The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

morning, but only after they brought him the impostor. Only after his maddened crowd had torn the magician limb from limb.

Chapter 34
     
    “M aster, come quick. We need you!” Journeyman Gilby ran into Nimbulan’s study without knocking. He skidded on the smooth slate floor, catching himself on the doorjamb.
    “I can’t step away from the workroom for five minutes without all of you flying into a panic.” Nimbulan looked up from the pile of old journals he’d come to fetch. Over the years he’d kept faithful records of his life, including the numerous incantations and cantrips he used to trigger spells.
    “What is wrong, Gilby? Take a deep breath and calm down. Then tell me in simple words.” He motioned to his journeyman to sit in the chair beside him. The chair where Myri should be. He missed her company every minute of the day. She was on the mainland with the few girl apprentices, none of whom could gather dragon magic.
    Gilby shook his head and gulped air. “A summons, sir. A desperate summons from Rollett. He used a flicker of witchlight and a cup of water. It’s all he has while spying on Moncriith. He says there are witchsniffers after him and a mob screaming for blood. His blood.”
    “Quickly, back to the workroom. This will take a very delicate touch. I pray we have learned enough to help the boy from this distance.” Nimbulan snapped his journal closed and reached for an older one from his own journeyman days.
    Where was the entry he’d made about delusions? He’d read the rhyming phrases only yesterday. He scattered books across his desk in his haste to find the book. Where? Three volumes hit the floor with thuds and skids that must have broken the spines of the bindings. He ignored them.
    No book was as valuable as Rollett’s life.
    Why had he sent the boy to spy on Moncriith? He should have sent a mundane, someone who wouldn’t rouse the Bloodmage’s suspicions, or gone himself.
    He couldn’t lose another apprentice so soon after Keegan’s death. He wouldn’t let war take another person he loved.
    “Here!” He grabbed the book he sought, rifling through the pages as he hurried down the hall. “We haven’t time to memorize the spell. I’ll read it aloud, phrase by phrase, the group will repeat each phrase with me. I hope it works. I pray we are in time.” He looked out a window as they nearly ran down the corridor. No sign of any of the dragons. They were close—he sensed their presence in the constantly renewing source of magic power. But he couldn’t see them. Would the spell be stronger, more easily controlled, if the magicians linked hands around a dragon?
    No time to find out.
    They found the assembled magicians, journeymen, and apprentices milling about the workroom in confusion.
    “In a circle, grab hands. Apprentices stand outside and observe. Break the circle if something goes wrong. A fire and a glass. Where’s my glass?” Nimbulan marshaled his magicians.
    “An infusion of strengthening herbs, Lan, before you begin. It will help settle your nerves and focus your magic.” Ackerly stood at Nimbulan’s elbow with a mug of steaming brew. Nimbulan took it from him gratefully. Leave it to Ackerly to think of such a minor thing that could save the entire spell.
    The stream drifted past his nose as he raised the mug to his lips. The musky sweet aroma made his muscles freeze. “You put Tambootie in the infusion.”
    “Yes, Lan. Like always. You need the drug to fuel your magic and channel your energies.” Ackerly blinked at him in puzzlement. His wide gray eyes revealed none of his emotions. He’d also found the armor to protect his thoughts from Nimbulan’s probe.
    “No, I don’t need this demon brew. I’ve broken free of the cursed drug. All I need is dragons. That’s all any of us need to fuel our magic.” Impatiently, Nimbulan handed the mug back to Ackerly. He scanned the group to ensure they were ready for this important rescue attempt. Their glazed eyes and vague expressions sent his heart sinking into his gut.
    “How many of them drank of your evil infusions, Ackerly?” He grabbed his assistant’s tunic at the throat, shaking him in frustrated anger. “They’re useless like this! We’re going to lose Rollett to Moncriith’s mob because you dosed them all with the Tambootie.”
    “We’ve always used the Tambootie,” Ackerly protested. He surveyed the stain on his tunic where he’d spilled the infusion. A dark brown stain with green and