The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

eventually become his magic signature. Zane’s yellow and dark red were not as strong, but definitely present.
    Nimbulan looked deeper into Powwell’s aura for signs of another color. The initial blue swirled and faded. It lost shape, sending out tendrils. Like a river mist, the questing scraps of energy drifted with the air currents, probing this way and that without direction.
    Suddenly Powwell’s vague blue flared white and engulfed the other two auras. The colors whirled in a bright circle, blending into one riotous rainbow of energy. The book in the library about Rovers said they joined their auras in order to combine their magic!
    The door flew open with a flash of eldritch light and wind that smothered the fire in the hearth.
    Ackerly stood framed in the doorway, his hand lifted as if to raise the latch. The boatman dropped the small trunk he carried on his shoulder, staring wide-eyed, gape-mouthed at the locked door opening without the aid of a human hand.
     
    Myri huddled in the shadows at the back of the Rovers’ sea cave where Televarn’s uncle had dumped her without comfort or ceremony. His eyes had glittered with greed as he turned his back on her. No one had offered her any of the communal meal, or a blanket, or a change of dry clothes. All those niceties had been reserved for Televarn, who also ignored her.
    She’d tried once to run past them, only to find five brawny young men blocking the opening of the cave. Desperate to be free, she had flashed compulsion spells, sleep spells, invisibility spells at the men. Every attempt had bounced back at her tenfold. She’d crumpled into the soft sand on the floor of the cave, exhausted and humiliated. How could she have been so naive as to fall under Televarn’s compulsion to love him?
    She fell into dreamless sleep, only to awake, unrefreshed, hours later on the bundle of blankets that retained Televarn’s distinctive scent. Would he expect her to continue as his lover after his betrayal?
    Hungry and cold, she watched twenty members of Televarn’s clan standing in a tight ring around the flickering warmth of a cheery fire, hands linked, bodies swaying, minds in tune with an old woman’s chant.
    Televarn stood next to the old woman who led the clan in invocation and response. Myri sensed that the strange words they half-sang were in thanksgiving for the man’s return. And something more.
    A well of power rose with the flames toward the high ceiling of the cave. Each word and sway intensified the spell they wove.
    The chant grew in volume. The circle of people dropped hands and shifted into an intricate dance pattern, still going round and round the fire. In and out. Around. Turn back the way they had come.
    Myri inched closer to the Rovers, drawn to the magic they worked in unison. She needed to see what they did and how, needed to become a part of it. Memories of other dances performed around Equinox Pylons overlaid the current ritual. Which was she seeing?
    Shivering in the darkness beyond the light and warmth of the spell, her feet and hands twitched, eager to join the dance, become a piece of that mighty spell. She reached out to touch Televarn as he passed her. Energy repulsed her hand. Televarn ignored her, intent on some inner beauty she couldn’t yet see. His eyes glazed over with the trance induced by the dance—the chant.
    Threads of energy bound the entire clan to each other. The intricate web seemed to begin and end with Televarn. Because he had been absent and they welcomed him back? Myri shook her head, trying to clear it of the need to entwine her own life’s energy with the Rovers. Her need to join them only intensified.
    The web of energy combined with moonlight streaming into the cave and became a dome encasing the Rovers, shutting Myri out.
    A flash of movement near the mouth of the cave became a part of the compelling rhythms and dancing energy.
    Amaranth skulked near the cave mouth in search of her.
    Fear for her familiar sizzled through Myri’s mind and body. The spell pulled at her, as if a strong wind dragged her toward the heart of the Rover clan. She resisted the magic, recognizing it for an artificial attraction similar to Televarn’s love spell. The compelling need to join the Rover ritual burned out of her system.
    Sand, shells, and bits of waveweeds swirled around the edges of the magic. The spell pulled all toward its heart. The Rovers danced widdershins, along the path of the moon. Myri resisted the urge to