The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

turned and left the couple without waiting for them to seal their vows with the traditional kiss.
    Emptiness washed over Myri. This should be the happiest day of her life, not the saddest.
    “Come with us now, Nimbulan. Please,” Myri pleaded with Nimbulan one last time, though she knew he must stay in the city. He must help rebuild Coronnan and the create the Commune. Her brother, King Quinnault, couldn’t do it all.
    She would survive without Nimbulan. She wasn’t sure the new Commune, king, and Council of Provinces would.
    “The clearing will protect you, Myri, until I can come to you. I moved some lines on the new map so that you will technically be outside the boundaries of Coronnan. I will come to you as soon as I can. I just wish I could find a safe haven for you closer to the city,” he said while clutching her hands within his own. He searched her face as if etching the image into his memory.
    “I know you will come, my love.” She turned her head away to hide her tears. And her guilt. She hadn’t told him about the baby. She needed to know for certain that she wouldn’t miscarry, as so many witchwomen did. Shayla had told Lyman—he was almost as much a dragon as Myri—but no one had told Nimbulan. At first she waited for the right moment. A quiet time when they wouldn’t be interrupted. Then the Council had issued their edict of exile.
    To tell him now would divide his loyalties even further between herself and the new government. His dream of peace was too important to all of Coronnan. She couldn’t do it now. She would wait until she knew for sure. Then, when he joined her in the clearing, she would tell him. This parting was hard enough on both of them.
    Her chin quivered and the ache in her chest choked her breathing.
    “Don’t hide your tears, Myri.” Nimbulan captured her chin between two gentle fingers. “I love you. I’ll come soon. Kalen will keep you company.” He kissed her tears as they fell.
    Stuuvart had blithely abandoned all claim to Kalen as his child as soon as the edict of exile was made known. Guillia had hugged the girl fiercely in a tearful embrace all through the brief wedding. Now she reluctantly let her daughter lift her pack onto the sledge. Myri tried to summon anger at the absent Stuuvart to replace her lonely suffering at parting from Nimbulan.
    “I’m going with them, too,” Powwell announced, marching up to the last sledge in the long caravan headed south and east. He carried a simple pack bulging with books and clothes and food.
    “Your place is here, Powwell,” Myri said. “The Commune needs every magician who can gather dragon magic to help enforce the laws.”
    “Stupid laws. I won’t be part of a country that forces you and Kalen into exile. I’m coming with you.” He set his chin in a stubborn attitude that wouldn’t budge. “You’ll need a man to help with the heavy work.”
    “Then I charge you, Powwell, to look after Myri and Kalen, and to protect them. You must perfect the summons spell quickly so that you can keep in contact with me,” Nimbulan ordered the boy. “You are nearly fourteen now. A man, and I trust you.”
    “Yeah, sure.” Powwell jumped on the back of the sledge next to Kalen. He crossed his arms and glared at his former master.
    “I wish it could be otherwise, Myrilandel. I wish we could be together.” Nimbulan held her close until their hearts beat in rhythm.
    “As do I, my love. I wish we could be together always, in our own home, with our family.” She turned her face and kissed him long and full, putting all of her regret and sorrow into her embrace. She tasted salty tears. His or hers, it didn’t matter. If only she could cling to him a little longer, hold his warmth a little closer, make love with him one more time. . . .
    Shouts and whistles to sledge steeds, and a general shift of people forward, signaled the beginning of the long journey. Traders and exiles alike settled into the line of march.
    Myri flung her arms around Nimbulan’s neck, holding him as long as possible. Gentle hands pulled them apart. She slid her hand down his arm, caressing his fingers, cherishing his touch for as long as possible.
    “I love you, Myrilandel. I’ll come to you soon,” Nimbulan whispered.
    “I love you, Nimbulan.” The silver umbilical that bound them together stretched thin but did not break.

Epilogue
     
    (T he Covenant is broken!) Shayla’s last communication reverberated through Nimbulan’s ears three