The Veiled Dragon h-12

by Troy Denning

  "That is correct. I have bought us more time, but Yanseldara is still in danger until we recover the staff."

  Vaerana tossed a sack of ylang blossoms on the ground.

  "I don't suppose you can tell us where it is?"

  The witch shook her head. "I am sorry. Lady Feng's familiar was gone. It was all I could do to return with the ylang blossoms."

  Vaerana sighed wearily. "I guess I'll have to do this myself."

  "I am sorry I failed you."

  Vaerana shrugged. "I'm sure you did your best."

  The Lady Constable probably did not mean to be insulting, but her patronizing tone vexed Ruha and made the witch burn to expose Tombor's treachery. Unfortu- nately, vindication would have to wait. Until the cleric was gone, Ruha could not tell Vaerana about his treach- ery, or about her plan to trick him into leading them to Cypress's lair.

  "What are you planning to do?" Ruha tried to sound genuinely sorry for her failure. Once she sprang her trap and exposed Tombor, it would be Vaerana's turn to apolo- gize. "Perhaps I can help?"

  Vaerana rolled her eyes, but managed to make a civil reply. "Why don't you get some rest? You look like you need it, and this is better done alone."

  "Then you'll try to snatch a member of the cult?" asked Fowler.

  Vaerana nodded and reached across a horse to untie another sack of ylang blossoms. "I know a couple of likely places to find one."

  Tombor shook his head. "Even if you're lucky enough to catch someone who knows where the lair is, he won't tell you. If you want to make him talk, take me along."

  "Sorry, Tombor. We'll be moving fast tonight." Vaerana patted the cleric's stomach. "I don't think you can keep up."

  "You'll have to torture them."

  Vaerana nodded grimly. "I won't enjoy it."

  Somehow, Ruha suspected the Lady Constable of being less than honest.

  "Vaerana, before you go, we should talk." Ruha could hardly explain why in front of Tombor, but the last thing she wanted was for Vaerana to leave Moonstorm House.

  "I should tell you of some other things I learned in the Ginger Palace."

  "Then talk." Vaerana continued to help Tombor unload.

  "I don't have all night."

  Ruha forced herself not to look in Tombor's direction.

  "First, Cypress is back."

  Vaerana's jaw fell, and she let a sack of blossoms slip from her grasp.

  "I saw him in the spicehouse," Ruha explained. "He was smaller than the first time I saw him. He could not speak or use his magic, but it was definitely Cypress. By kidnapping his cult members, you may be drawing his attention to you."

  Vaerana turned back to the pack train. "Better to face him in Elversult than in his lair." There was not much conviction in her voice. "What else?"

  "Cypress is not stealing Yanseldara's spirit so his cult can control Elversult." Ruha was frantically trying to think of something that would keep the Lady Constable inside Moonstorm House without arousing Tombor's suspicions. "The dragon wants her spirit for himself."

  "For himself?" Vaerana echoed.

  Ruha nodded. "I think Cypress is in love with Yanseldara, or believes he is."

  Tombor raised his brow. "You seem to have learned quite a lot during your visit!"

  Behind her veil, Ruha bit her lip and wondered if she had said too much. Her mind was as weary as her body, and she found it difficult to be subtle when her thoughts were so sluggish.

  "I overheard a conversation between the prince and the dragon." Then, doing her best to sound indignant,

  Ruha said, "I am not entirely inept."

  "No one said you were-er, at least not lately." Vaerana motioned Fowler over to hold the wounded packhorse.

  "But Cypress doesn't have any reason to love Yanseldara. She's the one that killed him!"

  "You don't know much about men, do you Lady Constable?" Fowler gave her a roguish, yellow-fanged grin.

  "There's a fine half-elf tavern wench over in Saerloon who slams an ale tankard against my head every time I see her, and I keep coming back for more. What's that tell you?"

  "That you let your orcish blood get the best of you."

  Vaerana growled. "You ought to know when to quit."

  Fowler shrugged, trying not to look hurt. "Maybe, but what I'm saying is that I don't quit. I keep wanting what will never be mine. Seems like that's what Cypress is doing. Yanseldara killed him-maybe Sharee'll kill me with that tankard someday-and now he's trying to steal her, just as he stole all that treasure that belonged to someone else. He wants what he can't have. It's part of being male."

