The Veiled Dragon h-12 Page 15

  Vaerana looked to Tombor. "What do you think?"

  The cleric's gaze darted from Fowler to Ruha to Vaerana.

  Finally, he smiled and shrugged amiably. "It's all the same to me. I just need to know what you're doing."

  Vaerana bit her lip, then finally said, "Tell Hsieh that he's free to go." After Tombor left, the Lady Constable gently took Ruha's arm and, in a tone that was almost pleading, said, "Witch, you can't foul this up."

  "I shall not." Ruha glanced toward the road to make certain that she was still shielded from the view of any

  Shou, then whispered the incantation of the same sun spell she had used to vanish the day before. A shimmer- ing wave of heat rolled down her body, leaving both her clothes and her flesh as transparent as air. "Just give me until tomorrow at dawn."

  With that, the invisible witch returned to the road, where Tombor was just giving the order to release Hsieh and the caravan drivers. She went to the nearest wagon and raised the edge of its tarp just far enough to slip inside, and nearly gagged on the cloying odor that rose from the cargo box: fresh ylang blossoms.

  Nine

  The servants had brought a small, triangular table of polished mahogany into the Hall of Amity and placed three teak thrones around it. Prince Tang and his wife sat close together on one side, staring at their reflections in the burnished surface, and Minister Hsieh sat alone at the opposite point. The shape of the table represented the trio's nominal equality as members of the Imperial Household of Shou Lung, the seating arrangement reflected their actual status in the Emperor's eyes, and the absence of any guards except the minister's was a concession to his office: only the Emperor himself could bring personal guards into the presence of a mandarin.

  "Why does table have only three sides?" Hsieh demanded. "Where is Lady Feng?"

  The knot in Tang's stomach tightened even further, but he forced himself to slacken his face muscles and meet the mandarin's eyes. "Lady Feng is not here."

  The mandarin accepted the prince's nonanswer with stern inexpressiveness. "Is most worthy concubine avail- able? I travel many thousands ofli to speak to her."

  The prince hazarded a glance at his wife, whose face remained as unreadable as the mandarin's. They had not expected this. Though Hsieh and Lady Feng were cousins, they disliked each other vehemently and had taken pains to avoid each other for years. It was even whispered that, after some incident involving Lady Feng*s familiar, it had been the mandarin who had arranged the exile of the

  Third Virtuous Concubine.

  At last, Wei Dao asked, "You have nothing to say to Honored Husband?"

  Hsieh regarded the prince and princess in thoughtful silence, until a smirk of amusement flickered briefly across his lips. "No, to surprise of everyone in Hall of Supreme Harmony, profits of Ginger Palace are most sat- isfying. Even Emperor notice."

  Tang's stomach started to writhe and chum. The good news would only make it more difficult to admit that he had allowed someone to kidnap the Third Virtuous Concubine.

  "Do not look so troubled, Prince. We will talk after I see Lady Feng." Hsieh's uncovered eye narrowed in mild rebuke. "I am most anxious to hear why Ministry of Spices does not know about Ginger Palace's poison trade."

  Tang rose and accepted the mandarin's admonishment with a polite bow. "I am most anxious to make report on anything you wish." He fixed his eyes on the silver- trimmed hem of the mandarin's maitung, then took a deep breath and forced himself to speak again. "But first, I must relate regrettable truth about Lady Feng."

  Even a seasoned bureaucrat like Minister Hsieh could not prevent the blood from draining from his face, thereby betraying his shock. "Something has happened?"

  Wei Dao was on her feet and speaking before Tang could continue. "When Prince Tang says Lady Feng is not here, he means not in Ginger Palace."

  Hsieh's jaw fell, and when his brow furrowed this time, the rebuke was not a gentle one. "Then where is Third Virtuous Concubine?"

  Again, Wei Dao answered for her husband. "She tends to sick friend in Elversult."

  The mandarin scowled and, apparently resigning him self to having all his questions answered by the princess, turned directly to Wei Dao.

  "It is most indecorous to have Emperor's consort wan- dering about outside her palace, especially in land of bar- barians." Though his face showed no sign of emotion, there was a dubious edge in his voice. "Why not bring sick friend to Ginger Palace?"

