The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

secrets for years.
    “Anything you like. You seem to have no family to please, and no traditions to fall back on. Choose something that describes yourself, or what you would like to be.” He tried to resume the friendly father figure image that invited trust.
    “I want to be like Nimbulan, or like you, sir.” The eyes begged entrance again.
    Baamin was falling deeper and deeper into those eyes. At the last moment he stepped away from the boy, shaking his head clear, his thoughts firmly shuttered. How much had this boy learned from people who didn’t know of his telepathy?
    “Quite a bit, sir. That’s why I can do magic. I’ve been practicing what the boys think about when they study.”
    Stargods! He’d found a way into his mind anyway.
    “And just where did you find the magic to practice with? You were tested several times, and you can’t gather magic.”
    “Why gather and store it? There’s a never-ending supply at your feet.”
    “At my feet?”
    “Yes, sir. In the ground, there’s bluish-silver lines. They look kind’da like the dragon wing tips. Can’t you see ’em, sir?”
    Baamin shook his head in dismay. He couldn’t see them yet, but before the boys had finished supper he’d find a way.
    And where had Boy seen a dragon to know what the lines looked like?
    “I don’t think you should call yourself ‘Nimbulan’ or ‘Baamin,’ Boy. People would think you were giving yourself airs above your station in life.” An inkling of a plan took shape in Baamin’s tired brain.
    “But I won’t always be a kitchen drudge, or an apprentice.”
    “No, not always. But for now it’s important that everyone else sees you as a kitchen drudge, perhaps in the palace where you could hear the court and army gossip.” Again the boy’s eyes widened. He saw what Baamin wanted.
    “A name’s important. I’ll think about it while I’m listening to the regent’s cook and steward.”
    “Lord Krej leaves for his own castle next week.”
    “I’ll practice the summons spell tonight. I’ll need you as a partner so I can find your special vibration anywhere.”
    “Uh . . . Boy, have you ever read a man’s dreams?”
    “Only once, sir. Too boring and confusing.” He shrugged his shoulders in a timeless gesture of dismissal.
    “Do you think you could tell if a man’s dreams originate within himself or are imposed upon him?”
    “Never tried.”
    “Forget I asked.” Baamin shooed the boy toward his dinner. He couldn’t take the chance of anyone reading his current nightmares.
     
    “Halfway to the capital by dawn?” Jaylor snorted sarcastically. Dusk was crawling across the countryside and they were barely two hours’ walk from the village. Rain plagued every step.
    Buckets of intense downpour flooded creeks already swollen with spring run-off. Hard-packed roads and newly plowed fields took on the cloying texture of the mile-wide mud flats in the Great Bay. Every step Jaylor took became an effort.
    Rain such as this could only be the Stargods mourning the loss of their beloved dragons.
    If he was tired, wet, and chilled from the ceaseless plodding, how did Brevelan feel?
    “A figure of speech. We need to hurry. Who knows how much damage Krej has done already.” Darville reached again for the missing sword at his hip. “Come on. We can’t fly like dragons. We’ve got to reach Krej’s castle between here and the capital as soon as possible.” He lengthened his stride to emphasize his need.
    “I think we’d best find shelter for the night,” Jaylor voiced his own opinion. “We’ll make better time in the morning when we’re rested and fed.”
    Darville stopped short. Their eyes met each other’s in defiance, over the top of Brevelan’s head.
    She shivered and they both reached an arm to draw her close. They shivered with her, feeling everything she felt.
    The men’s eyes met again in challenge. The rain dripped into silence, surrounding them with a wet curtain. The three of them might have been the only creatures alive.
    “If you’d both loosen your hold a bit, I might be able to breathe.” Brevelan pushed at both their chests.
    Jaylor felt the heat from her hand. He wanted to take the time to absorb it, cherish it. Instead he eased his grip on her shoulder. He noticed Darville did the same.
    “You’re feverish, dear heart.” The cause of the heat in her hand disturbed him. His own body flushed in sympathy. “We’d best find shelter.” Even Darville, with his one-track,