The Veiled Dragon

by Denning, Troy

  “Yu Po goes to fetch finest scarves from our cargo.”

  As Hsieh spoke, the physician pulled a pair of silver tongs from his box. The old man opened the instrument slightly and slipped the jaws into the deepest part of Ruha’s wound, where she had glimpsed her white bone.

  “Say if this hurt, Lady Ruha.”

  The physician closed the tongs, then worked them back and forth. Ruha heard a faint crunching sound. She felt a gentle vibration deep in her hip, but her leg had gone so numb below the tourniquet that she barely noticed the metal rubbing her mangled flesh. The old man gave his instrument a final twist and withdrew a huge triangle of serrated tooth.

  “When the fish attacked, I … I heard something crack,” Ruha gasped. “I thought the thing had broken my leg.”

  “Leg fine. Bone strong.”

  The physician returned his tongs to the ivory box and withdrew a handful of yellow powder, which he carefully sprinkled into the bite. Once the entire gash was filled with the dust, he half-whistled a series of strange, high-pitched syllables. The powder vanished with a flash of golden light; then a ring of brownish smoke drifted from the wound and filled the little cabin with the smell of brine and burnt flesh. The old man inspected the results, then took a hooked needle and a length of black thread from his box. When he began to sew, Ruha felt nothing more than an occasional tug.

  The Shou crewmen soon pulled the raft’s last survivor, Arvold, into the cabin. Hsieh regarded the bedraggled sailmender with an enigmatic gaze, scrutinizing the shabby tunic and the length of rope that held up his trousers. He glanced at Captain Fowler, whose dress was only marginally better, then looked back to Ruha for an introduction.

  “The sailmender,” Ruha explained.

  “Put him where you can watch him,” warned Fowler. “He’s a hopeless thief, but he’s good with a needle. I’d hate for you to lop off one of his hands.”

  Hsieh raised his brow at the frank appraisal, then spoke to two of his men, who promptly escorted the sailmender out of the cabin.

  “They put him with others,” explained the mandarin.

  “Others?” Ruha could not keep the hope out of her voice. She considered the sinking of the Storm Sprite her doing, and it would ease her conscience to hear the crew had survived. “How many did you save?”

  Hsieh’s lip curled disdainfully, whether at the witch’s concern or the memory of the human dregs his crew had dragged from the sea, Ruha did not know.

  “We save ten men,” the mandarin reported. “But tonrongs do not treat them well.”

  “Tonrongs?” Ruha asked.

  “Sharks,” Fowler explained. “The lions of the sea, ‘cept they eat anything, and they’re always hungry.”

  Hsieh nodded. “Yes. Tonrongs take limbs from four of your men, and they soon die.”

  Ruha felt a guilty emptiness in her stomach. Unless they found more survivors, three-quarters of the Storm Sprite’s crew would perish. She let a weary groan slip from her lips, which caused the physician to jerk his bloody finger out of her wound.

  “So sorry, Lady! Did not mean to cause pain.”

  Fowler regarded Ruha with renewed concern, then turned to the physician. “She going to die before we reach port?”

  The physician’s shaved scalp turned an angry orange. “Not die at all! I treat Emperor once!” He tried to slip a finger under Ruha’s tourniquet and barely succeeded, then nodded his head approvingly. “Not even lose leg—maybe.”

  Ruha mewled, then clamped her jaw shut to keep from showing any more fear. Despite her efforts, her lips began to tremble and beads of cold sweat rolled down her brow.

  Hsieh spoke harshly to the old man, who paled and stooped even closer to his work.

  “I tell physician if you lose leg, he lose leg. But if he fail anyway, I give you leg’s weight in gold.” The generous offer drew an astonished gasp from Fowler, but the mandarin was not finished. “Also, Emperor’s treasury pays for loss of ship, and more, when we reach Ilipur.”

  Deciding it would be wiser to let Hsieh draw his own conclusions about who owned the Storm Sprite, Ruha said, “My business is in Pros, Minister Hsieh. I understand it is on the way. Perhaps you would put us ashore there?”

  A look of chagrin flashed across the mandarin’s face. “All our gold vanish with dragon. Nothing left on Ginger Lady but spice and ylang blossom.”

