The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

at his clumsiness.
    Maybe he had said the wrong spell. He rolled the words back across his visual memory. No, the words were right, the spell was proper. So what went wrong?
    “Grrower!” The cat spat again as it took another step forward.
    Movement caught his eye. Up there, on the small ledge at the back. Brevelan crouched, knees under her chin, Mica clutched to her breast. Even from the opening he could see her shaking. Some of her distress spilled out to him. For a moment he was shaken by the intensity.
    Without thinking, Jaylor brought his staff to his hand with an image. “I won’t let it hurt you,” he declared. The words cleared his mind even as his body sent forth the first shot of red and blue flame.
    A pitiful little bolt of fire, it barely reached the cat’s thick fur. Its tail twitched in annoyance at the tiny pinprick against its flank.
    “We’ll have to do better this time,” he muttered to no one in particular. He calmed his pounding heartbeat and evened his ragged breathing. That was supposed to be the simple part. Still, his mind echoed with the fear that was palpitating against the walls.
    He had to forget the deeply ingrained limitations and restrictions on magic as taught at the University. The Commune, working in concert could use magic as a weapon—for the good of the kingdom. Individuals couldn’t throw those spells alone. But that was traditional magic. He was Jaylor, the solitary. If One-eye could use personal magic for his own greed, then surely Jaylor could summon enough to save a life.
    Breathe in three, out three. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. Again, two, three.
    His vision cleared as he shifted his feet to a better position. Sound ceased, and time slowed. The rock walls glowed with silver light. He isolated the cat from its surroundings. The sun and fog of its fur filled his mind. He raised his staff with one hand, then grasped it with the other. His mind focused on the twisting grain of the wood, long fingers of magic braided along its fibers.
    With a mighty effort he sent forth chains of fire. They pulsed, then merged into one huge ball. The dark recesses were filled with heat and light as bright as noon in the clearing.
    “Yeeowl!” The cat looked him in the eyes, startled.
    Jaylor held its gaze. He allowed his eyes to tell the beast he was serious this time. Another burst of his signature blue and red flame braided along the staff.
    The cat jumped back toward the cave entrance to avoid the magic fire.
    “Grrow.” It spat one last comment before turning and bounding past Jaylor and away through the forest.
    “Arrooff,” Wolf howled in triumph. He chased the beast away from the entrance, baying in triumph, his fur still stiff and teeth bared.
    “You can come down now, Brevelan.” Jaylor turned to her once he was sure the cat was gone. Brevelan didn’t move. Mica began squirming away from her clenched hands now that the danger was gone.
    Wolf trotted to a spot just beneath the ledge and whined.
    “You’re safe now, Brevelan.” Jaylor coaxed. He reached up a hand to help her down.
    Mica used it to reach the ground. Brevelan maintained her fearful crouch, eyes fixed, body trembling.
    “Brevelan!” Jaylor spoke as sharply as he dared. “That cat may come back. We have to leave. Now!”
    She whimpered slightly. At least she was responding.
    “Come now, take my hand. I won’t let anything hurt you.” He reached up his hand again.
    She didn’t move. “ S’murgh it, Brevelan. You have to come down. Now.” This time he grabbed her arm and shook her.
    Finally she looked at him. “I felt its need to kill. For a moment I needed to kill.”
     
    “I have failed, Your Grace.” Baamin bowed his head before King Darcine in the royal family’s private solar. He was careful to add a touch of humility to the carriage of his shoulders. It wouldn’t do for the king to see how happy he was that he had failed.
    “You dare to come to me, your mission incomplete?” The king’s eyes narrowed in speculation. For a moment Baamin was reminded of the younger Darcine, strong and eager for battle.
    “I am sorry, Your Grace. The magic has failed me. I tried to reach my journeymen. Something, or someone, interfered. The kingdom’s magic has faded beyond my ability to gather it.”
    “Impossible.” The king pulled himself up to his full height. It was a stance he had not assumed much in the past few years. His subjects had almost forgotten how imposing he could