The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

and we rarely beget children to inherit our talents.”
    He’d never have a son or daughter to replace Keegan, only more apprentices. He had to hold close the boys who remained with him, love them and nurture them as well as train them.
    “Nimbulan lost more than a traitorous pupil,” Quinnault added. “Look at your magician, Kammeryl, really look at how gaunt and worn he is. In the last hour he’s eaten three meals and still he hungers. His bones nearly poke through his skin. How long since he slept a night through? He cannot rest because the lords will beggar themselves to find a more powerful Battlemage. I beg of you Kammeryl, take this opportunity to treat with Hanic. Give your army, your people, your land, and your magician a respite.”
    “Peace is useless. Other lords see peace as weakness. They’ll stab me in the back.” Kammeryl dismissed Quinnault’s suggestion with an impatient gesture.
    “What is left for you to continue the fight with?” Quinnault continued to hound the warlord.
    “My magician. The best magician in all of Kardia Hodos. He guarantees me victory at any cost. He’ll have to conjure me the illusion of troops.”
    “If Nimbulan breaks his covenant with the Stargods to perform such an unnatural spell, Hanic will have to find an outland magician to defend himself—perhaps he’ll recruit Moncriith, the Bloodmage whose talent demands he fuel his power with the death and pain of others.” Sadness dragged Quinnault’s shoulders down as all three men crossed themselves in the Stargods’ ward against evil. “There will never be peace once blood powers are tapped.”
    “What if all magicians refused to fight your battles?” Nimbulan asked. A glimmer of hope beckoned to him like the red crystal in the void. Men moving in harmonious patterns until manipulated to violence by . . .
    “You might as well wish for flywackets and dragons,” Kammeryl snorted. “Magicians will never unite. They guard their secrets too well. Too jealously.”
    “That is the case now. But what if all the magicians banded together and refused to make war?” Nimbulan asked.
    Quinnault looked up sharply. Ideas seemed to blossom in his eyes. Nimbulan nodded to him and tried to pass encouragement mind-to-mind. But the Peacemaker’s solid mental barriers didn’t allow such communication.
    “Why I . . . I’d . . .” Kammeryl stammered, at a loss for words and bluster for the first time since Nimbulan had known him.
    “You’d hasten to the treaty table,” Quinnault prodded him. “You’d run with eagerness because war is too costly.”
    “ ’Tisn’t worth thinking about. Magicians can’t prosper during peace. Of what use are they but to fight battles for lords such as me?”
    Ackerly had asked the same question years ago when he’d first realized his talent would never match Nimbulan’s. Neither of them could think of another magical profession Ackerly could pursue.
    Nimbulan watched the canvas door flap behind Kammeryl’s jerky exit. The lord’s stiff spine and rigid knees helped him pretend that his dignity was intact. But his aura swung wildly from orange to purple with growing black spots in each layer. Nimbulan hoped Ackerly had access to more women for the warlord.
    As if summoned by Nimbulan’s thoughts, his assistant appeared in the doorway. “Nimbulan, please come. The hospital. Terrible. A stranger leads a virulent dispute in the hospital. ” Ackerly wrung his hands together, looking over his shoulder toward the source of the disruption.
    “The hospital?” Nimbulan pulled muddy boots over his house slippers. “Why would anyone disturb the hospital.” His filthy formal robe, not cleaned yet from the battle, would have to do. In his weakened state he dared not trudge across the camp in the rain without protection. He checked the pockets for wand and glass and other arcane tools. A rustle of dry leaves reminded him that he’d stuffed some Tambootie in a pocket some time during the battle. He threw it onto the brazier rather than eat it now. He’d had too much already.
    “I think it’s the Bloodmage, sir. Moncriith. He’s demanding that a witchwoman with the healing talent be brought to justice for dealing with demons.”
    Neither of them suggested they turn the matter over to Kammeryl. Disputes within the camp fell under the warlord’s jurisdiction. But Kammeryl d’Astrismos might very well wade into this brawl, in the hospital, with fists flying.
    “Please wait for my