The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

boots in this mess?” He scanned the wide plain at the eastern end of the mountain pass. The once lush river meadows had been churned into a sea of red clay mud.
    Marcus shrugged as he wiggled his toes, trying to ease a little of the chill in them from his sopping socks.
    The setting sun cast their long shadows against the mud-lashed stubble.
    “There are too many idle soldiers lolling about. Too much idle curiosity. Beating you in a game of cartes would be easier than getting through this camp,” Robb grumbled.
    “But not by much?” Marcus’ grin widened. “And once we bring the dragons home from the other side of the pass, we won’t have to worry about war or illegal magic for a while.”
    Robb turned his back on the ugly camp and looked out over the green river plains toward home—if an occasional rest in the dormitory of the new University of Magicians hidden in the Southern Mountains could be called home.
    “Cheer up, Robb, we’ve come this far without trouble.”
    “For a change.”
    “In a camp this big, we’re just two more soldiers out for a stroll. We’ll beg some boots and maybe a bed and a meal from the Battlemages.” He pointed to the far side of the camp toward a small group of huts made from stout logs where a blue flag with a dragon emblem snapped smartly in the evening breeze.
    “Getting to their enclave could be risky. All magicians, including Battlemages and healers—the only legal magicians left in Coronnan—are feared and spied upon. Let’s just find a supply shed and steal some boots.” Robb fell into his usual lecture mode.
    “This shouldn’t be harder than crossing the five miles of no-man’s-land between our army and the enemy at the far side of the pass. Pickets and patrols from both sides could cut us down with crossbows without bothering to ask identities first. Here, the pickets and patrols will at least ask for a password or something.” Marcus thought out loud.
    “But we don’t know the password.”
    “We can find out with a tiny probe of magic.” Marcus flashed his friend another grin, unwilling to give in to depression at the first sign of difficulty.
    “Illegal,” Robb warned.
    “So is stealing boots from the supply tent,” Marcus retorted.
    Robb followed closely in Marcus’ footsteps.
    Marcus shrugged off the difficulties.
    “Good thing you are lucky or my infamous bad luck would have gotten us killed a dozen or more times.” Robb turned his face away. On this subject he never fell into lengthy lecture mode. He didn’t even ask to play cartes anymore to wile away the long lonely hours around the campfire. Marcus always won.
    “I have more lives than a cat, and I bet you my new pair of boots that I’ll beat you at cartes tonight,” Marcus chortled. He slapped his good friend on the back. For a moment he wished Margit, the apprentice magician assigned to spy for the Commune of Magicians within the royal palace, could join them. The tall, sturdy blonde could liven up any game with outrageous stories of the antics of the nobles and royals she watched so carefully.
    Marcus longed for the day he and Margit could settle into a little cottage at the University with a dozen children and apprentices. He’d had his fill of journeying.
    “Let’s skirt the camp rather than cross it. That’s a very wide-open space between the officers’ tents and the magicians’ huts.” Robb ran his fingers through his beard in contemplation. A sure sign that he sensed more trouble than he voiced.
    Marcus stumbled on a mud-colored rock that seemed to thrust up at him without warning. He limped for a few paces before the pain in his stubbed toes eased.
    “Stop hunching your shoulders,” Robb ordered. “Soldiers drill and march endlessly. They should have straight spines and firm steps.”
    “They also need uniforms.” Marcus waved away Robb’s objections, replacing them with a delusion of a green-and-gold uniform. His twisted magician’s staff became a pike. “Now come along, Robb. We aren’t getting any closer to the end of our journey standing here.”
    “We’re gathering information,” Robb affirmed, cloaking himself in a similar delusion. “Information is the key to power and . . .”
    “Safety,” Marcus finished. “I heard the same lecture from Jaylor as many times as you did. And as many times before that from Baamin when he was Senior Magician.”
    “I miss the old coot,” Robb replied sadly. “Old Toad Knees will be honored for a long time