The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

to just thrash the boy and exile him to the kitchen until he came to his senses, or of age, whichever came later.
    Unfortunately, the d’Astrismos line was the closest thing to an heir Quinnault possessed. Konnaught held the grudging loyalty of four of the other lords. They had supported the boy’s father and only swore fealty to Quinnault because they were outnumbered by the remaining seven lords. Their oaths came with the proviso that Konnaught be next in line of the throne.
    Everyone agreed that an heir must be greed upon before the death of a king to avoid another contest that led to civil war.
    Until Quinnault found a suitable wife and sired an heir, he was stuck with Konnaught. He also had to deal with four disapproving lords on his council who prompted Konnaught’s disrespectful attitude no matter what discipline Quinnault imposed.
    “I thought you had the makings of a real king when you exiled your own sister as a rogue magician. But not now.”
    Quinnault froze. He’d hated exiling Myrilandel. For Konnaught to hold up that action as laudable revealed an evil core to his personality. Was there any way at all to exorcise that evil? He doubted it. He began to wish he had heeded Nimbulan’s advice and exiled Konnaught the very day his father died.
    The boy sheathed his knife and picked at his cuticles with his free hand. A bad habit Quinnault had every intention of breaking—if he let Konnaught stay in Coronnan City.
    “Don’t you have chores or lessons?” Quinnault asked, keeping a bored edge in his voice. “I don’t have time to listen to your childish fantasies.”
    “My father would never have allowed Nimbulan to leave without permission. My father would have locked him up before he fled.”
    “What do you mean, Nimbulan has fled?” Disappointment landed heavily on Quinnault’s shoulders. He’d told Nimbulan not to go, confided in the magician how much he depended upon his advice. The chore of retrieving Myrilandel from Hanassa should be delegated to younger men. The dragons insisted only that she be rescued, not by whom.
    “Nimbulan has disappeared. I was with the messenger you sent to fetch him. He couldn’t find your chief adviser anywhere. You should exile Nimbulan now, too. He left, so he’s a rogue now.”
    (Do not allow this child to guide your actions. We guard Nimbulan as we guarded our daughter, Myrilandel.)
    Quinnault lifted his eyes to the open window by his desk. He hadn’t heard a dragon speak to him since Myrilandel’s kidnap. And yet . . . was that slight tingle behind his heart that signaled his awareness of the guardians of Coronnan becoming stronger?
    I need Nimbulan, he thought back at the voice in his head.
    (You need to put this child in his place.)
    “What are you going to do about the outlaw Nimbulan? He called off the search for the Rover who murdered the apprentice. He’s in league with the Rovers. My father wouldn’t . . .”
    “Your father made the mistake of outlawing Nimbulan when the magician left his protection. If he’d allowed Nimbulan the freedom to pursue magic as he needed, then welcomed him back, Kammeryl d’Astrismos might very well be sitting here now evaluating this treaty rather than me. But your father wasn’t all-wise or all-knowing.” Quinnault lost a little of his hope that Konnaught could be redeemed by care and good examples. “Your father’s mistakes are the reason I am here and you are my fosterling—owing me allegiance and obedience. You act more like an exiled rogue than an heir.” Quinnault raised one eyebrow at the boy, hoping to intimidate him.
    “Dungeons with stout locks were made for men like Nimbulan,” Konnaught replied, undaunted.
    Quinnault had to make one more try at breaking down Konnaught’s dogged hero worship of his misguided father.
    Part of him argued that no child deserved to know the depth of evil a father like Kammeryl d’Astrismos had stooped to—the torching and pillaging of his own villages merely to soothe a temper tantrum. Quinnault refused to think of his dead rival’s perverted sexual practices that eased his increasing periods of black self-doubt and reinflated his belief in his descent from the Stargods.
    Quinnault decided to point out Kammeryl’s lack of judgment before he enumerated the man’s evils. “There isn’t a lock made that a competent magician can’t open. Nor a prison they can’t break out of if they choose to. Your father underestimated Nimbulan. That is a mistake I