The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

muscles. Such a vibrant man. His aura filled the tent, with no room left for her own. And yet his departure left her with a curious sense of emptiness. Loneliness. She wanted to look into those vivid green eyes of his and read his secrets.
    “I will sup and rest, but then we must leave, Amaranth.” She stroked his fur, making certain his wings remained concealed. “You will have to hunt for me on the journey. I’m not strong enough yet to forage for myself. Moncriith may come back. Nimbulan and his Battlemages cannot tame my talent. They will demand I give up my life to heal the men they order into battle if I stay.”

Chapter 5
     
    N imbulan paused outside his pavilion. The witchwoman’s words troubled him. He needed time and privacy to meditate on all that had happened since Keegan’s death.
    “What will it cost me to retain you as my personal magician and adviser?” Quinnault de Tanos greeted him without preamble.
    “I am not like other magicians, for sale to any lord with the right price.” Nimbulan pulled his attention away from the problems of a demon-hunting Bloodmage and the mysterious witchwoman who commanded more magic than any three of his assistants combined.
    Magic combined. If only . . . No. ’Twas impossible. Or was it? He stared past de Tanos at the water clock. His vision in the void beckoned him once more. The crystal all color/no color umbilicals of life reminded him of Myrilandel’s white-blond hair, visible only after he’d removed her kerchief. . . . He’d never encountered those particular umbilicals before. Both the pulsing symbols of life and Myrilandel’s hair reminded him of Quinnault’s coloring, but the lord’s hair was darker and coarser. Impossible to tell for sure in the wavering candlelight.
    “I swore loyalty to the clan of Astrismos eighteen years ago. My oath is important to me,” Nimbulan replied instead of voicing his speculations. He sank into his comfortably padded folding chair. Someone, probably Ackerly, had placed hot flannels in the backrest. Just what his aching back needed. Now to ease his aching mind with meditation.
    “I do not believe that Kammeryl d’Astrismos deserves your loyalty,” Quinnault said.
    “He’s the best choice among many bad ones to lead a united Coronnan. He is fair to his followers, unyielding to those who betray him. Strong in the face of enemies. People flock to his side . . .”
    “For protection because he is strong,” de Tanos interrupted. “Not because he is loved. What kind of leader will he be when there are no wars?”
    “There are always wars.” Nimbulan heaved a weary sigh. War had reigned throughout Coronnan for three generations. He’d never known life without war. “If we do not fight other armies, then we fight the weather, famine, disease.”
    When the numbers of dancers and drummers are unbalanced famine will follow, the girl had said. No more men. A headache pounded behind his eyes to the rhythm of the last phrase. No more men.
    Would his remaining apprentices have the chance to grow up to be men?
    “Speaking of hunger, I must finish my meal and sleep again.”
    The Peacemaker didn’t seem to understand the broad hint. Nimbulan wondered if he’d have to risk rudeness and ask Lord Quinnault to leave. He desperately needed to think on today’s events. He also needed to check the boys, make sure they were all safely tucked into bed.
    “You proposed that all magicians band together and refuse to go to war.” Quinnault de Tanos leaned forward. A jumping pulse in his neck betrayed eagerness to pursue the subject.
    “An idea only, not thought through to a conclusion.” Nimbulan’s headache pounded. No more men. Unbalanced rituals.
    “Think out loud, Nimbulan. Your reputation for wisdom is almost as legendary as your prowess with magic. Coronnan needs whatever small possibility of peace you can offer.”
    “I prefer to say no more until the idea has been thought through. Tomorrow I may have something to offer you.” He watched the clock again. Involuntarily, his palms turned upward on the chair arms, opening to new thoughts and ideas. His awareness of reality vanished. He saw only the clock’s symmetry and motion.
    Symmetrical rituals. Lords pulled away from the perfectly balanced dances by magicians enticing them into chaotic patterns and violence. . . . Equinox dances falling out of symmetry without enough men to fill the places. . . .
    “Twice in the last hour I have been accused of