The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

with what we need,” Zolltarn hissed behind him.
    But it was Maija who wielded the sharp blade that tickled the sensitive skin beneath his half-grown beard.
    No wonder his armor had broken down. His own lust had lowered his defenses. Reluctantly, Jaylor sat. Maija’s knife disappeared, but he had no doubt she could draw it again and slit his throat faster than he could escape.
    Jaylor searched for idle conversation that would engage them all until his mind cleared. Something he could concentrate on other than Maija. “You’ve wandered far. Have you had any trouble with dragons?”
    “Dragons! The curse of us all. Do not speak of them, lest they hear you and come again.” Zolltarn and Maija both made a superstitious, and useless, gesture of protection, wrists crossed and hands fluttering like wings. A gesture that was older than the cross of the Stargods. Perverted magic was the only evil. Gestures couldn’t help against a rogue magician.
    “Come again? You’ve seen them?” Jaylor pressed. This was great news. He was closer to the end of his quest than he thought. The information gained during a night in Rover company could shorten his journey considerably. He’d learn what he could from these people, but he wouldn’t give them what they demanded.
    “Nay. Who ever sees a dragon? They toy with us instead, sending their s’murghin’ dragon-dreams.” Zolltarn shook his head in grief. Maija pouted.
    “Dragon-dreams?” Old Baamin had evaded discussion of that undefined term with great dexterity. “Of what nature are these dreams? I presume they are dangerous.”
    “Dangerous! Nothing less than murderous. May the Gods who descended from the stars protect us.” This time he crossed himself in the accepted manner.
    Zolltarn’s wife thrust bowls of stew into their hands, then gestured with her head for the girl to come away with her. “Wait until he has eaten,” she whispered to her daughter.
    Sad silence hovered around them. The older man stirred his dinner absently with a horn spoon. The other Rovers turned away from Jaylor and ate with grim determination. Their knives were still too lose in their sheaths for Jaylor to risk running.
    Jaylor tasted his meal. The spices burned his tongue. A welcome discomfort if it kept his mind off Maija. She sat with the women, her back half turned to him. Restlessly, she shifted her position, hiking her bright skirt to her knees.
    “Why are dragon-dreams so dangerous?” Jaylor spoke softly, enticing an answer from a preoccupied Zolltarn. His eyes strayed to Maija’s shapely calves and ankles.
    “My clan is murdered and you ask why the dreams that delude are dangerous!” Zolltarn shouted again as he leaped to his feet. The others stared. He sank back to his seat heavily. “Six men and three boys, nearly men. One night after moonset they were caught in some grand vision of bliss and just wandered off. By the time we found them, some had fallen, their bodies crumpled at the bottom of a cliff. Others were lying facedown in small creeks too shallow to be a danger to anyone. They all died with beautiful smiles on their faces. Two men we never found. I hope they died before wild beasts got to them.” The man looked older, his shoulders slumped.
    “When? When did this happen?” Jaylor pressed while Zolltarn was still vulnerable.
    “At the solstice, just after the big storm.”
    No wonder so many of the women were breeding. This Rover clan desperately needed to replace the lost men and boys.
    As soon as he’d eaten he’d find a way to escape. He had a knife of his own tucked into his boot. Staying the night looked more dangerous than the value of their dragon lore.
    He took another bite of stew, savoring the sizzling seasoning. A drum and a string-gamba sounded on the other side of the fire. Jaylor felt the vibrations of the primitive music through the ground against his thin boots. The hot spots on his tongue thrummed an answer to the beat.
    Two huge gulps finished his meal. Its fire made his eyes and ears swell and throb in tempo with the rising music. He cast around for a place to put his empty bowl while he watched the camp celebrate the first full day of spring. Perhaps when they began drinking and singing, he could slip away. The bowl vanished into willing hands, the same hands that pushed him closer to the ring of fires.
    Maija stood, swaying freely to the music. Her skirts swirled about her ankles and bare feet, her hips undulated in a rhythm suggestive of