The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

reflection. Dark shadows creased his jaw and upper lip. The beginning of a beard! A rather complete and dark beard at that. Well, several days’ worth anyway. The facial hair seemed soft and fine now. Soon enough it would grow thicker and heavier.
    At last!
    About time.
    “La, la, la, la,” he sang, testing the quality of his voice. To his own ear the notes sounded his same childish soprano.
    “Loo, loo, loo, loo,” he sang again, on a lower tone. Much lower than he used to sing.
    “La, la, laeeeeek,” he tried the high notes and lost all control.
    Good. By the time he found Jaylor, maybe he’d be through the worst of the change and be able to speak like a man. Jaylor could authorize his trial by Tambootie smoke and promote him to journeyman. Once promoted, he could claim a larger piece of glass for focusing his spells. The trial might also grant him a vision to guide him to Shayla.
    “Shayla needs me.”
    Yaakke tried the notes again and didn’t croak until almost two tones lower than last time.
    Corby jeered from his perch atop the boulder at Yaakke’s miserable attempt to sing.
    “Your voice doesn’t sound much smoother, bird!” Yaakke returned to his campfire, anxious to try the Rover trick.
    Just before leaving Shayla’s lair, he had seen something very frightening reflected in water. More than reflections. A vision, or another dragon-dream. Jaylor and Brevelan and the baby had stood in the middle of a raging inferno, desperately seeking escape.
    The vision had ended before Yaakke had seen an accurate picture of where Jaylor and Brevelan were. He needed to know where, or what direction in order to direct a standard summons spell.
    Yaakke knew deep inside himself that Jaylor and his family needed help.
    He’d been granted the vision for a reason. He had to find Jaylor and warn him of the fire. Or help him escape.
    If the trick worked.
     
    The trap is set. By an hour after sunrise, the Commune will cease to exist. An hour later my agent will inform King Darville how it happened and who was responsible. Jonnias and the Marnaks will never be trusted in Council again. When they realize the depth of the rift between themselves and their king, the three sniveling lords will revolt. The rest of the Council will blame Darville for the newest civil war. He won’t be allowed to survive as king of a country tearing itself apart and he without an heir and with a witch for a wife.
    Within a few moons Coronnan will be in such chaos, the coven will be able to step in and enforce law and order on their own terms. Soon, so very soon.
     
    Four horsemen backed by a thousand soldiers rode up to the gates of the monastery. Jaylor watched the three noble banners fluttering above the lieutenants who each represented a lord: Jonnias, Marnak the Elder, and Marnak the Younger. Higher than the three fluttered a fourth banner. The man carrying the symbol of a crystal dragon and a golden wolf didn’t wear a uniform of the royal household or army.
    An aura of hate shimmered over the entire army.
    “I don’t like the smell of this,” Jaylor growled to Brevelan who stood by his side at the window of their tower room.
    “I sense a great deal of anger out there.” Brevelan edged behind Jaylor, putting a physical barrier between herself and the roiling emotions of a thousand armed men. “Anger and fear. They do not come in peace.”
    “Can you isolate Darville in the throng? I want to talk to him privately before I face those emissaries at the gate.” Jaylor leaned against the windowsill, trying desperately to find one familiar blond head among the battle-hardened men.
    Brevelan’s eyes closed in concentration. Her pale skin turned whiter; but shadows hollowed her cheeks and furrowed in her brow. Jaylor resisted the urge to reach out and offer her strength and comfort. If he touched her right now, her contact with the army below would shrivel.
    “No. There are too many people out there to find one soul.” She shook her head. Huge blue eyes, clouded with bewilderment and pain, looked up to his. “Our king is the one person I should be able to isolate at any distance. He hides himself from me.”
    A momentary pang of jealousy brought a red mist to Jaylor’s eyes and judgment. Brevelan might be his, Jaylor’s, wife now. Darville might be very much in love with his own bride, Rossemikka, now . But he could never forget that little less than a year ago, Brevelan had made a very hard choice between the two men.
    The