The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

had control over her mind and her talent.
     
    Nimbulan awoke gradually to the realization he was no longer cold or lost in darkness. Nightmares of a freezing hell lingered long after he knew he had survived Televarn’s knife thrust. He shivered in memory of the ice that had invaded his gut. That slight movement sent sharp pain in a broad band across his belly just below the ribs.
    Myrilandel’s healing had not been as complete as the miracle she had worked on Sergeant Kennyth last autumn. She’d stopped the bleeding and saved his life, but hadn’t done much more to the wound.
    He stilled his muscles with conscious effort. The pain receded to a constant but tolerable level. Very carefully, with sensitized fingertips he explored the region. He discovered a bandage wound tightly around him. From the way his skin felt stretched and pierced, he guessed the witchwoman had resorted to fine stitches to close his wound.
    Such barbarity! Only the untamed tribes of the northern most regions of Kardia Hodos resorted to such primitive methods of healing. Or a young woman without enough training to control her healing trances. She must have withdrawn from the spells before the work was done in order to save herself.
    Where was she now? Had she deserted him again?
    Loneliness washed over him, bringing a momentary tear to his eye. Clear evidence of his weakness. Without magic to speed the process Myrilandel had begun, his recovery could take weeks, moons.
    Slowly, lest he jar the wound again and bring a new wave of pain, dizziness, and nausea, he turned his head. A small campfire, burned down to coals, gave off a soft glow of warmth to his right. On the other side of the fire Myrilandel’s strange cat blinked at him. Its dark eyes looked almost purple in the growing light of early morning.
    The creature blinked at Nimbulan several times, then heaved itself up, as if incredibly weary or bored, and sauntered over to him. Without asking permission, it climbed onto his upper chest and settled into a doze. Its paws kneaded gently into the cloak that covered Nimbulan’s body from neck to toe. The cat’s gentle purr spread instant warmth and calm through Nimbulan’s body and soul. The tiny desire he’d entertained of getting up or moving left him.
    “If you are here to nurse me, Cat, then your mistress can’t be far away.”
    Then he saw the silver tendril of magic running from his heart and remembered briefly that it had remained after she removed herself from the healing. Had she left him weak and vulnerable so he couldn’t break the cord? She’d have almost total control over his mind and body through it.
    A moment of panic skittered through him. Moncriith had warned them all about her demons controlling the souls of those she yanked back from their next existence.
    “I’m here. Are you hungry or thirsty?” Myrilandel was beside him, sounding incredibly weary.
    He turned his head to find her lying with her back against his side. His cloak covered them both. Her cloak seemed to be beneath them.
    The panic receded. He’d watched her heal Sergeant Kennyth. No evidence of a magical connection remained after that powerful spell.
    “I’m thirsty, and I need . . . I would like . . . um. . . .” How did he broach the delicate subject of needing a privy? Some things were more important than demons controlling his soul.
    “Can you wait until you’ve had a little broth to strengthen you?” She heaved herself up with more effort than the cat had exhibited.
    Upon closer examination, her skin looked so pale it was almost transparent.
    “Are you all right, Myrilandel?” Concern for her well-being overrode his pain and he rolled to his other side in preparation of rising. The movement drove spasms of agony from his chest to his gut and back along his spine.
    “Merow!” the cat protested, climbing onto his side rather than be displaced. Or was the cat keeping him in place? Nimbulan didn’t care anymore. He wasn’t going to be moving again soon.
    “No, I’m not all right,” Myrilandel spat at him. “All my strength is in you right now.”
    “Thank you for saving me. But my life isn’t worth the loss of yours. Why didn’t you let me die?”
    “I couldn’t.” She turned her back on him to rummage in a pack. “I’ll be back in a moment with water and kindling.” She set off into the thick woods, her feet dragging and her shoulders drooping.
    When she came back carrying a pot full of water, bright color splotched