The Veiled Dragon

by Denning, Troy

  Ruha hesitated to do as he asked. Having seen him in a mirage from the future, she was determined not to leave the park without learning more about him, but her curiosity did not translate into trust. Once she showed herself, she would be at the mercy of his sword—a weapon that, from all appearances, he was quite capable of handling.

  As if sensing her thoughts, the Shou retrieved a scabbard from the ground and sheathed his weapon. “Show yourself, wu-jen, or I draw sword and call guards.”

  “As you wish.”

  Ruha raised her hand as though to strike, and her spell evaporated in a curtain of shimmering air. The Shou’s gaze ran up her the entire length of the witch’s aba, over her orange silk veil, then lingered on her dark eyes. Slowly, his expression changed from wary to pleased to covetous, leaving Ruha uncertain as to whether she was meeting an unexpected friend or an incorrigible lecher.

  “Who—who are you?” The Shou paused a moment, then continued to gaze into her eyes as he asked the second part of his question, “And who sends you to spy on Ginger Palace—Vaerana Hawklyn?”

  Though Ruha was startled by the man’s deduction, she tried not to let it show. She walked toward the Thornbacks’ basking stone, being careful to hold her hands in plain sight. Then, recalling how he had originally mistaken her for a messenger and remembering how his face had changed to that of a dragon in her vision, she decided to answer his question with a deduction of her own.

  “I was not sent by Cypress, if that is what you fear.”

  The Shou allowed a gracious smile to cross his lips, then prudently stepped away from the basking stone. “We play at same game.” The Thornbacks followed his lead, clambering over the side to bury themselves beneath the sand. “But who is Cypress?”

  Ruha locked gazes with the Shou. “He is the dragon, of course—the one I saw you with.”

  “You are … mistaken.” The Shou looked away, and, for the first time, seemed in danger of losing his composure. “What you claim is impossible.”

  Ruha glanced at the throng of dead ants lying upon the basking stone, then shook her head. “You have watched, but you have not considered.”

  She grabbed several lacquered boxes and leaned over the basking stone, then began emptying the contents onto the sand. A cascade of ants of all sizes and three different colors—red, black, and brown—poured onto the sand. Close to a dozen of the insects bounced up on their six legs and began to scurry away. The lizards came instantly alive, scrambling from their hiding places to devour the fugitives in a flurry of whipping heads and darting tongues.

  “Ants must be alive!” the Shou gasped, looking back to Ruha. “But why?”

  “You have never lived in the desert, or you would know. Small creatures like lizards often pass their entire lives without seeing water,” Ruha explained. “They must take their fluids from their prey—but only from living prey. Dead bodies dry out swiftly in hot temperatures, and water is too precious to waste digesting parched carcasses.”

  The Shou watched his lizards catch the last of the moving ants, then he opened another box and dumped the contents onto the sand. Again, the lizards gobbled up the live insects and left the dead ones undisturbed.

  Across the little courtyard came the clatter of someone trying to open the barred gates. When the portals did not swing apart, Wei Dao’s muted voice rolled over the wall, speaking excitedly in Shou.

  Ruha’s hand dropped toward her jambiya, but the Shou raised his hand to reassure her.

  “Yes, the wu-jen is here with me.” He spoke in Common, so Ruha could understand him. “Not to worry. I am safe.”

  There was a confused murmur outside the gates, then all fell silent beneath the Arch of Many-Hued Scales. The Shou, whom the witch now felt certain to be Prince Tang, turned back to Ruha.

  “They do not disturb us. Please to accept my gratitude for saving of Thornbacks.” Though the prince’s tone was warm, he did not meet Ruha’s eyes as he spoke. “But I do not understand how feeding habits of lizards concern this dragon Cypress.”

  “Is it not true that Lady Feng’s kidnappers need her alive, just as the Thornbacks need the ants alive?” asked Ruha, implying that she knew for a fact what she was only guessing at. “What will they do once she has finished enslaving Yanseldara’s spirit for them?”

  Tang looked up, his eyes both betraying his astonishment and veiling something more. “You are accomplished wu-jen.” The prince spread his palms and smiled warmly. “Household of Ginger Palace has need for someone like you.”

  Ruha scowled, taken aback by the directness of the prince’s approach. “We both know I am here on behalf of someone else.”

  Tang shook his head emphatically. “Oh, no! I do not speak of hiring. I mean to make you Virtuous Concubine.”

