The Wandering Dragon (Children of the Dragon Nimbus) by Irene Radford Read Free Book Online Page A

soon, he had nothing left to sniff for the magic of Skeller’s songs.
    But he heard that soaringly clear baritone rise above raucous laughter in a song with the chanting refrain of “Drink. Drink. Drink.”
    A smile cleared his mind and relieved the bitterness within him. He elbowed his way through the throng of merry drinkers. Every few paces a barmaid passed him with laden trays. He exchanged a single coin (gleaned from the joint stash he and Skeller had accumulated from previous singing stints) for a mug of smooth beer liberated from one of those trays. Another coin bought him a slab of meat and half a loaf of bread. Truly satisfied with food for the first time in weeks, he washed it all down with another mug.
    Skeller, he noted, kept his hands on his harp and away from the constant offerings from the maids—potable and otherwise. Lukan had learned on their wanderings that Skeller didn’t need copious amounts of liquor—even the barely fermented stuff served here—to loosen his throat. He saved the mind- and body-numbing drink for later, when he could rest without guarding his tongue. Even then he never drank enough to spill his true feelings for Lillian, the girl he’d shared so much with, then had had to leave to give them both time to heal.
    On that issue Lukan felt only relief. Lillian and Valeria had barely reached their sixteenth birthday. Much too young to consider marriage, no matter how much love they shared.
    Skeller on the other hand was nearly twenty-four, the right age to find a wife and cease his wandering ways.
    The song ended on a flourish of rapid notes descending to the lowest pitch the harp could issue. Skeller bowed graciously and grabbed a hunk of bread and cheese as he jumped neatly to the floor beside Lukan. He’d disdained meat since . . . since he had first met and fallen in love with Lily.
    “What news, friend?” Skeller shouted over the noise of the crowd.
    Men stomped their feet and chanted “More, more, more.” “Sing us another one!” and “Don’t quit now. We’re just getting started.” A clatter of coins thrown on the table beside Skeller prompted him to bow to the audience as he scooped the small metal discs into Lukan’s pouch.
    Skeller shook his head at the patrons, but didn’t return Telynnia to her case.
    “I’ve delivered the letter. Now I need to find a boat and row over to . . . to my destiny.”
    “A little late, boy. The sun is near setting and you don’t know the river well. Best wait ’til tomorrow.”
    “Maybe . . .” Something odd at the edge of his vision demanded he look closer. A cobbled-together square table had been pushed against the far wall with four chairs—not benches,
chairs
—spread around the three remaining sides. Two men and two women sat there. One of the men was long and skinny with a scarred face. Upon closer examination it looked burned.
    Uh, oh. Seeing the same man three times in one day did not bode well.
    Lukan watched the women. The younger and prettier one didn’t so much sit, as . . . preside. She ate daintily, cutting her meat into small pieces, sipping a cup of wine between each bite. She chewed slowly, savoring the red, rare meat.
    Her manners made her stand out in this crowd of people who worked hard for a living and played harder at the close of day. Her long black hair with a single streak of white running from left temple to her waist arrested every gaze.
    A haze of magic surrounded her head, spreading to include each of her companions. She led, they followed. She had power and granted them a little of it.
    Except, maybe the scarred man shared her aura without giving up much of his own to Rejiia.
    Rejiia. Sorceress from the outlawed Coven. Recently restored to this gorgeous body after fifteen years imprisoned in her totem cat form.
    Lukan had seen her before. Once. On the day he and Skeller had quitted company with the twins and their companions.
    A long time ago she’d been the most feared and hated