The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

memories. Each time two witches joined, a surge of magical energy erupted from the grove. Residue from the spells thrown by the coven during those surges was the magic Yaakke had followed during his transport across half of Coronnan.
    Yaakke’s adolescent body reacted to the erotic dream with intense interest. He listened to the witch’s thoughts and followed the images to the thicket where the dreamers slept off the night’s activities and the drugging effect of the Tambootie. Sheltered within the burned-out trunk of an immense oak slept a middle-aged man with a square-cut beard and close-cropped hair. He was half draped over the body of a voluptuous, auburn-haired woman. They were both naked.
    A foreigner. Citizens of Coronnan City were clean shaven and wore their long hair neatly restrained in a queue.
    This stranger didn’t seem affected by the cool river mist. Not with the woman clasped so tightly against him. Maybe they were both strangers from a colder clime. Red hair on a woman was unusual. He’d know her if he ever saw her again.
    Even as he watched and “listened,” Yaakke observed the dreamer’s body rouse while his mind continued to sleep. Witch or no, this man wouldn’t be aware of Yaakke’s presence or of the boat’s absence for several hours yet.
    Rowing across the turbulent river would be tiring. But not nearly as much as transporting himself to another island. Yaakke caressed his new staff, wondering how much easier magic would be with the tool. Maybe he should try bringing food to refuel his body.
    The witch and his lady mumbled and squirmed in their sleep. Yaakke silently withdrew from the thicket, embarrassed by their intimate display. Theft seemed more ethical than watching these two perform, or starving to death on this island of blessings and profanity.
     
    The baby squirmed and bounced within Brevelan’s belly. This walk across the city had taken too long. Her feet were swelling and her eyes were tired from her careful scrutiny of so many strangers. Both she and the baby needed food and water.
    Mica’s humming purr ceased abruptly.
    Cautiously, Brevelan peered around her to see what had disrupted the cat’s pleasant reverie.
    A market square spread out in front of her. It looked like any other village market: one baker, one horse-trader, one carpenter/fix-it, one barkeep, and not much else.
    Except there was an old woman sitting on a stool at the extreme corner of the square, as close to an exit as she could perch and still be part of the market. She wore a plain black skirt and kirtle, like any matronly tradeswoman. But her blouse was bright purple, her kerchief was red banded in black, and the hem of her skirt was pieced with strips of red and purple, yellow and green. In front of her was spread an assortment of mended cooking tools and gaudy, tooled silver jewelry. Her costume proclaimed her a Rover. The palm reading she performed for a succession of men, young and old, confirmed her identity.
    Brevelan checked the cat’s reaction. Mica’s face poked out from beneath the checkered cloth. Her nose twitched and her eyes grew big. But she wasn’t watching the Rover woman.
    All of Mica’s attention was directed across the square on a girl, and the man who urged her to follow him. The cat’s hissing growl grew louder.
    The baby lurched again, just as he had that time an alien presence had soothed him when Brevelan’s spirit left her body. Was he reacting to that same presence?
    Everyone, including the Rover palm reader now, watched the well-dressed girl and the man with the foreign-looking beard and close-cropped hair, who had a firm grip on her arm. No one paid any attention to Brevelan or her cat.
    “Is that Darville’s errant princess?” Brevelan whispered to Mica. Who else would dare wear a gown of such costly fabric and daring cut at the bosom into this remote corner of the capital?
    Brevelan moved closer.
    So did the Rover woman.
    “You dare accost one who is pledged to a convent!” Rossemikka proclaimed loudly. Everyone in the market could hear her words. Words that were calculated to require the locals to protect her.
    Then her manner changed abruptly. Her eyes slitted and her body looked softer, rounder, more voluptuous. Her lips pouted and she leaned closer to the man who was trying to maneuver her into an alley.
    “Of course, there are some men who thrill at the chance to defy the Stargods. The risk of being outlawed by every priest in the land heightens the