The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

one of the few channels that keeled ships could negotiate. With the help of a magician, they embedded the trunk deep enough to hold it upright against the rising tide. The top branches remained above the waves for now.
    Too soon the tide would flood the traps and the fleet would enter the channels.
    Too soon. They wouldn’t be ready in time. But the sooner this operation was over, the sooner Nimbulan could leave in search of Myri. And Maia’s child. How was he going to persuade the mother to allow him access to the baby, help in its rearing, keep Televarn away from it?
    “At least you persuaded Konnaught to do more than complain, Your Grace.”
    “Ordered, threatened, more like. I told him I would try him for treason against his dragon-blessed monarch if he didn’t work as hard as everyone else out there. If he whined once more about how his father would have fought this battle, I think I might have strangled him. Spanked him at the very least.”
    “You’d have to stand in line for the privilege.” Nimbulan kept his smile contained. If he’d had his way, Konnaught would have been shipped off to a foreign monastery the day after his father had been defeated in battle.
    A large wave slapped at the boat Konnaught rowed, turning the flat-bottomed craft sideways. The log he was towing slipped free of a magician’s control.
    “If I still had access to ley lines, I could transport the s’murghing tree directly into the mudflats,” Nimbulan muttered. Dragon magic only allowed levitation, not instantaneous transportation. He was letting the ley lines fuel his magic, but he couldn’t advertise that with obvious rogue spells.
    A second fishing boat snared the loose log as it towed its own tree farther out into the mudflats. An errant wave caught the sprawling branches threatening to rip it away from that journeyman magician, too.
    Lasso it with magic, Rollett. Use your talent, Nimbulan urged the young man telepathically. The tendril of magic connecting them was weak. He’d used too much already today. He’d also thought of Myri too often and lost his usual firm control over the expenditure of power and energy.
    Carefully he stilled a special place deep within his belly, preparing it for an influx of magical power. New energy, dragon energy, trickled into the vacancy. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
    Were the dragons with Myri, guarding her while he couldn’t? They had cared for her and guided her through her entire life. He had to believe they continued to do so. They had to fill the void in her life left by Amaranth’s death until he got to her. She’d be so lost and alone, so vulnerable. . . .
    Out in the bay, Rollett waved his arms in acknowledgment of the help. Nimbulan relaxed a little. His stomach growled. He’d skipped the noon meal to direct the preparations for battle. Now he was using up his energy stores in surges.
    A little girl with muddy brown braids brought a tray filled with mugs of steaming cider and slabs of bread and meat. “Thank you. Please, extend my thanks to Guillia.” He bowed formally to the child as he reached for the nourishment. “And would you have someone at the school fetch my text on naval battle strategy from my desk. The door is locked and Master Stuuvart has the key.” The book hadn’t come with his earlier request.
    Nimbulan drank down the spicy brew gratefully, as did Quinnault.
    “I’ll fetch the book, Magician Nimbulan.” The child dipped a shy curtsy, then scampered down the stairs. She looked a lot like Kalen, probably one of the magician girl’s numerous sisters. All of the family had been tested for magical talent, but only Kalen seemed to have it—unless one counted Guillia’s ability to sense the nutritional needs of every magician living at the school.
    Kalen could transport anything. She’d make short work of this chore. But she wasn’t here. The now familiar ache of loneliness drove Nimbulan to tear a furious bite from his bread. Kalen had been exiled along with Myri, and he couldn’t go find them until the invading fleet from Rossemeyer had been repelled.
    “You realize, of course, that the obstacles in the Bay won’t be enough,” Quinnault asked. “Some of the ships will get through.” He pointed where some of his men set up a fire pit in the center of the courtyard. Huge cauldrons filled with oil sat nearby, ready to be boiled and thrown on invaders who managed to come ashore.
    “What do you suggest?” Nimbulan ignited the kindling with