The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

Brevelan ducked her head in an accepted posture of subservience, which he obviously expected. “I’ve never met one of your Guild. I didn’t recognize your uniform.” From beneath her lowered lashes she scanned the bridge and the man’s boat.
    Tools and oddments of rusty metal littered the bottom of the boat. The linchpin on this bridge was very new.
    “Every citizen of Coronnan City knows the Bay Pilots and owes them proper respect. Who are you that you do not recognize the families who have kept the sea pirates and invaders away from our shores for centuries?” Even as he spoke, the man was scrambling to intercept Brevelan’s passage across the bridge.
    “I’ve just come from the country with my husband, good sir.” Mica chose that moment to wake. The noises coming from her throat were more growl than purr. “The villages aren’t safe anymore. There’re outlaws and evil magicians at every turn. We fled to the city for safety,” she prevaricated.
    “As well you should, goodwoman.” The pilot preened. “The Guild will keep the city safe, in spite of the interference of the Council and the magicians. We’d all be better off if we threw the whole lot to Sorcerer Simeon and his horde of evildoers, and left the running of the city to those of us that live and work here.”
    Mica poked her nose out from under the covering cloth and sniffed the air around them.
    “Prince Darville will lead our men to victory,” Brevelan asserted while she probed the pilot’s emotions. She could learn nothing from him. The habit of secrecy was so deeply ingrained in the man, he allowed no thought or emotion to escape.
    “If our prince is still alive,” the pilot snorted. “The Council’s got him hidden so’s he won’t try to be king and take power away from the arrogant bastards. Get rid of ’em, one and all, I say.”
    “And does the rest of the Guild agree with you?”
    The man’s eyes narrowed again, suspicion clouding them. “Why do you want to know, goodwoman? Why do you keep me here with your questions when I have work to do? Are you a spy, or mayhap a witch? I see red hair beneath your scarf. Only witches and magicians have red hair.” He took a step closer to her, his fists clenched as if he might strike her.
    Brevelan clasped her abdomen in instinctive protection of the baby. Mica growled within the basket.
    “Never!” Brevelan stood as tall and straight as she could. “Are you a spy? You, who tamper with the bridges. You are the one who keeps me here with your arrogant posturing. Move aside.” She put the full force of her magic into her glaring eyes.
    The man returned her stare a moment, then took one step back. “The Guild will want to know about you. Can’t have foreign spies and witches learning about our defenses. You’ll come with me, woman, and answer to the Guild.”
    “What right has the Guild to detain innocent citizens?” Brevelan stood her ground.
    “The Guild of Bay Pilots is . . . is the Guild!” The pilot suddenly looked confused, as if he’d never had to understand why Guild orders must be obeyed. “You’ll just have to come with me!”
    Brevelan ducked under the man’s reaching grasp. She ran across the bridge as fast as the bulk of her belly and the hindering basket would allow. The pilot ambled after her, confident his superior position in life would allow him to catch her. He was halfway across when Brevelan reached for the linchpin. He halted abruptly in his tracks.
    Brevelan moved her hand away from the shiny new mechanism the man had just installed. He took a step closer. She reached again for the release that would topple him into the angry river.
    “I can’t swim, goodwoman.”
    “My quest is honest. Outlaws and raiders stalk honest women in the villages. I don’t trust you.”
    “Yes, goodwoman.” He took a cautious step backward.
    Brevelan dropped her hand to her side. Slowly, the pilot returned to the riverbank where his boat was secured, glaring menace and retribution with each step. When he was safely ashore, she loosened the linchpin. It slid easily within its housing.
    “Don’t do that!” The pilot stared at her, aghast.
    “Can I trust you to leave me alone?” The wooden planks on the bridge groaned as she played with the linchpin.
    “I am a Guildman. My word is trusted.” Trusted, not trustworthy. The Guildman crossed himself in the manner of the Stargods. When he dropped his right hand from the gesture, he let it rest crossed over his