The Veiled Dragon

by Denning, Troy

  “Very well. We hide Lady Yanseldara and ylang oil beneath city prison while we search for lair,” Hsieh said. “But who stays to guard them?”

  “It’s the Maces’ barracks,” Vaerana answered simply.

  “Humble Minister begs to disagree.” Hsieh’s tone was anything but humble. “Maces know nearby lands. Perhaps they search for lair while Shou guard oil.”

  Vaerana leaned in front of Ruha, her face already turning the color of blood. “If you think I’m going to leave Elversult in the hands of a bunch of slanty—”

  Ruha pushed the Lady Constable back toward her own horse. “The minister’s suggestion has merit, Vaerana. Perhaps it would be best to leave a mixed garrison at the barracks, and lend him some guides to help his men search for the lair.”

  Vaerana clamped her mouth shut and took several deep breaths, then nodded curtly. “We can do that.”

  Hsieh looked straight ahead. “As can we—for mutual benefit of all.”

  Ruha’s sigh of relief was cut short by a chorus of alarmed cries. She turned in her saddle and looked down the long column to see riders of both races staring over their shoulders. They were tugging at armor buckles and tightening chin straps and generally readying themselves for battle. For a moment, the witch could not imagine what was troubling them, but then she saw it: a pair of distant black wings hanging low in the afternoon sky, steadily flapping and growing larger with every stroke.

  “Most wretched dragon!”

  “Elversult’s just over the hill,” Vaerana said. “We’ll skirt the edge and make a run for Moonstorm House!”

  “We secure ylang oil first—then fetch Yanseldara!”

  “This is my city. I know what’s—”

  “You are both wrong.” Ruha kept her eyes fixed on Cypress, who had already covered so much distance she could make out the lines of his broken horns. “We cannot hope to outrun the dragon, so we must outwit him.”

  Vaerana and Hsieh both studied the witch for a moment, then nodded their agreement. “What do you have in mind, Witch?”

  “We should feign a stand in the forest. When the dragon attacks, we will split. Vaerana will take the Maces toward Moonstorm House. Minister Hsieh and the Shou will stay behind to act as a rear guard.”

  Hsieh locked gazes with Vaerana, then nodded. He turned to Yu Po, who had two waterskins filled with ylang oil hanging from his saddle. Although the new blossoms had yielded more, the minister had assured them this was more than sufficient to save Yanseldara. The rest had been burned at the Ginger Palace.

  Hsieh took the first skin off his adjutant’s saddle to pass it to Vaerana.

  “That is not what I meant,” Ruha said. Cypress was so close now that she could see his legs and arms dangling beneath his body. “Vaerana is the bait. The dragon will follow her, and we will take the oil to the barracks.”

  Hsieh shook his head. “That is not—”

  “The witch is right, Minister. Cypress knows who the desperate ones are. He’ll follow us.” Vaerana turned to Pierstar. “Do it.”

  “You hold one skin, Lady Ruha.” Hsieh passed an oil sack to the witch, then hung the other on his own saddle and nodded to Yu Po. “You hear plan. Prepare line at edge of wood.”

  As the two adjutants passed the orders along, Vaerana led Ruha and Hsieh off the road. “Once you hit town, you can see Temple Hill from practically anywhere. Elversult Hall is straight across the market square from there, and the Jailgates—that’s the city prison—is a block north of the hall.” She looked at Hsieh. “And try not to kill any of my Maces when they challenge you. They don’t know what’s going on, and we don’t care much for foreign armies running through our city streets.”

  “Not one man falls to Shou blade,” Hsieh promised.

  Vaerana accepted the reassurance with a grim smile. “Then I’ll see you in the barracks, Helm willing.” She turned away and spurred her horse after Pierstar and the rest of the Maces, who were just disappearing into the wood. “May your steel bite deep!”

  Hsieh’s Shou followed close behind the Maces, then stopped at the forest edge and dismounted. They quickly formed a long wall bristling with halberds and crossbows. Ruha and the minister slipped through the line and guided their mounts past the rein holders, taking up a sheltered position from which they could flee in any direction.

