The double cot was crowded as usual. When the nights were cold, Darville and Mica joined her. Often several squirrels and mice, a rabbit or three, and sometimes even the bright yellow and gray jay bird, who scolded her so frequently, cuddled close to keep her cozy. A better arrangement than sharing a narrow pallet with three blanket-greedy sisters.
She shifted a little, surprised at just how crowded the bed was this morning. A heavy arm, sprinkled with golden hair, rested across her waist. A leg encircled hers.
Awareness burst upon her. The arm belonged to Darville. He was no longer a wolf, but a man. A strong, and wonderfully gentle man at that. She touched the fine swirls of hair on his chest. With her toes she caressed the leg and felt a responding movement from behind her.
She stilled her body and mind, as she did when secreting herself in the forest. Darville was not the only person in bed with her.
Cautiously she peeked over his broad shoulder, toward the cot by the hearth.
It was empty!
“Jaylor?” she called softly, with her mind as well as her voice.
“Hmmhph?” he murmured from behind her.
“Jaylor!”
“What?” he replied, a little more awake.
“What!” Darville responded.
Her eyes met Darville’s, then they both looked to the other side of the bed, toward the wall, where their friend lay, relaxed and grinning, and as naked as they.
“Good morning,” he greeted them.
Chapter 25
Jaylor examined the hut with new eyes. He leaned against the open door, surveying his surroundings. The circle of stones forming the hearth was the same as he last remembered, and yet not. When he looked at familiar objects straight on, they were covered with distorting mist. But a sideways glance revealed sharp outlines, clearer than he had ever experienced before. Sort of the way he had to tackle a difficult spell-unraveling.
He turned his attention to a reexamination of the objects he knew so very well. The oversized cot against the far wall definitely looked different. His experiences there colored his perceptions. The blankets had been straightened, just barely. The imprint of three tightly woven bodies still remained, while the smaller cot he had spirited from the University storerooms stood empty and barren.
He grinned. Life, as well as the air around him, had taken on a new clarity. He could almost see through solid objects in the familiar/odd room. Brevelan was more transparent than anything else. Perhaps her empathic abilities made her so easy to read. Or was it the intimate entwining they had experienced while he was in the Tambootie-induced coma?
She was embarrassed, puzzled, pleased, and appalled, all at the same time. He grinned again, felt his body stretch all over, including his manhood, and didn’t bother to suppress the feeling.
Yesterday he had flown with dragons. Today he knew more about magic, and himself, than ever before. He was willing to bet even old Nimbulan didn’t know what Jaylor knew now. Yesterday he had feared the power Brevelan had over his mind and body. Today knowledge had wiped away the fear.
But before he could explore that thought, turn it into action, there was a rogue to tend to.
For the safety of the kingdom and the well-being of the beloved dragons, Krej had to be removed from power—temporal and magical. Jaylor’s Tambootie-induced vision of Krej screaming at his servants beside the glass statue of Shayla had ended all doubt of the rogue’s true identity. Sooner or later the all-powerful lord would slip and expose his magical abilities. Jaylor intended to be present with other reliable witnesses when that happened.
“Someone comes.” Brevelan raised her head from the pot of stewing grains she stirred. She refused to meet his eyes, or Darville’s, for that matter. Her head remained lowered as she hastily exited. In a few moments, her thoughts would either open or close the path for the visitor.
“How does she know that?” the prince asked. He had been pacing the room, anxious for their simple meal to be finished so they could continue their pursuit of his cousin.
Restless energy had infused the prince since their early rising. Jaylor felt it pulsating against his own aura. He resisted the urge to pace alongside his friend.
“This clearing is in a focus of magic.” He eased a soothing timbre into his voice. “It attunes itself to each of its tenants in turn.”
Darville responded to the tiny spell of his voice and settled on the rickety three-legged stool beside the hearth.
