The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

of skin and fur. No sense advertising that he was a rare and magical flywacket.
    She’d never been separated from Amaranth, not since they’d been born twin purple-tipped dragons twenty years ago. Dragon lore demanded that only one purple-tip could be alive at any time. Either Amaranth or Myrilandel had to take another form or die. Myrilandel had chosen a human body. Amaranth had transformed into his flywacket form to remain near her throughout her life. She had seen him grow into his true dragon form only once.
    Myri scratched his ears. “Sorry, there’s no room for you in my lap, Amaranth. Not that I have any lap left.”
    “Mbrrrt,” Amaranth purred loudly, in rhythm with Myri’s stroking of her belly.
    “At the first sign of labor, you send that boy you adopted to me. I’ll come and help,” Karry ordered, just as she ordered everyone in the small fishing village.
    “I’m ready for this baby now,” Myri laughed. “I want my magic talents back, so I can help in the village again. I need to repay you for all your kindness to me. I’ve never had a home like this before,” Myri whispered. If only Nimbulan would return from the capital city, her family would be complete. She had many friends in the village now, but they weren’t family.
    “What do them dragons of yours tell you about the babe?” Karry asked, setting her simple home to rights.
    “Shayla only tells me it’s a girl.” Myri smiled every time she thought of her dragon family.
    Her only family, other than the two children she had adopted. And Amaranth.
    She refused to dwell on depressing thoughts about her human brother, King Quinnault de Draconis, who had exiled her, reluctantly, for her rogue magic talent. A talent that had decreased as her pregnancy increased. Her husband, Nimbulan, had remained in the capital serving her brother as adviser and Senior Magician. She might have been born a dragon, but in this body she couldn’t gather dragon magic—no female could. Without the ability to work in concert with other magicians through dragon magic, she had to accept exile along with every other solitary magician.
    Nimbulan would return to her soon. He’d promised.
    (Danger!) a dragon voice screamed into Myri’s mind. (Danger to you and the younglings!)
    Raised voices and pounding feet filled the village square.
    Amaranth leaped to the doorway, back arched, fur standing up. The tips of his wings poked free of their protective skin folds in his agitation.
    “Raiders!” Powwell, her adopted son, shouted.
    Kalen, Powwell’s half-sister, dashed inside. “Myri, come, the storage sheds are burning. We have to flee, now! They are coming closer.” She tugged anxiously at Myri’s arm.
    “Who?” Myri barely had time to ask as Kalen pulled and Karry pushed her outside.
    In the open space around the Equinox Pylon, dozens of villagers rushed madly from hut to hut. Smoke filled the air with an aura of menace.
    “This way,” Powwell half-dragged, half-carried Myri’s bulky body toward the path leading up into the hills and their magically protected clearing. Amaranth kept close by her side, refusing to fly until she was safe.
    (Not that way!) Shayla announced into Myri’s head. (Evil men await you near your clearing.)
    The carpenter’s hut at the edge of the village exploded in flames. Three people, faces blackened with smoke, ran out the door, coughing. They beat uselessly at the bright green fire with blankets and cloaks.
    The greedy flames ate at the dry timbers and thatch. The entire autumn had been unusually dry and bright. Very little rain had soaked into the homes to protect them from the flaming arrows that sped through the air. A fisherman’s home, near the cliff path to the beach, caught fire with the next barrage of arrows.
    Powwell tried a magic spell to douse the fire. The flames shot higher, feeding off his magical energy as well as the thatch.
    Smoke filled Myri’s lungs. She nearly doubled over from coughing. Moisture streamed from her eyes. Cold autumnal air chilled her skin.
    A tiny cramp in her belly sent panic and new energy shooting through her veins. The baby wasn’t ready to be born yet.
    Amaranth circled her ankles, mewing anxiously. She almost tripped over him. Her senses distorted. She needed a moment to grab a hold on up and down, right and left, safety and danger.
    Black-clad men appeared at the edge of the village. A dozen or more. They carried torches, swords, and bows with full quivers on their backs.