  There was no time to grow nervous or contemplate the coming battle. The last few men were still settling in when a deep, steady throbbing began to pound the air. The dragon appeared an instant later, flying low and fast, then wheeled toward the hill. Ruha raised a hand toward the sun. Before she could utter an incantation, Hsieh pushed her arm down.

  “They are soldiers. It is their duty to die.” He gestured at the skins hanging from their saddle horns. “We must not draw attention to ourselves. What we carry is too important.”

  As Cypress neared the trees, he suddenly turned and swooped along the edge of the wood. “Give me the oil!” he roared. “The oil and your gold!”

  “Kozah save us!” Ruha gasped. “He speaks!”

  The clacking of a hundred crossbows reverberated through the wood, and a wall of iron darts rose to answer the dragon’s demands. Cypress roared and wheeled into the trees, and the battle did not begin so much as erupt. The forest shook with the crack of splintering treetops and steel blades glancing off bony scales and men screaming in fury and anguish. Ruha saw a huge, dark shape dancing across the broken oak trunks, his head swiveling this way and that as he bit attackers in two and searched for the precious ylang oil. Shou soldiers rushed him from all directions, flinging halberds and firing crossbows and hurling themselves against his flanks. Shattered scales and runnels of dark, smoking ichor began to fall from the dragon’s body, and for one moment, the witch thought Hsieh’s warriors might bring their foe down through sheer weight of numbers.

  Somewhere up the hill, Pierstar Hallowhand cried, “Ride!”

  The ground trembled with the distant thunder of pounding hooves. Cypress’s slender head rose out of the melee and turned toward the sound. He tried to raise his wings so he could pursue the fleeing horsemen, but even he lacked the strength to fling off the hundred Shou hacking at his flanks. He opened his mouth, and the leaves in the trees began to rustle.

  Instinctively, Ruha’s hand dropped toward her pocket. “He’s going to breathe!”

  Hsieh reached over and grasped the witch’s arm. “We must let him.”

  The dragon swung his head in an arc around himself, spraying a boiling black vapor from his maw. The caustic fog billowed through the treetops and began to settle groundward, filling the wood with a tremendous sound of sizzling and popping. Out of the dark cloud fluttered a deluge of leaves and sticks, disintegrating as they fell. Then came a cascade of heavy branches that crashed down upon the heads of the Shou and turned the forest floor into an impassible tangle of smoking, acid-drenched wood.

  Hsieh’s men cried out in fear and confusion, and their attack faltered. A low, bitter growl rumbled from Cypress’s throat. He beat the air with his tattered wings, then rose above the carnage and, dripping runnels of acid from his dull scales, flew after the Maces.

  Some of the Shou dove beneath the jumbled tree limbs to seek shelter, while others clambered across the tangled branches in a desperate effort to escape the black shroud descending upon their heads. Hsieh glanced toward the hilltop to be certain that Cypress was gone, then released Ruha’s arm so she could help his men.

  It was too late. The burning fumes had already reached the ground, and a hundred Shou warriors were raising their voices in a single wail of agony. Mercifully, the very darkness of the fog spared Ruha the sight of the dragon’s acid eating the flesh from their bones.

  Fifteen

  As Ruha and her companions galloped into the shadow of Temple Hill—a barren, stone-flanked tor towering high above the city’s close-packed heart—they met a wall of jabbering, frightened townsmen. It was the first sign of dragon-spawned fear they had encountered. Until now, the pe
ople of Elversult had leapt into nearby doorways and hurled insults at the battered foreigners charging up Snake Road. This mob barely seemed to hear the clattering hooves.

  Ruha reined her mount to a walk, slowing the whole column. Counting Hsieh, there were thirteen riders behind her. It seemed likely that more Shou had survived the battle with Cypress, but neither the witch nor the mandarin had thought it wise to spend time regrouping. They had simply turned their horses toward the heart of the city and urged them into a gallop, trusting that any warriors who could would follow.

  The mob began to swirl around the column of riders. Ruha saw no blood or horrible acid burns, and the crowd appeared more determined than panicked. The witch stopped her horse and caught a swarthy man by the shoulder of his embroidered merchant’s robes. He cried out and whirled around, glaring at the witch as though she had tried to rob him.

