The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

thundering past them in an interesting counter rhythm.
    Below, the green land divided itself into puzzle pieces with bluish-silver lines of magic. The lines resembled the fragile cord, sometimes copper, sometimes silver, bonding him to the body he had abandoned an eon ago. A few white cloud puffs obscured any other borders, the ones established by men but recognized by no one else. The magic border that should surround this insignificant patch of green had faded to nothing.
    Sharply downward they plunged, so fast their breath was pushed back into their throats. Sharp cold air became a wall. They pushed it aside with the blink of an eye. A steep cliff of black granite rushed to greet them. At the last moment they flattened wings and pulled up to soar again over the top. Flushed and exhilarated, they leveled off.
    Together they surveyed the snowcapped mountains. Their bellies were numb. The game lurking in shadowed ravines offered no interest or relief. But a Tambootie tree needed cropping. Compulsively they snatched at the top layer of new leaves as they skimmed past, away from the sheltering mountains.
    Over level ground again, a different dragon flew under them. He switched from the green wing to the blue back. A moment’s unsteadiness. Then he found a new pulse and he merged his identity with the older dragon.
    This dragon flew more intricate patterns. They dipped and soared, played with the wind, spun and reversed in a tail’s length.
    A city squatted like an ugly beetle on the islands of the Bay delta, enmeshed in an intricate web of bluish-silver magic.
    They spied on puny creatures below as they went about incomprehensible tasks. Some battled, some coupled, some slept.
    Many men met in a closed room.
    Time rolled forward and back, sometimes quickly, sometimes drifting as lazily as he.
    A familiar man, cloaked in a dirty aura, met two others by a chattering stream in southern forests, just below the clearing where six magic lines converged. They felt anger in one man, fear radiated from the others. Beside them stood Shayla, encased in magical glass. Sparkles of sunlight on her covering blinded them.
    Or was it their tears?
    He and all of the dragons shuddered. Heat built deep within them. Flame touched their tongues and needed release. He dropped the slender thread that bound him to his other life, his other love. Strands of copper drifted away from him. She would not approve of their actions.
    Another dive. Terror filled the faces of the men. They should turn back. Men are not for killing.
    No! Turn back!
    What matter? That one had ensorcelled Shayla and the litter she carried. That one had endangered all. That one deserved to die by dragon fire.
    He felt the contempt of the angry man who didn’t fear a flaming dragon anymore. Bits of an angry soul reflected from the glass that was Shayla. The two were intertwined. Kill the man and they would kill Shayla.
    “Noooooo!” he screamed.
     
    “Master?” The kitchen boy poked his head around the corner of Baamin’s quarters.
    “Yes?” he replied wearily. The boy moved closer. He seemed taller, more defined than just a few days ago. Adolescence must finally be catching up with him.
    “Master, you haven’t eaten in two days.” Worry creased the boy’s brow.
    Baamin felt a small surge of gratitude before his worry and fatigue filled him again. No one else cared what happened to him. Krej had taken over the Council and the magicians. Since then no one had consulted him about anything. So he sat, alone, in the dark of his study with only his books and his nightmares for company. He brooded, he plotted and schemed.
    And reached no conclusion.
    He didn’t trust Krej, Lord of Faciar, Regent of Coronnan. Yet, what else could they have done but elect him regent?
    Stargods! There was no one else to lead this kingdom against its enemies. No one until Darville returned. Dragons only knew when that would be!
    “I’m not hungry.”
    “You need food to replenish your magic.” The boy placed a plate of soft cheese and bread on the desk, next to Baamin’s elbow. The flowing sleeves of Baamin’s robe spilled over a text, he didn’t remember which one.
    “What good is magic? Krej is solving our problems with armies and spears.” And doing it very well, with energy and organization. Coronnan hadn’t seen the like for more than ten generations.
    “Armies destroy much more than just other armies. Nimbulan said so.” The boy stared at the arc he drew on the stone