The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

always considered his job as accountant for the mines a poor second to working the mines themselves, even though the job brought in a great deal more money—enough to build this house for the family.
    “Did you know I was captured by outlaws?” Bessel continued. Bitterness nearly choked him. “They had a magician of sorts with them who wrapped a spell around me so that I couldn’t use my magic to escape. Did you know that those outlaws used me as their toy for two weeks until I was sold at auction?” He clung to the warm memory of Nimbulan marching into the outlaw camp and outbidding all the others for the right to exploit Bessel’s talent, to enslave him, and abuse him.
    But Nimbulan hadn’t exploited anything. Instead he’d given Bessel the love and understanding to use his talent wisely. Nimbulan had become more of a father to him than Maydon had ever been.
    “Only what you deserve, Magician,” Maydon spat the title, staring at Bessel, lips pursed so tightly they lost all color.
    “Maydon, come quickly,” a woman called from inside the house. “Maydon, she needs you.”
    Bessel recognized his aunt’s voice. Baarben had lived with her brother’s family for as long as Bessel could remember. He bit back a cry of welcome for the woman who had been as much a mother to him as his own mother.
    Maydon stepped back into the house. His expression of fierce rejection of his son faded into anxiety.
    Bessel followed him, being careful not to touch his father. They hadn’t touched since the day Bessel had used his magic to free his father from a mine accident. The heavy rocks and timbers that pinned Maydon had cost him his leg. But Bessel had saved his life.
    Maydon had declared that without the leg he wasn’t certain he had a life. He’d blamed Bessel and the boy’s cursed magic talent for saving him.
    Every time Bessel remembered what outlaws had done to him, he wished he hadn’t levitated beams and rocks from his father’s leg, hadn’t made it possible for the other miners to rescue him.
    The moment Bessel passed the doorframe, a strange smell stopped him short. He should recognize it. What? The memory escaped him, slipping in and out of his mind like a dragon. One moment it was there, almost tangible, and then the light shifted and it was gone.
    He hesitated to enter the house until he understood the smell. Something told him it was dangerous.
    The sound of his aunt’s loud weeping finally drew him inward.
    The smell intensified as he neared the common room. His mother lay on a low bed beside the hearth. She shivered with intense chill in the overly warm room. Fever flushed her skin.
    Baarben threw a handful of herbs onto the open fire. Aromatic smoke rose, filling the room. Bessel identified five different herbs that should reduce fever and ease painful joints. Baarben hadn’t included the Tambootie in the mixture. It had unique curative powers to anyone with a hint of magical talent but was toxic to mundanes. Should he suggest that she add some? The family must have some magic talent for him to have inherited it.
    Maydon seemed more comfortable breathing the astringent essence of the plants. They had no effect on the dying woman by the hearth.
    “Did he come, Maydon? Did my baby come home?” Bessel’s mother whispered. She gripped her husband’s tunic with a wasted, clawlike hand.
    “I’ve come home, M’ma.” Bessel knelt beside her. He realized he didn’t even know her given name. She’d always been “M’ma” or “Mer Maydon” in his mind.
    “Bessel, my baby.” Her voice trailed off and a tiny smile touched her lips. Then a fit of coughing grabbed her until unconsciousness claimed her.
    “She’ll die happy now. You can go,” Maydon said. He stared into the flames rather than look at his son.
    “She should have a true healer! Why didn’t you send to Lord Balthazaan?” Every lord had a magician adviser, a magician healer, and a magician priest assigned to his province. Even if Balthazaan and Humpback were out of the province, the healer and priest should be available.
    “There are too many people dying of this strange disease.” Aunt Baarben touched Bessel’s sleeve in sympathy. “Even the lord’s family and household suffer. It takes the old, the young, and pregnant women first. But no one is immune.”
    “I haven’t the healing talent, but I’ll see what I can do.” Bessel touched his mother’s face with exploratory fingers. He wasn’t a strong magician. Without