The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

possibility that the king’s seed had fathered Glendon remained.
    “You know it is you I love, Jaylor,” Brevelan reached across the barrier of his emotions.
    A hard spot in his heart dissolved. Her small hand sought his. With those few words the jealousy died and love reblossomed in his chest. He clung to her hand, the simple gesture binding them together.
    “What do we do about them?” She gestured to the horsemen who were pounding on the gates for entrance.
    “I know Darville’s banner gives this army authority. But I cannot find any reason our friend would betray our location to those three lords. He might tell Lord Andrall—his loyalty has never been questioned. But those three?” He shrugged in disbelief.
    “Could it have been a trick to disarm your suspicions. You would open the gate willingly for your king.”
    “Aye. But not to Jonnias and the two Marnaks.”
    The wind shifted slightly, carrying the babble of voices from the army. The aura of hatred intensified.
    “I believe we have been betrayed, Brevelan.” By whom? An agent of the fanatical Gnostic Utilitarian cult which decreed that all knowledge must come by hard work and experience, not magic? His best friend? Jaylor faced that painful possibility reluctantly. His spy should have told him about this army before it left the capital. Perhaps the Council had decided to secretly remove Glendon, the king’s bastard son, from Jaylor’s and Brevelan’s custody.
    Never! Jaylor resolved. “Show Master Fraandalor an image of Shayla’s old lair and have him begin transporting the library and the telescopes there. The time has come to find a new sanctuary for the Commune.” Regret hung heavily on his shoulders.
    The sanctity of this remote retreat for aging magicians, priests, and healers should not be violated by an army bent on destruction. Darville should not have succumbed to any of the forces that wanted an end to all magic in Coronnan.
    “Will we be able to protect everyone there?” Brevelan looked out over the undulating sea of soldiers that spread across the hills. The noise of their coming increased.
    “If Krej couldn’t find the path up the mountain without help, then this mundane army won’t be able to either. There is shelter, water, and privacy.” He snatched a quick kiss from her. “Go quickly. I’ll stall the lieutenants at the gates.” The ancient wooden barriers were beginning to buckle from the pounding of sword hilts on the planks.
    Brevelan’s departure emptied the stark room of warmth and sunshine. Jaylor emptied his mind and body of emotion, allowing keen thoughts to focus without distraction. Only by eliminating his beloved from his consciousness could he generate the spells necessary to save her. To save the Commune.
    “Why, Darville? Why are you with these men?” he asked the wind.
    Below him, in the courtyard, the gatekeepers peered out the viewing hole of the right-hand gate. Anxiety written in their posture and the wringing of their hands, they looked up to the tower window for guidance.
    Jaylor uncoiled a thread of magic, linking him to the gatekeepers. He fed them instructions to keep the gates barred, but not to retreat yet.
    The banner-toting envoys drew back a pace. “Yield this sacred stronghold of the Stargods to Darville III, by the grace of the dragons, King of Coronnan!” bellowed the man carrying the banner of Jonnias of Sauria.
    “This enclave belongs to the Stargods, not to any mundane king,” one of the two gatekeepers squeaked a reply. His frail old voice barely carried through the massive wooden barrier.
    The lieutenants growled and consulted among themselves for a stronger command.
    Jaylor directed the gatekeepers to withdraw to the safety of the library.
    “Yield or be taken by force!” the lieutenant of Jonnias cried once more.
    No one was left at the gate to reply.
    The lieutenants hoisted their banners high, Darville’s symbol highest of all, and returned to their comrades.
    The ranks of soldiers lunged forward, anxious to begin. A strange chant issued from a thousand throats. Waves of violent sound chilled Jaylor’s mind. “Kill magic. Kill all magicians.” The chant grew in volume and aggression, fed by a whiff of magic from some unknown source. Battle frenzy swelled, binding the men together for the coming fray.
    “Kill magic. Kill all magicians.”
    Weapons drumming on shields took on the rhythm of a thousand hearts beating in unison; a thousand minds with one goal.