The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

by Irene Radford

  “Baamin, bring your journeymen home this very day. I would question them on the things they have seen. We must right the wrongs immediately, before our jealous neighbors steal our bounty.” Darcine delivered his royal speech as if reciting instructions. “You will reestablish the border, or I will have to replace you at the University. Lord Krej has recommended someone.”

  Chapter 11

  Brevelan couldn’t delay much longer. “It’s time.” Jaylor’s words cut through Brevelan’s tumbled thoughts. Dawn crept above the treetops. Birds greeted the sunlight with raucous song.

  The sun was high enough for her to see the path up the mountain. “I must . . . I must . . .” She sought an excuse to remain. There was nothing left to do except leave. She had packed enough food for the two of them for three days. Their bedding was neatly rolled into Jaylor’s pack. Her house and the clearing were in order.

  “You can’t stay, Brevelan. It’s no longer safe. The villagers followed Old Thorm and broke through the clearing’s magic. They found you once. Shayla won’t stop them next time.” His hand was gentle on her arm, urging her out of the hut.

  “If I leave, nothing will be the same when I return,” she protested.

  “Already things change. A rogue magician has altered the path of all our futures. We must leave.” This time Jaylor’s tone was firmer.

  “My animals. I must see to them.” She hesitated as a lop-eared rabbit appeared among the ferns. Its nose wiggled in greeting.

  “You have already told them to disperse. The clearing’s magic can no longer shelter them.”

  He was right. She had sent each of her pets an image appropriate to its understanding. They must fend for themselves, take their chances in the wild, until she returned.

  If she returned.

  “Why must I go with you? Without you here the rogue will pass me by.”

  “You heard Old One-eye last night. He wants to kill Wolf as much as he wants to burn you alive.” Jaylor allowed that thought to sink in. “Besides, Shayla said you are the only one who can find the path.”

  “Shayla.” She started to smile at the mention of her friend. The usual warmth and closeness she felt with the dragon faded with the memory of flames flickering through the clearing last night. Deep inside she had felt not only her own relief and Shayla’s battle lust but also the real terror of the villagers, her villagers. It was not unlike the sensation of pain and death she felt every time one of her animals lost its life to a predator. “She seems to be demanding a lot.”

  “She protects you and the wolf.” Jaylor’s tone was insistent.

  “From stray rogue magicians? Why?” They had both been reluctant to discuss the strange attack on the clearing last night. She felt as if words would bring the men back with their torches.

  “Think about it while we walk.” He set his jaw firmly. Brevelan’s stubbornness waned in the face of his determination.

  “Come, Puppy.” Brevelan called the wolf to her. Happily, he bounced to her side. As usual, he sat on her foot, leaning his weight into her. She ruffled his ears, cradled his large head in her hands, and briefly nuzzled him. “We have to go see Shayla now,” she explained to him.

  Her reluctance to leave the shelter of her clearing made her pack heavier. “I’m not sure he’s healed enough to make this journey.” Her words came out sharp and ill-tempered. Puppy’s enthusiasm for the journey grated on her nerves.

  Jaylor didn’t reply as he stooped to lift his own pack to his shoulders. His long walking staff was already in his other hand. He fingered the interesting grain of the wood that ran down the length of the staff in a twisting plait.

  “Maybe we should wait another day.” She looked up at him with hope. The set of his jaw told her they couldn’t.

  “Mrrew?” Mica sat in the doorway. Her plaintive voice echoed around the hut that suddenly seemed empty, devoid of life.

  “She’s asking to go with us.” Brevelan smiled for the first time. “She belongs here, more than I do. She was waiting for me when I found the clearing. Now she’s demanding to leave with us.”

  “I can’t keep her from following.” Jaylor stared at the cat.

  “Mrrow!” This time the cat’s voice was emphatic, her eyes very round and humanlike.

  “She won’t be left behind.” Brevelan looked from cat to man. There was a special bond there. Yet she didn’t feel jealousy, not the way she did when Puppy showed a preference for the magician.

