The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

They couldn’t all have died. He’d have felt their passing, he was sure of it.
    The barriers surrounding Brevelan’s clearing had been down. Surely not because she had died! That was weeks ago.
    How had the spell gone so wrong? He’d been careful to visualize rain, torrents of rain to douse the fire.
    “Don’t you recognize me?” The girl hiked her skirts and began climbing up to Yaakke’s perch. She revealed an indelicate amount of ankle and calf beneath the black cloth.
    “Danger! Danger, danger,” Corby croaked, circling above.
    “I saw you at the coronation,” he muttered.
    “I’m Rejiia.” She sat beside him, mimicking his cross-legged pose.
    “Krej’s daughter?” He barely acknowledged her presence. Why hadn’t he centered his magic and found Jaylor by summons as soon as he’d departed from the dragon? He could have reported everything and maybe received some more clues on where to look for Shayla. Jaylor would then have known where Yaakke was, so he could have sent a summons for help in time.
    The barriers around the clearing were already down. How long had he been in the void? Long enough for all his friends to die?
    “Aren’t you going to ask why I want you to kill my husband, Marnak the Younger, his father, and their best friend, Lord Jonnias?” She sounded aggrieved that his attention had wandered away from her beauty. What good would he do helping Shayla if there were no more Commune to gather the dragon’s magic?
    Rejiia’s pout dragged his attention back to her question.
    “You must have your reasons for wanting those men dead. They don’t concern me. I’ve got to save the Commune.” Yaakke dismissed her. Why hadn’t the king stopped his lords from waging war on the magicians?
    “King Darville doesn’t know this was their mission,” Rejiia answered his unspoken question.
    “You read my thoughts. Do you have magic?” Yaakke hastily erected some armor around his thoughts lest she read his lonely pain and find him vulnerable.
    Yaakke started scrambling down from the rock. He had to see for himself that the monastery was destroyed and that all of his friends were dead.
    “I have some magic,” Rejiia said interrupting his descent. “Not enough to do more than a few parlor tricks. My father never saw fit to test or train me. He had no use for his daughters, except to marry us off for power and wealth.”
    “And now you want freedom from your chosen husband.” Yaakke let his eyes wander away from her toward the mass of soldiers behind them, seeking a sign of Marnak the Younger, or evidence of Jaylor’s demise.
    “You won’t find Marnak in the field. He directs things from the safety of his tent,” she spat the words with disgust. “And yes, I want my freedom. Faciar is my province—from the capital to the southern mountains, from the Great Bay inland five leagues. All of it is mine . I won’t let my husband destroy it with his greed.”
    “Why not destroy him yourself?” Yaakke completed his slide to the ground, prepared to fight his way up to the smoking ruins if anyone stopped him.
    “I told you, I don’t have enough magic to kill him with suitable subtlety and get away with it.” She frowned petulantly. “What good is killing him if I am caught and burned at the stake?”
    Yaakke dismissed her petty anger. She might have reason to dislike and distrust her husband, Marnak the Younger. Yaakke had the more immediate grudge. The greed of both Marnaks—Elder and Younger—as well as Jonnias’ superstition, had destroyed the Commune. Yaakke’s Commune. His friends and family.
    A great ball of magic built within him on the heels of the grief turned to anger. Not enough. He found more magic beneath his feet. He pulled energy from a storm building to the east. His newly awakened alignment with the magnetic pole centered the magic. All he had to do was shape it into a weapon, address it, and send it forth.
    “That’s right, use your magic. Wreak havoc through this army of destruction,” Rejiia coached in excited whispers. “Revenge is sweet.” She licked her lips in almost sexual satisfaction at the power he gathered.
    Yaakke didn’t know why he hesitated. An image of a young woman with moon-bright hair and pale blue eyes reddened with sadness came between himself and Rejiia’s excited face. Then a memory of the blue-tipped dragon superimposed upon his preparation to hurl the magic.
    “There is never a right time or place to throw magic for harm.” The