Vaerana waited until the leading riders had cleared the tangle of wounded, then called, “Squad the First!”
Half the Maces loosed their bolts, again aiming at the front of the Cult column. More men screamed and fell, lengthening the obstacle course for those behind and adding to the confusion. While the first squad reloaded, the rest of the Elversult warriors turned their aim farther back, where the enemy horsemen continued to round the corner.
Vaerana waited until the first group of men had reloaded, then called, “Squad the Second!”
The second half of the company fired, downing a dozen horses and men. More riders galloped around the bend, either leaping their fallen comrades or stumbling over them, and a few alert Cult members turned their terrified horses up the hill.
Vaerana waited until the assault had almost reached the top, allowing the second squad time to reload, then called, “All fire!”
The Cult horsemen rode into a wall of black shafts that unhorsed all but three of them. The survivors brought their mounts up short, took one look at the gang of warriors reaching for their maces, then spun their mounts around and charged down the slope.
That was all it took to break the enemy’s morale. When the rest of the Cult riders rounded the corner and heard their wailing comrades, then saw three of their fellows coming down the hill at a breakneck gallop, they quickly concluded that the situation was hopeless. The entire column turned back, beating their horses as savagely as when they rode into battle.
“That’ll keep ’em off our backs.” Vaerana turned away from the bloody scene below and pointed at five men. “You men hang back and keep a sharp eye. I doubt the Black Caps will find their courage again, but let me know if they do. The rest of you, to your horses. We’ve a long ride before we’re safe again.”
Fowler started to take Ruha’s arm to help her down the hill, but Vaerana moved between them and took his place.
“You go on ahead, Tusks,” Vaerana said, slipping Ruha’s arm over her shoulders. “I’ll help the witch.”
Fowler raised his heavy brow, then shrugged and began to pick his way down the hill. The Lady Constable let him get a little way ahead, then started to help Ruha down the slope.
“Now, about this absurd promise you made—”
“Which promise?” Ruha interrupted. “The one wherein I swore to combat villainy and wickedness, or the one wherein I swore to help those in fear for their lives?”
Vaerana stopped walking and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you quote watchwords to me! I’ve heard about you, and I won’t stand for such trouble—not in Elversult, and not when so much depends on you!”
Ruha lowered her gaze. “Forgive me.” Had everyone in the Heartlands heard of the Voonlar debacle? “I did not mean to anger you, but what would you have done? The dragon was tearing the ship apart, and Captain Fowler would not go to her aid. Hundreds of people would have drowned.”
Vaerana started down the hill again. “A tough choice, I’ll grant you. But defending others doesn’t mean throwing your own life away, not when people are counting on you someplace else.”
“I would not have attacked if I thought the wyrm was going to kill me,” Ruha remarked. “Nor would I have asked Captain Fowler to risk his ship if I thought the creature would sink it.”
Vaerana shook her head in incredulity. “Well, what’d you expect? Did you think you’d kill it?”
“Of course.”
Vaerana stumbled and nearly sent them both tumbling.
Ruha hissed as she caught her weight on her injured leg, then explained, “I have killed three other dragons, in the desert. And I would have killed this one, had it not already been dead.”
“Dead?”
“It was like a ghoul.” As they continued their descent, Ruha explained how Captain Fowler’s crew had harpooned the beast, and how it come back to attack after her spell had destroyed its internal organs. “Then it sprayed a black cloud over the bow, and the entire front half of the ship dissolved.”
Vaerana’s shoulders suddenly grew tense beneath Ruha’s arm, and her florid complexion turned as pale as ivory. “You’d better describe this dragon to me, Witch.”
“As you command. First of all, it was huge, perhaps as large as the Storm Sprite herself. It was very black, with dull and withered scales and many fleshless places on its—”
“Cypress!” Vaerana hissed.
“Cypress?”
“He came up from the Wetwoods to attack the caravans around Elversult,” the Lady Constable explained. “But that was three years ago, and Yanseldara said she killed him.”
