The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

brought tears to his eyes. But regret over Keegan’s death outweighed all of his other indiscretions combined.
    The sparks turned healing green. His onerous self-blame faded. Druulin’s inattention and cruelty had driven his apprentices to seek food and warm clothing elsewhere, any way they could. Nimbulan’s grief for his lost apprentice remained at the front of his regrets. He was responsible for the boy’s upbringing. He should have seen Keegan’s unbridled ambition and burning impatience.
    The tiny bits of flame swirled around him faster and faster, fed by his guilt. He became the center of a massive vortex of burning flame. The tremendous circular wind threatened to rend him limb from limb.
    He cried out in psychic agony.
    A wall of power slammed into his jaw and sent him flying backward.
    The vortex died as rapidly as it sprang up.
    He landed flat on his back. Pain jarred his bones the full length of his spine. His lungs expelled air in a sharp whoosh, leaving him stunned and unable to breathe.
    The flames dissolved into a pile of ash. No sign of the flying black creature or the shadowed spirit remained. Was it only yesterday he had watched Keegan die in the same manner? He choked back a lump that lodged in his throat.
    “What happened?” Quinnault shook his head spasmodically as if clearing his vision. “Are you all right?” He reached a hand down to assist Nimbulan to his feet.
    “I don’t know. What was that creature?”
    “The guardian or the flywacket?”
    “Flywacket?” A smile tried to break through Nimbulan’s shock and discomfort.
    “A flying black cat. What else should I call it? It sounded as if it were crying for help. ‘Mwelp.’ Help?” Quinnault looked up in the direction the creature had come from.
    “Who knows what strange cries such a creature would make.” Nimbulan weighed the sounds in his mind. “Mwelp, mwelp.” Just sounds.
    “I’m certain that the creature was crying for help, Nimbulan. The look in its eyes, just before it crashed into the guardian, was a plea for help.”
    “Of course it needed help. It had lost control of its flight path. If every joint in my body didn’t hurt, I’d laugh. Just yesterday Lord Kammeryl said that magicians cooperating was like wishing for flywackets and dragons. The men on the battlefield said they saw a dragon. You saw a flywacket here. What other miracles await us?”
    Probably just a fledgling eagle. Maybe a Khamsin eagle strayed from the desert and its parents, he told himself. Others could indulge in superstitions and omens. He had a kingdom to save and a system of magic to rewrite.
    “I don’t know if ’twas a miracle or not. I’m still dizzy from the whirlwind the guardian kicked up.” Quinnault shook his head again, pressing fingers to temples. Gradually his eyes cleared of disorientation.
    “So am I.” Nimbulan stretched each muscle, testing for injury. He prodded a few tender spots and rotated his shoulders seeking more specific information. “Nothing broken. I’m just shaken and sore. How do you fare, boy?”
    “I believe I’m unharmed—a little sore in places. But my feet are curiously numb.”
    “Mine, too, now that I think about it.” Nimbulan looked at his boots. A miasma of ash seemed to float a hand’s span above the ground in a perfect circle. Two tall men could stretch out in a line across the diameter. He scuffed at the ash. A bitter smell rose around him. He wrinkled his nose against the unnatural scent. None of the ash moved. He lifted his left foot through the ash with some effort. There residue reformed in a thick covering beneath his raised foot, almost the texture of drying clay.
    For a brief moment he caught a glimpse of bright silvery blue as his foot cleared the ash. He set his foot down again. It did not penetrate the covering. The blue winked out. He shifted his weight and lifted the other foot. Again that brief hint of many ley lines coming together. The lovely sight withdrew into hiding again as soon as his foot cleared the ash.
    As he set his second foot back down, full feeling returned to his extremities.
    Nimbulan looked around before darting out of the now gray circle. “Step clear, Quinnault. Quickly.” The ash rapidly solidified beneath him. The young lord leaped free just as the residue hardened into a thick mortar.
    “How’d we get into the courtyard of the monastery?” Nimbulan watched for any imperfection in the hardening ash. It looked like a giant piece of slate