The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

by Irene Radford

  She nodded.

  He was amazed she’d managed as long as she had.

  “I soon learned to be elsewhere on slaughter days. It helps if I’ve never communicated with the animal, or if I’m not too close. Back home I couldn’t separate myself from the herds. They needed me too often.”

  Jaylor helped her to stand. She leaned against him heavily as they walked away from the scene of the recent death. At the streambed he helped her onto the mossy bank.

  “Drink. Then we’ll be on our way. Wolf will catch up when he’s ready.” He looked back toward the animal just as the wolf looked up and grinned. “You don’t have to enjoy it quite so much!” he called.

  That grin. So like the young prince when he escaped his tutors and sought freedom among the apprentice magicians. Roy had enjoyed his pranks then, too, without a thought to the torment his guardians received at the king’s hand for losing their prince.

  Mica scampered back to the wolf. With an imperious paw she batted the wolf’s muzzle away and grabbed her share of the meal.

  “Not you, too, Mica. Don’t you know you’re hurting Brevelan?” Jaylor admonished the animals.

  “Please, Jaylor. Let’s just move on a little.” Brevelan tugged at his sleeve. Her eyes were huge in her pale face. They were dark blue now, the color of the bay at sunset, almost black. He caught a fragment of her pain.

  “Yes, of course.” He eased her back onto the path. For a moment she leaned against him, gathering strength. His arms tightened around her slender body. She felt so good, nestled there against his shoulder. Tenderness filled him. He didn’t want to move. But he had to.

  “It is part of the nature of things for them to eat meat. I cannot begrudge them that. I can only ask them to keep their kill away from me.” She took one slow step. Then another.

  “Lean on me.” He urged her forward. “We’ll get you farther along before we have some fruit and another drink.” He continued to hold her as they moved. She didn’t pull away.

  “How did Old Thorm break through our armor?” Brevelan’s question disturbed Jaylor.

  “I don’t know.” He rose from his crouched position before the campfire. Wolf had found this sheltered overhang for them long after the sun had set. The almost-cave was dry and vacant and should be a safe place to spend the night, safe from predators and conventional attack. But how did he protect them from a magic he couldn’t understand?

  “How are you feeling now?” He turned to face the girl. Her face was pale and her eyes shadowed. Still, she looked steadier than she had on the trail. Her sudden pain at the death of the squirrel bothered him. He knew he couldn’t live with that kind of emotional pain day after day. No wonder she chose to live in isolation.

  “Better,” she said quietly.

  “You felt that squirrel’s death as sharply as a knife to your own throat.” He shook his head at the memory. She had known the exact instant Wolf found his meal.

  “I often do.” This time he felt the sadness in her. She was throwing her own magic at him to help him understand. Jaylor was finding it more and more difficult to armor himself against her.

  Uneasy, he cast the twig he had been chewing into the fire, then strode to the opening. He hated being so vulnerable. Aware that he was pacing restlessly from the fire to the cliff edge, he paused to think. Wolf matched him stride for stride.

  “Did you know that squirrel?” He whirled to face her. The wolf whined at the abrupt movement. Strange that Brevelan put no blame on the animal as the source of today’s pain. The bond between them was strong.

  “No. But he was close. I had felt his presence. He was very happy to be out in the spring sunshine after a long cold winter. And Puppy was unusually triumphant.” She smiled then, dotingly. Her love for the wolf swamped Jaylor. He felt a sudden surge of jealously that such a wonderful emotion was being wasted on a wild beast.

  A breeze shifted the brush outside their shelter. Wolf shuddered against his leg. They both felt questing eyes out there, watching them from behind trees and shadows.

  Jaylor sniffed the air outside the camp. The wolf mimicked him. They both tensed just before Jaylor’s personal armor slid into place. There was something out there. Something magical.

  Doubt filled him. He wanted to armor the camp. But if he could smell magic out there, then whoever, or whatever, watched them could sense his spell and be drawn to it, like iron to a lodestone.

