The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

the emotions evoked. He barely had the vocabulary to communicate more than his emotions—which he broadcast loudly in a wide band.
    At the moment, happiness with a touch of mischief radiated from the baby dragon.
    “You must not be seen here, Amaranth. While the Gnostic Utilitarians dominate the Council of Provinces, magic and dragons remain illegal.” Jack tried discouraging the dragon. Dragon safety had always come from their elusiveness and near invisibility. Amaranth had trouble understanding the concept of danger.
    “Amaranth?” Katrina squealed in delight. She jumped away from Jack and hurried to the wall where she reached up to scratch the baby’s muzzle. He opened his mouth and drooled in ecstasy. His meat-ripping fangs bent slightly backward, curved over his lower jaw at a near useless angle—damaged from one too many stumbles while the teeth were forming and vulnerable. Amaranth hadn’t made much success as a dragon.
    A dozen bricks from the top of Amaranth’s perch tumbled to the ground at Katrina’s feet. She dodged them neatly.
    “Amaranth, where is Shayla, your mama?” Jack asked again, worried about the safety of the wall as well as the baby. More mortar broke away from the courtyard wall as he watched. Six bricks on the top tilted precariously, ready to fly in odd directions.
    He placed his hands on the wall just beneath Amaranth. His fingertips touched the dragon’s talons; enough contact to allow the dragon energies to flood him. He used the magic to shore up the wall and replace the discarded bricks.
    He hoped the legend that witch-sniffers had more difficulty detecting dragon magic than solitary powers was true.
    The dragon nibbled delicately on Jack’s hair. At the brief contact more magic dusted him. But it would evaporate the moment Jack ceased touching the dragon.
    Amaranth squeaked something in juvenile dragon talk. Jack interpreted his emotions rather than the scattered images. He caught a glimpse of Shayla soaring over the Bay on a never-ending hunt to feed her twelve voracious babies. Amaranth had seen his mother’s absence as permission to find Jack for a romp in the Bay. And he’d only fallen on his nose twice trying to launch into flight.
    “No swimming today, Amaranth.” Jack joined Katrina in scratching the dragonet. The magic filled his being. As long as he touched a purple-tipped dragon, he could use the power that traditional magicians gathered from the air. His inability to gather dragon magic in the normal way would always isolate him from his fellow magicians, despite his master status and membership in the Commune.
    The flood of magic allowed him to find another weak spot in the wall. He used some of the power to strengthen more of the stressed mortar and bricks.
    The magic and contact with Amaranth also told him how much the bruised horn hurt. He wanted to reach up and soothe it, find a way to straighten and restore it to normal size. But the dragon had to learn from his mistakes or he would not survive long.
    Jack feared that his friend would not survive at all. According to dragon lore, only one purple-tipped dragon could live at any one time, and they were always born twins. Iianthe, Amaranth’s twin, exhibited a great deal more grace, caution, and intelligence than this enthusiastic toddler.
    But Jack loved this baby and hated the idea of him being sacrificed merely to satisfy dragon tradition. If only there was some way to adopt this baby, to take him to SeLenicca along with Katrina . . .
    Amaranth lowered his head for attention to his itchy horn.
    “Yes, I see how big the horn grows,” Jack cooed. Though it looked more swollen than growing. “But you can’t stay here, Amaranth. You need to go home until your mama brings you to the city. You could get hurt if one of the Gnuls sees you.”
    The Gnuls used the same tactics of fear as the coven to gain followers.
    His years of slavery in King Simeon’s mines had taught him that violence only begets more violence and the innocent are the ones who are hurt the most. Innocents like the dye merchant and Katrina.
    The next squeak from Amaranth sounded like a pout.
    “I have work to do for King Darville, Amaranth,” Jack apologized to the dragonet for not joining his games in the Bay. “Katrina has lace to make. We can’t play today. I’ll come to the lair soon and we’ll spend some time together.”
    (Lace?) The human word formed decisively in Jack’s mind. A picture of the lace shawl that Katrina