The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

crown of precious clear glass, forged by dragon fire in the form of a dragon’s head, set with gems—ruby, emerald, sapphire, topaz, and amethyst—the colors of the dragon wingtips.
    “It is beautiful!” Quinnault gasped.
    “More than beautiful, it is unique and special. No other monarch in all of Kardia Hodos has a crown so valuable, nor so heavy with responsibility. The dragons will be present at your coronation, and the crowning of each of your successors. You and your line rule by the grace of dragons and you will be addressed as ‘Your Grace’ for that reason. If any man breaks the covenant with the dragons, they will withdraw their grace and the crown—The Coraurlia.”
    “That is a name I do not know.” Quinnault couldn’t take his eyes off the glittering crown. Sunlight from the high windows struck the glass, sending rainbows arcing throughout the room.
    “The Coraurlia has been imbued with special magic,” Old Lyman said as he fiddled with the golden cover cloth, opening it to form a sack with a drawstring and carry-strap. He held the sack open while his two supporting magicians carefully deposited the crown inside.
    “You, King Quinnault de Draconis, must keep the Coraurlia on your person for the next three days until your official coronation. During that time, the crown will be imprinted by your aura. Until the day you die, or are deposed by the dragons and the Commune combined, no magic will touch you for good or ill. Mundane weapons can penetrate the spell, but with difficulty. This is the best protection we can give you.”
    “What about the rest of Coronnan? What will be our protection from magical attack? Your Commune can’t be everywhere. In the past decades we have supported numerous Battlemages and their assistants very well. Now that we don’t need them, will they retaliate against us, before the Commune has a chance to enforce the new laws?” Lord Hanic stood to make his point, fear written all over his face.
    “All magicians will be invited to join the Commune,” Nimbulan replied.
    “But what about those magicians who can’t or won’t gather dragon magic?” Lord Baathalzan stood, adding his insistence to the request.
    Nimbulan had no answer. He’d assumed all magicians would gladly join him and conform.
    “Any magician who practices outside the Commune has no place in the Coronnan we are building,” Quinnault said.
    “Your Grace.” The Lord of Sambol bowed in deference to the new king. “We twelve lords of your Council recommend a law exiling all magicians who will not or cannot join the Commune of Magicians. We recognize dragon magic as the only lawful magic. This law must include all former Battlemages as well as witches and other magicians of minor talent and informal training. And they must remove themselves from Coronnan by the time of your coronation.”
    A general cheer of acceptance resounded around the room. The sound built as it bounced against the stone walls, hammering into Nimbulan’s ears.
    He sat heavily in his chair, stunned. Myrilandel, his beloved wife, could not gather dragon magic.
    “What about the purple dragon?” Nimbulan grasped at the only possibility that presented itself. “Anyone can gather magic from a purple-tip.”
    “But there is only one purple-tip in all of Kardia Hodos,” Hanic said. “I understand one must be in physical contact with it to work magic. It cannot be everywhere and I understand it prefers the form of a flywacket, which doesn’t give off magic to be gathered. No. Our definition of dragon magic doesn’t include the purple dragon. Exile or death for all solitary magicians.” Baathalzan resumed his seat with dignified satisfaction that his primary concern had been addressed.
    They were right. For the good of all Coronnan, solitary magicians had to be exiled.
    Nimbulan stared into nothingness. Myri, oh, Myri, what will I do without you?
     
    “I now pronounce you husband and wife, mated together for the duration of your lifetimes. The Stargods acknowledge your vows of faithfulness. Let the people respect them as well.” A priest robed in bright red recited the formula of the marriage blessing in some haste. He looked at the long caravan forming outside the School for Magicians before sealing the ceremony with the cross of the Stargods.
    All around them steeds stamped, people shouted, sledges groaned with the weight piled high upon them. In the midst of the frenzy, the priest presided over a hasty union. He