The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

a child had any intelligence at all when the rest of the world considered him too stupid to even have a name.
    “Kestra,” Margit supplied. “I’ve heard legends for years about the missing Kestra and her miracle child. We all believed them to be Rover myths with no basis in reality.”
    “Kestra was my oldest daughter,” Zolltarn admitted proudly. “Jack is my grandson. And a mighty magician he is. Who else but my grandson could have brought SeLenicca to its knees, killed The Simeon, defeated Rejiia in open battle, and returned the dragons to Coronnan!” More a statement than a question.
    “I had a lot of help from the Commune and from the dragons. Katrina’s love saw me through the worst of it. Simeon’s and Rejiia’s arrogance didn’t help them any either,” Jack retorted. “Don’t forget we still have to battle Rejiia and do something about her father in the tin statue.”
    “With a heritage like that, no wonder you made master magician before you turned twenty.” Marcus slapped his forehead with his hand. No one knew for sure exactly how old Jack was. Well, maybe Zolltarn knew.
    Robb shook his head and ran his hands across his eyes. “What does a dragon named Baamin have to do with laying the ghost to rest before the villagers and soldiers arrive to tear this place—and us—apart, stone by stone?”
    “Old Lyman told me just before he died that in order to remove the curse from the gold we have to travel back in time to watch Ackerly lay the spell upon the gold. He said Jack knew how to do it.”
    “The only time I did it, I had the help of a dragon.” Jack grinned. “We’ll have to solicit his help again.”
    “A blue-tipped dragon named Baamin, by any chance?” Robb asked.
    When had Robb become so succinct of speech?
    “A dragon named Baamin helped me go back in time to view my beginnings.” Jack eased himself up, keeping his back in the corner, using the walls as a brace. “There are dangers. We may not have time to do this.”
    Marcus touched the book beneath his tunic superstitiously. “It’s the only way, Jack. We have to know his ritual down to the last detail in order to reverse it. And we have to reverse it. We can’t afford to leave the gold tempting people into the gloaming. I surveyed this place meticulously before Baamin landed. There is a thick fog around it. Even without touching the gold, a person enters the edges of the gloaming whenever they walk through the gatehouse. And it is spreading, reaching down to the village.”
    He let them think about that for several long moments. “Besides, if Robb and I succeed in this and in laying the ghost to rest, Jaylor will promote us to Master Magicians,” he ended on a more optimistic note.
    “Going back in time is worse than being trapped in the gloaming, Marcus.” Jack looked him directly in the eye.
    “Nothing is worse than that half-existence,” Robb insisted.
    “Nothing is worse than having the rest of the world pass you by, where an entire week of real time feels like only a day in the spell fog. We will end the curse or die trying,” Marcus insisted.
    “You may very well die. Your time in the past is very limited. The longer you stay, the harder it is to return. You fade and fade into mist until there is nothing left of you to return. You have to pick the exact time on the exact day. Lingering is not an option. Nor is repeating the process.”
    “And the cost of the spell?” Robb asked.
    “You become part dragon in order to go back in time. You are never fully content afterward to remain merely human. The longer you stay in the past, the more the dragon in you takes of your soul.”
    “Well, then, let’s hope that Ackerly’s son recorded accurately the time and day Ackerly fought with his superiors and disappeared from the first University.” Marcus held up the little book in triumph.
    A heavy vibration traveled through the floor slates. Jack blanched and braced himself as if anticipating a kardiaquake.
    “We haven’t much time,” Zolltarn warned. “Do you hear that banging? That is a very angry mob trying to break down the gates to our refuge.”

    “This won’t hold them long,” Lanciar said as he helped Lord Andrall shove one of the bardos in front of the outer gate. The angry shouts from the villagers on the other side of the meager barrier echoed menacingly around the gatehouse tunnel.
    The noise made his head ache worse than the nightmare sounds made by the ghost last night. He’d