The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

rightful government from the temple. The dragons have deserted Coronnan. The old laws protecting magicians are no longer valid.’
    “What right have you to accuse my wife of witchcraft? What evidence do you produce to back your claim?” A pulse pounded in Darville’s temple. Not once in nearly four years of marriage had Mikka thrown a spell. Yet the rumors persisted.
    “Everyone knows she has bewitched you.”
    “Everyone does not know that, Marnak. What everyone knows and the truth are rarely the same thing. I have had enough of rumors and whispers. There will be no more of them!” he bellowed, almost beyond control. “The next person to accuse the queen without evidence will follow you to the dungeons.”
    He swallowed heavily and breathed deeply, praying for calm. When the red mist cleared from his eyes, he leveled his gaze upon Marnak once more. “Speak no more until the trial, Marnak, lest you condemn yourself without the benefit of trial.”
    “I do not care for your petty justice, King Darville,” Marnak sneered. “I shall die a martyr.”
    “Only if I let you die.”
    Marnak paled. Jonnias swallowed repeatedly.
    Darville heard the gasps of dismay from the crowd. He didn’t care if they believed him capable of the kind of torture his spy had endured. He wanted them to think about that horrible death and know revulsion against those who caused it.
    “I promised Caardack a short term of prison and penance, instead of death, if he named the leaders of the Gnostic Utilitarians. I can offer you the same clemency, Marnak. But only if you tell us all who gives you orders.”
    “I take my orders from the Stargods.”
    “Perhaps you will tell us who you planned to raise up as ruler of Coronnan after my assassination?”
    Marnak looked hastily toward Jonnias, then back to his king. Jonnias edged away, his skinny legs trembling.
    “I have vowed to die before I reveal the identity of our sacred leader.” Marnak bowed his head in submission to his fate.
    “What about you, Jonnias? Have you taken the same vow?” Darville drew his short sword as he whirled to face the other lord. He stopped the blade a hair’s breath from Jonnias’ convulsing throat. Two burly guards kept the man from retreating further.
    “I know nothing of this,” Jonnias protested. His voice cracked with fear.
    “Then you did not commission a new crown of gold and rubies from goldsmiths in Jhabb? Their ambassador thought you had. He also showed me a contract, written and signed by you, for ten thousand mercenaries to invade the capital city upon my death. They are to take orders from no one but you.”
    Jonnias slumped.
    “Are you the sacred leader of this cult, or do you take orders from someone else?”
    Jonnias remained defiantly mute.
    “Take them away,” Darville said. Sadness and relief dragged at his shoulders. He looked back to Mikka, still sitting quietly on her throne. A brief, sad smile touched one corner of her mouth.
    “A formal trial against Marnak the Elder of Hanic and Jonnias of Sauria will begin at dawn. If they are found guilty, I will sentence them according to the law.” He knew he’d have to order their deaths.
    Marnak was right; they would die martyrs. Without leaders within the Council of Provinces, the cult would fade for a while . . . until some other power-hungry fanatic rose among their ranks. Whoever truly directed the cult would not remain in secret isolation long.
    “What about me, Your Grace? I had nothing to do with the conspiracy.” Marnak the Younger tugged at Darville’s sleeve.
    The king stared at the offending hand clutching the black silk of his shirt until the young lord removed it. “We will discuss your situation after the trial. If you are not guilty of aiding an attempt to put me aside in favor of Jonnias or any other potential leader, then you have nothing to fear.”
    Marnak blanched and bowed as he stepped hastily away.

Chapter 21
     
    J aylor sat before a fire at the far edge of Brevelan’s clearing. Years before he had cast a summoning spell from this very spot. Then he had held a multicolored cat in his arms. Mica’s rhythmic purr had aided his concentration in guiding the tiny flame through the glass toward his mentor, Baamin, in the University of Magicians. Tonight he held a feisty tabby with a torn ear who was just a cat. No princess with magic in her soul had borrowed this cat body.
    The purring tom dug his claws into Jaylor’s thigh, bringing him back to the