Forgotten Realms
The Veiled Dragon - The Harpers #12
Tony Denning

One

Far across the surging dunes of
moonlit sea, the dark wyrm wheeled
and, with a deftness surer than any
desert falcon, struck again at the dis-
tant and battered caravel. The serpent
caught the topyard in its ebony claws
and snapped the thick timbers like
twigs; the topsail tore free and away it
flew, a gift to the wailing salt winds. From the caravel's
distant decks rose a flurry of tiny splinters, arrows and
spears hurled by men who looked like insects beneath
the belly of the monster. The black shafts struck its thick
scales and bounced away without causing harm. The
beast swooped low over the stern, spun upon its leathery
wing, and returned at once to the vessel. Its talons tore
into the wooden hull as the claws of a lion tear into the
flanks of a camel.




A great dune of wind-driven sea rose up before Ruha
robbing her eyes of the faraway caravel and the night-
black dragon. She locked her arms around the starboard
taffrail of her own vessel, a forty-foot cog hired out of
Lormyr, and watched the black waters gather like a
mountain beside the ship. The dune crashed down, and
the froth roared over the wales and swirled about her
waist, sweeping her feet from beneath her hips. Ruha
hugged the rail as though it were a husband. The torrent
raged on, and each second seemed a minute. The angry

The Harpers

sea dragged at her long aba like a ravisher determined to
disrobe her, and churning tears of foam beat at her face,
soaking her veil and her shawl with cold briny water. Her
arms trembled with the strain of holding fast.

At last, the cog heeled to the wind and rose on the
heaving sea. The fierce waters rolled across the deck and
poured overboard, carrying with them all the torrent's
rage, and Ruha's smooth-soled sandals found purchase
on the wet planks. She stood and looked toward the dis-
tant caravel and saw neither dragon nor ship, only the
splintered tip of a mainmast swaying above the crest of a
faraway dune of water.

Ruha released the taffrail and clambered down the
listing deck, half sliding over the wet planks to where
Captain Fowler stood at the rear of the ship. He was as
much ore as human, with a jutting brow, swinish snout,
and tough, grayish-green skin, and he seemed a strange
sort of commander to the eyes of a Bedine witch not long
absent from Anauroch's burning sands. He hugged the
tiller with one burly arm, and his gray eyes never strayed
from the ship's single bulging sail.

Ruha grabbed the binnacle, the wooden compass stand
before the tiller, and asked, "Captain Fowler, why do you
sail in the wrong direction?" She pointed over the star-
board side. "Do you not see the dragon? Over there!"

"Lady Witch, I know the beast's bearings well enough."
Though his voice was deep and gravelly, the captain
spoke with a deliberate composure that belied his feral
aspect. "But even I cannot sail Storm Sprite full into the
wind. We must beat our way."

Ruha had learned a little of the strange speech used by
the men who lived upon the water, enough to know
Fowler meant they had to follow a zigzag course to their
goal, and she did not need the captain to explain why.
Even a woman who had not set eyes on a ship until three
days ago could see that the Storm Sprite could not sail
directly against the wind. But she could also see that
Captain Fowler placed a high value on his vessel, and he

The Veiled Dragon

was certainly shrewd enough to make a great show of
rushing to the caravel's aid while sailing at angles shal-
low enough to ensure he arrived after the battle was
done.

Ruha glanced over the starboard side and saw the car-
avel topping the moonlit crest of a rolling sea dune. High
upon its poop deck sat the dragon, swatting at the far-
away vessel's indiscernible crew as a man slaps at sting-
ing flies.

"Captain Fowler, we have no time for this sailing of a
snake's path! By the time we reach the ship, we shall find
nothing but dead men."

"What would you have me do, Witch?" Fowler
demanded. "I cannot change the way the wind blows!"

"And if you could turn the wind, would you have it
blow straight at the caravel?"

The captain scowled, suspicious. "Aye, but first I would
call Umberlee up from the great depths and have her
chain her pet."

"That I cannot do. I know nothing of this Umberlee."

Ruha released the binnacle and cupped her hands
together. She blew upon her fingers and spoke the mysti-
cal incantation of a wind enchantment. Her breath shim-
mered with a pale sapphire glow, then it swirled in her
palms, emitting a low, keening howl such as starving
jackals make at night. From Captain Fowler's throat
arose a gasp of surprise, and his gaze swung from his
ship's flaxen sail to the whistling breeze she held in her
grasp.

"Lady Witch, what have you there?"

"It is the wind, Captain Fowler." Twinkling blue
streamers spilled from Ruha's hands and spun across the
gloomy deck, each adding its own piercing note to the
wailing of the gale. "I am determined to reach that ship
before the dragon sinks it."

"That I can see, but it is no simple thing to bring a ship
like Storm Sprite around. It takes time."

"The dragon will give you no time!"

The Harpers

Ruha raised her hands toward the distant caravel,
which now lay hidden behind another black and looming
water dune.

"Hold your magic, Lady Witch!" commanded the cap-
tain. "You may have hired this ship, but I am the—"

The dune broke over the starboard side, and a torrent
of white foam came boiling down the deck. Ruha flung
her spell at the distant caravel and saw a dazzling
stream of blue-sparkling wind shoot from the side of her
own vessel. She threw her arms around the binnacle, and
the dark waters were upon her. The raging currents
swept her feet from beneath her. Had her elbows not
been tightly wrapped around the slippery wood, surely
she would have tumbled overboard and drowned in the
angry black sea. Instead, she locked her fingers into the
cloth of her aba and held fast, and when the torrent had
receded, she pulled herself to her feet.

A few yards off the starboard side hung Ruha's spell, a
glittering wedge of blue air that constantly whirled back
on itself, yet steadily drove forth into the fierce night
wind. As this wedge moved forward, its fan-shaped tail
broadened and stretched back toward the Storm Sprite,
until it engulfed the whole of the small cog. A fog of cold
indigo vapor spread over the decks, causing the crew to
give many shouts of alarm and promise offerings of trea-
sure to Umberlee, and eddies of sapphire wind sprang to
life atop the taffrail. Azure drafts raced along the wales
and undulated through the ratlines, and pale glowing
breezes twined their way up the mast to spread along the
yardarms.

Then a magnificent flapping arose in the sail. The
night wind spilled from its belly, pouring a cascade of
swirling turquoise zephyrs down upon the crew, and the
small cog slowed. The sailors wailed in fear, tossing many
rings and earrings overboard to win the favor of their
avaricious sea goddess.

"You wretched witch!" Fowler held the tiller at the
length of his arm, and his gray eyes were staring in hor-

The Veiled Dragon

ror at the pale breeze spiraling along the lacquered sur-
face. If it troubled the captain to have the scintillating
currents swirling over his green skin also, he showed no
sign of it. "What have you done to my ship?"

"I have done nothing to harm her." Beyond the star-
board taffrail, Ruha's wind spell had stretched to twice
the Storm Sprite's length. The glowing breezes had lost
much of their sparkle and swirl, and they were beginning
to look like a flight of spears aimed straight across the
churning sea. "Perhaps you should change course, Cap-
tain Fowler. The wind is about to shift."

Fowler glanced at the shining wind spell, then looked
at the great water dune gathering off his ship's starboard
side. "I hope you haven't capsized us!"

Ruha met his glower evenly. "And I hope you are done
with your stalling, Captain Fowler."

Fowler's face darkened to stormy purple. He looked
forward, and his voice boomed over the main deck like a
thunderclap. "Ready about!"

Terrified though the Storm Sprite's crew might have
been, the command sent every man lurching through the
froth to form lines at the braces. So marvelous was their
skill and balance that not one sailor lost his footing,
though the raging sea would have hurled Ruha over-
board in an instant. By the time the last man had taken
his place, the final glimmers of blue light were fading
from the rigging. The wind bent to the witch's magic and
swirled around to blow against the gale. The sail filled
from the opposite side, and the Storm Sprite heeled far-
ther into the dune and began to climb its face. The tor-
rents of water pouring over her decks grew even greater.

"Loose the braces!" Fowler bellowed.

The crew freed the heavy lines that controlled the
angle of the yardarms, leaving the sail to swing free and
flap in the wind. The ship righted itself and slowed as it
had earlier, but the starboard wales finally rose out of
the water, and the sea drained off the decks. The captain
gave no further commands and did not take his eyes from

The Harpers

the dune's moonlit crest. Ruha saw his lips moving in
silence, and she wondered whether he was cursing her
magic or offering some bribe to the faithless Queen of the
Sea. The Storm Sprite drifted to a full stop, then heeled
away from the heaving sea. It slipped sideways down the
face of the great water dune, and Ruha thought they
would capsize.

"Haul the braces!" Fowler commanded.

The crew hauled on the thick lines that trailed down
from the yardarms, bringing the sail around to catch the
wind. The flaxen sheet ceased its flapping, then bulged
outward and snapped taut. The sailors grunted, strain-
ing to hold the braces steady, and several were pulled off
their feet and left to dangle above the deck. The ship
rolled back toward the dune, and the dark waters boiled
over the decks, flinging strings of men about like beads
on a thread. Somehow the crew held the yardarms in
position, and the Storm Sprite lurched forward again.

The taffrail rose above the crest of the dune. In the
moonlight, Ruha glimpsed the distant caravel, the
dragon still standing on the poop deck. The beast had
ripped the mizzemnast from its step and was using it like
a spear to jab at its foes, almost too tiny to see, upon the
main deck. The witch thought it strange that the wyrm
fought with a makeshift weapon instead of spraying its
enemies with fire or acid, but perhaps the creature
feared sinking the vessel and losing its treasure.

The Storm Sprite's bow cleared the top of the dune,
and Captain Fowler shoved the tiller to one side. The
ship's bow swung neatly over the crest, and the sail sput-
tered as it lost the wind.

"Fill the sail!"

The command had barely escaped Fowler's lips before
the yardarms swung around. Once more, the sail caught
the wind. The Storm Sprite lunged forward and slipped
down the back of the dune so swiftly that it reached the
bottom trough before the captain could give his next com-
mand. The prow slammed into the next rolling dune, and

The Veiled Dragon

the ship groaned as though her spine would break. A
wall of water roared over the forecastle and rolled down
the decks to splash against the somercastle, then the bow
pitched up and the flood drained overboard, carrying
with it two screaming men.

Ruha cried out in alarm. Captain Fowler let out a long
breath and fondly patted the Storm Sprite's tiller.

"That's a fine girl." The half-ore made no remark upon
the loss of his crewmen, but looked forward and, in a
calm voice, ordered, "Fasten the braces."

The crew tugged at the brace lines until the last flutter
disappeared from the sail and, with the Storm Sprite
rushing madly up the face of the heaving water dune,
secured the lines to the belaying pins. The little cog
crested the top and raced down the other side, then sped,
pitching and crashing, toward the distant caravel. The
sailors busied themselves with clearing away the great
tangle of lines scattered over the decks, coiling the loose
ends and hanging them in their proper places, and paid
no heed to the misfortune of their two lost fellows.

"Captain Fowler, what of your lost men? Is there noth-
ing you can do for them?"

The half-ore shrugged and did not look at Ruha. "Even
if we could find them, I would not turn back." His voice
was sharp with restrained anger. "They're the price
Umberlee demanded for letting us come about, and she'd
look harshly upon me^f I tried to bring them back."

Ruha felt a terrible emptiness in her stomach, feeling
her spell had brought the Storm Sprite around too sud-
denly and caused their loss. "Then I am sorry for their
deaths."

"For their deaths?" Fowler snapped. "And what of
Storm Sprite? She could have lost the rudder or snapped
a yardarm!"

"You care more for boards and cloth than for men's
lives?"

The captain's jutting brow rose, and his flat nose
twitched uncomfortably. He squared his shoulders and

The Harpers

looked forward and did not speak. The crew had finished
the tidying of the lines and now stood in the center of the
ship, clinging to whatever they could find to keep from
being swept away by the cataracts that boiled down the
decks each time the bow crashed into another water
dune.

When Fowler finally spoke, his gravelly voice was
again deliberate and composed. "I doubt the world's
going to miss those two. They were cutpurses and mur-
derers both, and if Umberlee doesn't take them for her
own, I pity the shore they wash up on." The captain
peered at Ruha from the corner of his narrow eye, then
added, "But I warn you, Storm Sprite is mine. Hiring her
does not give you leave to disregard my commands. While
a ship is at sea, the captain is lord and master, and those
who cross him are filthy mutineers. I could sail into Pros
with your rotten carcass hanging from my yardarms, and
your friends would not question your punishment."

Ruha had reason to be glad she still hid her face
behind the modest veil other people, for it would do
much to conceal her shock. The Harpers had paid a steep
price for her passage, which, having observed the effect
of gold on people in the Heartlands, she had expected to
make her master of the ship. She considered challenging
Fowler's claim, but saw by his composure and firm man-
ner that he was speaking the truth. Not for the first time,
the witch cursed her ignorance of the strange customs in
this part of the world and wondered if she would ever
learn them all.

The Storm Sprite crested another dune, and Ruha saw
they had closed half the distance to the ravaging dragon.
The dark wyrm stood upon the caravel's main deck, fac-
ing sternward and digging through the somercastle like a
pangolin after termites. The wings upon its back were
flapping fiercely, knocking aside the cloud of arrows and
spears assailing it from behind. The vessel itself had
begun to list, but the bow continued to slice neatly
through the heaving sea, giving Ruha hope that the ship

The Veiled Dragon

would survive until they arrived to help. Yet Captain
Fowler had not ordered his men to take up arms. Even
with a magic wind driving his vessel to the rescue, the
half-ore still did not mean to give battle.

The Storm Sprite pitched downward, and Ruha lost
sight of the battle. "Captain Fowler, I did not mean to
challenge your authority," she said. "I was told that you
are a Harper friend and, despite your mixed blood, a man
of honor. I can see now that my informant was mistaken."

The half-ore's face grew tight. "I have as much honor
as any human captain!" he snapped. "And would I have
Storm Silverhand's name upon my ship if I were not a
friend of the Harpers?"

Ruha shrugged. "I know only what my eyes show me—
and I can see that you have not called your men to arms.
You have no intention of aiding that ship."

"You'd do well to worry less about my intentions and
think of your assignment. The Harpers are not given to
hiring private ships unless the matter is urgent. Do you
think Lady Silverhand would want you to risk your mis-
sion over a fight that's none of your concern?"

"Storm Silverhand is not here."

The witch's reply was evasive because she did not
know the answer to Captain Fowler's question. Storm
Silverhand had told her only that she was to sail to the
port village of Pros, where an important Harper named
Vaerana Hawklyn would be waiting to take her to the
city ofElversult. Presumably, Vaerana would explain
Ruha's assignment, but even that was not certain.

Ruha looked toward the distant caravel. "I do know
one thing: neither Storm Silverhand, nor any other
Harper, would turn a blind eye on so many people in such
terrible danger. If you are truly her friend, you know this
as well."

The sea was piled high before the Storm Sprite, block-
ing all sight of the caravel and its attacker, but Captain
Fowler's gray eyes looked toward the unseen battle and
lingered there many moments.

10

The Harpers

"It will go better for us, and them, if we arrive after the
battle," he said. "If that dragon sends the Storm Sprite to
lie in Umberlee's cold palace, we'll be of no use to the sur-
vivors—or to those waiting in Pros."

Ruha laid a reassuring hand on the half-ore's hairy
arm. "Captain Fowler, you may tell your men to arm
themselves. I will not let the dragon sink your ship."

"Lady Witch, sea battles are wild things." The cap-
tain's tone was overly patient, as though he were speak-
ing to a little girl instead of a desert-hardened witch.
"Even with your magic, you might find you can't keep
such a promise."

"Captain Fowler, I have fought more battles than you
know. It is true that I have not won them all, but never
have I abandoned someone else out of fear for myself."
These last words Ruha spoke with particular venom, for
she was offended by Fowler's condescension. "But if you
truly value your ship above other men's lives, the Harpers
will guarantee my promise. If the dragon sinks the Storm
Sprite, we will buy you another."

Fowler's face hardened. "And why are you so keen to
fight the drake, Witch? Do you think to redeem yourself
for the Voonlar debacle?"

Ruha felt her cheeks redden, and her anger evaporated
like water spilled upon the desert floor. "At least I know
why you lack faith in me."

The Voonlar debacle had been Ruha's first assignment.
Storm Silverhand had sent her to work in a Voonlar tav-
ern, where she was to serve as a secret intermediary and
messenger. On her first day, a slave smuggler had crossed
her palm with a silver coin. Ruha, failing to understand
the significance of the gesture, had accepted the offering
with thanks, then balked at delivering the expected ser-
vices. Feeling slighted, the furious slaver had refused to
accept the coin's return and drawn his dagger. He would
certainly have killed the witch if one of his own men, a
Harper spy, had not leapt to her defense. As it was, she
and the spy had been forced to fight their way to safety,

The Veiled Dragon             11

leaving the smuggler free to sell a hundred men, women,
and children into bondage.

"I am sorry for the misery I caused the slaves of Voon-
lar. Not a night passes when my nightmares do not ring
with their cries." Ruha raised her chin and locked gazes
with the half-ore. "But I assure you, my shame is as noth-
ing compared to the disgrace of a coward who turns from
those he can save."

The half-ore's arm slipped free of the tiller, his lips
curling back to show sharp tusks and yellow fangs, and
he stepped toward Ruha. The witch did not back away,
nor did she avoid his eyes, and when there came on the
wind a distant roar and the splintering of ship timbers,
Fowler was the first to glance away.

"Do not fear the dragon," Ruha urged. "My under-
standing of magic far exceeds my knowledge of Heart-
land customs."

Fowler shook his head as though trying to rid himself
of some evil thought, and when he spoke, his voice was as
low and guttural as a growl.

"As you wish, then!" He thrust his leathery palm under
Ruha's face. "But give me your pin. I wager this battle
will go harder than you think, and if Umberlee takes
offense at your gall, I'll want proof of your pledge."

Ruha started to object, then thought better and turned
away. She reached inside her aba and removed the
Harper's pin hidden over her heart. It was a small silver
brooch fashioned in the shape of a crescent moon, sur-
rounded by four twinkling stars with a harp in the cen-
ter. The pin had once belonged to Lander ofArchenbridge,
a valiant scout who had died helping the Bedine tribes
resist an army of rapacious Zhentarim invaders.

The witch handed the brooch to Fowler. "Guard it well.
This pin was once worn by my beloved, and I cherish it
more than life itself."

"That makes the risk the same for both of us." Fowler
pinned the brooch inside his tunic, then hooked his arm
around the tiller and turned his attention to the main

12

The Harpers

deck. "Man the harpoons! Break out the axes and spears!
Ready yourselves for the attack!"

Every man upon the decks turned an astonished eye
toward their captain, and the crew grumbled its displea-
sure in one voice. A greasy-haired youth in a thin cotton
tunic and gray, brine-stiffened trousers rushed up the
stairs, stopping at the edge of the half deck.

"Cap'n, sure ye canno' mean to strike that dark thing
first?"

"I can and do!" Fowler pulled a key from a chain
around his neck and passed it to the man. "Now, you
alley-spawned son of a tavern hag, open the weapon lock-
ers before the witch calls the squids to drag us all down
to Umberlee!"

The youth's eyes darted toward Ruha. Though the
witch did not know who the squids were or how to sum-
mon them, she took some lint from her pocket and tossed
it to the wind, making many strange gestures and recit-
ing her lineage in the lyrical tongue of the Bedine. The
sailor leapt off the stairs and ducked into the somer-
castle. Two of his fellows followed him inside, while sev-
eral others struggled forward to the forecastle, fighting
their way through the churning froth that boiled over the
bow twice every minute.

The magic wind continued to drive the little cog
onward. At intervals, Captain Fowler adjusted the tiller
or ordered the crew to tighten a line, and each time they
crested a dune, Ruha marvelled at how the distance
between the Storm Sprite and her goal had closed. The
sailors who had gone into the somercastle returned with
boarding axes and spears for their companions, and those
who had struggled forward to the forecastle also reap-
peared, laden with thick-braided skeins and barbed har-
poons twice a man's height. They tied lines about their
waists and clambered onto the foredeck, where they
pulled the oilskins off three ballistae and, fighting
against raging waters and the ship's mad pitching, set to
work stringing the heavy weapons. By the time they fin-


The Veiled Dragon             13

ished, the caravel lay a hundred yards ahead, lumbering
forward at a shallow angle that would present her star-
board side to the Storm Sprite.

The battered caravel stretched to five times the length
of the little cog. Her hull, looming dark and sheer in the
night, rose from the sea like a cliff. The wales were
crowned by a crest of white railing, broken in many places
and draped with shredded rigging. Her foremast, all that
remained of three, could have scraped a cloud, and carried
more cloth than three of the Storm Sprite's sails.

Having torn the somercastle completely off the car-
avel, the dragon now crouched on the stern of the ship.
All that could be seen of the dark beast were fluttering
black wings as large as sails, an immense ebony flank,
and its serpentine tail sweeping back and forth across
the main deck to keep at bay the warriors behind it.

The wyrm raised a black claw above the starboard
wale and flung overboard a handful of refuse. Among the
debris were a pilot's table and three screaming women.
The witch gasped and would have asked if all sea dragons
were so large, except that she feared the question would
alarm Captain Fowler. Instead, she watched as the Storm
Sprite and the caravel continued to crash toward each
other. Already, the two ships were so close that even
when the sea heaved up between them, Ruha did not lose
sight of the wyrm's black wings.

At last, Captain Fowler said, "If that wyrm's not the
largest ever to fly the Dragonmere, I'm the Prince of
Elves." The Storm Sprite's bow crashed into the trough
between two great sea dunes, and the water poured over
the forecastle and came frothing down the main deck. "I
hope your magic arrows are powerful ones. A dragon like
that could make short work of us."

Ruha thought it wiser not to mention that, unlike most
sorcerers Fowler had seen, she could not create magic
arrows. Heartland wizards used expensive and exotic
ingredients to cast their spells, but desert witches seldom
had access to such components. Instead, they fashioned

14

The Harpers

their enchantments from the elements that ruled their
lives: wind, sun, sand and stone, and, most preciously,
water. Ruha was particularly adept at sand and sun
magic; unfortunately, water was her weakness.

The witch rummaged through her aba until she found
a small piece of obsidian. "My spell will cut through the
wyrm as a scimitar cuts through a camel thief." She dis-
played the black sliver. "But your men must also be
ready, for the first blow does not always kill."

Fowler glowered at the dark shard suspiciously. "On
my command, Witch." He flashed a menacing scowl that
left no doubt about the consequences of disobeying. "Not
a second before."

Ruha inclined her head. "Of course, Captain."

The Storm Sprite pitched upward. The boiling waters
crashed against the somercastle and poured over the
wales, and the little cog rose on the water dune. Thirty
yards off the bow loomed a great wall of dark planks, the
hull of the mighty caravel. The witch raised an inquiring
eyebrow, but Fowler shook his head.

"Harpoons, let go atop!"

They crested the dune. Ruha cried out in shock, for the
caravel lay only twenty yards ahead, with the dragon's
mountainous figure still hunched over the stem. A dozen
astonished sailors stood at the great ship's wales, staring
down at the Storm Sprite.

From the bow of the little cog sounded a trio of
sonorous throbs. Three barbed harpoons arced away from
the Storm Sprite's ballistae, a long braided rope trailing
from each. The first shaft sailed high over the wales of
the devastated caravel and passed through one of the
wyrm's flapping wings. The other two harpoons dropped
lower, piercing the mighty serpent's black scales and
sinking to their butts. The dragon gave a furious roar. Its
sinuous neck undulated in rage, and clouds of roiling
black fog shot from the caravel's portholes.

The Storm Sprite started down the rolling dune, and
the dragon disappeared behind the caravel's looming

The Veiled Dragon             15

hull. Ruha thought surely they would smash into the
great ship.

Captain Fowler pushed the tiller to port. The Storm
Sprite swung around, though not quickly enough to pre-
vent her bowsprit from splintering on the other vessel.
The little cog completed her turn, then a tremendous
boom filled the air when she slammed hulls with the
great caravel. The impact hurled Ruha to the deck, and
she felt the sliver of obsidian shoot from between her fin-
gers. A terrible rasping arose between the ships as they
rubbed hulls, and the witch knew it would not be long
before they were past each other.

A powerful hand closed around Ruha's wrist, and she
felt herself being dragged toward the tiller. "This is no
time to lie about!"

"No, wait!"

Ruha's protest went unheeded, for already Captain
Fowler had pulled her to his side and set her on her feet.
Her eyes darted toward the deck. The planks were wet
and as dark as the night and, even if the obsidian had
not washed overboard already, she would never have
found it in time to attack the dragon.

"Ready, Witch!" Fowler ordered. "It's almost time."

Ruha looked forward, raising her eyes toward the
wyrm. She found her view blocked by the huge flaxen
square of the Storm Sprite's half-filled sail. Beneath the
sheet's fluttering edge, she could see harpoon lines play-
ing out, and also the cog's bow slipping past the caravel's
massive rudder. The witch thrust her hand into her aba
and found several small pebbles.

Fowler hauled on the tiller, bringing his ship smartly
around the stern of the caravel. The flaxen sail filled
with wind and, like a proud stallion spurred to the gal-
lop, the Storm Sprite leapt forward. The harpoon lines
snapped taut, and a tremendous shudder ran through
the cog.

Fowler flashed his tusks. "Now, Lady Witch! Slice that
terror out of the sky!"

16

The Harpers

Ruha pulled the pebbles from her pocket and pivoted
around to keep her gaze fixed on the looming caravel.
Over the stern came a great mass of writhing darkness,
the wyrm being dragged along by the sturdy harpoon
lines. The dragon beat the air with its wings, struggling
in vain to right itself and wheel on Its attacker. Its wings
were tattered and strewn with holes, while its dark
scales looked strangely tarnished and dull. Even the ser-
pent's tail ended in a long section of gray, weathered
bone, as though it were suffering from some wasting dis-
ease or festering wound.

Bracing herself against the binnacle, Ruha rolled her
pebbles between her palms and called upon her stone
magic. The rocks began to buzz and shake, vibrating so
violently that it hurt her bones to hold them. She tossed
the stones up before her face, and there they hung, sput-
tering and whirling around each other like angry wasps.

Recovering from its initial shock, the dragon ceased its
flailing and stopped trying to wheel on its attacker. It
beat its wings more slowly and contented itself with stay-
ing aloft.

"I said now, Witch!"

Fowler's eyes were locked on the dragon, and Ruha
knew what concerned him. Smaller wyrms than this
could spew fire and acid twice the length of the Storm
Sprite's harpoon lines, and the witch had no illusions
about what would happen if such a spray caught the
little cog. The serpent's neck began to curl toward the
Storm Sprite.

"Wait no longer!" Fowler pleaded.

At last, a faint sapphire gleam appeared inside the
pebbles. Ruha blew upon the swirling stones, at the same
time breathing the incantation of a wind spell. They
sizzled away, screeching like banshees and trailing a rib-
bon of blue braided light. The dragon had almost brought
its head around when the pebbles tore through its wing
and blasted its flank, spraying shards of shattered scales
in every direction. The wyrm stiffened and dropped

The Veiled Dragon

17

toward the water, but when its belly touched the heaving
sea dunes, it roared and once again lifted itself into the

air.

Fowler's face paled from green to yellow. "I was a fool

to listen to you, Witch! To think a woman who'd take a
slaver's coin could know dragons—"

"Captain Fowler, wait." Ruha wrapped an arm around
the binnacle, then pointed at the wyrm. "The spell has

only begun its work."

The half-ore narrowed his eyes and turned back to the
dragon, still being dragged along by the harpoon lines.
The wyrm had curled into the shape of a horseshoe, with
both its head and tail pointing away from the Storm
Sprite. Its wings were fluttering so slowly and sporadi-
cally they could barely keep it aloft, while its serpentine
body shuddered with erratic convulsions.

"My pebbles have not stopped moving," Ruha
explained. "They are flying about within the wyrm, tear-
ing it apart from the inside."

"A quick kill would've been better," Fowler grunted.

The captain kept his gaze fixed on the dragon, as
though he would not be satisfied until the thing dropped
into the sea and sank out of sight. Behind the serpent,
the battered caravel was lumbering away, rolling wildly
from side-to-side as her crew struggled to bring her
under control. Atop the stern, Ruha saw twenty men
standing amidst the wreckage, some holding lanterns
while the rest waved amulets and talismans at the Storm

Sprite.

"That seems a strange custom. Captain Fowler." Ruha

pointed at the men on the caravel's stern. "What does it

mean?"

Fowler shrugged, barely glancing at the display. "Who
can tell? She's a foreign ship. They're probably telling us
to mind our own business."

A tarnished scale fluttered off the dragon's back, fol-
lowed by the spiraling blue streak of a pebble. Ruha
watched closely for more such flashes, as they indicated

18

The Harpers

the tiny rocks had demolished the internal organs and
were beginning to find their way out of the body. A sec-
ond stone shot from the wyrm, then a third and a fourth,
and still the serpent trembled and convulsed but some-
how kept from falling into the sea.

Ruha scowled. Most victims were dead by the time
four stones left their bodies.

Captain Fowler must have seen her brow furrow. "How
long's it going to take that wyrm to die?"

"It is a big dragon. Captain."

Another pebble escaped the serpent's body and sph-
raled away into the heavens, and Fowler cast an impa-
tient glance toward the departing caravel.

"I'd like to catch her if we can," he said. "A prize like
that. .. If her captain's a good man, he'll reward us well."

"Captain Fowler, what is this obsession of yours?"
Ruha demanded. "Do you expect treasure for—"

Ruha's question was interrupted when the dragon
finally went limp and plummeted into the water, raising
such a splash that buckets of dark sea rained down upon
the Storm Sprite. The harpoon lines throbbed sharply,
and the cog nosed into the water and heeled toward the
wyrm. Fowler shoved the tiller to port, bringing his ship
around so sharply she seemed to pivot on her bow.

"Loose the braces!" he boomed. He turned to Ruha and,
more quietly, asked, "If you'd be kind enough to call off
your wind. Lady Witch."

Ruha uttered a single syllable, and the magic breeze
died away. The crew loosed the brace lines, leaving the
yardarms to swing free, and the sail snapped and popped
as it flapped loose in the wind. The drag of the wyrm's
enormous body quickly brought the Storm Sprite to a
halt. She swung around and began to roll wildly in the
churning sea, still pitching toward the bow and listing
toward the wyrm.

All at once, the crew broke into a tremendous cheer,
many of them calling Umberlee's favor upon the witch's
head. A great swell of pride filled Ruha's breast, and for

The Veiled Dragon             19

the first time since the debacle in Voonlar, she felt wor-
thy to wear the pin of a Harper.

A loud, sonorous gurgle sounded just off the starboard
side. Ruha looked over to see the dragon's corpse sliding
beneath the churning black waters. The Storm Sprite
gave a long groan and listed even farther to starboard, the
harpoon lines swinging toward her hull. Several of the
crew lost their footing and would have fallen overboard
had it not been for the quick hands of their comrades.

Ruha looked to Captain Fowler. "Why is the wyrm
sinking? Shouldn't it float?"

"Aye, it should." A larcenous gleam filled the half-ore's
eyes, and he glanced toward the bobbing lanterns atop
the stern of the departing caravel. "Unless its belly is
filled with foreign gold!"

The Storm Sprite continued to heel, and Ruha shook
her head emphatically. "No, Captain Fowler! Cut it free,
or you'll sink us!"

"Cut it free?" the half-ore scoffed. "My crew would
mutiny!"

"They would prefer losing the treasure to dying, I am
sure."

"Don't be," Fowler said. "It takes a lot of gold to sink a
dragon. And there's the bounty to think of, too. Cormyr
pays a thousand gold for each wyrm head brought to
port, and every man gets his share."

"All the gold in the Heartlands will not buy their lives
back."

"Aye, but men sell themselves for less every day."
Fowler lifted his chin toward the crew. "If you think
they'll forgo their chance to live like kings, you know less
about men than you do about the Heartlands."

Ruha studied the men. As Fowler had claimed, their
expressions were more greedy than fearful, and despite
the Storm Sprite's increasing list, not a single sailor was
moving to cut the wyrm free. The cog continued to tip far-
ther, until at last the harpoon lines ran vertically from
the wales into the water. The heaving sea dunes crashed

20

The Harpers

over the bow with thunderous force, and the decks sloped
so steeply that it was impossible to stand without holding
a halyard or shroud. Still, the crew made no move to free
the ship.

