The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

saw it, too,” the boy chimed in.
    The giant nodded vigorously.
    “Cats cannot fly,” Ackerly said.
    “This one did.”
    “Flywackets are creatures out of legend.” A flywacket! A mighty portent of strange events to follow. Ackerly began thinking in terms of the money to be made from a flywacket. He nearly bounced in his excitement. The old books he studied to help Nimbulan create spells spoke frequently of flywackets and other winged creatures thought to be extinct. A flywacket! Three men had a confirmed sighting.
    If Moncriith heard about this portent of demons, he’d stir up a lot of unrest. Mundanes always paid well for a magician to settle chaos.
    “Dragons are mythical, too, but we saw one on the battlefield yesterday.” The crowd shouted unanimous agreement with the boyish private.
    “We shall see if you speak the truth. Sighting a magical creature can only be verified by magic.” Ackerly fought to maintain his dignified, slightly disapproving demeanor.
    Dramatically he spread his arms wide and slightly above shoulder level. With a blink of his eyes and fierce concentration he transported his staff into his right hand. The crowd gasped in awe.
    Good. Let them think he had as much magic as Nimbulan and was more than just an errand boy. They’d treat him with respect next time he requested a service or bumped into them in camp.
    “Let those who claim this magical sighting step forward, clear of all the others.” He swelled his voice and lifted it to reach far beyond normal human limitations. The crowd flowed backward. The three privates each took two hesitant steps forward. Ackerly nodded his acceptance of the increased separation.
    He took a deep breath to clear his lungs. A second breath cleansed his brain. The third put him in touch with the void, the deepest trance he could achieve on his own. None of the onlookers needed to know the strain on his back and thigh muscles to remain upright. Trances weren’t easy for him.
    Nimbulan wouldn’t have wasted the magic to perform this task. A few tricks of crossed eyes and decisive questions by the Battlemage would set the three to babbling uncontrollably.
    Ackerly wanted the magic to prove the men honest or tricksters. He didn’t have enough magic to not use it whenever possible.
    Within the trance, Ackerly gathered power in his belly until it expanded throughout his chest and flowed down his arm into the staff. The flowing grain of the wood glowed blue with brilliant green sparks all along the length. He pushed more power into the staff until it rose of its own accord and pointed at the three men.
    Sweat broke out on his brow. His shoulders trembled with the strain of maintaining the flow of power. He didn’t have the ability or skill to tap a ley line to fuel the magic. Only his own stamina produced the energy for this spell. He’d have to finish soon or drain himself of all strength.
    He almost wished the Tambootie worked for him. He could use some enhancement right now.
    More power into the staff. The wood glowed with heat, burning his hand. More power still and the blue light shot from the end of the magical tool into a cloud of sparkling dust that settled upon the soldiers. Blue truth glowed around their heads in a brilliant aura for all to see.
    “Ooo!” a camp follower in a patched green dress cooed. She reached a hesitant hand to capture some of the glowing dust. “So pretty.” She sprinkled the dust in her hair and pranced in front of her customers.
    Ackerly lowered his staff to the ground and leaned heavily upon it. His arms and legs trembled with fatigue.
    “If any of you had lied, the truth spell would have turned red and burned right through you, leaving only a skeleton,” he said. An exaggeration to be sure, but such demonstrations kept the crowd honest. None of them would ever dare lie to Ackerly again. They might even pay him to find out if a comrade lied. That was worth the fatigue and hunger that gnawed at his belly and brought stabbing pains behind his eyes.
    “What should we do about the flywacket?” The sergeant stepped forward, ready to stand by his men now that they were proved truthful.
    “Did you capture it or the girl?” Ackerly asked.
    “No. They disappeared without leaving a trail.”
    “Which direction?”
    “East.”
    Moncriith was headed east. If the girl and her familiar could be found, the Bloodmage would be the one to root them out of their hiding place. How could he make Moncriith pay for this