The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

Ackerly. Find him a camp follower who knows the payment, and the cost, beforehand.”
    Behind a delusion of thickening mist and smoke from the funeral pyres, Nimbulan withdrew.
    “Stargods, help me interpret your vision correctly!”
     
    A cold wet nose touched Myrilandel’s cheek. She opened one heavy eye, shrugging her shoulders against the predawn chill. Her dream of flying high over the Great Bay vanished, leaving her curiously empty.
    “Good morning, Mistress Badger,” she responded to a second prodding from the animal’s nose. “Thank you for the use of your burrow. I’ll be on my way.” She took one extra moment to rub sleep-sand from her eyes and dragged herself from the tight confines of the badger’s home.
    The joy of greeting a new morning filled the emptiness, and she forgot all but her excitement at facing a new day, a new adventure.
    “Grrrr,” Mistress Badger said, urging Myri to hurry. Dawn approached, and clearly the bristle-furred creature wanted to sleep.
    “One more moment.” Myri crouched in the den opening and reached back inside for her familiar and her pack before Mistress Badger could dash to her bed.
    “Merawk?” Amaranth protested the abrupt move. The flywacket peered at Myri through the narrowed slits of his eyes and extended his claws for balance. A hint of heaving within his black fur released his feathered wings in automatic response to Myri’s awkward grasp.
    “You don’t need to scratch, Amaranth!” Myri batted at the flywacket’s offending claws. Half cat, half falcon, Amaranth usually exhibited the best qualities of both creatures. But for the first few moments after awakening, he was as cranky as Old Magretha, the witchwoman who had raised them both.
    Myri dropped Amaranth beyond the badger’s reach and stepped aside. He settled into a morning wash, pointedly ignoring her. The badger waddled into the narrow opening without a backward glance.
    “Thanks again, Mistress Badger. ’Twas the snuggest nest I’ve had since I began this quest.” Too long ago, with only her magic talent tugging her toward some distant place and anonymous voices in her head to guide her. (East,), they said. (You will find a safe home in the east.)
    She stood, brushing dirt and twigs from her leaf-green overgown. Her fingers provided the only comb for her silver-blond hair. Out of long habit she braided the length of hair and coiled it beneath a kerchief. People accepted her more readily if they didn’t notice her strange coloring right off.
    A sense of wrongness buzzed like a bee around her head. She rotated her shoulders, hands held slightly away from her to catch the wind in her sleeves. The magic within her coiled, eager to spring forth in healing. Slowly she walked in a circle, waiting for her magic to point out the direction. North by east—not due east as the voices urged her. Stronger and more compelling than the voices. Something terrible awaited her. Close.
    A chill breeze and her own uneasiness sent lumbird bumps up her spine. “My cloak!” Healing always left her weak and unbalanced. She didn’t dare approach a spell without the means to warm herself later. She reached back into the den for the thick woolen garment. Her hand closed on the fabric just as Mistress Badger claimed it for her nest.
    Myri tugged. The badger sank her claws into her prize. “I can’t afford to let you keep it.” She pulled harder. The sound of rending cloth sent her heart sinking. “I’ve no way to replace it, Mistress Badger. And I don’t have your thick fur to keep me warm.”
    The fabric sprang free of the animal’s grasp. Myri dragged it out into the glow of false dawn. She examined her peat-brown cloak with sensitive fingertips. Her fingernail caught on a small rip near the side seam. She found no other damage.
    Eagerly she turned east to face the rising sun at its equinox. The sense of wrongness intensified, disrupting her joy at greeting the morning.
    Just over the next hill, due north, lay a village. The triple Pylon at the exact center of the community stood ready for fruit and flower decorations. All of Coronnan would celebrate the change of season today. Dancing. Feasting. Games. Especially dancing. Men and women weaving intricate patterns around the Equinox Pylon in ancient rituals that thanked the Stargods for the harvest and prayed for an easy winter.
    Myri and Amaranth had escaped Magretha’s vigilant eye every spring and autumn for as long as she could remember to