The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

the gaping folds of skin, down into the muscles, repairing tears here, rejoining severed blood vessels there. Her mind lost track of what she Sang, only aware that a lilting tune hovered near her ears.
    She sensed other people joining, adding more and more magic to the power she felt. The gathered soldiers and commoners must be touching Amaranth, compounding the magic. The spell remained at the same level, not amplifying like Nimbulan’s dragon magic. Her husband used rhymes to bring his magicians into a spell. She had no poems ready that described the intent of the spell.
    What? What could she use to join these people to the spell?
    An old ballad fairly leaped to her lips. She molded it into a Song of healing.
    A dozen other voices grabbed the melody and joined with her. A deep well of harmony amplified the energy running from the dragon through her into her brother. Other hands grasped her shoulders, hair and back, linking her to the common people of Coronnan as well as the purple-tipped dragon.
    Suddenly she was a part of each person who touched the dragon. Their hearts beat as one. Their minds mingled, sharing hopes and plans for the future, all of them centered on the man who lay bleeding to death beneath her hands.
    She repeated the melody, uncaring of the words, only knowing that the notes needed to blend and flow in a way that all could sing it with love and hope and unity. As the melody rose and swelled on the breeze, all of them became a part of Quinnault de Tanos and his rapidly healing body, giving him their love as well as the little bit of magic allowed them.
    Myri’s love for all of them grew with the Song and the healing magic.
    Soaring on a high note, she directed them all to the core of the wound. Together they patched his internal organs, rebuilt the nicked rib, joined the major artery, then slowly backed out, blending muscle tissue together on their way.
    The music turned joyous.
    Lord Quinnault opened his eyes.
    “Our king lives. Long live King Quinnault!” The shout rippled through the crowd who had given this man back his life.
    “I was afraid they’d make me king if I lived. Maybe you should let me die,” Quinnault quipped.
    “Never, brother. You must live for these people. You belong to all of them now,” Myri replied. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks.
    Hands broke their connection with Myri and Amaranth. The magic dwindled, drained out of her. Movement flickered around the edges of her vision. The people danced and celebrated. One and all they acknowledged Quinnault their king. The wars were over. Peace had won.
    Somewhere in the background she heard/sensed Lord Hanic joining the celebration with his men.
    “Sorry we were late. Delays crossing the ford. I lost some men who ran from a cloud shadow they swore was a dragon.”
    She crumpled into the blood-soaked ground, exhausted. Her stomach felt funny, half cramped, partially upset. She clutched her belly desperately, praying she hadn’t lost the baby in saving her brother’s life.

Chapter 39
     
    N imbulan gently laid Myri on their bed in the old monastery. He pulled a rough blanket over her. Gradually her shivers subsided as he stroked her hair and held her hand. He checked the silver cord of magic connecting his heart to hers. The gentle bonds pulsed with life and vigor stronger than before.
    A breath of relief swept over him. For a few moments, he’d feared that her talent would sever the tie to him in favor of her new patient, Quinnault.
    At this very moment, the Lord of the Islands, no, he was now King of Coronnan, was being tended by retainers and healers of all levels of society. Hasty messages of the day’s events, especially the proclamation of kingship by the common people, had been sent to all the lords. He sincerely hoped that news of Ackerly’s death and the Bloodmage’s failure to penetrate the defenses of the Commune would do more for the cause than the death of Kammeryl d’Astrismos. Within a day or two, the leaders of Coronnan—noble and magician—would all descend upon the small keep in the heart of the delta islands to verify that the wars had ended. The lords would probably confirm Quinnault’s kingship since he now commanded the loyalty of Kammeryl’s army as well as his own islanders. Most of Hanic’s men had also sworn their loyalty to Quinnault as king.
    Hanic was still wavering, waiting for a consensus from the lords.
    While a great fuss was being made over Quinnault the Peacemaker, only