  “Can we protect ourselves from Old Thorm if he should come again tonight?” Brevelan’s question left no doubt that she too sensed the magic presence out there.

  The image of Old One-eye following on the trail to her clearing filled his mind. He’d been pressed against a Tambootie tree then, and the rogue magician had not seen him. Oh, he’d sensed where Jaylor had left the trail, but not where he hid. At the time, he’d thought it important to gather a handful of timboor berries.

  He’d walked through the Rover camp, invisible to his captors while timboor filled his blood. He seemed to be made of magic for several hours after that. And was totally exhausted for days when the drug wore off.

  “Maybe.” Jaylor swung back to face her. The hope that filled her eyes gave him new purpose. “Have you ever eaten timboor?”

  “The fruit of the Tambootie?” She wrapped her arms around herself and shrank away from him. Mica climbed into her lap and butted her head against the girl’s chin, as if offering comfort. “It’s poison.” Brevelan’s tone was evasive.

  “I thought so, too. Now I’m not sure. Have you ever eaten of that tree?” He concentrated his gaze on her. There was no need to use magic to pull the information from her. It would come if he could just stare her down. He’d proved that often enough with his tutors. He was amazed how disconcerted people became under a long stare. They usually began to babble within moments.

  “Once.” She barely whispered as she buried her face into the cat’s fur. Mica didn’t protest the attention.

  “Once,” he repeated. “When?”

  “When I was running away from home.”

  “Why did you eat it?” Wolf sat on Jaylor’s foot and leaned heavily against his leg. His hand reached for the animal’s ears.

  Brevelan fussed with the cat and refused to look at him.

  “Why, Brevelan? What induced you to eat a fruit you thought to be poison?”

  Finally she looked him directly in the eye. He felt something akin to what she must feel when she communicated with animals. Her fear and desperation were as strong as his own when he was in the Rover camp.

  “I was running for my life. I dared not stay on the roads, so I made my way through the forest. There was no one I trusted to help me. The animals gave me shelter.”

  Jaylor couldn’t see the specific images she remembered. Her emotions became his own, though.

  “Which animal gave you the knowledge about eating timboor?” The berries usually grew on higher branches, seeking the sun. Her helper couldn’t be a ground feeder like the timid deer or rabbit.

  “A gray bear.” A smile touched her lips.

  He felt her humor touch him as well.

  “Most sane people would run from a gray bear.”

  “Especially a female protecting her young.”

  Jaylor grew colder from his core outward. Gray bears had a reputation for being particularly nasty, vicious even, when in the best of humor. A protective mother bear could rend a strong man limb from limb. Trees were no protection from the beasts. They could climb better than most cats.

  “Next you’ll be telling me she protected and fed you like her own cub.” He stared at her, wanting to disbelieve. No one should be so powerful as to tame a gray bear. Or was it her gentleness that undermined overt strength? The power of this kind of magic awed him.

  “What did the timboor do to you?”

  She hesitated. Her eyes sought the dark corners of their shelter. When she looked back at him, he stretched out a hand to shield her from her own bewilderment.

  “I could hear everything, th
e tiniest rustle among the ferns, the faintest bird song. I could even hear the tug and chomp of rabbits feeding.” She looked away again when she mentioned the most silent of all animals. “The most astonishing sounds were the thoughts of the people I encountered. But I was safe then because I could tell if they recognized me, knew of those who pursued me.”

  Jaylor nodded in agreement. This sounded like his own experience. “Were your other senses affected: sight, smell?”

  “Yes.” There was more. He could tell from the way she refused to hold his eyes with her own.

  “When you didn’t want to be seen . . .” he prompted.

  “How did you know?” She looked up, startled.

  “The same thing happened to me,” he reassured her. “I have some timboor in my pack. If we each take a berry, I don’t think we could be found.”

  She nodded, then hid her face again in the cat’s fur. “Puppy and Mica?”

