The Veiled Dragon (18 page)

advancing into the shadowy spicehouse, squinting at the dragon as though they could not quite believe their sundazzled eyes. Whatever the dragon said to Tang, Ruha could not hear it, but the prince’s response was short and angry: “No. If you want oil, you leave now—or I burn wagon myself.” Tang raised one of the slender leaves to Ruha’s lips, then instructed, “Chew leaf, wu-jen.” Ruha clenched her teeth and considered thrusting her

fireball into Tang’s face. “Trust me. This no love potion. It is lasal. Leaf protects

against Invisible Art.” Ruha allowed the prince to slip the leaf into her mouth and began to chew. The wail of a distant wind arose inside her mind, and the cyclops slowly turned toward the sound. Cypress glanced at Wei Dao, who immediately stepped to the wagon side and spoke to her husband in Shou. The prince responded sharply and pointed toward the guards, who were advancing on the unconcerned dragon with polearms leveled for battle. They seemed rather unsteady on their feet, and even from halfway across the spicehouse, their eyes appeared more glassy

than Tang’s. Inside Ruha’s mind, the wail of the wind became a roar, then a howling sand cloud billowed across the boiling plain. Cypress groaned, and the cyclops turned to face the storm. The brute took a deep breath and began to blow, but his breath was no match for the fury of the gale. The sand blasted over him, and he vanished into

the tempest. Cypress grunted, his empty-eyed head recoiling as though the storm had struck him physically. He backed away from the wagon, trembling and sputtering and madly scratching at his temples. Tang’s guards charged, filling the spicehouse with a tremendous clamor as their blades struck their foe’s impenetrable scales. Several of the blades snapped on impact, but most either bounced off or became lodged without causing any damage. The

dragon lashed out with fangs, claws, and tail, littering the floor with the shattered bodies of Tang’s loyal guards. Finding herself completely in control of her own body—if somewhat exhausted and fuzzy-headed—Ruha rose to her feet and swung a leg over the side of the wagon. “No!” Wei Dao shrieked. The princess leapt toward Ruha, causing the witch to hesitate just long enough for Tang to grab her by the shoulder. “If you leave wagon, we all die.” The prince’s words were slurred, and he seemed to be having trouble focusing his eyes. “Only fear of burning blossoms saves us now.” “I know that.” Ruha scowled, struggling against the roaring storm in her head to remember why she had decided to throw the fireball in the first place. “But I must attack

while we have the advantage.” You have nothing. Cypress cast aside the bodies of two more guards, then pointed his long snout in Tang’s direction. The dragon was far from destroyed, but he looked as haggard as Ruha, and more than a few of his thick scales had been pulled or cut away. Tang called something to his surviving guards, who looked rather relieved and backed away. “But wu-jen is under my protection,” the prince said, speaking in Common. Your protection? This time, Ruha heard Cypress—though whether it was intended or an accident of his anger, she did not know. She is a Harper, sent to take Yanseldara away from me! Tang cringed at the dragon’s anger, but did not back down. “Nevertheless, while she remains in Ginger Palace, she is under my protection.” The prince glanced at his battered guards and nodded once. They leveled their weapons and took a single step forward. “If you do not agree, we finish this now—and you lose Yanseldara anyway.” “Are you mad. Husband?” Wei Dao cried. “Give him

barbarian! She causes too much trouble already.” Tang glared at Wei Dao. “I hear enough from you, Wife. I am Prince of Shou Lung, and to call me mad is treason.” Wei Dao’s face darkened to an angry ocher, but she obediently lowered her gaze and mumbled, “Please to forgive outburst, Merciful Husband.” Cypress observed the exchange in silence, then pointed his snout in Tang’s direction. Why all this trouble for a barbarian, Young Prince? he demanded, still allowing Ruha to eavesdrop. Could it be you have fallen in love? “That is not your concern,” Tang replied. “I have ylang oil by evening. Please to bring Lady Feng, and we make

