The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

have a feeling we’ll all find answers up there.”
    He blinked rapidly trying to sort the curious double vision. Amaranth’s continuous feed of bizarre images, much clearer now that he perched atop a tower than when he flew, overlaid his own sensory view. He had to fight for balance the entire time. Then Rosie had to add her own confused perceptions, relying more on scent and sound than sight. Jack nearly lost his meager breakfast.
    Amaranth sensed Rosie’s need to understand through her other senses, and he began to relay scent impressions more than visual. Too many bodies confined together. Too many bewildered steeds. Strange cooking smells that relied heavily upon timboor, the fruit of the Tambootie tree, and something very old on the verge of decay.
    And then Amaranth focused sharply on a curious statue perched atop the largest and gaudiest of the Rover bardos. A tin weasel. At one time the statue had been dipped in gold and the outermost layer had begun to flake off. The flywacket knew the weasel form, but could not understand why the statue did not smell of weasel.
    Krej. Jack’s heart fell. Another problem for him to deal with before he could take Katrina to SeLenicca.
    (Gold!) the flywacket proclaimed.
    At one time the dragons had told Jack that they valued gold and jewels almost as much as humans. Gold represented the power of the kardia, a symbol of the beauty of life.
    Rosie recognized the value humans placed upon gold and reared up, ready to make Jack pounce.
    Hold back, Amaranth. Do not announce your presence or betray your wings. I will be there, in a few moments. We can investigate together, he ordered his familiar.
    Ruthlessly, he forced Rosie away from the front of his consciousness. It fought him every finger-length of the way.
    Amaranth reluctantly folded his wings but continued to peer avariciously at the statue.
    Jack closed his eyes again, reducing the onslaught of sensations. His stomach slid back down from his throat to about the middle of his chest. Manageable.
    Silently he called Amaranth to him. Maybe if he could reduce the number of perspectives, he could conquer the queasiness.
    Amaranth remained stubbornly in place. (Must keep the gold from disappearing like funny men,) the flywacket returned.
    “What funny men?” Jack muttered.
    Katrina pulled on the reins and looked back at him questioningly. He motioned her forward.
    Then another view of the monastery with a thick haze over all. The vague outlines, as if viewing them through a thick fog, of mingling steeds and Rover bardos superimposed onto his already distorted visions. This one came from high above them. Briefly he caught a glimpse of himself and Katrina atop the lumbering steed. He watched them climbing the long trail that circled the hill half a dozen times before ending abruptly at the tree line a few yards from the gatehouse tower.
    His stomach lurched again. “Don’t fly, Amaranth,” he pleaded with his familiar. Then he realized that the new view came from yet another source. A dragon flew above.
    “Shayla?” he asked the unseen observer.
    “Shayla?” Katrina looked up in delight.
    (Baamin,) the blue-tipped male dragon replied with a chuckle. (Shayla’s son fares better than you do, young Jack.) Another laugh rippled across Jack’s consciousness. (You can sever the link between your minds upon occasion.)
    “I don’t want him to feel lost. We need this time of constant contact to solidify our bond.” Jack looked up trying to catch a glimpse of the magician turned dragon who had been his mentor and father figure as well as father in another life. “You taught me that with Corby, my first familiar.”
    Katrina patted his hand. “How sweet, Jack. I hope you are as considerate of our children.” She must have heard the dragon. Unusual. Normally, only Shayla communicated with her.
    “I’m glad you are still thinking of our future.” Jack nuzzled her neck, drinking in her unique smell and the silkiness of her hair.
    (There will be many times when you do not wish a third participant in your life, Jack. Amaranth will wait for you.) Baamin broke off his verbal and visual contact. Abruptly, Amaranth’s contribution ceased as well.
    Jack sensed a tiny squeak of protest from his familiar just before his vision centered upon what his eyes could see alone.
    Relief came to his stomach with a sense of emptiness. The cat settled into a contented purr within him. The vibrations centered at the base of his spine. Since