"What's all this standing about?" Fowler yelled.
"Secure the lines to the anchor windlass and prepare to
haul!"

An excited murmur filled the air as the crew leapt to
the task with surprising agility, dangling monkeylike
from lines and belaying pins. The sea continued to batter
the Storm Sprite, spraying white foam over the decks
and threatening to capsize her all too often, but it took
only a few moments for the men to wrap the lines around
the windlass and start winching. Their efficiency did
little to soothe Ruha's nerves. In the desert only fools
tempted fate, especially for a prize as petty as gold.

"What of your reward, Captain Fowler?" The witch
glanced toward the departing caravel. The lanterns atop
its stern were still visible whenever the great ship
crested a dune, but the gray outlines of the vessel itself
were rapidly fading into the night. "I thought you wanted
to catch the caravel?"

Fowler did not even look over his shoulder. "Not if the
dragon pilfered all its gold."

Several wails of surprise sounded from the windlass;

then the Storm Sprite righted herself so suddenly that
half a dozen men fell flat on the deck.

"What happened?" Fowler boomed. "Why are those
lines slack?"

"It—it just happened," came the reply. "The harpoons
must have pulled free!"

A chorus of disappointed groans rumbled through the
crew, but Fowler's gray eyes shined with alarm. "All of
them at once? Never."

The sailors looked at each other with baffled expres-
sions, as though they expected one of their number to
confess to some mistake that explained the mystery. A
babble sounded ahead of the Storm Sprite and to both

The Veiled Dragon             21

sides of her bow. The little cog fell abruptly silent, and
every head aboard swiveled toward the noises.

Ruha slipped a hand into her aba. "Perhaps the men
should retrieve their weapons, Captain—"

A curtain of black wings rose from the sea ahead,
eclipsing the moon's reflection on the water and casting a
shroud of murky darkness over the ship. The crew
gasped in alarm and retreated toward the somercastle,
giving no apparent thought to the spears and axes that
lay stowed around the deck.

"What's the matter?" Fowler demanded. As he spoke, a
pair of ebony talons shot from the water on both sides of
the bow. There was no hide over the gnarled fingers, and
even the wrists exhibited bare patches of gray, weathered
bone. The claws dug into the wales, and the little cog's
bow dipped into the sea. The half-ore released the tiller
and stepped forward. "Cowards! Stand and fight!"

For the first time since Ruha had boarded, the cap-
tain's words seemed to have no effect on his crew. The
bravest of them watched over their shoulders as they
opened a hatch or door, but most simply screamed in ter-
ror and hurled themselves through the nearest opening.
Their panic surprised the witch, for until now they had
exhibited the unwavering discipline of men who knew
their lives depended upon working together. She pulled a
small crystal of quartz from her pocket, at the same time
catching Fowler's arm with her free hand.

"Your men are braver than this," she said. "It is only
the dragon's magic frightening them."

"Only?" the half-ore scoffed. "It will be enough to sink
us!"

Ruha pointed her crystal over the ship's bow. "I am not
frightened."

The dragon's head rose into view and, despite her
claim, the witch was so shocked she could not keep the
syllables other incantation from fleeing her mind. She
found herself staring not into the slit pupils of a wyrm's
diabolic eyes, but into the vastly more sinister void of two

22

The Harpers

black, empty sockets. Though a thin layer of shriveled
black scales still clung to the beast's brow and cheeks, its
snout was a fleshless blade of cracked bone and cav-
ernous nostrils. Even the creature's curved horns, once as
sturdy and long as horse lances, were mere splintered
stumps of their ancient magnificence.

"Umberlee have mercy!" Fowler ripped a golden ring
from his ear and hurled it overboard, a piece of bloody
lobe still dangling from the clasp. "Save us!"

The dragon's empty-eyed gaze followed the arc of the
glimmering earring as it plunged into the sea, then
snapped back to Fowler.

"If you wish mercy, do not throw your gold to Umber-
lee." The dragon spoke in a voice as raspy as it was loud,
and the mere sound of it made Ruha's legs shake so that
she could hardly keep her feet. "Give it to me, and per-
haps your death shall be quick!"

When Fowler made no move to produce more gold, the
dragon opened its jaws, revealing a hundred broken
fangs and a scabrous white tongue, and the Storm
Sprite^s sail billowed toward its mouth. A loud rasp
rustled down the length of the ship, and Ruha realized
the serpent was gorging itself with air. She squeezed the
quartz crystal between her thumb and forefinger, at the
same time summoning her spell back to mind.

The rasping ceased, and wisps of dark fog rose from
the dragon's nostrils. Ruha called out the words of a wind
spell. The quartz crystal evaporated in a searing flash,
and a bolt of white lightning leapt from her hand. It
struck the wyrm's head with a thunderous bang, hurling
desiccated scales and shards of gray bone high into the
air. The creature's neck snapped back, and from its shat-
tered maw shot a plume of boiling, turbid vapor.

The dragon roared in pain, shaking the Storm Sprite
from stem to stem, and the sea sputtered with the sound
of its torn flesh dropping into the water, but the beast did
not slip beneath the surging dunes. Instead, it dug its
ebony talons deep into the ship's wales, then laid its neck

The Veiled Dragon             23

over the bow to display the smoking, mangled crater that
had once been its face.

"Who would do this to me?" the dragon rumbled. "Cast
yourself to Umberlee, or you shall wish you had."

Captain Fowler glanced back at Ruha. His lips were as
white as the moon. "Well, Harper, c-can you k-keep your
promise?"

Ruha thrust her shaking hands into her aba and, fear-
ing her efforts would come to naught, fumbled through
her pockets. Live wyrms could be killed, but what could
she—or anyone—do against this dead beast?

The turbid vapor that had spilled from the dragon's
maw earlier began to settle over the front part of the
ship. As soon as the dark fog touched the rigging, lines
started to snap and fall, hissing and smoking as though
they were on fire. The sail broke free of the yardarms and
fluttered to the deck, as sheer and full of holes as old
lace. The mast, and then all the wood from midships for-
ward, began to sizzle and fume.

Fowler sank to his knees. "Wretched witch! What have
you done to my ship?"

The dragon turned its shattered face toward the cap-
tain. "Did she give the order to interfere with me? Or was
it you, thinking of Cormyr's filthy bounty?"

With that, the wyrm withdrew its head and slipped
beneath the sea's dark surface. Ruha stepped to the
taffrail and saw the shadow of one huge wing gliding
through the water toward her.

"Captain, did I not promise that the Harpers would
buy you another ship?" She stepped toward the half-ore.
"How can they do that if we perish with this one?"

Fowler looked at Ruha with disbelieving eyes. "You
think we've a choice in the matter? If you could destroy
the dragon, you'd have done it by now."

The yardarms broke free and crashed down upon the
deck. The thick planks gave way as though they had been
rotting for a hundred years, and the spars struck several
barrels stowed below decks. One of the casks split in two,

24

The Harpers

spilling a viscous liquid that filled the air with a bitter,
caustic stench. The babble of swirling water sounded
behind the Storm Sprite.

Without glancing back, Ruha pointed into the hold
"What is in those casks?"

The half-ore looked puzzled, as though he found it a
strange time for Ruha to question the cargo. "Lamp oil
We've got to have ballast, and it might as well pay—"

A sharp crack sounded from the rear of the deck. Ruha
glimpsed the tiller disappearing through its housing,
then three black talons rose into sight and hooked them-
selves over the taffrail. The witch grabbed Fowler's arm
and jerked him off the poop deck, pushing him toward a
boarding axe down on the main deck.

"I cannot save your ship, Captain, but I can save us.
Go and smash those oil casks."

The half-ore jumped down and retrieved the weapon,
then leapt into the hold. Ruha ducked down beside the
somercastle and emptied her pockets of all the brimstoni
powder she possessed, piling it upon the deck before her
A sharp crack sounded from the stern of the ship, thei
the Storm Sprite pitched to her rear. The witch shape<
the heap of yellow powder into the figure of a tiny bird
and uttered a wind spell.

The brimstone vanished in a brief flash of yellow, and
in its place appeared the diaphanous form of a yellow
canary. Ruha pointed toward the ship's hold, where Cap-
tain Fowler was busy smashing oil casks, and made a
quick sweeping motion. The little bird flitted off to circle
the area she had indicated.

A tremendous crackling sounded from the poop deck,
and Ruha peered over the edge to see the dragon's claws
ripping into the stern of the ship. She withdrew another
quartz crystal from her aba, then jumped onto the ladder
and pointed it at the creature's pulverized face, yelling a
series of nonsensical syllables that she hoped the beast
would mistake for those she had used to cast her first
lightning bolt.

The Veiled Dragon             25

The dragon's head swiveled toward Ruha. She felt oil-
laden air swirling past her head and heard the unmis-
takable rasp of the creature filling its chest. The beast
sucked the diaphanous yellow bird she had created ear-
lier into its throat. The witch dropped behind the somer-
castle, squeezing the quartz crystal and uttering the
incantation of a fire spell.

A fiery spark shot from the tip of the crystal, igniting
the stream of air being sucked into the dragon's throat.
Ruha threw herself through the somercastle door. She felt
a jolting crash; then there was a searing fulguration, the
smell of wood ash, and finally the cool bite of saltwater.

Two

Once the numb ringing inside
Ruha's skull abated and it occurred to
her that she was still alive, her first
thought was not that she would choke
on the saltwater she had swallowed,
nor that the weight of her sodden aba
would drag her beneath the dark
waters, nor even that she might bleed
to death from her many lacerations. When the witch
opened her eyes and saw the sea heaving all around her,
her first thought was that she would never be found.




The dunes loomed as high as mountains, with rolling,
moonlit faces that blocked Ruha's sight in every direc-
tion, making her feel immeasurably alone and insignifi-
cant in the stormy vastness of the Dragonmere. They
were maddeningly inconstant, now lifting her toward the
stars, now dropping her into the abyssal gloom, now car-
rying her along on steep, tumbling slopes of water. The
witch knew she could not let the sea have its way with
her. She had to free herself of its capricious grasp or die,
but her chest was pumping water from her lungs in rack-
ing coughs, and she could barely keep her head above the
surface, much less hold herself steady on the crest of a
surging dune long enough to ... do what, Ruha did not
know.

In all likelihood, she was not the only one to survive
the disintegration of the Storm Sprite, but there had

The Veiled Dragon             27

been no time to put the little shore boat into the water.
The others would be in the same predicament as Ruha,
and no doubt anxious to blame her for their troubles.

The caravel crew would have every reason to treat the
witch more kindly—providing they came back. Certainly,
they had witnessed the explosion that destroyed the
dragon, but would they realize what had happened to
the Storm Sprite? Was their captain an honest man
who would turn back to help those who had helped him?
Ruha could only allow herself to believe that the answer
to both questions was yes; to assume anything else was
to lose hope, and to lose hope in Umberlee's domain
was to die.

Still, the caravel would not arrive soon. It would take
time for the great vessel to come around, then she would
have to beat her way against the wind—using only one of
the three masts she had once carried, and probably rely-
ing upon a tiller half splintered by the dragon attack. By
the time she arrived, the Storm Sprite's wreckage would
be strewn across a square mile of heaving sea, and Ruha
knew better than to think any lookout would spy her
dark head bobbing amongst all the oil casks, splintered
timbers, and shreds of dragon floating upon the surging
waters.

A large, curved timber appeared atop a nearby dune,
its end briefly jutting over the crest like a great scimitar.
Ruha fixed her eye on the beam. As it glided down the
watery slope, she started to swim, reaching forward and
kicking her legs in the fashion Storm Silverhand had
taught her. The witch's shawl and veil had vanished, but
her aba remained securely wrapped about her shoulders,
and she had to struggle against both its clumsy cut and
sodden weight to make headway. Nevertheless, she did
not even consider slipping out of the garment. Its pockets
were loaded with exotic dirts and rocks useful for her
stone magic. More importantly, all of her spells were
sewn into the interior lining. In the desert, paper and ink
were precious commodities, but there was always plenty

28

The Harpers

of thread to spare for embroidery.

By the time Ruha reached the timber, she could do no
more than throw her arms over the top and hang there
gasping. Though she had not realized it until the exercise
had warmed her body, the water was deceptively cool.
Her joints began to stiffen, and she recalled Fowler's sto-
ries of pulling his sailors aboard, blue and dead after
only minutes in the water. But that had been in northern
seas, and the Dragonmere was in the south. The temper-
ature here could not be so dangerous—or so the witch
hoped.

Ruha fought back her growing panic, reminding her-
self that the sea was not so different from the desert: it
was vast and empty and lonely, with most of the life lying
hidden beneath the surface. True, the dunes moved
faster and they were made of water, but not water that
one could drink. That was as precious here as it was in
the sandy wastes. And there was one other similarity,
one the witch did not want to consider: the sea, like
Anauroch, was hospitable to those who knew its ways—
and merciless to those who did not.

Ruha contemplated her growing chill and decided it
probably would not kill her. She was not shivering, she
still felt her toes and fingers, and her teeth were not
chattering. All in all, the witch had spent more frigid
nights in the desert, and she suspected that the cool
water was keeping her from bleeding to death. There
were dozens of cuts on her body, some both long and
deep, but all stinging bitterly from the salt. The witch
could feel her blood swirling about her, warm and viscous
against her skin, but she could not tell how much she
had lost. Had she been on dry land, she would have
examined her cuts and bandaged them all, starting with
the worst one first. But in the dark, heaving sea, she had
to content herself with running her fingers over each
wound in turn, feeling for a heavy flow that suggested a
severed vein or artery.

Ruha found no rushing streams or pulsing tides, but

The Veiled Dragon             29

she could count her inspection only a partial success. The
swirling saltwater made it difficult to distinguish an ooz-
ing flow from a gushing one. In the end, she decided the
mere fact that she did not feel light-headed was proof
enough that she was not bleeding to death. And she
thought of at least one good thing about being adrift: in
the desert, some hungry jackal or lion would smell her
blood and come running, but such a thing could not hap-
pen at sea. No creature she knew could follow a scent
through water.

Having convinced herself she would not be dead by the
time the caravel returned, Ruha turned her thoughts to
making certain she would be found. Her own people, the
Bedine, used large, curled horns called amarats for such
purposes. The witch did not have an amarat, since only
the men were allowed to use them, but she did have wind
magic.

Ruha drew a deep breath. Then, speaking from her
belly, she uttered a wind spell. Within her chest, she felt
a tremendous sensation of expansion, as though her torso
were growing as large and round as an oil cask. She
tipped her chin back and cupped a hand around her
mouth.

"I am here!" The voice that came from her lips sounded
like that of a giant, deep and resonant. It was so loud
that it made the water reverberate like a drum. "Come
and help me!"

Ruha pulled her hand away from her mouth and
silently counted to a hundred, then repeated the mes-
sage. As before, her voice was that of a giant. The witch
counted again, then fell into a regular pattern of silence
and calling. She was always careful to keep constant both
the strength of her voice and the duration between her
cries, hoping that would help the caravel captain deter-
mine whether he was moving closer to her, or farther
away.

Ten calls later, Ruha's cries became thunderous croaks,
for her throat had begun to ache from the sheer power of

30 The Harpers

her booming voice. Nevertheless, she continued to shout,
determined not to vary her routine until her windpipes
burst—though she was starting to fear the cold would
kill her first. Goose bumps were rising all over her body,
and she felt a cold numbness creeping into the marrow of
her bones. To make matters worse, the flotsam from the
Storm Sprite was drifting apart faster than she had
expected. She could see nothing close by except a handful
of splintered deck planks, an oil cask riding low in the
water, and several slabs of rotten dragon flesh.

As Ruha watched, one of the scaly chunks vanished
beneath the sea. The slab did not slip gently under the
surface, as though the meat had become too waterlogged
to float. It plunged downward with a sharp swish, leav-
ing nothing on the surface except a small circle of
swirling water.

Ruha was not entirely puzzled. She had seen fish take
insects swimming on the surface of oasis ponds, but the
slab of dragon meat had been as large as her head. The
witch could not even imagine the fish big enough to swal-
low such a morsel. She thought other bloody legs dan-
gling in the water and wished for a larger piece of
timber—one onto which she could crawl entirely. Ruha
pulled herjambiya from its sheath and prayed it would
not slip from her grasp. The long, curved dagger was not
particularly valuable, but it had once belonged to a man
to whom she had been married for two days. He had died
fighting a band of brutal invaders, and thejambiya was
all she had to remember him by.

The time to call came again. "Please hurry! Something
is under the water!"

Ruha forced herself not to think about her dangling
legs and tried to study the sea around her, watching to
see if the dragon meat continued to disappear. The task
was an impossible one, for no sooner would she glimpse a
slab than a dune would heave up in front of her. When
the water subsided, the scaly chunk was as likely as not
to be gone. The witch never glimpsed any telltale circles

The Veiled Dragon             31

to indicate the morsel had been taken by a fish, but she
knew better than to assume she would in such dark,
rough water.

Ruha felt herself rise on a dune, then something
bumped into her knee and rubbed past her thigh. Her
scream filled the sky with a cry that boomed like thun-
der. She thrust herjambiya into the water and sliced into
a sinuous body, her knuckles brushing along a gritty
hide. A huge tail fin slapped her arm, and the creature
flitted away.

The witch let out a breath she had not realized she
was holding. It had only been a fish—one as large as a
man, but a fish nonetheless—and apparently it intended
her no harm.

A distant voice came to her on the wind. "Keep yelling,
Witch! Do you think I can see you in this murk?"

Ruha glanced toward the voice and saw the blocky sil-
houette of a small, makeshift raft cresting the next dune.
On top of it kneeled two figures, both digging into the
water with short sections of deck planking. One of the
men appeared rather lanky and gaunt, but the other was
stocky and stout, with the jutting brow and swinish
snout of a half-ore.

Ruha slipped from the crest of her dune and lost sight
other rescuers. "I am here, Captain Fowler! One dune
ahead!"

"What was . . . booming about?" Now that the sea had
risen between Ruha and Fowler, the wind rendered his
voice almost inaudible. "Are . .. hurt?"

"I am well. Something bumped my leg, but it was only
a fish."

Fowler's voice remained silent for a brief moment, then
suddenly rose above all the other sounds: ". . . yourself!
That fish could be a . . ."

Ruha scowled and tried to pull herself farther onto the
beam, but it only twisted and dumped her back into the
sea. She tried again, kicking her feet to help lift her
weight out of the water. Something slammed into the

32

The Harpers

thick part of her leg. Her arms slipped free of the wet
wood, and she felt herself spin and glide away from the
timber. She heard a peal of thunder and realized it was
her own wail of agony, magnified a thousand times by the
magic of her wind spell. A keen, crushing ache erupted in
her thigh and raced through the rest of her body, and
finally she noticed the teeth. They were clamped around
the thick part of her leg, driven deep into her flesh.

Ruha thrust her free hand into the water and caught
hold of a gritty dorsal fin. The fish began to work its jaw
back and forth, scraping the points of its serrated teeth
across her thigh bone. She pulled herself toward its tail
and plunged herjambiya into its flank, then dragged the
curved blade back toward herself. A torrerrtTofcool,
greasy blood gushed from the wound, covering her hand.

The fish dove, dragging Ruha into the black stillness
beneath the sea. She could not see its lashing body, but it
seemed to be the same creature that had bumped her
earlier, about six feet long, with a slender, lashing body
and a plethora of long, pointed fins. She twisted herjam-
biya in the wound and pushed it toward the creature's
underside, praying she would find something that re-
sembled a throat.

The blade struck bone, and the jaws other attacker
closed more tightly, threatening to crush her thigh. The
fish whipped its head from side-to-side. Ruha's flesh tore,
and her lungs burned with the need for fresh air. She
thrust Yierjambiya into the side of the beast's head and
slashed through something soft. She felt a rush of frothy
water, but the creature seemed to feel no pain. It whipped
its body around and went deeper, jerking her after it. A
sharp crack reverberated up her spine, followed by a bru-
tal, stabbing pang that seemed to spring from her bone
marrow itself. The witch opened her mouth—she could
not stop herself—and screamed.

A deafening roar throbbed through the water, striking
Ruha's eardrums with such force that it seemed her
entire skull had shattered. Without realizing she had

The Veiled Dragon             33

raised them, the witch found her hands clamped over her
pulsing ears, the hilt other dead husband's jambiya
pressed against her temple. The sound had a much
greater effect on the fish. The creature's body went slack,
its jaws opened, and it began to squirm about drunkenly,
nearly tangling itself in her aba before it scraped its
gritty tail across her cheek and vanished into the black
waters.

Ruha had a fierce urge to cough and realized that her
body had been trying to fill its air-starved lungs with sea-
water. She clamped her jaws shut and kicked toward the
surface—then nearly forgot herself and screamed again
when a sharp jolt of pain shot through her thigh bone.
Continuing to kick with her good leg, the witch lowered a
hand and found a mangled circle of flesh just below her
left hip. The water felt alarmingly warm, and she could
feel a steady current of blood flowing from the wound.

When Ruha's head finally broke the surface, her ears
were still ringing from her underwater scream. She could
not hear the wind wailing, but she did feel its cool touch
upon her skin and immediately started to gasp and
cough, causing such a roar with her booming voice that
she felt it in her feet. Already, she was growing dizzy
from blood loss, and she feared she would die before her
coughing spasm ended.

Ruha slipped her jambiya into its sheath and set about
unbuckling her belt. As simple as the task was, she could
hardly accomplish it. With only one leg able to move and
both hands required to undo the clasp, she could barely
tread water. Her sodden aba kept dragging her beneath
the surface, and she feared that if she allowed herself to
sink too far, she would not have the strength to swim
back to the surface.

From behind Ruha came the muffled, distant-sounding
murmur of a man's voice. She spun herself around and,
less than twenty yards away, saw a ragged section of hull
planks lashed to three, low-floating oil casks. Atop the
makeshift raft stood Captain Fowler and the other man,

34

The Harpers

both shouting at the witch and waving her toward the
raft.

"I am unable to swim!" Ruha's voice roared like a
falling wall inside her own head, and both Fowler and his
crewman cringed at its volume. "A fish attacked me. My
leg is—"

Ruha's explanation ended in a strangled cry of alarm
as a huge, gritty snout bumped into her back. The witch
took three deep breaths while the body of the great fish
brushed along her flank, its dorsal fin harrowing the
water like a ship's prow. At last, the creature passed,
drawing a sharp hiss when its massive tail slapped the
witch's mangled leg.

Ruha stopped fussing with her belt and filled her
lungs, at the same time glancing in Captain Fowler's
direction. The half-ore's eyes were bulging out of their
sockets, and he was frantically tying a rope around the
waist of his trembling companion.

A mountainous dune rose beside Ruha, and she saw
the dark line of a dorsal fin emerging from its face. She
closed her eyes and buried her head in the water, at the
same time voicing the mightiest, deepest bellow her
aching throat could manage. Again, the water throbbed,
hammering her eardrums with a terrible, pulsing ache.

Before the witch could pull her head from the water,
the enormous fish hit her—but she did not feel its long
teeth tearing through her torso. Instead, the beast's nose
slipped beneath her hips, and she slid along its spine
until the creature started to roll toward her. With one
hand, the witch caught its dorsal fin and pushed away,
narrowly escaping being forced beneath the surface. The
monster floated belly up for a moment, then slowly
writhed down into the sea.

The snout of a smaller fish nosed Ruha's shoulder;

then she felt the rough skin of yet another creature rasp-
ing across her foot. "There are more?" she shrieked. "By
Afar, I hate this sea!"

Over the roaring of the dunes came the alarmed mur-


The Veiled Dragon             35

mur of Captain Fowler's voice, so muted by the ringing in
Ruha's ears that she could not understand what he was
saying. She looked up and saw him only ten yards away,
pointing in the direction in which the monstrous fish had
vanished a moment earlier. Beside him stood the sailor
with the rope tied around his waist, staring into the dark
waters and stubbornly shaking his head.

The witch filled her lungs with air and spun around to
see a huge black fin slicing toward her, albeit on a some-
what crooked course. She pushed her head beneath the
water and, summoning her voice from deep down in her
bowels, bellowed. Again, the sea pulsed with her fear and
anger, and again the great fish rolled on its back.

Ruha turned toward her rescuers and saw six more of
the beasts floating with their bellies toward the sky. They
all had wedge-shaped snouts and small, pitiless black
eyes and shovel-shaped mouths. She began to pull herself
through the surging waters. Her head was spinning from
the loss of blood, and she did not know how she would
find the strength to reach the raft before the monsters
recovered and swarmed her again.

The witch had taken no more than three strokes before
Captain Fowler grabbed the reluctant sailor by his collar
and belt, and pitched him into the sea. The man splashed
down two yards away. Ruha expected the fellow to turn
away and swim for the raft, but instead he cast an angry
glance in her direction and thrust out his hand. She
stretched forward and caught his wrist, digging her fin-
gernails deep into the flesh of his forearm. The sailor
scowled, but rolled onto his back and started to kick his
legs. Captain Fowler hauled on the rope, pulling them
back toward the raft.

Ruha looked over her shoulder and saw the stunned
fish already beginning to twitch and squirm. She
wrapped her hand into the short length of rope holding
up the sailor's dingy trousers.

"Cover your ears!" The man cringed at the sound of
Ruha's booming voice. "And keep kicking!"

36

The Harpers

After the sailor put his hands to his ears, the witch
pushed her face beneath the surface and let out another
bellow. The concussion once more stunned the small fish
into inaction, but the monster was too far away. Its fins
continued to flutter, and its immense body slowly rolled
in the water.

Ruha felt Fowler's thick hand in her hair. He twisted
his fingers into her unbound tresses and lifted her out of
the water. It was a painful way to be hauled from the sea,
but the witch did not complain. She grabbed a lashing
and scrambled completely aboard, hissing in pain as she
dragged her savaged leg across the wet planks. She
rolled onto her back and saw the sailor clutching the
edge of the raft, struggling in vain to pull himself aboard.
Behind him, the huge fish had righted itself and was
already swinging its snout toward the raft.

"By the burning face ofAt'ar!" Ruha snarled, swearing
her oath in the name of the fiery Bedine sun goddess. She
thrust her hand into her aba and rummaged through its
blood-soaked pockets. "That monster has troubled me
enough!"

The sailor looked back toward the great fish. The crea-
ture was half-submerged, snaking a slow, crooked path
toward the raft. Captain Fowler reached past Ruha to
grab the man's shoulder, but the fellow shook his head
and swam away. At first, the witch did not understand
what he was doing; after his initial reluctance to help
her, he hardly seemed the type to draw a sea-monster
away from his companions. Then, when the beast did not
change course, she noticed the slippery red ribbon she
had left on the raft planks. Perhaps lions and jackals
could not follow blood trails through water, but they did
not breathe the stuff.

Fish did.

Ruha withdrew two small packets from her pocket, one
filled with sand, the other with lime. She poured the con-
tents of both packages into her palm and spit on them.
As the witch mixed them together, Captain Fowler took a

The Veiled Dragon             37

boarding axe from his belt and stepped forward to meet
the advancing fish. She grabbed the half-ore's leg and
pulled him roughly back.

"This fish belongs to me. Captain." Though Ruha was
trying to speak quietly, Fowler flinched and instinctively
retreated from her thunderous voice. She drew him to
her side. "Help me stand."

The captain glanced at the approaching monster,
which had now submerged almost completely. Only the
tip of its dorsal fin still showed, slicing across the face of
a heaving dune. Fowler slipped a hand under Ruha's arm
and pulled her up.

The dorsal fin was only five yards away when the ris-
ing dune swallowed it. With Fowler's help, Ruha
retreated to the back of the raft. A dull buzz started to
drone in her ears, and swirls of dark fog swam along the
edges of her vision. The witch had lost too much blood to
be standing. Her knees buckled, and, had it not been for
the captain's support, she would have fallen.

As Ruha struggled to call her spell to mind, a huge
gray snout burst from the water and crashed down on the
corner of the raft. A pair of tiny, wide-set eyes flared
briefly; then the monster squirmed forward. The raft
listed toward the trough of the dune, and the witch
feared they would flip over. Her vision narrowed to a
black tunnel. She reached out and slapped the fish on the
nose, smearing the sand mixture over its rough hide.

The fish twisted sideways, temporarily preventing the
raft from tipping farther, and opened its mouth. The
beast's teeth were as large and ugly as spearheads, and
Ruha knew they would tear her into bite-size pieces with
a single snap. She uttered the incantation of a stone
spell, at the same time hurling herself backward into
Fowler's arms. They fell onto the deck together, leaving
their attacker's great jaws to clap shut on empty air.

A pearly sheen swept over the head of the great fish
and down its huge body. The creature squirmed farther
onto the raft, forcing Ruha and Fowler to the very edge of

38 The Harpers

the vessel's high side. It slapped the water with its tail,
driving itself forward, and the magical luster of the
witch's spell suddenly drained from its gritty skin. The
beast grew as drab and gray as ash, and the duller it
became, the slower it moved. By the time its jaws were
within striking range, the monster's entire body had
grown as drab and motionless as a mudstone sculpture.

Captain Fowler stretched a tentative leg toward the
gaping jaws and, when his foot did not get bitten off,
pushed the monstrous head off the raft. The fish slipped
from sight and vanished beneath the dark water as
swiftly as a stone. The witch slumped onto the deck and
began fumbling at her buckle, praying she could stay
conscious long enough to tie her belt around her bleeding
leg.

Ruha had barely unlocked the clasp before her head
thudded onto the planks and her vision went entirely
black. She felt Fowler's stout fingers tugging at the belt,
then the tinny sound of a man's fading voice: "Hey! These
sharks..."

Sometime later, the witch awoke to a throbbing leg
and the sound of arguing voices.

". . . witch for?" whined the sailor. "She's the reason
we're here, I say!"

"I don't give a squid's lips what you say, Arvold! I order
a man to swim, I'll not have to throw him!"

Ruha tried to open her eyes, found the effort too tiring,
and settled for reaching down to feel her savaged leg. Her
thigh was girded by a crude tourniquet, and her aba was
torn clear to the hip—that would cost her the use of a few
sand spells, depending upon how easy she found it to
reconstruct the torn symbols. Her flesh was not yet numb
and still warm to the touch, so the witch guessed she had
been unconscious no more than two or three minutes.

"There'd have been no need to throw me, if it were
worth going in," growled Arvold. "But there was no call to
swim for the witch. We should've let the sharks take her."

"That's for the captain to say, not you!" Captain

The Veiled Dragon             39

Fowler's declaration was followed by the creak of a
weapon's blade being torn from a plank. "I've no use for
cowards, sailmender!"

"Captain Fowler, you have little room to be calling
other men cowards." The spell ofloudness had lapsed
when Ruha fell unconscious, so her voice sounded as
weak and frail as that of any woman who had nearly bled
to death. "I fail to see how a man who hurls another into
danger is any braver than his victim."

The witch forced her eyes open and raised her head.
Her two companions sat on the front of the raft, each fac-
ing the other from his own corner. Captain Fowler, who
was holding a boarding axe in his fist, brought the
weapon down and buried its head in the edge of a plank.

"It's a good thing you were the one in the water, not
me." Fowler glared at his sailmender. "Do you think
Arvold would've pulled us back? He'd have left us to the
sharks and thanked Umberlee for the chum."

Ruha let her head fall back to the deck, then rolled it
to one side so she could study Arvold's face. The sail-
mender had a sharp-featured face with a hawkish nose
and dark, glistening eyes, and in his expression there
was no denial of anything Fowler claimed. Still, whether
he had done it willingly or not, Arvold had saved the
witch at the peril of his own life, and she was not so far
gone from Anauroch that she had forgotten what such an
act meant to a Bedine.

"Perhaps what Captain Fowler claims is true, Arvold,"
Ruha said. "But even so, you saved my life at the risk of
your own. Until I have done the same, I am yours to com-
mand."

Captain Fowler winced at the statement. Arvold's lips
curled into a lecherous grin, and he ran his dark gaze up
the witch's exposed leg, over her bare hip, and up to her
dark, ripe lips.

