Out in the courtyard he could almost see the stars in their slow dance across the universe. He drank in the crisp night air, grateful that his nightmare had been merely a memory dream and not reality. His planetary awareness centered and he knew precisely where and when he was despite a slight time distortion caused by the gloaming.
He opened his senses, seeking a similar awareness of Rejiia. His magic shied away from contact with her. Ever since her mind probe had debilitated him, he’d fought coming in contact with her again. Surely she must sense his presence and draw power from his discomfort.
His mind touched hers. She dreamed restlessly, thrashing within her bonds and the fears that plagued her. Jack shied away from intruding on her privacy.
But this is Rejiia, he reminded himself. The safety of many people relied on knowing what she planned and what she feared.
From across the courtyard he slid into her thoughts. Seeking. Endless seeking. Her quarry always just beyond her reach. She ran. She stumbled and fell. The gray weasel with gold tipping the ends of its fur slipped easily through her hands. And behind her, danger loomed. Every time she failed to capture the weasel, the unnamed danger came closer. Her life depended upon capturing the weasel.
And then she woke on a cry, sweating as badly as Jack had.
He pulled back from her dreams before her waking thoughts sensed his presence.
And then the dreams of all the others descended upon him with equal clarity. Everyone in this cursed building dreamed their greatest fears. They saw their closest friends as deadly enemies. More than dreamed, relived their most vivid horrors. Almost like a dragon-dream.
Despair haunted them all. Many considered death a relief from their misery.
Anxiously he searched the skies for the presence of a dragon. Who among the nimbus would visit this kind of terror upon innocents?
None. He knew that.
Baamin! he called. Baamin, what transpires here?
He knew the answer before the blue-tipped dragon had a chance to reply. The ghost tried to drive them to kill each other or to suicide before Marcus returned with a spell to remove the curse from the gold.
“Jack!” Katrina cried in panic. He dashed the few steps to her doorway. She threw open the door as he skidded to a halt before her.
Clad only in her shift, she trembled with more than cold. He wrapped his arms around her. “Wake up, Katrina. It was only a nightmare.”
“Jack, he was here. Brunix was here and he grabbed hold of me. He still owns me. I’m still his slave! I’ll kill myself before I live as his slave again.”
“Hush, Katrina. Brunix is dead. I watched him die. His last words commanded me to take care of you. He loved you in his own perverted way. He’d never truly hurt you alive or dead. It was only a nightmare, preying on your worst fear.”
I’ll have my revenge on you, Ackerly, he swore silently. I’ll make sure you rest silently in a deep, deep grave. You will never haunt my Katrina again.
Others have tried and failed. You will fail as well. You will always fail, the ghost taunted him.
Jack shut out the ghost’s voice.
“Just hold me, Jack.” Katrina clung to him until her trembling ceased.
“Go back to sleep now, Katrina. ’Twas only a dream and can’t truly hurt you.” Gently he kissed her brow and eased away from her. He’d gladly go on holding her all night. Now was not the time to discuss her reluctance to marry him.
“Stay with me, Jack. I don’t want to be alone.” She pulled him close again, burying her face in his shoulder. Her fingers clutched his tunic with fierce strength.
“Katrina, is that a good idea?” He tried to hold her away, allow them both to gain some perspective, and keep his desire under control.
“Yes, Jack, this is a very good idea. Together we can keep the dreams at bay. Besides, tomorrow may never come and I want to die with you beside me.” She kissed him soundly and pulled him down onto her bed.
Robb approached the baker’s hut cautiously. Vareena kept close to his heels. Her hand constantly touched the silver-and-amethyst amulet she wore on a thong around her neck.
“That thing won’t protect you from mundane dangers,” Robb said testily. He had not slept well, the old nightmare coming time and time again no matter what he did to banish it. Vareena’s eyes looked hollow with dark circles beneath them. She had probably spent the night searching for spiders in her bed.
From the wary jumpiness of all of the Rovers and extra guests around campfires in the courtyard before dawn, he presumed they, too, had had nightmares of their greatest fears. Except Jack and Katrina. Those two had emerged from their room holding hands and smiling at each other as if they’d just discovered the greatest secret in the world.
Maybe they had.
“I think the baker and his son are more likely to give us extra bread than his wife.” Vareena directed him around to the oven and away from the nearby hut.
“Unusual. In my years on the road, I’ve always found the women more interested in charity than the men.”
“Charity to handsome young men is different from charity to the ghost woman no one fully trusts even when they depend upon her for healing.” The stony blankness that came over her face betrayed more of her hurt than any amount of anger or tears.
Robb pulled her close against him. “She’s just jealous of how beautiful you are.”
“I’m a spinster, available, and therefore I must be a whore as well as a witch.”
