The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

Ackerly asked.
    “Illusions. The men were exhausted from the battle. Now where did I put that Khamsin eagle quill? It’s my favorite pen.”
    Ackerly dropped his head in disappointment. Usually Nimbulan listened to him. Tonight he was too full of his own plans to heed anything but the direst shocks. Ackerly vowed to use a heavier dose than usual of the Tambootie on Nimbulan’s supper. Maybe then the Battlemage would listen.
    “Maalin,” Ackerly called to the dark-haired young man loitering near a small two-man tent beside the large pavilion. “Maalin, inform my lord Kammeryl that Nimbulan and I will attend him shortly.” The apprentice nodded as he hastened to the other side of the camp.
    “We haven’t time to waste discussing Kammeryl’s latest female companion. And you know he won’t hear anything else we say until he gives us a blow-by-blow description of his latest bedding.” Nimbulan shuddered slightly with distaste.
    Ackerly refused to flinch. They both knew the lord’s tastes. Distastes was a more accurate word. But feeding the man’s addiction to pretty virgins gave Kammeryl d’Astrismos a feeling of godlike power and thus blinded him to manipulation by the magicians. Ackerly needed Kammeryl in a fog of sexual satiation to keep his treasury open.
    “Just send a message to Lord Kammeryl. Compose it for me, will you? Are all of the books on history and moon phases in the trunk?” Nimbulan turned back to his sorting without waiting for an answer.
    “What am I supposed to tell our lord?” Ackerly gritted his teeth. Nimbulan wasn’t listening to him at all—wasn’t paying attention to anything but his own thoughts spinning in a mad whirl.
    “Tell him anything. You’re better at diplomatic notes than I am. Oh, and tell Myrilandel to be ready to travel with us. I’m looking forward to training her. She has the most amazing talent.”
    “The witchwoman escaped.”
    “What do you mean, escaped? She couldn’t escape. She wasn’t a prisoner.”
    “She left, then. Secretly. Without notice. And she tried to steal supplies. That’s when the guards saw her flywacket. That’s when she ran westward in the same direction as Moncriith.” He smiled to himself at the misdirection. Nimbulan wouldn’t find either Moncriith or Myrilandel if he sought them. Moncriith would be free to act upon any information Ackerly chose to feed him, and Nimbulan wouldn’t lose himself in his infatuation with the girl.
    “I’ve got to stop her. She needs my help.” Nimbulan dashed toward the door.
    Ackerly stood firmly in his path. “No. We need to speak to Lord Kammeryl about his plans to follow Lord Hanic’s army. We need to help spread the rumor that the flywacket was a message from the Stargods that the House d’Astrismos is their favorite to rule all of Coronnan.”
    “Get out of my way, Ackerly. I’ve much more important things to do than cater to Kammeryl’s delusions of god-hood.”
    “What is more important than catering to the whims of the man who provides you with food and clothing and a place to work as well as a generous salary? What is more important than his plans for Coronnan?”
    “Peace.” Nimbulan pushed past Ackerly.
    “Peace will be the end of our kind,” Ackerly whispered to himself. “And the end of our money.” Nimbulan hadn’t heard a word he said. No one ever did. No one had listened to him since he was thirteen and had failed his journeyman trials for the second time. . . .
    “Fumble fingers!” Boojlin taunted Ackerly as they emerged from Master Druulin’s private study. Boojlin had passed the first test set for them. He’d successfully lobbed a ball of witchfire out the window to ignite the scarecrow in a nearby field.
    Druulin and Boojlin had laughed at the farmer’s frantic attempts to extinguish the fire before it burned the entire field of corn.
    Ackerly had failed the test. He couldn’t “throw” anything with magic. He could retrieve personal items that he knew well, like his staff. But throwing eluded him.
    “How can you expect to be a Battlemage if you can’t throw something as simple as witchfire?” Boojlin continued his teasing. “You’re a clumsy half-mundane and you’ll never be anything more.”
    “You didn’t do much better, Boojlin. You failed the second half of the test,” Ackerly retorted. Boojlin hadn’t been able to extinguish the witchfire he’d set. The farmer had lost almost half an acre to witchfire before Druulin stepped in and