The Veiled Dragon (8 page)

their condition and did not move to help them. As Tang’s wife, such things were as far beneath her dignity as that of the prince himself; at their first convenience, one of them would inform the commander of the guard that some of his men were in need of attention. “I see Chult lizard crossing Five Color Bridge,” said Wei Dao. “It looks in no condition to walk.” Tang rose and crossed the plaza to his wife. “We have unwelcome visitor.” He left the garden and pulled the redlacquered gates shut behind him. “We need wu-jen.” Wei Dao considered this a moment, then asked, “To stop dragon?” Then, as though there could be some question of which dragon she meant, she added, “To stop Cypress?” Tang nodded. “I do not understand why, but he comes himself.” Cypress seldom ventured from the gluttonous comfort of his lair and would normally have sent his high priestess, Indrith Shalla, to deliver the threat. “And he leaves in body of monitor. Why does dragon want carcass

of giant lizard?” Wei Dao’s eyes flashed. “What do we care?” She took the scarf from around her neck, revealing the fading remnants of an ugly skin rash, and dabbed at Tang’s bloodsmeared face. “Give him ylang oil before he kill Lady Feng.” Tang winced at his wife’s ministrations. “He does not

kill Lady Feng. She is safe.” Wei Dao began to scrub the claw marks on her husband’s cheeks—harder than necessary, it seemed to him. “If dragon kills mother, you lose all honor before Emperor. We never return to Tai Tung. We spend rest of our lives

exiled from court.” Tang could think of worse fates, but he did not dare say so in the presence of his ambitious wife. “Lady Feng is safe.” He pulled Wei Dao’s hands away from his stinging face. “I know.” The princess scowled and tried another tack. “Still better to give Cypress what he wants. If Lady Feng is not

here when Minister Hsieh arrives, there be many questions. How do you explain that Cult of Dragon steals Third Virtuous Concubine?” Tang pulled away from his wife and pushed his key into the gate lock. “I cannot give Cypress what he wants.” Wei Dao’s perfect mouth twisted into a doubtful frown. “What do you mean? I see hundreds of ylang blossoms in spicehouse.” “All picked in evening.” Tang turned the key and heard the double click of the bolt shooting into the catch. When the commander of the guard came to fetch his men, he would have to be entrusted with the key. There was nothing else to be done; certainly, the garden could not be left unlocked. The prince faced his wife, then said, “Ylang blossoms picked in evening are not potent.” “Not potent?” Tang shrugged. “They are good for balms and teas, but potion made from those blossoms does not last. Only flowers picked in morning have strength to make perma nent love potion.” Wei Dao narrowed her sloe-eyed gaze. “Why do w have only weak blossoms?” “Because strong blossoms do not keep long. Even i journey from Shou Lung is short, they spoil before we sel them all.” Wei Dao shook her head in open disbelief. “No. You d not want venerable mother to return! You like life of bar barian!” Unaccustomed to being addressed in such tones, ever by his own wife, the prince raised his hand—then founi Wei Dao’s wrist pressed against his own, blocking hi strike. They glared into each other’s eyes for a moment, thei Tang asked, “What if I press oil and spell fails? Wha does Cypress do to Lady Feng then?” Wei Dao looked away and did not answer. “Then we do this my way,” Tang said. “We wait to; Hsieh’s ship—then I press oil.” Wei Dao’s face paled. “You mean

?” “Yes.” Tang nodded. “Blossoms come on Ginger Lady.” The princess’s eyes grew as round as saucers. “And you do not tell Cypress?” Tang scowled at her naivete. “Secret of oil is to press morning-picked blossoms. If we tell Cypress, do you think he returns Lady Feng to us?” Wei Dao lowered her gaze in a practiced show of deference. “My husband, your wisdom outshines the sun.” She even managed a blush. “Please to excuse. I go do penance

for my doubts.” Tang smiled benevolently, then dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Do not be hard on yourself.” “Oh, but I must.” Wei Dao bowed very low, then turned to scurry down the Path of Delight. Five The harbor at Pros seemed equal parts quicksand and mudflat, with just enough water to float the flatbottomed scow carrying the Storm Sprite’s survivors toward shore. Ruha sat beside Captain Fowler in the front of the boat—it seemed ludicrous to call the square end a bow—scanning the shanty town ahead. Most of the buildings were gray, ramshackle affairs in desperate need of a lime wash. The huts closest to the water hovered above the beach on flimsy stilts that looked ready to pitch their loads into the mud at the slightest push. A half-dozen rickety docks jutted far out into the bay. Two of the piers were empty;

the rest bustled with fishermen unloading their take. As the scow approached shore, Ruha noticed that most of the catch had the same high dorsal fins and wedgeshaped heads as the vicious fish that had swarmed her. The witch could not even guess how many sharks lay piled upon the piers, but there were close to two-dozen boats unloading the sharp-toothed monsters. Ruha looked over her shoulder to the scow pilot, a sour-faced man with leathery skin and unkempt gray hair. “That seems like a great number of sharks. Do the people of Pros eat nothing else?” “They’re not for us,” the pilot replied. “The Cult of the Dragon buys all we can take—and it pays mighty well, I’ll add.” Fowler scowled at this. “What for? Shark’s hardly a