Ruha's cheeks burned with embarrassment, for she
was unaccustomed to having men ogle her naked face.
Save for her short tenure as a spy in Voonlar, she had

40 The Harpers

ignored the Heartland women's custom of baring their
visages in public, preferring to keep her own face con-
cealed beneath a heavy scarf. All that she usually showed
were her brown eyes, her aquiline nose, and, when her
veil slipped low, the tribal hash marks tattooed on her
cheeks.

"Well now!" Arvold continued to leer. "That changes
things."

Ruha turned away, raising a hand to cover her face. "I
did not mean I would . . ." The words caught in her dry
throat. "My words did not imply what you think. In
Anauroch, they are a pledge of allegiance and debt."

"We're not in the desert, witch!" Arvold snarled. "We're
in the middle of the bloody Dragonmere—and I say you
owe me something for that, too!"

The raft bounced gently as Arvold crawled across the
deck. Ruha let her hand drop to her jambiya, both
angered by the fool's lechery and frightened she would
have to slay him to save her honor. He could not believe
she had meant to offer herself as a woman—or could he?
She raised herself on an elbow and looked toward the
sailmender. He stopped just beyond her reach, his gaze
fixed on the curved dagger at her belt.

As Arvold contemplated his next move, a dark fog
began to gather at the edges of Ruha's vision. The sharp
angles of the sailmender's face seemed to soften before
her, and his rough complexion grew smooth and yellow-
ish. His hawkish nose shrank to a more graceful size and
curved upward at the end. Folds of skin appeared at the
corner of his eyes, giving them a narrow, slanted appear-
ance, and his hair turned black and silky.

Ruha's hand loosened around her dagger, but she did
not gasp, or even worry that she was falling into uncon-
sciousness again. She had been suffering visions since
before she could walk, so she recognized the change in
Arvold's face for what it was: a mirage from the future.
Sometime soon, she would meet a man with the face that
had appeared over the sailmender's. She could not say

The Veiled Dragon             41

what would happen then, but she doubted it would be
anything good. It was never anything good.

Ruha's first mirage had been of thousands of butter-
flies. Later that year, her tribe had been forced to camp
at an oasis infested with moths, and soon every piece of
cloth in the khowwan was full of holes. Later, the face of
a handsome stranger had appeared over that of her hus-
band, Ajaman. Ajaman had died that night; the hand-
some stranger had arrived soon after to help Ruha's
people fight the ones who had murdered her husband.
She had eventually taken the stranger, the Harper
named Lander, as a lover—only to see him felled by the
same enemy that had slain Ajaman.

Noticing Ruha's distraction, Arvold slid forward, still
wearing the face of a slant-eyed stranger. When he
stretched a hand toward her dagger, his fingers suddenly
changed into sharp talons. The flesh of his arm turned
black and scaly, and the pupils of his eyes narrowed into
vertical slits with irises as black as obsidian. A crest of
jet-colored fins sprouted along his back, and the long,
lashing tail of a dragon appeared at the base of his spine.

Ruha tried to pull her jambiya, but the sailmender's
claw lashed out quick as a serpent and caught her wrist.
She cried out and slammed her forehead into the strange
face. Arvold raised his free hand to slap her, and it, too,
was a black claw.

Captain Fowler appeared behind his sailmender and
caught the man's scaly arm. Arvold's dragon tail disap-
peared instantly, as did his scales, his talons, and his
crest of dark fins. His pupils grew round, the yellowish
tint vanished from his skin, his nose grew hawkish
again, and Fowler continued to hold his wrist.

"Arvold, you know what the witch meant to say. Do you
really want to hold her to the letter of what she said,
knowing what she's liable to do if you anger her?"

The sailmender continued to stare at Ruha's bare face,
his leer more angry than lustful. Though she felt bashful
and naked without her veil, the witch forced herself to

42 The Harpers

return his gaze with an icy glare.

At last, Arvold released the witch's arm. "Ah, Umber-
lee take you!" He pushed himself to his corner of the raft.
"If that's how you repay your debts, I'll have nothing to
do with you."

Ruha let her head fall back onto the deck, weakened
by both her vision and the trouble with Arvold.

Captain Fowler's swinish face appeared over her.

"Sorry I didn't move faster, Witch," he whispered. "But
after you nearly called me a coward, I—"

Ruha raised a hand. "Do not apologize, Captain. You
warned me before not to question your judgment—and I
should have been able to handle Arvold without your
help."

Fowler nodded. "Aye, any Harper should've, but you
hesitated—and why you let him grab your dagger arm,
I'll never know."

"I have lost a lot of blood," Ruha said.

The witch balked at telling Fowler about the mirage,
for she had long ago learned that few people understood
her visions. Her own tribe had banished her from their
camps, believing her wicked magic caused the calamities
she foresaw. Even in the Heartlands, she had twice been
stoned for warning people of disasters about to befall
them, and once she had been accosted for not foreseeing a
catastrophe that befell the flirtatious young daughter of
the mayor ofTeshwave.

The witch rolled her head away from Fowler. "Perhaps
I was just too weak."

The captain checked the tourniquet on her leg, then
laid his leathery palm on her forehead. "You're losing no
more blood, but you do feel cold as a barnacle." He
grabbed her chin and pulled it around so he could look
her in the eye. "You wouldn't be thinking of dying on me,
would you Witch?"

Ruha tried to chuckle and failed. "Not without your
permission, Captain."

Fowler glared at her from the corner of one eye. "Aye,

The Veiled Dragon             43

that's good." He grabbed the collar of his tunic and
turned it inside out, displaying the Harper's pin Ruha
had given to him. "I've every intention of collecting on
your promise—and don't think you can squirm out of it,
like you did with Arvold."

Ruha managed a weak smile. "Get me to Pros, and you
shall have your ship."

"That I shall, Witch—and it'll be easier than you
think." The captain grinned broadly, then stood and
turned toward the front of the raft. "Arvold, man your
paddle!"

Three

The caravel's bowsprit shot over the
dune crest, less the twenty yards from
the raft. Beneath the giant spar, illu-
minated by the pearlescent sphere of
a silver glass lantern, hung the mag-
nificent sculpture of a square-snouted
dragon. With its delicately curled
horns, ball-shaped eyes, and lustrous
green scales, the beast looked nothing like the wyrm that
had destroyed the Storm Sprite. The figurehead's glower-
ing face appeared more reproachful than vicious, and
there was nothing in its expression to suggest bloodlust
or insatiable greed. Still, the thing was clearly a dragon,
and that was enough to give Ruha pause.




The caravel's great prow burst through the back side of
the dune, hurling curtains of spray high into the air.
Ruha pointed at the figurehead.

"Do you see that, Captain Fowler? Is that not a
dragon's head?"

The witch sat near the back corner of the raft, her
mangled thigh extended before her. During the twenty
minutes it had taken Fowler and Arvold to paddle into
the caravel's path, everything below the tourniquet had
grown numb and cool to the touch, and now the leg was
beginning to turn blue, as she could tell whenever the
moon's silver light flashed across her bare flesh.

When Captain Fowler did not comment on the figure-


The Veiled Dragon             45

head, Ruha asked, "Why does the caravel carry such a
thing on its bow? Could that be the reason the dragon

attacked it?"

Fowler set aside the plank he had been using as a
paddle. "I think not, Witch. Half the prows on the Drag-
onmere bear figureheads of such fiends, to scare off mon-
sters of the deep."

Ruha studied the figurehead more carefully, then
shook her head. "That carving does not look frightening

to me."

The captain had no time to answer, for the bow of the
great caravel was already slipping past. Along the wales
stood a dozen dark figures, all shining storm lanterns
over the rail. Both Fowler and Arvold jumped to their
feet and waved their arms in excitement. From the shad-
ows behind the lantern bearers emerged a figure holding
a large bow nocked with a white, round-nosed arrow.

The man loosed his bowstring. The white shaft sailed
over the raft, trailing a thick dark cord. Fowler let the
line fall upon the planks, then grabbed it and pulled the
arrow aboard. He snapped the shank at its base, then he
and Arvold started to thread the rope through the raft
lashings. As they worked, the caravel continued to lum-
ber past, taking up the rescue line's slack at an alarming
pace. The lantern bearers walked toward the great ship's
stern, trying to keep their lights focused upon the raft.
The heaving sea made their task an impossible one, forc-
ing Ruha's companions to labor in an irritating kaleido-
scope of flashing beams. By the time the pair finished,
the rescue line was stretching taut and the lantern bear-
ers were standing atop what remained of their ship's bat-
tered poop deck.

"Hold fast!"

Resuming his place at the front corner, Arvold fell to
the deck and grabbed the edges of the planks. Fowler
dropped beside Ruha, flinging one arm over her shoul-
ders and pinning her to the wet planks. The witch had
barely twined her fingers into the lashings before the

46

The Harpers

rescue line snapped tight and jerked the raft so violently
it left the water.

The flimsy vessel splashed into the water an instant
later. From that moment on, it seemed to Ruha that they
spent as much time traveling beneath the surface as they
did above it. Every time they came to another sea dune,
the rescue line would drag them through its steep face,
burying the raft under a foamy torrent that threatened
to sweep the witch and her companions into the Dragon-
mere. A moment later, they would emerge on the other
side and drop into the trough, then slam into the face of
the next dune and disappear beneath the raging sea.

Between dousings, Ruha gasped, "Surely, there is a—"
She grunted as they slammed into a trough. "—a better
way to bring us aboard!"

The caravel pulled them through another sea dune.
When they came out the other side, Fowler asked, "Can
you fly, Witch?"

"That is bird magic," Ruha answered. "If I could fly,
why would . . . ugh! . . . why would I have hired you to
sail me across the Dragonmere?"

After they plunged through another dune. Fowler said,
"Then this is the only way. In a Sea this rough, a big ship
like that can't be stopping to take aboard passengers!"

They slammed into another trough; then the ride
smoothed out as they entered the caravel's wake. The
ship's crew hauled the raft up to the stern corner and
lowered a rope. Fowler tied Ruha in first, and the line
tightened around her chest. She rose alongside the rud-
der more than fifteen feet before she reached the somer-
castle and began to scrape along its back wall. The witch
bit her lip to keep from crying out. Though her mangled
leg was too numb to feel anything, she had many other
cuts and bruises that protested the rough treatment.

After a painful ascent of another ten feet, several pairs
of hands caught her beneath the arms and pulled her
into the ruins of a luxurious officer's cabin. The walls, or
rather what remained of them, were draped with silken

The Veiled Dragon             47

tapestries depicting fanciful scenes of domestic bliss, and
the floor was covered by wool carpet as plush and finely
loomed as those woven by Ruha's own people.

A pair of rescuers leaned over the witch, and she
gasped. Both men had smooth, yellow-tinted features,
with small noses and narrow, slanted eyes. Neither face
matched the one she had seen in her vision, but they
obviously belonged to the same race as the man in the

mirage.

The elder of the pair, a distinguished-looking man with
graying hair and a yellow patch over one eye, spoke to
the other in a Kiting language of short syllables and fluc-
tuating pitches. Both men were slight of build and no
taller than Ruha herself, and they wore high-necked
tunics with long sleeves and hems that swept the floor.

When the first man finished speaking, the second
bowed to him, then bowed to Ruha. "Please to allow me
to present Mandarin Hsieh Han Liu, Imperial Minister
of Spices to Emperor Kao Tsao Shou Tang, Jade—"

The one-eyed man hissed at the speaker, who contin-
ued his introduction with barely a pause, "Jade Monarch
of Shou Lung and of all Civilized Lands."

The one-eyed man bowed to Ruha, who sat upright and
dipped her chin in return. Across the cabin, several more
small, yellow-skinned men were hauling up the other end
of the rescue line, which they had tossed down to the raft
once she was aboard. Anxious to avoid being dragged
overboard if their hands slipped, the witch began to untie
herself.

"I am called Ruha." She spoke directly to the one-eyed
man, who could hardly have corrected his translator
without himself understanding Common. "I thank you
for saving my life, Minister Hsieh."

"Many thanks to you, also. You save Emperor's ship,
and lives of many humble servants." Hsieh bowed again,
letting pass his facade of not speaking Common. He
motioned to a corner behind Ruha, and an old man with
a knobby, shaven head stepped out of the shadows.

48

The Harpers

"Please to allow physician to see leg."

"Physician?"

"The mandarin's healer," explained Hsieh's assistant.

When the witch nodded, the physician kneeled at her
side and set a box of carved ivory upon the floor. He
pulled her tattered aba away to inspect the savaged leg
The constant deluge of sea water had kept the wound
surprisingly clean, so Ruha saw that the fish had cut a
circular laceration into the side other thigh. The bite was
nearly a foot in diameter, and in one place so deep she
saw a white sliver of bone.

Captain Fowler clambered into the cabin and steppfc ~
brusquely to Ruha's side, mercifully drawing her atten
tion away from her leg. "How you faring? Will you live
until I get my cog?"

Frowning at the half-ore's swinish face, Hsieh stepped
back and called something sharp through the cabin's
shattered doorway.

Ruha cocked an eyebrow at Fowler. "Surely, you do not
intend to be rude, Captain." She gestured to the man-
darin. "Allow me to present you to Minister Hsieh Han
Liu, Imperial Minister of Spices to the Emperor Kao Tsao
Shou Tang—"

"Jade Dragon of Shou Lung and all civilized lands—I
know." Despite the undue emphasis he had placed on the
word civilized, Fowler bowed deeply to the mandarin.
"I've run cargo for the Ginger Palace a time or two—
though I've never had the pleasure of boarding one of
your junks before."

Hsieh relaxed and once again called down the corridor,
then returned the half-ore's bow—though not so deeply,
and without taking his gaze from Fowler's eyes.
"Captain Fowler? Then you give order to attack dragon?"

"Aye." Fowler nodded. "But it was the Lady Witch's
idea, and her magic that destroyed it."

Both the mandarin and his assistant regarded Ruha
with renewed respect, and the physician began to probe
her wounds more gently. Hsieh bowed to Ruha again.

The Veiled Dragon             49

"Forgive my discourtesy, but you do not call yourself
Lady Ruha. Do you require anything?"

Ruha scowled, puzzled by Hsieh's reaction. She was
accustomed to strange reactions when people discov-
ered she was a witch, but that did not seem to be what
troubled the mandarin.

"Please, Minister Hsieh, I am not. .."

Fowler's head twisted ever so slightly from side to side.

Since the captain had at least some acquaintance with
the Shou, Ruha decided to follow his lead. "Please, I am
not accustomed to showing my face. I need a shawl and

veil."

Hsieh glanced at his translator, who said something

into his ear. The mandarin scowled, and they had a short
exchange, then the assistant bowed and scurried out of

the cabin.

"Yu Po goes to fetch finest scarves from our cargo."

As Hsieh spoke, the physician pulled a pair of silver
tongs from his box. The old man opened the instrument
slightly and slipped the jaws into the deepest part of
Ruha's wound, where she had glimpsed her white bone.

"Say if this hurt. Lady Ruha."

The physician closed the tongs, then worked them
back and forth. Ruha heard a faint crunching sound. She
felt a gentle vibration deep in her hip, but her leg had
gone so numb below the tourniquet that she barely
noticed the metal rubbing her mangled flesh. The old
man gave his instrument a final twist and withdrew a
huge triangle of serrated tooth.

"When the fish attacked, I ... I heard something
crack," Ruha gasped. "I thought the thing had broken my

leg."

"Leg fine. Bone strong."

The physician returned his tongs to the ivory box and
withdrew a handful of yellow powder, which he carefully
sprinkled into the bite. Once the entire gash was filled
with the dust, he half-whistled a series of strange, high-
pitched syllables. The powder vanished with a flash of

50

The Harpers

golden light; then a ring of brownish smoke drifted from
the wound and filled the little cabin with the smell of
brine and burnt flesh. The old man inspected the results,
then took a hooked needle and a length of black thread
from his box. When he began to sew, Ruha felt nothing
more than an occasional tug.

The Shou crewmen soon pulled the raft's last survivor,
Arvold, into the cabin. Hsieh regarded the bedraggled
sailmender with an enigmatic gaze, scrutinizing the
shabby tunic and the length of rope that held up his
trousers. He glanced at Captain Fowler, whose dress was
only marginally better, then looked back to Ruha for an
introduction.

"The sailmender," Ruha explained.

"Put him where you can watch him," warned Fowler.
"He's a hopeless thief, but he's good with a needle. I'd
hate for you to lop off one of his hands."

Hsieh raised his brow at the frank appraisal, then
spoke to two of his men, who promptly escorted the sail-
mender out of the cabin.

"They put him with others," explained the mandarin.

"Others?" Ruha could not keep the hope out other
voice. She considered the sinking of the Storm Sprite her
doing, and it would ease her conscience to hear the crew
had survived. "How many did you save?"

Hsieh's lip curled disdainfully, whether at the witch's
concern or the memory of the human dregs his crew had
dragged from the sea, Ruha did not know.

"We save ten men," the mandarin reported. "But ton-
rongs do not treat them well."

"Tonrongs?" Ruha asked.

"Sharks," Fowler explained. "The lions of the sea, 'cept
they eat anything, and they're always hungry."

Hsieh nodded. "Yes. Tonrongs take limbs from four of
your men, and they soon die."

Ruha felt a guilty emptiness in her stomach. Unless
they found more survivors, three-quarters of the Storm
Sprite's crew would perish. She let a weary groan slip

The Veiled Dragon             51

from her lips, which caused the physician to jerk his

bloody finger out other wound.
"So sorry. Lady! Did not mean to cause pain."
Fowler regarded Ruha with renewed concern, then

turned to the physician. "She going to die before we reach

port?"

The physician's shaved scalp turned an angry orange.
"Not die at all! I treat Emperor once!" He tried to slip a
finger under Ruha's tourniquet and barely succeeded,
then nodded his head approvingly. "Not even lose leg—

maybe."

Ruha mewled, then clamped her jaw shut to keep from
showing any more fear. Despite her efforts, her lips
began to tremble and beads of cold sweat rolled down her

brow.

Hsieh spoke harshly to the old man, who paled and
stooped even closer to his work.

"I tell physician if you lose leg, he lose leg. But if he fail
anyway, I give you leg's weight in gold." The generous
offer drew an astonished gasp from Fowler, but the man-
darin was not finished. "Also, Emperor's treasury pays
for loss of ship, and more, when we reach Ilipur."

Deciding it would be wiser to let Hsieh draw his own
conclusions about who owned the Storm Sprite, Ruha
said, "My business is in Pros, Minister Hsieh. I under-
stand it is on the way. Perhaps you would put us ashore
there?"

A look of chagrin flashed across the mandarin's face.
"All our gold vanish with dragon. Nothing left on Ginger
Lady but spice and ylang blossom."

"Nevertheless, I prefer—"

"Lady Witch, Ilipur's but a short distance up the
shore." Fowler narrowed his eyes, trying to fill his glower
with subtle menace. "It'll take only a few days extra."

Ruha returned Fowler's glare with a disdainful glance.
"And what of the people I am to meet in Pros? How long
will they wait?" She looked back to Hsieh. "Put us ashore
in Pros, and I will ask only one reward of you."

52

The Harpers




Hsieh glanced at her sodden aba, no doubt reevaluat-
ing his first impression of her wealth. Only a woman of
great resources would decline the reward he had
promised.

The mandarin inclined his head. "If it is in my power, I
give you whatever you ask."

"Please tell me about the dragon. Why did it attack
your ship?"

"That's our reward?" Fowler bellowed.

Hsieh's glance darted from Fowler to his crewmen.
Two men quickly flanked the captain, their heads rising
barely as high as the half-ore's brawny shoulders.

"Aboard Ginger Lady, even captain respect Lady,"
Hsieh warned.

Fowler's eyes flashed at the admonishment, but he
stood very still and made no further protests.

Hsieh turned back to Ruha, arching his fine eyebrows.
"I do not understand question. Dragon attacks ship to
steal gold. That is reason dragon does anything."

Ruha shook her head. "That wyrm was not an ordinary
one, nor does the Ginger Lady seem an ordinary ship
The creature attacked you for another reason, and the
reward I ask is that you tell me why."

A nervous croak slipped from Fowler's lips. Before the
sound could become a word, the guards seized his hands
and folded his wrists inward against their joints. The
half-ore hissed in pain and looked away from the witch.

The mandarin pretended not to notice the captain's
slip, but his face lost all expression and became as
unreadable as a stone. "I do not understand, Lady Ruha.
Why do you believe we know dragon?"

The image of a yellow face changing into a black
dragon flashed through Ruha's mind, but she did not
even consider telling Hsieh about the mirage. Judging by
Fowler's reactions so far, the Shou were a dangerous
people, and she had no idea how they might react to her
visions.

Ruha paused to pick her words, then said, "Does the

The Veiled Dragon             53

Ginger Lady not carry a dragon's figurehead on her
prow? And was my captain mistaken when he called your
emperor the Jade Dragon instead of the Jade Monarch?"

Fowler closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

The mandarin showed no sign of anger—or any other
emotion. "Lady Ruha, greatest dragons are not evil. I do
not know why evil dragon attacks Ginger Lady, except to
take gold. I go to Elversult on unfortunate business that
has nothing to do with dragon. I never see that dragon
before."

"This unfortunate business you speak of, could it
involve the dragon?" Ruha asked.

The narrowing of Hsieh's eyes was barely perceptible,
but it was enough to alarm Fowler.

"Lady Ruha, the Shou are an honorable bunch."
Though the captain struggled to keep his tone deferen-
tial, Ruha could hear both anger and fear lurking just
beneath the surface. "If the mandarin's business has
something to do with the dragon, he'd say so. It's—uh—
bad manners to hint he's holding back."

Hsieh nodded. "Am so sorry. Lady Ruha, but you make
poor bargain to trade your due for what little I know of
dragon. Perhaps I find some other way to reward your
noble service." The mandarin spoke to his men, then
went to the cabin's shattered doorway and bowed to
Ruha. "Until then, I am most happy to leave you in Pros."

Four

\      The sky above the Ginger Palace
\-^ was lucid and azure, as it could be
nowhere but the arid plain south of
the city ofElversult. Anticipating a
pleasant morning of solitude in the
confines of his private park. Prince
Tang crossed the humped back of Five
Color Bridge, strode down the opal-
paved Path of Delight, and stopped beneath the irides-
cent curve of the Arch ofMany-Hued Scales.




From the sleeve pocket of his maitung—the long silken
tunic favored by Shou noblemen—the prince withdrew a
large golden key. It was shaped like a chameleon's head,
with broad shoulder flanges and a sinuous blade resem-
bling a long, flickering tongue. He rapped the top three
times against the entryway's red-lacquered gates, then
inserted the blade into a brass keyway, turned the latch,
and pushed the heavy portals aside.

Prince Tang did not find his pets arrayed before the
gate, as they customarily were. Instead, the rocky plaza
was strangely barren, save for a half dozen buzzing, blue-
black mounds scattered along one edge. Beyond the dron-
ing fly clusters, twenty quartzite boulders imported from
Calimshan had been torn from their footings and strewn
over the carefully shaped dunes of the park's desert quar-
ter. In the forest region, circles of bark had been scratched
around the trunks of the most exotic trees, and in the

The Veiled Dragon

55

iungle zone, the meticulously strung jasmine vines lay
sliced and twined about the base of the bamboo stalks.
The swamp area was covered with tangled mats of pink
and blue and yellow, decorative grasses torn from the
bottom and left to drift on the murky waters, while the
lotus blossoms and lily pads had been thrown onto the
muddy bank to wither and die.

Tang could see only one of his pets, an elusive, jet-
black river monitor. The great lizard had dragged itself
from the swamp and stretched its fifteen-foot length over
a stone bench, leaving its webbed feet, thick tail, and
slender head to dangle over the sides. The beast's neck
was twisted toward the gate, as though it had been
awaiting the prince's arrival when the last gleam of hope
seeped from its dull eyes.

Tang stared at the lifeless monitor for several bewil-
dered moments, then finally realized that some con-
temptible barbarian had violated the sanctity of his
garden. He retreated through the Arch ofMany-Hued
Scales, screaming as though he had been stabbed.

At the first shriek, a company of ten sentries appeared
on the Path of Delight, emerging from camouflaged posts
behind the walkway's white-blossomed hedges. In the
blink of an eye, Tang was encircled by a bristling wall of
scale-armored men equipped with long, curve-bladed hal-
berds. They neither touched their master nor inquired as
to the reason for his scream, but simply stood ready to
obey his orders and defend his life.

Prince Tang entered his garden again, his protective
shell of soldiers compressing around him as he passed
through the arch. He stopped inside the gateway, remain-
ing silent while his guards examined the scene. He did
not speak until their tortoise-shell helmets had stopped
pivoting on their shoulders and the last gasp had fallen

silent.

"How does this happen?" demanded the prince. "Is it
not your duty to protect Garden of Flickering Tongues?"

The company officer, a young moon-faced noble named

56

The Harpers

Yuan Ti, dropped to his knees and touched his forehead
to the stones at Tang's feet. "Mighty Prince, your guards
fail you." Since his voice was directed at the ground
Yuan sounded as though he were mumbling. "We see no
one enter garden."

The prince snorted at the explanation. "How could it
be otherwise? If you see intruder, he would be dead
would he not?" Only Tang himself used the garden; not
even his wife, Princess Wei Dao, was allowed inside.
Though Yuan could not see the gesture with his head
pressed to the ground, the prince waved his hand at the
destruction. "But does no one hear falling of stones, or
scratching of trees, or ripping of vines?"

Yuan kept his brow pressed to the ground. "Great
Majesty, your unworthy guards hear nothing, smell noth-
ing, feel nothing. Please to punish."

Tang ignored the request. "Go search garden."

The prince could not imagine how his guards had
missed the sound of the park being destroyed, but he
knew the young noble would never lie to him. No Shou
officer would commit such a treason, and not only
because he feared for his family's heads. The offense
would dishonor his ancestors, causing them to lose their
places in the Celestial Bureaucracy—an offense said
ancestors would surely repay with all manner of curses
and incurable plagues.

While the guards searched the park, Tang retreated
through the gate and waited outside, praying to the spir-
its of his ancestors to guide his sentries to the vandal who
had destroyed his park. Although the imperial weapon-
masters had taught him to wield a sword as well as any
man, it did not even occur to him to stay in the garden
and exact vengeance himself. From his earliest childhood,
the prince had been taught to retreat from danger and
call his guards to take care of the problem. It was a lesson
he had not ignored once in thirty years of life.

At length, the sentries returned with unbloodied
weapons and bowed to Tang. "Garden of Flickering

The Veiled Dragon             57

Tongues is safe for Mighty Prince."
"You do not find vandal?"
Yuan shook his head. "Only lizards, and only lizard

tracks."

Tang considered this, puzzled not by who had ravaged
his garden or why—he knew the answers to both ques-
tions—but by how the intruder had infiltrated the heart
of his palace, vandalized the park, and escaped with his
life. Truly, such a feat was as worthy of admiration as it
was of indignation.

When he could not think of how the culprit had
escaped. Tang sighed wearily. "How unfortunate you did
not capture the intruder. He has given me much work to
do." The prince always tended his garden himself, calling
for aid only when he needed help to move something
heavy. "Return to your posts and punish each other, ten
lashes each."

The faces of the sentries fell. Given the magnitude of
their failure, such a light punishment was humiliating.
Its temperance implied that Tang believed them inca-
pable of doing better—which happened to be the case,
though the prince did not fault the guards for their inad-
equacy. Even the most devoted sentries could not capture
intruders they could not see or hear, or find trespassers
who left no tracks. Such tasks required a wu-jen. Unfor-
tunately, the Minister of Magic was currently at odds
with Tang's own sponsor, Mandarin Hsieh Han Liu, the
Imperial Minister of Spices. Consequently, the Emperor's
wu-jens were considered too valuable to waste on an
inconsequential embassy like the Ginger Palace. Such
political frustrations were a daily part of the prince's life,
and one of the many reasons he preferred the company of
lizards to that of men.

Tang waited until the last guard had stepped aside,
then took his key from the red-lacquered gates and
stepped through the Arch ofMany-Hued Scales. When he
turned to close the gates, he glimpsed his guards glumly
marching toward the Five Color Bridge and decided it

58

The Harpers

would not do to have them brooding over their failure.
They were an elite company, and an elite company with-
out honor was nothing.

"One thing more, my soldiers," he called. "You must
double lashes for any man who fails to draw blood with
each whip stroke."

The guards bowed in acknowledgment, and Yuan could
barely keep from smiling. "Yes, Mighty Prince."

Tang closed the gate and put the key in his sleeve
pocket, leaving the lock unlatched in case the mysterious
vandal returned. He fetched a small shovel, a linen sack,
and a copper bucket from a tool shanty near the jungle
quarter, then took a deep breath and went to the first
mound of flies. As he slid the shovel beneath the droning
heap, the insects rose into the air, revealing a pile of ran-
cid lizard viscera. Fighting his gorge back, he scooped up
the entrails and placed them in the sack, then filled his
bucket from the swamp and washed the stones.

The work was humiliating for a prince, of course, but
Tang preferred doing it himself to having the serenity of
his garden disturbed by servants. He cleaned up the
other mounds of viscera, then placed the bulging sack by
the gate. The entrails had obviously come from the belly
of his dead monitor, for none of the other lizards were
large enough to hold so many intestines. What the prince
did not understand was how the intruder had known it-
was his favorite pet, a rare beast captured in the distant
land of Chult. Only his personal staff knew how dearly
he had paid for the creature, and they would no sooner
betray him than his guards would.

Tang returned his tools to the shanty, then went over
to the dead monitor. He waved aside a cloud of flies and
grabbed the beast by its rear legs.

The beast jerked its feet from the prince's grasp.

Tang cried out and stepped away, his gaze dropping to
the black stains that covered the bench and the stones
beneath it. The stuff looked like dried blood, and the ran-
cid, coppery smell certainly suggested appearances were

The Veiled Dragon

59

correct. He did not see how the monitor could have lost so
much blood and lived. The great lizard raised its head,
fixing a dull-eyed gaze on the prince's face.

"Guards!" Tang stumbled backward toward the gate.
"Yuan! Come quickly!"

The monitor glanced at the gate, and Tang heard the
sharp double click of the heavy lock-bolt sliding into its
catch. He fished the key from his sleeve pocket and con-
tinued to retreat, fighting down his growing panic and
trying to decide whether he dared turn his back to make
a dash for the gate.

Tang, you cannot flee me.

Tang heard the voice not with his ears, but inside his
mind. It was raspy and rumbling, and even if it had come
from the monitor's mouth, it would have been much too
resonant for a lacertilian throat.

That much, you should remember.

"Cy-Cypress?"

The monitor nodded, and Tang's feet suddenly felt as
heavy as boulders. At first, the prince thought the lizard
had cast a spell on him, but he quickly realized that was
impossible. The beast had uttered no mystic syllables,
nor made any arcane gestures with its claws. Instead,
Cypress was using what the Shou called the Invisible
Art, an ancient discipline whose practitioners employed
nothing but the power of their own minds to perform
supernatural acts. Tang had heard that his unwelcome
guest was a master of the venerable art, but until now, he
had been lucky enough to avoid a demonstration.

Tang's guards arrived at the park entrance and began
to hammer on the gates, but they could not break through
with anything short of a battering ram. Both portals
were reinforced with heavy bands of steel, while the lock
itself was the sturdiest Shou smiths could make. The
sentries could not even scale the wall, as it was capped
with a double crest of barbed spikes.

Cypress slunk off the bench, allowing Tang to glimpse
a deep, white-fleshed gash that ran the entire length of

60

The Harpers

the monitor's belly. The beast trundled across the plaza
on four stubby legs, then stopped next to the prince's
knee and rolled its lifeless gaze over his maitung.

Given that we have not seen you in so long, I find this
altogether pretentious,

The lizard's tongue darted out to snap at Tang's
maitung, which was tailored with overlapping brown
patches resembling the spade-shaped scales of an
armored skink.

How long has it been since you attended Lair?

"You know I resign."

Cypress slipped behind his captive and lashed out with
the monitor's huge tail, catching Tang behind the knees
and hurling him face first to the plaza. The prince's nose
and mouth erupted in stinging pain, and he felt the unac-
customed sensation of warm blood spilling from his nos-
trils. He tried to rise and found himself pinned to the
ground, his entire body now as heavy as only his feet had
been a moment earlier. He screamed, more in rage than
anguish, and wished that he had a sword in his hand—
and the strength to raise it.

