The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

Thorm, or whoever that rogue might be, is probably already out of the mountains.”
    Brevelan and the prince were joining forces against Jaylor’s determination. He wasn’t sure he could fight both of them. Darville was strong enough to knock him senseless. Brevelan had the power to persuade him of anything. Anything at all.
    “Mbrrt!” Mica confirmed her own opinion of Jaylor’s seeming foolishness. She paced in front of the warm hearth, round hazel eyes glowing, back arching.
    “Not you, too, Mica?” Jaylor protested to the anxious cat. Her soft presence had always seemed supportive. Some of his determination slipped away when he raised his eyes from the basket full of Tambootie leaves.
    The herbage had begun to wilt over the day and the night since it had been abandoned by Krej’s steward and the barkeep. Still, the scent from the essential oils permeated Brevelan’s partially repaired hut. A vacancy lingered behind his ears and his heart beat irregularly whenever he closed his eyes.
    “This is too important to ignore. Krej and his pet rogue use the leaves in some way to increase magic powers. I have to understand how this works if I’m going to undo that very complicated, very powerful spell.” Verbalizing helped define his motives. It also made sense of the floor that kept tilting toward the repaired roof.
    “I’m sure he doesn’t eat the poison. And even if he does, he’ll wait until he’s safely back at the castle.” Brevelan grabbed a dented pot full of water and placed it over the flames to bring it to a simmer. The sputtering green flames lighted her face, highlighting her delicate features. The red of her hair took on a coppery glow, an elemental color firmly rooted in the soil of Coronnan.
    Jaylor wanted to reach out and touch her gently, to reassure her and let her know he loved her. His fingers itched to bury themselves in her thick hair, separate each beautiful strand into a copper veil. The leaves called to him, begged him to forget the color that was grounded in the soil. Why not fly with the colors radiating from the wonderful leaves.
    His hands continued to grip the basket on the floor in front of him.
    “This is something I have to do.” He returned his gaze to his study of the leaves. If only he could look into them, delve their secrets the way he looked into a spell book with his glass.
    “I’m sure Krej uses an infusion. It’s safer, easier to control the dosage.” Brevelan continued her preparations for that procedure.
    “Maybe he makes a salve of them and rubs it on his skin.” Darville dipped his hands into the basket, then quickly withdrew them as if burned.
    Jaylor ignored them. He sought the thin shard of glass in his pack. It was wrapped in a special oiled cloth, several layers thick. When he withdrew it, he felt for a telltale vibration out of habit. The glass was cold and lifeless. No one was summoning him.
    With a special vision, used by all magicians when holding a glass, he sought the secrets of the leaves. Their image jumped at him, larger than life. He adjusted his hold on the glass, concentrating on the variegated green and white center vein of a particularly fat leaf that had not yet wilted. He forced his mind to look at the leaf as if it were just another spell cloaked in obscure language in a forgotten book.
    “An infusion of sun-dried leaves is the logical answer. How could one man eat that many leaves? But it would take several basketsful to prepare a year’s supply for an infusion,” Brevelan chattered on.
    Jaylor ignored her.
    Mica climbed into his lap. She butted her head against his hand. He nearly dropped the glass.
    Jaylor pushed the cat away. She protested and climbed back. Her almost human stare dared him to push her away again.
    “Consult Baamin at the University. Maybe he knows what to do with Tambootie,” Darville suggested.
    Jaylor barely heard him. The continued comments of his friends no longer held import. There were only himself and the leaves of Tambootie enclosed within the walls of the hut.
    A drop of thick oil on the spine of the leaf shimmered with green and gold, red and blue, purple and orange. All the colors that glowed through Shayla’s fur were in that drop of all color/no color liquid. He touched the drop with his fingertip. It clung. He licked it off.
    Sweet/bitter/cold/hot/bland/spicy.
    All the flavors of the world burst forth on the tip of his tongue. He tasted all the colors, saw all the flavors. His soul