  “Mrrow.” Mica rubbed her face against Jaylor’s leg. Her purr was loud, meant to gratify.

  Jaylor bent to scratch her ears. Her fur rippled with different colors in different lights, as did slivers of mica. She was rightly named.

  “It’s a long trip, kitty. Maybe you’d better stay here.”

  “Niow!” Mica protested. This time she reached up with her claws to cling to his shirtsleeve. A quick scramble and she was perched on his shoulder.

  “But, Mica . . .” Jaylor protested. He tried to dislodge the animal.

  “It appears she is coming with us whether we like it or not.” Brevelan smiled in earnest this time.

  “How does it feel to be a cat’s scratching post?” Brevelan giggled, just a little, at the sight of tiny Mica kneading Jaylor’s broad shoulder.

  Arching calubra ferns made a shaded aisle of the path. Their feet trod soundlessly on the thick bed of rose-lichen. The elusive scent of aromatic elf-leaves touched their nostrils and disappeared again, like fairies flitting past their senses.

  Mica’s twitching tail brushed a fragrant everblue tree that dipped long needles into their pathway. The pollen filled Brevelan’s nose with its clean fragrance, banishing all other scents.

  “Perhaps your cat would be happier in your arms,” he muttered even as he smiled and reached to pet the now purring Mica.

  “But your shoulders are so much broader and more comfortable. She can see all around and not tire her tiny body.”

  Most of the last several hours they had endured the broken pathway in grim silence. Jaylor pushed the pace with an urgency Brevelan absorbed to lend speed to her own feet. She had used the time to memorize the landmarks of trees and rocks as she picked her way among them. As Shayla had said, there was a path visible, but only when she drew a song through her as if she were seeking a healing path through an ailing body.

  “Jaylor, I have got to stop for a few moments,” Brevelan protested. A steep incline loomed ahead of them. The stitch in her side needed time to unknot before she tackled the slope.

  “Oh, all right.” Jaylor paused beside a rock large enough to sit upon. Brevelan eased onto the worn surface. “We can’t waste time though.”

  “Replenishing my body’s reserves is not a waste of time.” She stared at him until he, too, sat on the rock.

  “Did Mica tell you she prefers my shoulders to yours?” he asked, eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement.

  “Yes, she did.” Brevelan had always listened to the animals. She’d been quite shocked as a small child to learn that others could not hear them.

  “How? How do you hear them?” Jaylor seemed merely curious, not accusing as the man she’d called Father had been.

  “It’s not words.” Only Shayla was verbal in her communications. “They look at me. I see into their eyes and feel what they need me to know.” It was difficult to explain the sensation. She’d never found anyone willing to attempt an understanding. A tiny swell of affection for this strange man blossomed inside her. He’d invaded her life and made a place for himself there. Looking back toward her clearing, she tried imagining her home without him filling it. The image eluded her.

  She touched her fingertips to her lips. The memory of his gently persuasive kisses brought a new flush to her face. He had been so tender with her. So unlike the man she had been forced to marry. Her husband had needed her terrified and in pain in order to become aroused.

  “I’ve never heard of any magic that works like yours.” Jaylor headed back to the path with long strides. “When
did this start?”

  “I don’t remember.” Brevelan skipped a little to catch up with him. She had trailed behind him for long enough. “Maybe I should say I can’t remember not being able to talk to animals.” Animals didn’t lie and cheat. Only people did that.

  “My magic began like that. I just did it. No one taught me how.” They walked side by side a moment in silence. “Most magicians can’t do much at all until they are twelve or fourteen,” he continued. “Even then they have to be taught to gather magic.” He reached back to help her over a fallen log. Her fingers entwined with his so naturally she left them there.

  “The first animal that called out to me in need was a sheep.” She allowed her thoughts to drift back to her home. For once she didn’t recoil from the pain. Jaylor’s touch kept it at bay. “She was birthing and in trouble. It was late at night and the shepherd was asleep. I never questioned why I got out of a warm bed and trudged through the mud to help her.” In her mind she relived the experience. She hadn’t been much more than a toddler. “My da followed me and did the work. I was much too little.”

