The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

She reached for her baby. Katie relinquished the precious burden reluctantly, gazing fondly at Amaranth’s innocently sleeping face.
    “She is beautiful. I wish you joy of her,” Katie whispered. She ran a gentle finger along the baby’s cheek. “I look forward to watching her grow.”
    “Messages are coming in from the border, Your Grace,” Lyman said, standing at Quinnault’s elbow.
    “Did we succeed?” he asked the magician. He studied the man closely, looking for signs of the dragon within him.
    “We succeeded admirably. Three of King Lorriin’s seven generals and their troops are trapped on this side of the border. They have offered their swords in your service rather than return to SeLenicca as failures. King Lorriin isn’t known for his forgiveness.”
    A happy grin burst from Quinnault. The wars were over. He’d made a peace that could last. He and Nimbulan. And Katie and Myri and dozens of others.
    “There is more news from the few magicians on the other side of the border,” Lyman continued. “Moncriith and Yaassima killed each other.”
    “You are free of them, sister. They’ll not stalk you again.” Quinnault touched Myrilandel’s arm reassuringly.
    “I must go back to Hanassa,” Yaala said. “I have to see what damage Moncriith did before he left. He said the dragongate had collapsed.”
    “There is no word from Hanassa, child. There never is. It is a city state that remains outside the life of the Three Kingdoms,” Lyman said kindly.
    “Hanassa is a boil on the backside of the Three Kingdoms,” Nimbulan said weakly from the ground at their feet. He didn’t rouse enough to sit up or even support himself on an elbow. “Hanassa causes trouble and is a constant pain. The Kaalipha wanted us to think they are separate and aloof, but her assassins and raiders dart in and out, striking where they will. Even without the dragongate they will plague the rest of the world. None of us will be safe until that boil is cauterized.”
    Quinnault didn’t like the magician’s color as he closed his eyes once more, too exhausted to say more. Myri knelt beside him, quickly checking his pulse. She placed her long-fingered hand on his brow, brushing her husband’s graying hair away from his eyes.
    “Take him inside, quickly. He needs more healing than I can give him.” She beckoned several young men to fetch a litter. Powwell came forward with a wineskin. He moistened his master’s lips with a few drops.
    A sense of loss washed over Quinnault. Through this whole adventure of establishing the Commune and the School for Magicians, finding a solution to the civil wars and building a permanent government, Nimbulan had been at his side. Nimbulan, adviser, helper, friend. He had no other friends. Kings didn’t have friends, they had courtiers.
    “I’ll go to Hanassa, Master Nimbulan,” Powwell whispered. “I’ll go back and make sure the dragongate is closed forever. I’ll find Rollett and Kalen, too, and bring them back to you safely.”
    “That will be your quest, boy. But not until you have more training,” Scarface said. “Don’t you lords and nobles have a government to run or something? Leave the healing to magicians. We’ll keep you informed of any new messages.” He dismissed the assembly with a stern look. His ugly scar creased more deeply with his scowl. The implied violence of his wounds sent mundanes scampering for other chores in other places.
    Then Scarface turned to the magicians, assuming a leadership role naturally. “We have a conspirator with Rover blood to find. We’ll start with the woman under guard and then devise a test for the latent potential. There are communications to monitor. Lambing season and spring planting will be upon us very soon, we need to know which fields will produce the most food and which need to go fallow. Come on, we have work to do.” The masters gathered in a knot and spoke in arcane phrases with many wild gestures.
    Six young men ran up with a hospital litter. With Myri’s guidance they rolled Nimbulan onto it and carried him back inside the school. Myri walked beside her husband, keeping one hand on him at all times.
    Nimbulan lifted his own hand and placed it atop hers. “I love you,” he whispered.
    Quinnault’s heart wrenched for the couple, and for his own loss of a trusted adviser and friend.
    “I hope I can be your friend as well as your wife, Scarecrow,” Katie whispered to him.
    “You read my mind again.”
    “I read