  “Nevertheless, I prefer—”

  “Lady Witch, Ilipur’s but a short distance up the shore.” Fowler narrowed his eyes, trying to fill his glower with subtle menace. “It’ll take only a few days extra.”

  Ruha returned Fowler’s glare with a disdainful glance. “And what of the people I am to meet in Pros? How long will they wait?” She looked back to Hsieh. “Put us ashore in Pros, and I will ask only one reward of you.”

  Hsieh glanced at her sodden aba, no doubt reevaluating his first impression of her wealth. Only a woman of great resources would decline the reward he had promised.

  The mandarin inclined his head. “If it is in my power, I give you whatever you ask.”

  “Please tell me about the dragon. Why did it attack your ship?”

  “That’s our reward?” Fowler bellowed.

  Hsieh’s glance darted from Fowler to his crewmen. Two men quickly flanked the captain, their heads rising barely as high as the half-orc’s brawny shoulders.

  “Aboard Ginger Lady, even captain respect Lady,” Hsieh warned.

  Fowler’s eyes flashed at the admonishment, but he stood very still and made no further protests.

  Hsieh turned back to Ruha, arching his fine eyebrows. “I do not understand question. Dragon attacks ship to steal gold. That is reason dragon does anything.”

  Ruha shook her head. “That wyrm was not an ordinary one, nor does the Ginger Lady seem an ordinary ship. The creature attacked you for another reason, and the reward I ask is that you tell me why.”

  A nervous croak slipped from Fowler’s lips. Before the sound could become a word, the guards seized his hands and folded his wrists inward against their joints. The half-orc hissed in pain and looked away from the witch.

  The mandarin pretended not to notice the captain’s slip, but his face lost all expression and became as unreadable as a stone. “I do not understand, Lady Ruha. Why do you believe we know dragon?”

  The image of a yellow face changing into a black dragon flashed through Ruha’s mind, but she did not even consider telling Hsieh about the mirage. Judging by Fowler’s reactions so far, the Shou were a dangerous people, and she had no idea how they might react to her visions.

  Ruha paused to pick her words, then said, “Does the Ginger Lady not carry a dragon’s figurehead on her prow? And was my captain mistaken when he called your emperor the Jade Dragon instead of the Jade Monarch?”

  Fowler closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

  The mandarin showed no sign of anger—or any other emotion. “Lady Ruha, greatest dragons are not evil. I do not know why evil dragon attacks Ginger Lady, except to take gold. I go to Elversult on unfortunate business that has nothing to do with dragon. I never see that dragon before.”

  “This unfortunate business you speak of, could it involve the dragon?” Ruha asked.

  The narrowing of Hsieh’s eyes was barely perceptible, but it was enough to alarm Fowler.

  “Lady Ruha, the Shou are an honorable bunch.” Though the captain struggled to keep his tone deferential, Ruha could hear both anger and fear lurking just beneath the surface. “If the mandarin’s business has something to do with the dragon, he’d say so. It’s—uh—bad manners to hint he’s holding back.”

  Hsieh nodded. “Am so sorry, Lady Ruha, but you make poor bargain to trade your due for what little I know of dragon. Perhaps I find some other way to reward your noble service.” The mandarin spoke to his men, then went to the cabin’s shattered doorway and bowed to Ruha. “Until then, I am most happy to leave you in Pros.”

  Four

  The sky above the Ginger Palace was l
ucid and azure, as it could be nowhere but the arid plain south of the city of Elversult. Anticipating a pleasant morning of solitude in the confines of his private park, Prince Tang crossed the humped back of Five Color Bridge, strode down the opal-paved Path of Delight, and stopped beneath the iridescent curve of the Arch of Many-Hued Scales.

  From the sleeve pocket of his maitung—the long silken tunic favored by Shou noblemen—the prince withdrew a large golden key. It was shaped like a chameleon’s head, with broad shoulder flanges and a sinuous blade resembling a long, flickering tongue. He rapped the top three times against the entryway’s red-lacquered gates, then inserted the blade into a brass keyway, turned the latch, and pushed the heavy portals aside.