“If this is the same dragon, perhaps she did,” Ruha said. “He looked very dead when he attacked us.”
This did not seem to calm Vaerana at all. “Then Cypress is the Cult of the Dragon’s idol! No wonder they’re being so bold!” She swept Ruha up and started down the hill at a trot. “We’ve got to hurry!”
The witch wrapped her fingers into Vaerana’s cloak, terrified the Lady Constable would trip and fall on top of her. “Wait! I do not understand!”
“The Cult of the Dragon worships dead dragons.” Vaerana continued to run. “The reverence keeps the spirits from being drawn into the netherworld, and the dragons just keep growing.”
“Please put me down!” Ruha urged. “There is no reason to worry. I have destroyed Cypress.”
Vaerana began to slow, but did not return the witch’s feet to the ground. “You what?”
“I blasted him apart,” Ruha confirmed. “With lamp oil and magic. From the inside. The detonation ripped him apart.”
Vaerana’s face remained blank and uncomprehending. “You destroyed him?” she gasped. “You’re sure?”
“The explosion annihilated his body, along with the stern of Captain Fowler’s ship,” Ruha confirmed. “I saw the sharks eating pieces of his body. The same thing would have happened to us if Minister Hsieh had not come back.”
Vaerana’s jaw fell. “Minister who?”
“Hsieh,” Ruha said. “It was his ship we saved. He is a Shou mandarin—”
“I know who he is!” Vaerana finally stopped and returned Ruha to the ground. They were near the bottom of the hill, less than twenty paces from the horses, but the Lady Constable did not resume walking. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or gut you!”
“I would prefer you do neither,” Ruha replied. “Instead, please explain why you are so upset.”
“I think Hsieh is our enemy.”
“Of course. The Shou are very fond of dragons.”
Vaerana shook her head. “I’m not talking about their emperor—that’s something else altogether.” The Lady Constable lowered her voice. “My sages think someone’s trying to steal Yanseldara’s spirit.”
“Ah.” Ruha was beginning to understand why Vaerana thought a witch might help her friend. “Why do they think that?”
“Someone has stolen a staff her father gave her—”
“It is very dear to her?” Ruha was no master of spirit magic, but she had learned something of the subject from Qoha’dar, an old witch with whom she had been exiled as a child. “Perhaps the staff is even her most treasured possession?”
Vaerana nodded, and lowered her voice even further. “And by all accounts, Prince Tang’s mother is a master of the art.”
“But why are the Shou doing this terrible thing?” Ruha asked. “What do they want with Yanseldara’s spirit?”
Vaerana bit her lip, then looked away. “It’s my doing. They trade in poisons and fixings for dark magic. I’ve threatened to chase them out of Elversult if they don’t stop. I guess stealing Yanseldara’s spirit is their way of calling my bluff.”
With that, Vaerana snaked an arm around Ruha and started toward the horses, half-dragging the witch along. “If we don’t want this turning into another of your debacles, well need to ride like the wind!”
The reference to Voonlar stung like a slap, but that was not the reason Ruha pulled free of Vaerana and stopped. The witch had o
nly a passing familiarity with spirit magic; it would not be enough to save Yanseldara.
Vaerana did not seem to realize that her companion had stopped until she reached the horses and took her reins from Tombor. “Well?”
“I cannot save Yanseldara.” The words came so difficultly that Ruha could barely utter them. “You must send for someone else.”
Vaerana’s face darkened. “Out of the question! I’d do this myself if I could, but the Shou know me.” She grabbed the reins of Ruha’s mount; then led it, along with her own horse, toward the witch. “As pitiful an excuse for a Harper as you are, you’re the only one who can save Yanseldara—which means you’re all that stands between Elversult and the tyranny of the Cult of the Dragon.”
Vaerana thrust a set of reins into the witch’s hands.
“But, Lady Constable—”
“Don’t ‘but’ me, Witch!” Vaerana roared. “You’re supposed to be a Harper, and a Harper goes where she’s called. Besides, all you’ve got to do is sneak into the Ginger Palace and find Yanseldara’s staff. Even you can handle that!”