  "Friend is too sick to move."

  Hsieh's eyes narrowed; then he whirled back to Prince Tang. "Who is this friend?"

  "Very important-"

  Hsieh raised his hand to silence the princess. "I ask honorable husband."

  Tang glanced at his wife, who wisely made no attempt to communicate what she had intended to say. Though the mandarin's gaze was riveted on the prince, his adju- tant was watching Wei Dao from the comers of his eyes.

  Tang could not bring himself to answer. He was too blinded by fear to see the escape toward which Wei Dao had been driving. Lying to a mandarin was both a crime as terrible as treason and an indelible stain on the honor of his ancestors, yet now that his wife had shown him the way, he wanted nothing more than to avoid admitting his ignoble failure.

  "Who is Lady Feng's friend?" Hsieh demanded.

  Tang realized that his wife could have intended to give only one answer. "Lady Feng visits Moonstorm House in Elversult." The prince felt as though he would retch; his stomach was turning somersaults and his jaws were aching. "Queen of city is very ill, and her priests ask for help of Third Virtuous Concubine."

  Hsieh's face did not soften. "Then why does constable woman harass Shou caravan? Making hostage of Emperor's servant is poor way to show appreciation."

  As badly as he wanted to, the prince did not look toward Wei Dao. Certainly, she had already thought of an answer to this simple question, but the mere hint of coaching from her would be enough to condemn both Tang and his wife to slow and dishonorable deaths.

  "Barbarians have strange customs." Tang knew that his response was a feeble one, but he needed time to think of something better. "Vaerana Hawklyn does not trust after- world magic and accuses us of causing her queen's illness."

  "Have we?"

  Tang tried to swallow and found that he could not.

  "Why do you think that, Minister?"

  The minister splayed his fingers, then began to tick off the names of poisonous plants that had been hidden in the Ginger Lady's cargo. "Oleander… lantana… castor bean… pink pea… Shou berry." He reached his little finger and stopped. "Need I go on?"

  Prince Tang shook his head. "We only sell poisons, not use them. Yanseldara's condition is not our fault."

  Hsieh lowered his hand. "You know I do not care if it is, as long as your reason is good. But if you are lying-"

  "Never!" Both Tang and his wife spoke at once.

  Hsieh raised a cautionary finger and continued, "If you lie to protect Lady Feng, I have no mercy."

  Tang's head began to spin. "To protect Lady Feng?" he asked, truly confused. "How does lying-"

  "We do not lie." Wei Dao stepped around the table to her husband's side. "We send a company of guards to inform Lady Feng of your arrival. Perhaps you wish to send Yu Po along?"

  Hsieh considered the offer, then shook his head. "That is not necessary. If there is anything I should know, it is certain to come to light."

  The mandarin rose and honored them with a shallow bow, then led Yu Po and his guards from the room. As soon as their steps faded from the corridor outside, Tang sent the servants away.

  "Why do you lie to mandarin?" he demanded, turning to his wife. "You dishonor ancestors and condemn us to Chamber of Agonizing Death!"

  "Only if Minister Hsieh discovers abduction of ven- erable mother."

  "How can he fail?" Tang's legs were trembling. It made him feel ashamed and weak. "Any servant tells esteemed mandarin everything he wants to know."

  "True, but Minister Hsieh is sure to ask wrong ques-
tions," Wei Dao replied calmly. "He thinks venerable mother has lover, and any servant he asks certainly tells him that is nonsense."

  The princess's reassurance did little to bolster Tang's courage. "But how do guards bring Lady Feng home from

  Moonstorm House? Cypress has mother, not Vaerana

  Hawklyn!"

  "Yes, but now we have fresh ylang blossoms." Wei Dao grabbed her husband by the wrist and started toward the back of the palace. "Now come. We have no more time for your cowardice-or your foolishness."

  Inside the cargo box, the thick stench of ylang blossoms did more to muffle the unexpected shriek than the canvas tarp-or so it seemed to Ruha. The first screech was instantly followed by more cries from all corners of the cavernous spicehouse, and then came a brief stam- pede of drumming boots. Wisps of another smell, rancid and even more cloying than ylang oil, drifted through the gaps between the wagon's sideboards. After that, the cav- ernous spicehouse fell silent, leaving the witch to wonder if, after untold hours of stillness, she dared uncurl herself and peek outside.

