The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

unaware of the lifeblood of the country bleeding into the river along with the land that no longer had trees to hold it back.
    Having lost all sense of the Kardia, SeLenicca, its people, and culture were dying. Only the export of lace kept the economy alive. Lace was not enough to employ an entire nation.
    Nowhere in his day-long search of the city did Jack discover any active ley lines. The city was as dead magically as it was economically. Shayla was King Simeon’s only source of power. Did he and the members of his coven know how to combine the magic and make the power grow well beyond anything a solitary magician could throw?
    Jack already knew he was incapable of gathering the dragon magic. After last night’s confrontation with the palace magician, he had little hope he could complete his mission and escape without detection. In a magic duel, Jack’s only chance of survival was one grouping of hair-fine ley lines beneath the warehouse.
    If only he knew why the ley lines had sprung up beneath Katrina’s workstation and nowhere else. Once he mastered that puzzle, he might be able to force more lines to grow and feed his magic.
    Katrina was the answer. Katrina and the lace she wove for the love of the shimmering threads and the patterns that bloomed beneath her hands while she sang little tunes in the dead of night; not the lace she made for the owner to exploit.
    Her gentle little work tune danced through his mind and gave his feet a lighter step. He hummed it lightly as he prowled the city. His mind cleared of puzzles and worries.
    A crowd gathering on the bridge ahead of him caught his curiosity. The black robes and tall hat, crowning a city official, flapped in the wind like the wings of a jackdaw. Wearily the clerk intoned a prayer and scattered something into the water. Jack merged with the solemn listeners.
    Two middle-aged women wept. Their sharp chins and close-set eyes suggested a strong family resemblance. Between them stood a tight-lipped man, probably husband to one, grinding his teeth in his effort to restrain his own tears.
    A funeral, Jack decided. An all-too-common occurrence in a city where food shortages were a constant worry and lack of firewood kept buildings chill and dark. The customary sun break at noon seemed to be the only source of joy left in Queen’s City.
    Jack pushed past the funeral goers. He might as well check out the slums on the far side of the river for some trace of magical activity. The homeless and unemployed might have a better relationship with the Kardia than the elite of a mercantile city.
    A winter chill filled his body with atavistic dread. He came to an abrupt halt. The day had been warm with a gentle breeze two heartbeats ago.
    He scanned the center of the bridge with his already extended magical senses. A woman in soaking garments stood directly in front of him, flailing her arms as if fighting to the surface from the depths of the river. Her double plaits streamed down her back, dripping water. No drops or puddles formed on the wooden planks. For a moment Jack thought he was staring at a vision of Katrina grown into the beauty of maturity.
    Only then did he notice the knife protruding from the woman’s breast and blood staining the front of her gown. None of the mourners seemed aware of the injured woman or her plight. Instinctively he reached to withdraw the knife.
    His hand passed straight through the woman. The hairs on the back of his hand and arm stood straight up. Lumbird bumps danced down his spine.
    “The ghost of Tattia Kaantille,” he whispered.
    The apparition nodded at the sound of her name.
    “Murder, not suicide?” Jack asked in a silent whisper.
    Again the ghost gestured the correctness of his assumption.
    “Who? Why?”
    A shudder of effort seemed to pass through the spirit of Katrina’s mother. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged.
    Jack concentrated on the shapes her lips formed around soundless words.
    “Simeon. Runes,” he repeated the two words back to her.
    She smiled and faded to wisps of water vapor.
     
    “You were talking to that new man, Katrina. You are not to speak to any of the men I employ. And now you revert to the two plaits I forbade you to wear. To impress the new watchman? I’ll not have it, Katrina. Why do you disobey me?” Brunix stood behind her left shoulder so he wouldn’t cast a shadow on the lace shawl that grew beneath her fingers.
    Katrina knew from experience she was not to interrupt her