The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

ones, just as depressing.
    Her meeting with Darville this morning had been strained. Though the bond of communication and empathy still existed, something now stood between them. Something like resentment? Or was it embarrassment?
    She scratched Mica’s cheek and ear, drawing comfort from her familiar presence. Mica was still Mica. And yet . . . ?
    Mica belonged with Darville now, if this cat could truly be said to belong to anyone.
    Darville had taken command of his kingdom and the Council. His personality colored everything in the palace. He had also proved himself on the field of battle. The people of Rossemeyer would welcome him as husband to their princess. His life had spread far beyond the comforting limits of Brevelan’s clearing.
    The baby kicked and stretched. The loneliness of Brevelan’s circling thoughts receded.
    “Baamin says there is a small market square three islands north and two west from University Island. Sometimes Rovers bring their wares for trade. They aren’t supposed to be in Coronnan at all, but the magic that kept them out is gone. And Rovers . . . rove. That’s bred into their nature. Only very strong magic will keep them out, or curb their thieving instincts.”
    From the depths of the basket, Mica agreed. Brevelan drew a checkered cloth over the top of the basket. What cat, other than a witch’s familiar, would consent to be carried in a basket?
    A few steps beyond the gate brought Brevelan to the first bridge. It looked sturdy and well traveled. She put one cautious foot on the wooden planks. Waves of distrust and fear assailed her. She wanted to run away, put as much distance between herself and this river crossing as possible.
    Brevelan looked sharply all around her. There was no sense of an individual as the source of the violent emotions. She touched the wooden railing as she placed her right foot firmly on the bridge. The emotions rose again. She lifted her hand from the railing. The emotions eased.
    The bridge didn’t sway and didn’t threaten to crumble. Beneath the walkway, the waters of Coronnan River gushed in a joyous race to the Great Bay. She tested the bridge again with one foot.
    It must be the stone foundation of the bridge that retained the fear of the people who had erected it.
    Three hundred years ago, the country had been in the grip of the Great War of Disruption. Lord fought lord. Magicians sought ever more powerful spells to aid their own battles and those of the lords. Families divided. Chaos reigned.
    The last remaining member of the royal family had slowly gathered together an army and a city. The river became their greatest defense. All of the bridges in the ancient city were replaced during that time. Each span was designed so that a single defender could pull a linchpin. The bridge would then collapse behind, cutting off any pursuer.
    It was this sense of overriding fear that permeated the bridges, even though most of the original parts had been replaced time and again.
    Brevelan sought the release device with sensitive fingertips. From the strength of the emotions embedded in the wood, she expected the defense mechanism to be clean and well oiled.
    Rust and grime flaked off on her fingers. The bridge had been neglected for many generations. Quite possibly, no one could pull the linchpin now.
    She moved on to the next bridge, and the next, forgetting the press of the populace and their unarmored emotions. In the inner city all but a few of the bridges showed the same degree of neglect. Gradually, as she worked her way toward the lesser markets, she noticed that about half of the release mechanisms had been replaced. Recently.
    As Brevelan approached the last bridge she needed to cross, she spotted a man in a small boat moored to the supporting arches. He wore a bright red tunic with gold braid on his sleeves and a jaunty boatman’s cap. His legs were encased in sturdy trews that hung loosely about his ankles.
    The boatman stared at her. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Brevelan felt his wariness, as well as his arrogance.
    “Goodman, what brings you out on the river on a day when the current is swift and treacherous?” she asked, probing his mind to no avail.
    “Goodman!” Outrage poured from his mind as well as his soul. “How dare you demean me as a mere tradesman. I am a ranking member of the Guild of Bay Pilots.” His self-assurance was almost strong enough to convince Brevelan of his superiority.
    “Forgive me, good . . . sir.”