The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

skin. Her imagination would never allow her to supply that unborn child with the coarse black hair and angry disposition of her husband.
    Sometimes in the night, when she was alone and her body ached for contact with another human being, she wondered what her life would be like now if she had stayed.
    That was the trouble with dragon-dreams. They seemed so real it was difficult to return to the light of day. A day when she must be alert to word from the village. Maevra was close to her time and might deliver early.
    Brevelan just wished the villagers would accept her help without the frequent use of garlic and gestures meant to ward off evil. She had never told them how much she liked garlic.
     
    Jaylor followed the road as it curved and dipped into a hollow. He jumped a narrow creek where it crossed his path. Green meadows spread out around the road in all directions. A little farther along the stream, away from the road, would be a good place to camp.
    As if he’d conjured an encampment, Jaylor found several tents nestled beside the water. Traders usually welcomed strangers. This far south, the traders could come only from Rossemeyer. Those stalwart desert dwellers were even more suspicious and insular than Coronnites.
    He paused behind another protective oak tree. From its shadows he surveyed the scene ahead of him. In the creeping twilight he should be invisible until he decided to be seen.
    Sturdy pack steeds grazed behind a picket line. Wary dogs zigzagged around cook fires and brightly colored tents. Purple, red, black, and blue shelters for unseen campers.
    Who but Rovers would live in such garish tents? Certainly not traders from Rossemeyer who sought to blend into their environment. Rovers were homeless wanderers who worked no honest trade, were beholden to no lord, and obeyed few man-made laws. And they fascinated Jaylor.
    The Council of Provinces had outlawed Rovers when the Commune of Magicians established the magic border three hundred years ago. Jaylor had read every enticing word about their forbidden lifestyle.
    No band of Rovers should be within the boundaries of Coronnan for any reason. Where had they learned the spells to open a hole in the magic wall? Or which magician had they bribed?
    Jaylor knew from his secret reading that Rovers weren’t above robbing travelers of their purses, packs, and clothes. Mercifully, they slit the throats of their victims so they wouldn’t freeze to death or be attacked by wild animals.
    He checked his appearance. Worn and dusty journey clothes, provincially uncombed hair and beard, small pack and walking staff. He could be any benighted traveler. Except that few people journeyed through the kingdom these days. The Twelve lords were supposed to provide homes for their dependents. Traditions and superstitious fears established during the Great Wars of Disruption kept almost everyone in those homes.
    The Rover camp was suspiciously quiet. No voices called out. Dogs didn’t bark. No person stirred the savory smelling stew cooking over the fire.
    Jaylor pressed his back into the tree as he scanned the landscape. Whoever had been here was not long gone. He hoped no one stood ready to plunge a knife into his back.

Chapter 4
     
    B revelan interrupted her root digging. Her inner sight tingled a warning. Someone was on the back path that sometimes led to her clearing. She faded into the shadow of a tree. Mastering the urge to run from a pursuer, she forced absolute stillness into her body and her mind. Every wild creature of the forest knew that predators saw only movement and disruptions in the patterns of light and shadow.
    “Brevelan?” Maevra, the carpenter’s wife, called. She was in the last weeks of her pregnancy and frequently sought Brevelan’s counsel as a midwife.
    “Coming.” Brevelan breathed deeply once more.
    With a wish and a firm image in her mind, she opened the path to the clearing.
    “Oh, there you are,” Maevra sighed wearily. “I forget how steep the back path is.” She rubbed her protruding belly.
    “You shouldn’t walk so far on a steep track so close to your time, Maevra.” Brelevan urged the woman onto a convenient stump. She sat heavily and awkwardly.
    “I needed to walk.”
    Brevelan masked her concern. This woman, so near her own age, had lost three babes before they were fully formed. Under Brevelan’s careful guidance, this pregnancy looked as if it might run to term.
    “Why?” Brelevan asked. She rested one hand on the