The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

distorted images within a few inches of Nimbulan’s nose. Trees and outcroppings took on engorged dimensions. They seemed to move and shift from place to place as distance and time lost all meaning.
    The gray water vapor brightened to green smoke, backlit as if by natural fire. Coiling tendrils writhed and formed faces in the fearsome mist.
    “Armies of the dead. They march toward us through the fog,” one of the young apprentices screamed. He broke the link with the magicians on either side of him. The power of Communal magic dissipated into the mist.
    Ghostly faces solidified, clothed in the armor of twenty years ago. Horrible wounds of lance and fire showed through rents in rotting tunics in the colors of lords long-dead.
    Druulin, face and hands horribly burned, stared directly at Nimbulan. Accusing. Demanding retribution for betrayal and desertion.
    Nimbulan’s body and will froze in the face of his master. He hadn’t died with Druulin twenty years ago because he and Ackerly had deserted their master. They had been cowardly and disloyal. They deserved to die now. Die as horribly as Druulin had. . . .
    “Stargods, he’s conjured the dead from previous battles fought in this field.” Lyman’s hand jerked against Nimbulan’s shoulder as if to ward himself with the cross of the Stargods.
    The ward broke the mesmerizing stare from Druulin’s ghost. Nimbulan closed his eyes and mind to the horrible accusations of his mentor.
    “Stay linked!” Nimbulan ordered. “We cannot fight the Bloodmage individually. We have to stay together.”
    Above him, dragon wings beat against the stagnating air. The fog faded but the dead continued to march forward, intent on killing any who stood in their way.
    “Misty wraiths, lost in time,
Seek your fate in love benign.
Go your way, your life fulfilled,
The void restores your spirits killed.”
     
    He chanted an invitation for the displaced ghosts to find their way back to the void and their next existence. The magicians behind him repeated the incantation.
    They recited the spell a third time, together with growing confidence.
    The fog thinned. Ghostly faces dissolved. The screams of terror faded in the ranks of soldiers caught between the two Battlemages.
    “See the lost souls demons have betrayed and prevented from finding their next existence. I send them away in peace,” Moncriith proclaimed.
    “A little late, Moncriith,” Nimbulan said as he gathered his wits to face the next attack from the Bloodmage.
    The slight river breeze that dissipated the mist took on a musky, sweet scent. Real smoke replaced the mist. The smoke of burning green Tambootie mixed with Timboor.
    Nimbulan raised his hands to place a barrier between himself and the deadly smoke. No power tingled in his palms. He had no magic left to protect his troops or his magicians. He gasped for breath and took in a lungful of the poisonous smoke. In a moment, he’d begin hallucinating.
    He thrust Myri behind him to protect her as much as he could.

Chapter 37
     
    A ckerly fanned the flames higher on his bonfire of fresh and aged Tambootie limbs. The green flames licked hungrily at the fuel. Smoke poured upward in a spiraling column. The wind was already from the west, born in the cold mountain range, seeking the warmer flatter plains of Coronnan. He needed no magic to send the smoke directly into Nimbulan’s face.
    Years of suppressed resentment for his childhood friend and companion built with each puff of smoke and burning log. “Your respect for me was measured against the size of my talent, Nimbulan.” He stabbed at the fire with a fresh stick, building the flames higher, high enough to burn the green wood with the deadly sap still in it.
    “You measured everyone against your own magical talent and none of us matched you, so you were superior to all. You used everyone you came in contact with—made them clean up the mess you left behind. You had to be the best, so only your desires, your talents, and your wisdom mattered. But where would you be if I hadn’t arranged your business affairs, taught the apprentices, kept you fed, and made sure you had a tent to sleep in? Well let me tell you, Nimbulan, I can gather magic now, as easily as any of your Commune. I can work any spell I want with very little effort. I’m as good as you. Better. Because I also have the gold. Gold to buy people and luxuries and respect. That’s something you’ll never have. No one will respect you unless you