The hammering at the gates ceased, then a sharp
boom reverberated across the plaza as several armored
bodies slammed into the portals. The thick planks
creaked, but the lock did not give way. Cypress circled
around in front of the prince, barely glancing toward the
gates.

7 have told you, no one resigns from the Cult of the
Dragon!

The monitor took Tang's hand in its mouth. The prince
cringed, fearing he would soon have a bloody stump at
the end of his wrist, but the powerful jaws did not close.
Instead, the beast's agile tongue rolled over Tang's fin-
gers, removing his golden rings. After doing the same
with the other hand, the dead lizard dropped to its belly
and stared the prince in the eye.

/ thank you for the offering. Now, where is my ylang
oil?

The Veiled Dragon

61

"Where is Lady Feng?" Tang groaned. "You have oil

when I have mother."

A red ember sparked deep within the lizard's eye, then
the beast dragged one huge claw across the prince's face.

"You dare scratch me?" Tang squawked, astonished
that even a spiteful creature like Cypress would mark a
person of Imperial Shou blood. He spat on the beast's
snout, then added, "For that, you die thousand deaths!"

The monitor's gaping jaws opened as though to chomp
Tang's head off; then the beast tipped its head sideways
and did not bite. I think I shall!

A deep, rumbling laugh—more like a cough—rolled up
from someplace deep in the monitor's hollow stomach,
and Cypress laid one of the lizard's heavy claws on the
prince's shoulder.

I shall die a thousand deaths—a thousand deaths at

least!

Cypress removed the foot from Tang's shoulder and
backed away, still chuckling. The prince found that his
body no longer seemed quite so heavy. He gathered him-
self up and stood, one hand pinching his bloody nose.
Another boom echoed across the plaza. The monitor's
head turned so that it could watch the arch with one drab
eye and Tang with the other.

Lady Feng informs me that only you know how to press
the ylang blossoms, so I will spare your life—but I am los-
ing patience. If I do not have the oil by tomorrow, I shall
start returning your mother in parts.

"What you ask is impossible! Pressing blossoms take

one week—"

Don't lie to me! I know how long you need to prepare
the oil! The monitor whirled away and started across the

plaza. Tomorrow.

A double click sounded beneath the Arch of Many-
Hued Scales. The gates burst open, and Yuan led the
guards into the garden. Several of the men were only
half dressed and bleeding from their whip cuts. Their
eyes went first to the prince's bloody face, then to the

62 The Harpers

lumbering monitor. To a man, they lowered their hal-
berds and charged.

"No! Stand—"

Tang's command came too late. Cypress ran the moni-
tor's dark gaze from one end of the company to the other.
As the black eyes fell on each sentry, the man wailed and
slapped his palms to his ears, letting his weapon fly from
his hands. In a breath's span, all ten guards lay writhing
on the ground, screaming madly and bleeding from their
ears. The lizard sauntered calmly into the squad's midst,
paused to suck the silver honor ring off each man's
thumb, and walked out the gate. By the time Cypress
had lumbered down the Path of Delight onto the Five
Color Bridge, the last sentry had curled into a tight ball
and lay staring at the ground in front of him through
gray, sunken eyeballs.

Tang sank to his knees and looked numbly around his
garden, absentmindedly counting all the boulders and
trees he would have to replace. At least now he knew how
the vandal had penetrated the heart of his palace; with-
out a wu-jen, even the most elaborate traps and precau-
tions were doomed to fail against a master of the Invisible
Art.

From beneath the Arch of Many-Hued Scales came a
soft-voiced cough. Tang turned and saw the lithe form of
his diminutive wife, Wei Dao, standing in the gateway.
She had apparently come from her gymnasium, for her
brow was wet with sweat, and she wore a black samfu, a
long-sleeved uniform in which she always dressed to
practice empty-hand defense. Today, her attire also
included a red throat scarf. Despite her ruffled hair and
flushed complexion, the princess looked as striking as
ever, with generous painted lips, high cheeks, and a
watchful, sloe-eyed gaze.

Wei Dao bowed. "Mighty Prince, please forgive intru-
sion, but I hear terrible commotion."

Her eyes darted from her husband's blood-smeared
face to the fallen guards, but she made no comment on

The Veiled Dragon

63

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
red-lacquered 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 ques-
tion 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 rem-
nants of an ugly skin rash, and dabbed at Tang's blood-
smeared 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 hus-
band'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 sting-
ing face. "I know."

The princess scowled and tried another tack. "Still bet-
ter to give Cypress what he wants. If Lady Feng is not

64 The Harpers

here when Minister Hsieh arrives, there be many ques-
tions. 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 noth-
ing 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."

The Veiled Dragon

65

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 defer-
ence. "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 flat-
bottomed 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 wedge-
shaped 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,

The Veiled Dragon

67

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 wan-
dered 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 Hawk-
lyn." 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 Gin-
ger Lady, which still lay anchored in the bay, awaiting a
small load of supplies needed to complete her most press-
ing 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 ani-
mal, 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 along-
side the dock, the pilot commanded his crew to raise oars.

68

The Harpers

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

The Veiled Dragon             69

from the two warriors. "Pros used to be an honest place. I
don't know what happened."

Godfrey peered over the half-ore's shoulder, then
motioned to Ruha's jambiya. "Let me see that knife. Per-
haps 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 dag-
ger—and the silver."

Fowler looked to Ruha. Tour call. Lady Witch."

"Witch?" The color drained from the faces of both war-
riors, 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 shore-
ward to see three riders charging down the quay, two
holding cocked crossbows in their hands, the third lead-
ing a string of empty mounts.

The trio was coming so fast the scow crew and shore-
men 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

70

The Harpers

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 cross-
bows 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 like-
wise 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 war-
riors were rushing toward shore, intent on avenging their
comrades' deaths. "Have you lost your mind, Lady Con-
stable?"

Vaerana waved off the captain's concern. "Don't worry
about the Black Caps. They've got a few surprises wait-
ing 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 Con-
stable." Ruha glanced at the two corpses lying on the
pier. "Their crime was not so terrible. Was it truly neces-
sary 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-

The Veiled Dragon             71

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 half-ore 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 sug-
gested, 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

72

The Harpers

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 ani-
mal."

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 com-
mented. "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,

The Veiled Dragon             73

she did not want to miss the chance to repay the debt she
owed him.

Once the witch had changed positions, Vaerana pulled
her mace and set the spurs to her mount. Pierstar's horse
reared, then bolted after the Lady Constable, and in the
next instant the entire line was thundering down the
dock.

When Vaerana neared the shore, she gave a loud
whoop. The entire company of horsemen began to move,
some blocking the alleys and others spurring their
mounts straight down the village's largest lane.

Ruha's mount left the quay. She saw several enemy
arrows streak through the air ahead of her; then she
passed across the waterfront and followed the rest of the
column into a warren of narrow streets. As the company
passed, the warriors blocking the side streets fell in at
the rear of the charge, and the witch soon found herself
caught in the midst of a herd of snorting, pounding
horseflesh.

The company galloped inland past a dozen ramshackle
inns, then came to an intersection and turned westward.
One of Fowler's men panicked and jerked his mount's
reins, demolishing a shanty when the startled horse lost
its footing and crashed through the hut's weather-beaten
walls. Ruha saw one ofVaerana's Maces guiding his own
mount into the debris to help the tumbling sailor, then
she was around the corner and thundering down the
muddy lane. A hundred yards ahead, the road passed
through the gateway of a timber stockade, then curved
around a grassy hill and disappeared from sight. A pair
of Black Caps were trying to push the rough-hewn gates
closed, but a flurry of crossbow bolts suddenly sprang
from the front of the column to cut them down.

That was when a shower of flaming hail filled the air,
followed by a flurry of arrows that caught the company in
a deadly cross fire from both sides of the lane. Several
men cried out, nearly falling from their saddles as fiery
pellets pierced their legs and shoulders and even their

74

The Harpers

chain-mailed torsos. Panicked, ringing whinnies echoed
off the weatherworn huts as tufts of black fletching sud-
denly sprouted in the flanks and withers of galloping
horses, and one of the beasts fell.

The rider went rolling head over heels down the street,
coming to a rest before an alley too narrow to be called a
lane. It was simply a space between two shanties. From
this crevice shot a glimmering net of golden light, which
quickly settled over the stunned horseman before he
could recover his wits and rise.

Ruha yanked on her reins, nearly knocking Tombor
from his horse as she crossed in front him. She guided
her mount toward the lane, kicking its belly to urge it
onward. The beast realized instantly what she wanted.
The witch barely had time to raise herself in her stirrups
before it leapt over the fallen warrior and entered the
cranny, its flanks brushing the wood on both sides of the
lane.

As Ruha expected, she found herself barreling down
upon an astonished wizard who, lacking the time to cast
a spell, turned to hurl himself to the ground. The witch
spurred her mount forward. The horse caught the sor-
cerer square in the back with both front hooves, snapping
the man's spine with a sickening crack.

"I love horses!" Ruha cried, reining the beast to a stop.
"You are so much more cooperative than camels!"

The witch looked over her shoulder to see Vaerana's
grim-jawed comrade, Pierstar, staring down the alley as
the fallen wizard's net dissolved around him. The witch
backed her mount down the lane toward the dazed war-
rior.

"Stand up, Pierstar!" she ordered.

The astonished warrior tossed off the remnants of the
net and lurched to his feet, stuttering his astonished
thanks. Ruha emerged from the alley to find a crescent of
horsemen arrayed around her, firing their crossbows into
the huts from which the shower of Black Cap arrows had
erupted.

The Veiled Dragon             75

"That was a damned thoughtless thing to do!" snarled
Vaerana Hawklyn, pulling Pierstar onto her own horse.
"We go to all this trouble to fetch you, and what do you
do? Put yourself at risk!"

With that, Vaerana jerked her horse toward the gate.
Pierstar glanced over his shoulders and shrugged in
apology. Ruha was so astonished that she could only
stare after the Lady Constable.

"Go on, Witch." Tombor pointed his mace through the
gateway. "And don't mind Vaerana's sharp tongue. She's
just worried about Yanseldara."

"Who?"

"You'll find out soon enough." The cleric spurred his
horse after Vaerana, waving at the witch to follow. "She's
the reason you're here."

Ruha urged her horse after Tombor. A steady clatter of
crossbows sounded behind her as, one after the other, the
warriors fired their weapons, then turned to follow the
rest of the company through the gate.

The terrain outside Pros was surprisingly clear. Other
than a few weed-choked farm plots lying close to the vil-
lage stockade, the vista was one of grassy, rolling knolls,
with a vast sapphire sky hanging so low it seemed they
would ride into it. The muddy road snaked its way up a
broad, dry valley, meandering back and forth around the
base of the dome-shaped hills, gradually growing drier
and dustier as it climbed away from the Dragonmere.

At last, the road curled around a knoll and angled up
the headwall of a small dale. As the company approached
the slope, the largest part of the column peeled off and
circled the hill, leaving the wounded and those riding
double, save the Lady Constable and Pierstar, to con-
tinue up the main route.

Ruha caught up to Captain Fowler, and together they
followed Vaerana to the back side of the knoll, where the
warriors were dismounting and reloading their cross-
bows. They dismounted and passed their reins to Tombor,
who had been assigned to stay with the horse holders

76 The Harpers

and ready his healing spells. Vaerana cast a wary glance
in Ruha's direction, but turned without comment and
started up the slope. Fowler offered a helping hand to the
witch, and they began to climb.

During the ascent, they had to pause several times to
rest the witch's throbbing leg, giving them ample oppor-
tunity to study the road to Elversult. After cresting the
dale's headwall, it struck out as straight as an arrow
across a broad expanse of flat, featureless tableland.
Already, the wounded riders and the sailors were a hun-
dred yards across the plain, but the distance before
them seemed immeasurable, and the witch could see
that there were no knolls or ravines where the company
of riders could hide while it regrouped and tended to its
wounded.

By the time Ruha and Fowler reached the summit, the
Maces had already fallen to their bellies and crawled to
positions overlooking the road below. Some of the men
had wrapped small strips of oil-soaked cloth around the
heads of their crossbow bolts and were preparing small
piles of tinder to ignite with flint and steel. The witch
made note of where the nearest fire would be, then she
and Fowler crawled to the crest of the hill and laid down
on either side of Vaerana.

"If we are setting an ambush, I have fire magic that
will prove useful."

"I'd like to keep you secret, at least as much as pos-
sible." As Vaerana spoke, she kept her hazel eyes fixed on
the road. "Don't use your magic unless you're certain of
getting them all."

"I cannot be certain. It depends how many they send."

"It'll be a bunch," Fowler said. "That arrow squall at
the gate was no accident. They were waiting for us."

The suggestion drew an angry scowl from Vaerana.
She remained silent a long time, then reluctantly nod-
ded. "I guess we weren't as sneaky as I thought. The Cult
was watching us."

"How'd they know you were there?" Fowler asked.

The Veiled Dragon             77

Vaerana shrugged. "Pros is a small town, and we
hadn't planned to be there four days. The Cult probably
grew suspicious when they heard the innkeepers gossip-
ing about all the strangers lolling about in their rooms."

"You are certain they do not have a spy among your
men?" Ruha asked.

Vaerana frowned as though insulted. "Not among this
bunch. Pierstar picked every man himself." She glanced
down the long line of warriors as though confirming to
herself that she was right. "Besides, I'm the only one who
knew you were coming. A spy couldn't have told them
anything except that I was in town."

"When Pierstar fell, their wizard tried to capture him,"
Ruha observed. "Perhaps they were curious about what
you wanted in their village."

"Not that curious," Vaerana retorted. "They've had a
thousand gold coins on my head for two years. Their
assassins wouldn't pass up that price out of curiosity."

"Speaking of prices," Fowler said, "a thousand gold
ought to cover what you owe me when we get to Elver-
suit."

"Owe you?" Vaerana narrowed her eyes and glared at
the half-ore as though she were considering running a
dagger up his belly. "Why do you think I owe you a thou-
sand gold?"

"Because of my promise," Ruha explained. "I said the
Harpers would buy him a new cog."

Vaerana's eyes bulged. "You what?" she gasped.
"Why?"

"So he would attack the dragon," Ruha explained. "It
was tearing another ship apart, and it was the only way
to persuade him to risk the Storm Sprite."

The Lady Constable's mouth gaped open. "You can't...
you don't have the ..." She let the sentence trail off, then
shook her head and cocked her brow. "Did Storm say you
could do that kind of thing?"

"No," Ruha admitted.

"But it was a Harper's promise." Fowler turned out the

78 The Harpers

collar of his tunic, displaying the pin Ruha had given
him. "And I've got proof."

Vaerana stared at the silver harp and moon, shaking
her head in disbelief. "You gave him your pin?"

"The ship was a very big one," Ruha said. "If I had let
the dragon sink it, hundreds of lives would have been
lost."

"If Captain Fowler was reluctant to attack the dragon,
didn't you think it might be too much for the Storm
Sprite to handle?"

Ruha shook her head. "Of course not—not with my
magic."

A purple cloud settled over Vaerana's face. "Witch, I
don't know where we're going to get the money to pay for
a new cog—but I can tell you this much: it won't come
from Elversult's treasury! Yanseldara would never stand
for that, not for Storm Silverhand herself!"

Ruha turned to Fowler with a guilty knot in her stom-
ach. "I am so terribly sorry. Captain. They told me that
the Harpers always stand behind the word of—"

"What are you apologizing for?" Fowler interrupted.
"Didn't you hear her? Vaerana said we."

Ruha lifted her brow. "She did, did she not?" The witch
looked back to Vaerana. "And I was beginning to think
you did not like me."

"I don't, but you are a Harper—at least until Storm
Silverhand gets the bill for Fowler's new cog."

With that, Vaerana fell silent and looked back toward
Pros, searching for the first sign of pursuit. The Black
Caps were slow in coming, which Ruha took to be an
omen both good and bad. On one hand, it suggested that
the Maces' escape had taken the Cult by surprise, which
would make it more difficult for them to pursue. At the
same time, however, the delay also meant they were tak-
ing the time to organize themselves and gather a large
force.

After a few minutes. Fowler grew impatient and
started to rise. "What are we waiting for? Those Black

The Veiled Dragon             79

Caps had their fill of fighting in Pros. They're not com-
ing."

Vaerana grabbed the half-ore's furry arm. "Don't be in
such a hurry, Tusks. It's a long ride to Elversult."

"Then the sooner we get going, the sooner I get my

gold."

"It's not that easy." Vaerana pulled Fowler back to the
ground. "If we don't discourage our pursuers now, they
won't hesitate to attack us on the open road. I'm afraid
the Cult of the Dragon has grown bold since Yanseldara's
catalepsy."

"Catalepsy?" Fowler echoed. "Something's wrong with
the Ruling Lady?"

The Lady Constable's mouth tightened, and she looked
away. "Someone poisoned her. Yanseldara's fallen into
some sort of trance, and we haven't been able to call her
back. That's why I sent for the witch."

"But I am not a healer!" Ruha objected. "I know little
of poisons and antidotes."

Vaerana glowered at her disdainfully. "I know what a
witch is."

The Lady Constable did not have time to say more, for
the valley below began to resound with pounding hooves.
She turned and nodded to the Maces who had wrapped
oil-soaked cloths around the heads of their crossbow
bolts. The warriors began to strike their flints, and
within seconds several of them had ignited small piles of
tinder. Faint wisps of white fume began to rise from the
tiny fires, but Ruha did not think the smoke would be
visible from the road, especially to someone on the back
of a galloping horse.

The first riders appeared at the base of the hill,
mounted on skinny horses with frothing mouths and
lathered coats. The men were whipping their haggard
beasts mercilessly, demanding speed that the neglected
creatures could not possibly provide.

Vaerana raised her hand, holding her warriors at bay
while the column of Black Caps wound its way around

80

The Harpers

the base of the knoll. The men with the oil darts touched
the heads to the small fires they had kindled, and long
ribbons of black fume began to rise into the air. Several
Cult warriors looked toward the summit of hill.

"Now!" Vaerana yelled.

As one, the entire company of Maces rose and aimed
their crossbows at the road below. A staccato chorus
cracked over the valley, and the first third of the Cult col-
umn hit the ground screaming. Blossoms of flickering
orange flame sprang to life on the opposite hill.

"Reload!"

Vaerana's warriors touched the heads of their empty
crossbows to the ground, then stuck their boots into the
toe stirrups and began grunting and cursing as they
pulled the stiff bowstrings back to the lock plates. On the
road below, the anguished wails and cries for help went
unanswered as the uninjured Cult warriors galloped for-
ward, trampling their wounded fellows in a desperate
effort to round the corner before the Maces loosed
another volley. The fires on the opposite hill began to
spread, creating an impenetrable wall of flame and filling
the valley with a choking pall of smoke.

Vaerana waited until the leading riders had cleared
the tangle of wounded, then called, "Squad the First!"

Half the Maces loosed their bolts, again aiming at the
front of the Cult column. More men screamed and fell,
lengthening the obstacle course for those behind and
adding to the confusion. While the first squad reloaded,
the rest of the Elversult warriors turned their aim far-
ther back, where the enemy horsemen continued to
round the corner.

Vaerana waited until the first group of men had
reloaded, then called, "Squad the Second!"

The second half of the company fired, downing a dozen
horses and men. More riders galloped around the bend,
either leaping their fallen comrades or stumbling over
them, and a few alert Cult members turned their terri-
fied horses up the hill.

The Veiled Dragon             81

Vaerana waited until the assault had almost reached
the top, allowing the second squad time to reload, then
called, "All fire!"

The Cult horsemen rode into a wall of black shafts that
unhorsed all but three of them. The survivors brought
their mounts up short, took one look at the gang of war-
riors reaching for their maces, then spun their mounts
around and charged down the slope.

That was all it took to break the enemy's morale.
When the rest of the Cult riders rounded the corner and
heard their wailing comrades, then saw three of their fel-
lows coming down the hill at a breakneck gallop, they
quickly concluded that the situation was hopeless. The
entire column turned back, beating their horses as sav-
agely as when they rode into battle.

"That'll keep 'em off our backs." Vaerana turned away
from the bloody scene below and pointed at five men.
"You men hang back and keep a sharp eye. I doubt the
Black Caps will find their courage again, but let me know
if they do. The rest of you, to your horses. We've a long
ride before we're safe again."

Fowler started to take Ruha's arm to help her down
the hill, but Vaerana moved between them and took his
place.

"You go on ahead, Tusks," Vaerana said, slipping
Ruha's arm over her shoulders. "I'll help the witch."

Fowler raised his heavy brow, then shrugged and
began to pick his way down the hill. The Lady Constable
let him get a little way ahead, then started to help Ruha
down the slope.

"Now, about this absurd promise you made—"

"Which promise?" Ruha interrupted. "The one wherein
I swore to combat villainy and wickedness, or the one
wherein I swore to help those in fear for their lives?"

Vaerana stopped walking and narrowed her eyes.
"Don't you quote watchwords to me! I've heard about you,
and I won't stand for such trouble—not in Elversult, and
not when so much depends on you!"

82

The Harpers

Ruha lowered her gaze. "Forgive me." Had everyone in
the Heartlands heard of the Voonlar debacle? "I did not
mean to anger you, but what would you have done? The
dragon was tearing the ship apart, and Captain Fowler
would not go to her aid. Hundreds of people would have
drowned."

Vaerana started down the hill again. "A tough choice,
I'll grant you. But defending others doesn't mean throw-
ing your own life away, not when people are counting on
you someplace else."

"I would not have attacked if I thought the wyrm was
going to kill me," Ruha remarked. "Nor would I have
asked Captain Fowler to risk his ship if I thought the
creature would sink it."

Vaerana shook her head in incredulity. "Well, what'd
you expect? Did you think you'd kill it?"

"Of course."

Vaerana stumbled and nearly sent them both tum-
bling.

Ruha hissed as she caught her weight on her injured
leg, then explained, "I have killed three other dragons, in
the desert. And I would have killed this one, had it not
already been dead."

"Dead?"

"It was like a ghoul." As they continued their descent,
Ruha explained how Captain Fowler's crew had har-
pooned the beast, and how it come back to attack after
her spell had destroyed its internal organs. "Then it
sprayed a black cloud over the bow, and the entire front
half of the ship dissolved."

Vaerana's shoulders suddenly grew tense beneath
Ruha's arm, and her florid complexion turned as pale as
ivory. "You'd better describe this dragon to me, Witch."

"As you command. First of all, it was huge, perhaps as
large as the Storm Sprite herself. It was very black, with
dull and withered scales and many fleshless places on
its—"

"Cypress!" Vaerana hissed.

The Veiled Dragon             83

"Cypress?"

"He came up from the Wetwoods to attack the cara-
vans around Elversult," the Lady Constable explained.
"But that was three years ago, and Yanseldara said she

killed him."

"If this is the same dragon, perhaps she did," Ruha
said. "He looked very dead when he attacked us."

This did not seem to calm Vaerana at all. "Then
Cypress is the Cult of the Dragon's idol! No wonder
they're being so bold!" She swept Ruha up and started
down the hill at a trot. "We've got to hurry!"

The witch wrapped her fingers into Vaerana's cloak,
terrified the Lady Constable would trip and fall on top of
her. "Wait! I do not understand!"

"The Cult of the Dragon worships dead dragons," Vaer-
ana continued to run. "The reverence keeps the spirits
from being drawn into the netherworld, and the dragons
just keep growing."

"Please put me down!" Ruha urged. "There is no rea-
son to worry. I have destroyed Cypress."

Vaerana began to slow, but did not return the witch's
feet to the ground. "You what?"

"I blasted him apart," Ruha confirmed. "With lamp oil
and magic. From the inside. The detonation ripped him

apart."

Vaerana's face remained blank and uncomprehending.
"You destroyed him?" she gasped. "You're sure?"

"The explosion annihilated his body, along with the
stern of Captain Fowler's ship," Ruha confirmed. "I saw
the sharks eating pieces of his body. The same thing
would have happened to us if Minister Hsieh had not
come back."

Vaerana's jaw fell. "Minister who?"

"Hsieh," Ruha said. "It was his ship we saved. He is a
Shou mandarin—"

"I know who he is!" Vaerana finally stopped and
returned Ruha to the ground. They were near the bottom
of the hill, less than twenty paces from the horses, but

84

The Harpers

the Lady Constable did not resume walking. "I don't
know whether to kiss you or gut you!"

"I would prefer you do neither," Ruha replied. "Instead,
please explain why you are so upset."

"I think Hsieh is our enemy":

"Of course. The Shou are very fond of dragons."

Vaerana shook her head. "I'm not talking about their
emperor—that's something else altogether." The Lady
Constable lowered her voice. "My sages think someone's
trying to steal Yanseldara's spirit."

"Ah." Ruha was beginning to understand why Vaerana
thought a witch might help her friend. "Why do they
think that?"

"Someone has stolen a staff her father gave her—"

"It is very dear to her?" Ruha was no master of spirit
magic, but she had learned something of the subject from
Qoha'dar, an old witch with whom she had been exiled as
a child. "Perhaps the staff is even her most treasured
possession?"

Vaerana nodded, and lowered her voice even further.
"And by all accounts, Prince Tang's mother is a master of
the art."

"But why are the Shou doing this terrible thing?" Ruha
asked. "What do they want with Yanseldara's spirit?"

Vaerana bit her lip, then looked away. "It's my doing.
They trade in poisons and fixings for dark magic. I've
threatened to chase them out of Elversult if they don't
stop. I guess stealing Yanseldara's spirit is their way of
calling my bluff."

With that, Vaerana snaked an arm around Ruha and
started toward the horses, half-dragging the witch along.
"If we don't want this turning into another of your de-
bacles, we'll need to ride like the wind!"

The reference to Voonlar stung like a slap, but that
was not the reason Ruha pulled free of Vaerana and
stopped. The witch had only a passing familiarity with
spirit magic; it would not be enough to save Yanseldara.

Vaerana did not seem to realize that her companion

The Veiled Dragon

85

had stopped until she reached the horses and took her
reins from Tombor. "Well?"

"I cannot save Yanseldara." The words came so diffi-
cultly that Ruha could barely utter them. "You must send

for someone else."

Vaerana's face darkened. "Out of the question! I'd do
this myself if I could, but the Shou know me." She
grabbed the reins of Ruha's mount; then led it, along
with her own horse, toward the witch. "As pitiful an
excuse for a Harper as you are, you're the only one who
can save Yanseldara—which means you're all that stands
between Elversult and the tyranny of the Cult of the

Dragon."

Vaerana thrust a set of reins into the witch's hands.

"But, Lady Constable—"

"Don't 'but' me, Witch!" Vaerana roared. "You're sup-
posed to be a Harper, and a Harper goes where she's
called. Besides, all you've got to do is sneak into the Gin-
ger Palace and find Yanseldara's staff. Even you can

handle that!"

"You do not want me to lift the curse?"

Vaerana rolled her eyes. "Why would I think you can
do what Thunderhand Frostbryn could not? All I need is
someone the Shou don't know—but you almost botched
that up, didn't you? Now, I'll have to do some fast riding
if we don't want that mandarin recognizing you."

The Lady Constable thrust her foot into a stirrup, then
turned toward the rest of the riders. "Tombor!"

Tombor, who could hardly have missed the last part of
Vaerana's outburst, led his own horse forward. "Yes,

m'lady?"

Vaerana flipped her hand in Ruha's direction. "Take
the witch back to Elversult. After you tend to the seri-
ously wounded, I don't imagine you'll have any healing
magic left, but do what you can for her leg. Then see that
she's given an introduction to the Ginger Palace, like we

planned."

Tombor's twinkle-eyed gaze darted to Ruha, then back

86 The Harpers

to Vaerana. "And what will you and the rest of the Maces
be doing, Lady Constable?"

"Inspecting a caravan," Vaerana replied. "A Shou cara-
van."

Six

The journey to Elversult took the
rest of the day and most of the next, so
that they reached the outskirts of town
in late afternoon. Suggesting it might
be wise not to be seen together in the
city, Tombor pointed out a wooded hill
where Ruha and Fowler could wait
while he saw to the wounded. Grateful
for any chance to rest their sore rumps, the pair climbed
out of their saddles and led their horses into the copse.
The captain fetched some water from a nearby stream so
the witch could tend her shark bite; then they settled in to
wait, too weary to talk or do anything but listen to the
distant creak of passing wagons.




Twilight came, and worried that Tombor would not be
able to find them in the dusky wood, Ruha asked the cap-
tain to collect some sticks while she gathered some dry
moss off the forest floor. She was about to strike the fire
when the portly cleric emerged from the shadows,
appearing so suddenly and silently that he startled
Fowler and made him drop an armload of branches he
had collected.

"For a big man, you move mighty quiet." Fowler eyed a
small wooden coffer that Tombor was carrying in both
hands. "Especially considering that your arms are full."

A sour smile flashed across the cleric's lips and dis-
appeared instantly, then he chuckled merrily. "Sorry;

88

The Harpers




sometimes I can't resist. It's a gift of the gods."

"Which one?" Ruha asked. "Most priests invoke their
gods often, but I have yet to hear you utter the name of
yours."

Tombor set the coffer on the ground at her feet. "My
god is not so vain as the others, but his healing magic is
as strong as that of most—as you'll soon see." He removed
a small bundle of cloth from his pocket, then turned to
Fowler and motioned at the dry moss Ruha had gath-
ered. "Would you be good enough to start a small fire?"

Ruha passed her tinderbox to the captain, then
watched as Tombor unwrapped his bundle. Inside was a
dark, sour-smelling balm that seemed to undulate like
water. The cleric dipped his fingers into the salve, and
the witch pulled her aba up to display her wound. After
the long ride from Pros, it had started to open again. The
edges were red and inflamed, while a steady flow of clear
liquid oozed from the laceration itself.

Tombor rubbed his salve over the injury, and Ruha's
leg seemed to disappear beneath a rippling shadow. The
ointment felt as light as air; there was no greasy feeling
or any burning sensation, only a slight, soothing coolness
upon her skin, similar to what it felt like to step out of
the hot sun into the shade of a large tree.

Once Tombor had smeared the balm over the entire
wound, he tossed aside what remained. "It's my best
salve, but I have to mix each batch fresh. It doesn't keep
more than an hour." Tombor placed the coffer he had
brought next to Fowler's fire, then said, "We'll let the
balm do its work while I explain what I brought."

He opened the lid, revealing what looked to be several
hundred pieces of gold stamped with the proud raven of
the Kingdom of Sembia. Ruha had lived in the Heart-
lands long enough to know that the coins were accepted
as currency throughout the region, for Sembite mer-
chants controlled much of the area's trade.

"And the Lady Constable said she couldn't buy me a
new cog!" Fowler snorted.

The Veiled Dragon             89

"She couldn't—at least not with this gold." Tombor
reached deep into the chest and removed a coin, then
used his knife to scratch it and reveal the dull gray sheen
of lead. "The coins on top are real. The rest are fakes
Vaerana took from a local thief. Don't try to buy anything
with them, but they should serve to convince the Shou
you're a legitimate spice buyer."

"That's to be the witch's disguise?" Fowler asked.
"It's the only way we can get her into the Ginger
Palace." He turned back to Ruha. "Tomorrow morning,
you'll meet a local merchant we've hired to present you to
the Shou. He's a useful tool, but an unreliable one, so
don't tell him anything about your mission."

"Our mission," Fowler said. "I'm going with her."
Ruha lifted her brow. "Thank you, Captain, but—"
Fowler raised his hands to silence her. "You don't have
any choice. Witch. I'm not letting you out of my sight
until I get my new cog. Besides, if you don't have a body-
guard, the Shou are liable to think you aren't very impor-
tant."

Ruha looked to Tombor, who nodded. "It's a good idea."
He reached into his pocket to remove a gold coin. It was
as large as Ruha's palm, and embossed with the image of
a camel and several strange letters. "Make certain that
Princess Wei Dao sees this. She has a love of coins from
far lands, and this one comes all the way from Cal-
imshan."

"May I offer it to her as a gift?" Ruha asked, reaching
for the gold piece. "Perhaps I can make a friend—"

Tombor shook his head, pulling the coin out of her
reach. "It's better to let her find it on her own." He tossed
the coin into the coffer. "Just make certain she sees it,
and she'll think there are more treasures like it deeper in
the chest. Her imagination will do more to win you a
night in the Ginger Palace than any gift."

