The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

law of the land and the law of the Commune. Scarface would make sure the king and Commune would offer no mercy.
    He’d have total control of the Commune without interference from anyone who had begun under Nimbulan’s benign management. Would control of all Coronnan be his next quest?
    A great gulf of emptiness opened in the journeyman magician. Never again would he know the deep satisfaction of sharing magic with the Commune. Never again would the men open their lives and their souls to include him in the circle of magic. He’d almost rather die than live without that intense bond.
    The dog sat up and licked Bessel’s dangling fingers. Automatically, he scratched its ears. He felt more confident of his future when he touched the animal. Are you going to be my familiar? he asked it.
    The dog replied with an enthusiastic lick of Bessel’s hand. Together, magician and familiar backed up a step, away from Scarface. The symbolic distance they put between them and the Senior Magician widened immensely.
    He couldn’t allow Scarface to succeed in his plot to oust anyone in all of Coronnan—magician and mundane—who might oppose him.
    Wind-drift smiled slightly. What did the man know? Bessel didn’t dare try to read his mind.
    A ripple of anticipation and dread passed through the crowd as King Quinnault and Lady Jorghe-Rosse faced each other in determined silence. The desert warriors who accompanied the lady waited patiently, swords drawn, for a signal from her to fight or withdraw.
    “Excuse me,” said a tall man verging on elderly from the back of the crowd.
    Nimbulan! If anyone could sort out this mess, it was the retired Senior Magician.
    He’d aged greatly in the year and a half since he’d lost his magic. His skin looked pale, and the wrinkles around his eyes had deepened. But he still stood straight and his step sounded firmly on the flooring stones beneath the rushes. His dark auburn hair had gone almost completely gray. Contentment shone from his eyes. He greatly enjoyed his new role of husband and father. Bessel half expected to see Nimbulan’s daughter Amaranth toddling along behind him, or tucked under his arm. Certainly, his wife should be close by. The three were inseparable.
    But he couldn’t see Myrilandel or their child in the crowd. Where was she?
    Scarface bowed slightly, barely deferring to Nimbulan. Wind-drift exchanged a curt nod with the retired magician. Quinnault released the widow’s hands and also turned his attention to the newcomer. King and magician had become great friends during the long process of bringing peace and stability to Coronnan.
    Were these two strong men strong enough and wise enough to keep Scarface under control?
    The warriors from Rossemeyer wavered a fraction in their defensive stance as Nimbulan passed them. They reasserted their hostile posture once more when the lady remained firm. They had faced Nimbulan the Battlemage and lost the last time Rossemeyer tried to capture Coronnan’s rich resources.
    “My condolences, Lady Rosselaara.” Nimbulan bowed respectfully to the new widow; the first to grant her an identity other than as the ambassador’s wife.
    With a Rosse in front of her name, she had to be a royale, a king’s sister or daughter, used to having her every whim granted. She’d also have influence with her government. Her family would rally around her.
    Would the Commune support Bessel as firmly?
    Not while Scarface led them.
    Lady Rosselaara bent her head a little in acknowledgment of Nimbulan’s greeting. The first indication that her neck didn’t have a pole rammed down it.
    Nimbulan stepped forward, never taking his eyes off of the widow. “As I understand it, Lady, your husband died fighting the Bay and a storm. Worthy adversaries for any warrior. Adversaries that have defeated more good men than I care to remember. He did not die without honor.”
    “I will have a death for a death. How does one kill a storm?” Lady Rosselaara cocked one eyebrow at Nimbulan.
    The aging magician returned the gesture. “Magic will shift a storm elsewhere. Nothing can stop it altogether. But the magicians of Coronnan do not tamper with balances of nature. We strive only to predict storms and prepare for them.”
    “This magician conjured the storm!” The pilot pointed a finger at Bessel. “I know he did. I saw him ram his staff into the deck and roll up his eyes in a trance. I felt the Kardia shift beneath the Bay and move great obstacles that