The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

Legends of your people tell us to be wary of your thieving.”
    The Rover threw back his head in laughter. The movement caused his arm to jerk at the staff. Jaylor held tight.
    “Ah, little beauty, your legends were created by old women to frighten children. We are merely passing each other in journey. Though I could use the men,” his eyebrows lifted in a knowing leer. “I have found they will serve me better if they come to me willingly.”
    “You won’t find many willing in Coronnan. We have been taught to avoid you, lest you steal our goods, our children, and our souls.” Darville tried to step between Zolltarn and Jaylor.
    Seven other Rovers jumped from concealment in the woods. Darville still pushed forward. The others grappled him. He swung his fist and connected with one jaw before being wrestled to the ground. Arms and legs flying, he brought his opponents down with him
    The blood lust of his youth swelled through Jaylor’s body. He and his gang of town boys had learned to fight in the streets and alleys of Coronnan City. They could hold their own with the dirtiest fighters in the capital.
    He flung one knotted fist upward to connect with Zolltarn’s perpetual grin. His staff blocked a kick from behind.
    A third Rover caught Jaylor with a blow to his middle. He doubled over and turned around, one booted foot kicking out behind, into the center of Zolltarn’s chest.
    Brevelan screamed behind him. His blood froze. She didn’t have the clearing to protect her. How would she fight off strong men?
    New fury impelled him into the fray. He swung his staff right and left, knocking Rovers aside. One after another they fell with bruises and breaks as he fought his way to Brevelan’s side. Only one man remained between him and his beloved. He brought the staff down on the man’s head. The bold young Rover with broken teeth and a malicious smile slumped to the ground as the twisted wood broke into three ragged pieces.
    “Enough!” Zolltarn cried to his men. “The magician has broken his staff, we have no need to steal it.” The Rovers melted into the woods, carrying their wounded with them.

Chapter 29
     
    “M y staff!” Jaylor yelled as he took off after the retreating Rovers. “You s’murghin’ bastards broke my staff!”
    Dense woods closed around him within a few steps of the path. Heavy underbrush tangled every footstep. Thick vines reached out from low hanging tree limbs and encircled his ankles. He was flat on his face in the middle of a saber fern.
    Desperately he hacked at the vine with his knife. The pithy plant oozed a corrosive sap that dulled and discolored the blade.
    “Give it up, Jaylor.” Darville limped over to his prostrate friend. “We’ll never catch them now. They melted into the shadows like so many ghosts.”
    “They broke my staff, Roy.” Jaylor resorted to the adolescent name for the prince.
    “I know, Jay. I know and I’m sorry.”
    “The staff was my only hope of reversing Krej’s spell on Shayla.”
    Disappointed silence hovered over them.
    “We’ll cut you another staff, Jaylor.” Brevelan picked her way through the overgrown ferns and downed trees to his side.
    “That won’t help much. I have to be matched to the staff. The wood grain has to be used to my brand of magic to channel it, focus it. The more I use it, the stronger becomes the partnership. We just don’t have enough time to break in a new one.”
    “Could we mend the old one?” Darville suggested.
    “The fibers would be too weak.”
    “Then we’ll have to find another way.” Brevelan reached out a hand to help him up.
    He just stared at her.
    “There is no other way.” He cradled the broken pieces of wood against his chest.
     
    “We just can’t walk through there.” Brevelan stared at the jumble of cottages nestled together. The back of each cottage, hut, and prosperous farmhouse faced away from the looming fortress. Sheets of rain set up a further barrier between Castle Krej and the village, between herself and the people who lived here.
    Each step became heavier and more reluctant than the last.
    “This is the most direct way to the castle . . . and Shayla,” Darville complained about her slower pace. He tried to take her arm and urge her forward.
    Brevelan recoiled from his touch. “You don’t understand,” she nearly sobbed, retreating into the haven of Jaylor’s shoulder. His arm encircled her, but she felt no strength, no support from him.
    She knew these two men so