The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

wrapped around Glendon and he seemed to fade into the natural colors of calubra ferns and everblue trees.
    Jaylor concentrated hard on pushing his hand through his son’s protection and grabbing the boy by the scruff of the neck. He wasn’t Senior Magician for nothing. The boys had yet to figure how to keep him out. They tried, often, and he dreaded the day he couldn’t break apart any spell they threw.
    “What did you put into the witchballs, Glendon?”
    Lightning probes.
    Bolts of inquisitive magic whose sole purpose was to penetrate a given object or person for information.
    “What did you learn from your probes?” Jaylor asked, trying very hard not to shake the boy and frighten him into silence.
    Glendon panicked anyway. The armor around his small body thickened and thrust his father’s grasp away with a jolt of energy. Before Jaylor could reassert his hold on his son, Glendon disappeared through the crack in the clearing.
     
    Jack jerked his eyes and his mind away from the hideous wound on Shayla’s wing, back to her face. She seemed to wince—as much as she could show expression—with each slight movement of her wing.
    “Does it hurt?” he blurted, too astonished for tact.
    (Yes.) She folded the wing abruptly.
    Of its own volition, Jack’s hand reached out to caress her long nose in sympathy. Inches from contact with her iridescent fur he pulled back, uncertain he had the right to make physical contact with her.
    (You may touch.) The dragon dipped her head, butting into his still outstretched palm. He cupped his hand around her cheek and stroked the velvet softness. Instantly his shoulders relaxed and his mind stopped whirling.
    The cranky jackdaw, absent for more than three days, chose that moment to circle and land on his head. A series of earsplitting croaks informed both man and dragon of his jealousy.
    Jack reached up to pet the bird and received a painful peck on his hand in return.
    “There’s no pleasing you!” He brushed the bird away.
    It hopped to Jack’s foot, pecked at the loose sole of his journey-thin boots then leaped to Shayla’s longest spinal ridge. That perch didn’t seem to please the bird either. From Shayla’s back, Corby flapped noisily into flight up the cliff walls to one of the irregular knobs standing sentinel over the valley.
    Knobs of rock or crouching dragons?
    Almost invisible against the darkening sky, the jackdaw hovered over a looming shape, voicing his displeasure with life in general and Jack in particular. Finally Corby landed and quiet reigned in the valley once more. The jackdaw began to preen, seemingly quite satisfied that he had thoroughly upset everyone.
    “King Darville has a burn on his left arm that won’t heal. It looks just like that.” Jack pointed to the ugly black wound. “At least I presume it still looks like that. I haven’t had any contact with Coronnan for three years,” he babbled, unable to avert his eyes.
    (My king still wears the Coraurlia. His body continues to bear the wounds of his battle with the evil ones. He will not heal until I heal. He has learned to live with his pain, as have I. We both grow weary of the burden.)
    “I’m not a healer, but I have observed Brevelan. I helped her once when she tried to draw magic out of King Darville’s wound. Maybe I can do something with the wing—enough to let you fly home.”
    (That is why I sent for you.)
    “I’m sorry I took so long getting here.” Jack hung his head. If he hadn’t unleashed that terrible firebomb in Marnak’s camp . . . if he had sent a summons to Jaylor earlier . . . if he hadn’t been so arrogant and gotten lost in the void . . .
    A million “what if’s” couldn’t change the past or bring back the dead. He could only try to improve the present.
    (You were not strong enough, or wise enough to heal anyone when my mate set you on your path. The passage of seasons has been long, but not without rewards. When you and your magic were mature enough, the dragons revived your mind so that you would once more seek to finish your quest.)
    “My staff? The dragons put the staff into my hand?”
    (We kept the staff hidden. It would have sought you earlier, but you were not ready to awaken. When your mind had healed enough to understand your mistakes and accept your destiny, we allowed it to find you.)
    Jack smiled as he fondled the length of twisting oak. The staff was a part of himself, linked to his magic. Of course it would have rolled through the mine