The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

our own.”
    “Please, Rollett. We don’t know enough about how ’tricity works. No one has ever tried to use it like magic.”
    “Not too long ago no one had gathered dragon magic either.” Resolutely, he separated from her comforting embrace. Out of long habit he stilled his body to make it receptive to the power, reached out and . . .
    Energy coursed through his veins. His body became light as it jerked back and forth. Back and forth. His teeth rattled. Back and forth.
    He smelled burning flesh. His own. Pain jolted every joint and nerve ending in his body.
    “Rollett! Let go. You’ve got to stop this. It’s hurting you,” Yaala cried.
    “Don’t touch me. It’s . . . not . . . supposed . . . to be . . . like . . . this!”
    He couldn’t let go. He couldn’t stop the flow.
    He couldn’t . . .

Chapter 37
     
    Afternoon, home of Myrilandel, Ambassador from the Nimbus of Dragons, Coronnan City
     
    K atie looked around the entry hall to Myrilandel’s home. What could she do to help? Bessel and his mutt were safely out of sight. The healers marched through the doorway. They would repair the initial damage to Nimbulan’s heart. Quinnault comforted his sister.
    She eyed the line of healers led by Whitehands skeptically.
    “I’ve been breaking rules all my life. Why should I stop now?” Katie rubbed her hands together in anticipation of positive action when she felt so useless to help Nimbulan. “I need your assistance.” She snagged a healer journeyman as the procession of gray-clad magicians entered the house.
    At least she hoped the gray tunic and blue trews signified a journeyman.
    “How may I be of service, Your Grace?” the young man asked warily. His gaze followed the healers into the reception hall, clearly anxious to be close to the center of action.
    “Do you know a plant called Fairy Thimbles?” Katie asked him.
    His eyes glazed over blankly.
    “Broad fuzzy leaves tapering to a point. Tall flower stock filled with purple bells,” she described the common Digitalis purpurea that had originated on Earth and followed humanity through colonization of a hundred worlds.
    “Fairy Bells, sometimes called foxglove,” the young man responded, his eyes clearing with enlightenment.
    “Yes! Can you recognize the plant this early in the season? Can you bring me a specimen now?”
    He nodded enthusiastically. “Do you know a medical use for the plant? We know it only as a poison—pretty in the garden but dangerous to ingest.”
    “Yes. Once the healers have stabilized Master Nimbulan, a drug made from the plant can keep his heart beating regularly.”
    “I shall return in a few moments.” The young man’s face brightened, and his eyes sparkled. Katie could almost see the ideas churning in his head.
    “Take the plant to the kitchen and tell the young man there to begin making a . . . a decoction of the leaves.” She didn’t dare name the journeyman in the kitchen lest Scarface at the end of the line of healers overhear. “It must be a very mild decoction, no more than one handful to half a pint of water. Simmer it for about one half an hour. No longer. An effective dose is very close to a lethal one. We must start slow and build up by tiny increments to find the right proportions. We’ll need more leaves to dry and use in infusions. That is a better remedy, but we don’t have time to dry the leaves. I will join you in a moment to help you.”
    The journeyman dashed around the corner of the building toward the back of the house just as Scarface stormed up the steps.
    “Why must you meddle in affairs that do not concern you, Your Grace?” Scarface demanded. The scar across his face whitened and tightened. “You can’t help.”
    How much guilt from his past haunted him so that he could never find peace within himself and therefore couldn’t allow it in another?
    “Is aiding a dear friend in his struggle for life meddling?” she retorted with a sarcastic half-smile.
    “It is if the Stargods have decreed the man’s time to pass on to his next existence,” Scarface replied. As usual he looked over her shoulder at the wall rather than directly at her.
    “Who are we to know the intent of a deity? We are duty bound to use whatever talents and knowledge we have been given. Myrilandel needs her husband, Her babies need a father, King Quinnault still needs his friend, Coronnan desperately needs Nimbulan’s wisdom. I will meddle in whatever way I can to help him.”
    “Perhaps this