The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

teeth stood out from the knife-straight markings at the base of his right thumb.
    “I can’t allow you to interfere with the man’s passing into his next existence.” His voice was soft, caring. An unwary person could fall under the spell of that voice.
    But Myri was wary. She noted the patches and threadbare spots where his elbows stuck through the faded red robe. She looked up into the priest’s face, knowing she would encounter hate and fear in his black eyes. She’d seen that robe before. She had inflicted that scar on his thumb when he’d tried to interfere with her first serious healing—before she knew enough to fear him.
    “Moncriith,” she whispered. Not a priest. A Bloodmage who fueled his powers with blood and pain while he preached against demons only he could see. If he were here, then his followers wouldn’t be far away. How many hundreds awaited his orders to burn those who interfered with the Bloodmage’s wishes?
    “Witchwoman Myrilandel.” He jerked his hands away from her.
    “Let me save this man. Please.” She pressed her hands tighter against the severed arm, willing the blood vessels to mend and join before Moncriith could stop her. His campaign against witchwomen as the tools of demons was well known in every village where she and Magretha had sought sanctuary. Hundreds of women wandered Coronnan, homeless and maligned because Moncriith had labeled them witchwomen—whether they had magical talent or not.
    “Because of you, a man walks soulless through life,” Moncriith intoned. He lifted his hands in an appeal to the Stargods as he raised his voice to carry throughout the hospital tent. “Five years ago, you interfered with a man’s destined passage into his next existence with your demon-spawn spells.”
    Off to the side, a soldier touched head, heart, and both shoulders, the Stargods’ ward against evil. Then he crossed his wrists and fluttered his hands in a more ancient sign. Amaranth butted his head into the man’s leg and purred reassurance. The soldier jumped away from the cat as if burned.
    “Because you refused to use your magic to heal a simple cut, the man nearly lost his life,” Myri reminded Moncriith. “Jessup would have died prematurely. His pregnant widow and two tiny children couldn’t fell timber to earn a living and keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Because I saved Jessup, the family thrives once more.”
    Myri continued her binding spell, praying she wouldn’t have to go into a deep trance to restore her patient’s vitality. Already Moncriith’s fervor laid a taint of guilt upon her, weakening her power and control over the healing.
    What did he see in her and other women that was so very evil? He never singled out the wives of powerful men, nor did he accuse men—only women who lived alone, without the protection of husband, father, or son.
    “The timberman you cured limps painfully, clear evidence that he left his soul in the void when you dragged him back to this existence. Another soulless demon to aid you in your evil practices.” Moncriith’s voice took on tremors of righteousness.
    Silence spread through the hospital tent. Even the screams of the dying fell off.
    Myri ducked her head so the men wouldn’t see her tears of doubt. Her talent sprang from deep inside her without her conscious control. Did it come from demons?
    She had no arguments against Moncriith’s accusations.
    The three healers gazed suspiciously at Myri and Amaranth, who now circled the wounded man’s pallet. Blue light glowed beneath her hands where the lifeless arm sought to rejoin with the body.
    She had to stop Moncriith’s interference before the blue light totally engulfed her mind and body.
    “This witchwoman is possessed by demons. Burn her before she condemns this brave soldier to a soulless life!” Moncriith implored, reaching eager hands for Myri’s shoulders. He jerked back, repelled by the barrier her talent erected even as it dragged her deeper into a trance.
    Beneath her fingers, life pulsed into the dangling arm. The soldier moaned and clenched his fist. Then he fell back into unconsciousness.
    “Stargods!” Men whispered around the tent. More wards against evil, modern and ancient.
    The healers cleared the hovering crowd away to inspect Myri’s work. Gently, the quiet woman who held the injured limb in place lifted her fingers from the injury. She saw with her eyes what Myri knew in her mind. Muscles mended and bones