The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

surprise.
    From behind the door, Jaylor put his finger to his lips to signal silence. He held Darville’s discarded clothes close against his chest.
    “They’ll expect him to be by your side,” he mouthed. She nodded her acceptance. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You just wanted him to hunt for himself so you could have more breakfast.” An infectious giggle threatened to erupt from her.
    He smiled back at her. She was once more comfortable in his presence. The sun poked through the cloud cover and dispersed the rain. Jaylor’s vision cleared.
     
    Darville guarded the door of the carpenter’s home. He blinked his eyes in the sunlight and stretched out across the doorway. Occasionally a person or two wandered past. They were curious. New pups always brought out the others. They had to inspect and sniff to make sure the newcomers were worthy of the pack.
    He eyed them suspiciously. When one ventured too close he growled, low and deep so they would know he guarded the ones inside. Brevelan was with the woman.
    His other-man-self knew Brevelan, his mate, needed protection. But she wasn’t whelping. It was the other woman. Her cries of pain and the smell of her fear unsettled him.
    Darville couldn’t see Jaylor, secreted in the woods. But that was all right, as long as his scent was near.
    His nose wiggled as he sorted the scents of each of the passersby. Some he knew. Some he didn’t. There was no malice among the women, just curiosity. Only one man smelled of evil. He also smelled of rotten fish.
    Then there was the man across the common. He had stationed himself in the opening of the cave. Every so often he drank from the long container in his hand. The container that men called a mug smelled of the foul water they drank in that cave. The man had no smell.
    That warned Darville. He cocked his ears, allowed his neck ruff to stand in alertness. Men disguised their smell when they stalked prey. If the man-with-no-scent hunted Brevelan, he would have to get past one very protective wolf. And Jaylor, too.
    A flicker of movement off to one side told where Jaylor hid. Darville crept forward a paw’s length and growled again. The movement should signal to Jaylor that the man at the cave was trouble.
    A thin wail of a human pup pierced the air. All movement in the village stopped. Darville sensed each person listening, leaning closer to the carpenter’s home. The wail repeated, stronger this time. The pup lived. The carpenter emerged from the cave. He pushed the scentless man aside in his hurry. Darville let him pass into his home. He had no right to stop him now that the whelping was finished.

    “A girl!” Disappointment hovered on the edge of the carpenter’s voice.
    “The child lives. She is healthy. And your wife will grow strong again to bear another,” Brevelan reprimanded him. The birth was finally over. She and Darville and Jaylor could now get on with their journey. She hated to take the time away from their quest, but she was compelled to assist Maevra. Whether these people admitted it or not, this village needed her as much as she needed them.
    The new father inspected the tiny scrap of life she held before him.
    “You said it was a boy.” He didn’t reach to hold his daughter.
    “I said the child was large enough and strong enough to be male.” The child was also determined. She just might become the next witchwoman for this village.
    Maevra roused from her exhaustion. “She’s hungry, just like her father. Give her to me.” She reached out for the now squalling infant.
    Brevelan returned the babe to her mother. She wanted out of this dim, confining house. The dark emotions of the father, her own fatigue, and the smells of birthing threatened to choke her.
    She needed Darville and Jaylor to dispel her loneliness again.
    “We were promised a boy,” the carpenter sulked. “Old Thorm said you might substitute a changeling so you could keep the boy for yourself. Yourself and that meddling magician!” His tone turned menacing. A growl from the doorway stopped his words.
    “Only the Stargods can promise the gender of a child. Take up your complaint with them,” Brevelan spat back at him. She edged closer to the door and Darville’s protection.
    “You take the name of our gods in vain!” Clearly the man was drunk. Or under a spell. Otherwise he’d never dare risk the ill will of a witchwoman.
    She looked to Maevra and the now nursing child. Once the man returned to