“No one will say those thing about you once I take you away from here. Besides, you’ll be too busy marveling at the wonders of our world. I’ll show you bemouths swimming in the Great Bay. They are as big around as the baker’s oven and longer than two of them put together. And their hide is so tough spears bounce off it. But they are the most beautiful iridescent blue. You can see every color of the ocean in their hides. And then there are the dragons flying above. You have to look very close to see them at all. I saw one at King Darville’s coronation three years ago. It was a blue-tip. Light slides around them, challenging the eye to look anywhere but at them, but they are so magnificent, elegant, graceful, and perfectly proportioned that you can’t look anywhere else. There are gold mines deep in the kardia, black holes where no light shines at all and towers in the capital that look like they are climbing to the sky—or to the dragons. If you want, I’ll even take you to the jewel markets in Jihab where you can find the finest loose gems as well as stones set in gold and silver. Or maybe you fancy the spice traders in Varnicia?”
Robb painted the pictures in his mind of all the places he wanted to see for himself and show her. Let Marcus settle in his little cottage with a wife and a dozen children. Robb still needed to see more of the world. He liked the idea of sharing his adventures with someone.
His breath caught for a moment. Vareena would make a comfortable traveling companion. But then, so would Margit, or Jack, or even some of the Rovers. He wondered if his attraction to Vareena was merely part of her talent to soothe and calm those in need.
“Robb.” Vareena looked up at him with puzzled eyes. “Robb, I thought you would take me to my land in Lord Andrall’s province.”
“We’ll go there to make your claim. But you’ve been trapped in this village all your life. Now you have the opportunity to view the world.” Why were people so fond of one hearth, one bed, one life mate when the entire world awaited them?
“I want to live on my land, work it, nurture it, know where my place is in this world. Can you understand that?”
“Yeah.” But he didn’t really. He withdrew his arm from her shoulder. “I think I understand. Marcus has the same dream.”
“I’m sorry, Robb, but I think I love the idea of owning something permanent more than I love you.”
“And I was just so grateful for all you’ve done for us, that I mistook it for love.” He had to look away from her.
After a moment he had the courage to face her again. “We’d best get the extra bread and head back.
We’re still needed back at the monastery before we can pursue our dreams.” Separately.
Somehow removing Vareena from his view of the future didn’t hurt as much as he thought. Jaylor and the Commune still needed him in the field. He still needed to be in the field.
“I knew we should have talked last night,” he mumbled.
“If we had, we would still have ended up going our separate ways, but I would not have had the hope of you beside me in the morning to get me through that night of terrible dreams. Twice I considered killing myself—or someone else—just to end the dreams.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.
“Me, too. Thank you for that little bit of hope.” He kissed her temple and stepped up to the baker’s oven.
A wiry man turned from the opening where he shifted several loaves around with a wet wooden paddle. A young boy held out his arms, covered with thick padded cloths, to receive any finished loaves the baker retrieved.
“Master Baker, we appeal to your charity and your sense of responsibility to those in need,” Robb said quietly by way of introduction.
“Be off with you, filthy Rover!” Baker turned on him, waving the massive paddle at his head.
Robb leaned away from the blow but held his ground. “I am no Rover,” he said quietly.
“Thieves all of you!” Baker advanced with the paddle once more. His bellows had attracted the attention of others in the village. Some of them handled shepherd crooks and belt knives as if they intended to use them.
“Stop this all of you! Stop and think what you are doing. We need bread for the monastery. Nobles and warriors have come there as well as Rovers.” Vareena tried to step between Robb and the baker.
Robb held her back. He hadn’t her confidence that the locals would not attack.
“Mercenaries from SeLenicca,” a man with a crook shouted. He swung it like he knew how to use it for defense.
Robb brought his own staff to the ready. He didn’t want to blast these people with magic. Magic had a bad enough reputation in Coronnan without him adding more distrust and fear. But he’d bash a few heads if he had to.
“Why should we feed the enemy?” An older man with an air of authority stepped forward. He carried no weapon. He didn’t need to.
“Who told you Rovers and mercenaries from SeLenicca came to the monastery yesterday?” Robb asked.
“Didn’t need to be told. We saw them all arrive. Thieving Rovers can feed themselves.” The village elder stepped forward, fist raised. His people followed.
All of them had red-rimmed eyes and their gazes darted about warily. Some jumped in alarm as they brushed against their neighbors.
Could the ghost have sent his terrible nightmares this far?
If so, there would be no reasoning with these people until they’d had a good night’s sleep.
“Get away from here, Vareena,” Robb whispered as he pushed her behind him.
“I will not run from my own people. From my own father.” She stood her ground.
“Then you die with your Rover lover, for you are no daughter of mine.” The village elder advanced. He grabbed a knife and crook from his neighbor.
“You would kill me, P’pa?” Vareena still did not move out of range of the rocks some of the children picked up. Robb knew from experience that children often had the best throwing aim.
Sure enough a rock flew through the air directly at his head. He ducked, but it grazed his temple. Fire followed its path across his skull. Warm moisture oozed down his cheek.
“Robb!” Vareena screamed.
“Run, Vareena.” Robb threw up his magical armor around himself. But he couldn’t extend it to Vareena and fend off the press of bodies that followed the rocks.
He lashed out with his staff, tripping the closest man. He fell forward into Robb’s armor and bounced backward into his comrades. They clutched and scrambled for balance.
Robb used the diversion to put several arm’s lengths between himself and the irate villagers.