  “Concubine!” Ruha cried, both stunned and affronted by the offer.

  Tang stumbled an uncertain step backward. A concerned murmur began to build outside the gate; then the prince squared his shoulders and stepped back to the basking stone.

  “You do not understand, wu-jen.” Now he was speaking between clenched teeth. “Virtuous Concubine is honored position in house of Shou prince. Lady Feng is Third Virtuous Concubine, and you become Worthy Daughter to Third Virtuous Concubine to Emperor of Shou Lung. It is position more worthy than queen of any realm in Heartlands!”

  Ruha began to feel a little embarrassed by her outburst, though she still found it strange that any man would propose such a thing without first making inquiries about her family. “Prince Tang, what you offer is clear enough. Still, I must decline.”

  Tang looked as though she had punched him in the stomach. “You—you refuse me? A prince of Shou Lung?”

  A muted thump reverberated across the courtyard; then the top rungs of a ladder appeared above the gates. Ruha was not overly concerned. Tang had tacitly admitted that his mother had been kidnapped by the Cult of the Dragon, and in her mind at least, that made them allies, not enemies.

  “I am sorry, Prince,” Ruha said. “I cannot become your concubine. My other obligations would interfere.”

  Tang considered Ruha as though he did not understand the language she was speaking. The covetous expression she had glimpsed earlier once again filled his eyes, this time stronger than ever.

  “I give you your weight in gold each year,” Tang promised. “And I build you private palace!”

  Behind Ruha, a familiar voice made a harsh demand in Shou. The witch looked across the courtyard and was astonished to see Wei Dao herself clambering through the narrow space between the gate tops and the archway. The princess was dressed in a simple black tunic and trousers uniform, with a row of slender daggers hanging from a black sash tied around her waist.

  “Ginger Palace needs good wu-jen.” Though Tang spoke in Common, his comment was directed toward his wife.

  “But not Ruha,” Wei Dao countered, also speaking in Common. She lowered her toes onto the crossbar, then nimbly jumped to the ground. “She sneaks into Lady Feng’s private chambers—and breaks window when she tries to escape.”

  Ruha turned her back on Wei Dao and faced Tang. “Prince, it is not necessary that I become your concubine to serve the Ginger Palace.”

  The witch heard Wei Dao’s light footsteps coming across the courtyard and realized the princess had not bothered to unbar the gate for the guards. Happy to see that her hosts did not consider her a threat to their safety, she continued to face Tang.

  “Prince Tang, we all wish to see your mother delivered from the hands of her captors. Does that not make us friends?”

  “No!” Tang snapped, with surprising vigor in his voice. His eyes briefly flickered past Ruha’s shoulder and returned. “I serve the Emperor of Shou Lung, and you serve … a lesser master.”

  “But we all oppose the Cult of the Dragon.” Though she was aware that Wei Dao had stopped a short distance behind her, Ruha kept her attention fixed on Prince Tang, determined to win his friendship without becoming a Virtuous Concubine. “In the desert, w
e have a saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  Tang’s eyes flashed in anger; then he slipped around the basking stone so swiftly that Ruha barely had time to turn around before he was standing between her and the gates. The witch found herself looking over his shoulder at Wei Dao, who was standing ten paces away with one of her slender daggers cocked to throw.

  “I say no,” Tang said, speaking to his wife. “Put wasp knife away.”

  Wei Dao did not lower the weapon. “Foolish Husband, you turn back on spy! Why do you place yourself in danger? What is wrong with you?”

  “What is wrong with you?” Tang countered. “Do you defy command of Imperial Shou Prince?”

  Wei Dao’s eyes flared in surprise and hurt. She looked past Tang’s shoulder and shot Ruha a look as deadly as her wasp knife, then reluctantly lowered both her weapon and her gaze.

  “I do not mean to disobey Exalted Prince.” The Princess bowed deeply to her husband. “I think only of your safety.”

  Ruha felt herself take a deep breath; then she slipped from behind Prince Tang and executed a bow of her own, to Wei Dao. “You have nothing to fear from me, Radiant Princess. I come as a friend to Lady Feng and the Ginger Palace, nothing more.”

  Wei Dao’s lips curled into a sneer. “Yes, spy always comes as friend. But do not think me stupid, Witch. You care nothing for our troubles, and I watch to make certain you do not harm Beloved Husband.”