"And once we're inside, what then?" asked Fowler.
"You'll only have a day or so to find Yanseldara's staff
and get out," Tombor answered. "Vaerana will do her best

90 The Harpers

to stall Hsieh's caravan, but she won't be able to hold it
up long without starting a war."

"What does the staff look like?" Ruha asked. "And do
you have any suggestions as to where I might find it?"

"The staff isn't much to look at—it's a plain rod of
oak—but there's a huge topaz on top. None of us has any
idea where you should look. The Shou are a secretive
people, especially about their homes. All I can tell you is
that Tang's mother, Lady Feng, is reportedly a master of
spirit magic."

Tombor glanced down at Ruha's leg, where the dark
balm had stopped rippling and now looked like nothing
more than a strange shadow with no source.

"The salve's done its work," the cleric said. "Turn your
leg toward the firelight."

Ruha did as instructed. When the flickering yellow
light fell on her thigh, the balm rose off her leg like dark
steam. The shark bite had closed completely, leaving only
a thin curved line and slight red sheen to mark where
the wound had been.

"That is a most marvelous balm." Ruha looked from
her wound to Tombor's heavy, jowled face. "You must tell
me which god to thank!"

Pretending not to hear Ruha's request, the cleric
closed the coffer lid and stood. "With that chest among
your things, you'll need a safe place to spend the night.
I'd recommend the Axe and Hammer. Anyone in the city
will tell you how to get there."

"What about our guide?" Fowler asked.

"He'll meet you on the way," Tombor replied. "Just
start down Snake Road."

"How will we recognize him?" Ruha asked.

"Don't worry about that; he'll find you." Tombor
stepped away from the fire, slipping into the dusky shad-
ows as quietly as he had appeared. "Abazm always knows
who's on the road to the Ginger Palace."

***<:*

The Veiled Dragon             91

Save for an impression of impregnable reclusion, the
Ginger Palace had little in common with those hulking
stacks of stone Heartland lords called home. Instead of
the squalid green waters of a moat, the Shou citadel was
surrounded by the soldierly ranks of a ginkgo forest, and
sat not upon some windswept crag, but upon a square
mound of pounded earth. The walls of its outer curtain
were plastered smooth and painted white as alabaster,
and they were capped along the entire length by a
peaked roof of scarlet tiles. At every corner stood a tower
with five stacked balconies, each one covered by a scar-
let-tiled roof with upswept eaves. Inside the fortress, sev-
eral buildings rose high enough above the outer curtain
to display the same roof styling, lending an aura of har-
mony and supreme order to the entire edifice.

"I still don't like this," hissed Fowler. He was walking
beside Ruha as they followed their guide, Abazm, down a
white-bricked avenue toward the palace gates. The cap-
tain was dressed in a brown aba the witch had made for
him the night before, and in his arms he bore the small
wooden coffer Tombor had loaned them. "No one's going
to believe we're spice buyers—not in these outfits!"

"If you do not like my plan, Captain, you may with-
draw," Ruha whispered. She stopped and held out her
hands. "There is still time."

Fowler clutched the box more tightly to his chest. "And
let you out of my sight? When I've a new cog, and not a
minute before."

Abazm, a greasy-haired dwarf dressed in a striped
burnoose, whirled about in midstride.

"What is all this whispering, Master and Mistress?" He
was surprisingly thin compared to most dwarves, with
bushy eyebrows as black as kohl, a hawkish nose, and
the stubble of a dark, coarse beard. "It is most unbecom-
ing. The Shou will think you do not trust me."

"We don't," growled Fowler. "Keep walking."

Abazm glanced toward the palace and remained where
he was. "If the Shou believe you have no trust for me,

92

The Harpers

they will have no trust for you."

The dwarf's gaze dropped to the coffer in Fowler's
hands, lingering there just long enough to send a shiver
down Ruha's spine. After joining them on the road, he
had insisted on seeing their funds before he risked his
own reputation by introducing them to the Shou, Though
Ruha had been careful not to let him reach into the chest,
Abazm had raised an eyebrow when he saw the Sembite
coins. He had offered to check them for purity, remarking
that a well-placed friend had told him a local thief was
counterfeiting Sembite coins. The witch had curtly
ordered Fowler to shut the chest, pretending to be suspi-
cious of both the guide's story and his motives.

"It is not necessary that the Shou trust us," Ruha said.
"It is only necessary that they like the color of our gold."

"Of course, I cannot judge that without a closer inspec-
tion." The dwarfs eyes flicked to the coffer and remained
there, as though he expected Ruha to open the chest
again.

"They'll like it well enough." Fowler bared his tusks at
the little merchant. "Now walk."

Abazm sighed heavily, then continued down the white-
paved avenue. Fowler let the dwarf get a little way
ahead, then turned to Ruha.

"I don't like that little fellow, any more than I like this
plan of yours," the captain commented. "I'm sure Vaerana
wanted us to say we're from Sembia, like most spice mer-
chants. We'd draw less notice than claiming we come
from Anauroch."

"I do not care what Vaerana wanted." Ruha stepped to
the captain's side and kept pace with him. "I am not from
Sembia. How can I pretend to be from someplace I have
visited only twice?"

"I've been there plenty of times."

"But you are not the spy," Ruha whispered. "And I have
learned better than to pretend I am someone I am not.
That is what caused the trouble at Voonlar. If I claim I
am from Anauroch, there is no need to explain my igno-


The Veiled Dragon             93

rance of Heartlands customs."

"And what about me?" Fowler grumbled. "I know less
about deserts than you do about ships. At least you've
sunk a ship."

Ruha reached over and straightened the checkered kef-
fiyeh covering Fowler's head and neck. "Just look strong
and mean. That's all that is expected ofBedine men."

They reached the end of the avenue, where their guide
stood waiting. Abazm clambered up a broad set of marble
stairs to a tile-roofed portico of simple post and beam
construction. The lintel had a pair of elaborate, long-
tailed peacocks engraved along its length, while the
beam ends resting atop it had been fashioned into styl-
ized dragon heads. On the far side of the porch hung a
pair of glossy, red-lacquered gates decorated with the yel-
low figures of rearing basilisk lizards. Next to each gate
stood a Shou sentry armored in a conical brass helmet
and a red silk hauberk imprinted with the tessellated
pattern of its plate scale lining. Each guard held a long,
curve-bladed polearm, the butt resting on the floor
between his feet and the shaft rising vertically in front of
him. Both men kept their slanted eyes fixed straight
ahead, as though they did not even see the three
strangers approaching.

Abazm strode straight between the two men and
tugged on an ornate yellow pull cord. A muffled gong
reverberated through the gates, then a small viewing
portal swung open above the dwarf's head. A scowling
Shou official peered down his long nose at the merchant.

"We do not expect you, Abazm."

Abazm clasped his hands and bowed so low that, had
he worn a proper dwarven beard, it would have scraped
the floor. "I have brought merchants from the distant
sands of Anauroch, Honored One." Without standing, he
waved a hand at the coffer Fowler held. "They wish to
have commerce with the Ginger Palace."

The Honored One's gaze flicked over the coffer, then
back to Abazm. The dwarf stepped closer to the viewing

94

The Harpers

portal, drawing a silver coin from his sleeve and deftly
displaying it between his cupped hands, where the two
sentries could not see it.

"I ask Prince if he wishes to see you."

A sharp clunk reverberated through the gates, then
one gate swung open. Abazm -led the way inside, slipping
his coin to the Honored One so smoothly that Ruha did
not see it change hands. Inside, a path of white marble
led across a huge, yellow-bricked courtyard to a double-
tiered mansion. The building was of the same post and
beam construction as the portico, save that the spaces
between the posts were filled with white-plastered walls,
silvery windows of rare and expensive glass, or red-
lacquered doors decorated with yellow basilisk emblems.
The pillars and lintels were carved with a great variety
of stylized creatures: birds with tails of flame, tiger-faced
jackals, furry imps with long curling tails, and a hundred
more. The building's two roofs, as the witch had seen
from outside, were covered with scarlet tiles and swept
up at the eaves. Every detail was arranged in perfect
symmetry and balance, carefully contrived to impart
upon the onlooker a complete sense of serenity and con-
sonance, as though to imply that the master of the palace
could control even the wildest whim of nature.

Ruha started to follow the Honored One across the
courtyard, but suddenly found her path blocked by six
guards who had apparently stepped out of nowhere. They
were armed and armored as those outside, save that
their emotionless gazes were locked on the witch's face.

Abazm took Ruha's sleeve and gently pulled her back.
"Please, Mistress, we have not been invited into the
palace."

He pulled the witch toward a pillared gallery that ran
along the inner perimeter of the curtain wall, where a
long line of stone benches had been provided for the com-
fort of those waiting to visit palace residents. Ruha
counted more than thirty merchants gathered on the
seats. Many wore the billowing tunics and outlandish

The Veiled Dragon             95

hats of Sembite merchants, but there were also dwarves
in striped burnooses, elves outfitted in their customary
leather and green, even a pair ofbare-chested ores
dressed in silken knickers and garish stockings. No mat-
ter what their costume, they were all holding a coffer
similar to the one in Fowler's hands.

Ruha's heart fell. Abazm had gotten them inside the
Ginger Palace as promised, but it was going to be a long
time before she could begin her search.

A few of the merchants called greetings to the dwarf.
Abazm returned each salutation with artificial warmth
and politely introduced his companions as Ruha and
Fowal'sid of the Mtair Dhafir. Without exception, the
dwarf went on to explain that his clients were incense
traders from Anauroch, and then suggested a meeting in
his shop—no doubt with an eye toward earning a com-
mission if anything came of the arrangement. With each
introduction, the witch silently cursed Abazm's efficacy,
but she forced herself to offer salutations and respond
enthusiastically to her guide's efforts. Before she finally
reached a vacant bench at the end of the line, Ruha had
made three appointments for two days hence— by which
time she hoped to have returned the stolen staff to
Yanseldara and be well on her way back to Storm Silver-
hand's farm in Shadowdale.

Fowler remained strangely silent the whole time, pre-
ferring to stand behind Ruha with his gaze fixed firmly
on the ground. As the witch took her seat, he leaned close
to her ear.

"I told you this plan was a foolish one. I've carried
cargo for half a dozen of these fellows."

Ruha looked back down the line and saw that several
merchants were, indeed, staring in their direction. "Then
sit down and do not look so suspicious. I am sure you are
not the only half-ore they have ever seen. With luck, they
will find it difficult to toll you from the others."

Fowler scowled as though insulted, but sat down with
the coffer in his lap and pulled his keffiyeh down his

96

The Harpers

brow. Ruha settled in beside him, and Abazm clambered
onto the bench next to her.

"Not to worry," the dwarf whispered. "I am a favorite of
the Princess Wei Dao. She will see that we do not wait
more than three or four hours."

"Four hours?" Ruha gasped. That was half the day, and
from what Tombor had said, Vaerana would be able to
delay Hsieh's arrival little more than a day. "Is there no
faster way?"

Abazm's bushy eyebrows came together in an exagger-
ated expression of hurt. "That is fast." He gestured to the
long line of merchants. "Of late, Prince Tang has been
slow about his business. Some of these men have been
waiting three days already!"

Ruha glanced at Fowler and caught him sneering as
though he were going to speak. "Say nothing, Fowal'sid.
At least we are inside."

"Of course we are. Is that not what I promised?"
Abazm cocked an eyebrow and gazed thoughtfully at
Ruha. "But if that is all you wished, there was no need to
hire me—as I am sure your friends told you."

"They said you could arrange a quick audience."

Ruha looked toward the rear of the courtyard, deciding
to use the time to familiarize herself with the palace's
layout. She could see only the front part of the com-
pound. The back half was sealed off by a pair of winglike
ramparts that spread outward from the midpoint of the
mansion, where it changed to a two story structure, to
meet the walls of the outer curtain. Above these parti-
tions showed the tiled roofs of two huge, single storey
buildings located near the back of the compound.

In the front courtyard, where Ruha and the other mer-
chants sat waiting, a narrow, L-shaped building stood in
the southeastern corner of the enclosure. The witch con-
cluded that this was the sentry barracks, for a steady
flow of guards passed through the doors in both direc-
tions. A similar building sat in the opposite corner of the
courtyard. Save for the two guards posted outside its

The Veiled Dragon             97

doors, this structure seemed deserted.

The witch had barely finished her study before the
Honored One emerged from the mansion at the head of a
small procession of guards. He led the troop across the
courtyard toward Ruha and her companions, drawing an
astonished murmur from the pillared gallery. Abazm
frowned in puzzlement, but pushed himself off the bench
and turned to his clients.

"It is better than I hoped," he declared. "We will not be
required to wait at all."

Fowler looked far from relieved at this news. "Why all
those guards?"

Abazm shook his head, bewildered. "Because of you
two, perhaps. The Shou are not fond of half-men, and
they are bound to be suspicious of women who cover their
faces."

The procession stopped before them; then the Honored
One bowed to Abazm. "Princess Wei Dao asks you into
audience hall."

The dwarf cast a smug look over his shoulder and
returned the bow, as did the witch and the captain. The
Honored One turned toward the mansion, and the guards
closed around Ruha's small company without showing a
flicker of suspicion or anxiety. The witch found it strange
that, if the Shou were suspicious other and Fowler, they
did not bother to take herjambiya or the captain's sword.

The Honored One led the procession up a marble stair-
case and through an open doorway at the far end of the
mansion. They passed through a high-ceilinged anteroom
so quickly that Ruha barely noticed the stylized frescoes,
then entered a long, spacious room hung with silk tapes-
tries and floored with the mosaic of a beautiful, flame-
tailed crane.

In a teak throne at the far end of the room sat a strik-
ing Shou woman in a tight, ankle-length dress embroi-
dered with a golden dragon almost as sinuous as she.
Arrayed around her were a dozen women and half as
many men, all watching in expectant silence as Abazm

The Harpers

boldly led his clients forward. As the trio drew nearer,
Ruha saw that the princess was a woman who believed
even more firmly than the Bedine in the power of cosmet-
ics. Her painted lips were as glossy and red as the
palace's lacquered gates, her eyelids were sapphire blue,
and, save for the rouge highlights beneath her round
cheekbones, her face was powdered as white as alabaster.
Only a yellow scarf carefully tied around her throat
seemed at all out of place, bunched up as it was around
the dress's high collar.

The Honored One stopped before the throne and
bowed, then flourished his hand at Abazm. "The dwarf
Abazm, Princess."

Abazm stopped before Wei Dao's throne and kneeled
on the floor, then leaned forward and pressed his fore-
head to the wood. Ruha cast a questioning glance at
Fowler, who scowled at the dwarf's gesture and merely
bowed. She did likewise, hoping they were not inadver-
tently insulting their hostess.

If they were, it was impossible to tell. The princess
glared at the back ofAbazm's skull as though she wanted
to stare a hole through it. The Honored One slipped away
from the dwarf, and no one took any notice whatsoever of
Ruha or Fowler.

At last, Abazm could no longer stand the silence. The
dwarf cautiously allowed his gaze to creep across the
floor to the princess's feet. "Princess Wei Dao, you honor
me with your radiance."

"Abazm, how surprising that you return so soon to
Ginger Palace." The princess fingered the scarf at her
neck. "And how fortunate."

Abazm raised himself so that he was merely kneeling
before Wei Dao. "I am your servant, and the servant of
the Ginger Palace as well." He twisted around to gesture
at his clients, and Ruha glimpsed a bewildered gleam in
the dwarf's eyes. "I have brought traders from a distant
land—"

"No! No more foreign powders!" Wei Dao ripped the

The Veiled Dragon             99

scarf from her throat, exposing an ugly swath of partially
healed skin eruptions. "See effects of your pearl dust?"

Abazm gasped at the sight of the princess's ravaged
complexion. Incoherent, half-voiced explanations regard-
ing Lheshaylian sorcerers began to pour from his mouth,
and he looked to the Honored One for help. The Shou
fixed his gaze on Princess Wei Dao and pretended not to

notice.

"You say, skin shine like moon!" Wei Dao waved a hand
toward the sky, gesturing so angrily that the effort car-
ried her to her feet. "Skin shine like harvest moon,
craters and all!"

Abazm leapt up, but before he could turn to run, two
guards caught him by the arms. They lifted the dwarf
into the air and held him before the princess, his feet
dangling six inches above the floor.

"I b-b-beg your forgiveness!" the dwarf cried. "I did not
know this would happen! I made my own wife try the
powder before I sold it to you!"

"You give me same powder as dwarf woman?" Wei Dao
snarled.

"Only to see if it was safe, Princess!"

The princess's eyes narrowed. "Liar—it is not safe!"
She tied her scarf around her throat and nodded to the
guards. "Take deceitful dwarf to tanning vats."

Ruha cringed at the punishment. It was unlikely that
the tubs would be deep enough to drown Abazm but,
unless the Shou tanned leather differently than the
Bedine, the vats would be filled with harsh fluids and the
foulest offal gathered from the pens of dogs and swine.
The witch knew better than to think she could intercede
on the dwarf's behalf, but she would not leave him
behind after she recovered Yanseldara's staff.

As the guards carried him out the door, Abazm jerked
one arm free and swung around to face the throne. He
glanced briefly at the witch and Fowler, then yelled,
"Wait! Spare me. Princess, and I will tell you something
you should know!"

100

The Harpers

Ruha's stomach grew as heavy as lead. Fowler gnashed
his tusks; then the Honored One's panicked voice echoed
across the chamber. "Take him away!"

The guard recaptured Abazm's arm and turned to
obey.

"Wait." The princess leaned forward in her throne,
peering past Ruha and Fowler to the dwarf. "Say what I
should know, Abazm. Then I decide whether to spare
you."

The Honored One stepped forward, positioning himself
squarely in front of Wei Dao. "Frightened dwarf say a-
anything, Princess. We cannot b-believe him."

There was a catch in the Shou's voice—and Ruha
thought she knew why. "But you can believe us." The
witch bowed to the princess, tugging on Fowler's sleeve
so he would do the same. "We have no reason to lie."

Wei Dao studied the witch and her companion, then
asked, "You know what insidious dwarf says?"

Ruha turned to face Abazm, trying to decide whether
it would be wiser to expose the chamberlain's corruption
herself, or to restrain herself and hope the treacherous
dwarf realized that his best interests now lay in working
with her.

"Do you know what dwarf says?" the princess
demanded.

Ruha fixed her gaze on Abazm and let her hand drift
toward herjambiya. Without turning around, she said, "I
think I do, yes."

Abazm swallowed hard, then looked away from Ruha.
"Most Merciful Princess," the dwarf began. He glanced at
the witch's hand, then continued, "Most Compassionate
Lady, I beg leave to report that it is necessary to pay your
trusted chamberlain in order to secure appointments
within the Ginger Palace."

Ruha sighed behind her veil. She turned to face the
princess, fully expecting to be called upon to confirm
Abazm's story.

The chamberlain was already kneeling before Wei

The Veiled Dragon            101

Dao's throne, his brow pressed to the floor and his arms
stretched out before him. "Compassionate Princess, I beg
mercy for my family."

Wei Dao raised her thinly plucked eyebrows. "Then
you acknowledge this crime, Chuang?"

"I do. My pockets hang heavy with silver." Chuang's
muffled voice was barely audible. "It is way of this land,
and I am weak. At first, I am surprised and grateful
when visitors pay me silver. But soon it is expected, and I
do not open gates until—"

"Enough. You do not lie to me, and I grant mercy to
your family." Wei Dao stared at the prone chamberlain
until his body began to tremble and great, racking sobs
reverberated across the floor. "But you dishonor your
ancestors before Mandarins of Heaven, and it is beyond
me to ask that they make you welcome."

"Yes, Princess. I know."

Wei Dao looked up, then turned to a squat, flat-
cheeked man with an unwavering scowl and granite eyes.
"Please, General Fui."

Before Ruha realized quite what was happening, the
general had drawn a heavy, square-tipped sword from
one of the guard's scabbards and stepped to Chuang's
side. There was a sharp, wet thunk, and the witch saw
just how swiftly and surely death would come if the Shou
found her out.

The general cleaned the blade on the headless cham-
berlain's silken robe, then returned the weapon to its
owner and stepped back to his place. His face remained
as impassive as ever.

Wei Dao studied the chamberlain's disembodied head
for a moment, then seemed to remember herself and
looked toward the chamber entrance.

"Perfidious dwarf is permitted to leave."

The guards set Abazm down. As soon as the mer-
chant's feet touched the floor, he spun on his heel and
bowed very low.

"Your wisdom is more boundless than the sky,

102

The Harpers

Princess!" As he spoke, he was backing out the door.
"Only Eldath herself is more merciful and forgiving!"

Wei Dao accepted the tribute with a faintly amused
smirk. "You always welcome at Ginger Palace, Abazm.
Please to call when berry lip paint is ready."

Once the dwarf was gone, Wei Dao rose and, stepping
around the pool of blood at the base other throne, led her
entire entourage across the floor to Ruha and Fowler. She
circled them slowly, running her gaze over their robes
and studying the witch's veil especially closely, then
stopped in front of them.

Ruha was astounded that Wei Dao's guards would
allow their mistress to approach so closely to two armed
strangers, a fact that suggested they believed the
princess to be perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

"Abazm says you come to do business with Ginger
Palace?"

"Aye, with Prince Tang," Fowler confirmed.

Wei Dao's eyes hardened. "Prince Tang is no longer
receiving today. Perhaps you come back tomorrow."

"We're wanting a large cargo, and we're ready to pay
now."

"Tomorrow."

The princess stepped away without turning her back
on her visitors and paid no attention to the coffer in
Fowler's hands, even when he shook it to clank the heavy
load of coins inside.

Ruha laid a restraining hand on the captain's arm.
"That is enough, Fowal'sid."

The half-ore scowled, but held the coffer steady, and
Wei Dao stopped short of turning to leave.

"We have come to sell as well as buy, Princess," Ruha
said. "And you will be more interested in our wares than
your husband."

Out of the corner other eye, Ruha caught Fowler
frowning at her unexpected improvisation. She ignored
him and lowered a hand to the pocket other aba, asking,
"If I may, Princess?"

The Veiled Dragon            103

Wei Dao nodded, but Fowler, who had seen her draw
spell components from those same pockets, cleared his
throat.

"Maybe now's not the time—"

Ruha whirled sharply on the burly half-ore. "Did I not
tell you to be silent, Fowal'sid?"

Fowler's leathery lip trembled with the impulse to curl
into a snarl, but the half-ore forced himself to lower his
gaze and nod respectfully. "You did, Lady."

When the witch looked back to their hostess, she
noticed a glimmer of respect in Wei Dao's otherwise inex-
pressive face. Deciding that she had read the princess's
character correctly, Ruha reached into a pocket and with-
drew two milky tears of hardened tree resin.

"Have you heard of frankincense or myrrh?"

Wei Dao examined the droplets closely. "Are they
gems?"

"In a manner of speaking, for they are more valuable
than gold. If you can have someone fetch a brazier and
afill it with coals, I will show you."
| "Magic is forbidden in my presence."
| "This is not magic." Ruha found it interesting that the
jshou considered sorcery a greater threat to the safety of
Etheir nobility than they did blades. "The drops will pro-
duce a pleasant smoke, nothing more."

Wei Dao nodded to two men, who promptly left through
a door in the rear of the chamber. Fowler continued to
stare at the white tears so tensely that Ruha feared he
would alarm Wei Dao. The witch stepped closer to her
hostess, until their shoulders were almost touching.

"While we await the brazier, I will tell you more about
these wondrous tears." Ruha raised her hand, displaying
the milky drops before Wei Dao's eyes. "They are resins,
scraped from beneath the bark of certain trees that grow
only on the eastern side of the highest mountains in
Anauroch."

"The great desert?" Wei Dao asked.

"Yes. There, we use frankincense and myrrh to scent

104

The Harpers

the air around stagnant oases. The tears can also be
pressed to create perfumes, or mixed with almond oil to
create restorative tonics and soothing lotions, or stirred
into elixirs to ease the pains of childbirth." Ruha paused
to see if this elicited any interest from the princess.
When it did not, she continued, "They are also good for
soothing stinging eyes, earaches—even as a remedy to
the bites of certain venomous insects, and as an antidote
to some kinds of poison."

Again, Ruha watched closely to see if the last item of
her description drew any special notice from the princess.
But if Wei Dao had any interest in poisons, it remained
concealed with the rest of her thoughts.

"Is there anything frankincense and myrrh cannot
do?" Wei Dao's voice was somewhat incredulous.

"Perhaps there are other uses, but I have described all
I can demonstrate."

The two men returned with a small brazier already
filled with hot coals. Ruha crushed one of the tears
between her palms, then sprinkled the crumbs onto the
embers. An aromatic smoke rose from the pan, filling the
entire chamber with such a sweet, fresh smell that the
Shou finally allowed their stoic masks to slip. They began
to smile openly and crowd closer to the source, taking
such deep breaths that some of them actually snorted.
Even the stem-faced guards could not keep their nostrils
from flaring.

Wei Dao studied her entourage's reaction in bemused
meditation. "This is not magic?"

"I am no spellcaster," Ruha lied. She pressed the other
tear into the princess's hand and motioned toward the
brazier. "It will smell just as sweet if you sprinkle the
crumbs. Tomorrow, I will demonstrate its use in the mak-
ing of perfumes and poultices."

Wei Dao did not step toward the brazier. "Not neces-
sary. We buy all you have."

"What about the price?" Fowler gasped. "Aren't you
even going to ask?"

The Veiled Dragon             105

Wei Dao glanced at the brazier, where her entourage
stood sniffing the sweet-smelling smoke. "You already
tell me it is more valuable than gold. I believe you."

Fowler shook his head in amazement, then looked
back to Ruha. "Well, Lady Ruha, how much do we have?"

It took Ruha a moment to realize what he was asking,
for she had not expected her plan to succeed quite so
well. "I'm afraid we have very little at the moment." The
witch had only three more tears in her pocket. "You see,
our ship was sunk by a dragon—"
"By dragon?"

Wei Dao's exclamation caught Ruha as much by sur-
prise as had the offer to buy all her frankincense. "It was
a very large dragon," the witch explained, keeping a
watchful eye on the princess's expression. "A black one.
^ Do you know it?"

|, Wei Dao's face became as unreadable as ever. "I do not
|know this dragon. But it is difficult for Shou to hear of
|dragons doing evil things."

| "Yes, I have heard your emperor is a green dragon."
| "Jade." Wei Dao bowed, suggesting that the audience
| was at an end. "Please return to Ginger Palace with more
I frankincense and myrrh."

| Ruha did not return the bow. "You may be certain we
(will—but first, we are interested in purchasing some
S wares to take with us." The witch fingered the silk veil
that Hsieh had given to her. "As you can see, the love of
Shou silk reaches even into the depths ofAnauroch."

"Of course. You discuss with Prince Tang." Wei Dao
bowed again. "Come back tomorrow, and new chamber-
lain sees you are among first to see my husband."

"I am sorry, but that is not possible." Ruha had to fight
to keep the panic out of her voice. "We must leave for
Ilipur tomorrow to buy a new ship."

"Then come very early in morning. Chamberlain give
you first appointment." Wei Dao turned to leave, this
time without bowing.

Ruha threw open the coffer in Fowler's hands. "Before

106

The Harpers

you go, Princess, Abazm said you would want to see the
color of our gold."

Wei Dao spun around, affronted. "Show me money?
What for?"

Fowler tipped the box so she could look inside, and the
princess's expression changed instantly—first to one of
puzzlement, then interest.

"Yes, of course. Abazm always tells us we must inspect
coins." She glided over to the box and started to reach
inside, then remembered herself and asked, "May I
touch?"

Ruha nodded, and Wei Dao picked up several gold
pieces and raised them to her face. When Ruha saw the
coin from Calimshan slide down the long sleeve of the
princess's dress, she thought it best not to say anything.

"You stay tonight in Ginger Palace," Wei Dao said, as
though she had thought of the idea herself. "We see
Prince Tang soon after breakfast."

Seven

Ruha raised her veil, blew into the
tree-shaped keyhole, and whispered
the incantation to her wind spell. A
short blast of air whistled softly
through the slot, raising a gentle clat-
ter as it rattled the lock. The sound
was not loud, but the witch cringed.
After a long night of skulking through
the Ginger Palace, she had worked her way deep into the
labyrinthine corridors of the residential section, and the
guards here were thick as ants in their hill.




The bolt slid back with a muffled clack. Ruha stood,
then looked back down the long hall. Already, two sen-
tries were stalking toward her, their bare feet sliding
across the silk runner in utter silence. It was their
incredible stealth that made the witch's search so nerve-
wracking. She never knew when she would meet one
coming around a corner, or suddenly feel someone gliding
past her as she kneeled before a keyhole.

Ruha pressed herself into a corner beside the door,
moving very slowly and deliberately. Although she had
rendered herself invisible with a sun spell, the mirage
was not perfect. Any quick motion would cause a shim-
mering blur that might alert the guards to her presence.

The men stopped before the door, gesturing at the
knob and whispering to each other in the lilting language
of the Shou. After arguing a few moments, they tried the

108 The Harpers

latch. When the door swung open, they gasped and
backed away, both reaching for their square-tipped
swords. One of them spoke, and the other scurried down
the hall.

The remaining guard peered into the room, calling
gently, as though saying someone's name. No one
answered. He reluctantly entered the chamber, still
speaking softly. Though she was puzzled by the man's
alarm, Ruha followed him through the door and instantly
realized she had found the personal quarters of Lady
Feng.

Opposite the door was a glass window, through which
spilled the pale dawn light illuminating an anteroom
similar to those Ruha had found in the private apart-
ments of both the prince and princess. Like many cham-
bers in the Ginger Palace, this one was furnished with
nothing more than a single low table and a few straw
mats. The walls were covered not by the resplendent
frescoes of birds and reptiles that decorated the other
royal apartments, but by subtly hued paintings of sym-
bolic portent: a snake coiled into an ascending spiral, a
feeble old man sailing backward across a rainbow, a spi-
der that had spun its web in the mouth of a singing
woman, and many more images that would have put the
witch into a contemplative mood, had she not been so jit-
tery from hours of skulking about the Ginger Palace.

The guard crossed the chamber and nervously called
through the doorway into the next room. When no one
answered, he reluctantly inched forward. Ruha went to
the window and, while she waited for the sentry to com-
plete his search, looked out upon the rear part of the
palace complex. She could not see much, for a large, high-
walled enclosure sat in the middle of the grounds, block-
ing her view of everything beyond save the tiled roofs of
the two huge buildings the witch had noticed yesterday.

Ruha could not decide what the enclosure was. Its
walls were capped by a double row of barbed spikes, as
though it were some sort of prison, but the gates hung

The Veiled Dragon             109

open beneath a strange, scaly archway that vaguely
resembled a dragon's tail. A short, opal-paved path con-
nected the peculiar courtyard to the mansion, crossing an
arcing, multicolored bridge and snaking through a
thicket of well-tended shrubbery. The witch noticed sev-
eral sentries kneeling among the bushes, not hiding so
much as trying to avoid obtrusiveness.

Ruha was dismayed to note that the sun had already
risen high enough to kindle an iridescent glimmer in the
pearly surfaces of both the walkway and the enclosure's
scaly arch. There was not much time to find Yanseldara's
staff. Soon, the breakfast servants would arrive at the
guest house in the front courtyard. Fowler could probably
keep them at bay, but he would be hard-pressed to
explain the witch's absence when someone called to
escort them to Prince Tang's audience hall.

Ruha cast an impatient look toward the room the
guard had gone to inspect. She was tempted to start her
own search before he left the apartment, but that would
be very dangerous. As quietly as Shou sentries moved, he
might slip into the chamber while she wasn't looking and
see her move something. Besides, if anyone in the other
rooms was a light sleeper, it would be better to let the
sentry disturb them.

A short time later, the guard finally returned, mutter-
ing to himself and glancing askance at the mystical sym-
bols on the walls. Ruha had heard no conversations or
startled cries to suggest he had awakened anyone, so she
did not understand his anxiety. When she had inadver-
tently drawn the guards' attention before, they had
seemed much more confident of themselves. In one case,
they had remained quite composed while they explained
to a startled bureaucrat why they had awakened him.
Another time, they had efficiently searched an entire
apartment without disturbing the sleeping residents.