“You do not want me to lift the curse?”
Vaerana rolled her eyes. “Why would I think you can do what Thunderhand Frostbryn could not? All I need is someone the Shou don’t know—but you almost botched that up, didn’t you? Now, I’ll have to do some fast riding if we don’t want that mandarin recognizing you.”
The Lady Constable thrust her foot into a stirrup, then turned toward the rest of the riders. “Tombor!”
Tombor, who could hardly have missed the last part of Vaerana’s outburst, led his own horse forward. “Yes, m’lady?”
Vaerana flipped her hand in Ruha’s direction. “Take the witch back to Elversult. After you tend to the seriously wounded, I don’t imagine you’ll have any healing magic left, but do what you can for her leg. Then see that she’s given an introduction to the Ginger Palace, like we planned.”
Tombor’s twinkle-eyed gaze darted to Ruha, then back to Vaerana. “And what will you and the rest of the Maces be doing, Lady Constable?”
“Inspecting a caravan,” Vaerana replied. “A Shou caravan.”
Six
The journey to Elversult took the rest of the day and most of the next, so that they reached the outskirts of town in late afternoon. Suggesting it might be wise not to be seen together in the city, Tombor pointed out a wooded hill where Ruha and Fowler could wait while he saw to the wounded. Grateful for any chance to rest their sore rumps, the pair climbed out of their saddles and led their horses into the copse. The captain fetched some water from a nearby stream so the witch could tend her shark bite; then they settled in to wait, too weary to talk or do anything but listen to the distant creak of passing wagons.
Twilight came, and worried that Tombor would not be able to find them in the dusky wood, Ruha asked the captain to collect some sticks while she gathered some dry moss off the forest floor. She was about to strike the fire when the portly cleric emerged from the shadows, appearing so suddenly and silently that he startled Fowler and made him drop an armload of branches he had collected.
“For a big man, you move mighty quiet.” Fowler eyed a small wooden coffer that Tombor was carrying in both hands. “Especially considering that your arms are full.”
A sour smile flashed across the cleric’s lips and disappeared instantly, then he chuckled merrily. “Sorry; sometimes I can’t resist. It’s a gift of the gods.”
“Which one?” Ruha asked. “Most priests invoke their gods often, but I have yet to hear you utter the name of yours.”
Tombor set the coffer on the ground at her feet. “My god is not so vain as the others, but his healing magic is as strong as that of most—as you’ll soon see.” He removed a small bundle of cloth from his pocket, then turned to Fowler and motioned at the dry moss Ruha had gathered. “Would you be good enough to start a small fire?”
Ruha passed her tinderbox to the captain, then watched as Tombor unwrapped his bundle. Inside was a dark, sour-smelling balm that seemed to undulate like water. The cleric dipped his fingers into the salve, and the witch pulled her aba up to display her wound. After the long ride from Pros, it had started to open again. The edges were red and inflamed, while a steady flow of clear liquid oozed from the laceration itself.
Tombor rubbed his salve over the injury, and Ruha’s leg seemed to disappear beneath a rippling shadow. The ointment felt as light as air; there was no greasy feeling or any burning sensation, only a slight, soothing coolness upon her skin, similar to what it felt like to step out of the hot sun into the shade of a large tree.
Once Tombor had smeared the balm over the entire wound, he tossed aside what remained. “It’s my best salve, but I have to mix each batch fresh. It doesn’t keep more than an hour.” Tombor placed the coffer he had brought next to Fowler’s fire, then said, “We’ll let the balm do its work while I explain what I brought.”
He opened the lid, revealing what looked to be several hundred pieces of gold stamped with the proud raven of the Kingdom of Sembia. Ruha had lived in the Heartlands long enough to know that the coins were accepted as currency throughout the region, for Sembite merchants controlled much of the area’s trade.
“And the Lady Constable said she couldn’t buy me a new cog!” Fowler snorted.