  Prince Tang did not find his pets arrayed before the gate, as they customarily were. Instead, the rocky plaza was strangely barren, save for a half dozen buzzing, blue-black mounds scattered along one edge. Beyond the droning fly clusters, twenty quartzite boulders imported from Calimshan had been torn from their footings and strewn over the carefully shaped dunes of the park’s desert quarter. In the forest region, circles of bark had been scratched around the trunks of the most exotic trees, and in the jungle zone, the meticulously strung jasmine vines lay sliced and twined about the base of the bamboo stalks. The swamp area was covered with tangled mats of pink and blue and yellow, decorative grasses torn from the bottom and left to drift on the murky waters, while the lotus blossoms and lily pads had been thrown onto the muddy bank to wither and die.

  Tang could see only one of his pets, an elusive, jet-black river monitor. The great lizard had dragged itself from the swamp and stretched its fifteen-foot length over a stone bench, leaving its webbed feet, thick tail, and slender head to dangle over the sides. The beast’s neck was twisted toward the gate, as though it had been awaiting the prince’s arrival when the last gleam of hope seeped from its dull eyes.

  Tang stared at the lifeless monitor for several bewildered moments, then finally realized that some contemptible barbarian had violated the sanctity of his garden. He retreated through the Arch of Many-Hued Scales, screaming as though he had been stabbed.

  At the first shriek, a company of ten sentries appeared on the Path of Delight, emerging from camouflaged posts behind the walkway’s white-blossomed hedges. In the blink of an eye, Tang was encircled by a bristling wall of scale-armored men equipped with long, curve-bladed halberds. They neither touched their master nor inquired as to the reason for his scream, but simply stood ready to obey his orders and defend his life.

  Prince Tang entered his garden again, his protective shell of soldiers compressing around him as he passed through the arch. He stopped inside the gateway, remaining silent while his guards examined the scene. He did not speak until their tortoise-shell helmets had stopped pivoting on their shoulders and the last gasp had fallen silent.

  “How does this happen?” demanded the prince. “Is it not your duty to protect Garden of Flickering Tongues?”

  The company officer, a young moon-faced noble named Yuan Ti, dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the stones at Tang’s feet. “Mighty Prince, your guards fail you.” Since his voice was directed at the ground, Yuan sounded as though he were mumbling. “We see no one enter garden.”

  The prince snorted at the explanation. “How could it be otherwise? If you see intruder, he would be dead, would he not?” Only Tang himself used the garden; not even his wife, Princess Wei Dao, was allowed inside. Though Yuan could not see the gesture with his head pressed to the ground, the prince waved his hand at the destruction. “But does no one hear falling of stones, or scratching of trees, or ripping of vines?”

  Yuan kept his brow pressed to the ground. “Great Majesty, your unworthy guards hear nothing, smell nothing, feel nothing. Please to punish.”

  Tang ignored the request. “Go search garden.”

  The prince could not imagine how his guards had missed the sound of the park being destroyed, but he knew the young noble would never lie to him. No Shou officer would commit such a treason, and not only because he feared for his family’s heads. The offense would dishonor his ancestors, causing them to lose their places in the Celestial Bureaucracy—an offense said ancestors would surely repay with all manner of curses and incurable plagues.

  While the guards searched the park, Tang retreated through the gate and waited outside, praying to the spirits of his ancestors to guide his sentries to the vandal who had destroyed his park. Although the imperial weapon-masters had taught him to wield a sword as well as any man, it did not even occur to him to stay in the garden and exact vengeance himself. From his earliest childhood, the prince had been taught to retreat from danger and call his guards to take care of the problem. It was a lesson he had not ignored once in thirty years of life.

  At length, the sentries returned with unbloodied weapons and bowed to Tang. “Garden of Flickering Tongues is safe for Mighty Prince.”

  “You do not find vandal?”

  Yuan shook his head. “Only lizards, and only lizard tracks.”

  Tang considered this, puzzled not by who had ravaged his garden or why—he knew the answers to both questions—but by how the intruder had infiltrated the heart of his palace, vandalized the park, and escaped with his life. Truly, such a feat was as worthy of admiration as it was of indignation.

