The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

follow me rather than you. I know they will. Preservation of their souls is more important than any temporal power. They know I may slaughter a goat or sheep in performance of my rituals. I do not lie about what I do, nor do I hide behind threats. One animal is a small price compared to losing an entire village to one of your raids. Are you certain a demon does not possess you? The Stargods desert those who succumb to the lure of demon power.” Moncriith sat easily into the chair beside the lord’s demi-throne. He leaned back into the depths of the pillows meant to cushion the delicate bones of the lady of the manor.
    The chair had been empty for many years and was not likely to be filled by a “lady” ever again. Kammeryl d’Astrismos had an heir by his long-dead wife. He needed no other consort as long as the constant parade of virginal bed partners satisfied him.
    “Why? Why would anyone accept you as a leader, Moncriith? You own no land or gold. You have no trading empire. The temple threw you out years ago. The magicians scoff at you. What can you offer the rabble? Not protection, not food, no tangible power of any kind.” Kammeryl barked, leaning over Moncriith’s chair, hands resting on the padded arms. The knuckles on his hands showed white.
    “I have shown them the demons who feed upon war—demons who inhabit the bodies of magicians and witches—and possibly lords—and force them to perpetuate wars. The people want relief from war. I have shown them a way to get it. We must kill all of the magicians.” Moncriith relaxed into the chair, more certain than ever of his control over Kammeryl d’Astrismos and his followers. “Support of me would prove to one and all that demons do not possess you.”
    “Relief from war? Bah! Peace is an archaic concept, a myth as unreal as dragons and flywackets.” Kammeryl resumed his pacing, glaring at any servant who dared enter the Great Hall to prepare it for the evening meal.
    “And yet, at your last battle many hardened soldiers reported seeing both a dragon and a flywacket—evil demons though they are.” Moncriith crossed himself. He’d suffered several serious scratches from Myrilandel’s flywacket—clear proof of her association with demons. “Think about it, Lord Kammeryl. Think of the power you would wield if you brought peace to Coronnan. Tax revenues. Trade profits. Ambassadors from all over the world bringing you gifts of gold, silk, and slaves.”
    “Slaves are illegal in Coronnan.” Kammeryl paused in his pacing, right hand rubbing his chin in consideration. The florid color in his cheeks intensified and his eyes glowed. Some poor child would end up beaten and bruised when the lord released his emotions in bed.
    Moncriith felt a reaching out of his magic talent in anticipation of the unknown child’s pain. He preferred fueling his magic with the blood of his enemies. His spells had a sharper focus when combined with anger and hatred. For now he’d settle for absorbing the power of pain inflicted by another.
    “As the ruler of a united Coronnan, you would make your own laws. Think of the exotic treasures that could be yours for the asking. Nubile young slaves taught from childhood to please a man of your appetites, without having been touched, waiting for you to tap their erotic knowledge.” Moncriith held back a smirk. No sense in letting this lord know he was being manipulated. He had no intention of allowing the likes of Kammeryl d’Astrismos to survive long enough to reap the benefits of peace. His temporal power was necessary now as a catalyst for the populace. As soon as the mission had been accomplished, all of the demon-possessed lords and their evil magicians would perish in the flames. Just like Myrilandel and her familiar.
    “Coronnan can’t know peace until it is united. Conquering the other lords is the only way to do that. Quinnault de Tanos and his band of minor landholders can’t stand against me in battle.” Kammeryl resumed his pacing, deep in thought rather than restlessly seeking a diversion. He clasped his hands behind his back, a sure signal that his restlessness was appeased by serious thought for the moment.
    “What if every peasant in the land acknowledged you as their lord, including those who follow de Tanos?” Moncriith dangled the possibility like bait.
    “The other lords still have armies to force their tithes and loyalty.”
    “But if every soldier was occupied enforcing taxes and loyalty, they