exchange.” Cypress stepped forward, bringing his nostrils almost to within arm’s reach of Ruha. You are fortunate that I understand the power of love. Harper. Treat Tang well. You owe him your life. Ruha brought her fireball around. So exhausted was Cypress that he barely pulled his head away in time to keep her from stuffing the sphere into his nostrils. “I’ll treat Tang as well as he deserves, I assure you.” Ruha said. The dragon backed away and swung his snout toward Tang. The prince listened for a moment, then pointed to the door. “You bring Lady Feng. I see to wu-jen.” Cypress allowed his empty gaze to linger on Ruha for a moment, then turned away. With a weary beat of his wings, he lifted himself into the air and flew out the door. Tang waited until he was gone, then turned to Ruha. “Perhaps now you understand wisdom of my actions.” The prince’s voice was smug and condescending. “Or do you still believe Cypress is destroyed?” Ruha shook her head. “I do not—but how could he have survived?” The lasal haze inside her mind was already beginning to clear, but it had not yet grown thin enough for her to understand what she had seen. “I blasted him into a thousand pieces.” “You destroy body, not spirit,” Tang explained, assuming a superior air. “Cypress is dracolich. He hides spirit inside gem—” “Wise Prince,” Wei Dao interrupted. “Cypress says she is Harper. Is it prudent to tell her so much?” By the scowl Tang shot nis wife, Ruha could see that the prince wanted to impress her with his proscribed knowledge—and she wanted him to. The witch allowed an expectant gaze to linger on the prince’s face for a moment, then rolled her eyes and looked away, letting out a deliberately loud sigh of disgust. The silent put-down worked as no verbal upbraid could have. Tang’s face reddened, and he snapped at Wei Dao, “I decide what is prudent!” When the princess lowered her gaze, Tang looked back to Ruha. “Cypress hides his spirit inside gem. After his body is destroyed, he possesses new corpse and consumes old one.” “But the sharks ate his old one,” Ruha said, thinking aloud. “And that is why he smells like rotten fish now. He is eating the creatures that ate him!” Tang nodded. “It is impossible to stop process. Even if you burn old corpse and spread ashes, he can find them and swallow them. When he has eaten enough, he becomes dracolich again.” “How close is he now?” Tang shrugged. “It does not matter to you. For your protection, I must not allow you to leave Ginger Palace.” “Is that by Cypress’s command, or yours?” “By dragon’s—and he warns me you have no gratitude. He says you do not repay my bravery as woman should.” Ruha’s eyes narrowed. “And how is that?” The prince smiled. “Ginger Palace still has need ofwujen. Our union would be most blissful.” “Prince Tang, that will never be,” Ruha said, speaking sharply. She climbed out of the wagon and moved several paces away. “But I have a better way to show my gratitude. I shall let you leave the wagon before I throw my fireball into it.” The VeUed Dragon In the blink of an eye, Ruha was surrounded by Tang’s battered and bloodied guards, each holding a long-bladed halberd or square-tipped sword within an inch other body. Wei Dao stood behind them, looking more than a little disappointed that she had not been able to draw her dagger quickly enough to kill the witch before her husband’s soldiers got in the way. Tang eyed the witch’s fireball and did not climb from the wagon. “Burning blossoms would be unfortunate mistake for all concerned—especially Yanseldara.” Though the heat of the fireball felt as though it were melting her arm, Ruha stopped short of flinging it into the wagon. “Do not lie to me. I heard you say this morning that Cypress needs something more from you to complete his spell.” The witch waved her flaming sphere toward the wagon. “It seems obvious enough that what he needs is fresh ylang oil.” “Yes, that is true.” Tang scowled at Wei Dao and motioned for her to return her dagger to its sheath. “Cypress needs fresh ylang oil to make love spell.” “Love spell?” Ruha gasped. “You know what ylang blossoms do,” Tang replied. “You see that this morning.” “A dead dragon—a dracolich—wishes the love of a halfelf?” Tang nodded. “He loves Yanseldara for many years, since she wounds him and sends him away from Elversuit.” Tang placed a hand over his heart. “Love unre quited is most sad.” Wei Dao rolled her eyes, then gestured at the fireball still burning in Ruha’s palm. “We have no time for this foolishness, Wise Husband. Tell witch why she cannot destroy ylang blossoms.” Tang looked into Ruha’s eyes and, finding no sympathy there, reluctantly nodded. “Very well. Love is matter of spirit. To save Yanseldara’s spirit or to steal it, same thing is needed—powerful love potion.” “Then there must be a difference in how it is used.” “It is not necessary that you know that,” said Wei Dao. The witch ignored Wei Dao and hefted her fireball. “Perhaps you would prefer that I assume you are lying about the blossoms?” Prince Tang looked genuinely hurt. “You call me liar? I risk my life—life of royal Shou Prince—to save you, and this is how you repay my love?” Ruha lowered the fireball and used her free hand to snuff it out. She had learned all she was going to about the blossoms, and it was just enough to keep her from destroying the wagon. “Prince Tang, you cannot love me, any more than Cypress loves Yanseldara.” Ruha spoke softly, for her intention was more to explain than to hurt. “Only a man can love, and you have yet to become a man.” Tang leapt out of the wagon, pushing several guards aside as he stepped toward Ruha. “Shou prince becomes man in tenth year. I am man for twenty years!” Ruha shook her head. “You want me because I deny you, and that is the emotion of a child, not a man.” Tang’s face contracted into a shriveled mask of rage and pain. His mouth opened as though he were going to speak, but all that emerged was an unintelligible sputter. Wei Dao stepped to the prince’s side and took his arm. “She knows nothing. Great Prince.” The princess motioned to the guards and spoke in Shou. A pair of them sheathed their swords and seized Ruha by her arms. They started to drag her from the spicehouse, and Prince Tang made no move to stop them. Ruha glanced over her shoulder. “A man takes responsibility for his actions, Prince Tang.” As she spoke, the witch tried to summon to mind the incantation of a wind spell and discovered she could not. Only the faintest hint of the lasal haze remained in her mind, but it was enough to prevent her from using her magic. Keeping her gaze fixed on the prince’s face, Ruha continued, “A man does not allow his fear to dictate his