  Recognizing that it was impossible to make peace with Wei Dao, Ruha turned to the prince. “I thank you for sparing my life, Wise Prince. I assure you, I will repay the favor with friendship.”

  “It is not friendship I desire,” Tang replied. Deftly, he reached down and pulled Ruha’s jambiya from its scabbard, moving so swiftly and smoothly that she did not realize what he was doing until he held the weapon in his hand. “In Ginger Palace, you serve me, or you serve no one.”

  Eight

  Gagged with her own silken veil and forced to kneel upon the brick floor with her wrists bound behind her back to her ankles, Ruha glared at her captors. Tang and Wei Dao stood at the far end of a long lime-washed vault, mincing blossoms and filling the air with a tangy perfume as sweet as cassia. Though clean and tidy enough, the chamber was crammed with all manner of vats, ovens, and other spice-refining apparatus.

  Tang and Wei Dao set their knives aside, then gathered up the minced blossoms and carried them to a large screw press in the corner. As soon as their backs were turned, the witch fixed her gaze upon a flickering oil lamp near the door and slipped her gag as the Harpers had taught her, by retracting her lower jaw until she could use her tongue to push it over her lip onto her chin. Beneath her breath, she uttered the incantation of a simple sun spell.

  The flame coiled around itself, then leapt off the wick and pirouetted to the floor. Ruha tried to point toward a huge ceramic cask sitting in the corner but, with her hands tied behind her back, she failed miserably. The fire danced across the bricks toward a gleaming copper vat, which caught its light and sent a reddish glint skipping across the ceiling.

  Wei Dao’s head cocked slightly.

  Ruha bent her finger sharply, directing the flicker toward a black iron caldron. She barely managed to guide the flame behind the pot’s sheltering bulk before Wei Dao turned to scan the ceiling. The witch tongued her gag back into place and waited until her captor’s scrutiny fell on her, then glowered at the princess with a frown that she hoped would look as helpless as it did hateful.

  Wei Dao smirked at the witch, then allowed her gaze to roam across the room until it came to the unlit lamp. If she noticed the faint wisps of smoke still rising from the flameless wick, she paid them no attention. The concern vanished from her face, and she turned back to Prince Tang.

  “Thisss … dangerous, my husssband.” Wei Dao spoke in Shou, unaware that a wind spell was carrying her voice to Ruha in the Bedine language. Unfortunately, the magic did not work well in the still air of the vault; the words were so breathy and soft that the witch sometimes missed them. “We ssshould … her and be done with it!”

  “She ssserve us better alive.” Tang turned the press screw, then glanced at Ruha and allowed his gaze to linger on her naked face for an indecent time, at least by Bedine standards. “We have need of wu-jen.”

  “… much trussst in love potion!” Wei Dao pointed a dagger-sharp fingernail at her husband. “Witch use love magic on you, wise husssband.”

  Prince Tang shrugged. “It doesss not matter, as long as she love me more. We need wu-jen, and Ruha is wu-jen.”

  Wei Dao’s face grew crimson and stormy. The princess was no fool and believed Tang no more than Ruha did; the prince needed the witch’s magic, but he coveted her womanhood.

  “How witch love you more?” Wei Dao demanded. “You sssay ylang … not potent.”

  “Potent enough for now. When fresssh blossoms arrive, I make better potion.”

  Ruha pointed her finger toward the wall behind her. The wayward flame danced from its hiding place and began to skip across the floor.

  “You are bad ssson! You risssk mother for—for—” Wei Dao’s sentence sputtered to a halt, and she flung her arm in Ruha’s direction. “You risssk mother’s life for barbarian concubine!”

  There was that word again, concubine. Ruha ground her teeth into her gag, biting down until her jaws ached. She did not leave the golden sands of Anauroch to become a prince’s bauble; if the Shou thought differently, she would show them barbarian.

  “Not for concubine, for wu-jen.” Tang’s head started to turn in Ruha’s direction, and she barely managed to guide her dancing flame beneath a brazier before his lecherous gaze fell on her face again. “And risk is mossst sssmall.”

  Wei Dao shook her head violently. “Already … over the wall!”

  Whatever the princess said to the prince, it drew his attention away from Ruha. The witch gestured with her finger, and the lamp flame darted from its hiding place.

  “What you think he tell … Hawklyn?” Wei Dao demanded. “What you think witch say if ssshe essscape, too?”