Stupidly, Vareena stood rooted in place. She held up her hands, begging her people to listen to reason. Her eyes showed her bewilderment at their actions.
“Just because you would never hurt a soul, doesn’t mean they won’t,” Robb muttered. His armor snapped into a wider circle to include her. He grabbed her around the waist and threw her over his shoulder.
He took off running, back to the haunted monastery. Back to all of the problems and anxious demands that had sent him out in search of bread.
“Time for a new plan,” he muttered.
Chapter 41
Margit sat in the shadowed ell between the lesser tower at the south end of the west wing and the exterior wall. She braced her feet against one of the few remaining foundation stones of the little temple that used to serve the monastic community. She needed the tension in her thighs and calves to maintain control of the emotions roiling in her gut.
Marcus didn’t love her.
She pushed harder against the stone before a tear could shatter her control.
One of the shadowy rovers—she could almost see these “ghosts” if she crossed her eyes and drew on every bit of magic she possessed—stood guard at the only ground floor entrance to the round structure at her back. More Rovers guarded the second-story and roof-top entrances. This lesser tower topped the exterior wall by only a few handspans and did not rise above the gloaming—the great towers on the western corners rose a full story above the defensive walls and pierced the constant haze. Inside the circular room at the base of the tower, Rejiia paced around and around her prison. Her footsteps and heavy sighs filtered through the stone to Margit’s extended senses. Sometimes she heard Rejiia climb the turret stairs and pound on the doors. Mostly she just paced.
She’d done this all night long after waking screaming from some pain or nightmare. Margit had listened from the observation platform atop the northwest tower where she had attempted to sleep. Never one to remain indoors if the weather were anything but the most hostile, Margit had rejected the tiny cells available. Better to fall asleep under the stars than trapped by four walls.
But sleep had eluded her. When she wasn’t crying over the loss of Marcus, a sense of airless dread had pursued her even to the open air. So she had listened with her magic to all of the inhabitants, looking for the source of her unease.
Everyone within the compound seemed to have awakened screaming, in a cold sweat at one time or another. And yet, even with her senses wide open, Margit couldn’t isolate the cause.
A loud thud within the lesser tower where Margit sat now sounded as if Rejiia had thrown her entire body as well as her magic at the door of her prison. The woman had a fierce temper if she still beat aimlessly at anything and everything that defied her.
Margit withdrew any lingering magic from her mundane sense to avoid touching the witch or being touched by her.
Yet she sympathized with Rejiia. Many times during her three years as Queen Rossemikka’s maid she had railed at the confinement of the palace. The only thing that kept her there for so long was the dream of advancing to journeywoman magician so she could wander the world at Marcus’ side.
But Marcus had had his fill of wandering. He also, it seemed, had had his fill of Margit.
She refused to be bound by his dream of hearth and home and dozens of children and apprentices. She had her own dreams.
She’d accept whatever quest Jaylor chose to give her, alone or in the company of another, as long as she did not have walls confining her or cats fouling the scant air within a building.
The ache in her heart spread to her head. Marcus had never considered her wishes in his plans. He’d never even asked what she wanted out of life. That betrayal hurt as much as the idea of spending the rest of her life indoors, cooking and cleaning for him and his brats. And he loved cats, frequently trying to arouse her sympathy for some stray whenever he visited the capital.
Some subtle variation in the light caught her attention. She sensed more than
saw the Rover at the doorway shifting restlessly from foot to foot. He’d been there since before dawn. Margit would be restless and tired by now, too. Something about the changes in light around his ghostly outline made her open her magical senses again, straining to see his posture and possibly an aura.
At the same moment, she became aware of a subtle difference in the way Rejiia and her magic moved. The witch focused her beating against the magical and mundane chains that bound her. The wall at Margit’s back no longer vibrated from her assault. And yet a great deal of magic beat at her senses.
A subtle voice in the back of her mind suggested that the lock was open. She needed to shift it. She needed . . .
“Compulsions are illegal, Rejiia,” Margit chortled as she recognized the nature of the magic drifting around her. “The lock is in place. Shifting it will merely open it for you. Commune magicians are trained to be immune to magical coercion. But that Rover isn’t.”
She stood up, alert to any other changes in the compound. No more time to feel sorry for herself or worry about sleep loss. The best cure for a broken heart was action. She smiled, anticipating a fight. She twirled her staff, seeking the best defensive grip.
But if Rejiia relied on magic, Margit needed help. Marcus had not returned—probably wouldn’t for days. Robb had gone to the village with Vareena. That left Jack and the Rovers. By his own admission, Jack was half Rover, Zolltarn’s grandson. Her prejudices told her not to trust either man. But both had sworn oaths of loyalty to the Commune.
The Rover at the doorway drifted closer. His hands reached behind him. Margit couldn’t tell more because of the blasted haze that made the man nearly invisible. But she knew that no lock could resist a Rover for long.
She placed two fingers against her teeth and blew. A sharp whistle reverberated through the courtyard. Several shadowy outlines lifted their heads to look in her direction. Jack and Katrina among them.
Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III Page 72
