The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

Stability and sanity followed the renewed magic.
    ‘I’ve dealt with witches before.” He turned on his heel to leave the cave before anything else stripped him of more magic.
    “I’ll bet you have, magician.”
    “What did you call me?” Jaylor swung back to face One-eye. The other men seemed frozen in time and space.
    “I called you what you are. Magician. Watch out for the witch and her familiars. She has a wolf who will tear out your heart while she shreds your soul and leaves you living. You’d best kill the beast right off.”
     
    Noon sunshine shattered into a thousand bright colors around Brevelan. She looked up through the shade of a leafy tree into the brilliance. One hand sought the silky ears of the wolf at her heels while the other shaded her eyes. The huge canine sat blinking his yellow eyes in contentment as he eased his injured foot. Brevelan cuddled the weight of the animal against her side. Affectionately, he grasped her hand in his mouth. No tooth penetrated her skin.
    “Good morning, Shayla,” she called to the fleeting shadow that streaked across the blue sky.
    ’Tis past noon. The pragmatic words formed in Brevelan’s mind, just as the magnificent image of the speaker did. A swirl of all colors, that were really no color at all, formed into a faint winged outline. Shayla might be as small as an insect or as large as Krej’s castle. Brevelan had no idea which.
    “Did you have a good hunt?” She spoke openly for her own benefit while she threw the thoughts to her friend.
    The picture of a fat cow appeared in her mind.
    “Oh, Shayla,” she sighed. “Some farmer is going to be very upset when he finds the carcass.”
    We didn’t leave enough for him to find.
    “We? When did you hunt with other dragons? You’ve been alone longer than I have.” Something akin to loneliness snaked through her. Her golden companion whined to remind her that she wasn’t really alone.
    “You’re right, Puppy. I have more friends here in the forest than I ever did at home.” She stooped to hug the wolf. “Still, it would be nice to talk to someone who talks back occasionally.”
    I talk back.
    “Too much sometimes. Who joined your hunt?”
    The image of three huge male dragons appeared. One had blue tips on his transparent wings, another was red-tipped, the third still had the silvery gloss of adolescence clinging to the delicate wing vanes. One day soon those silver vanes promised a green glow.
    The images hovered in a background of erotic purple. “Shayla! You shameful thing. Three at once.”
    The more fathers, the larger and stronger the litter. There was no embarrassment in the dragon’s thoughts. She merely communicated a fact.
    Suddenly the clearing around Brevelan’s hut filled with children. A gangling blond teenager stood by her side, a babe suckled her breast. She felt the tug of its tiny mouth relieve the aching pressure of heavy milk. Off by the door, twin girls, with mops of red curls, giggled while plaiting a basket of fragrant grasses. Another boy, also red-haired, chopped wood while his younger brother built stacks of kindling. Only the oldest was blond.
    As blond as the golden wolf whining in distress. Brevelan sagged with relief when the illusion vanished as quickly as it had come.
    Did that ease the thing you call loneliness?
    “No! It made it worse.” Brevelan’s entire body ached with grief for the babies she would never have. She looked up once more. She couldn’t lie to Shayla.
    “I thought we were too close friends for you to spin your dragon dreams on me. Haven’t you led enough innocent wanderers astray?” Brevelan forced indignation. Inwardly she wept for the figure of a dead man she had found last fall. Shayla’s illusion had danced him through the forest until his skin hung from him like rags.
    Stargods, but the man’s death-smile haunted her still. Perhaps my visions prepared you for him.
     
    “Who?”
    The one who comes.
    “The barkeep,” she mused. “He promised me an ell of good cloth for the infusion I prepared.” She’d caught him sneaking a glimpse of her breasts as she bent over the hearth. That had probably helped him satisfy his wife more than the tea.
    Not the swiller of poison. Shayla was emphatic. You should have given him a tincture of wazool root. The dragon named a powerful laxative. Her thoughts were bright pink with humor. Then, still in a lighthearted tone, the dragon added: Prepare yourself for the one who comes. Him.
    The