  Ruha decided to wait; ten heartbeats, twenty, thirty.

  She had thought it would be a simple thing to stow away until the wagon was inside the palace, then slip out from beneath the tarp when it was parked to await unloading.

  But the Shou had driven the witch's wagon and several others into the shady coolness of the spicehouse and left them there, then began to unpack the vehicles parked outside in the hot sun. Until now, the patter of feet pass- ing by her hiding place had been so steady that she had hardly dared to breathe, much less poke her head out from beneath the tarp.

  Ruha's count reached a hundred. She slowly uncurled herself, taking a moment to stretch her stiff muscles in case she suddenly had to run or fight, then half-swam through the dried blossoms to the back corner of the wagon. In the inky darkness beneath the tarp, her sun spell had grown weak and expired some time ago, leaving her as visible as any workman. She used the tip of her jambiya to lift the tarp, then raised her head high enough to peer over the tail boards.

  A gasp of surprise rose into her throat and escaped, half-strangled, from her mouth. Less than five paces away sat a small black dragon. Save that it was no larger than a cargo wagon, the creature was identical to Cypress, with the same dull scales, splintered horns, and sinister voids where his eyes should have been. The foul odor she had smelled earlier seemed to be coming from the carcass, and now the witch thought she could identify the stench: rotten fish.

  Ruha dropped back into the wagon and tried not to choke on her own heart, which had somehow climbed high into her throat. When the creature did not immedi- ately come tearing through the tarp, the witch dared to hope it had not seen her and frantically tried to think of some reason that did not involve her that it might be waiting outside her wagon. She failed, rather quickly, and started to consider what she might do about the situation.

  Come out, my dear. Though the voice reverberated through Ruha's head without passing through her ears, it sounded as raspy and chilling as the first time she had heard it. You have no idea how I have been looking for- ward to our second meeting.

  Ruha knew then that someone had betrayed her, but who: Vaerana or Fowler? The thought was ludicrous.

  They both had more reason than she to hate Cypress, yet who else could have known where she was hiding? Any

  The VeUed Dragon one they would have trusted with the secret. In Vaer- ana's case, at least, that circle was no doubt larger than the witch would have liked.

  Come out and give me that silver I smell in your pocket.

  If you show that much courage, perhaps I will have mercy.

  A prickling chill ran down Ruha's back, and a terrify- ing possibility occurred to her. I have seen your mercy, she thought. And you have seen my magic. Go away, or it will be you who begs quarter.

  The witch waited a moment for Cypress's response.

  When none came, she breathed a little easier. If the dragon had been able to read her thoughts, her chances of surviving the coming battle would have fallen to nothing.

  Ruha sheathed her dagger, then burrowed into the ylang blossoms. She crawled toward the front of the cargo box, taking care not to jiggle the wagon. As she moved, she summoned the incantation of a fire spell to mind. She doubted that she could trick Cypress into swallowing a chestful of oil vapor again, but neither would it take such a huge explosion to destroy his new body. A smaller blast, properly placed, would prove sufficient to annihilate him.

  The witch was only halfway to her goal when some- thing jolted the wagon. She heard the zip-zip of oilcloth being ripped; then a flickering yellow light of the spice- house's oil lamps filtered down through the ylang blossoms. Already uttering her incantation, Ruha lifted herself out of the blossoms and, expecting to feel the dragon's claws driving deep into her flesh at any moment, thrust her hand over the sideboard.

  The flames shot off the wicks of half a dozen different lamps and streaked into the palm other hand, gathering themselves into a hissing, sputtering ball of fire. She whirled around, ready to slap the scorching sphere into Cypress's empty eye socket or beneath his arm, or any- where that would channel the explosion into her attacker's vital areas.

  The dragon was not there. He stood three paces away from the wagon, the dark voids beneath his brow fixed on the fire in Ruha's palm. From his talons hung the remains of the shredded tarp, and she could see the tip of his tail flicking back and forth behind his head. He made no move to attack.