good-eating fish.” The pilot shrugged. “No one knows, and no one’s asked. Since the Cult came to town, we’ve learned to keep our noses out of their business. You’d be wise to do

the same.” The pilot barked a command to his rowers, and the

vessel angled toward one of the empty piers. A small gang of shoremen emerged from the shanties and wandered down the dock, preparing to unload a cargo the

boat did not carry. Fowler gnashed his tusks, then stood to inspect the small crowd more carefully. “I don’t see Vaerana Hawklyn.” He glared down at Ruha’s face, veiled behind a beautiful silk scarf given to her by Minister Hsieh, and fingered the Harper’s pin fastened inside his robe. “If she’s not here, how doyou plan to pay me?” “Vaerana will meet us.” The statement was more one of hope than conviction; it had taken the disabled caravel five days to sail the short distance from the battle site to Pros, putting Ruha ashore four days late. “And even if she does not, I have been given a local name.” “Jonas Tempaltar? No cooper I know has the gold to buy a cog.” Fowler cast a longing glance toward the Ginger Lady, which still lay anchored in the bay, awaiting a small load of supplies needed to complete her most pressing repairs. “It’s not too late to go to Ilipur.” “Captain, if you wish to return to the Ginger Lady alone, perhaps Minister Hsieh will give you the reward.” “Not bloody likely.” During the voyage to Pros, it had grown apparent that while Hsieh felt indebted to Ruha, he considered Captain Fowler little better than an animal, hardly worthy of notice, and certainly not deserving of reward. “I’ll see my gold from the cooper first.” The scow scraped over a mud bar, then slowed as it approached the pier. As the stubby vessel drifted alongside the dock, the pilot commanded his crew to raise oars. The rowers stowed their equipment and threw mooring ropes to the shoremen, who quickly pulled the boat to the dock and tied it to the piles. A pair of large warriors in steel breastplates stepped forward to peer into the empty hold. Both men wore black caps embroidered with the hastily sewn emblem of a dragon’s head. “No cargo, William?” The pilot motioned at Ruha and her fellow survivors. “Only these castaways.” He glanced at the emblem on the warriors’ black caps, then added, “A dragon sank their ship.” “That so?” The speaker sneered and glanced at his companion. “That’s too bad for them, ain’t it, Godfrey?” Godfrey nodded. “Terrible, Henry—but they’ve still got to pay the harbor tax.” He raised a finger and pointed it at each of the survivors. “Let’s see, I count eleven people. That’ll be eleven silver.” “Eleven silver!” Ruha protested. “That’s—” “That’s a sight too much,” Fowler interrupted. He shot Ruha a warning scowl, then motioned at two one-legged sailors who had so far outlived their amputations. “We lost most of our silver when my ship sank. Besides, you can see some of us aren’t whole. We shouldn’t have to pay full for them.” Godfrey eyed the pair’s bloody stumps, then laughed heartily. “Very well, half-fee for the half-men. Ten silver.” Fowler glanced at the long swords hanging from the men’s belts, then spread his hands. “We cannot pay your price.” It was a lie, for Ruha still had twenty silver coins that had been inside her aba when the Storm Sprite sank, but she did not contradict the captain. Fowler reached inside his own tunic and withdrew two coins. “How about two silver?” “For two silver, we will not let you spit on the dock.” This time, it was Henry who spoke. Fowler shrugged in resignation, then turned away

from the two warriors. “Pros used to be an honest place. I don’t know what happened.” Godfrey peered over the halfore’s shoulder, then motioned to Ruha’s jambiya. “Let me see that knife. Perhaps we can let you ashore in exchange for that and the two silver.” “No.” Ruha motioned to the coins in Fowler’s hands. “Take those coins or nothing. I will not let you have my jambiya” Godfrey’s eyes hardened, then he and Henry drew their swords. The pilot and his two rowers leapt out of the scow, and the gang of shoremen backed down the pier. Fowler picked up an oar, as did Arvold and two more healthy crewmen. The eyes of the two armored warriors widened at the unanticipated opposition. They glanced around the quay at the smirking faces of the shoremen and the scow crew, then gathered their nerve and stepped to within a pace of the scow. Godfrey stretched his hand toward Ruha. “The dagger—and the silver.” Fowler looked to Ruha. Tour call. Lady Witch.” “Witch?” The color drained from the faces of both warriors, and Henry whispered, “Maybe we oughta call for some help.” Ruha blew a breath into her hands and began the incantation of a wind spell that would silence the men’s voices—then abruptly stopped as the clamor of galloping hooves reverberated down the pier. All eyes turned shoreward to see three riders charging down the quay, two holding cocked crossbows in their hands, the third leading a string of empty mounts. The trio was coming so fast the scow crew and shoremen had to leap off the quay to avoid being ridden down. Ruha saw that the first rider was a sturdy, florid-faced woman with a flyaway mane of honey-blonde hair. Like her two companions, she wore an indistinct cloak over a coat of chain mail and carried a large mace in a sling on her saddle. The second rider was a grim-jawed man with

