The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

voice and a gentle hand upon his glossy neck.
    More drifting mist gathered in the woods around him. Short columns of lightness stood in a half circle across the road, spreading to his sides, blocking advance. He kneed Buan to prance in a circle, checking behind him. The road back to his escort remained open.
    He turned to face the tallest column that stepped forward from the line of its companions.
    “What manner of ghost are you?” Quinnault asked, not liking the slight quaver in his voice. He’d faced the shadowed guardian of Haunted Isle with less uncertainty than he felt now. But he’d had Nimbulan, a powerful Battlemage, at his side then.
    Where was the Senior Magician of the Commune now when his king needed him?
    “We are not of this world.” A deep, melodic voice drifted out of the central ghost. Masculine in timber and authority. His outline fluttered in a slight breeze. “We need conversation with you, King Quinnault.”
    “You have my attention.” Where was his escort? They should have caught up to him by now.
    “Your companions await you at the edge of the woods. They are not aware that time passes or that you are not with them. We will restore them when our conversation is finished.”
    “Are you magicians, that you read minds?” Quinnault’s nervousness transferred to Buan. The steed stamped and tried to break free of his master’s control.
    “Not magicians as you define them. But we have powers similar to them. We seek a bargain with the King of Coronnan. We usually pay in the mineral substance you call diamonds. This time, we trade something more valuable.”
    “Varns! You’re Varns.” Fantastic legends surrounded the mysterious merchants who appeared in the marketplaces of Kardia Hodos once each century—always in a year of bounty. They bought enormous quantities of grain and fresh food, paying in diamonds.
    Quinnault’s grandfather claimed to have met a Varn about forty years ago. They weren’t due back in Coronnan for another sixty years or more. This wasn’t a year of plenty either.
    The king’s senses shifted into full alertness.
    “Your people call us Varns because we prefer to trade in the city of Varnicia.”
    “How may I be of service?” A large quantity of diamonds would go a long way toward stabilizing Coronnan’s economy after three generations of war.
    “Coronnan needs more than diamonds to bring stability, King Quinnault.”
    Disconcerting how these amorphous beings read his thoughts.
    “You need a bride who can give you many heirs. You also need a way of keeping greedy enemies from invading through the Great Bay. We can give you both.”
    “At what price?”
    “We are dying. The tree you call the Tambootie offers the only cure.”
    “How much will you need?” Quinnault thought of the dragons who used the foliage of that tree for food. Previously, magicians, too, had eaten of the tree to enhance their magic. The addictive qualities of the drug made the Tambootie almost as dangerous as it was beneficial. Now that magicians gathered dragon magic, they had no need of the Tambootie. Dragons were as essential to Coronnan as the promised wife and heirs.
    “The new leaves of many acres of the tree will allow us to distill enough medicine for our immediate needs.”
    “That is a lot. I don’t know that we can spare that much.” Quinnault sent out a silent plea for advice—permission—from the dragons.
    “Raw Tambootie is toxic to humans. What possible reason do you have to hoard it when we need it so desperately?” A note of pleading entered the otherwise emotionless voice.
    “Tambootie feeds our dragons. I need the dragons, and the dragons need the Tambootie as much as you do.”

Chapter 17
     
    T elevarn paced the perimeter of the Rover cavern. His cavern. He was THE Rover. Every member of the nomadic tribes who dwelt within the city looked to him for leadership. He controlled their movements, their thoughts, their beliefs.
    So why couldn’t he find Kalen among them? Wiggles squirmed impatiently inside his vest. The animal sensed that Kalen was near enough that it should be able to join her.
    “Be still, beast.” Televarn batted at the ferret’s paws where it tried to claw through his shirt to his skin. “We’ll find her if we have to tear this city apart.” The city, not the Kaalipha’s palace. He intended to make the palace his home as soon as he deposed Yaassima.
    Swallowing his pride and gritting his teeth in distaste, Televarn decided to