  “Sir, please tell me what is happening.”

  “Haven’t you heard? They say a dragon’s coming!”

  “Where?” Ruha asked. “Is he ahead?”

  The merchant shrugged. “Don’t know. No one’s seen him, and the Maces don’t mean us to. They’ve ordered everyone out of town.”

  “How much farther is …”

  The man turned away and vanished into the crowd before Ruha could finish the question. She urged her horse forward. The mob reluctantly parted ahead of her, alternately shouting warnings and curses. The witch ignored both and cast thoughtful glances down the empty alleyways that occasionally separated one wattle-and-daub tenement from the adjacent one. She was tempted to search for a faster route to the Jailgates, but she had seen the back streets of enough Heartlands cities to know most were confusing labyrinths of filth and dead ends.

  Hsieh edged his horse alongside Ruha’s, drawing several vehement curses from the river of people coming in the opposite direction. The mandarin leaned over and grabbed the rope holding the witch’s skin of ylang oil, then deftly looped it an extra time around her saddle horn.

  “Someone follows us.” He did not point or turn his head, but his eyes flickered toward his far shoulder. “I think they are not Vaerana’s men.”

  Ruha turned as though speaking to the minister and glanced down the avenue. It did not take long to discover their stalkers. There were at least five of them, pressed close to the buildings and scurrying along against the crowd. They wore plain cloaks that did a poor job of concealing the breastplates beneath, and they carried swords and axes on their belts. Though they were not wearing the black caps Ruha had seen in Pros, she felt sure they were cult members; their faces all had the dark, gluttonous look of pillagers and murderers.

  “Have you seen more on the other side of the street?”

  “Many more.”

  Ruha looked forward again. “Cypress has called out his militia.”

  “Then he discovers trick. Soon he comes for us.”

  Ruha filled her lungs, and then spoke the incantation of the same wind spell she had used to attract the Ginger Lady’s attention on the Dragonmere.

  “Stand aside!” Ruha’s horse reared at the thunder of her voice. She maintained a secure grip on the reins and spoke again, “Clear the road!”

  The command blasted a dozen nearby people off their feet. Many more covered their ears and cast terrified glances skyward, confident that such a thunderous sound could only have come from the heavens. The largest part of the mob froze in their tracks and stared at each other with dumbstruck expressions.

  “Stand aside, I say!”

  A few people drifted toward the sides of the street, but most of crowd remained too stunned to move. Ruha glanced back and saw that the cult members were drawing their weapons.

  “Make threat.” Hsieh, who was holding his hands over his own ears, shouted the suggestion. “Fear moves what kind words cannot.”

  “Move, or I shall move you!” Ruha commanded. “You have to the count of three. One …”

  By the time she reached two, even the people who had been knocked to the ground were scrambling out of the way. A brief clash of steel sounded behind her as the cult stalkers rushed to attack. The witch dug her heels into her mount’s flanks. The trembling beast sprang forward, leaping four people who had not been quick enough to gather themselves up.

  Ruha continued to yell. The mob split before her, creating a narrow canyon down the center of Snake Road. Trusting her mount to pick its own path, she glanced back and was relieved to see the tail of her horse slapping the nose of Hsieh’s. The rest of the Shou were close behind, several holding blood-stained swords in their free hands. The witch turned her attention forward again, doing her best to search the crowd ahead for any sign of an attack.

  Ruha rounded a gentle bend and saw more people pouring onto Snake Road from a large side street ahead. In the intersection stood a small party of stern-faced Maces, blocking the narrow pathway created by the witch’s booming threats. Their weapons were drawn, and behind them stood a blue-robed man with the impatient scowl of a sorcerer who had better things to do than deal with dragon panics and columns of careless horsemen. Beyond the roadblock, the avenue continued only two hundred paces before it passed out of Temple Hill’s shadow and opened into a vast, sunlit market plaza.

  Ruha slowed her mount, bringing the column to a stop before the glowering Maces. A grim-faced man with a ruddy complexion stepped forward and pointed his mace at the witch.

