The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

the magic again, clearer and sharper in the fresh air. Half invisible, she followed the drifting red-and-blue braid to the edge of camp. Earlier, she had ordered a single tent set up here. A delusion slipped from her fingertips. She smiled in delight as she transformed the miserable private’s shelter into a huge royal pavilion with Darville’s personal banner flying above.
    The magic circled the delusion briefly then hesitated at the opening, scanning Rejiia’s form. She gave the questing magic an image of Darville tall, blond, dynamic in his masculinity. The red-and-blue braid persisted, wanting reassurance.
    Reluctantly, Rejiia ambled around the edge of the camp, cloaked in the image of her royal cousin. She paused and spoke to several of the sleepy soldiers, as the king would do.
    Darville had stolen the crown that should have been hers. She hated him and resented his presence even in this imaginary form.
    At last Jaylor’s magic was satisfied and retreated to the monastery. It smelled of curiosity partially satisfied.
    Rejiia hummed a joyful tune she’d heard the troops singing as they marched from the capital. More than slightly bawdy and confident, the song collapsed the delusions. Her body tingled with power. Maybe she should seduce the sergeant, right under Marnak’s nose.
    No. Not tonight. She should save her maidenhead until she needed its destruction to fuel a spell of real importance. Her bed and a well-deserved sleep enticed her back to the camp. “Perhaps I’ll dream of looting and rape and fire. Tomorrow the Commune dies along with my bastard sister and her brat. Brevelan stole my father’s love from me. Now she will pay.”
     
    Yaakke forced himself to walk west, away from familiar jagged peaks toward the more rounded mountains of SeLenicca. Shayla’s hiding place was in a valley near rounded mountains, stripped of timber. The only mountains like those were west of Coronnan. He counted four more steps and then four more.
    “Shay-la needs me. Shay-la needs me,” he recited in rhythm with his steps.
    The more space he put between himself and the dragon lair, the less worn and confused he felt. Every time he looked at his body, he was afraid he’d start to fade into transparency—like the dragons.
    Hunger gnawed at him constantly. He’d devoured all of the food he’d been able to scavenge in Brevelan’s clearing—including one of her precious flusterhens. Villagers were shy and suspicious of strangers in this part of Coronnan, so he’d had to steal a few provisions here and there, including a pack and cooking utensils. Still he ached with fatigue and emptiness.
    How long had he been in the void?
    He looked at the sky for some indication he’d chosen the right direction. A deep overcast didn’t betray the position of the sun.
    Corby the jackdaw cawed enthusiastically above him, dropping a smelly blob on the trail behind Yaakke. He looked from the bird to his deposit, then along the trail. Sure enough, Corby had spotted a crested perdix lurking in the scrubby grasses. The characteristic head bobbing and twisted topknot were not fully developed in the bird. Probably a youngster without the sense to migrate.
    Yaakke stood hunter-still. His mouth watered at the thought of a true meal cooked over a campfire. A palm-sized rock appeared in his fist. Desperation enhanced his reflexes and trued his aim. He flung the stone directly onto the perdix’s bobbing head.
    “Thanks, Corby. I’ll save you some!” Yaakke plunged toward his prey.
    “Owe me one, owe me one,” the jackdaw cawed.
    Almost, Yaakke considered eating the meat raw, feathers and all. Then something deep inside him sickened at the thought. Methodically he sought a campsite.
    One good thing about being a magician: he could start a fire even when the wood was wet. He settled his pack beneath an overhang where the soil was reasonably dry. His tin pot came readily to hand. It always did, no matter where he’d stuffed it.
    He’d seen a Rover trick once that might help him find Shayla or Jaylor—or someone who might help him. He needed food and rest first. When he had some grains and the gutted perdix simmering nicely, he granted himself the luxury of a quick wash and a fresh shirt. As he ran his fingers over his jaw and neck, the texture of his skin seemed changed, coarser, rougher. Using a calm pool at the edge of the creek as a mirror he checked for cuts or rash or just left over mud.
    Nothing quite so usual greeted his