The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

of the poison lived in river bottoms, not in the tops of waves near the shore.
    A summons spell hummed within Simeon’s huge mirror on the wall of her private apartment before she found an answer. As tall as Rejiia, and nearly an arm-length across, the glass was incredibly valuable. Something only a king could afford. The images it revealed were imperfect, warped and wobbling, but better than polished metal and larger than the exact reflection from Krej’s master glass.
    Simeon kept the mirror in her quarters to feed his vanity. He spent more time preening naked in front of the mirror than using it to bring his ambitions to fruition.
    “Since this tool was entrusted to me, I will answer the summons and act upon it.” She stood awkwardly from her chair and faced the demanding mirror. The growing baby in her womb kept her from moving quickly or gracefully.
    At the center of the glass, colors spun outward in a growing spiral until they filled the surface of the mirror. Greens and browns dominated the pattern. Gradually the spiral steadied and cleared. Lanciar appeared, life-sized against a barren landscape of scrubby hillsides.
    Gray-green and greenish-brown were the signature colors of his latent magic.
    Rejiia placed her hand against the glass in greeting, wondering where he was and who threw the summons spell for him. He returned the greeting with a raised hand, imitating her gesture image to image. She wished she could touch him across the distance of time and magic. Lanciar had such gifted hands. He was her favorite partner during the coven’s ritualistic couplings.
    “Lady, I have found a new magician. If we hurry, we can bring him into the coven.” His voice sounded strained.
    “Who? Where are you?” she asked. Excitement blossomed within her. A new magician. A new lover during the rituals. More power to funnel into her spells.
    The face of a young man with Rover-black hair and beard flashed from Lanciar’s mind to her own. Features fell into place. Long, straight nose, middle height, broad shoulders and burning black eyes.
    “Yaakke!” she cried. Come back from the dead to haunt her. Her dreams of power faded. That wretched, incompetent boy had more power than the full coven.
    “He seeks the dragon,” Lanciar informed her. “He must not be allowed to reach the lair before we convert him to our cause. He might be able to break the spell that keeps Shayla captive in SeLenicca before he understands why she must remain.”
    “Yaakke will never willingly join the coven. We must kill him before he reaches the lair. Without the dragon, Simeon is nearly powerless.”
    “And so will be the others in the coven, Lady Rejiia. I will undertake the mission to destroy the magician. My magic has awakened and it is fueled by the dragon.” Lanciar smiled in a sensuous way that sent Rejiia’s senses lurching. He promised more in that smile than just magic. “Upon my return to the capital, I will request full membership in the coven. I will serve at your right hand to make certain you remain as the center of the eight-pointed star.”
    As long as Simeon believes the child you carry is his, he will be content to allow you to be the focus of the coven’s spells. The unspoken words seemed to come from the tin weasel. Rejiia grinned, knowing her father had somehow managed to break through some of the barriers in his magical prison.
    “My gravid body anchors the eight-pointed star to the Kardia as no other can,” she replied. “I won’t give up that position once your grandson is born.” With Lanciar at full power to support her, she intended to remain the focus. Krej had fought for the center and lost it to petty bickering within the coven. Janataea, too, had been kept from the coveted role. Rejiia wouldn’t relinquish it—especially to Simeon whose spells were increasingly erratic.
    “The boy must be stopped, Lanciar. I shall send those I trust. Magicians from the coven who owe me much. Men who will not hesitate to kill the boy if he refuses to be recruited.”
     
    Jack heard the waterfalls before he saw them. Swollen by spring runoff, little creeks joined, became rivers and thundered over cliff tops in untamable torrents. Delicate mists drifted from the primary falls almost a mile up the valley. His ears roared as he entered the fog bank caused by cold, airborne water meeting thermal currents rising from the sun-warmed valley floor.
    “Almost there, Fraank,” he shouted to his companion over the sound