  When he could not think of how the culprit had escaped, Tang sighed wearily. “How unfortunate you did not capture the intruder. He has given me much work to do.” The prince always tended his garden himself, calling for aid only when he needed help to move something heavy. “Return to your posts and punish each other, ten lashes each.”

  The faces of the sentries fell. Given the magnitude of their failure, such a light punishment was humiliating. Its temperance implied that Tang believed them incapable of doing better—which happened to be the case, though the prince did not fault the guards for their inadequacy. Even the most devoted sentries could not capture intruders they could not see or hear, or find trespassers who left no tracks. Such tasks required a wu-jen. Unfortunately, the Minister of Magic was currently at odds with Tang’s own sponsor, Mandarin Hsieh Han Liu, the Imperial Minister of Spices. Consequently, the Emperor’s wu-jens were considered too valuable to waste on an inconsequential embassy like the Ginger Palace. Such political frustrations were a daily part of the prince’s life, and one of the many reasons he preferred the company of lizards to that of men.

  Tang waited until the last guard had stepped aside, then took his key from the red-lacquered gates and stepped through the Arch of Many-Hued Scales. When he turned to close the gates, he glimpsed his guards glumly marching toward the Five Color Bridge and decided it would not do to have them brooding over their failure. They were an elite company, and an elite company without honor was nothing.

  “One thing more, my soldiers,” he called. “You must double lashes for any man who fails to draw blood with each whip stroke.”

  The guards bowed in acknowledgment, and Yuan could barely keep from smiling. “Yes, Mighty Prince.”

  Tang closed the gate and put the key in his sleeve pocket, leaving the lock unlatched in case the mysterious vandal returned. He fetched a small shovel, a linen sack, and a copper bucket from a tool shanty near the jungle quarter, then took a deep breath and went to the first mound of flies. As he slid the shovel beneath the droning heap, the insects rose into the air, revealing a pile of rancid lizard viscera. Fighting his gorge back, he scooped up the entrails and placed them in the sack, then filled his bucket from the swamp and washed the stones.

  The work was humiliating for a prince, of course, but Tang preferred doing it himself to having the serenity of his garden disturbed by servants. He cleaned up the other mounds of viscera, then placed the bulging sack by the gate. The entrails had obviously come from the belly of his dead monitor, for none of the other lizards were large enough to hold so many intestines. What the prince did not understand was how the intruder had known it was his favorite pet, a rare beast c
aptured in the distant land of Chult. Only his personal staff knew how dearly he had paid for the creature, and they would no sooner betray him than his guards would.

  Tang returned his tools to the shanty, then went over to the dead monitor. He waved aside a cloud of flies and grabbed the beast by its rear legs.

  The beast jerked its feet from the prince’s grasp.

  Tang cried out and stepped away, his gaze dropping to the black stains that covered the bench and the stones beneath it. The stuff looked like dried blood, and the rancid, coppery smell certainly suggested appearances were correct. He did not see how the monitor could have lost so much blood and lived. The great lizard raised its head, fixing a dull-eyed gaze on the prince’s face.

  “Guards!” Tang stumbled backward toward the gate. “Yuan! Come quickly!”

  The monitor glanced at the gate, and Tang heard the sharp double click of the heavy lock-bolt sliding into its catch. He fished the key from his sleeve pocket and continued to retreat, fighting down his growing panic and trying to decide whether he dared turn his back to make a dash for the gate.

  Tang, you cannot flee me.

  Tang heard the voice not with his ears, but inside his mind. It was raspy and rumbling, and even if it had come from the monitor’s mouth, it would have been much too resonant for a lacertilian throat.

  That much, you should remember.

  “Cy-Cypress?”

  The monitor nodded, and Tang’s feet suddenly felt as heavy as boulders. At first, the prince thought the lizard had cast a spell on him, but he quickly realized that was impossible. The beast had uttered no mystic syllables, nor made any arcane gestures with its claws. Instead, Cypress was using what the Shou called the Invisible Art, an ancient discipline whose practitioners employed nothing but the power of their own minds to perform supernatural acts. Tang had heard that his unwelcome guest was a master of the venerable art, but until now, he had been lucky enough to avoid a demonstration.