actions, and a man does not hide his mistakes from those who can help him correct them.” Prince Tang looked away, and Wei Dao urged, “Pay her no attention. After Lady Feng is returned—” “Returned?” Ruha snapped her arms free of her captors and spun around, then found the tips of several halberds pressed against her body. She ignored them. “Prince Tang, if you believe Cypress intends to return your mother, then you truly are a child.” The guards seized Ruha’s wrists and started to drag her away, until Tang spoke to them in Shou. The two men stopped, but still grasped the witch’s arms so tightly her bones ached. “If he wants potion, Cypress must return Mother,” said Tang. Ruha shook her head. “Does he not need her to cast the magic that will make Yanseldara love him? And even if he can do it himself—which he cannot, or you could not have been confident of her safety until now—remember why he attacked the Ginger Lady. Does he not fear that Hsieh intends to put someone else in charge of the Ginger Palace? Would Lady Feng not make an excellent hostage to guarantee approval of the mandarin’s choice?” Tang turned to his wife. They began to argue in Shou. “You need help to recover your mother.” Ruha spoke loudly to make herself heard over the quarrel. “Admit that, and you have taken your first step to becoming a man.” Tang jabbed his index finger against his wife’s forehead and shouted something angry at her, then whirled away and strode over to Ruha. “I need no help to rescue Mother!” The prince glared at Ruha for a moment, then stepped past her and started toward the door. “And I am no child—I prove that soon enough!” Ten The dungeon beneath the Ginger Palace was unlike any of those dank, deep, dark places from which the Harpers had taught Ruha to escape. Instead of mildew and offal, it smelled of cedar and lamp oil, and the sound that filled its corridors was not the wail of tortured prisoners, but the silken swishing of Shou robes. The doors hung on brass hinges rather than leather straps, and they were made of redlacquered mahogany instead of rusty iron—a construction that would make them no less sturdy once they were barred shut. The stone walls were smoothplastered, washed with white lime, and a foot thick; the ceiling, nearly fifteen feet above, was formed by the exposed underside of the floor planks above, and therein lay the only weakness Ruha could find. The long procession of guards reached an intersection and, when Wei Dao attempted to turn right, came to a sudden halt. The leader of the soldiers spoke to the princess in Shou. She replied sharply and pointed at Ruha. The witch had again been gagged with her own veil, her arms were pinned behind her by two separate men, and she was surrounded by a ring of warriors holding naked sword blades within inches other throat. Though the lasal haze had already faded from her mind, Ruha’s escort had been too attentive to allow her to

cast any spells, so she could not understand the conversation. Nevertheless, she had explored the dungeon during her initial search for Yanseldara’s staff and could imagine what they were discussing. Down the left corridor lay the palace’s tidy prison cells; down the right lay the gruesome chambers of torture and death, where there were certainly enough shackles, fetters, and jaw clamps to keep even a wu-jen from escaping. Wei Dao prevailed over the commander and led the column to the right. Ruha brought a two-syllable sun spell to mind and, as the clumsy ensemble around her struggled to turn the corner, pretended to stumble. The ring of swordsmen jerked their blades back—Prince Tang had been most emphatic in saying he expected the prisoner alive when he returned—and that was all the room the witch needed. Slipping her gag as she had once before, Ruha picked her feet off the brick floor and kicked them both backward. Only one of her heels landed on target, smashing the knee of one of the guards holding her arms. The other missed its mark and slipped between the fellow’s legs. As she pitched forward, the witch brought her foot up, catching the soldier squarely in the groin. Both men screamed and released her arms, then landed beside her on the floor. At once, Ruha rolled onto her side, looked toward one of the oil lamps hanging on the wall, then closed her eyes, covered her ears, and uttered her spell. There was an earsplitting boom and a flash of light so brilliant it pained the witch’s eyes even through their closed lids. The next thing Ruha knew, she was lying beneath a heap of writhing Shou guards. If they were screaming, the witch could not hear them; the ringing in her own ears was so loud she could not have heard a thunderclap breaking over her head. Half expecting to feel a long steel blade driving between her ribs, she opened her eyes and crawled from beneath the heap of soldiers. The entire line of guards lay on the white bricks, their