  “They are not creatures of magic. The berries will poison them.” She looked up in dismay at his words. He felt a tug at his heart. He wanted, and needed, to put the sparkle of well-being back into her eyes. “I think our aura of invisibility will extend to those we love.” He was the only one who needed to eat of the timboor. He realized at that moment that his love should surround Brevelan with protection for the rest of his days.

  Why had she told him so much about her past? Brevelan had revealed more to this strange man in a few days than to anyone else in her entire life.

  Too many people misunderstood her magic. They reacted with fear, or cruelty bred from fear. So she hid her innermost thoughts and feelings. Her family and acquaintances had known only as much about her as they could guess from her actions.

  After the death of her husband, she knew she had to flee her home or be burned as a witch. She scooted away from the warmth of the flames.

  Mica protested the movement.

  Brevelan soothed her with a few distracted strokes. Her mind refused to move from the images she had dragged out of her memory.

  Another woman accused of witchcraft. An old woman who had taught Brevelan much about the nature of plants, which healed and how, as well as which killed. Lord Krej sitting in judgment, not allowing the poor woman to speak any defense. Then the punishment. All in the district had been required to watch.

  Death by fire. Clouds of oily black smoke.

  Her mother whispering in her ear that this would be Brevelan’s fate if Krej heard of her healing ability.

  Heat, pain. No air.

  Her breaths were sharp and difficult. Heat seared her throat with each gulp of air. And when it was all over and the ashes scattered across the bay, a triumphant Krej had taken four virgins back to his castle.

  “Brevelan!” Jaylor’s hand on her shoulder broke the images. “Brevelan, what happened? What did you see in the flames?” He shook her free of her memories with anxious hands.

  “Nothing,” she lied. The look in his eyes told her he knew it was not the truth. “I was just thinking.”

  “Or remembering,” he stated flatly.

  She refused to answer. Whatever she said, he would see the truth in her eyes.

  Puppy wiggled closer to her. He pushed under her arm with his muzzle. She drew him close, along with the cat. She didn’t question that these two animals tolerated each other’s presence.

  “Here. Eat this.” Jaylor held out his hand. In his palm rested some dry berries that had once been deep red with yellow bands. Now they were dull gray.

  “Will the essential oils still be there?” she questioned as she picked up one berry, about the size of her thumbnail.

  “I think so. When I was given timboor, my captors had no access to fresh. They must have used dried.”

  She raised an eyebrow in question. It was safer to let him talk rather than question her past.

  Jaylor recounted his experience with the Rover tribe while he petted each of the animals in turn.

  “Modern magic texts proclaim everything about the Tambootie is evil. I can see how it might be abused. But evil? I wonder how much of our knowledge is carefully edited to avoid misuse rather than full understanding. I think I need to explore the effects of the berry more fully.” His words floated over her.

  She knew she would remember and understand what he said in the morning. For now she needed only to feel the smooth rhythm of his voice.

  The fire came into sharp focus. In the heart of the flames she saw the wind stirring the treetops outside. Her body took on a new lightness, drifting upward and out into the forest. She was no longer a part of the cozy camp scene below her.

  From her elevated position, she watched a man and a woman settle for the night. Their blankets were rough homespun. The dying fire grew pungent. The huge golden wolf crawled between them. A multicolored cat sought the wolf’s back for warmth. In the darkness of night the silent thoughts of Brevelan drifted through the forest. Watching. Waiting.

  Chapter 13

  They think to trick me with my own tricks. I needn’t see them to know where they are. My magic, the magic of the Tambootie, guides me. Tonight I will spin my dreams by my blessed Tambootie wood fire. I shall sleep safe and warm, while they lie wakeful and wondering.

  They shall have nothing—no king, no prince, no magic. Tomorrow I will press them harder. Tomorrow I will find the dragon. After I secure the monster, I shall kill the wolf once and for all. And then all will be mine.

  And I shall have the dragon!

  Warm, sweet-smelling hair tickled Jaylor’s nose. He breathed deeply of the lovely scent. Then he snuggled closer to the source. A soft, feminine body filled his arms. He could tell it was a woman by the curves that molded to his hand.