  Ruha forgot about her dancing flame. Fowler had escaped! She doubted the half-orc could report anything useful to Vaerana, but at least the witch would not have to add his death to her already overburdened conscience. She circled her finger, guiding the lamp flame, which had curled toward her captors, back toward her.

  Prince Tang scowled at his wife. “Why do you not tell me sssooner?”

  “You at work in lizard park, leaving me to chase ssspies!” Wei Dao countered. “Perhapsss wise prince ssshould …”

  Whatever the princess said, it angered her husband greatly. Tang raised his fist; then, when Wei Dao did not flinch, he turned away and swept a shelf clean of several porcelain jars. They shattered on the floor, releasing a cloud of fine, multihued powders. The prince let his chin drop and stared into the billowing dusts, his eyes focused someplace far beneath the bricks.

  The lamp flame reached Ruha’s side. She beckoned it around behind her, scorching her insteps as she guided it between her sandaled feet. Soon, the witch felt a tongue of fire licking at her fingers; then she caught a whiff of burning hemp. She began to move the flame back and forth, never allowing it to rest beneath her bindings for more than a second at a time. The syrupy perfume of minced ylang blossoms still hung in the air, but not so heavily that she dared let the acrid fumes of a rope fire spread through the chamber.

  When Prince Tang finally raised his head, he had regained the characteristic composure of the Shou. “What can half-man tell Vaerana Hawklyn?”

  Wei Dao lowered her eyes. “It isss impossible to sssay. Guards do not sssee him leave Cinnamon House during night, but neither do they sssee witch go—and we find her in apartment of Lady Feng.”

  “Then we assume most wretched prossspect.” The prince took a copper beaker from a shelf and held it beneath the drainage spout of the oil press, then opened the valve. The sound of trickling fluid echoed through the vault, and the tangy smell of the yl
ang blossoms grew overwhelming in its cloying sweetness. “Perhapsss half-man report mother’s abduction, but that isss crime of Cypress, not Ginger Palace.”

  “Vaerana Hawklyn … woman,” Wei Dao observed. “She know we do anything to ransssom mother!”

  “But she doesss not realize we must.” Tang did not look up as he spoke. “It is no sssecret that Lady Feng hasss won favor of Yen-Wang-Yeh. Ssso, when Vaerana Hawklyn hear of worthy mother’s abduction, what doesss she think?”

  Wei Dao furrowed her carefully plucked eyebrows. “That Cypress needsss Venerable Scholar of Eighteen Hells to sssteal spirit of Yanseldara, of courssse.”

  Ruha nearly howled as the lamp flame scorched her knuckles, for she had been listening so intently to her captors’ conversation that she had neglected the tiny fire. Having deduced already that Lady Feng had been abducted for the purpose of stealing Yanseldara’s spirit, the witch found it less surprising that the Shou would cooperate with the kidnappers than that they seemed to think Cypress remained in good health. She moved the lamp flame a safe distance behind her and resumed eavesdropping.

  “… more.” Prince Tang closed the drain valve and carried his copper beaker to a marble-topped table. “Vaerana Hawklyn hasss no reason to think Cypress requires more from usss to complete ssspell.”

  A sly smile crept across Wei Dao’s painted lips. “Ssso she is looking wrong way at aussspicious time. Perhaps it is good … essscaped, wise husband.” The princess cast a spiteful glare in Ruha’s direction. “Now only witch threaten sssafe return of worthy mother.”

  “That sssoon change.” Tang removed the stopper from a small earthenware flask and poured the contents into his copper beaker, then pricked his finger with a needle. He dribbled several drops of blood into the mixture. “When ssshe drinks thisss, her only wish isss to obey me.”

  Feeling herself flush with outrage at the prince’s plan, Ruha took several deep breaths. Her best chance to learn more about the theft of Yanseldara’s spirit lay in exploiting Tang’s base cravings, and the witch knew such a plan would fail if anger showed in her face. She tried to calm herself by thinking of the Alam’ra Wall, a beautiful oasis where the sweet waters poured from a cliff of white stone. At the same time, she beckoned the lamp flame closer and resumed the burning of her ropes. One way or another, she would need her hands free. Whether she succeeded in manipulating the prince or not, she had no intention of allowing him to pour his potion down her throat. Besides, Ruha knew better than to think the princess would stand idly by while she tried to win Tang’s confidence. The witch had seen the antagonism between her father’s wives often enough to know that Wei Dao was jealous of her position and would do whatever was necessary to keep her husband from taking a consort.