The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

tongue as if tasting it. “A good, simple name. Easy to say and remember. You are wise not to reveal your true name.”
    Nimbulan almost checked his stride in shock. A measure of self-preservation kept him beside the shorter, younger man, matching him pace for pace. “I’ve heard of that tradition. Some people believe possession of a true name gives one power over another.”
    “Possession of a true name gives a magician power over another.” The Rover looked him up and down. “If you have magic, you keep it hidden, Lan.”
    For the first time, Nimbulan noticed the embroidery on the man’s vest. Tiny stitches in silver and gold outlined symbols in ancient writing. The spoken language had died out centuries ago. Some magicians still used the pictorial writing to hide spells. Each glyph became a sigil of power.
    “If I had magic, I’d run away from it. Few love magicians in Coronnan these days. They blame . . .” he almost said “us.” “Magicians take the blame for winning and losing battles. Whoever wins, the common soldiers and their families lose.”
    “Aye.” The Rover whistled again to the small steeds.
    “Do you have a name, fellow traveler?” Nimbulan asked.
    A comely woman in her twenties with a babe on her hip moved up beside them before the Rover could speak. An intriguing mole rested near the right corner of her mouth, inviting his gaze to linger on her full lips. She lowered her lashes flirtatiously over luminous dark eyes, watching Nimbulan as she did so. Her breasts nearly spilled out of her bodice when she walked. She’d reversed the lacing so that the garment opened from the top. Probably to nurse the child more easily.
    In most societies, most women laced their bodices from top to bottom to indicate their lack of availability.
    “The children are cold and hungry. Can we stop for a meal and a rest?” she addressed the leader of the clan while smiling speculatively at Nimbulan.
    Nimbulan couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth except to peer longingly at her breasts.
    “Aye,” the Rover chieftain replied. “At the next bend in the road. There is a clean-flowing creek there.” He didn’t look at the woman’s blatant sensuality.
    She twitched her hips in invitation as she moved back to the mass of Rovers behind the sledges. Nimbulan licked his suddenly dry lips. He hadn’t had a woman in many, many moons. Perhaps more than a year. Women robbed a man of the energy needed for magic. Battlemages habitually made use of the occasional camp follower when they required a quick release of pent up frustrations. That kind of woman didn’t expect courtship or lasting relationships. They didn’t demand attention that could be put toward the work of saving an army from defeat.
    He’d never understood Ackerly’s preference for peasant women who clung to him, begging him to return and settle in their villages.
    He wasn’t a Battlemage anymore. If he succeeded in his quest, there would be no more Battlemages. He could take the time and expend the energy to woo a woman, get to know her, take time making love to her. . . .
    “Tell me, leader of this clan of Rovers—I assume you lead, since the woman asked your permission to stop rather than relaying the orders of another—is pursuit of that woman forbidden to me?” Nimbulan continued to watch the woman, hoping he’d read her invitation correctly.
    “Maia’s man died last spring. He made the mistake of seeking shelter from a brief storm beneath a tree. Lightning killed him and the tree. I trust you’ll be smarter.”
    “Is that permission to accept her advances?”
    “She’s free. I trust you are as well, or you wouldn’t be wandering Coronnan alone.” The Rover shrugged.
    “I have no woman to bind me to hearth and home.” An image of Myrilandel’s moon blond hair and lavender-shadowed skin flashed before his mind’s eye. More images of his apprentices tugged his heart back to the river islands and the school.
    “I have never let a woman bind me.” The Rover looked away as if embarrassed. “I find my taste running to fairer women than Maia. My instincts are telling me to spread my seed outside the clan. We become inbred too easily. For that reason, we’ll welcome your seed. Take your pick of those who seek you out.”
    Nimbulan decided not to press the matter. The emotions filling the Rover’s eyes could as easily lash out in punishing anger as they could dissolve into tears.
    “If I am to rove with you for a time, I