The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

neighbors,” Lord Quinnault said as he stood to leave. His shoulders sagged as if his tall body no longer had the strength to support all of him.
    “What if two or more magicians, who shared the same dream of peace as you, found a way to combine their magic to overcome another magician?”
    “If such a thing could happen, and I know enough about magic to realize it can’t, then the magicians could be controlled, the battles would depend solely on superiority of men and weapons and tactics. Lords would be more cautious about starting battles. They might even listen to talk of peace. A few of them have listened to me, but they are intimidated by stronger lords like Kammeryl and Hanic.” Quinnault sighed heavily, then straightened with new resolve. “But magicians can’t combine their powers. As lord Kammeryl said, we might as well wish for dragons and flywackets. Peace must be found in other ways.”
    “Some of the men think they saw a dragon on the field. I might very well find flywackets hiding in the clouds,” Nimbulan chuckled.
    “Have you experimented with combining magic?” Quinnault leaned over Nimbulan’s chair. His excitement stripped years of care and worry from his face. He was younger than Nimbulan thought.
    “The battles must end for the winter. I have five moons or more to experiment. I need a place of safety to work and train my apprentices, to recruit other magicians who are weary of war. . . .”
    “Change your allegiance to me, Nimbulan, and I will give you one of my islands. An ancient monastery, abandoned before the beginning of these wars, stands fast against time and the elements. You’ll have safety and privacy there.”
    “Isn’t the peace of all of Coronnan worth lending that island without having me dishonor my previous vow?”
    A smile lit Quinnault’s eyes and banished the odd shadows. The candles blazed brighter and warmer.
    “If you had given any other answer, Master Nimbulan, I would always doubt your loyalty. The island is yours for as long as you need it. Find your students and begin your experiments.”
     
    Moncriith watched Ackerly, the short assistant magician, through narrowed eyes. No aura of great power surrounded the square-built man, and yet he associated freely with the Battlemages.
    “Take the provisions, Moncriith. I offer them freely, without obligations.” Ackerly held out a bulging saddlebag. “It’s not much but it should see all of you to the next stronghold or village.”
    “Thank you.” Moncriith bowed his head. The humble gesture allowed him to watch Ackerly through his lowered eyelashes.
    Ackerly squirmed a little. Moncriith bit back a smile at the magician’s discomfort.
    “I accept your gift of sustenance freely. But I do not understand why you give me aid when you serve Nimbulan, the man who exiled me from the hospital and my righteous quest.”
    “Harrumf,” the guard tugging at Moncriith’s elbow cleared his throat. He shuffled his feet, anxious to escort Moncriith and his followers two leagues beyond the camp perimeter. Five more heavily armed men encircled Moncriith’s two dozen, very ragged followers.
    Moncriith turned a warning gaze upon the impatient guards. They resumed staring into the distance. Watching elsewhere didn’t close the men’s ears though. In the army, every man must report to his superior officers. Many men stood in the chain of command between one sergeant and the chief Battlemage, Nimbulan. Moncriith wondered what the men would report and how soon.
    “No man should be turned out into a storm without provisions. I don’t care if the warlord and his mage disagree with your views. You’re a magician and should be respected.” Ackerly stopped shuffling and stood straight.
    Moncriith stiffened in indignation. “The priests have rejected my vision from the Stargods. Demons have invaded even the hallowed temples. The priests and their puppet magicians have cast me out rather than face the demons who pervert their magic. According to them, you owe me nothing.” Every time he thought of the humiliation heaped upon his head by the pompous elders of the temple, anger boiled up within him. His spine stretched taller. Blood swelled within his neck and face. His heart raced while his lungs panted and overfilled with air.
    Ackerly stared him directly in the eye. “You and I have a lot in common, Moncriith. Neither one of us can weave the magic of the Kardia into our spells. Because of that we are relegated to minor