“Don’t manipulate me with your magic!” he demanded even as he fought the lethargy Jaylor imposed upon him.
Surprised he would notice, Jaylor drew back the slight control. He shouldn’t be surprised. Last night Darville had been as active a participant as he and Brevelan. Henceforth the three were linked in a way he hadn’t yet explored.
He continued with his tale. Darville needed to know what was involved with Brevelan and the clearing. His future might depend on that information.
“For three hundred years this small glade has protected, sheltered, and fed special witchwomen.” Jaylor posted himself near the crack in the door to observe Brevelan’s return, with or without company. “I believe Myrilandel was the first.”
“Who?” Darville was only mildly interested. His arms and legs still twitched but his mind was calmer.
“Nimbulan’s wife. He had to exile her, along with the other rogues, when he established dragon magic. But he provided for her and their children. That is why the cot is oversized, so he would have a place to sleep when he visited. That is why the hut wouldn’t burn completely, only the thatch that has been renewed since he threw the protective spells.”
“Explain this ‘focus’ of magic. Can it be used against Krej?” Darville asked. “I thought dragons were the source of magic, and they are dwindling. With Shayla’s enchantment there shouldn’t be much of anything left.”
“For conventional magic. Nimbulan was what we call a rogue, or a solitary, long before he tapped the power of the dragons and the Tambootie, which could make magic communal. Ask yourself, what was his source of power? How did he entice the first dragons and enslave them to this kingdom and your royal line!”
“Maevra is near to birthing. You must come now. She needs you.” A strange voice came from the edge of the trees.
“Yes, of course. Just let me gather my things,” Brevelan replied.
“She can’t go alone.” Darville whispered. “Krej may have sent these women to entice her to a witch-burning.”
The prince’s anxiety wound through Jaylor, becoming his own.
“You can’t be seen there. Krej’s spies will report your restoration. They don’t trust me either.”
The door latch rattled in warning.
“I’ll be but a minute.” Brevelan eased through a narrow opening. It was pushed wider by her golden wolf. She raised her eyes in surprise.
From behind the door, Jaylor put his finger to his lips to signal silence. He held Darville’s discarded clothes close against his chest.
“They’ll expect him to be by your side,” he mouthed. She nodded her acceptance. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You just wanted him to hunt for himself so you could have more breakfast.” An infectious giggle threatened to erupt from her.
He smiled back at her. She was once more comfortable in his presence. The sun poked through the cloud cover and dispersed the rain. Jaylor’s vision cleared.
Darville guarded the door of the carpenter’s home. He blinked his eyes in the sunlight and stretched out across the doorway. Occasionally a person or two wandered past. They were curious. New pups always brought out the others. They had to inspect and sniff to make sure the newcomers were worthy of the pack.
He eyed them suspiciously. When one ventured too close he growled, low and deep so they would know he guarded the ones inside. Brevelan was with the woman.
His other-man-self knew Brevelan, his mate, needed protection. But she wasn’t whelping. It was the other woman. Her cries of pain and the smell of her fear un
settled him.
Darville couldn’t see Jaylor, secreted in the woods. But that was all right, as long as his scent was near.
His nose wiggled as he sorted the scents of each of the passersby. Some he knew. Some he didn’t. There was no malice among the women, just curiosity. Only one man smelled of evil. He also smelled of rotten fish.
Then there was the man across the common. He had stationed himself in the opening of the cave. Every so often he drank from the long container in his hand. The container that men called a mug smelled of the foul water they drank in that cave. The man had no smell.
That warned Darville. He cocked his ears, allowed his neck ruff to stand in alertness. Men disguised their smell when they stalked prey. If the man-with-no-scent hunted Brevelan, he would have to get past one very protective wolf. And Jaylor, too.
A flicker of movement off to one side told where Jaylor hid. Darville crept forward a paw’s length and growled again. The movement should signal to Jaylor that the man at the cave was trouble.