  “Was he very angry?” Jaylor stopped again. This time his hand touched her cheek solicitously.

  “Only because he didn’t understand.” She tried to explain. Her mind knew that. Still, she felt the hurt of her da’s rejection every time she worked her healing.

  “My da did the same thing.” Jaylor continued to stroke her cheek. “But I was lucky. We had a full-time priest in our village, not a circuit-cleric. He helped me gain entrance to the University early. At the University, everyone expects you to throw spells to steal apples or turn the letters upside down in a book.” The memory of a smile tugged at his lips.

  She felt that smile all the way to her toes. His hand dropped from her face to her arm and lingered.

  “But my magic is different. I don’t use traditional formulas. Other magicians can’t follow or copy my spells. Nor can they join their magic with mine to amplify our powers.” The smile disappeared to be replaced by a shrug of his shoulders. He started walking again at a furious pace. “Once the masters realized that, they didn’t encourage me much. They wanted me to give up and go home. One of them became so angry he suggested there must have been a rogue among my ancestors. There is no greater insult at the University.”

  “Why is one magician acceptable and another a rogue? As long as the result is for the good of Coronnan, I don’t see the difference.” She wanted to reach out and smooth the lines of tension from his brow.

  “There are two kinds of magic.” Jaylor closed his eyes as if trying to remember a lesson by rote. “The magic taught to me at the University is provided by the dragons. It’s in the air and ground around us. We learn to still and prepare a special place within ourselves. It’s almost as if we have an extra belly, put there for the sole purpose of gathering this magic. We then form it into proper spells and throw it out again.”

  He didn’t have to tell her that women could not have that “extra belly.”

  They continued walking. As the path grew steeper, she became more thoughtful.

  “I can’t say I work my healing that way. I mean, I don’t consciously gather it and then form it. It’s just there.” Brevelan searched his eyes for an explanation. Every time she tried to analyze her ability to heal, her mind went blank. She didn’t know how she did it. People in pain or despair drew the healing from her.

  “Traditional magic is bound to Coronnan and can only be worked for the benefit of the kingdom. The dragons see to that.” He pushed aside one of the overhanging ferns. Once again the scent of elf-leaves whispered across their senses. “Magicians can combine and build stronger magic, but again only to make the kingdom safe. That is how the magic border was established and maintained. And how the rogues were exiled. A rogue works on his own, for his own benefit. I don’t know where they find the magic. But each one must work as an individual. No one magician is stronger than the Commune and the ethics enforced by it.”

  “My magic works for the good of the kingdom.”

  “So does mine. But whoever hired Old One-eye wants something other than the best for Coronnan.” He allowed the silence to fill the space between them.

  “I’m not a member of the Commune, I can’t ‘gather’ magic. Does that make me a rogue?”

  Jaylor opened his eyes and looked deeply into hers. “I prefer the word ‘solitary’ as opposed to communal.”

  They stared at each other, and, slowly, she reached out to clasp his hand again. Stillness settled around them, isolating them from the sounds of birds and insects. Even Mica and Puppy seemed far away.

  “My magic comes from deep within me. I don’t have to follow exact formulas to keep it in line with everyone else’s. If Old One-eye’s magic forms inside him like that, then his only limitation is his own physical strength. I don’t think he’ll allow himself to be stopped by honor or integrity.” Jaylor warned her.

  “You face the same physical limits and you are much younger and stronger than he.”

  “But not as practiced. I’ve wasted most of the last twelve years trying to work the other kind of magic. I can do it. But it’s harder for me.”

  This time Brevelan lifted her free hand to draw a finger along Jaylor’s bearded cheek. The curling hair around his mouth tickled her palm, inviting a deeper caress. A contented sense of completeness filled her, gave her the courage to ask her next question. “Why is it so hard for you? If you have that extra belly, then you should be able to gather and throw magic.”

