The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

witchwoman in many moons. Maia was the only woman who occupied his thoughts. Myrilandel pricked his curiosity with her wild talent and curious visions. Maia satisfied only his lust. He couldn’t converse with her beyond where they would make their bed each night now that spring had arrived and the Rover clan was wandering again.
    “Tonight, when the moon is full and the drink flows freely, we can sneak into the village and make off with as much food as we need. Our people won’t go to bed with empty bellies for many weeks.”
    “I still think we should offer to buy the food.”
    “Coward! No Rover would think such a thing. You can never truly be one of us until you put such craven thoughts aside. You are not worthy of Maia. No wonder her womb has rejected your seed,” Televarn backed away. A disgusted sneer spread across his handsome face. His hand reached instinctively for the long dagger he wore on his hip.
    “Don’t be a prejudiced fool, Televarn.” Nimbulan held his hands away from his side to indicate his reluctance to engage in violence. “The safety of the clan should be your first priority. Breaking into that storehouse should be a last resort, after we’ve tried fishing, or hunting, or asking. What if your men are discovered, and the village turns on them? They have tools and knives that are just as deadly as the pikes and lances of any army.” At the end of winter, not much was left in field and forest to glean or gather, or Nimbulan would have suggested that as well. If the winter storms that had ravaged all of Coronnan had driven away the fish, this village could be as hungry as the Rovers.
    “If they see us in the vicinity, they will guard the storehouse. Any attempt to liberate the food will end in violence, perhaps death.” Televarn’s eyes narrowed as if he expected Nimbulan to lead the raid and be the first to die.
    Nimbulan had no intention of taking part in the theft from innocent, possibly hungry, people.
    “Do what you must, Televarn. I will go hunting. I will feed our people honestly.” Nimbulan turned his back on the village and Televarn.
    He took three steps into the depths of the forested hillside and stopped abruptly. He directed his feet to move, but they remained firmly in place.
    “Do not walk away from me, magician. I am king of this clan. My word is law.”
    “Then perhaps I should no longer be a part of your clan.” That thought had a strangely liberating feel to it. He hadn’t realized how uncomfortable he had become with the lack of privacy, the constant wandering, the uncertainty of each day. Avid curiosity for a different way of life had turned to boredom. No, disgust. He didn’t like any of the people in the clan, especially Televarn.
    He knew a few of the secret rituals now. He could take that information back to school.
    His feet refused to move forward. Instead, he found himself turning to face Televarn.
    “You cannot leave after you have shared in our rituals, slept with one of our women, broken bread with us.” Televarn seemed genuinely confused.
    “You said yourself, I was not born to your way of life. I tried to fit in, to learn your customs. But I do not belong. The time has come for us to part.” He wore all the clothing he owned, and his knife. He hadn’t become used to his new staff yet and could easily cut another. He had no possessions to retrieve. Best if he just walked away, here and now. He couldn’t move.
    “I cannot allow that. We taught you our secrets.” Televarn shifted his balance, eyes searching the surroundings. For observers, help, a place to run?
    “Release me from your control. I will not betray you.” But he would. He’d use the secrets to bring unity to magicians all over Coronnan.
    “No one outside the clan may share our knowledge. You must stay with us, be truly one with us, or die. You defied me every day when you wouldn’t let me into your mind. You deserve to die for that crime alone.” Televarn’s hand flicked and the long dagger flew out.
    Acid sharp pain exploded in Nimbulan’s gut. A beautifully decorated knife hilt seemed to be growing from his rib cage. Thick warm blood stained his hand. His blood.

Chapter 24
     
    “D o we have to go down there?” Powwell eyed the trapdoor to the crypt with loathing and . . . and fear.
    “Yes.” Kalen placed her fists on her hips and glared at him.
    “I believe you that his body is gone. So you don’t have to prove it to me.” Powwell mimicked her pose to hide