The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

and stumbled to a watering trough. Batting at the flames, he plunged his head beneath the water.
    The steed pranced and snorted and wheeled, its eyes rolled.
    “ S’murghit, stand still!” Rejiia cursed loudly and let a spell fly. The beast froze in place. Two grooms scurried out of the stable with saddle and tack. They prepared him for riding in record time.
    Lanciar sensed the beast straining at the spell. She’d not keep it on a tight rein for long. When it bolted . . .
    He hoped Rejiia landed on her lush bottom in the dirt.
    For the next three days, Lanciar followed the caravan. The first two nights, the clan camped within shouting distance of villages with inns. He and Rejiia each hired a room. But on the third night, they had passed into Coronnan. The natives here rarely traveled outside their own lands—except for magicians and the occasional trader caravan—and thus had no need for inns. None of their taverns had guest facilities. He made a rough camp beyond the reach of Rover firelight and perimeter guards.
    He kept his own fire low, and his noise to a minimum. He’d learned the basic skills of camping behind enemy lines in his first years as a recruit in the SeLenese army.
    Of Rejiia, he saw no sign. Perhaps she commandeered lodging at the nearest manor. Perhaps she retreated and watched Zolltarn through a scrying bowl. He found no trace of her within a league of the Rovers with his magical or mundane senses and hoped she had given up the chase.
    With his back against a tree, Lanciar munched on dry journey rations. He watched the Rovers prepare a rich stew of hedgehog and root vegetables, flavored with a fruity red wine. The enticing aromas wafted on the breeze like a compulsion spell. His mouth watered, and his stomach grumbled.
    His bedroll already took on the dampness of dewfall. The fire sputtered from damp wood and threatened to die.
    All at the Rover camp seemed warm and dry and friendly.
    Lanciar took comfort that his son ate well and slept in a dry cot.
    Ah well, he’d endured worse in rough bivouacs while on patrol behind enemy lines.
    “Spy,” a woman spoke from directly behind his tree.
    “ S’murghit! Where did you come from? I didn’t hear you,” he cursed to cover his startlement. His magical and military trained senses should have alerted him to her presence the moment she left camp.
    “Watch your language, spy. We have children nearby.” She glared at him, hands on hips, eyes blazing with outrage.
    “Sorry. You surprised me.” Good thing the darkness hid his flaming cheeks.
    “Spy, you have followed us diligently. You might as well join us. We offer you comfort this rough camp cannot give you.”
    “Wh-what?”
    “You heard me. You’ve watched us and followed us, learning all you can of our people and our habits. We have nothing to hide. You might as well join us.”
    “J-join you?” He’d never heard of an enemy openly inviting a spy into their camp. Never heard of Rovers inviting gadjé adults into their camp either. Children they welcomed, not strangers over the age of ten.
    But the invitation made a twisted kind of sense. They could observe him and control the knowledge he gained under their supervision.
    He could get a closer look at each of the children, see which might have fairer skin or lighter eyes than those born to the clan.
    “I’ll be with you as soon as I put out the fire and gather my bloody bedroll.”
    “Watch your language or you will never be allowed near your son.” She frowned at him sternly.
    Lanciar closed his eyes and dipped his head a fraction in acknowledgment of the rules.
    She smiled at him and twitched her hips as she returned to the protection of her clan.
    “I’ve heard they have good wine and ale in Rover camps.”
    “I brew the best ale of all the Rovers,” the young woman replied. “Come and join us. If we learn to trust you, perhaps we will introduce you to your son.”
    “My . . . my son. How did you know I sought my son?”
    “Zolltarn knows everything.” She flashed a smile as big and enchanting as the Rover chieftain’s.
    “Lead me to the ale. I think I’m going to need it.”

Chapter 21
     
    J ack came out of the transport spell inside Shayla’s lair. He landed with a jolt to his spine and foot-numbing abruptness. His mind had remained drifting in the void a heartbeat too long. He stumbled and grabbed the closest object to steady his balance.
    He hoped Mikka and Darville had arrived in the dragon lair ahead of