The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

spiderwebbed around the wall of magic from the point of impact with Keegan’s spell. Natural green fire, unholy red, magical blue, and blinding yellow followed the crack lines and sprayed backward into Keegan’s eyes. A momentary outline of a winged form spewing fire appeared on the damaged shield, then vanished, taking the fire with it.
    “A dragon! We’ve been cursed by a dragon!” men from both armies cried at the fleeting shadow as they threw down their arms and fled.
    “Yieee!” Keegan screamed. His own spell backlashed and knocked him flat, drenching him with magic gone awry.
    The battle stopped. Both armies froze in awe and fear.
    Nimbulan covered his ears. His apprentice’s screams reverberated deep in his skull.
     
    The screams echoed a distant time when he’d heard another apprentice scream in pain and desperation.
    He’d been thirteen at the time, a new journeyman. Most boys didn’t pass Druulin’s arduous magical tasks to become journeymen until they were much older and better trained. Ackerly, his best friend and fellow apprentice, had recently failed Druulin’s tests for the third time.
    And been beaten for it.
    Druulin’s rages and beatings formed an expected part of the boy’s life. The hot-tempered and often irrational Master Magician claimed he taught his apprentices defensive mechanisms by flailing them with various magic tortures.
    The day Ackerly failed his journeyman tests for the final time, Druulin took a mundane whip to the boy’s back.
    Seven apprentices and journeymen stared in horror at the viciousness of Druulin’s attack. Only Nimbulan found the courage to wrap Ackerly in defensive armor with one spell and freeze Druulin’s right hand mid-stroke with another.
    “A few days in the dungeon without food or light will cure you both of insolence!” Druulin said between gritted teeth. His eyes narrowed in speculation, noting the precise moment Nimbulan began to tire. He broke the spell and quickly cast another to compel both Nimbulan and Ackerly into obedience.
    He prodded the boys with the whip handle until they marched down the spiraling stairs. Down they marched, from Druulin’s private study and bedchamber on the top floor, past the common workroom and dormitory, down another flight to the ground floor past the kitchens with the enticing smell of supper cooking.
    Nimbulan’s mouth watered at the thought of fresh bread and meat. The two spells, thrown without preparation, had drained him. He needed food and rest to replenish his magic. His knees weakened as they marched down yet another flight of stairs into the storage cellars.
    Druulin conjured a small ball of witchlight to keep himself from stumbling on the damp stone steps. The light didn’t extend to help Nimbulan and Ackerly.
    Nimbulan tried to step carefully and avoid slipping. A fall now could result in nasty broken bones at the bottom of the steep flight.
    Ackerly wobbled and clung to the wall for support. His face was gray with pain and his back bled through his torn tunic. A night in the dirty dampness of the dungeons would probably infect the wounds.
    Nimbulan ached for his friend. He didn’t dare give in to the tears that clogged his throat and made his eyes burn.
    At last, they staggered off the last step into total blackness—as black as the void except for Druulin’s tiny wisp of witchlight. The old magician shoved the boys forward into a tiny room, then slammed a heavy door closed before releasing the compulsion spell. “Think about your crimes against me, you ambitious little upstarts. When you are hungry enough and sick enough to apologize, I’ll think about letting you have some light and food.”
    The little glow of witchlight vanished. An ominous series of clicks signaled a locking spell on the door. Druulin’s retreating footsteps faded quickly.
    Ackerly collapsed upon a heap of rags in one corner, moaning and crying. Nimbulan felt his friend’s forehead. No fever yet. “We’ve got to get out of here, Acker.”
    “Not yet. Not until Druulin settles down for the night with his liquor.” Even in pain and defeat, Ackerly thought ahead better than Nimbulan.
    “What then? I don’t think I have enough strength left to break his locking spell.” Nimbulan snapped his fingers and produced a little witchlight. He looked carefully at the lock but couldn’t figure out the spell. Quickly he doused the light as his stomach turned over. He was so hungry he was queasy.
    “Rest a little, Lan.