The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

places.
    And once awakened, could he learn to combine his power with another’s?
    “I don’t think I can do this.” Quinnault bent over, bracing himself on his knees and panting.
    “Maybe you think too much.”
    “It’s like a wall grows between me and the grass.”
    “I’ve heard better excuses from first-year apprentices. We’ll try again later. After we’ve seen the source of these ley lines and the monastery. I do hope the roof is sound.” But it didn’t have to be. With all this power surging through his body, he could repair any damage with a thought.
    Together they walked onward. Youthful vigor put a bounce in Nimbulan’s steps. He wanted to dance with joy and energy. He felt as young as Quinnault. Younger. As young as Myrilandel.
    “I’m suddenly quite hungry. Do you suppose there are any late brambleberries left?” Quinnault stopped to inspect the thorny vines. Two overripe berries fell into his hand. Both splattered against his palm, too swollen with rainwater to hold their shape.
    “You are hungry because you spent a great deal of energy while trying to transport that tuft of grass. Walk on the ley line. It will replenish you.”
    “I can’t see it anymore. The blue is gone.”
    “No, it’s not. It’s fatter and stronger than ever!”
    “I can’t see it . . . or sense the power anymore.”
    A shadow passed over the watery sun. Both men looked up. The clouds parted, revealing a bright rainbow. The arcing prism drifted until it ended directly in the center of the pool of blue ley lines. A shower of sparks rose to greet the colored light.
    “I’ve never seen a rainbow move while I’m standing still.” Nimbulan raced forward to inspect the phenomenon. Large boulders and small creeks diverted his path to the east. The low stone building built around three sides of the pool blocked his view.
    A path of sorts seemed to lead him to a doorway in the center of the south wall of the building. His next step sent him flying backward into a bed of thistles. The plants stung his hands and neck and poked through his clothes. His staff lay ten feet in front of him.
    What kind of force was strong enough to separate him from his staff?
    “Nimbulan!” Quinnault helped him up with strong hands beneath Nimbulan’s shoulders. He brushed some of the excess mud from Nimbulan’s already filthy clothes. “What happened?”
    “I don’t . . . don’t know.” Nimbulan clutched his temple to keep the world from spinning away from him. His free hand came up, palm open and receptive to power of any sort. “One minute I was on solid ground, the next I was flying through the air.”
    (You trespassed where your kind are not welcome.) A shadowy mist rose up between the two men and the monastery.
    “Who are you?” Quinnault addressed the air. “I am lord of this island. This is my land, and I may walk where I will! Show yourself to your rightful lord.”
    (I recognize no lord. I am the guardian of the beginning place.) The mist, crowded with gray and purple shadows, shaped itself into the vague outline of a man, twice the height of a normal man. (I guard these hallowed grounds against all who would misuse the power that begins and ends here. The Stargods gifted this power to the peoples of Kardia Hodos for the good of all. I guard against misuse—intentional or accidental. Begone!)
    A circling wind wrapped around and around Nimbulan and Quinnault de Tanos, driving them back the way they had come. Back toward the raging river that would drown them.
    Nimbulan fought the wind with an image of calm within his mind. The tornado battered his defenses. He dug in his heels. The shadowy spirit threw slates from the roof at him. He enclosed himself and de Tanos in his strongest magical armor.
    Gradually the assault lessened. Nimbulan sensed that the guardian of the monastery merely gathered his energy for his next attempt to rid the island of the magician and the lord.
    Nimbulan pulled bits of verse together for his plea, as if they were a spell. Since this creature seemed to be made of magic, he’d address him as magic.
    “Peace we seek,
here and now,
for strong or meek.
Peace we wish,
for all to kiss.”
     
    The spirit paused. The shape shifted enough to suggest a man tilting his head in consideration. Did he recognize the human tradition of a kiss of peace to seal a treaty and forgive past battles?
    “We come in peace. I seek a way to bring honor and good back into the use of magic,” he shouted to