  A rough chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Traditional magic requires an inner peace and stillness. My insides are too restless to be still long enough to gather the proper amounts of magic.”

  She knew the feeling. There was always something more to do. Her body never wanted to be still. Until now. Standing here in the wilderness of the southern mountains, touching him, she felt as if everything in her life had a proper place. Her restlessness evaporated. “Perhaps we can join our magic, as we did to heal Puppy.”

  “That was no magic on my part,” he protested vehemently. His eyes snapped open, but he didn’t withdraw his hand.

  “Wasn’t it?”

  “I merely pushed the bones back into place. You healed the muscles around them.”

  As if to prove his statement the wolf bounded back along the trail toward them. His step was strong and sure.

  “Are you sure, Jaylor? Think back on it. How much of the effort you put into helping Puppy was brute strength and how much was magic sight?” She allowed her hand to drop just enough to clasp his.

  “Oof!” The wolf jumped against Jaylor, muddy paws soiling his shirt. He dropped Brevelan’s hand to fend off the animal. Puppy grinned in his special way and bounced back to the trail. “Your manners need a great deal of improvement, Wolf,” Jaylor scolded him. He reached for Brevelan’s hand once more.

  Adventure! Darville raised his face to the sun and trotted along the path in front of his people. His instincts told him this journey was incredibly important. It was a return to a way of life that had been interrupted by his injury.

  Already his nose felt keener. He was aware of much more than just the familiar scents back in Brevelan’s clearing. His sight, too, was brighter. He was strong and eager for whatever the trail might bring.

  A whiff of Tambootie drifted on the wind, an odor he associated with the dragon. Shayla had come last night, outlined in the moonlight, flaming Old One-eye. Just as she had that other time when Darville had fallen over the cliff. Only the enemy wasn’t One-eye then. He was something else.

  Deep in this throat Darville growled at the memory of the man responsible. The one-eyed man meant pain and changes Darville couldn’t comprehend.

  That man smelled of Tambootie. Shayla did, too, but the dragon smelled good. One-eye smelled evil.

  There, on the wind, he caught again the elusive sent of Shayla. He savored it and proceeded forward, ahead of Jaylor and Brevelan. He’d go back soon and let them know the trail wa
s safe.

  He felt a need to stretch up again on his hind legs. This time he would linger against Jaylor’s chest, make sure the man petted his ears instead of Brevelan’s hand. Maybe he’d walk between them for a while, basking in their affection for him. He wasn’t sure he approved of their affection for each other.

  But first he would hunt.

  Chapter 12

  Jaylor’s fingers suddenly felt empty and cold as Brevelan yanked her own hand free of his friendly grasp. She reached for her throat, her skin deathly pale.

  “Aiyeeee!”

  The shrill scream of a small animal broke the peace of a quiet mountain meadow. Delicate wildflowers swayed restlessly amidst the grass.

  Jaylor looked to the source of the scream on their left. Wolf pounced and tore at the throat of a squirrel—his latest meal. He shrugged at the natural event. At least he would not have to worry about feeding the beast on the journey.

  “No,” Brevelan whispered through tight lips. She held her stomach and throat as if in deep pain, bent nearly double. Her face was drained of all color. She had pulled her hand free of his an instant before the scream.

  “Brevelan!” Jaylor jumped to help her. “What ails you?” Tenderly, he cradled her against his side. He gave her what strength he could as he guided her to a rock where she could sit. His hands slipped against her cold, almost clammy skin. A shot of fear pierced his heart.

  “Easy now. Rest a moment while I fetch some water.”

  “I must leave this place.” She started to look over her shoulder toward the spot where Darville noisily ate his kill. Then she hastily averted her eyes.

  “You’re in no condition to move anywhere.”

  “It is the place that ails me.”

  “The animal Darville just killed.” The truth dawned on him. “You felt it die, just as you felt an ewe’s troubled labor when you were a tot.” A chill knot formed in his stomach. “No wonder you couldn’t stay with your own people. A village full of meat eaters would destroy you at every meal.”