The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

throbbing burn.
    Jack sounded a deep note to counteract the hot ache and residual dull misery left by Simeon’s evil.
    A major fifth above the first note centered the black pain to a single location in his left arm. No longer did it radiate and infect his entire body.
    Behind, above, and within him a second voice found the tenor note above his bass. Yet another male voice brought in the harmonic third.
    A distant memory of Brevelan’s clear soprano soaring through a melody lighted within Jack. He echoed the Song in his own vocal range.
    The tune slid around and under the black burn, encapsulating it in magic. The wound lifted clear of delicate wing membranes, a visible entity pulsing and angry, yet contained by the magic of the Song. The wound sought to break free of the spell, sending new roots toward the dragon wing. Jack pushed it farther away, commanding it to dissolve. It resisted and drained strength from the Singers.
    Jack fought the urge to collapse and forget his spell. He drew strength from Amaranth. He pushed on the living entity that sought to return to Shayla’s wing, the source of its nourishment. A new root snaked free of the magic. He needed to send the blackness back into the void from whence it came.
    He pushed harder with Amaranth’s help.
    The tenor notes cracked in a sputtering cough.
    The second bass soared upward, beyond human hearing trying to compensate with a winding harmony. The earsplitting shriek of a dragon voice Singing shattered Jack’s concentration. Amaranth broke free of his touch.
    Jack fell, fell, fell, away from the void, out of unity with Shayla, back into his shuddering body. Shaking hands covered his ears in a futile attempt to shut out the new pain in his physical ears. He rolled into a fetal ball.
    Blackness descended upon him as the black wound crashed back into Shayla’s wing.
    He had failed.

Chapter 25
     
    J aylor and Brevelan crept quietly along the dank tunnels beneath Palace Reveta Tristile. Jaylor brought a ball of witchlight to his right hand. His twisted staff, held in his dominant left hand, hummed quietly. Wariness crawled along his spine like a swarm of dormant bees—ready to turn violent at any wrong move.
    Brevelan inched behind him, drawing her shawl closer around her shoulders against the chill, subterranean dampness. Both of them stretched their senses for the presence of Council guards or witch-sniffers who might reawaken the zeal of the Gnostic Utilitarians.
    “Mikka needs us. We have to hurry.” Brevelan strode forward, ahead of the witchlight and Jaylor’s protection.
    “Slow down, Brevelan. Are you sure the transport spell didn’t hurt you or the baby?”
    “I’m fine. Now hurry. I sense her pain.” She grabbed the witchlight from him and stepped forward with a determination that shouldn’t have surprised Jaylor.
    He shook his head in bewilderment. Only a true emergency would pry Brevelan away from the clearing and her two sons. She wouldn’t move when he believed their secret location compromised. But Mikka’s health demanded her immediate attention.
    Three determined apprentices watched Glendon and Lukan back at the University. Hopefully the apprentices wouldn’t have to call in reinforcements to keep the boys under control and within the confines of the apprentice dormitory.
    Jaylor gestured silently at a branch in the tunnel; their pathway lay to the right.
    None of the ever-present algae marred the stone steps leading up to the hidden doorway behind a wardrobe cabinet. Recently scrubbed or well used? Since his teenage escapades with Jaylor’s band of renegade town boys, Darville had been one to seek regular and anonymous escape from his royal duties. The tunnels had provided him with easy exits from almost every part of the palace.
    How did the king pass unnoticed among his people now, with his damaged left arm in a sling?
    Three raps on the thick door with the butt of Jaylor’s staff, followed by two more short knocks, signaled their arrival. Only a few moments had passed since Margit had summoned them. A few desperate words, then she’d broken the communication to help the queen.
    The heavy wood portal slid aside slowly and silently. Jaylor hesitated before stepping through the portal. No friendly face greeted him.
    “Go on, Jaylor.” Brevelan pushed him through the small opening. “I can’t sense Mikka’s emotions, only Darville’s.”
    Cautiously Jaylor poked his nose through the opening, ready to duck beneath his