The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

from the vein.
    A smile crossed her face and her hands began to flutter with new animation. Katrina hadn’t been aware of the sagging in the woman’s shoulders until this new resurgence of energy.
    Jack looked puzzled and upset at the newest question. He did not respond.
    “The transport spell. How is it done?” Rejiia urged, more patient now that she had consumed the dark green leaf with pink veins. She snapped her fingers at Simeon to indicate she needed another.
    The king pouted and folded his arms across his chest in defiance of the order. Rejiia’s eyes rolled up in exasperation. Without taking her eyes off Jack, she pointed to one of the men hovering outside the cell. The short magician who had visited the factory last night responded. In the matter of two heartbeats, three more leaves appeared in Rejiia’s hand.
    “Dangerous. Too dangerous. Lost in the void,” Jack mumbled. His eyes snapped open and several emotions crossed his face in rapid succession. Fear of the spell fought Rejiia’s compulsion to recite.
    “I will risk the void. I will risk a confrontation with the dragons. Give. Me. The. Transport. Spell.”
    Words that meant nothing to Katrina, but delighted Rejiia and Simeon, poured from his mouth. Words of time lapses, visualization, deep breathing, and trances. And then a lilting series of words to trigger the spell. When the last syllables dribbled from him, like drool on a baby’s chin, he collapsed against his chain, knees unable to support him any longer.
    “Wake up, boy!” Rejiia slapped his face.
    Katrina winced at the sharp sound. No response from Jack.
    “Very well. I have what I came for. Guards, loosen his chains so he may lie down and die.”
     
    “Wouldn’t want to take a steed up this path, Your Grace.” Sergeant Fred de Baker checked the backtrail for signs of followers. Margit, dressed in comfortable leather trews and tunic and looking happier than Darville had ever seen her, signaled that no one followed.
    “It’s been a long time since I ran back and forth from village to clearing without a second thought. I’m not in condition for this.” King Darville paused for breath in their upward trek. He held out his good right hand to assist his queen over a rough spot. Thanks to Brevelan’s healing spells, Mikka had recovered rapidly from the last miscarriage.
    She had said little since they left the capital. No stronger wall could stand between them than this endless silence.
    “We were friends, Mikka, when we considered Brevelan’s clearing our home,” he said quietly.
    She looked up then, her eyes steady and clear. Hope sparked between them.
    “ ’Tis Brevelan and Jaylor’s friendship that worries me, love. How could we let this one issue destroy the bonds we forged? There must be another way,” she said quietly.
    “Our enemies have sought long and hard to shatter the friendship of a lifetime. We withstood those assaults only to fall victim to our own pride and ambition. Come, Mikka. We have to settle this, no matter how difficult for all of us.”
    “Promise me, Darville, that if we find no solution to the succession, you will put me aside and remarry.”
    “I won’t even consider it. I’ll match your strong will against my stubbornness. We will find a solution.” He kissed her palm with loving tenderness. The wall of silence crumbled but other walls threatened to rise up.
    “You sure this is the right path, Your Grace? Seems to fade into nothing more’n it goes forward,” Fred asked.
    Margit moved up beside him and giggled. “The clearing wouldn’t be secure if just anyone could find it.” She strode forward with a masculine swagger.
    “This is the right path, Fred.” In more ways than one. For the good of the kingdom, Darville realized, he needed to make peace with Brevelan and Jaylor over Glendon. More important, Mikka needed to settle the issue of the cat persona sharing her body.
    Only Jaylor and Brevelan could help. So the royal couple had journeyed to the southern edge of Coronnan in search of the magicians.
    They had left their military escort in the foul-smelling pub of a fishing village near the foothills to the Southern Mountains. Fred and Margit were the only ones allowed to accompany them on the long climb up hill.
    Both Darville and Mikka knew the trail well. Four years ago, they’d traveled it often enough. He’d been a golden wolf then, and she a multicolored cat, familiars to a red-haired witchwoman.
    Now he was a king, with