A thin wail of a human pup pierced the air. All movement in the village stopped. Darville sensed each person listening, leaning closer to the carpenter’s home. The wail repeated, stronger this time. The pup lived. The carpenter emerged from the cave. He pushed the scentless man aside in his hurry. Darville let him pass into his home. He had no right to stop him now that the whelping was finished.
“A girl!” Disappointment hovered on the edge of the carpenter’s voice.
“The child lives. She is healthy. And your wife will grow strong again to bear another,” Brevelan reprimanded him. The birth was finally over. She and Darville and Jaylor could now get on with their journey. She hated to take the time away from their quest, but she was compelled to assist Maevra. Whether these people admitted it or not, this village needed her as much as she needed them.
The new father inspected the tiny scrap of life she held before him.
“You said it was a boy.” He didn’t reach to hold his daughter.
“I said the child was large enough and strong enough to be male.” The child was also determined. She just might become the next witchwoman for this village.
Maevra roused from her exhaustion. “She’s hungry, just like her father. Give her to me.” She reached out for the now squalling infant.
Brevelan returned the babe to her mother. She wanted out of this dim, confining house. The dark emotions of the father, her own fatigue, and the smells of birthing threatened to choke her.
She needed Darville and Jaylor to dispel her loneliness again.
“We were promised a boy,” the carpenter sulked. “Old Thorm said you might substitute a changeling so you could keep the boy for yourself. Yourself and that meddling magician!” His tone turned menacing. A growl from the doorway stopped his words.
“Only the Stargods can promise the gender of a child. Take up your complaint with them,” Brevelan spat back at him. She edged closer to the door and Darville’s protection.
“You take the name of our gods in vain!” Clearly the man was drunk. Or under a spell. Otherwise he’d never dare risk the ill will of a witchwoman.
She looked to Maevra and the now nursing child. Once the man returned to normal, he wouldn’t harm his wife and daughter. His malice was all directed toward Brevelan.
“I’ll demand no fee for midwifing a live and healthy child, since the result displeases you.” Brevelan allowed her disgust for the man to wash over him. Maybe if he saw himself as she saw him, he could shrug off whatever compelled him. He stepped toward her. Darville bared his teeth.
“Get out, witch.” Fear palpitated around him. “Get out and take the s’murghin’ familiar with you. No decent priest should tolerate you and your kind. You won’t be welcome back.” His arm pointed to the door, uncompromising. Darville stepped closer. His teeth dripped, the hair on his neck stood straight up.
“No, Darville,” she commanded. The carpenter appeared a little startled at the princely name. “His blood isn’t worth your time.” She gripped the animal’s fur and tugged him backward. “If I were indeed in league with the source of evil, I would curse you, and curse this village.” She held in check the power she felt rising within her.
“This time I’ll only leave a reminder with the men who condemn me.”
From the doorway, the freedom and safety of the woods enticed her. Jaylor hovered there. He would hear and understand her need for the words that spilled from her lips.
“Until you forgive me in your heart, as well as with words, until you know for truth that I wish you and yours only health and happiness, and until you can come to your wife with gratitude for the gift of the child she has given you, you will not be able to bed any woman.” The words came from someone else, somewhere else. She didn’t really wish this village ill. Still the words flowed. “And no child will be conceived in this village until all the men here feel the same.”
The carpenter blanched and looked as though he would faint. Brevelan ignored him and marched out of his house.
Moments later, from the shelter of the trees, beyond the sight of the village, Brevelan hugged each of her friends in turn.
“Remind me not to make either of you angry at me,” Darville said with a chuckle.
“That was some curse you laid, Brevelan,” Jaylor agreed as he handed Darville his clothes. Hen-bumps covered his back in the cool spring air as he bent to pull up his leather trews.
His legs were long and well muscled, straight now but still bristling with fine golden hair. His buttocks were tight . . . Brevelan spun to face in the other direction, embarrassed by her train of thought as well as her hungry appraisal of his body.
