The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

tail the sculpture that had once been Shayla teetered and threatened to crash.
    Pain washed back into Brevelan from the rogue magician. His spotted saber cat features blurred and faded for just a moment. His familiar face and hair as red as her own burst through the disguise.
    Recognition tore at Brevelan’s consciousness.
    “Enough!” Thorm shook his arm, flinging Mica to the ground. With the same gesture he righted the statue with a magic tether. His feline mask reasserted firm control over his appearance.
    “Mica!” Brevelan’s scream echoed around the cave, bounced against the walls, and crashed back to the bells of magic isolation.
    No response. The little cat lay limp where she had fallen. “The same fate awaits you, little witch,” Thorm—and yet not Thorm—sneered. “I’ll be back for you and your lover. Only your deaths won’t be as quick.” With one last hate-filled glare, the beast-headed monster stalked out of the cave, his glass prize in tow.
    Brevelan’s anguish slammed into the green and red hazes. Now that Thorm was no longer present to maintain the magic, they shattered under the violence of her revulsion and grief.
    Brevelan ran across the cave. Her hand brushed against Mica, checking for damage. Mica breathed in a painful wheeze, but there were no broken bones. She scooped up the cat and moved onto Darville. With a heart full of love, she gathered the quaking wolf and the little cat into her arms. A soothing melody sprang from her heart to theirs as she rocked gently in time with her song.
    Slowly the animals’ pain and confusion drained into her. She absorbed it, contained it, then dispersed it outward. Mica stirred and snuggled deeper into Brevelan’s lap. She butted her head against Brevelan’s hand, urging her to examine the wolf more carefully.
    Brevelan’s fingers sought deep into Darville’s fur for hurt, while she searched his eyes for understanding.
    “To be a man, trapped in this other body. Do you know of your entrapment, Darville, or has he taken away your mind?” A confusion of emotions disrupted the flow of her magic. She paused in her litany of grief to rub her face in his fur. Her tears dampened his neck.
    “Brevelan.” Jaylor’s hand touched her shoulder. She gathered its warmth and strength so she could pour more of herself into the wolf.
    “Brevelan.” Jaylor’s voice was stronger, more demanding. “Dear heart, let me take care of this.”
    The endearment passed over her understanding. She heard only the insistent tone. Jaylor could take care of the problem. “What? How?” she stammered.
    “I saw what happened. Thorm didn’t have enough magic to transform Shayla and maintain Darville as a wolf while keeping us trapped as well. He had to pull some magic away from Darville to complete his spell.” He looked about the cave, as if searching for clues. “I think I can break the enchantment.”
    Relief flooded through her.
    “Please, Brevelan, step away. I need a clear field to work.” His hands pulled her up and away from the wolf.
    Golden eyes marked her movements with questions. The wolf clearly didn’t understand what was happening, had happened, to him. But Brevelan knew that during the time the magic was pulled away from him he had suffered through the entire experience again.
    Jaylor stepped between her and Darville. She moved aside to watch. He glared at her. For some reason he didn’t want her to know how he did it.
    She glared back. Darville had been her constant companion since last winter. She had nursed him through injury and illness. He had comforted her in her loneliness and despair. They both needed to be a part of this transformation.
    “This won’t be pretty,” Jaylor warned even as he began the deep breathing she knew was the beginning of his spells.
    “Not very much in this life is.”
    His eyes pleaded with her to step behind him again. She refused.
    “Then make yourself useful. Get my cloak out of my pack.” Even as he spoke, his breathing deepened further.
    She fetched the cloak. When she returned to his side, his attention was beyond her, turned deeply within himself.
    The staff snapped into his hand. He angled it so that it pointed at the wolf’s heart. Darville looked up. Expectantly?
    A low hum issued from the twisted wooden fibers of the staff. It echoed the tune Thorm had chanted while he danced magic around the cave. Jaylor, too, began to hum. His hands trembled on the staff. He gripped it tighter to control