The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

warmth. She slipped her feet into thick stockings and clogs against the dawn chill. Later, when the sun found the clearing she would discard them.
    More than a dream. A memory.
    “From a long time ago, almost a year. I don’t need to worry about it anymore.”
    You will.
    “Now what is that supposed to mean, Shayla?” For the first time, Brevelan allowed anger to tinge her conversation with the dragon. Just once, she wished Shayla would explain her thoughts.
    You will have to face that man again.
    She didn’t say mate or husband, just “that man.” That told Brevelan something. In Shayla’s mind the black-haired man was not her husband. The law said differently.
    “That man is dead. Isn’t he?”
    Blankness. Shayla did not deign to respond.
    Darville is well?
    “Of course. The wolf thrives.” She wondered why Shayla doted so on the wolf. Dragons usually hunted wolves and other creatures of similar size, rather than feed them and ask after their welfare.
    You must protect him. Trust the one who comes to help you.
    “Shayla?”
    But the dragon was gone. Where, Brevelan had no idea. Somewhere up in the mountains to her lair probably. Someday she’d go up there and find the dragon’s home. Then, when Shayla couldn’t fly away, she’d ask all the questions she’d stored up all winter.
    Like why Shayla had summoned her into a raging snowstorm to save an injured wolf. She’d never spoken to a dragon before that awful night. Never known it was possible for anyone outside the royal family to have any contact at all with the magical creatures. But then, if the rumors back home were true, she had royal blood in her veins.
    Krej, lord of the castle next to her home village, was first cousin to King Darcine. Krej had the same bright red hair as herself and many children in his villages. The hair was a lingering legacy from the lord’s outland mother.
    That was all in the past. She had escaped her abusive husband and her village. Now there was work to be done. Brevelan stepped forward and set about her morning chores with her usual energy. The song she sang lightened her mind as well as the weight of the work.
    The work was for herself and her animals, not some duty imposed by an elder.
    As she sang, her clearing filled with light and joy. This protected place was hers, and all who resided there responded to the security her songs offered them.
     
    Just beyond where the stream crossed the road Jaylor saw the first obscure markings on the rocks at the side of the road.
    YOU APPROACH THE BORDER, said the first sign.
    The next mark a few feet beyond was less obvious to the eye. This one was written in ancient runes. The magic rather than the visual image leaped out at Jaylor.
    THE KING’S MAGIC CAN NO LONGER PROTECT YOU.
    Not exactly the king’s magic. The Commune maintained the border, repelled possible invasion, and kept the overly curious inside. King Darcine had no real magic, nor had any king before him. This king had very little of anything left—health, personality, power. All he did have of value was a son. And no one in the capital had seen the prince for weeks at the time of Jaylor’s departure.
    He pushed beyond the sign. The air thickened and resisted his efforts. Jaylor stopped and looked back.
    A faint shimmer in the air marked the spot where the last rune rested. Only magic could produce that kind of distortion. Only a magician could see it, penetrate it.
    Ordinary folk couldn’t pass that border. The Rovers had. The villagers must if they sought the witchwoman.
    The wrongness of the situation bothered him. He should consult with Baamin, and soon. He wasn’t supposed to ask for help on a quest. But it wasn’t help he sought. He needed to warn the Commune. About the border and Rovers entering the kingdom. Warn them of dragons starving out villages and leading large numbers of people astray.
    A few feet farther on, a path wandered off to the east and south. This must be the way to the home of the witchwoman. Kind of far out for her to serve the village. Her home would be in the foothills, possibly near the dragon’s lair.
    The path narrowed. Trees closed in, darkening the way. Once more he had the sense of another presence—behind him. Closer this time. A whiff of Tambootie in the air.
    The Rovers? He stretched his heightened senses once more and encountered a void. Not just the absence of a presence, the absence of everything. Someone, armored, was sending Jaylor’s awareness around the