The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

adventure.” Her voice was both enticement and challenge.
    A snarl rose from the throats of several of the locals, men and women alike. Respect for the institutions of the Stargods ran high among the populace of the city.
    Mica’s tune choked briefly. Brevelan suppressed her own laughter. The girl was cunning, no doubt about it. No man within hearing distance would dare touch her now. Indeed, the barkeep was fingering a cudgel with hands itching to bash a head or two.
    “Shut your mouth and come with me, woman! Come quietly or you won’t get any dinner,” the foreigner hissed. His eyes shifted uneasily about the square, while his grip on Rossemikka’s arm never loosened.
    “Merowerrrr!” Mica challenged the man as she stood up in the basket. Her back arched and the fur along her spine stiffened.
    “Hush, Mica! Get down. We don’t want to attract attention.” Brevelan tried to hold the cat back.
    “Merowerrrr!” Mica squirmed out of Brevelan’s grasp and leaped from the basket. Her claws were fully extended. Her eyes glowed a murderous red.
    “A witch! A witch and her familiar claim the girl,” the barkeep shouted and pointed at Brevelan with the cudgel.
    Half the crowd turned their attention toward Brevelan. A heavy boot lifted to kick at the leaping cat.
     
    “Why is that bridge down?” Darville wondered out loud. Another distraction. Rosie had been missing almost an entire day, Brevelan and Mica nearly as long. Yet he couldn’t neglect his city, and a collapsed bridge in this sector indicated something terribly wrong.
    “Dragons only know,” Jaylor replied as he bent his back and shoulders into his oar stroke.
    Darville searched both banks of Coronnan River for a clue. The pilings that secured the planks on each bank were intact. A board dragging against a piling in the water on the Marner Isle side caught his eye. The current caught the wood, swirled around the piling, then released it as unseen forces pushed the water on course toward the bay.
    “Pull over to that piling,” Darville commanded his friend.
    “Wrong direction. We want Last Isle. Our women are still lost,” Jaylor protested.
    “This might be important. If the bridge has been down for long, Brevelan and Mica couldn’t get across to Last Isle.”
    “If the bridge has been down that long, you would have heard the locals’ complaints.”
    “Don’t bet on that. The Council has been going out of its way to make sure I hear nothing of what happens outside the palace. My spies are good but not infallible.”
    Without that bridge, the residents of Last Isle would be stranded. Very few of the capital’s citizens kept boats for transportation these days. Maintenance and moorage were too expensive for the common folk. Boats for defense and escape had been unnecessary for three hundred years.
    Darville grabbed hold of the loose plank as Jaylor maneuvered the boat closer to the steep embankment. The hull scraped on more planks and handrails. Darville hauled on the rope holding the loose plank. More boards rose from the river. Beneath them, dipping deep into the river, the bridge seemed almost intact. Someone had collapsed the bridge from the Marner Isle side.
    Why? There was no other bridge to this most remote of the city’s islands. Whoever had pulled the linchpin had trapped everyone on Last Isle. But how long ago had this happened? The wooden plank was totally soaked from the river’s surging current. Not waterlogged.
    “I think we need to make haste, Jaylor. Brevelan could be in trouble.”
    “Take the oars a minute.” Jaylor thrust the sweeps into Darville’s hands without waiting for a reply. “Hold her still. I need to touch the plank. Maybe I can read who has passed across it.”
    With the ease of long practice, Darville helped his friend into position. He watched the water and the boat with only half his attention.
    Jaylor’s body went totally still as soon as his hand touched the wood. His eyes closed as his breathing deepened. For a moment, the late afternoon sunshine almost glowed through the magician’s body.
    Impatiently, Darville fought a swirl in the current. When his attention fully returned to Jaylor, every muscle in his friend’s body twitched out of control.
    “Jaylor! Come out of your trance,” he commanded with a frightened wobble in his voice. Somehow, he hadn’t quite believed Brevelan’s report of how Jaylor’s magic had warped. If every spell, even this simple one, sent him into convulsions,