  A woman?

  No! He sat up abruptly. A woman in his arms, before dawn could only mean one thing. He’d lain with her and lost his magic.

  Sleep-befuddled panic engulfed him. Sweat, cold and clammy, broke out on his back. His breaths came short and sharp until the cold morning air chased the fog of sleep from his mind.

  Slowly his breathing returned to normal, and he thought in logical patterns once more. The woman he’d held most of the night was Brevelan. He had slept by her side in the rough shelter of the almost-cave. He had dreamed of her, but they had not lain together as a man and a woman.

  The blasted wolf had seen to that. The beast had slept between them most of the night; Mica curled up with him. Any lustful thoughts Jaylor might have had were successfully squashed by the fuzzy barrier represented by the animals. Jaylor wasn’t sure when Wolf and Mica had wandered off to their own morning pursuits.

  Cautiously, Jaylor worked a small spell. He lifted a few spare twigs into the embers of the fire and reignited them. His magic was intact!

  He lay back down on the hard ground, grateful that his natural lusts had not overcome his good sense. His arm automatically stretched to bring Brevelan’s sleeping body closer.

  He pulled the rough blanket up to cover them both more fully. Her warmth relaxed him while her natural scent filled him with more energetic ideas.

  It was morning and he was at his most susceptible. He really should move away from her—and soon. After watching her rise one morning in the hut, he had always made sure he was well on his way to the bathing pool before she slid from the protective warmth of her enticingly large bed. Her shift covered her entire body, but it was old and thin. The nearly sheer muslin couldn’t hide the delectable shapes and shadows of her petite form.

  Brevelan stirred in her sleep. She turned toward him, seeking his warmth in the chill morning air. Jaylor groaned. He had to move away . . . now!

  “Mhmmm,” she murmured. Her small hand slipped across his chest.

  The gesture brought her breasts snug against his side. Excited tingles spread out from the point of contact. “Ah . . . good morning, Brevelan.” Jaylor sought to rouse her before her innocent attentions drove him beyond control. Good thing they were both fully clothed.

  “Mhmm. Cold.” Her eyes remained closed.


  “Let me build up the fire.” He slid his arm from under her head reluctantly.

  “Fire,” She mumbled again. Then her eyes opened in panic. “Fire?” She sat up abruptly. The blankets fell away and she shivered.

  “Wake up, Brevelan,” he commanded. Instinct told him to go to her, hold her until the morning fogginess cleared her mind of the nightmare that haunted her. Disastrous idea. She was much too tempting with her soft, innocent beauty. Russet locks tumbled about her face. He needed to push them out of her eyes, caress her cheek, kiss her soft mouth. He also needed all of his magic, intact, to safely confront the dragon. He didn’t know how much more magic he would need to shore up the border once they found Shayla.

  Thoughts of their quest brought to mind the absent wolf and cat. He couldn’t count on being alone with Brevelan long enough to fulfill what his body demanded.

  “Where . . . where is Puppy? And Mica?” The panic had not quite left her voice as she scanned the shadows of the recess with troubled blue eyes.

  “I don’t know. They wandered off sometime in the night; probably to eat,” he replied, keeping his back to her. It was best if he busied himself with feeding the fire. If he looked at her again, he would not be able to resist.

  “How long ago?”

  “I don’t know. They were gone when I awoke.” And you were in my arms, where you belong.

  That thought startled him. She did belong with him. But she couldn’t belong at his side night and day until he was a master magician.

  “I’m going down to the creek for water.” He stood as rapidly as his morning stiff body would allow. He stretched, easing his back. He turned to make sure Brevelan was awake and well. Another part of his body stretched and didn’t ease. He took off for the creek at a near run.

  “Mrrow.” Mica greeted Brevelan.

  “Did you have a good morning, Mica?” She watched the small cat sit next to the now glowing fire and wash her face.

  Mica didn’t deign to reply until she was finished with her face. “Mrrow.”