  There's no need to burn down poor Tang's spicehouse, the dragon said. Step out of the wagon. Give me that sil. uer I smell and answer a single question. I promise, your death shall be mercifully quick.

  Ruha felt as though the fire in her hand was cooking her bone marrow as far down as her elbow, but she made no move to throw the fireball. Without being properly placed, the blast would do no more than melt a few of the dragon's scales. Besides, as much as the searing heat grieved her, the sphere could cause her no real damage until after it left her hand.

  "I have known enough pain in my life not to be fright- ened of it," Ruha said. "If I am to die, I do not particularly care whether it is quickly or slowly."

  As the witch spoke, she stepped over to Cypress's side of the wagon. To her surprise, the dragon moved neither away from the fireball nor forward to attack. Ruha might have been able to reach the dragon with a good leap, but he would have time to turn away and, in all likelihood, impale her on his long talons. If her plan was to succeed, she had to draw him closer.

  "You may ask your question. Perhaps I will answer, or perhaps I will not."

  You will answer. Cypress promised. And you will step out of the wagon.

  "Why is it so important that I leave the wagon? I can answer your question from here."

  In the black depths of the dragon's empty eye sockets appeared two dirty yellow sparks. When we met the first time, was it happenstance? As Cypress asked his ques- tion, the sparks lengthened into gleaming lines, then began to flicker at the ends and thicken into stripes. Or did someone tell you I would be there?

  "Who would have told me that?" Ruha wanted nothing more than to hurl her fireball at the dragon and run for her life, but she forced herself to stand fast. If Cypress bad not attacked by now, then it had to be because he was afraid of destroying what was in the wagon. The witch tipped her hand so that the fireball was precari- ously close to slipping from her palm, then added, "And stop what you are-"

  You will not drop the fireball!

  The yellow stripes shot from Cypress's vacant eyes and joined together, becoming a long-fanged bat of amber light. Ruha brought her hand around, placing the fireball between herself and her attacker.

  Stupid Harper! Flames will not save you!

  The bat emerged from the fireball, its wings blazing and its eyes glowing with rabid fury. Ruha reached for herjambiya, and the beast was upon her. Instead of rak- ing her eyes with its tiny claws or sinking its fangs into her throat, it appeared inside her mind, a flami
ng crea- ture of the night, flitting across the starry sky high over her memories ofAnauroch's purple-shadowed sand dunes.

  Ruha cried out, but she could not bring herself to flee the dragon, or even to turn away. Cypress was already inside her mind, and trying break contact with him was as futile as trying to escape an unpleasant memory by closing one's eyes. The dragon sat motionless on the floor, his gaze pinning the witch in place as surely as if he had been standing on her chest.

  Her only chance of escaping, Ruha realized, lay in dis- tracting Cypress. No sooner did she have this thought than a small brake of saltbush sprouted from the sands other mind. The words of a wind spell rose from the brush like a swarm of sand finches. Cypress's fiery bat streaked down to dive through the heart of the flock, scattering the syllables of the incantation before they could shape themselves. Ruha's arm remained motion- less, the fireball still burning in her hand.

  Cypress's bat settled on the surface of Ruha's mind and began to beat its burning wings. Clouds of hissing yellow fume curled from the tips of the fiery appendages and rolled across the dune-sculpted terrain. Wherever the haze touched, the sands themselves melted into rivers and pools of bubbling brown acid. The witch started to feel hot and limp, as though a fever had taken hold of her body, and her limbs trembled with weakness.

  For a moment, she feared she had guessed wrong about the dragon's fear of destroying the ylang blossoms, that he merely wanted her to drop the fireball at her own feet.

  The bubbling brown pools inside Ruha's head joined and became a lake. The bat dove into the acid, sinking its fangs deep into the throat of some naked thought that was writhing just below the surface other mind. The witch saw Cypress's lips curl into something that resembled a smile; then she felt her foot sliding across the floor of the wagon. She tried to stop, but no sooner had the thought taken shape than it dissolved into nothing- ness in the bubbling acid. The dragon had won control of her mind, and now she had to fight him not only for her life, but for the possession other own thoughts.

  It occurred to Ruha that this was a battle not of strength or speed, but of imagination, and a rocky island of hope instantly sprang up inside her mind.