Ruha waited until the fellow left the room, then went
to the door and used the same spell she had used to
unlock the latch to lock it again. A muffled cry of surprise

110 The Harpers

sounded from the hall. The guard tried the door, again
speaking softly. The witch turned away and crept silently
into the next room, not caring that she had alarmed him
further. When the other sentry returned, he would no
doubt bring a superior, who would probably insist on
searching the apartment again. If the witch was still
here, the sound of the lock turning would alert her to
their arrival.

The next room appeared to be Lady Feng's dressing
closet. In one corner stood a wooden screen decorated
with the painting of a naked king and queen lying
together upon a bed of purple night. In the corner oppo-
site the screen were two dressing bureaus, each with a
costly silver mirror hanging behind it. One wall of the
room was lined by several wardrobes decorated with
paintings of astrological constellations.

Though Ruha considered the room an unlikely place to
hide Yanseldara's staff, she paused long enough to peer
behind the screen—nothing there—and open each of the
wardrobes. Inside were dozens of silk gowns in many dif-
ferent styles, all dyed black as kohl and brocaded with
the same endless pattern of open and closed eyes. The
witch ran her hands over the floor and explored the cor-
ners behind the clothes. When she found nothing but
sashes and slippers, she closed the wardrobes and crept
into the next chamber.

Against the far wall sat the most elaborate piece of fur-
niture in Lady Feng's apartment, a large canopied bed
surrounded by a folding partition. Each panel was deco-
rated with the fearsome aspects of leering, grotesque
monsters, such as sometimes invaded a sleeper's dreams.
In their claws, the fiends carried strange, exotic weapons
like those stored in the secret armory that Ruha had dis-
covered beneath the palace. There was a horned goat-
man brandishing a two-bladed sword, a bat-winged tiger
carrying a spear with barbed points at both ends, a red-
eyed centaur whirling a three-chained flail, and a wide
assortment of other hideous creatures to protect Lady

The Veiled Dragon            111

Feng's spirit while she slept.

They were not needed now. No clothes lay folded on
the dressing couch beside the bed, and four of the parti-
tion panels hung open, revealing a black silken quilt
embroidered with the same green dragon that hung
beneath the prow of Hsieh's ship. The blanket lay neatly
spread over the mattress and pillows, lacking even the
slightest rumple to suggest anyone had slept beneath it
the night before.

Ruha's stomach sank. She had assumed all along that
she would find Yanseldara's staff somewhere near Lady
Feng, but it had never occurred to her that Lady Feng
would not be at home.

The absence certainly explained the guards' reaction
to the rattling lock, but not much else. Perhaps Lady
Feng had spent the night in a lover's chamber, or com-
muning with the spirits in some occult place Ruha had
not yet discovered. There could be any number of expla-
nations, most of which meant the staff would not be
found here. Nevertheless, the witch decided to continue
her search. Even if she failed to recover Yanseldara's
staff—she could hear Vaerana maligning her already—at
least there was a chance she would find something to
lead her to Lady Feng.

Ruha crawled onto the mattress and ran her hands
over the black quilt, then felt under the pillows. When
she found nothing, she crawled off and straightened the
quilt, then looked under the bed and stood on the dress-
ing couch to peer above the canopy. She went to the cor-
ner and inspected a low writing desk. On the surface sat
a bottle of ink, a small calligraphy brush, and several
blank leaves of rice paper. A well-worn text in ancient
Dwarven sat on one corner; the witch knew just enough
of the arcane language to recognize the words "alchemy"
and "first materials."

Though she could not see how it might be connected to
Yanseldara's staff, the witch picked up the dwarven text.
Aside from what she had already examined, there was

112

The Harpers

little else in the room. She turned to leave, and that was
when she heard the scratching.

It was as gentle as the whisper of her feet across the
floor, but it was steady, and there was something more: a
weak, plaintive whimpering. Ruha returned the dwarven
text to its place, then kneeled in the corner of the room.
The scratching and the squealing grew more discernible,
and she caught a faint whiff of a gamy and slightly rank
odor. An animal.

Ruha ran her fingers up the corner and felt the seam
of a door. She pulled the writing desk away from the cor-
ner, and a small click sounded inside the wall. The
scratching and squealing stopped, but the gamy odor
grew stronger. Resisting the urge to pull laerjambiya—if
she attacked anything, the sun spell would fail and ren-
der her instantly visible—the witch laid her palms on a
fresco of what looked like a slumbering mountain and
pushed.

A hidden panel swung open, revealing the interior of a
cluttered chamber. A small, white-furred face peered
around the edge of the door. At first, Ruha thought the
thing was a monkey, until she saw that its black-tipped
muzzle was long and foxlike. Then she noted the black
mask around its eyes and thought it looked like a rac-
coon, save that its head was as small and narrow as that
of a weasel.

The creature, whatever it was, regarded the empty
doorway for an instant, and then its nose twitched and
its ears pricked forward. It raised its dark eyes, which
remained as expressionless as they were large, toward
Ruha's face and chittered despondently. For a moment,
the witch thought the little animal could not see her and
was disappointed at finding no one in the door. Then it
slipped forward, revealing an emaciated body and a
white-ringed tail, and gently pawed at her with two tiny
black hands.

Hoping the creature was not trying to defend its terri-
tory, Ruha stepped past it into the secret chamber.

The Veiled Dragon             113

Beneath a brass chandelier in the center of the room
stood a worktable, the surface barely visible beneath a
jumble of braziers, balances, cauldrons, and other alchem-
ical instruments. Three of the laboratory walls were com-
pletely concealed behind rows of tall wooden cabinets,
some so full of books and flasks they could not close. The
fourth wall had two glass windows, beneath which were a
red silk cushion, a box of fetid-smelling sand, and two sil-
ver bowls licked so clean they gleamed like mirrors.

I When Ruha paused at the worktable to examine Lady
| Feng's apparatus, Chalk Ears, as she was beginning to
| think of the black-masked creature, leapt onto the only
clear corner. It fixed its expressionless eyes on her face,
watching her so intently she raised a hand to make cer-
tain she had not suddenly become visible. When the
witch could not see her own flesh, she regarded Chalk
Ears with a wary eye, then reached toward a flask of
what looked like powdered blood.

A surprisingly sinister growl rolled from the creature's
small throat. The hair rose along its spine and it lifted
itself on its haunches, baring a mouthful of needlelike
fangs. Ruha retracted her arm, and the little beast set-
tled back onto its corner. The witch clasped her hands
behind her back, then slowly walked around the table,
studying the rest of the apparatus. Other than a fine
coating of dust, she saw nothing to tell her what had
become of Lady Feng. Chalk Ears watched her intently,
but made no further objections as long as she did not
attempt to touch anything.

Ruha went to the first cabinet. Chalk Ears jumped off
the table and took a post at her heels. Keeping a careful
eye on her little escort, she pulled the door open. As
before, the creature watched her carefully, and any
doubts about its ability to see her vanished from the
witch's mind. Whatever it was, the animal clearly had
some defenses against magic, and that could only mean
Chalk Ears was Lady Feng's familiar, linked to her by a
special bond of magic and love.




114

The Harpers

Ruha had never had a familiar, since the spell that
summoned them had more to do with the spirit than the
elements. But she had heard other witches describe the
strength of the union. Sometimes, the two were so closely
bound that, over relatively short distances, they could
see through each other's eyes and hear through each
other's ears.

Ruha kneeled in front of the familiar. "Lady Feng?" she
whispered, looking into the creature's big eyes. "Are you
there?"

Chalk Ears blinked, but the tiny beast made no move
to suggest that it understood.

"Why have you left your familiar alone, Lady Feng? It
is starving. Shall I feed it for you and give it water?"

Again, Chalk Ears did nothing. The witch breathed a
sigh of relief, confident there would have been some
response if Lady Feng were listening. Even if the starv-
ing creature's mistress was as cruel as Afar the Merci-
less, she would share its pain and be anxious to have it
cared for. In fact, it seemed unthinkable that Lady Feng
would allow the little beast to fall into such a wretched
state unless she had been forced to depart under the
direst circumstances.

A muffled crash rumbled through Lady Feng's apart-
ment, and guards began to call from the anteroom. Ruha
stepped into the bedchamber and pulled the writing desk
back into its comer, then slipped into the laboratory and
closed the secret door. She pressed her ear to the panel
and heard several men rush into the room, still calling
out as though they expected Lady Feng to return at any
moment. Wei Dao arrived and began issuing commands.
The witch listened for several moments more. When she
heard no one dragging the desk from its place, she
decided they did not know about the secret room and qui-
etly resumed her search.

With Chalk Ears watching intently, Ruha carefully
opened each cabinet and looked over the contents. To a
nomad's eye at least, they contained an overabundance of

The Veiled Dragon             115

magical supplies: scrolls and tomes in many different
languages, a glut of ingredients for every spell imagin-
able and some that were not, arcane instruments so
obscure the witch could not guess their purpose. Still, she
found no sign ofYanseldara's staff, nor any clue of Lady
Feng's whereabouts, nor any hint as to why the Shou sor-
ceress had abandoned her familiar.

Finally, Ruha came to a locked cabinet, and Chalk
Ears' long tail began to flick madly. The little beast rose
on its haunches and sniffed at the doors, dripping a long
stream of drool from its muzzle. The witch examined the
latch and discovered that she could pop it easily enough,
but Wei Dao and the guards were still shuffling about in
Lady Feng's bedchamber. Fearful of making any sharp
noises that might draw their attention to the secret
room, Ruha decided to move to the last cabinet.

A long, deep growl rumbled from the familiar's throat.
The fur rose along its spine, and it slunk toward Ruha
with bared fangs. The witch pulled herjambiya and
brandished it menacingly in front of Chalk Ears' face.
The creature's tail rose straight into the air. It slowly
backed away, then took refuge beneath another cabinet
and began to whine.

Cursing the black-masked beast for a scoundrel and a
blackmailer, Ruha returned to the locked cabinet and
slipped her dagger blade into the door seam. Chalk Ears
stopped crying and slunk from its hiding place, being
careful to remain well out of reach. The witch worked her
jambiya down to the latch, then twisted the blade against
the jamb.

The door popped open with a loud bang and a puff of
yellow smoke. Ruha cried out in shock and found herself
sitting halfway across the room, hurled there more by
her own surprise than the force of the blast. A scolding
harangue erupted from inside the cabinet, and the
image of a tall, willowy woman appeared in the air
before the doors. She looked almost ancient, with coarse
gray hair pulled into a tight bun and a deeply wrinkled

116

The Harpers

face. Something seemed wrong with her eyes; one of
them was almost closed, while the other bulged from its
socket as though it might fall out. The woman wagged
her finger at the floor and continued her diatribe, send-
ing Chalk Ears yelping and skittering across the floor to
take refuge behind Ruha. The illusion looked so real the
stunned witch did not fully grasp that the trap had not
been intended to frighten her until Lady Feng's familiar
peered out from behind her and voiced a pitiful plea for
food.

The voices of several astonished Shou guards cried out
from the other side of the wall, at once puzzled and
frightened. Wei Dao called something out, sounding more
shocked and bewildered than the soldiers.

The illusion—no doubt an image of Lady Feng her-
self—continued to harangue the floor. Ruha gathered
herself up, forcing herself to remain calm and consider
her options. Hiding was out of the question, for the Shou
would certainly investigate until they discovered the
cause of all the strange noises. That left only escape, and,
as far as the witch could see, there was only one possible
route.

Finally, the illusion faded. Chalk Ears cautiously
slunk toward the doors Ruha had pried open, where two
large ceramic urns contained supplies of food and water
that, apparently, the familiar had been unable to reach
for several days. The guards, and then Wei Dao herself,
called out. When they received no answer, the princess
spoke again, this time in a more commanding tone.

Ruha went to the glass windows and looked out. She
was on the second story of the palace, no more than
thirty feet off the ground. The sentries lurking in the
shrubbery around the opal path were all looking away
from the mansion, toward the strange enclosure. When
they heard the glass break, they would certainly turn
toward the sound, so the witch would have to take care
not to reveal herself by moving too fast.

Wei Dao spoke again, this time in Common. "I know it

The Veiled Dragon             117

is you, Witch! Come out now, or you go to Chamber of
One Thousand Painful Deaths!"

Ruha had seen the room to which the princess referred.
It was a dank, fetid place in the deepest of the palace's
sub-basements, filled with all manor of chains, hooks,
and grim instruments of agony.

Chalk Ears leapt up and grabbed the rim of a ceramic
um. The whole thing toppled out of the cabinet and shat-
tered, spilling a pool of stale water over the floor. Wei
Dao hissed a command, and sword pommels began to
hammer at the wall.

Summoning a wind spell to mind, Ruha grabbed the
brazier off the worktable and hurled it through a window.
She followed it an instant later, uttering the syllables of
her incantation as she fell. A terrific gust of wind tore
across the courtyard and rose up beneath her, catching
her body in an airy bed as soft as a cloud. The witch som-
ersaulted once to bring her feet beneath her, then settled
to the ground as though stepping off a stairway.

The sentries in the shrubbery began to yell at each
other in Shou. Several rose from their posts and started
to run toward the mansion, drawing an angry shout from
a young, moon-faced officer. The guards stopped where
they were, but continued to stare toward the mansion,
squinting and furrowing their brows as they tried to find
the strange blur that had just come crashing out the win-
dow.

Ruha's stomach had tied itself into knots. The coward
in her wanted to flee as quickly as possible, but that
would be exactly what her hunters expected. Certainly, a
messenger was already rushing to the barracks to call
out the guard. Besides, the witch had not yet found
Yanseldara's staff, and if the sentries would not leave
their posts to investigate a breaking window, whatever
they were protecting had to be important. Ruha turned
toward the enclosure and, ever so slowly, began to creep
down the opal path.

118

The Harpers

*        *        *        V        -Sf.

Over the garden wall came the tintinnabulation of
breaking glass. Prince Tang rose and scowled toward the
palace, but the crest of the rampart rose just high enough
to block the second-story windows—he himself had made
certain of that—and he could not see what had hap-
pened. No matter. Windowpanes cost as much as dia-
monds, but this morning he was working on the problem
of the ants, and he had only a short time to solve it before
his officious wife fetched him to meet with some new
merchant.

Tang glanced at the gate, hanging slightly ajar, and
wondered if he dared close it. He had repaired only a
quarter of the damage to his garden, and every day he
failed to restore the delicate balance meant more dead
lizards. Still, he could not hazard shutting himself off
from his guards. Minister Hsieh was well overdue, which
meant the fresh ylang blossoms had not yet been pressed,
which meant Cypress was likely to appear at any
moment, spitting acid and demanding his oil.

It puzzled Tang that the dragon had not come already
It had been seven days since the last visit, far longei
than Cypress had granted him to provide the oil, and
still there had been no demands or threats. The prince
was not anxious for the call, of course, but he was pre-
pared. His guards—half new, half veterans of the
dragon's first appearance—had been eating lasal leaves,
a mind-numbing herb that defended against the effects
of the Invisible Art. Unfortunately, it also caused
tremors and disorientation, and as often as not left long-
term users little better than zombies.

Trying to force all thoughts of Cypress from his mind,
Tang kneeled in the sand, turning back to the problem of
the ants. On a slab of stone before him, four Thornback
lizards were basking in the morning sun, warming their
cold blood in preparation for the day's activities. They
should have been plump and round of body, with blotchy,

The Veiled Dragon            119

tan-colored hides indistinguishable from the sand of the
desert quarter. Instead, they were no fatter than snakes
and as white as alabaster, almost translucent at the tips
of their stumpy tails. After Cypress's attack, all of the
ants upon which the lizards preyed had mysteriously
vanished from the garden, perhaps destroyed or driven
away by the Invisible Art.

The prince opened one of the many small lacquered
boxes he had brought into the park. A pair of red ants
that had survived their capture tried to escape. He killed
the fugitives and returned them to the container with
their ten dead fellows, then sprinkled all twelve bodies
onto the stone. The tongue of a single Thornback lashed
out and caught one insect in midair, but it showed no
interest in the others. The remaining lizards paid the
offering no attention at all.

Tang sighed and reached for the fifteenth box. After
several failed attempts to feed the lizards common house-
hold ants, he had ordered his servants to capture twelve
of every kind of ant that lived within a mile of the Ginger
Palace. He had not realized there were so many varieties,
or that even Thornbacks could be so particular about the
ones they ate.

Tang opened the box and found several large carpenter
ants trying to chew their way to freedom. Deciding it
would be necessary to punish his servants for their care-
lessness, he smashed the survivors and dumped the
whole box onto the stone. These plumper insects seemed
to interest the lizards more than the previous offerings,
as they each snapped up one or two before they stopped
eating.

The prince threw the lacquered box down in the sand.
"You are foolish old men! Food need not taste good to save
life!"

As one, the Thornbacks lifted their bodies off the rock.
They puffed out their throats and bobbed their heads up
and down in the universal challenge of lacertilians. At
first. Tang thought his exhortation had angered them,

120

The Harpers

but then he realized they were looking past him toward
the Arch of Many-Hued Scales.
The gates were closed and barred.

*****

Ruha breathed a sigh of relief, then braced her hands
against the timber crosspiece and tried to stop trem-
bling. The trip down the path of opals had been as
nerve-wracking as it had been long. When Wei Dao
appeared in the mansion's broken window, the moon-
faced officer had sent half his men down the path to see
what was wrong. The witch had barely managed to creep
off the trail before the sentries rushed past, and despite
her caution, one of the men's eyes had briefly drifted in
her direction.

After receiving instructions from the princess, the
detail had spread out in all directions to begin searching
for her. In the meantime, the young officer had as-
sembled the rest of his men at the rainbow-colored
bridge, and Ruha had been forced to creep past them less
than a hand's breadth behind their backs. By the time
she had passed beneath the enclosure's scaly gate, the
first guards from the barracks were arriving to join the
search for her. Though they had not seemed to realize she
was invisible, the witch felt certain that Wei Dao would
surmise as much as soon as she emerged from the man-
sion to direct the search.

From behind Ruha came the metallic swish of a sword
leaving its scabbard. She turned to see that the foolish
Shou who was trying to feed dead ants to spiny sand
iguanas had risen. The witch could not help gasping, and
not because she feared the square-tipped sword he now
held in his hands.

It was the man from her vision on the raft. He had the
same upturned nose, smooth complexion, and silky black
hair, but it was his eyes that convinced her. They were
deep and dark, at once confident and self-absorbed. His

The Veiled Dragon             121

jaw was set but not tense, and the stance he had adopted
suggested that he was no stranger to holding a sword.
Ruha realized at once that her first evaluation, made
from a hasty glance at the fellow's back, had been mis-
taken; this was no simple gardener.

The man studied the gates for a moment, then glanced
at his lizards and opened his mouth to call his guards.

"Please, there is no need to call for help." Ruha spoke
softly and started across the courtyard, moving quickly
enough so that he would see her as a shimmering column
of air. "I mean you no harm."

An expression of relief crossed the Shou's face. He
started to lower his sword, then glanced at the barred
gate and raised it again.

"Do not think of crying out," Ruha warned. She had
reached the edge of the courtyard, where the stones gave
way to sand. "I have no wish to harm you. Perhaps I can
even be of service, if you wish to know why the spiny
iguanas will not eat your ants."

"Come no closer." The Shou pointed his sword more or
less in Ruha's direction, holding it with both hands so
there would be no question of disarming him with a
quick strike. "Deliver your message and go."

Ruha stopped at the base of a miniature sand dune.
"What of the iguanas?"

"I take care ofThornbacks myself." The man's eyes
turned cold and angry, as though he blamed his unseen
visitor for the condition of his lizards. "Your message?"

"Why do you think I have come to deliver a message?"

The Shou's jaw dropped, and the anger in his eyes
changed to puzzlement. "Perhaps you show yourself, wu-
jen." The man took the precaution of retreating a step,
then lowered his sword. "And I do not call guards."

Ruha hesitated to do as he asked. Having seen him in
a mirage from the future, she was determined not to
leave the park without learning more about him, but her
curiosity did not translate into trust. Once she showed
herself, she would be at the mercy of his sword—a

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The Harpers

weapon that, from all appearances, he was quite capable
of handling.

As if sensing her thoughts, the Shou retrieved a scab-
bard from the ground and sheathed his weapon. "Show
yourself, wu-jen, or I draw sword and call guards."

"As you wish."

Ruha raised her hand as though to strike, and her
spell evaporated in a curtain of shimmering air. The
Shou's gaze ran up her the entire length of the witch's
aba, over her orange silk veil, then lingered on her dark
eyes. Slowly, his expression changed from wary to
pleased to covetous, leaving Ruha uncertain as to
whether she was meeting an unexpected friend or an
incorrigible lecher.

"Who—who are you?" The Shou paused a moment,
then continued to gaze into her eyes as he asked the sec-
ond part of his question, "And who sends you to spy on
Ginger Palace—Vaerana Hawklyn?"

Though Ruha was startled by the man's deduction, she
tried not to let it show. She walked toward the Thorn-
backs' basking stone, being careful to hold her hands in
plain sight. Then, recalling how he had originally mis-
taken her for a messenger and remembering how his face
had changed to that of a dragon in her vision, she decided
to answer his question with a deduction of her own.

"I was not sent by Cypress, if that is what you fear."

The Shou allowed a gracious smile to cross his lips,
then prudently stepped away from the basking stone.
"We play at same game." The Thornbacks followed his
lead, clambering over the side to bury themselves
beneath the sand. "But who is Cypress?"

Ruha locked gazes with the Shou. "He is the dragon, of
course—the one I saw you with."

"You are ... mistaken." The Shou looked away, and, for
the first time, seemed in danger of losing his composure.
"What you claim is impossible."

Ruha glanced at the throng of dead ants lying upon
the basking stone, then shook her head. "You have

The Veiled Dragon            123

watched, but you have not considered."

She grabbed several lacquered boxes and leaned over
the basking stone, then began emptying the contents
onto the sand. A cascade of ants of all sizes and three dif-
ferent colors—red, black, and brown—poured onto the
sand. Close to a dozen of the insects bounced up on their
six legs and began to scurry away. The lizards came
instantly alive, scrambling from their hiding places to
devour the fugitives in a flurry of whipping heads and
darting tongues.

"Ants must be alive!" the Shou gasped, looking back to
Ruha. "But why?"

"You have never lived in the desert, or you would
know. Small creatures like lizards often pass their entire
lives without seeing water," Ruha explained. "They must
take their fluids from their prey—but only from living
prey. Dead bodies dry out swiftly in hot temperatures,
and water is too precious to waste digesting parched car-
casses."

The Shou watched his lizards catch the last of the
moving ants, then he opened another box and dumped
the contents onto the sand. Again, the lizards gobbled up
the live insects and left the dead ones undisturbed.

Across the little courtyard came the clatter of someone
trying to open the barred gates. When the portals did not
swing apart, Wei Dao's muted voice rolled over the wall,
speaking excitedly in Shou.

Ruha's hand dropped toward herjambiya, but the
Shou raised his hand to reassure her.

"Yes, the wu-jen is here with me." He spoke in Com-
mon, so Ruha could understand him. "Not to worry. I am
safe."

There was a confused murmur outside the gates, then
all fell silent beneath the Arch ofMany-Hued Scales. The
Shou, whom the witch now felt certain to be Prince Tang,
turned back to Ruha.

"They do not disturb us. Please to accept my gratitude
for saving of Thornbacks." Though the prince's tone was

124

The Harpers

warm, he did not meet Ruha's eyes as he spoke. "But I do
not understand how feeding habits of lizards concern this
dragon Cypress."

"Is it not true that Lady Feng's kidnappers need her
alive, just as the Thornbacks need the ants alive?" asked
Ruha, implying that she knew for a fact what she was
only guessing at. "What will they do once she has fin
ished enslaving Yanseldara's spirit for them?"

Tang looked up, his eyes both betraying his astonish-
ment and veiling something more. "You are accomplished
wu-jen." The prince spread his palms and smiled warmly.
"Household of Ginger Palace has need for someone like
you."

Ruha scowled, taken aback by the directness of the
prince's approach. "We both know I am here on behalf of
someone else."

Tang shook his head emphatically. "Oh, no! I do not
speak of hiring. I mean to make you Virtuous Concu-
bine."

"Concubine!" Ruha cried, both stunned and affronted
by the offer.

Tang stumbled an uncertain step backward. A con-
cerned murmur began to build outside the gate; then the
prince squared his shoulders and stepped back to the
basking stone.

"You do not understand, wu-jen." Now he was speaking
between clenched teeth. "Virtuous Concubine is honored
position in house of Shou prince. Lady Feng is Third Vir-
tuous Concubine, and you become Worthy Daughter to
Third Virtuous Concubine to Emperor of Shou Lung. It is
position more worthy than queen of any realm in Heart-
lands!"

Ruha began to feel a little embarrassed by her out-
burst, though she still found it strange that any man
would propose such a thing without first making
inquiries about her family. "Prince Tang, what you offer
is clear enough. Still, I must decline."

Tang looked as though she had punched him in the

The Veiled Dragon            125

stomach. "You—you refuse me? A prince of Shou Lung?"

A muted thump reverberated across the courtyard;

then the top rungs of a ladder appeared above the gates.
Ruha was not overly concerned. Tang had tacitly admit-
ted that his mother had been kidnapped by the Cult of
the Dragon, and in her mind at least, that made them
allies, not enemies.

"I am sorry, Prince," Ruha said. "I cannot become your
concubine. My other obligations would interfere."

Tang considered Ruha as though he did not under-
stand the language she was speaking. The covetous
expression she had glimpsed earlier once again filled his
eyes, this time stronger than ever.

"I give you your weight in gold each year," Tang
promised. "And I build you private palace!"

Behind Ruha, a familiar voice made a harsh demand
in Shou. The witch looked across the courtyard and was
astonished to see Wei Dao herself clambering through
the narrow space between the gate tops and the archway.
The princess was dressed in a simple black tunic and
trousers uniform, with a row of slender daggers hanging
from a black sash tied around her waist.

"Ginger Palace needs good wu-jen." Though Tang
spoke in Common, his comment was directed toward his

wife.

"But not Ruha," Wei Dao countered, also speaking in
Common. She lowered her toes onto the crossbar, then
nimbly jumped to the ground. "She sneaks into Lady
Feng's private chambers—and breaks window when she
tries to escape."

Ruha turned her back on Wei Dao and faced Tang.
"Prince, it is not necessary that I become your concubine
to serve the Ginger Palace."

The witch heard Wei Dao's light footsteps coming
across the courtyard and realized the princess had not
bothered to unbar the gate for the guards. Happy to see
that her hosts did not consider her a threat to their
safety, she continued to face Tang.

The Harpers

"Prince Tang, we all wish to see your mother delivered
from the hands of her captors. Does that not make us
friends?"

"No!" Tang snapped, with surprising vigor in his voice.
His eyes briefly flickered past Ruha's shoulder and
returned. "I serve the Emperor of Shou Lung, and you
serve ... a lesser master."

"But we all oppose the Cult of the Dragon." Though she
was aware that Wei Dao had stopped a short distance
behind her, Ruha kept her attention fixed on Prince
Tang, determined to win his friendship without becoming
a Virtuous Concubine. "In the desert, we have a saying:

the enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Tang's eyes flashed in anger; then he slipped around
the basking stone so swiftly that Ruha barely had time to
turn around before he was standing between her and the
gates. The witch found herself looking over his shoulder
at Wei Dao, who was standing ten paces away with one of
her slender daggers cocked to throw.

"I say no," Tang said, speaking to his wife. "Put wasp
knife away."

Wei Dao did not lower the weapon. "Foolish Husband,
you turn back on spy! Why do you place yourself in dan-
ger? What is wrong with you?"

"What is wrong with .you?" Tang countered. "Do you
defy command of Imperial Shou Prince?"

Wei Dao's eyes flared in surprise and hurt. She looked
past Tang's shoulder and shot Ruha a look as deadly as
her wasp knife, then reluctantly lowered both her
weapon and her gaze.

"I do not mean to disobey Exalted Prince." The Princess
bowed deeply to her husband. "I think only of your
safety"

Ruha felt herself take a deep breath; then she slipped
from behind Prince Tang and executed a bow of her own,
to Wei Dao. "You have nothing to fear from me. Radiant
Princess. I come as a friend to Lady Feng and the Ginger
Palace, nothing more."

127

The Veiled Dragon

Wei Dao's lips curled into a sneer. "Yes, spy always
comes as friend. But do not think me stupid, Witch. You
care nothing for our troubles, and I watch to make cer-
tain you do not harm Beloved Husband."

Recognizing that it was impossible to make peace with
Wei Dao, Ruha turned to the prince. "I thank you for
sparing my life, Wise Prince. I assure you, I will repay
the favor with friendship."

"It is not friendship I desire," Tang replied. Deftly, he
reached down and pulled Ruha's jambiya from its scab-
bard, moving so swiftly and smoothly that she did not
realize what he was doing until he held the weapon in his
hand. "In Ginger Palace, you serve me, or you serve no

one."

Eight

^      Gagged with her own silken veil
k^ and forced to kneel upon the brick
^ ^ floor with her wrists bound behind
her back to her ankles, Ruha glared at
her captors. Tang and Wei Dao stood
at the far end of a long lime-washed
vault, mincing blossoms and filling
the air with a tangy perfume as sweet
as cassia. Though clean and tidy enough, the chamber
was crammed with all manner of vats, ovens, and other
spice-refining apparatus.




Tang and Wei Dao set their knives aside, then gath-
ered up the minced blossoms and carried them to a large
screw press in the corner. As soon as their backs were
turned, the witch fixed her gaze upon a flickering oil
lamp near the door and slipped her gag as the Harpers
had taught her, by retracting her lower jaw until she
could use her tongue to push it over her lip onto her
chin. Beneath her breath, she uttered the incantation of
a simple sun spell.

The flame coiled around itself, then leapt off the wick
and pirouetted to the floor. Ruha tried to point toward a
huge ceramic cask sitting in the corner but, with her
hands tied behind her back, she failed miserably. The fire
danced across the bricks toward a gleaming copper vat,
which caught its light and sent a reddish glint skipping
across the ceiling.

The Veiled Dragon            129

Wei Dao's head cocked slightly.

Ruha bent her finger sharply, directing the flicker
toward a black iron caldron. She barely managed to
guide the flame behind the pot's sheltering bulk before
Wei Dao turned to scan the ceiling. The witch tongued
her gag back into place and waited until her captor's
scrutiny fell on her, then glowered at the princess with a
frown that she hoped would look as helpless as it did

hateful.

Wei Dao smirked at the witch, then allowed her gaze
to roam across the room until it came to the unlit lamp. If
she noticed the faint wisps of smoke still rising from the
nameless wick, she paid them no attention. The concern
vanished from her face, and she turned back to Prince
Tang.

"Thisss . . . dangerous, my husssband." Wei Dao spoke
in Shou, unaware that a wind spell was carrying her
voice to Ruha in the Bedine language. Unfortunately, the
magic did not work well in the still air of the vault; the
words were so breathy and soft that the witch sometimes
missed them. "We ssshould... her and be done with it!"

"She ssserve us better alive." Tang turned the press
screw, then glanced at Ruha and allowed his gaze to
linger on her naked face for an indecent time, at least by
Bedine standards. "We have need o/'wu-jen."

". . . much trussst in love potion!" Wei Dao pointed a
dagger-sharp fingernail at her husband. "Witch use love
magic on you, wise husssband."

Prince Tang shrugged. "It doesss not matter, as long as
she love me more. We need wu-jen, and Ruha is wu-jen."

Wei Dao's face grew crimson and stormy. The princess
was no fool and believed Tang no more than Ruha did;

the prince needed the witch's magic, but he coveted her
womanhood.

"How witch love you more?" Wei Dao demanded. "You
sssayyiang ... not potent."

"Potent enough for now. When fresssh blossoms arrive, I
make better potion."

130

The Harpers

Ruha pointed her finger toward the wall behind her.
The wayward flame danced from its hiding place and
began to skip across the floor.

"You are bad ssson! You risssk mother for—for—" Wei
Dao's sentence sputtered to a halt, and she flung her arm
in Ruha's direction. "You risssk mother's life for barbar-
ian concubine!"

There was that word again, concubine. Ruha ground
her teeth into her gag, biting down until her jaws ached.
She did not leave the golden sands ofAnauroch to become
a prince's bauble; if the Shou thought differently, she
would show them barbarian.

"Not for concubine, for wu-jen." Tang's head started to
turn in Ruha's direction, and she barely managed to
guide her dancing flame beneath a brazier before his
lecherous gaze fell on her face again. "And risk is mossst
sssmall."

