a week, a year?
    “ Stargods , I hope the dragon waits for me. I can’t afford to lose any more time.” He thought about transporting up to the lair. Brevelan’s copper life force had left an indelible memory of the cave in his mind to direct the spell.
    Coils of colored lives, and one shimmering white one, enticed him back into the void, invited him to linger and learn.
    “Ye’r late! Late, late, late,” Corby reminded him again.
    “I’ll be later yet if I don’t get something to eat,” Yaakke protested. The blue-tipped dragon was right. Yaakke had used the transport spell once too often. Next time he might not have the will to leave the void.
     
    “I’m still hungry!” Hilza whined, her voice little more than a whisper.
    “We’re all hungry,” Katrina tried to soothe her sister. Was there any way to ease the pangs that gnawed at her belly? Two weeks of anxious waiting for the ship while bankers hounded P’pa for repayment of their investment; then two more weeks of small, meatless meals as P’pa scrambled for every coin he could gather to repay the bankers lest they send him to prison.
    “Just try to think of something else, baby.” P’pa looked at his plate as if by a miracle he’d left a tidbit to give Hilza. Flesh had fallen from his face since the day his ship hadn’t sailed into port on time.
    “Don’t coddle the child,” M’ma pouted. “She’s old enough to learn that we are all paying for your mistake, Fraanken.” M’ma’s face was still full and bright. Only P’pa made the effort to give some of his share to his children.
    “There is still time, Tattia. The ship may have been delayed by storms,” P’pa protested.
    “Tell that to the bankers and King Simeon!” M’ma screamed.
    Hilza wailed in fright. Katrina choked back her own fear. Fear that tomorrow there would be no food on the table. Cold and upset, she reached over and pulled her youngest sister into her lap. Every meal lately ended with someone in tears. At least Maaben had the sense to spend her afternoons with Tante Syllia and Oncle Yon so she would be invited to stay for dinner. P’pa’s brother and sister-in-law were childless and doted on Maaben, but had no time for studious Katrina or timid little Hilza.
    “I’ve tried and tried for an audience with His Majesty,” P’pa explained. “He won’t see me. He won’t admit that he ordered me to invest in that ship or that he has already borrowed and spent his share of the profits. Profits that will never be. He won’t accept any part of the blame.” P’pa seemed to shrink within his altered robes.
    Yesterday, Katrina had cut all the costly embroidery from her father’s clothing and reshaped the fabric for him. The ornaments had been sold to buy tonight’s meager supper of rice and stale bread. The price of the food equaled what a full banquet would have cost six moons ago.
    “If the ship doesn’t come tomorrow, the day after at the latest, we’ll have to sell Katrina’s patterns,” M’ma pronounced. “Without the patterns to work, we might as well sell the pillow and bobbins, too. She’ll never be accepted into the palace school without her