The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

before—when he was still a wolf.
    The hiss of Brevelan’s deep, in-drawn breath alerted him to the presence of their followers. He desperately needed to ask what she felt from the intruders. Darville’s glare warned him that absolute silence was essential.
    “There’s another dragon tree.” One voice drifted to them from around a curve in the path.
    “Ain’t we got enough s’murghin’ leaves for the master?” A second, gruffer voice responded. The timbre of the voice triggered a sour taste in Jaylor’s mouth. Why?
    “Master said two baskets full. Then meet him where the creek joins the river that flows to the bay.”
    Brevelan’s eyes went wide. Shock stilled her features. She knew something.
    From somewhere deep inside him, Jaylor found a thin line of magic. He strung it out in an umbilical to Brevelan.
    The meeting place, it’s close to the village, on the back path to my clearing. Her thoughts came to him clearly. But she held something back, as if she sensed his magical eavesdropping.
    What, my sweet? What disturbs you? he prodded.
    The barkeep.
    The gruff-voiced man. The rancid taste of steed-piss ale. The man approaching them had been among the villagers who tried to burn Brevelan’s home. He would acknowledge only one master—his legal lord, Krej.
    The other man is a steward at Krej’s castle. He, too, may be a magician. Brevelan’s thoughts found him on their own.
    “That one.” The two men came into view. The steward pointed to a healthy tree, not quite as tall as its neighbors. The barkeep set down his two oversized baskets. One was full, nestled into the other, empty one. “Don’t look big enough to climb to the top,” the barkeep grumbled.
    “You don’t have to go to the top to get the new leaf shoots.”
    “Your master specified top leaves only.”
    “Because dragons eat from the top. That’s the only part of the tree they can reach while they fly. I’m sure a dragon would nibble any part of a Tambootie tree it could get to. Just fill the basket so we can move on.”
    “Can’t understand why,” the barkeep whined as he stooped to separate the baskets. “Ain’t good for nothin’. Can’t even eat ’em. Almost as poison as the fruit. Poison to every livin’ thing except s’murghin’ dragons.”
    Almost as poison as timboor? Jaylor pondered the statement. He could eat timboor, so could Brevelan. He’d bet Darville couldn’t, nor the barkeep or Krej’s steward. But the master himself, Krej, Lord of Faciar, cousin to the king, and rogue magician, probably could. What was his use for the leaves of the same tree? And was this the evidence he sought to convict the rogue in the eyes of the Council?
    “Just get to work. And stop grumbling,” the steward ordered. “When Krej is king, you won’t question his orders.”
    Darville growled. He reached for the absent sword even as he leaped onto the path to challenge the two men.
    Mistake. Once again the wolf instincts to defend had taken over. Jaylor couldn’t take a chance. If either of the men should recognize their prince, and escape, Krej would know that Darville was restored. That piece of information had to be kept secret for as long as possible.
    Jaylor’s magic caught up with Darville in mid-leap. From one eye-blink to the next, a bundle of clothes landed on the path as the angry prince grew shorter, hairier, meaner, and even more angry. Once more he was a menacing wolf determined to rip out the throats of his adversaries.

    The shock of landing on all fours sent ripples of pain along Darville’s back. The unnatural jarring did not disturb the momentum of his quest. The two men needed to die. He needed to do the deed. His eyes narrowed. From deep in his belly came the sound of blood lust. He leaped again before the men could react.
    The first man, the one he’d never seen before, was his target. Familiarity with the other man made him divert his attack. But they were both evil. They both would die.
    His weight carried both himself and the man to the ground. Triumph pounded through him as his mouth watered. Saliva dripped from his teeth. He could taste the hot blood even before he sank his fangs into the quivering, pale flesh of the hairless man.
    This man would die easily. Then he would kill the other.
    Screams erupted around him. He paid no heed.
    Louder they came. And louder again. They were the screams of the man beneath him. He shouldn’t be able to make a sound with his throat ripped and his blood in