The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

mind was with the gale that whipped the waves to a crashing froth. The uncaring air was too busy shifting from here to there to pay attention to the men who were in trouble. Myri found no trace of their life energies. She lifted her arms, letting the wind catch her sleeves. The sensation of almost flight gave her greater speed.
    A week ago, when she and Nimbulan were drained of all strength, this same journey in reverse had taken days. Now with her health restored, and the urgency of the dragons pushing her forward, she ran the distance in less than an hour.
    Her magic tether to Nimbulan’s heart stretched but did not break. For the first time in nearly a week, she was separated from him by more than a few arm’s lengths. Loneliness assailed her already.
    Her talent pulled her forward. She had to run with it.
    The dozen cottages huddled together on the edge of the bluff above a narrow gravel beach looked smaller, shabbier, abandoned since she’d left here a week ago.
    She looked out over the bay for physical signs of the men in trouble. Rain squalls and low clouds obscured her view of the waters beyond the cove. Waves rose too high, too fast to reveal what might hide in the troughs. Only small boats with crews of three or four could maneuver through the Dragon’s Teeth, the jagged outcropping from the bay floor that changed currents at will and disguised depths.
    Myri headed for the dark and smoky pub. All of the villagers would gather there to organize a rescue or mourn the dead.
    Tension hung with the gloomy smoke and the silence in the crowded pub. Doors closed against the storm intensified the stale and murky air. A few men sipped at mugs of ale. Anxious women stared into their cups lest they catch the eye and the worry of another. No stories of daring deeds and monster fish trapped in the nets passed around the cave. No lewd jokes or grumbling of what might have been.
    Yoshi, the simple boy, poked sticks into the central fire, silently watching the glowing embers. He was big and strong, in his early twenties, but his mind had never grown after a bout of brain fever when he was ten. The same fever that nearly claimed him last winter. He took orders well, but had few thoughts of his own. He didn’t look up at Myri’s entrance. A sure sign of his preoccupation.
    “Who is missing?” Myri asked as she stood on the threshold. The anxiety of the men and women invaded her heart. She scanned the group, counting heads, lumping family groups together.
    “Rory’s boat of four,” Karry replied. “Kelly has three in his.” Years of pitching her voice to be heard over a noisy throng made her near whisper seem a shout.
    Amaranth crept between Myri’s feet to curl up by the fire. His purpley-black fur absorbed the meager light of the central hearth, draining it from the rest of the cave. A grizzled old man shifted his stool away from proximity with the flywacket. He crossed himself in the manner of the Stargods, then surreptitiously placed his left wrist over his right and flapped his hands.
    Yoshi didn’t know enough to be afraid of the witchwoman’s familiar and reached out a hand to caress the cat. Amaranth nuzzled his outstretched palm, but didn’t purr. “Rory be smart,” Yoshi told Amaranth. “He’ll not try for home in this weather. Knows the Dragon’s Teeth won’t let him land till the wind slacks and the tide changes.”
    Karry poured another round of ale from pitchers. Her smile trembled, then reasserted itself, too wide, too fixed.
    “Something’s wrong.” Myri leaned out the door, hesitant to throw herself into the business of rescuing the men, needing to help and obey the compulsion within her to heal. The rising storm and tricky currents threatened her life more than the drain of a normal healing.
    “They’re coming through now!” Nimbulan shouted as he ran down the cliff path.
    “Get ropes and blankets,” Karry ordered the men. “Yoshi, build up the fire and find bandages!” Turning to Myri, she whispered, “Who’s he?”
    “My friend.” Myri smiled her love for Nimbulan, then turned and raced for the steps cut into the bluff leading to the beach and the jagged rocks that had claimed more than one life. Karry would organize the villagers here in the pub, but they wouldn’t hasten to venture forth into the crashing waves. Could any of them swim? Probably not.
    She met cold, wet gravel at the base of the bluff with her bare feet. Spring was barely here. The storm could still