The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

directions to the men. He became a part of the vision, manipulating the resisting lords. The patterns swirled into violence, became the battle he had just fought and dozens of other battles, each indistinguishable from the other. Battle after battle, he lobbed spells into the fray at random. Death and destruction sent waves of revulsion through him. And still he sent men to their deaths with his magic.
    He watched men step away from the vision of battle, ready to retire and reform the balance of the dance patterns. Nimbulan wanted to join them, but he found himself pulling them back into the asymmetrical violence. . . .
    Keegan’s essence burst free of his mentor and sped outward into the knot of pulsing lives, leaving Nimbulan alone with access only to his own thoughts and memories. The vision faded. A sour taste lingered.
    A vibrant red umbilical wrapped around Nimbulan, urging him to follow deeper into the void.
    Symmetrical patterns. Balance. Harmony.
    Keegan beckoned to him to walk beside him in intimate friendship, as father and son, till the seasons ceased their turning.
    Nimbulan moved with the compelling vision, stretching to unite with other life-pulses as well.
    Unity. Peace. If only . . .
    An invisible barrier slammed down in front of him, blocking the enticing vision.
    (Go back, human. ’Tis not your time!) Unknown voices resounded throughout the eternal blackness. (Premature joining with the void is forbidden. Go back now, lest your immortal soul be torn from you and cast aside.)
    Nimbulan dropped back into his body with an ungraceful thump. The aches in his joints still hurt, but his soul felt lighter.
    “I hope I never have to do that again, Ackerly. Something happened in the void—something important to all of us. But I couldn’t quite grasp it. I almost followed Keegan into my next existence.”
    “Never think that, Master. What would Lord Kammeryl do without you?”
    “He’d find another magician. Yes, yes, I know, suicide is forbidden, Ackerly.” The Stargods had firmly reminded him of that. “But there is knowledge in the void. A vision slid around me, begging me to learn. I didn’t have time to do more than glimpse the edges of the lesson.”
    “What? What did the Stargods show you?” Ackerly leaned forward eagerly.
    “I’m not certain. I need time and solitude to meditate.”
    “Neither of which are you likely to have soon. Lord Kammeryl comes.” Ackerly pointed to a broad man with the reddish lights of his Stargod ancestors in his hair. Their employer marched determinedly across the field toward them.
    “Is that Quinnault de Tanos, the Peacemaker, behind him?” Hope brightened inside Nimbulan at sight of the tall figure gliding in the wake of Kammeryl d’Astrismos’ powerful form. De Tanos’ blond head shone in the dawn light like a golden aura of pure energy. The minor lord, who had studied for the priesthood until he assumed responsibility for his clan, was known for his wisdom and might help Nimbulan understand his vision in the void.
    “Meddlesome priest. Why doesn’t de Tanos stay in his monastery and count the stars?” Ackerly complained. “We don’t need his version of peace to win this war.”
    “Priest no longer, but an anointed lord,” Nimbulan replied.
    “Lord of a miserable chain of islands in the river and a farm on the mainland—not even a proper fortress. He commands no armies and leads no men. No one respects his meddling in the name of peace.” Ackerly spat on the ground beside his boot. “Compromise and treaties won’t find us a new king. Only a warlord who can defeat all rivals will unite Coronnan under one crown.”
    “I used to believe that, too,” Nimbulan whispered. He needed to think and think hard.
    “Go back to your pavilion, Lan. Sup and rest while I divert Lord Kammeryl and the failed priest.”
    “Find Kammeryl a woman.” Nimbulan suggested. Their employer’s aura roiled like an unbalanced storm cloud— like the patterns of men dancing in the void when they stepped out of the planned formation into violence. . . . Splotches of black marred the layers of orange, green, and yellow energy surrounding d’Astrismos. ’Twas always thus before and after a battle. Only the camp followers soothed the violent outpouring energy of his mind and body.
    “Make sure it’s a willing woman and not a young girl under a compulsion,” Nimbulan added.
    “He prefers the girls. He’ll linger longer with them. They cost less.”
    “A woman,