The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

you eat will make me hungrier and weaker, hasten my death.” He sipped at the cup and coughed, nearly retching. The spasm went on and on, wrenching his body and draining him of even more energy. At last he lay back groaning. His face flushed with the onset of fever from his injuries.
    Katrina bent to her task with the pin. They didn’t have any time to lose.

Chapter 35
     
    J aylor stood before Darville and Mikka in the middle of the broken barrier into the clearing. With his arms crossed sternly, and his face totally blank of expression he presented a formidable barrier himself. Years ago, the king would have been able to read his friend’s emotions by his posture. Too much time had passed. The bond of trust had been weakened.
    “I come with an apology and a need to consult the Senior Magician, my chief adviser,” he stated simply. Beside him, Mikka nodded her agreement with the statement.
    A little of Jaylor’s rigidity melted.
    “You haven’t needed to consult your ‘chief adviser’ very often in the last three years,” Jaylor returned. “Why now?”
    “I miss your friendship. I miss your wisdom. Most of all, I miss you and Brevelan. The thought of losing you forever pains me deeply.” Eye-to-eye, he and Jaylor stood, assessing each other’s strength and sincerity. So they had challenged each other time and again since adolescence. Each time they had ended with laughter and stronger bonds. This time . . . ?
    “Could you please address the problem of Mikka and her cat? If we find a solution, the question of my heir might no longer exist.”
    “You have the right of it, Darville. The cat is the problem, not custody of Glendon. I think you need to meet my sons to know why.” Jaylor turned and gestured at the impenetrable wall of the forest. Abruptly, the path appeared before them, straight and smooth. The three of them stepped forward, not quite side-by-side, not quite separated.
    The open meadow, the planted garden, the flusterhen coop, and the goat wandering beneath the line of laundry were as familiar as yesterday. But the one-room hut that had sheltered an ensorcelled wolf, a witchwoman, and a strange little cat had grown into a large cottage. Two rooms below, a large loft above, and a shed attached to the side.
    “You’ve made improvements,” Darville commented, more to break the silence than to express himself.
    Mikka smiled for the first time in weeks. Hope returned to Darville. The clearing had always offered healing to those in need.
    Jaylor nodded toward the biggest improvement of all. Behind the coop two little boys stalked a beleaguered flustercock. The younger of the two, boasting a full head of red hair, clutched a bright tail feather that could only belong to the cock.
    “He . . . they are wonderful, Jaylor,” Mikka gasped, an anxious hand to her throat.
    It was the older of the two, with golden hair and eyes, longer of leg and narrower of hip than his brother, who caught their attention. As they watched, Glendon launched himself in a flying leap onto the cock’s back. He came up giggling and dusty but triumphant, a long tail feather clutched in his grubby fist. The flustercock squawked, flapped, and announced to the world his long-suffering displeasure.
    Both boys dusted themselves off and ran back to the laundry line. Brevelan appeared from behind damp shirts in three sizes. She knelt on the ground to gather them both in a big hug as they showed off their treasures.
    Darville smiled. This was his son, happy, playful, and handsome. He was growing up secure in the knowledge that both his parents loved him. Darville had not had such security. His parents had been monarchs with mountains of duties. As a young prince, he had been entrusted to a series of tutors and guardians, each more interested in his position at court than Darville’s happiness and welfare.
    How could he and Mikka take the boy away from all of this love?
     
    “I can’t get it, Jack,” Katrina whispered some hours later. She shook her manacles in frustration and put the long pin back into her hair.
    Jack roused from a fitful doze. He was sure the perverted guard with his pet iron bar named Mabel had broken some of his ribs. The hot stabbing pain all across his chest and into his back never dulled. Cautiously he tested his breathing. Painful, but not wheezing. Perhaps he had escaped a punctured lung.
    “If I had any magic left, I could open all the locks with a thought.” Now would be the time to do it.