“She couldn’t—at least not with this gold.” Tombor reached deep into the chest and removed a coin, then used his knife to scratch it and reveal the dull gray sheen of lead. “The coins on top are real. The rest are fakes Vaerana took from a local thief. Don’t try to buy anything with them, but they should serve to convince the Shou you’re a legitimate spice buyer.”
“That’s to be the witch’s disguise?” Fowler asked.
“It’s the only way we can get her into the Ginger Palace.” He turned back to Ruha. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll meet a local merchant we’ve hired to present you to the Shou. He’s a useful tool, but an unreliable one, so don’t tell him anything about your mission.”
“Our mission,” Fowler said. “I’m going with her.”
Ruha lifted her brow. “Thank you, Captain, but—”
Fowler raised his hands to silence her. “You don’t have any choice, Witch. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I get my new cog. Besides, if you don’t have a bodyguard, the Shou are liable to think you aren’t very important.”
Ruha looked to Tombor, who nodded. “It’s a good idea.” He reached into his pocket to remove a gold coin. It was as large as Ruha’s palm, and embossed with the image of a camel and several strange letters. “Make certain that Princess Wei Dao sees this. She has a love of coins from far lands, and this one comes all the way from Calimshan.”
“May I offer it to her as a gift?” Ruha asked, reaching for the gold piece. “Perhaps I can make a friend—”
Tombor shook his head, pulling the coin out of her reach. “It’s better to let her find it on her own.” He tossed the coin into the coffer. “Just make certain she sees it, and she’ll think there are more treasures like it deeper in the chest. Her imagination will do more to win you a night in the Ginger Palace than any gift.”
“And once we’re inside, what then?” asked Fowler.
“You’ll only have a day or so to find Yanseldara’s staff and get out,” Tombor answered. “Vaerana will do her best to stall Hsieh’s caravan, but she won’t be able to hold it up long without starting a war.”
“What does the staff look like?” Ruha asked. “And do you have any suggestions as to where I might find it?”
“The staff isn’t much to look at—it’s a plain rod of oak—but there’s a huge topaz on top. None of us has any idea where you should look. The Shou are a secretive people, especially about their homes. All I can tell you is that Tang’s mother, Lady Feng, is reportedly a master of spirit magic.”
Tombor glanced down at Ruha’s leg, where the dark balm had stopped rippling and now looked like nothing more than a strange shadow with no source.
“The salve’s d
one its work,” the cleric said. “Turn your leg toward the firelight.”
Ruha did as instructed. When the flickering yellow light fell on her thigh, the balm rose off her leg like dark steam. The shark bite had closed completely, leaving only a thin curved line and slight red sheen to mark where the wound had been.
“That is a most marvelous balm.” Ruha looked from her wound to Tombor’s heavy, jowled face. “You must tell me which god to thank!”
Pretending not to hear Ruha’s request, the cleric closed the coffer lid and stood. “With that chest among your things, you’ll need a safe place to spend the night. I’d recommend the Axe and Hammer. Anyone in the city will tell you how to get there.”
“What about our guide?” Fowler asked.
“He’ll meet you on the way,” Tombor replied. “Just start down Snake Road.”
“How will we recognize him?” Ruha asked.
“Don’t worry about that; he’ll find you.” Tombor stepped away from the fire, slipping into the dusky shadows as quietly as he had appeared. “Abazm always knows who’s on the road to the Ginger Palace.”
* * * **
Save for an impression of impregnable reclusion, the Ginger Palace had little in common with those hulking stacks of stone Heartland lords called home. Instead of the squalid green waters of a moat, the Shou citadel was surrounded by the soldierly ranks of a ginkgo forest, and sat not upon some windswept crag, but upon a square mound of pounded earth. The walls of its outer curtain were plastered smooth and painted white as alabaster, and they were capped along the entire length by a peaked roof of scarlet tiles. At every corner stood a tower with five stacked balconies, each one covered by a scarlet-tiled roof with upswept eaves. Inside the fortress, several buildings rose high enough above the outer curtain to display the same roof styling, lending an aura of harmony and supreme order to the entire edifice.
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