  Vaerana pulled the last of the ylang blossoms off the wounded horse. "Fair enough. Let's say I don't under- stand men-not that I'd want to-what does it matter?"

  The Lady Constable dropped the sack on the ground. "It doesn't change anything I've got to do tonight."

  Vaerana turned to walk toward one of the towers, and Ruha, desperate to keep her from leaving, caught her by the arm.

  The Lady Constable frowned at the witch's hand.

  "What now?"

  "Do you have an oil press?" Ruha asked.

  "In the kitchens," Tombor answered. "Why?"

  The witch hesitated. She had already baited the trap, and she worried that in her exhaustion, she would explain too much and alert Tombor to her trap. On the other hand, if she did not explain, Vaerana would not stay to see the traitor take the bait.

  "The members of the Cult of the Dragon are not the only ones who need the ylang oil. After we recover the staff, we must pour the ylang oil over Yanseldara to draw her spirit back into her body." Ruha continued to hold

  Vaerana's arm. "But if the oil is poured over a vessel containing the spirits of both Yanseldara and Cypress, the two will be joined together forever. That is why I believe the dragon is in love with Yanseldara."

  "And how did you learn so much about the uses of ylang oil?" Tombor asked.

  "I am a witch," Ruha replied, trying to dodge the ques- tion with a cryptic reply. "So is Lady Feng."

  In fact, Minister Hsieh had explained how to use the ylang oil. He had also provided Ruha with another Shou potion, one with which she was to send a message through Yanseldara to Lady Feng.

  Vaerana studied Ruha for several moments, then asked, "So, you're saying we need to press the oil our- selves-and be damned sure the cult doesn't steal it back?"

  "Yes." Actually, this was only what Ruha wanted Tom- bor to believe. The blossoms in the sacks were the old, unsuitable ones; the fresh ylang was still in the Ginger

  Palace, being pressed in the spicehouse refinery. "That is what I'm saying."

  "Fine." Vaerana looked to Tombor. "See to it that the blossoms are pressed and well guarded."

  If there had been any lingering doubts in Ruha's mind that Tombor was the spy, they vanished when she saw the delighted twinkle in his eye. "The oil will be ready when you get back."

  Vaerana turned back to Ruha. "If you're satisfied, now.

  I've got to go."

  With that, Vaerana pulled her arm out of Ruha's grasp and started across the courtyard. The witch stared after her in bewilderment, then scurried to catch up.

  "Wait, Vaerana! There is one more thing."

  The Lady Constable stopped beneath the dark branches of a fragrant sweetbay tree. "What is it?"

  Before the witch could explain, Tombor called, "There's no need to delay Vaerana. If you need something, I'm sure I can help."

  Ruha glanced over her shoulder and saw Tombor com- ing after them, his jolly face bent into a mask of solicitous concern. The witch cursed under her breath and turned her back on him.

  "Before you leave, you must visit me in my chamber." she whispered to Vaerana, "alone!"

  Vaerana shook her head. "I don't have time-"

  Ruha took her arm again. "You must! Promise me."

  Vaerana glanced down at the witch's hand. "Then will you let me go?"

  Ruha nodded and removed her hand. "It is important."

  "If
you say so." Vaerana looked past Ruha's shoulder to Tombor, who was already upon them. "Lodge the witch in Pearl Tower."

  "Pearl Tower?" Tombor echoed, clearly surprised.

  "Pearl Tower." Vaerana turned to leave. "Are you hav- ing trouble with your ears?"

  The cleric took Ruha's arm, gripping it more tightly than was necessary. "I'll show you to a chamber as soon as we've seen to the blossoms."

  "Perhaps we could go to the tower first," Ruha sug- gested, worried she would not be there when Vaerana came to see her. "I have not slept in two days."

  Tombor shook his head. "You said yourself we can't let these blossoms fall into the hands of the Cult of the Dragon. Besides, the kitchen is on the way to Pearl Tower. It'll take only a few minutes to stop and set up the press."

  Ruha accompanied the cleric back to the horses. She removed a small satchel of supplies from her saddle, then helped Fowler and Tombor gather up the bulky sacks of ylang blossoms. Leaving the beasts with a guard, they walked down a chain of meandering pathways to a thatch-roofed shed against the back wall of the fortress.