“I didn’t intend to curse them.” She studied the pile of packs and Mica washing a neat paw on top of them.
“And you didn’t, Brevelan.” Jaylor’s hand was gentle and warm on her shoulder. “You held back the full blast of your anger. I felt little power behind your words.”
She leaned her cheek against his caress, gathering comfort from him.
“Not much anyway,” Darville muttered.
“I’m willing to bet that every man for miles around is going to spend the better part of the next nine months trying to prove you wrong. Some will even go so far as to drag their women beyond the village so the child will not be conceived within its limits.” They all chuckled at that.
“But there was power,” Brevelan murmured. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Darville was clothed before confiding in them both. Since last night she had been thinking of the three of them as one person, bound together by duty, quest, and love. She needed both of them to unravel the mess she had caused.
“What do you mean?” Jaylor’s eyebrows raised.
“As my anger grew I could feel a tingling drawing up from the ground below. It filled me to overflowing. I had to release it. The word came from the power, not from me.”
“Stargods!” both men exclaimed.
“Sounds like old Nimbulan chose this place for his exiled wife with reason.” Jaylor began pacing, hands out as if testing the warmth, or the power, of the ground he walked.
“Nimbulan?”
Briefly he explained the history of her clearing.
“So that is why the clearing called me. It chose me as its next witchwoman.” This truth troubled her. As a child she had feared her magic, almost as much as her da had. Gradually she had come to accept it as a part of her. But if her magic came from the clearing and not herself, she could never master it, never come to peace with it.
“Partly.” Jaylor reached out for her again. She dodged his hand. This was something she had to understand and control on her own.
“Brevelan.” This time it was Darville who captured her shoulders. “Listen to him.”
“The clearing chose you because your magic is strong.”
Had he been reading her mind? Of course he had. After last night they had all three been communicating more with thoughts than words.
“Your magic is your
own. It was with you at birth. You came by it naturally. The clearing needs someone as strong as you. It doesn’t give you magic, it gives you the peace to explore and grow. Witchwomen of your caliber need the clearing for protection. Otherwise, you would have to face the prejudice and malice of villagers like these every day.”
“It’s not their prejudice. They liked me and were learning to trust me until Old Thorm told them differently.”
“Krej. Old Thorm is just one of his many disguises.”
“Let’s move.” Darville thrust Mica onto Jaylor’s shoulder as he organized the packs. “If that’s the case, they’ll follow soon with torches and stones. We’ve got to be halfway to the capital before dawn.” He gathered Brevelan close in a brief hug of reassurance. “While Maevra was birthing, the barkeep was watching me. He had no smell.”
“Krej must have given him magic armor. As well as instructions to sow distrust in the village.”
Chills ran up Brevelan’s spine. How could her own sire, blood of her blood, flesh of her flesh, hate her so much?
“No, he’s just incapable of caring for anything other than his power. It’s as addicting as the Tambootie,” Jaylor confided as he, too, hugged her close.
She gathered them both to her side. “It will be a long journey.” She sought the eyes of both men. “We will be together constantly. I want you both to know I will tolerate no jealousy.” She tried to keep her voice stern, but the love she felt for them, and from them, lifted her mouth into a smile. “I will be owned by no man.”
“Neither of us will do anything without your consent, Brevelan.” Jaylor looked to Darville for confirmation. The prince nodded his agreement.
She loved them both, would cherish them both while she could. “I know that,” she replied. “And when this business is finished, we will each go to our separate destinies.”
They nodded in solemn agreement even as they pulled her closer.
Chapter 26
Baamin watched the rain wash the window shutters with a steady stream of cold water. The cobblestone courtyard of the University was totally deserted. Not so the market square. Everyone had a task, either preparing themselves or acquiring equipment and stores for the growing army. Increasingly heavy rains had to be ignored. Armies couldn’t wait for the elements.
The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I Page 24