The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

Krej with a courtesan, she had nearly destroyed their costly suite in the royal palace as well as her rival’s beautiful face.
    Baamin turned away from the object of their discussion. He’d never liked Krej’s arrogance, nor the look of disdain that always clouded his bay blue eyes. The soul within the man was as frigid as the depths of the Great Bay.
    “Welcome, cousin.” Darcine gestured toward the newcomer. In a complete departure from protocol, Darcine wandered away from his post on the dais toward Krej and the lady. The court flocked to them, currying favor and notice. Baamin held back, taking the opportunity to observe the entire banquet hall.
    Every muscle in his body froze with fear. Icy sweat popped out on his brow and his back. In the center of the huge hall stood the monster of his nightmares, clothed in bronze lam’.
    “What kind of joke is this?” he whispered.
    Just then, Lord Krej lifted his masked face and stared directly at the Senior Magician, as if he had heard the frantic question. Beneath the mask of a spotted saber cat, Krej’s eyes glinted with malice. Baamin mentally shook himself free of the dread that rooted him to the spot. There was a glamour about the masked figure. He needed to move closer and examine the nature of that magic distortion.
    His private fears stopped him cold.
     
    “Can you call Shayla?” Jaylor raised his voice. Brevelan clung to the wolf with fierce intensity. Her eyes were huge in the dim light from the hearth.
    “Call Shayla?” she asked into the wolf’s fur.
    “Yes. Call the dragon,” he pressed. His hand reached out to stroke her hair, to draw her attention to his words. He didn’t need magic to see the terror on her face. The lightest touch and the source of her panic flooded through his fingers to his mind.
    Fire. Hot. Smoke. No air. The heat. The pain.
    Something in the girl’s past brought on this terror. Something she dared not let him see.
    Jaylor allowed his touch to become comforting. He stroked her cheek and cupped her chin gently. “Brevelan, trust me. There is no fire. We can get out of this if you’ll just call the dragon. The rogue still fears her.”
    Tender warmth filled the gap between them. Jaylor wanted to wrap the girl in his arms and hold her. He was aware of her, but for once desire didn’t overwhelm him. He needed more than physical union with her. Their one kiss had taught him that. If only the wolf were not between them, he would reach over and hold her tightly against his chest and treasure the completeness she offered.
    “Bring the torches!” Old Thorm’s voice carried on the evening breeze. “The thatch is damp, the smoke will drive her out.”
    “She’s mine when she runs,” the fisherman crowed.
    “What gives you first right?” someone else challenged.
    “Once we’ve had her, she won’t be a witch anymore,” Old Thorm chortled.
    “What about the wolf?”
    “I’ll slit the devil dog’s throat first, before he can protect his mistress, before he has the chance to drain the blood from another man’s body.”
    Brevelan blanched. Jaylor pulled her, and the wolf she cradled, tight against his chest.
    “I won’t let them hurt you,” he promised. Though how, he didn’t know. There were at least ten of them. His magic wasn’t designed to hurt people. That was the first law of the Commune.
    His answer came from overhead. A roar that only a dragon throat could muster filled his mind and ears. Both he and Brevelan sagged in relief. Wolf looked up, his mouth open in a doggy grin.
    Seek me, you impudent puppet of evil! The dragon’s thoughts flooded the clearing. As if from a dizzying height, Jaylor saw the object of Shayla’s wrath. He was disguised as a one-eyed beggar, dressed in rags. But Jaylor/Shayla knew him now, knew a powerful magician hid behind a glamour. Once revealed, this enemy could never again hide behind this flimsy disguise.
    The vision pulled back, and Jaylor knew Shayla flew higher. Then, as she tucked her wings back and dove, the ground rushed up at him with frightening speed. Nine men hovered near the rogue—a vigorous, red-haired man in his prime. But dragon eyes weren’t meant to focus on the details of human faces. Nine white blurs looked up. Only the fear in their eyes shone through.
    Jaylor felt the roar of triumph pelt from the dragon’s throat, and his own. The first flicker of flame erupted, with a roar dredged up from the roots of the mountains.
    The hut shook and trembled