  “See here, Stranger. Even in the best of times, we don’t like—”

  “Vaerana Hawklyn would be most appreciative if you will lead us to the Jailgates.” Although Ruha whispered the words, the leader and his fellow Maces cringed at the strength of her voice. She urged her horse forward, leaning down to offer the man a hand up. “The Cult of the Dragon is close behind, and it won’t be long before the dragon himself comes for us.”

  The leader arched an eyebrow and lowered his weapon, but made no move to climb up behind Ruha. “What’s going on?”

  “We lack time to explain matter, but it is of great urgency for safety of Lady Yanseldara,” said Hsieh. “Now, please to get on horse or stand aside.”

  The leader jammed his mace into his belt and reached for the witch’s hand. “This had better not be some kind of trick.”

  As Ruha clasped the man’s steel glove, the crowd began to churn and close. Someone clamped a hand over the old sorcerer’s mouth; then a dagger tip erupted from his chest. Hand axes and short swords appeared from under cloaks and cleaved three Elversian skulls before the Maces realized they were being assaulted. The survivors turned to find themselves facing half-a-dozen attackers each.

  “Ambush!”

  The angry leader clamped his mailed fingers around Ruha’s wrist and jerked, nearly pulling her from her mount.

  Suddenly, he cried out in anguish and threw himself against the flanks of the witch’s horse. She glimpsed the butt of a crossbow bolt sticking through the armor between his shoulders, then felt hands tugging at her saddle straps.

  “Get away from me!” she bellowed.

  Her horse reared at her thunderous command, and the grasping hands fell away from her saddle. Hsieh came up beside her, at once trampling the Maces’ fallen leader and burying his square-tipped sword in an axe-man’s skull. Ruha urged her own mount forward, then led the column across the intersection, scattering ambushers and bystanders alike with the might of her booming voice.

  They had barely crossed before a pair of gloom-shrouded figures appeared at the end of the street, blocking the route into the sunlit market plaza. The man was tall and broad-shouldered. He wore steel plate as black as jet and carried not a sword, but a sliver of darkness shaped like a sword. It was impossible to say what the woman looked like; she was a mere silhouette, a night phantom obtruding on the light of day.

  Ruha dropped her reins and raised one hand toward the sky. She pointed the other at the phantom-woman and shook the lane with the rumbling incantation of her sun spell. Five streaks of golden flame shot from her fingers and arced down the street,
twining themselves together into a crackling cord as thick as a man’s leg.

  The spell took less than three heartbeats to streak the length of the street, and in that time Ruha’s galloping horse had carried her halfway to the marketplace. The fiery rope arced down to strike the shadow-sorceress. The black-armored knight stepped in front of his mistress, raising the tip of his dark sword as though he meant to split the fire.

  Instead of dividing down the center, the blazing cord entered the dark blade and drained from sight. A black flash shone through the window of a street-front tenement; then the entire building erupted into golden flame. The conflagration engulfed a dozen bystanders and seared many more. The crowd erupted into hysteria, some howling in anguish and others wailing in terror. Those near the buildings, fearing more such explosions, pushed toward the center of the street, while those nearer the charging horses pressed toward the buildings. The witch rode into a cloud of greasy smoke, and the horrid stench of charred flesh filled her nose. She found herself struggling to keep her gorge down, sickened more by the knowledge that her magic had helped cause the awful smell than by the odor itself.

  The column had nearly reached the end of the street. Ruha felt a horse flank brush against her leg and looked over to see a Shou warrior moving up beside her, sword drawn and eyes wild with battle lust. On her other flank rode Hsieh himself. The mandarin’s face was almost rapturous in its placidity, his square-tipped blade held loosely in his hand.

  The dark knight raised his black sword and rushed forward to meet Hsieh. At the same time, the shadowy sorceress drew her hands up before her body, raising an impenetrable curtain of darkness around the battleground.

  There was no time to rein in. Praying they would emerge in the marketplace with at least one sack of ylang oil intact, Ruha pulled her jambiya and galloped into the darkness. From Hsieh’s side came the crackle of breaking bones, followed by the scream of a horse and the crash and clamor of armored and unarmored bodies tumbling along the cobblestones. Ruha heard the mandarin give a short angry yell; then a hand caught hold of her saddle, and she lost track of her companions.