  The place smelled of animal grease, smoke, and fresh Heartland spices.

  Tombor stopped at the entrance and banged on the wooden door. "Up with you, Silavia! I've business in your kitchen!"

  "The cook bars the door when she sleeps," explained Fowler. "Otherwise, the night guards pilfer her breakfast tarts."

  They had to wait several minutes before a sleepy voice sounded on the other side of the door. "Go away, Tombor. I won't have you calling in the middle of the night. You only want something to eat."

  Tombor looked slightly embarrassed. "I've-uh-guests with me, Silavia. We need the oil press. It's for Lady Yanseldara."

  Silavia hesitated a moment, then asked, "Truly?"

  "Truly," replied Ruha. "The matter is urgent, I assure you."

  "Very well." Silavia sounded more put-upon than curi- ous. "Let me throw on an apron."

  From inside the building came several moments of bustling and whispering, which elicited a resentful scowl from Tombor. When a muffled thump finally announced the withdrawal of the bar, the cleric pushed the door open and stepped inside, where a stout, tousle-haired woman stood in a nightshirt and crisp white apron. The flickering taper in her hand illuminated an ashen, moon- shaped face with a bottle nose and plump-lipped frown.

  Tombor dropped his sacks inside the door, then snatched the candle from the cook and went to light sev- eral others. A flickering yellow glow soon filled the room, revealing a neatly kept chamber filled with cutting tables, kneading troughs, and spice barrels. The embers of several spent fires glowed in three different fireplaces, one with a roasting spit over the hearth, one with soup cauldrons sitting in the firebox, and one built beneath a brick oven. Silavia's sleeping pallet lay behind a dough bench, where a burly, black-bearded man stood looking down at a half-eaten honeycake and two empty mead pitchers.

  Tombor glared at the embarrassed man for a moment, then growled, "You'd better get yourself to the gate, John.

  There's a wounded horse there, and Pierstar's looking for you."

  "My thanks for telling me so, Tombor." The farrier, looking happy for any excuse to leave, started toward the door.

  Tombor watched the man leave, then turned to Silavia

  "What was he doing here?"

  "It's none of your concern who I give my honeycakes to!" Silavia retorted. "Not that there wouldn't be some foi you, if you ever came around at a decent hour."

  "It's this trouble with Yanseldara's catalepsy!" the cleric protested. "I've been busy."

  "So have I," Silavia snorted. She led the way to a small storage pantry and unlocked the door with a key from her apron. "The oil press is in here, if you want it. Don't expect me to help you with it."

  Tombor motioned to Fowler, who dropped his ylang blossoms beside the cleric's and followed him into the little room. Ruha put her own sacks on the floor and tried not to yawn as Silavia glared at her.

  Tou a friend of Tombor or Tuskface?" the cook asked.

  "I am closer to Fowler. I do not know Tombor very well. Is he an important person in Elversult?"

  "You could say that," Silavia replied proudly. Tombor's the one who saved Vaerana when the assassins first got after her. He's done the same twice since-at the risk of his own life, I might add."

  The witch smiled, anticipating the apology she would be due when she exposed Tombor's heroism as a cull ploy

  "I had not realized he is so well thought of."

  Fowler emerged from the storage pantry, carrying a small oil press in his arms. The device was a mere frac- tion the size of the screw press in the spicehouse at the

  Ginger Palace, being small enough so that a single cook could move it without help. Tombor followed a moment later, holding a small, empty cask beneath one arm. The two men set their burdens on a vacant table, then the cleric motioned Silavia to his side.

  "How do I work this thing?"

  Silavia fetched a large bowl from a shelf, then set it beneath the drainage spout. "It's simple enough. First you put the raw goods in here."

  She pulled the handle, raising the platen and display- ing a small wooden box. The bed had a grid of channels cut into the bottom, and it was tilted so that the oil would run into a collection trough at one end.

  "Then you lower the top plate, and it squeezes the oil out." Silavia demonstrated, then stepped aside. "And when you're done, you clean up after yourself."

  Tombor cast a wary eye at the eight bags of ylang blos- soms, then looked to Ruha. "How much oil do we need?"

  "Enough to cover Yanseldara from head to foot," she replied. "I suggest you press all of the blossoms."

