The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

believing in his bargaining ability.
    The fly buzzed again. Only this time, Ackerly recognized the pattern of the sound as a summons spell, not a disease-ridden insect. He touched his glass in his pocket. It remained quiet. Then he touched each of his other pockets to make sure he hadn’t tucked a crystal or other arcane equipment there that could attract a stray spell. Nothing.
    The wizened old pottery seller lifted a medium-sized, handleless jug from the back of his stall and placed it carefully into Ackerly’s hands. The old man acted as if the jug weighed more than he did, so Ackerly was surprised at the lightness of his purchase.
    Cautiously he lifted the lid. The crisp-sweet fragrance of dried Tambootie leaves caressed his senses. The old man hadn’t cheated him. These were prime leaves kiln-dried while still fresh and full of the essential oils. This jug with its contents was worth much more than five coins to a magician who was addicted to the drug. He chuckled to himself as he felt the heavy purse safely resting in the pocket inside his tunic.
    His senses tingled once more, as if a summons had gone astray and brushed against every magician, seeking a recipient. But the buzzing ceased. Had Nimbulan’s magic decayed to the point he couldn’t send a simple summons?
    With one arm wrapped tightly around the expensive jug of Tambootie, Ackerly fished in his trews pocket for his glass. The smooth edges of a journeyman’s oval mirror fit neatly into his palm. He hesitated to bring it out in public. Clear glass was so rare and hard to come by, only magicians owned it. The appearance of the piece in his hands would mark him—either as a target for abuse from war-weary citizens or as a magician to be kidnapped by mercenaries for sale to the highest bidder. Not that the buyer would gain much from Ackerly. He was only an assistant, destined never to throw battle spells, only to hold them together and assist a true master like Nimbulan.
    He almost showed the glass openly in perverse defiance of his fate. Anyone who kidnapped him was in for a big disappointment.
    Reality reasserted itself, and he sought the closest open flame to receive and channel the summons through his glass. The young woman selling chestnuts roasted her wares over a small brazier. He smiled up at her. Her mouth curved up in invitation as she offered him a peeled nut from her gloved hand. Maybe when he finished the summons, he could persuade the young woman to roast his nuts in bed.
    He liked provincial women better than the jaded camp followers in an army camp. Provincial women brought an innocent delight to bed. Ackerly grew warm in anticipation of unlacing the girl’s bodice. She laced it from top to bottom with the ties at her waist, as did any properly modest woman. He licked his lips in anticipation of coaxing her out of the bodice. Only whores placed the ties at top for easy access.
    He had to answer the summons first. Crouching down as if warming his hands at her brazier, he held the glass before him. The glass magnified one tiny flame licking the hot coals.
    He emptied his mind to receive the message from the sender, expecting Nimbulan’s face to flash into the clear surface. The precious piece of glass remained empty. No vibration thrummed through his fingertips.
    Had the summoning magician given up? Nimbulan knew he was engaged in business and might not be able to answer immediately. Who else would call him?
    He looked around furtively. What if Kammeryl d’Astrismos had hired a new Battlemage who sought to neutralize Nimbulan? More likely the new mage would try to lure his predecessor’s assistants and apprentices away, with the hope of learning some of Nimbulan’s tricks and spells.
    Abandoning his plans to seduce the chestnut seller, Ackerly scuttled back through the winding streets of Sambol to his inn. Someone watched him with magic. He had to hide his gold before the watcher spied on him again.
     
    Myri paused a moment in her dash through the rain to the lean-to she and Televarn had built against the cliff. Thoughts of the meal she would make vanished. She forgot the three fish tucked into her basket.
    Instead, she watched a dark squall line dance across the roaring surf. Iron gray clouds played shadow games with the green-gray of the water. Highlights of creamy surf swirled in an intricate mosaic over the top. Waves rose, crested, and crashed in rounded undefinable shapes and sent a bubble of poetic magic through her soul.