The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

penetrated all of Darville’s senses. He understood every sound the cat-headed man uttered. Anger and revulsion filled his suddenly cold body.
    Even as he understood the entire scene, the rest of his senses dimmed. He felt as if his ears and nose were filled, like the times he had a winter cold. And his suddenly bald limbs ached. His back and thighs felt as if he had ridden his steed far too long.
    Curious, Darville allowed his blurry eyes to look upon his body, to find the problem.
    Vertigo engulfed him. He was a man. A naked man. He felt his skin hen-bump in response to the cold and his embarrassment at having been caught in the presence of strangers without his clothes. And not just any strangers.
    The ball of multicolored fur that he presumed was a cat grew and uncoiled into the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She, too, was naked except for the enveloping wave of hair that shimmered to her hips and below. As the woman turned, light reflected off the lustrous curtain, now blond, then brunette, with a touch of red and deep sable brown.
    She lifted her arms in joy. From her lips sprang a clear and sweet song. The most glorious song of freedom he had ever heard.
    All too soon the woman shrank back into her cat persona. Just as he had shrunk to the size of a wolf on that fateful afternoon.
    His past engulfed him in a wave. He saw again his betrayal on the ridge . . . .
     
    The spotted saber cat tracks he followed disappeared in the rocky scree. Snowflakes drifted lazily into the crevices of the path. He turned to speak to his cousin and hunting companion. Krej was nowhere in sight. Darville drew his sword. Waning winter light made the weapon appear black and dull.
    The snow increased in intensity. Through the heavy veil of flakes stalked the saber cat. Coming toward him.
    He shifted his feet for better defensive balance. The uneven ground tilted his balance. The cat came closer.
    No, it wasn’t a saber cat at all, but a man with the cat’s head. Had Krej killed the creature already? If so, why was Krej wearing only a loin cloth in freezing weather?
    A slight shift of wind cleared the snow away for a moment. The man who stalked him wasn’t a man at all, but some kind of monster with a beast’s head.
    “Krej, save yourself!” he called to his cousin. “I am, Darville, I am saving myself,” the beast spoke with Krej’s voice. “With your death I am only one heartbeat away from the throne. Soon, very soon, I shall rule and my magic will grant me supremacy over all kingdoms!”
    Fury filled Darville’s eyes. Krej, his own cousin, had betrayed him. He had to kill the man before the snow froze them both.
    Magic flame hit him in the chest, robbing him of breath. He thought it was his own anger.
    As he had been taught in countless arms classes, he separated his mind from his body. He needed all of his wits, cool and alert, to divert the next blast of magic.
    He succeeded in catching a ball of green flame with his sword. It bounced off the polished steel and hit a rock as big as a dog. The stone shattered. Dust and gravel filled the air.
    Momentarily blinded, Darville didn’t see the next blast. It struck his head, blinding him, shattering his control. His balance failed. The air around him shuddered and parted.
    He was falling, falling into nothing. Cold vanished from his aching body. Fur covered him. His nose told him he had fallen into a snowdrift deep within the forest. . . .
     
    Part of Darville rejoiced that the enchantment was broken. He was no longer a wolf, but a man once more. Even then, he mourned the loss of his keen wolf vision and sense of smell.
    Then, just as suddenly, blackness swamped his awareness. But he was warm again. His fur coat was back. The stinking smoke filled his nose and he growled.

Chapter 19
     
    A shriek beyond physical hearing tore a great rent in the air surrounding Baamin. The gaping difference in air pressure made the hair on his arms and neck stand up. Even his three-day-old beard bristled and cracked. His wine cup shattered in midair.
    What was wrong? The air smelled different. Something was missing.
    The magic was gone!
    “Where is it?” He sniffed fruitlessly for a faint whiff of the ever-present—so easily ignored—spicy aroma of magic, something akin to Tambootie but not quite. His eyes widened as he sought every corner of his study for some clue to what was happening.
    No magic anywhere. He couldn’t smell it, taste it, feel it. And he certainly couldn’t