The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

fixture at the University. He couldn’t contemplate losing his mentor and . . . and friend.
    “No, boy, the duty I must perform is much more frightening than mere death. I am destined to plague apprentices with reading assignments for a good long time yet. But for now I haven’t time to discuss this. I must . . .” He trailed off as he cocked his head.
    “What do you hear?” Bessel whispered.
    “Everything and nothing.” A typical Lyman answer.
    “Steeds, a dozen or more.” Bessel heard them, too. “All metal shod, some moving quickly, others plodding at a steady pace. . . .”
    Anyone who could afford a steed stabled it on the mainland. The crowded city isle with narrow twisting streets put dwelling space at a premium and made clean up of human waste a big problem; adding steed manure to the compost only made the problem worse.
    “I fear we are needed.” Lyman turned away abruptly and headed through the house toward the front door. Bessel trailed closely on his heels. Mopsie began whining in distress.
    The sound of the moving steeds was cut off abruptly as the elderly librarian thrust open the door. Bessel stopped short at the sight of Nimbulan lying weakly on a litter borne between two placid steeds. His master’s tall, imposing presence seemed greatly reduced. He barely breathed, as if the effort of living weighed too heavily on his thin frame.
    Myrilandel walked beside him, tears streaming down her face. Something terrible must have happened if Myrilandel, the greatest healer in the kingdom, couldn’t cure her husband.
    Queen Katie rode just ahead of the litter. Her red-rimmed eyes bore more evidence of tears and disaster.
    Another clatter of hooves from the opposite direction announced King Quinnault’s arrival. He reined in his steed sharply. The beast’s hooves skidded on the cobblestones, almost throwing the king. But Quinnault mastered his steed and dismounted in front of the queen’s procession. Then he retrieved his daughter from the saddle, cradling her easily in one arm.
    “Get a healer, Bessel. Hurry. We need the best healers from the Commune now!” Myrilandel burst into tears once more.
    “I can’t go back to the University. Scarface has forbidden me,” Bessel whispered.
    “Then I must delay my quest a little longer.” Lyman sighed. “I will summon the healers.” He took three regulation breaths to trigger a trance and disappeared.

Chapter 34
     
    Afternoon, home of Myrilandel, Ambassador from the Nimbus of Dragons, Coronnan City
     
    B essel sniffed the air around Nimbulan. He reeked of sweet/bitter Tambootie smoke. Tambootie smoke!
    The only ritual calling for burning the tree of magic was the coming of age of an apprentice. He remembered his own trial by Tambootie smoke about two moons after he reached puberty. He’d endured two days and three nights in a sealed stone room with only a Tambootie wood fire for heat and light. The smoke had induced visions of drowning and being eaten by a bemouth—one of the monstrous fish that prowled the outer bay. The only predator large enough and fierce enough to hunt a bemouth was a dragon.
    Just the memory of those visions sent sharp pains into all of Bessel’s joints. He’d been powerless to fight the monster for three days and two nights. Then, finally, when he fell from the monster’s jaws, there was nothing left of his body or soul; he’d fled to the sense-depriving blackness of the void.
    Moments later Nimbulan had opened the magically sealed door and drawn him back, lovingly, into the protection of his enclave of Battlemages.
    Bessel supposed the continued nightmare of the trial that had introduced him to the void, had given him insight into the extent and limitations of his powers. Those limitations had taught him to take responsibility for his actions and never attempt something he couldn’t handle alone.
    He’d also figured out how to block any magical assault upon his mind or his person.
    Two of his classmates had damaged hearts and lungs after their trials and never practiced magic again. They’d had weak talents even before the trial. Tambootie had been proved poisonous to mundanes. Nimbulan had lost his magic a year and a half ago. . . .
    The chain of logic rocked Bessel to the core of his being.
    Only one disaster would require the queen and her two best friends to risk exposing themselves to the Tambootie. That risk was also the only disease Bessel knew for certain Myri couldn’t cure with her wonderful