The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

be when necessary.
    “Nothing is impossible, Your Grace.” Baamin straightened too. The top of his head barely reached the king’s nose. He had to rely on his bearing and bulk to claim the respect due his position as Senior Magician, Chancellor of the University, and adviser to the king.
    “Dragon magic is woven into the very fiber of this kingdom. It cannot fail. I am stronger, therefore the magic must be strong.”
    “Shayla has mated. You are stronger because she carries young. But she is the only breeding female dragon left. The nimbus of dragons is pitifully small, Your Grace. All the others in my records are too old, or dead, or they have left,” Baamin argued.
    “Left? Dragons can’t leave Coronnan. They are bound to us.” Darcine’s shoulders caved in a little. He seemed to lose the strength to hold them back.
    “The bonds of magic and Tambootie are not enough to hold the creatures when they are driven out by superstition and slaughter. Uneducated villagers have stopped planting the Tambootie. They no longer tithe their livestock to the dragons. Indeed, many have killed dragons rather than worship them. Shayla’s last two litters were slaughtered in the nest. We are lucky she stayed. You are alive today only because she mated again.”
    “When did this outrage occur? And why was I not told? There is no greater crime in this kingdom than murdering a dragon and I was not told!” Grief and anger gripped Darcine’s features. “Those responsible must be punished.”
    “The first time, I learned of it even as the lung disease gripped you. We feared for your life, Your Grace.” Baamin swallowed deeply. He searched his king’s face for signs of the weakness that had gripped him ever since.
    “And the second time?”
    “Shayla bred again, as soon as she could, so we . . . I felt it best to let you heal without that knowledge. The next litter was killed as well.”
    “That would have been two years later, when my heart failed.” Deep sadness drained the straightness from his shoulders. “Was there no one who would lift a finger against the murderers?”
    Baamin rested a comforting hand against Darcine’s back. “The healers said the news of the second tragedy would kill you for certain.”
    “Where were the lords when this slaughter took place? Surely they would seek out and destroy anyone who dared harm the nimbus?” Darcine found his padded chair with shaking knees.
    Baamin thought about assisting his king to the chair. In spite of his new vigor, Darcine’s body was still painfully thin, and so frail he looked as if the slight breeze from the open window would crumble him to dust. Baamin decided he’d done too much assisting in the past. They had all, counselors and lords alike, allowed the king to become weak and uninvolved over the years. At the time it had seemed logical to ease his burdens as his health failed. Darville had been around then, young and strong, eager to take responsibility onto his broad shoulders.
    Now Darville was missing. They could no longer rely on him. That left Krej, the king’s cousin, as the logical person to consult. But it was that lord’s tenants who had laid the traps for Shayla’s mates and her brood.
    “Your lords have become lax in their duties. You have not taken the time to keep track of them.” Baamin hated to say it, but it might be the only way to force the king to take some responsibility for his inattention.
    “Darville will see to it . . .” The command died on the king’s lips. “My son is missing.”
    “You must use your strength, now, while you have it, to delegate authority to those you can trust—those you know have the best interests of Coronnan in their hearts.”
    “I shall handle this myself, Baamin. I dare not trust even you with this chore. Call the lords. I will meet them this evening.
    “I can’t.”
    “What?” Darcine roared with some of his lost power.
    “I don’t have enough magic to summon them. You must send messengers.” Baamin assumed an attitude of defeat.
    He must have time to convince Darcine to give the Commune authority over the lords.
    “Messengers will take time. Three days at least.”
    “It is necessary. What little magic I can summon drains away as fast as I gather it. Something, or someone, is interfering with the very fiber of magic.”
    “Then send the messengers within the hour. You may commandeer the fastest steeds in my stable.”
    Three days. Was it long enough to find a way around the