The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

be in trouble if the dragons don’t return to hunting.”
    “We’ll be in deeper trouble without any dragon magic to gather,” Wind-drift reminded him.
    Bessel turned around to ask a question, but the two masters had withdrawn from his proximity. Two potential allies against Scarface. Were there more?
    “Did you hear that?” he whispered to Nimbulan as they proceeded through the University. The sound of many boots slapping the flagstone passageway nearly drowned out his words. But it didn’t mask the angry barks of the mutt.
    Nimbulan merely nodded, holding one finger to his lips to signal silence on the subject.
    They proceeded in single file up winding stairs to the tower room above the classrooms. Bessel feared separation from Nimbulan. Behind him, he could hear the dog yipping as he followed the troop. The risers narrowed and steepened each step of the way. Up three flights they climbed. Bessel’s heart beat faster, and his legs grew heavier. His drying clothes grew stiff and weighed heavily against his chilled skin. There didn’t seem to be enough air in this tight stairwell.
    At last Master Scarface passed his left hand over the lock of the tower room. The portal sprang open. Only the Senior Magician could work that spell alone. The other masters needed three different magical signatures to move the lock.
    One by one they filed into the working room that was almost filled by a round black glass table. Bessel had been in this private enclave of masters only once before, the day the roof had been finished. Dragons had had to lift the unique and incredibly valuable black glass table onto the roof of the next lower level and then the room was built around it. The tower would have to be destroyed to move the table.
    No one else in all of Kardia Hodos possessed any artifact made from so much glass. Only dragon fire burned hot enough to eliminate the impurities in sand, turning it into true glass that wasn’t so brittle and flawed it shattered at the lightest touch. Dragons had made the table for the Commune. They had given it to Nimbulan in time for the former magician to work his last and greatest spell—protecting Coronnan with a magical border.
    But Nimbulan had been forced to leave his magic embedded in the black glass. He’d made his choice, to save the life of his wife, Myrilandel, rather than save his talent.
    His magic glowed within the table surface, casting blue highlights within the black glass.
    Nimbulan touched the surface with reverent fingers. A look of aching loneliness crossed his face. Then he tucked his hands within the sleeves of his tunic and raised his head. No emotion crossed his face or radiated from his aura.
    Bessel grew colder yet, trying to imagine his life without magic. He was about to learn what it felt like. Without the Commune and dragon magic he had nothing, was no one.
    The dog whined and scratched at the closed door, reminding him that he had one friend. Bessel closed his ears to the dog’s entreaty. He didn’t dare trust its offer of faithful companionship. It, too, would desert him if Scarface stripped him of his magic.
    Only Master Lyman was missing from the ranks of twenty master magicians come to pass judgment on Bessel. He wondered briefly if the master magicians—all new since Nimbulan’s retirement—had shunned the old librarian because he hadn’t cooperated with the banning of certain books. Bessel hoped not. The Commune needed Lyman’s knowledge, wisdom, and gentle approach to diplomacy.
    A measure of resolve replaced Bessel’s momentary depression. He had to find a way to stay in the Commune. Coronnan needed him in a position to counter Scarface. He couldn’t do that exiled or dead.
    Each of the master magicians took a reserved chair placed around the massive table. The chair backs boasted vivid embroidery worked in each magician’s signature colors. Every piece of needlework was as unique as the magician who sat in the chair. But together, with hands linked around the glass table, their magic and their souls blended, became one, amplified, and worked miracles.
    I’ll be a part of that miracle again. Somehow, some way, I’ve got to stay in the Commune.
    “Arbitrary punishment is not our way, Bessel,” Scarface said, almost kindly. “Do you have an explanation for your heinous actions?”
    A glimmer of hope blossomed in Bessel’s heart. “You told me to save the ambassador’s life at all costs. The only way I could hope to do that was to see