Wei Dao shook her head violently. "Already ... over the
wall!"

Whatever the princess said to the prince, it drew his
attention away from Ruha. The witch gestured with her
finger, and the lamp flame darted from its hiding place.

"What you think he tell . . . Hawklyn?" Wei Dao
demanded. "What you think witch say ifssshe essscape,
too?"

Ruha forgot about her dancing flame. Fowler had
escaped! She doubted the half-ore could report anything
useful to Vaerana, but at least the witch would not have
to add his death to her already overburdened conscience.
She circled her finger, guiding the lamp flame, which had
curled toward her captors, back toward her.

Prince Tang scowled at his wife. "Why do you not tell
me sssooner?"

"You at work in lizard park, leaving me to chase
ssspies!" Wei Dao countered. "Perhapsss wise prince
ssshould..."

Whatever the princess said, it angered her husband
greatly. Tang raised his fist; then, when Wei Dao did not

The Veiled Dragon            131

flinch, he turned away and swept a shelf clean of several
porcelain jars. They shattered on the floor, releasing a
cloud of fine, multihued powders. The prince let his chin
drop and stared into the billowing dusts, his eyes focused
someplace far beneath the bricks.

The lamp flame reached Ruha's side. She beckoned it
around behind her, scorching her insteps as she guided it
between her sandaled feet. Soon, the witch felt a tongue
of fire licking at her fingers; then she caught a whiff of
burning hemp. She began to move the flame back and
forth, never allowing it to rest beneath her bindings for
more than a second at a time. The syrupy perfume of
minced ylang blossoms still hung in the air, but not so
heavily that she dared let the acrid fumes of a rope fire
spread through the chamber.

When Prince Tang finally raised his head, he had
regained the characteristic composure of the Shou. "What
can half-man tell Vaerana Hawklyn?"

Wei Dao lowered her eyes. "J( isss impossible to sssay.
Guards do not sssee him leave Cinnamon House during
night, but neither do they sssee witch go—and we find her
in apartment of Lady Feng."

"Then we assume most wretched prossspect." The
prince took a copper beaker from a shelf and held it
beneath the drainage spout of the oil press, then opened
the valve. The sound of trickling fluid echoed through the
vault, and the tangy smell of the ylang blossoms grew
overwhelming in its cloying sweetness. "Perhapsss half-
man report mother's abduction, but that isss crime of
Cypress, not Ginger Palace."

"Vaerana Hawklyn . . . woman," Wei Dao observed.
"She know we do anything to ransssom mother!"

"But she doesss not realize we must." Tang did not look
up as he spoke. "It is no sssecret that Lady Feng hasss
won favor ofYen-Wang-Yeh. Ssso, when Vaerana Hawk-
lyn hear of worthy mother's abduction, what doesss she
think?"

Wei Dao furrowed her carefully plucked eyebrows.

132

The Harpers

"That Cypress needsss Venerable Scholar of Eighteen
Hells to sssteal spirit ofYanseldara, ofcourssse."

Ruha nearly howled as the lamp flame scorched her
knuckles, for she had been listening so intently to her
captors' conversation that she had neglected the tiny fire.
Having deduced already that Lady Feng had been
abducted for the purpose of stealing Yanseldara's spirit,
the witch found it less surprising that the Shou would
cooperate with the kidnappers than that they seemed to
think Cypress remained in good health. She moved the
lamp flame a safe distance behind her and resumed
eavesdropping.

". . . more." Prince Tang closed the drain valve and car-
ried his copper beaker to a marble-topped table. "Vaer-
ana Hawklyn hasss no reason to think Cypress requires
more from usss to complete ssspell."

A sly smile crept across Wei Dao's painted lips. "Ssso
she is looking wrong way at aussspicious time. Perhaps it
is good. . . essscaped, wise husband." The princess cast a
spiteful glare in Ruha's direction. "Now only witch
threaten sssafe return of worthy mother."

"That sssoon change." Tang removed the stopper from
a small earthenware flask and poured the contents into
his copper beaker, then pricked his finger with a needle.
He dribbled several drops of blood into the mixture.
"When ssshe drinks thisss, her only wish isss to obey me."

Feeling herself flush with outrage at the prince's plan,
Ruha took several deep breaths. Her best chance to leam
more about the theft of Yanseldara's spirit lay in exploit-
ing Tang's base cravings, and the witch knew such a plan
would fail if anger showed in her face. She tried to calm
herself by thinking of the Alam'ra Wall, a beautiful oasis
where the sweet waters poured from a cliff of white
stone. At the same time, she beckoned the lamp flame
closer and resumed the burning of her ropes. One way or
another, she would need her hands free. Whether she
succeeded in manipulating the prince or not, she had no
intention of allowing him to pour his potion down her

The Veiled Dragon             133

throat. Besides, Ruha knew better than to think the
princess would stand idly by while she tried to win
Tang's confidence. The witch had seen the antagonism
between her father's wives often enough to know that
Wei Dao was jealous of her position and would do what-
ever was necessary to keep her husband from taking a
consort.

Prince Tang stirred his concoction with a long glass
rod, then poured it into a pewter chalice. He motioned to
Wei Dao and started toward Ruha.

"Do not frighten wu-jen," he said. "For bessst effect, she
mussst drink potion of her own accord."

The witch tested her bonds, found they still held, and
lowered the knot into the lamp flame. Even she could not
smell the hemp being scorched, so thickly did the cloying
reek of ylang oil hang in the chamber. She continued to
strain at the rope until her captors were almost upon her.
Then, fearing they would notice a wisp of smoke or a
flickering reflection behind her, she beckoned the fire
into her hands and smothered it between her palms.

Tang and Wei Dao arrived with the love potion. The
prince kneeled on the floor before Ruha and pulled her
gag over her chin. His wife stood behind him, with one
hand close to the wasp knives hanging from her black
waist sash.

"If you still have no wish to become my concubine,
drink this," Tang said in Common. He held his chalice to
Ruha's mouth. "It makes you forget what you see in Gin-
ger Palace, so we can release you without fear."

Gently working her wrists back and forth against her
seared bindings, Ruha stared down her nose at the oily
pink concoction. It looked about as appetizing as camel's
blood, and its syrupy sweetness was twice as nauseating.
The witch could hardly bear to sniff the stuff, much less
drink it.

"I have no wish to forget what I have seen in the Gin-
ger Palace."

"Then you do not leave."

134

The Harpers

"Be that as it may, I still will not become your concu-
bine." Ruha raised her chin. "Such a thing would not be
fitting. I am a sheikh's daughter."

Tang's eyes shined with a hopeful gleam and, merci-
fully, he lowered the chalice. "What do you mean?"

"In Anauroch, a man may take as many wives as his
camels can feed." A muffled grinding sounded between
Wei Dao's clenched teeth, but Ruha ignored the noise and
looked deeply into Tang's eyes. "I suppose a Shou prince
can feed as many wives as he wishes."

"Her insolence is beyond forbearance!" Wei Dao pulled
a knife from her sash. "I slay this savage!"

With a movement so swift that Ruha saw only a blur,
Tang's hand lashed out and caught his wife's wrist. In
Shou, he said, "It isss for me to decide what is inssso-
lence."

"You cannot take barbarian for wife." Wei Dao
protested. "Emperor never invite usss to return."

The prince shrugged, then pushed Wei Dao's hand
toward her sash. "We need wu-jen if we are ever to be
sssafe from Cypress." He turned back to Ruha. "Please to
pardon princess. She is only wife for many years and can-
not help being spoiled."

Ruha continued to work at her bonds and graced the
princess with a benevolent smile. "After she grows accus-
tomed to the new arrangement, I am certain we will
become great friends."

Wei Dao's only response was to thrust her dagger into
its sheath, but Tang accepted Ruha's reply with an
equally gracious nod. "Of course that is possible, but
what of obligations you speak of earlier? If they interfere
with being concubine, how do they not interfere with
becoming wife?"

"If you are willing to marry me, then you must also be
willing to make one accommodation," Ruha replied.

"I tell you thisss no good!" Wei Dao scoffed. "If you
value mother's life and honor of Ginger Palace, you let me
kill her now."

The Veiled Dragon             135

Ruha cast an impatient glance at Wei Dao. "I suspect
our discussion would proceed more smoothly if we were
alone. Prince Tang." She felt something slip in the knot
behind her, but her hands did not come free. "Perhaps
you could ask the princess to excuse us?"
"Do not be fool. Witch cassst spell on you."
Prince Tang looked at his wife out of the corner of his
eye. "It is better to have princess here—as long as she
behaves courteously. Otherwise, perhaps I do as you sug-
gest, wu-jen." He returned his gaze to Ruha. "Now, tell
me of this accommodation you desire."

"I have every desire to see Lady Feng released, but not
at Yanseldara's expense," Ruha replied. "If you will stand
with Vaerana Hawklyn against the Cult of the Dragon,
becoming your wife would not interfere with my obliga-
tions."

"What do I tell you, wise husband? Witch never be
good wife." Then, in Shou, the princess added, "Ssshe
baits you like witless bear."

Tang scowled, but again raised the silver chalice to
Ruha's lips. "Perhaps you should drink, wu-jen. What you
ask is impossible."

Ruha gagged and pulled away from the potion's mawk-
ish smell. "Why? If it is Cypress you fear, there is no
need. He is dead. I destroyed him myself."

Wei Dao snorted, and the prince raised his brow—but
he did not lower the goblet. "Perhaps you do destroy
Cypress, but if you think that means there is no reason
to fear him, you know nothing."

"Then tell me." At last, the rope came apart. Ruha sti-
fled a gasp of surprise and barely kept her wrists from
drifting apart to betray her escape. "If I understand,
maybe I can help."

"You are not that powerful, Witch," said Wei Dao.
Tang was not so quick to denounce Ruha's abilities. He
regarded the witch thoughtfully, then said, "You cannot
help, but perhaps you think differently about defying the
Cult of the Dragon."

136

The Harpers

"I could." The thought was not entirely outside the
realm of possibility.

The prince glanced down at his pink concoction. "But if
you still do not change mind, you drink potion?"

"So I will forget what you tell me?" Ruha asked, pre-
tending she did not know the potion's true purpose. Her
ankles were still bound together, and she needed more
time to break the scorched rope. "Are you trying to keep
the cult's secrets?"

From the way Wei Dao's eyes flashed and Tang's com-
plexion darkened, the witch knew she had hit on a sub-
ject worth probing.

"Why should you protect the cult?" Even as Ruha
asked the question, the answer came to her. "Are you in
it?"

Again, Wei Dao pulled a dagger, but Tang shook his
head to stop her from attacking. He looked away from
Ruha and fixed his gaze on the chamber door, his expres-
sion equal parts shame and relief.

"I join when we come here." The prince's voice was
hardly a whisper. "In Shou Lung, dragons are magnani-
mous and most honorable. How do I know they are differ-
ent in Elversult?"

"Then what happened?" Ruha found herself feeling
almost sorry for the hapless prince. "Did you try to quit?"

Tang slowly brought his gaze back to Ruha. "If I
answer, you must drink potion."

Ruha nearly choked on her anger, but she forced her-
self to give him a beguiling smile. "Of course, assuming
you do not convince me to stay."

"That is most wonderful possibility." The prince looked
away, and again his voice grew low and ashamed.
"Cypress does not allow me to leave cult. He says even
prince cannot break promise to dragon. He sinks all my
ships until I promise to smuggle poisons for his murder-
ers and spell ingredients for his wu-jens. The trade is
most lucrative, but I cannot sleep."

Ruha cringed to think of what would trouble Tang's

The Veiled Dragon            137

conscience. "But why would he attack one of your ships
now? You are still doing as he demands?"

Tang's head spun back to Ruha. "He attacks one of my
ships?"

"Yes, the Ginger Lady."

The prince's face paled to the color of ivory, but it was
Wei Dao who demanded, "How do you know this?"

"Because that is when I destroyed him." Ruha's fingers
finally managed to undo the rope around her ankles, but
the witch made no move to escape. "He did not sink the
ship—it did not appear that he was trying—but if you
are still smuggling poisons for the cult, I do not under-
stand why he attacked it at all."

The prince turned to his wife. "He wissshes to kill

Hsieh.t"

The princess promptly shook her head. "Cypress grows
impatient. It isss only warning."

"What good is warning we do not hear about?" Tang
countered. "He fearsss Hsieh comes to ssstop smuggling."

"How can Cypress know esssteemed mandarin is on
Ginger Lady? Even we do not know until lassst week."

Tang considered Wei Dao's point for a moment; then
the color came back to his face. He returned his attention
to Ruha.

"I tell you about Cult of the Dragon." He lifted the
chalice to her mouth. "Now you drink."

Ruha turned away from the awful smell. "You have not
told me why you still fear the cult, when you know I have
already destroyed Cypress."

"Perhaps I do not believe you have." Tang swung the
cup around to her lips. "Drink."

This time, Ruha did not turn away. It seemed reason-
able for Tang to assume she might lie about destroying
Cypress, but she still had not discovered what the cult
needed to complete the theft of Yanseldara's spirit. She
held her breath and, very briefly, touched her lips to the
cup rim—then pulled away and looked into the prince's
eyes.

138

The Harpers

"Before drinking, I must be certain there is no hope of
resolving our differences. Allow me one more question."

Tang groaned and lowered the awful-smelling potion
"Ask."

"What more—"

Ruha's question was interrupted by the muffled bark-
ing of a Shou voice outside the vault; then the steel door
swung open. Into the chamber swept four men wearing
long, yellow hauberks of silk-jacketed scale armor.
Emblazoned on each of their chests was a scarlet wyvern,
the personal crest of the Mandarin Hsieh Han Liu.

Upon seeing the crest, both Tang and Wei Dao gasped.
The prince barely managed to stand by the time the
minister's assistant, the obsequious Yu Po, strode into
the room. He stopped just inside the door and, still
flanked by Hsieh's guards, regarded Ruha's captors with
a disdainful sneer.

Yu Po tipped his body forward in a discourteously shal-
low bow. "/ am Yu Po, Consssummate Scribe to Esssteemed
Mandarin Hsieh Han Liu."

The intrusion shocked Ruha as much as it did Tang
and Wei Dao. The refinery vault was hidden in a secret
basement beneath the palace's great spicehouse. Even
had she anticipated Hsieh's arrival so early in the day,
she would no more have expected Yu Po to search out and
intrude upon the prince and princess here than in their
private apartments.

"Welcome to Ginger Palace," said Tang, still holding the
ylang potion. Both he and his wife returned the scribe's
bow with surprising deference. "We expect Minister
Hsieh's arrival for many daysss now."

"We encounter many delay sss," Yu Po returned coldly.

"Pleassse excuse us," said Wei Dao. "We join esteemed
Mandarin in Hall of Amity, but firssst we must dispose of
intruding thief."

Wei Dao waved a hand in Ruha's direction and drew
an angry glare from Prince Tang, who would no doubt
now find it most awkward to present the witch to anyone

The Veiled Dragon            139

in Hsieh's party as either wife or concubine. Not knowing
what else to do, Ruha remained on her knees and pre-
tended she was still bound. If escape had looked barely
feasible before, when she had to contend only with the
lightning fast reflexes of Tang and Wei Dao, it now
seemed impossible.

Yu Po studied Ruha for a few moments; then, in Com-
mon, he said, "It is difficult to say what Lady Ruha is,
but it seems most unlikely she is thief."

"You know her?" Wei Dao gasped.

In the same instant, Prince Tang whirled on Ruha.
"Lady Ruha?" he demanded, looking hurt. "You do not
tell me you are lady! Is it custom where you come from to
be one man's concubine and become another's wife?"

Yu Po arched his thin eyebrows. "First she is thief,
then she is wife?" He chuckled, then said, "So sorry, but
wedding must wait." The adjutant motioned a pair of
guards toward Ruha.

Both Tang and Wei Dao paled and quickly stepped in
front of the witch. "She is guest of Ginger Palace," Tang
declared. "You may not take her without my permission."

Yu Po's eyes grew as black as obsidian. "Then you come
outside and explain this to Minister Hsieh," the adjutant
growled. "After treatment Esteemed Mandarin receives
from barbarians, he is most happy to hear that you defy
him, I am sure."

Tang glanced at his wife, then asked, "What barbar-
ians?"

Yu Po's face darkened. "Vaerana Hawklyn and her
company of knaves!" He was sounding more angry all the
time. "First they dare to surround Emperor's caravan
and search wagons for what they call 'contraband'—
Esteemed Mandarin is most interested to learn why Min-
istry of Spices does not know of trade in oleander leaves
and puffer fish venom—and now they insult Emperor by
holding Minister Hsieh hostage!"

"Hostage?" Tang gasped.

Yu Po nodded. "As we approach Ginger Palace, Lady

140

The Harpers

Ruha's half-man rushes down road and claims to Vaerana
Hawklyn that you abduct his mistress. Minister Hsieh
promises her release, but savage woman refuses his gra-
cious offer and declares she does not release Emperor's
caravan until witch is free."

Ruha cursed Vaerana for a meddling interloper. The
Lady Constable had just destroyed any hope that
remained of discovering what the cult needed to complete
the theft ofYanseldara's spirit.

Yu Po glanced at Ruha's kneeling form, then leveled a
stern gaze at Tang. "Do you still wish to keep 'guest'
locked inside Ginger Palace?"

"No." The prince kneeled before Ruha and held the sil-
ver chalice to her lips. "She is free to leave as soon as she
drinks potion."

Ruha grimaced at the reek of the syrupy elixir. She
took her hands from behind her back and roughly pushed
the cup away, then rose to her feet. "I have no wish to
drink that rancid stuff."

The jaws of both Tang and Wei Dao fell when they saw
the seared bonds hanging from her ankles and wrists.
The prince managed to recover his wits quickly enough
to grab her arm and thrust the potion toward her face.
"You break promise!"

"I said I would drink a potion of forgetfulness," Ruha
snapped. "That is a love potion, and I assure you that
without fresh ylang blossoms, it could not possibly be
strong enough."

With that, the witch brushed past her astonished cap-
tors. She snatched herjambiya off a table, then stepped
into the protection of Yu Po and his guards. "Will you
please take me out of here?"

The adjutant waved her through the door. They
climbed a set of stone stairs and exited the spicehouse
via a secret door. With two guards leading the way and
two following behind, the young Shou escorted Ruha past
the enclosure where Tang kept his pet lizards, through a
wicket door in the bulwark that separated the rear

141

The Veiled Dragon

grounds from those in front, and straight toward the
main gates. As they walked, Yu Po said nothing and
stared straight ahead, pretending not to see the many
puzzled residents of the Ginger Palace who had gathered

to watch them leave.

By the time they passed through the gateway, Ruha
had untied her veil and fastened it back into place over
her face. She found Vaerana and Fowler, now dressed in
his customary trousers and tunic, waiting for her on the
portico. The Lady Constable glowered at Ruha, then took
her by the arm and hustled her down the stairs toward
the white-bricked avenue, where a long line of driverless
wagons stood drawn up alongside the ginkgo forest. Min-
ister Hsieh and the caravan drivers were huddled
together on the opposite side of the road, surrounded by a

circle of mounted Maces.

As soon as their feet touched the white bricks, Vaerana
released Ruha and glared down at Yu Po—she was a full
head taller than most of the Shou. "Wait here. I'll send
Minister Hsieh along when I'm sure the witch is

unharmed."

"That is not our agreement."

"All right—I'll let the mandarin go when I'm good and
ready," Vaerana growled. "If you don't like that, go back
and fetch your little prince. I'll trade Hsieh for him any-
time."

Yu Po's nostrils flared ever so slightly, but he bowed
and did his best to conceal his outrage.

The Lady Constable led the way a short distance down
the white-bricked avenue, and then, a dozen paces before
they reached Tombor and the horses, suddenly stopped.
She grabbed Ruha's arm and, unable to control her anger
another moment, dragged the witch off the road. With
Fowler following close behind, the two women slipped
between two driverless wagons and walked twenty paces
into the forest, where the fan-leafed ginkgo trees were so
thick that it would be impossible for anyone on the
road—Shou or otherwise—to see or hear what passed

142

The Harpers

between them.

"This is worse than Voonlar!" Vaerana hissed. "Couldn't
you spend even one night without getting caught? I
almost didn't make it back in time to save you."

"I did not need to be saved!" Arguing with the Lady
Constable would do little to improve her standing with
the Harpers, but she was as angry as Vaerana—and with
better reason. "Yu Po could not have arrived at a worse
time."

"I suppose Prince Tang was going to hand the staff
over?" Vaerana tugged derisively at the heavy cloth of
Ruha's aba. "And what's this? Is this what you think a
Sembite spice trader looks like?"

"I know less about Sembite spice traders than you do
about good manners," Ruha shot back. "It was better to
pose as someone I could impersonate."

Vaerana narrowed her eyes and moved forward until
she was standing chin-to-chin with the witch. "We found
out in Voonlar what happens when you think. You
should've done what I said."

Fowler slipped an arm between Vaerana and Ruha. "If
she'd done what you wanted, we'd still be sitting in the
courtyard with that back-stabbing dwarf Tombor claimed
was a guide." The captain pushed the women apart, then
interposed himself between them. "It was only the Lady
Witch's disguise and her quick thinking that got us
invited to stay the night at all."

Vaerana's eyes widened at the rebuke. Her cheeks
turned crimson and she dropped her eyes in embarrass-
ment. "I shouldn't be sharpening my blade on you, Witch.
Whatever happened, your life was the one at risk." She
backed away and said, "Why don't you tell us what hap-
pened?"

Ruha glanced at Fowler. "I do not know how much the
captain could tell you—"

"Not much," Fowler interjected. "I waited all night for
you to come back and started to worry when you didn't
return before dawn. Then the Shou went crazy, running

143

The Veiled Dragon

all over swinging their boarding pikes around like they
were trying to cut up the air, and I knew they had to be
looking for you. I cut a hole through the roof of the guest
house, then climbed over the wall and ran for the trees.
Sorry I didn't stay, but I wasn't going to be much help."

"You made the right choice," Ruha replied. "And mat-
ters did not go so badly."

Vaerana's eyes lit up. "Then you know where the staff

is?"

Ruha shook her head. "I am sorry. But I do know it is

not inside the Ginger Palace."

A dark curtain descended over Vaerana's face. "Not
inside? But it's Shou magic stealing Yanseldara's spirit—

my sages are sure of it!"

"Yes, and Prince Tang's mother is casting the spell, as
you suspected," Ruha said. "But Lady Feng has been

abducted."

"Someone stole her?" Fowler's tone was incredulous.

"From the Ginger Palace?"

Ruha nodded, then described all that she had discov-
ered, from Lady Feng's starving familiar to Prince Tang's
unwitting enrollment in the Cult of the Dragon.

Vaerana listened rather impatiently until the witch
finished, then regarded her with a thoughtful expression.
"It looks like I owe you an apology—if you're sure of this."

"Of everything I have described, yes," Ruha replied.
"But I do not understand why the cult is going to all this
trouble to steal Yanseldara's spirit. Wouldn't it have been
simpler for them just to kill her?"

Vaerana made a half-nod. "Sure, but then they
wouldn't rule Elversult. If they control Yanseldara, they

control the city."

Though not entirely satisfied with Vaerana's explana-
tion, Ruha lacked a better one and saw no use in jeopar-
dizing their developing truce by contradicting the Lady

Constable.

"Assuming you are correct, the cult may be further

from its goal than we think," Ruha said. 'To complete the







144

The Harpers

theft ofYanseldara's spirit, the Cult of the Dragon needs
something more from Prince Tang."

"What?" Vaerana demanded, once again sounding
impatient and pushy. "If we deny them, can we stop
Yanseldara from getting any sicker?"

"I could not learn the answer to either of your ques-
tions." Ruha looked away from Vaerana's disappointed
face, restraining the urge to add that the Lady Con-
stable's 'rescue' had ruined her chances of discovering
more. "The cult could need anything: an instrument from
Lady Feng's apartment, ingredients from the palace's
warehouse, perhaps something from Yanseldara's home."

"No, nothing from Moonstorm House," Vaerana
objected. "They wouldn't have one chance in ten thou-
sand of getting anything from there."

"How do you suppose they got her staff?" asked Fowler.

Vaerana shot the half-ore a murderous glare, then
turned back to Ruha without answering his question.
"Your mission wasn't a total loss, Witch," she said, trying
to be magnanimous and failing miserably. "At least you
gave me some idea of what I'll need to ask."

"Ask?" Fowler grunted. "If you're thinking what I'm
thinking you are, I want my gold now."

Vaerana frowned at the half-ore. "I can't pay out of
Elversult's treasury. You'll get your gold after we take the
palace."

"You intend to storm the Ginger Palace?" Ruha gasped.

"Can you think of a better way to get my hands on
Tang?"

Ruha shook her head. "No, but I doubt interrogating
him will do you any good. The prince is too afraid of
Cypress. He refuses to believe I destroyed the dragon."

"Well, you did," Vaerana growled. "Hsieh will tell him
that!"

"Somehow, I do not think it will matter." Ruha thought
for a moment, trying to recall Tang's exact words when
she told him she had destroyed the dragon. "He said 'Per-
haps you do destroy Cypress, but if you think that means

145

The Veiled Dragon

there is no reason to fear him, you know nothing.' I
thought he was referring to the Cult of the Dragon, but

now that I reconsider . .."

"Something strange is happening," Vaerana agreed.
"I've heard reports that the cult's paying good gold to
fishermen for tiny pieces of that dragon you killed."

"That'll hardly drain their treasure boxes," Fowler
observed. "The sharks got most of the carcass."

Vaerana nodded. "For nearly a tenday now, the cult's
been shipping wagon-loads of shark out of Pros, but none
of it ever shows up in Elversult."

"Where could it be going?" Ruha asked.

Vaerana shrugged. "With all that's going on, I didn't
think it was worth the trouble of tracking down. Maybe I

was wrong."

"That'd be a good idea," Fowler said. "Cypress might
not be as gone as we thought."

Tombor the Jolly came stomping through the trees.
"Vaerana, the Shou want their mandarin. Archers are
beginning to gather along the walls."

"Let them!" Vaerana turned to go back to the road.
"We're going to have a battle soon enough."

Ruha grabbed the Lady Constable by the arm. "But
the Shou do not have Yanseldara's staffi"

"They're still my best hope of stopping the cult—or
Cypress—and saving Yanseldara."

"I may know of a better way," Ruha said, thinking of
Lady Feng's abandoned familiar. "Give me another day,
and I will find Tang's mother—and Yanseldara's staff."

Vaerana shook her head. "I don't know if Yanseldara
has another day—and even if she does, Elversult may
not. The Cult of the Dragon is growing more powerful by

the hour."

"How long'll it take you to storm the palace?" Fowler
asked. "And even if it's less than a day, can you be sure
Tang will tell you what you want to know—or that it'll do
you much good?"
{   Vaerana looked to Tombor. "What do you think?"

146

The Harpers

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

148

The Harpers

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 Con-
cubine.

"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-


149

The Veiled Dragon

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'8 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

150

The Harpers

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."

151

The Veiled Dragon

"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."

*      *      if!      S):      *

Inside the cargo box, the thick stench of ylang blos-
soms 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

152

The Harpers

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 situ-
ation.

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-


153

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 suffi-
cient 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 blos-
soms. 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

154

The Harpers

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?

The Veiled Dragon             155

"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 flaming 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.

156

The Harpers

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 re-
sembled 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.

Waves of acid began to lap at its shores, filling the air
with hissing white smoke and reducing the isle to little
more than a sandbar. The witch pictured the sand chang-
ing to granite. She felt a strange tingling deep within her
stomach, then experienced a momentary burning all over
her body, as though she had exerted every muscle at
once. The little island hardened into dense stone and
stopped dissolving, but Ruha felt her foot slide a little
closer to the rear of the wagon.

A deep-throated growl rumbled from Cypress's throat;

then the yellow acid inside Ruha's mind began to churn
and froth like a storm-tossed sea. Mountainous waves
rose and crashed over the witch's small isle, threatening

The Veiled Dragon            157

to submerge it entirely. She envisioned the island erupt-
ing like a volcano, pushing its way higher above the sur-
face and spreading immense blankets of molten stone
across the lake. Again, she experienced a strange tingling
deep within her abdomen, followed by a momentary
burning over her entire body. She felt physically drained,
as though she had been running for a long time in the
scorching sun.

You only anger me. Cypress's voice broke like thunder
inside Ruha's mind, and she felt her foot touch the
wagon's tailgate. Are untrained mind cannot prevail.

The stars vanished from the purple sky over the
witch's growing island of hope. Spears of lightning
stabbed at the summit of the erupting volcano, and a few
hissing drops of acid began to fall on its slopes.

Then, before Cypress could unleash the full fury of his
storm, a pair of familiar forms came rushing across the
spicehouse floor.

"Cypress!" gasped Wei Dao. "What do you want here?"

Prince Tang drew his sword and pointed it at the
dragon. "You go!" Then he looked toward the door.

"Guards!"

Cypress glanced away from Ruha long enough to flick
his tail at the approaching prince and send him crashing
through the flimsy door of a spice bin. That instant was
long enough for the witch. She envisioned her volcano
bursting apart, flinging lava and ash in all directions. A
tremendous wave of fatigue rolled over her body; then
her island erupted as she had envisioned, pouring forth
molten stone in such prodigious quantities that the acid
lake completely vanished beneath its fiery blanket.

Ruha felt control of her limbs return. Gasping for
breath and trembling with fatigue, she slipped back to
the center of the wagon. Her mind was not entirely free
of its attacker, however. The dragon locked gazes with
her again, and once more his bat figure appeared inside
her mind, rising from beneath the sea of flaming rock
like a phoenix reborn. An angry rumble rolled from

158

The Harpers

Cypress's throat; then the flaming bat transformed itself
into an immense, black-haired Cyclops. The brute floated
down to the ground, then waded through the lava toward
the witch's volcano. He stood as tall as the summit, and
his knobby hands looked powerful enough to crush stone.

Ruha pictured the ground beneath his feet turning
to quicksand, but this time she experienced no strange
tinglings in the pit other stomach. She felt only a dull,
nauseating ache, then a searing wave of pain as the last
of her energy drained from her muscles. The witch col-
lapsed to her knees, so exhausted and enervated that
she could not find the strength to rise. The cyclops
stopped beside her volcano, then reached out and tore
away a huge chunk of glowing stone.

As I annihilate this mountain, so I annihilate your
mind! the cyclops cackled. When I finish, your head will
be naught but a smoking hole, as empty and useless as a
spent sulfur pit!

Ruha tried again to change the scene inside her head,
but succeeded only in exhausting herself to the point that
she almost dropped the fireball. The wagon rocked as
someone climbed in behind her, but the witch could not
rip her gaze away from Cypress's empty eye sockets to
see who it was. She thought about trying to drop the fire-
ball before the dragon seized control of her body again.
The resulting conflagration would kill her as well as the
newcomer, but she felt fairly certain that destroying the
ylang blossoms would also delay the theft ofYanseldara's
spirit.

Prince Tang kneeled beside Ruha, holding several
slender yellow leaves in his hand. His eyes appeared
glassy and vacant, and he seemed to be chewing some-
thing. Cypress glanced away from Ruha and glared at
Tang. Inside the witch's mind, the cyclops stopped tear-
ing apart her volcano. She was too exhausted to take
advantage of her foe's distraction, but she found herself
free to look away from his gaze. A small company of Shou
guards had appeared at the door and were cautiously

159

The Veiled Dragon

advancing into the shadowy spicehouse, squinting at the
dragon as though they could not quite believe their sun-
dazzled 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 boil-
ing 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

160

The Harpers

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 focus-
ing 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 surviv-
ing 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

161

The Veiled Dragon

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 for-
give 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,"

162

The Harpers

"You destroy body, not spirit," Tang explained, assum-
ing 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 pos-
sesses 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 ofwu-
jen. 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 grati-
tude. I shall let you leave the wagon before I throw my
fireball into it."

The VeUed Dragon            163

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 hus-
band's soldiers got in the way.

Tang eyed the witch's fireball and did not climb from
the wagon. "Burning blossoms would be unfortunate mis-
take 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 morn-
ing that Cypress needs something more from you to com-
plete 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 half-
elf?"

Tang nodded. "He loves Yanseldara for many years,
since she wounds him and sends him away from Elver-
suit." 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."

