The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

mouth of the cave clearly blocked Myri’s passage into the domicile behind her. The raucous songs and the smell of spilled ale coming from behind the woman told her a tavern filled the cave.
    “I ran away from a great battle. The wars took everything from me, my home, my family. . . .” Myri cuddled Amaranth closer to her face as if hiding tears. In all the places she’d asked hospitality in the past weeks since fleeing Televarn and his searching Rovers, she’d learned to stretch the truth and portray emotions she didn’t always feel. Villagers empathized with those who’d been displaced by the war, a fear they all shared. Few trusted aimless travelers. Rovers, thieves, and marauding soldiers made them cautious.
    So Myri told them what they wanted to hear. The voices and the circling wind that kept pushing Myri east didn’t object to her half-truths and playacting. She couldn’t travel East any farther without running into the ocean.
    If only she could forget Televarn and the pain he’d left in her heart. She forgot so many things, why not the treacherous Rover?
    “Like as not, we’ll see more of your kind. Had a whole family through here last week. Thought they’d try their luck in Hanassa rather than put up with the wars here. Living with outlaws and thieves in that hole in the mountain can’t be worse than living with armies constantly tearing up fields and scavenging all they can cart away.” The woman dropped her arms bud didn’t move aside.
    “I’m very hungry.” Myri’s stomach growled loudly of its own volition.
    “Bet that cat is, too. Can’t afford to give everyone food. You’ll have to work for it. You don’t look strong enough to fetch and carry here in the pub.”
    “I know herbs and healing. I can sweeten the stale ale and make your bread so light it doesn’t need to be dipped in beer to chew.”
    “Healing? You a magician?” Suspicion darkened the woman’s eyes. Healers belonged with the armies that plagued them all. “We got no use for those bastards. Stealing out harvest and our young women. And if we don’t give ’em up fast and willing, they burn us out.” The woman crossed her arms across her ample bosom and stared hard at Myri, daring her to claim the extensive training required to turn a person of talent into a magician.
    “I’m only a witchwoman. I’ve never been trained in magic, and I wouldn’t accept it if offered. But I know what phases of the moon to gather witchwort.” Myri stared back, letting her own fear of magicians shine through her eyes.
    “If you want to hasten a birth . . . ?”
    “Pluck the freshest leaves of witchwort at the full moon and make an infusion of them immediately,” Myri replied to the testing question.
    “Every woman knows that. What else can you do with witchwort?”
    “Gather the blossoms at the dark of the moon and dry them until they crumble. Sprinkle them on porridge three mornings in a row and your courses will come regular again.” Or abort an unwanted baby.
    “I heard you had to use them five days in a row.”
    “Only if you are more than a moon late.”
    The woman nodded her acceptance of the prescription. “Got me a great, honking boil under my arm. Won’t let me raise my arm or lift anything heavier than my drawers. Can’t sleep ’cause of it. All Granny Katia’s poultices didn’t help at all. Reckon you can’t hurt nothing if you lance and drain it. Do it proper so’s the infection don’t spread, then you’ve got a place to stay, girl. I’m Karry, short for Katareena. You got a name?” Finally, the woman stepped aside, clearing the doorway for Myri to enter.
    Warmth and noise blasted Myri’s senses the moment she crossed the threshold. The smell of unwashed male bodies nearly overwhelmed the aroma of baking bread and fermenting brews. Amaranth buried his head beneath her arm rather than face the men who halted their songs and stopped eating to stare at her.
    “She’s a healer, boys, not a whore. Go back to your drinks,” Karry said loud enough for all to hear, even in the back corners of the tavern.
    “What’s the difference between a healer and whore?” yelled a man with broken teeth and long ropy scars on his arms.
    “How much she charges!” replied a man from across the room. “Whores are cheaper.”
    “Ask your wife the difference when she needs a midwife, Timmon. She’ll bash your head in for looking at another woman after knocking her up for the ninth time,” said a man across