  Silavia smiled at the cleric. "It looks like you're going to be here a while. Maybe I can find some honeycakes for you."

  Tombor's eyes lit up. "That would make our task more enjoyable."

  "If I may be excused, I shall leave it to you to press the oil." Ruha did not bother to stifle the yawn that came over her. "I am very tired. Perhaps Captain Fowler can show me to Pearl Tower."

  Silavia raised her brow. "Pearl Tower? I think not.

  Jarvis isn't likely to let a pair of strangers in there."

  "No, but you can take her, Silavia." Tombor tried to remove a gold ring from his chubby finger, but had to moisten the knuckle with saliva before he could tug it off.

  "Show this to Jarvis, and hell know you speak for me."

  Scowling at the imposition, Silavia accepted the ring and threw a cloak over her shoulders. Ruha retrieved the small satchel she had taken from her horse, then waved at Fowler to come along and followed her guide into the gloomy courtyard. They passed several dark sheds simi- lar to the kitchen before turning onto a serpentine path of white crushed rock.

  The witch paused there and allowed Silavia to march a dozen paces ahead, then whispered to Fowler, "You must return to the kitchens and help Tombor with the blossoms."

  The half-ore frowned. "You couldn't tell me that before we left?"

  "I could not. Tombor is a cult spy."

  "What?"

  "I lack the time to explain, but I am certain. He and Wei Dao were working together." Ruha pushed the half- ore back toward the kitchen. "Now, return to the kitchen. When he opens the last sack of blossoms, come get me."

  Fowler did not move. "Why?"

  "So we can follow him to Yanseldara's staff, of course."

  Ruha whispered. "Go!"

  "We?" he grumbled, starting back toward the kitchen.

  "Collecting the gold you owe me's getting to be as much work as stealing Storm Sprite in the first place."

  "You stole your ship?" Ruha gasped.

  Fowler frowned. "Aye-you don't think I could've bought a ship like her, do you?"

  "Truthfully, I had not given the matter much thought."

  Ruha turned to find Silavia waiting fifteen paces up the path, hands on hips.

  "Are you coming or not? I thought you were tired."

  "I am tired-ex
tremely tired." Ruha scurried to catch up. "That must be why it did not occur to me to leave Captain Fowler with Tombor. I'm sure his work will go faster with an assistant."

  "Not much," snorted the cook. "You can squeeze oil only so fast."

  Ruha followed Silavia down the path, past several intersections to a slender tower faced with gleaming abalone shell. To reach the building's entrance, they had to climb a detached stairway to the second story, then cross a small drawbridge to an open portcullis. A pair of Maces stood beside the entrance, fully armored in scale- mail and equipped with more weapons than they could have used with six hands. As the witch and her guide approached, the guards continued to stare straight ahead.

  The largest, a swarthy giant of a man with brown eyes and dark straight hair, spoke in an officious voice. "By the order ofVaerana Hawklyn, household staff is no longer permitted in Pearl Tower."

  The two guards crossed their lances before the door- way; then the speaker scowled at the cook.

  "You know that, Silavia-and especially at this time of night."

  "Don't get haughty with me, Jarvis!" The cook pro- duced Tombor's ring and shoved it under Jarvis's nose.

  "Take a look at that and do as I say."

  Jarvis pulled back so he could inspect the ring, then snapped his lance back to his side and returned to atten- tion. The smaller man followed suit.

  "You have a command from the Jolly One?" asked Jarvis.

  Silavia smiled as though she were thinking of telling the huge guard to jump off the drawbridge, but she only stepped back and waved a hand at Ruha. "Tombor wants this woman shown to-" Silavia stopped in midsentence and scowled at the witch. "Not to his chamber?"

  Ruha shook her head quickly. "No, and it was Vaerana who asked Tombor to see that I was lodged here."

  If Jarvis was impressed, he did not show it. He simply waved Ruha into the tower, then picked up a candle and lit it from one burning in a wall sconce. Shielding the flame with his free hand, he led the witch up a spiraling staircase. The passage was so narrow that his mail-clad shoulders rasped against both walls at once.

  Once they were safely out of Silavia's earshot, Ruha said, "I am expecting a-" she yawned, "-a visit from Vaerana."