The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

denoted ancient prominence. So why wasn’t this Pylon revered?
    As Jaylor had wandered south through Faciar, the groups of dwellings had become farther apart. The trader-roads had been well maintained, and usually there was enough to feed a stranger. Especially if he had news from the capital.
    A stranger wasn’t turned away as long as he wasn’t a magician. Distrust of that elite order of talented men ran rampant beyond city and castle walls. No wonder Baamin had ordered Jaylor to guard well the nature of his quest and his status as journeyman magician. The secretive old sot knew the mood of the country better than Jaylor had expected.
    Conditions were worse here in the south. Hostility toward everything from the capital was so strong Jaylor could see waves of hatred almost without magic. No one cared about news from Coronnan City, the king’s waning health, or their obviously absent lord—Krej, first cousin to the king.
    Something was very wrong here. He hadn’t even had to ask about local dragon lore. These people seethed with it. As if the winged creatures embodied all of their problems. Had they even seen enough of their lord to know that he should be taking care of them?
    Rumors in Coronnan City said that Krej’s latest philanthropy was sponsoring sculptors. He collected life-sized figures of rare creatures to display to deprived children who had no other way to view the wonders of Coronnan. Did Krej have a dragon? One made of precious glass perhaps? No. Even Lord Krej, second in line to the throne, couldn’t afford an entire dragon made of glass.
    “Stranger.” A soft feminine voice broke his concentration.
    With a word and a quick gesture the glowing map, evidence of his magic talent, disappeared. Only then did he turn to face the owner of the voice, the barmaid.
    In the dark cave of the pub, the girl’s dirty face and ragged clothes revealed little but too thin limbs, hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. The noon sun revealed a lush bosom.
    “Stranger, my da sent a pasty and some ale to see you on your road.” She arched her back so that her breasts threatened to burst through the threadbare homespun of her bodice.
    This girl was so thin and bedraggled that all she roused in him was outrage that she had been reduced to such a level.
    Women, girls, always they tempted him; with their loveliness, their scent, their generous curves. Their mere presence usually made him forget he was a magician born and bred, and as such forbidden to take any woman. If he gave into temptation, he would lose his magic. And because he was forbidden to lie with any woman, all of them became more desirable.
    “Give my thanks to your da,” he replied politely. It would probably be considered an insult to refuse, even though he knew they couldn’t afford to be so generous.
    “Must you leave so soon?” Her eyelashes fluttered.
    “My journey is a long way from ending.”
    “It’s festival tonight.” Her finger traced the neckline of her garment.
    Stargods! Last night, not tonight, had been festival. The girl was lying. For while he’d heard that some barbaric peoples celebrated on both the night of the equinox and the first full day of spring, no one in Coronnan followed that custom.
    Slowly, she outlined the dip and curve of her breasts with a lingering fingertip. Her lips pouted prettily while her eyes wandered toward the sparse decorations on the Pylon.
    “Aren’t you celebrating a little late this year?” Jaylor asked through clenched teeth. Her invitation touched him with panic rather than desire. A close regard for the movements of stars and planets, sun and moon was among the most sacred duties of magicians and priests alike.
    He had spent the night in the hills outside of town, determined to avoid the temptations of festival. If the celebration had gotten out of hand, he might have awakened in the morning to find his magic reduced or gone altogether just because he hadn’t resisted what spring and the fertile women offered.
    “Tonight is festival,” the girl insisted. Her eyes traveled to the cave opening of the pub as if seeking answers. She avoided looking at the Pylon. She couldn’t lie while her eyes rested on this ancient symbol of the movement of sun and moon and stars.
    “Does your da think me so simple I can’t read the skies? I learned to follow the passage of sun and moon as an infant. Either your priest is lax or the world spins in a different path here in the south.” He glanced at the cave