The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

purchased with illusory coins. Sullenly, he elbowed his way out of the makeshift tavern and into the rowdy coronation crowd. He’d lingered too long.
    Time never flowed at the speed he wanted it to, and now he was late. One more infraction of the rules to prevent his promotion to journeyman.
    A crow scolded him from atop his perch on the tavern tent’s ridgepole with raucous cries. Guilt and shame burned Yaakke’s ears at the reminder of his tardiness.
    He’d idled the hours with forbidden eavesdropping on the thoughts of drunken revelers. He liked to imagine these simple folk were his family, since he had none. Every farmer or merchant could be his father come to visit him during the week-long coronation festival. . . .
    Now he was late.
    “Disgusting filth!” A lean man of middle height spat a bite of meat roll into the gutter. His bright scarlet tunic with gold braid proclaimed him a senior member of the Guild of Bay Pilots. The wily boatmen were an integral part of Coronnan’s defense. No one else could guide shipping through the constantly changing channels in the mudflats of the Great Bay. Invading navies had ceased trying to negotiate the mudflats centuries ago.
    “That’s good meat and pasty. How dare you insult my wares!” A young woman with blond curls escaping her kerchief glared at her customer. She planted work-worn hands on narrow hips, presenting a picture of outraged determination. “You took a bite, now pay up.”
    The noisy black crow swooped down from the ridgepole of the tavern pavilion and devoured the discarded food in one gulp. Not a crow, a jackdaw. As it lifted its head and croaked in triumph, Yaakke noted the white tufts of feathers above the bird’s eyes, much like the bushy eyebrows of an old man. The bird rotated its eyes before launching itself back to its high perch. The movement caused the white tufts to waggle, just the way Old Baamin’s eyebrows had whenever he admonished his apprentice.
    Grief threatened to choke Yaakke. The irritable old man would never again correct him for an error in magic or in manners.
    The argument between the girl and the Bay Pilot drew Yaakke’s attention back to the present. His telepathic senses amplified the anger, distrust, and fear that surrounded this typical market argument. He considered turning his back and slipping into the throng of revelers, unseen, unknown.
    “Uncooked pig offal. I’ll not pay to be poisoned.” The pilot’s hand reached for the long boat hook that dangled from his belt.
    Violence spilled from the man’s aura, infecting other members of the crowd. Warning prickled the length of Yaakke’s spine. He searched the crowd for help, anyone with a hint of authority to intervene. A ring of avid observers formed around the arguing couple.
    “Give the arrogant bastard what for, Margit!” one of the watchers yelled.
    “Don’t let the chit cheat you, Guildsman!” another voice answered from the other side of the crow. Violence simmered around them, inviting their participation with more than words.
    The pilot looked over his shoulder at the crowd. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes and in his aura. Then the mask of arrogance, so typical of his kind, dropped back into place. He waved the boat hook in front of Margit. The girl didn’t retreat.
    Yaakke silently applauded Margit’s courage. He’d had his meals stolen from him by bullies often enough to understand the girl’s need to stop this one thief before another took advantage of her weakness.
    “You’ll pay or I’ll have the guard on you!” Margit’s eyes grew large at the sight of the Guildsman’s sharp boat hook. Her aura pulsed red. Anger or fear?
    Power?
    No. Her eyes were too clear and innocent for her to possess the sudden surge of magic Yaakke sensed in the air.
    “What guard?” the boatman snorted. “Only my Guild keeps Coronnan safe!”
    More jeers from the crowd, for and against the Guildsman. Yaakke decided he’d better step in before a riot started. If he prevented a dangerous disturbance at the king’s long awaited coronation, maybe the Commune would consider him reliable again. He also needed to track down that sudden surge of magic he’d felt. Maybe Jaylor would give him his journeyman’s quest after all.
    Yaakke sought the pilot’s name within his mind. The information hid from a light probe. Yaakke concentrated harder. Paetor. Unusual. The syllables grated on his tongue like a foreign language. The Guild tended to be separate from