The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

She’d never know now. She had no future until she healed this man or they both died.
    She aimed the magic in her fingertips toward the wound, willing the blood to thicken and slow. She sensed his fading life stall in its progress toward the void. Half a heartbeat later, sensation-robbing blackness swept over her.
    (Stay!) Amaranth commanded. His mental voice was backed by the authority of the anonymous ones who guided her, but the love and familiarity of his mental touch broke through her desire to flee outward into the void.
    She stayed, half in her body, aware of the magic healing that tied her to the wounded man. The other part of her mind hovered over them both ready to flee into the void with his soul. Another entity lingered, watching, faceless and yet familiar in stature and poise. She examined it. Blackness shrouded its aura. The man’s soul, not ready to slide back into the body until she healed it or released it to death.
    Memories of Moncriith’s preaching filled her with dread. What if she failed at both and condemned this man to a soulless life?
    “I can’t let that happen. You won’t escape my healing so easily,” Myri said through gritted teeth, tears streaming down her face. Numbness weakened her limbs. “I won’t lose you without a fight.” She rolled him gently onto his back and settled comfortably beside him to conserve as much of her strength as possible. Concentrating on the wound, she placed her hands on top of his at the center of the ugly gash. She didn’t bother to look at his face. Time enough later to explore the familiarity—if he lived.
    In her mind she saw muscles pulling together, blood vessels closing. She plugged a nick to the left lung and stopped the leaking air.
    She ignored the bones. If any were broken, they could wait. She had to stop the bleeding.
    Strength drained from her life into his. The opening to the void grew wider. The tie between them grew stronger, pulling the last vestiges of her life into his wound.
    Desperate to save herself, she wrenched her hands away from contact with him. The force of her release sent her rolling downhill. The healing magic snapped and recoiled into her hands. Her palms burned. She looked for physical evidence of the pain snaking up her arms to her shoulders. Red and swollen, her hands sparked inside and out. Her magic sought to reestablish contact against her will.
    “Forgive me. I have nothing left to give you but my own life!” she cried, burying her hands in the thick loam of rotting leaves and everblue needles. Contact with the Kardia soothed the burning but not her churning talent. The magic demanded she stay with her patient until he recovered. Her sense of self-preservation kept her anchored out of reach.
    “I can’t give anymore.” Tears poured down her cheeks. Relentlessly, she kept her raging talent within her, refusing to check the man and see if he lived or not. Even the hovering shade of his soul was no longer visible to her.
    “Ahhck!” the man groaned again, almost coughing. Ripples of the muscles along his body told her of the pain that came with the effort to make even that little noise.
    “Do you live, stranger?”
    “I’m afraid so.” He choked out the words, rolling to his side, hands still clutched to his middle.
    Myri looked at him as a person and not as a patient for the first time. An auburn beard shot with silver covered most of his face. His hair, dark auburn streaked with gray, hung in limp tendrils about his shoulders. Tentatively, he brushed a lock out of his eyes. He clenched his eyelids closed as another spasm of pain crossed his face. Finally, he opened them. He took a moment to focus on her. Deep green, the color of Tambootie leaves in spring, before they turned almost black in midsummer.
    She’d seen those eyes before. Ages ago, last autumn. That time, the lines radiating out his eyes had shown fatigue, but the eyes themselves had been bright with intelligence and curiosity. Now they were clouded with pain.
    “Hello, Myrilandel,” Nimbulan said. “I knew we’d meet again someday. But I didn’t dream you would rescue me. ”
    “I had no choice. I don’t like you, Nimbulan. I wouldn’t have chosen to help you because when you are well you will try to enslave me and my talent. But I have no choice. Until you are healed, I must stay with you.” A shiny silver tendril of magic ran from her heart to his. Her talent refused to sever the connection. As long as that cord existed, he