The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

Rover king completed the ritual by turning three times deosil, sunwise, before the only door of the lodge. The web snapped inward, collapsing into the Rover’s body as if he had pulled a flexible string.
    The winter lodge was now protected from discovery by outsiders. Would the same protection prevent Nimbulan from escaping with the secret of Rover ritual magic?
    The connections to the others in the clan dissolved. Nimbulan’s entire body tingled with reserve vibrations. He could increase that humming music of life and recapture the unity within the spell. If the others helped. If they wished. The absence of their minds in his mind left him curiously empty and refreshed at the same time.
    He concentrated on his hand, willing the magic to reach out and connect him to Maia once more. Wispy tendrils of magic shot from his fingertips but stretched toward Televarn, not his lover. He retracted the probe and moved closer and closer to Maia until his hand rested on her shoulder. She did not respond to his tentative touch. All her attention was on Televarn.
    Televarn, whose mind and intentions had remained closed to Nimbulan’s probe. Televarn, who commanded this clan and had ordered Maia to lie with Nimbulan. New blood in the clan was more important than any of their personal desires and emotions. Televarn directed Maia’s love affair with Nimbulan as he directed everyone within the clan with direct mind-to-mind control.
    Nimbulan shuddered in the cold. If he took this system of magic to his apprentices, would they, too, become totally dependent upon one dictatorial mind? Would the absence of Rover blood in their heritage prevent them from performing this ritual?
    A more shattering thought shot ice through his blood. Televarn might have inserted the seeds of mind-to-mind control in Nimbulan’s brain without him knowing it. If he had, there was a good chance Nimbulan might not be able to break it, or escape it.

Chapter 22
     
    “I don’t like you very much, Moncriith.” Lord Kammeryl d’Astrismos paced his Great Hall. His fingers twitched as he fussed with the alignment of a bench against the trestle table, then moved on to kick at the fresh rushes and finger a tapestry. “Give me one good reason why I should put up with your preaching and the stench of old blood that surrounds you one more day.”
    Stargods, can’t you stand still one moment! Moncriith clenched his teeth rather than blurt out his thoughts. The lord’s constant prowl around the room made him dizzy. Thank the Stargods none of the lord’s toadies were present to rush in a new bed partner. The denizens of this dark castle seemed willing to sacrifice anything to avoid one of Kammeryl d’Astrismos’ rages. This restlessness was always the first warning sign of an imbalance in his temper. An imbalance caused by his own self-doubt. Only deflowering a virgin returned his self-confidence.
    Otherwise, he’d been known to set out on a lightning raid, burning, pillaging, and raping every village he encountered—including some of his own.
    Just last week Kammeryl had informed his valet, who informed the sergeant of the guard who informed Moncriith that he “felt like a god,” when he claimed a girl’s, or boy’s virginity and initiated them into the joys—and pains—of sex. Moncriith wondered if Kammeryl had invented his descent from the Stargods and suffered major self-doubt when he remembered his lies.
    The lord’s red hair, the visible symbol of his Stargod heritage, was definitely the result of dyes. He’d cropped his hair short to fit under a war helm today. A new, more-vibrant-than-usual shade of red colored it.
    “You will tolerate me. Lord Kammeryl, because your retainers would rebel if you threw me out.” Moncriith remained serenely still and calm in the face of Kammeryl’s increasing restlessness. He had no self-doubts to plague him into rash actions.
    Kammeryl stopped in his tracks. He stared a long moment into Moncriith’s eyes. Amazement and possibly a little fear colored his expression. Then he threw back his head and laughed, loud and long.
    “Do you think my people will honor your prattling warnings of demon possession over their oath of loyalty to me?” Kammeryl asked, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes with his sleeve. The moment he recovered, he resumed his pacing. “No one will renounce their oath to me because they know I will exact a swift and terrible vengeance.”
    “No, Lord Kammeryl, I don’t believe they will