a drooping black mustache and stony black eyes, while the third was a rotund cleric with the heavy silver chain of a holy symbol showing above his collar. They reined up just short of Godfrey and Henry, and the two with crossbows aimed their weapons at the two ruffians. Both warriors lowered swords, and Godfrey hissed, “Vaerana Hawklyn!” “You know me?” Vaerana asked. “Too bad for you.” She shot the man in throat. Her companion did likewise to Henry, drawing a chorus of angry cries from the other quays. Vaerana nonchalantly glanced toward the shouting, then dismounted and stomped to the edge of the pier. “Sorry we weren’t waiting when you docked, Tusks!” she said, grabbing Fowler’s hand and pulling him onto the pier. “We were expecting the Storm Sprite!” “We had some dragon trouble.” Fowler glanced at the other quays, where dozens of shouting, black-capped warriors were rushing toward shore, intent on avenging their comrades’ deaths. “Have you lost your mind, Lady Constable?” Vaerana waved off the captain’s concern. “Don’t worry about the Black Caps. They’ve got a few surprises waiting for them.” The Lady Constable turned to Ruha. “You must be the witch Storm sent me.” “Ruha of the Mtair Dhafir at your service, Lady Constable.” Ruha glanced at the two corpses lying on the pier. “Their crime was not so terrible. Was it truly necessary to kill them?” Vaerana’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Only if I don’t want Cult assassins waiting behind every hill on the way home,” she growled. “Now, if you’re through interrogating me, can we get the hell out of here?” “Yes, of course.” Feeling sheepish for questioning Vaerana’s actions, Ruha stepped over to the side of the scow. Although Hsieh’s physician had done a remarkable job of healing her wound—her thigh was now swollen to only half-again its normal size—the witch could not help limping as she moved. “What happened?” Vaerana was looking not at Ruha, but at Fowler. “Sharks.” The halfore waved a hand at his two amputees. “Them, too.” Vaerana looked the men over, then turned to her rotund horse-handler. “This is going to be more difficult than we thought, Tombor.” “We have a little time.” Tombor was staring toward the shore, where the Black Caps were already ducking for cover as a hail of crossbow bolts rained down on them from the windows of several huts. “Let’s just hope that once we’re mounted, we can charge out of town as easily as we sneaked in.” “Maybe we should leave the one-legs here,” Fowler suggested, helping Ruha out of the scow. “They aren’t much good to me, and the ride’s liable to kill them anyway.” Vaerana shook her head. “Can’t do it, Tusks. The Cult’s worse than ever; a ride on a galloping horse will seem like fun compared to what the Black Caps would do to them.” She turned to the grim-jawed rider who had killed Henry. “Pierstar, you and Tombor see to the crew. I’ll take care of Tusks and the witch.” Pierstar jumped into the scow to help the amputees, while Tombor directed the rest of the crew to come around to the left side of the horses—he had to say ‘port’ before they understood what he wanted. Vaerana led Ruha and the captain to the first pair of spare mounts. The Lady Constable held out the reins of the first horse. “You can ride, can’t you. Witch?” “Yes, I think so.” Ruha’s reply was unduly modest, for she had grown up riding camels. Compared to those cantankerous brutes, even the most spirited stallion was child’s play. She took the reins, gathered up her aba, and slipped her foot into the stirrup. Her only awkward moment came when she had to swing her injured leg over the saddle and did not

quite succeed. A fiery ache shot through her entire body. In the tongue of her father, she cursed all fish and wished them a frigid death in seas as cold as ice. Once Vaerana saw that Ruha could handle her own mount, she passed the reins of the second to Fowler. “How about you, Captain? Can you ride?” “If I can handle a ship’s helm, I can steer a dumb animal.” The captain picked Godfrey’s sword up off the pier, then clumsily thrust his large foot into a stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle. By the time Fowler’s sailors were ready to ride, the Black Caps on shore had broken through the hail of crossbow bolts. They were advancing through the streets toward the end of the quay, where dozens of armored horsemen, all dressed in a similar manner to Vaerana and her companions, were beginning to assemble. “I thought the Cult controlled Pros!” Fowler commented. “How’d you get so many of Elversult’s Maces into town?” “The shark bounty; the fishing captains are desperate for crews,” Vaerana explained. “We snuck in a few at a time, pretending we wanted work.” Vaerana stood in her stirrups and twisted around to look at the quay behind her, where Fowler’s crew sat two to a horse. The amputees were seated before the two strongest men and tied into their saddles with leather straps. They looked rather frightened and weak, but they had heard what would befall them in the Cult’s hands and made no protest. “Listen up, sailors!” Vaerana said. “Your horses know more about this than you do, so don’t start thinking you’re smarter than they are. If you get in trouble, just drop the reins and hold on to your saddles.” Arvold immediately released his reins. Though Tombor had already positioned himself at the back of the group, Ruha moved her own horse out of line and deftly backed him to the rear of the line. If the sailmender had trouble,