164

The Harpers

"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 respon-
sibility 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 con-
tinued, "A man does not allow his fear to dictate his

The Veiled Dragon            165

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 cap-
tors and spun around, then found the tips of several hal-
berds 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 Gin-
ger 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 fore-
head 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 red-lacquered mahogany instead of rusty iron—a con-
struction that would make them no less sturdy once they
were barred shut. The stone walls were smooth-
plastered, 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 hold-
ing 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

The Veiled Dragon            167

cast any spells, so she could not understand the conver-
sation. Nevertheless, she had explored the dungeon dur-
ing her initial search for Yanseldara's staff and could
imagine what they were discussing. Down the left corri-
dor 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 pris-
oner 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 back-
ward. 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, catch-
ing 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 ear-splitting 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

168

The Harpers

open mouths voicing screams the witch could not hear.
Some of the men held their ears and some covered their
eyes, but they all remained too stunned to do more than
writhe in pain. The oil lamp she had used for her spell
was gone, leaving a huge sooty smudge above the sconce
where it had hung, but neither the wall nor the ceiling
had suffered any material damage from the detonation.

Ruha searched for Wei Dao's form at the head of the
column, weighing the wisdom of wading through the
tangle of bodies to retrieve her late husband's jambiya
from the princess. Unfortunately, the witch could not be
sure how soon her captors would begin recovering from
their shock. The effects would normally last long enough
for her to run an eighth league, but she had no way to tell
how long she herself had been incapacitated. Besides,
there were a dozen more guards at the entrance to the
dungeon, and it would not be long before they arrived to
investigate the detonation.

Ruha pulled a dagger from a soldier's belt, then
stepped over him and three other quivering men and
started down the left-hand corridor. As she moved, the
witch kept a careful watch on the floor, stopping to pry
out any pebbles lodged between bricks. It took only a few
moments to fill her hand, for even the tidy Shou could
not keep from tracking tiny stones inside, and it hardly
seemed worth the effort to scrape them from the seams of
a dungeon floor.

The witch glanced back down the corridor. Although
Wei Dao had not entirely recovered from her shock, she
had risen and was picking her way down the corridor.
The princess's eyes had the blank, inert stare of sight-
lessness, and she was moving her open hands in front of
her body in an ever changing pattern of circular motions.
Ruha found her pursuer's determination more than a
little alarming; only a very good fighter would feel confi-
dent enough to carry the battle to a foe while both blind
and deaf.

Ruha shook her pebbles and uttered the incantation of

The Veiled Dragon            169

a sand spell. The stones began to oscillate in her palm,
scrubbing off two layers of skin before she could hurl
them at the ceiling. They struck in a circle as broad as
her shoulders and continued to vibrate, much too fast for
the eye to follow. She heard a faint drone above the ring-
ing in her ears, and a steady shower of powdered wood
rained down on her shoulders. The witch hiked up the
hem of her aba, then pressed her hands and feet against
opposite walls and began to chimney up the walls of the
corridor.

Ruha had climbed about ten feet when Wei Dao passed
beneath her, still circling her hands before her body and
staring vacantly ahead. The drone of the sand spell must
have been loud enough for the princess to hear, for she
stopped directly beneath the scouring pebbles and cocked
her head. She turned her palm up to catch some of the
powdered wood raining down her, then seemed to guess
what was happening and started after the witch.

Ruha climbed to the ceiling and waited beside her
circle of buzzing pebbles. The stones had dug a deep
labyrinth of wormy grooves into the wood, and it would
not be much longer before they scoured clear through.
Already, islands of plank were trembling as though they
would fall at any moment, but the witch did not dare
reach up to pull them loose. The whirling pebbles would
take her fingers off.

A short distance below, Wei Dao had nearly climbed
within arm's reach. She carried Ruh&'s jambiya clenched
between her teeth, and her blinking, squinting eyes were
fixed vaguely on the hem of the witch's aba. Down the
corridor, the guards were beginning to rise and rub their
heads. Deciding to attack before they gathered their wits,
Ruha pulled a foot away from the wall and thrust it at
the princess's head.

Wei Dao continued to squint until the approaching
kick had nearly reached her face . . . then she calmly
slipped the blow by looking away and allowing the
witch's heel to glance off her brow. Instantly, the

170

The Harpers

princess's hand snapped back, smashing the hard bone
of her wrist into the tendons of Ruha's ankle. A sharp,
tingling pain shot up the witch's shin, and her leg went
numb below the knee.

As Ruha tried to pull her foot back, Wei Dao trapped
the witch's ankle in the crook of her elbow, then locked it
in place by clasping her hand against the back of her
neck. She pulled her legs away from the walls and
dropped, already raising her free hand toward thejam-
biya between her teeth.

The witch pushed against the walls with all her might,
barely keeping herself from falling to the floor when Wei
Dao's weight hit the end other dangling leg. From behind
Ruha, barely audible over the ebbing roar inside her
head, came the muted clamor of the guards gathering
themselves up to help the princess.

Wei Dao took thejambiya from between her teeth.

Ruha swung her second leg away from the wall and
smashed her heel into the back other foe's skull. Wei
Dao's head snapped forward; then the knife slipped from
her hand and her body went limp. The princess dropped
a man's height to the floor, landing in the semi-rigid heap
of someone caught halfway between consciousness and
unconsciousness. A pair of guards appeared beside her
immediately.

Ruha looked up and saw light shining through the
grooved planks above her head. The pebbles were gone,
having eaten all the way through the wood. The witch
did not wait to see if the soldiers below would attack her
or tend to their mistress. She braced her good foot
against the wall—the leg that Wei Dao had struck was
too numb to trust—then made a fist and punched it
through the boards above her head. The wood fell apart
easily, and she had no trouble widening the hole until she
came to a solid edge. The witch grabbed hold and glanced
down to see several guards climbing after her.

Although Ruha did not know any wood magic, she
sprinkled a handful of decaying wood on their heads and

The Veiled Dragon            171

muttered a few mystic-sounding syllables. That was
enough to make them drop back into the corridor and
scurry for cover. Having bought herself more time, the
witch pushed her second hand through the hole—then
gasped as her wrists were seized from above by a pair of
small, callused hands. Without bothering to tear away
what remained of the weakened planks, her unseen cap-
tor pulled her up through the floor.

Ruha found herself standing before a blank-faced sol-
dier dressed in Minister Hsieh's yellow, silk-jacketed
armor. She was in a fair-sized room furnished only with
kneeling mats, several low tables, and bookshelves, sur-
rounded by a dozen more of the mandarin's guards, all
with long, square-tipped swords in their hands. Along
with Yu Po, Hsieh himself stood a half-dozen paces
behind his guards.

"When strange events occur, it seems you are always
near." Although Hsieh did not speak loudly, the ringing
in Ruha's ears had faded to the point where, with a little
effort, she could understand his words. The mandarin
pointed overhead, where the witch's pebbles were scour-
ing a fresh set of grooves into the coffered ceiling.
"Please to stop magic before it ruins Princess Wei Dao's
apartment."

The man who had pulled Ruha out of the floor released
her hands and stepped back, but the witch did not even
consider casting a spell at the mandarin or any of his
men. Although Tang had ordered his guards not to harm
her, Hsieh's soldiers had received no such instructions
and would undoubtedly strike her down at the first sign
of danger to their master. Ruha gestured at the ceiling
and spoke a single sibilant syllable. The pebbles fell out
of the air, dropping through the hole to clatter off the
dungeon's brick floor.

"So much better." Hsieh kneeled at one of the room's
low tables and waved Ruha to the other side. "Please."

Ruha allowed herself to be escorted to the table, then
sat cross-legged on one of the reed mats. Although she

172 The Harpers

was not overly fond of the chairs that Heartland hosts
always thrust at their visitors, she found the Shou habit
of kneeling even less comfortable.

Hsieh waited for her to arrange her aba and veil, and
then said, "Please to explain your return to Ginger
Palace. I am under impression that Vaerana Hawklyn
takes me hostage to get you out."

"She came too soon." As the witch spoke, she was fran-
tically trying to calculate how much she should tell Hsieh
about events in Elversult. Though he lacked the same
reasons as Prince Tang and Wei Dao to conceal Lady
Feng's abduction, he might easily conclude that the best
way to recover her was to let Cypress have what he
wanted. "I had not concluded my business."

Hsieh nodded thoughtfully. "And this business—what-
ever it is—do you finish it now?"

Ruha shook her head. "No, I was . .. interrupted."

Hsieh allowed himself a tiny smile, but made no
remark about the interruption involving a trip to the
dungeon. "Perhaps this business is something I can help
you conclude."

Ruha lifted her brow. "Do you not wish to know what I
am doing?"

"You are spying," Hsieh replied simply. "I have need of

spy."

After a moment's consideration, Ruha asked, "And who
am I to spy upon?"

"I come to speak to Lady Feng, but she is not here." He
leaned forward and spoke so quietly that Ruha could
barely make out the words. "I understand she is in Elver-
suit. Perhaps she dishonors Peerless Emperor of Civi-
lized World."

Ruha frowned, confused by the mandarin's implication
and uncertain what he wanted from her. "What do you
think she has done to dishonor your emperor?"

The mandarin flushed and looked at the tabletop. "Per-
haps she takes lover."

"A lover?" Ruha scoffed.

The Veiled Dragon            173

Hsieh frowned and glanced toward his guards. "For
spy, you are most imprudent."

"She is more than spy!" accused Wei Dao's voice.

The witch turned to see the princess pushing her head
out of the hole in the floor. Her hair was disheveled and
there was a red mark on her brow where Ruha's heel had
glanced off, but otherwise she showed little sign of their
battle.

Wei Dao allowed two of Hsieh's men to help her into
the room, then pulled Ruha's jambiya from her sash and
pointed the curved blade at the witch. "Lady Ruha is
insidious assassin!"

The accusation caused several of the guards to reach
for the witch, but Hsieh raised a finger and waved them
off. "If Lady Ruha wishes me dead, she has many chances
better than this to attack."

Ruha inclined her head to the minister. "I am grateful—"

Hsieh warned her off with a scowl and quick shake of
his head. "Must wait for princess. To Shou, form is all."
The mandarin looked at Wei Dao, then gestured at one of
the mats beside their table. "Please."

The princess slipped the jambiya into her sash, then
took several moments to straighten her hair and collect
herself. For a time, Ruha thought she might be stalling
until her own guards entered the room, but no one
climbed into the room after her, nor did Hsieh's men give
any indication that they expected—or would welcome—
any of the princess's soldiers to join them. At last, Wei
Dao came to the table and bowed to Hsieh, then calmly
kneeled on a mat beside Ruha as though she had not just
accused the witch of being a murderess.

"Esteemed Mandarin, please to forgive Prince and me."
By the continuing blare of Wei Dao's voice, it was clear
that her ears were suffering from the detonation even
more than Ruha's. "We do not tell you all."

"Then do so now—more quietly," Hsieh urged.

Wei Dao kept her eyes lowered, "Lady Feng does not
visit sick friend in Elversult."

174

The Harpers

Hsieh barely kept from smirking. "Truly?"

"Truly. Prince Tang learns of plan to kill Third Virtu-
ous Concubine, and he sends her into hiding." Wei Dao
raised her chin and glared at Ruha. "Treacherous witch
is assassin."

Ruha could not stomach the lie. "That is—"

Hsieh waved a cautioning finger at the witch. "You
ignore form. Lady Ruha." Though his voice was stern, his
face remained as blank as ever. "Please to let Princess
explain why someone—presumably Vaerana Hawklyn—
wishes to kill Lady Feng."

Wei Dao was ready with another lie. "To stop trade in
poisons. Vaerana threatens many times to 'take mea-
sures' if we do not stop, but Honorable Husband does not
let savages dictate business of Ginger Palace."

"How wise." Hsieh's tone was as flat as his expression
was blank.

Wei Dao continued, "After we must exchange witch for
person of Esteemed Minister, we think she give up and
leave—then we find her hiding in ylang blossoms." The
princess peered at Ruha from the corner of her eye. "She
is most resolute killer."

Hsieh nodded sagely. "Most."

"We are taking her to Chamber of One Thousand
Deaths when she makes lamp explode and escapes
again," Wei Dao continued. "Please to lend me sword. I
promise Honorable Husband that I kill barbarian before
he returns with Virtuous Mother."

Yu Po immediately reached for his sword, but Minister
Hsieh quickly raised a hand to restrain him. The adju-
tant's jaw fell slack, as did those of several guards.

"Do you not wish to hear what Lady Ruha says?" Hsieh
asked.

Yu Po and the guards glanced at each other as though
the thought had never crossed their minds. "But Lady
Ruha is barbarian!" Yu Po gasped. "Princess Dao is wife
of son of Third Virtuous Concubine."

Hsieh nodded as though he were in complete agree-


The Veiled Dragon            175

ment with his adjutant, then bit his lips as though strug-
gling with a difficult decision. "What you say is most
true. It does not matter that Lady Ruha saves our lives
when dragon attacks Ginger Lady."

The mandarin allowed his gaze to linger on Wei Dao,
who took several quiet breaths and tried not to look con-
cerned as the color drained from her face.

"If Shou princess claims barbarian witch intends to
kill Lady Feng, then we must believe her." Hsieh contin-
ued to glare at the princess. "If she feels certain we
understand her correctly—and if she is certain she says
what she means."

Wei Dao's painted lips began to quiver, but she did not
look away from Hsieh's penetrating gaze. "I... I am cer-
tain."

Yu Po placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, but cast a
questioning look at Hsieh and stopped short of drawing
it. The mandarin remained as motionless as a statue and
continued to glare at Wei Dao. Ruha hardly dared to
breathe. She did not understand all the nuances of the
exchange, but it seemed clear enough that the minister
was trying to save her life—whether because he wished
to repay her or because he needed a spy, she did not
know. It hardly mattered, and the witch sensed that even
the slightest movement on her part might well bring the
contest to an unfavorable end.

As frightened as Wei Dao appeared, it was Hsieh who
looked away first. "It appears the princess is most confi-
dent of herself."

Yu Po drew his sword. Before Ruha could summon the
incantation of even a simple spell to mind, two guards
grabbed her arms and pushed her forward, laying her
head flat upon the table. The witch uttered a silent
prayer, begging the forgiveness of Lander, her dead lover,
for failing as a Harper, then took her last breath and pre-
pared to die.

The blow did not fall. After a time, Ruha opened her
eyes—she did not remember closing them—and craned

176

The Harpers

her neck against the restraining hands of her guards
She saw Hsieh and the others standing over her beside
the table. The mandarin had taken Yu Po's wrist to
restrain him from giving the sword to Wei Dao.

"The Emperor's justice cannot be denied, but we are in
land of savages," said Hsieh. "We must allow Lady Ruha
to speak, so her friend Vaerana Hawklyn may not protest
that our execution is unjust."

"Esteemed Mandarin, why do we care if Vaerana
Hawklyn protests?" Wei Dao's voice continued to be over-
loud. "She is barbarian!"

"Vaerana Hawklyn is barbarian with army. If she
makes hostage of Shou Mandarin, does she hesitate to
sack Ginger Palace?" Hsieh paused to let the others con-
sider his point, then continued, "But if we follow form of
barbarians and let prisoner speak, perhaps we appease
Vaerana's superiors. Perhaps we avoid battle."

The mandarin released his adjutant's wrist. Yu Po low-
ered his sword, but did not return the blade to its scab-
bard. He and the other Shou no longer seemed quite so
confused by Hsieh's perverse defense of the witch's life.
Ruha dared to hope their reaction meant the minister
had finally prevailed in the strange battle of protocol
between him and Wei Dao.

The princess frowned, but seemed unable to effectively
oppose the suggestion. "Ask, but her answer is lie."

Hsieh smiled grimly. "Yes, if you say it is." He leaned
over Ruha. "Lady Ruha, does Princess tell truth?"

"No." The witch's answer reverberated through the
tabletop and returned to her ear sounding loud and deep.
"Lady Feng has been abducted."

Ruha's assertion elicited no cries of outrage or gasps of
surprise. The Shou remained as silent as stones, and by
their silence the witch knew that none of them, even
Hsieh, gave any credence to her claims.

Wei Dao reached for Yu Po's sword.

"I can prove what I say!" Ruha exclaimed.

It was Hsieh who scorned the witch's claim. "How can

The Veiled Dragon             177

you prove what is not possible?"

The mandarin's tone was severe and impatient, as
though he had expected her to say something else. Cold
fingers of panic began to creep through the witch's belly.
Yu Po was awaiting permission to yield his sword, and
Ruha could not imagine what Hsieh wished to hear. Wei
Dao had already declared anything the witch said to be a
lie, and the Shou seemed unwilling, perhaps even unable,
to believe otherwise. The truth, even if it could be proved,
did not matter—and Ruha suddenly realized what the
minister wanted her to say.

"Princess Wei Dao is protecting her mother-in-law," the
witch said. "Lady Feng has taken a lover."

Hsieh gasped much too loudly, prompting Yu Po to step
back and sheath his sword.

"Lady Ruha, you are certain?" Hsieh did not even
bother to feign his shock well. "Princess Dao is . ••. mis-
taken?"

"Is that not a good reason for her to have me silenced?"

"Indeed, but it does not work. I suspect this myself."
Hsieh whirled on Wei Dao and fixed her with a stony
glare. "Do I not warn you about lying to me?"

"I am Shou Princess." Though her chin was trembling,
Wei Dao held it high. "I do not lie, Esteemed Mandarin."

"No?" Hsieh glanced at the guards pinning Ruha to the
table, who promptly released the witch and stepped back.
"Lady Ruha, please to show proof of Lady Feng's impru-
dence."

Ruha straightened her aba and started to remind the
mandarin that what she had offered to prove was not
Lady Feng's infidelity, but her abduction—then she
thought twice about confusing the issue and held her
tongue. To the Shou, the witch was beginning to realize,
truth was a relative thing. As long as she had Hsieh's
support, any evidence she offered would no doubt be
taken as proof of whatever the mandarin wished.

Ruha started to lead the way out of the room, then
remembered her manners and bowed to Wei Dao, gesturing

178

The Harpers

toward the door. "If the princess will show us to Lady
Feng's apartment?"

Wei Dao frowned in confusion, then turned to lead the
way out of the room.

Halfway to the door, she suddenly stopped. Her fore-
head was slick with sweat and her face was sick with
fear. "This is not right. I cannot show others into Lady
Feng's apartment."

"Then I shall." Behind her veil, Ruha allowed herself a
small smile. "I know the way, as I'm sure you remember."

As the witch moved to step past, she saw Wei Dao's
hand drop toward her sash.

In the next instant, two of Hsieh's guards lay on the
floor holding their bloody throats, and Wei Dao was leap-
ing through the air, slashing at Ruha's throat with her
ov/njambiya. The witch twisted her body to the side and
reached out to meet the assault at the wrist, but the
princess's reflexes were as quick as lightning. She circled
the blade beneath Ruha's blocking arm and reversed it,
driving the tip toward her victim's heart as though she
had been fighting withjambiyas all her life. The witch
saved herself only by falling to the floor and madly flail-
ing her feet in a desperate attempt to trip her attacker.

There was no need. Moving with a deliberate grace
that appeared almost languid, Hsieh slipped behind the
princess. He clamped one hand over the wrist of Wei
Dao's weapon hand, then shot his other forearm around
her throat and brought it up under herjawline so hard
her feet came off the ground.

Wei Dao's eyes bulged and her tongue appeared
between her lips. She flung her head back in an attempt
to smash her captor's nose, but Hsieh simply tipped his
face out of the way. The princess made a brief, rasping
attempt to breathe, but the veins in her neck were being
pinched shut by the mandarin's arm, causing her head to
run out of blood long before her lungs ran out of air. Her
face turned a shocking shade of purple-gray, and the Jam -
biya slipped from her hand. Her eyes rolled back in their

The Veiled Dragon            179

sockets; then she stopped struggling and began to spasm.

Hsieh dropped her at a guard's feet. "Greatly unex-
pected. I am most curious to see what we find in Lady
Feng's chamber."

Ruha could not take her eyes off Wei Dao's unconscious
form. During all her training with the Harpers, she had
never seen a woman move with such deadly speed and
grace. Had she not seen the ease with which Hsieh dis-
abled her, the witch would not have believed anyone—
especially a one-eyed man of Hsieh's age—could move
more swiftly.

"Minister Hsieh, I thank you for my life," Ruha said.
"You are a man of many hidden talents."

The mandarin smiled. "In Shou Lung, we long ago
learn wisdom of being better warriors than those who
guard us." He turned to Yu Po and gestured at Wei Dao.
"Bind princess well and take her to apartment. Inspect
her chambers to see that she is ... safe."

Yu Po bowed, then began issuing orders in Shou. As
Hsieh's guards scurried into action, the mandarin
selected a half-dozen men to accompany him, then led
the way up an immense staircase to the second story,
where he astonished the palace sentries by allowing
Ruha to use her wind magic to open the door to the Third
Virtuous Concubine's apartment. The minister scowled
at the macabre frescoes that decorated Lady Feng's
antechamber, then followed the witch through the dress-
ing closet into the bedchamber.

Ruha went straight to the corner and pulled Lady
Feng's writing desk from the wall. When she did not hear
any scratching or whining on the other side of the secret
door, she began to fear that Wei Dao had done something
with Chalk Ears. The witch took a deep breath and, won-
dering how Hsieh would react if it turned out she could
prove neither Lady Feng's indiscretion nor her abduction,
pushed open the hidden panel.

The secret chamber looked as though a whirlwind had
erupted inside. The worktable in the center of the room

180

The Harpers

had been swept clean of its cauldrons and balances,
which now sat upon the floor amid a knee-deep jumble of
books and broken glass. Heaps of severed bat wings,
blackened fingernails, and silk-wrapped spider eggs were
scattered everywhere, often coated by stripes ofrainbow-
hued dusts and powders. One of the cabinets had even
been pulled over and now lay broken into two splintered
pieces.

Save for a sleeping cushion, sandbox, and two silver
bowls containing untouched supplies of food and water,
there was no sign of Chalk Ears. Although the jagged
shards of glass had been broken out of the window
through which Ruha had escaped, the casement itself
remained open and not repaired.

"Is this what you bring me to see?" Hsieh asked.

"No. What I brought you to see is gone."

Ruha could almost see what had happened. After she
jumped through the window, Wei Dao, or some other
guards, had tried to capture Chalk Ears. The familiar
had panicked, and the ensuing struggle had destroyed
Lady Feng's laboratory. In the end, the little creature had
escaped through the broken window, and the princess
had elected to leave it open in the hope that the beast
would return.

The witch picked her way across the room. "I had
hoped to show you Lady Feng's familiar." She picked up
the red sleeping cushion. "But I fear Chalk Ears has
fled."

"Chalk Ears? Perhaps you mean Winter Blossom?"

Ruha held her hands about a foot apart. "It was a little
creature that could have been a cross between a monkey
and a raccoon. I found it here when I—" The witch stopped
short of admitting what she had been doing in Lady Feng's
chambers. "It looked like it had not eaten for a week."

"He," Hsieh corrected. The mandarin waded into the
room and kneeled beside the familiar's lair. "Winter Blos-
som is male lemur—though I think Eye Biter is better
name."

The VeUed Dragon            181

Ruha caught herself staring at Hsieh's silken eye
patch and looked away. "Winter Blossom is more than a
pet to Lady Feng. Had she departed the Ginger Palace
willingly, I doubt she would have left him behind."

Hsieh sighed heavily. "But familiar is not here."

The mandarin waved his guards into the room, and
Ruha's mouth went dry. She glanced out the empty win-
dow pane, already summoning to mind the same wind
spell she had used to escape Wei Dao, then swallowed her
fear and told herself not to panic. The guards arrived and
arrayed themselves around Hsieh, at the same time
blocking the witch's path through the window.

Ruha squatted beside Winter Blossom's silver bowls
and waved her hand over the contents. "The familiar
escaped after Lady Feng's departure, or these would not
be full. Wei Dao hopes to lure him back."

Hsieh met Ruha's gaze. "I do not doubt what you say. If
Lady Feng takes Winter Blossom, she takes his bed." He
picked up the lemur's sleeping cushion, then tossed it to
a guard. "So, where is Lady Feng, and why does she not
take familiar?"

"I told you—she was abducted."

"So you do, but I think you are lying. It is so much bet-
ter if she takes lover." Hsieh shook his head in disap-
pointment, then gave Ruha a stern glance. "Perhaps you
tell me what you are doing in Ginger Palace—and no lies.
Today, I grow impatient with lies."

When Ruha paused to consider how much she should
say, the mandarin rose. "Please do not refuse." He
glanced at two guards, who took Ruha by the arms and
jerked her to her feet. "Truth potions are most damaging
to mind, and you cannot escape."

"It was not my intention to try to escape—and let us
both hope that does not become necessary." Ruha fixed an
icy glare on Hsieh and remained silent. When he finally
waved his guards off, she began, "Not long ago, a staff of
some sentimental value was stolen from the Lady Yansel-
dara . . ."

182 The Harpers

The witch told Hsieh of how someone was using the
staff to steal Yanseldara's spirit, and ofVaerana's belief
that Lady Feng was responsible, and of her own effort to
recover the staff from the Ginger Palace, and, finally, of
her subsequent discovery of the Third Virtuous Concu-
bine's abduction. The mandarin listened patiently and
closely. He did not interrupt, even when she told him of
Tang's involvement in the Cult of the Dragon and how
the prince had attempted to conceal his mother's kidnap-
ping.

When Ruha finished, the mandarin contemplated her
account in silence for many moments, then raised his
hand and held up three splayed fingers. "I have ques-
tions. Where is Prince Tang now?"

"He seems to have decided that the only way to redeem
himself is to personally rescue his mother." Ruha did not
say in whose eyes the prince wished to redeem himself.
The less Hsieh knew about the prince's attraction to her,
the better. "I believe he has taken a company of guards
and gone to attempt that."

Hsieh winced, but nodded and folded down one of his
fingers. "Second question. Theft of spirit takes no more
than two or three days. Why has Lady Feng not fin-
ished?"

"I am not certain. But I do know Prince Tang was
awaiting the fresh ylang blossoms aboard the Ginger
Lady." When the mandarin furrowed his brow, Ruha has-
tened to add, "The kidnapper believes he is in love with
Yanseldara. Perhaps they are for a love potion?"

Hsieh shook his head. "Then why does he steal spirit?
Only reason to use love potion on spirit is to bind it to
another spirit, for long journey through Ten Courts of
Afterlife."

A feeling of nausea crept over Ruha. "The thief is ...
he is not living. He is one of the undead."

An expression of pity passed over Hsieh's face, and he
folded down his second finger. "Final question. Who is
kidnapper?"

183

The Veiled Dragon

This was the question Ruha had been dreading. She
had omitted any mention of Cypress's identity, fearing
that the mandarin would decide it was safer for Lady
Feng to cooperate with the dragon than to help Vaerana
save Yanseldara. Nevertheless, the witch had no choice
except to hope she could persuade Hsieh to ally with her,
for it was growing clearer all the time that she did not
understand enough about Lady Feng's magic to save

Yanseldara.

"Who take Lady Feng?" Hsieh demanded.
Ruha swallowed, then said, "The same barbarian who

tried to assassinate you."

Hsieh frowned at her. "No one tries to kill me."
Ruha nodded. "On the Ginger Lady. The dragon."
"You are greatly mistaken." Hsieh's rebuke was both
confident and gentle. "Dragon is after gold and jewels—"

"And you," Ruha replied. "His name is Cypress, and he
is the leader of the Cult of the Dragon. He fears you have
come to replace Tang and stop the palace's trade in poi-
sons, and so he tried to kill you."

"That is most impossible." Hsieh shook his head stub-
bornly. "I send messenger with word of my visit only one
day before dragon attack. Because I travel with only light
bodyguard, I instruct Prince and Princess to tell no one of
my journey—unless they tell Lady Feng?"

Ruha shook her head. "I overheard them say Lady
Feng was abducted before your message arrived."

"Then dragon cannot know I am coming. Who tell

him?"
That was when Yu Po appeared at the door. "Esteemed

Minister, I beg permission to report."

Hsieh frowned and started to hold him off, but Ruha,
who needed time to think, said, "Yu Po is not interrupt-
ing. Let him speak."

Hsieh nodded to his adjutant, who quickly picked his
way across the debris and bowed. "Princess Wei Dao is
most comfortable in her apartment," Yu Po reported. "As
I was inspecting her chambers to be certain of her safety,

184

The Harpers

I find this."

The adjutant opened his hand, revealing the exotic
Calimshan gold that Tombor had put into Ruha's coffer
to impress Wei Dao.

Hsieh studied the coin, then scowled at his adjutant.
"Wei Dao is Princess, Yu Po. Do you expect to find no gold
in her chamber?"

"Not gold like this."

Yu Po pinched the edges of the coin with both hands
and pulled. The coin came apart, revealing a tiny com-
partment where a small paper message might be con-
cealed.

Hsieh took the two halves from his adjutant. "Most
ingenious. Do you find what is inside?"

"No," Yu Po admitted.

"But I know who sent it to her," Ruha said. "And if I
am correct, Esteemed Mandarin, I also know who told
Cypress you were aboard the Ginger Lady."

"Wei Dao?" Hsieh asked.

"That coin was given to me by someone who promised
it would win the princess's hospitality," Ruha said. "It
did."

"How come Yu Po finds it in her chamber?"

"I saw her sneak it from my gold coffer. The person
who gave it to me said the princess had a fondness for
foreign coins," Ruha explained. "Now I think it contained
a message from a spy in Moonstorm House, warning Wei
Dao of my identity. The princess has been most insistent
about wishing to kill me—regardless of Prince Tang's
commands to the contrary."

Hsieh pushed the two halves of the coin together and
folded it into his palm, then waved the witch toward the
door. "It seems our mutual problem is solved, does it not,
Lady Ruha?"

Ruha did not move. "No. How could it be?"

"If dragon kidnaps Lady Feng, then kidnapper is no
threat."

The witch was confused by the mandarin's misunder-


185

The Veiled Dragon

standing—until she recalled that Hsieh had seen her
destroy Cypress on the Dragonmere. She had said noth-
ing about the dragon taking another body, and Ruha cer-
tainly saw no reason to broach the subject now.

"Do you not understand, Lady Ruha?" Hsieh asked.
"We have only to locate dragon's lair; then we find both
Lady Feng and Yanseldara's stolen staff."

"Of course!" Ruha did her best to sound astonished.
"And if you will me tell more about these ylang blossoms,
perhaps I know someone who can be tricked into leading
us to the lair."

Eleven

Tang's punt came to another fork in
the slough. His boatpushers jammed
their poles into the black water, the
butts angled forward to halt the little
dugout while he guessed at the way to
Cypress's lair. Behind him arose a
gentle sloshing as his men struggled
to stop their heavy log rafts. Save for
the unremitting hum ofmosquitos, no other sound broke
the silence of the swamp. The evening light lay upon the
glassy waters as sinuous and wispy as smoke, yielding no
hint of the sun's location. Along the banks of the chan-
nels rose tangled webs of prop roots, supporting thickets
of vine-choked bog cane as impenetrable to the eye as
walls of stone. Even the sky itself was hidden from view,
concealed behind a murky canopy of moss-draped boughs.
Somewhere nearby loomed the Giant's Run Moun-
tains, a chain of high peaks lying half a day's canter
southeast of the Ginger Palace, but Tang could not find
the way to their steep slopes. Though he had commanded
his men to remain confident, he could feel their trust
ebbing with every minute he remained lost, and even he
was losing faith in his abilities. The swamp was so small
that it had no name—indeed, few outside the Cult of the
Dragon knew it existed at all—and twice the prince had
come to Lair here with fellow cult members. It seemed
impossible that its meager maze of waterways should




187

The Veiled Dragon

disorient him or anyone else, yet Tang had been trying to
locate Cypress's hole for more than two hours.

The punt rocked beneath the prince's feet. He glanced
back to see the commander of the palace garrison, Gen-
eral Fui D'hang, stepping into the dugout from a wagon-
sized raft of lashed logs. A squat, flat-cheeked man with
an unwavering scowl and granite eyes, he wore a helmet
of silver-trimmed brass and an oversized battle tunic
over leather armor. Most of the men behind him were
dressed in a similar manner, save their helmets were
steel with brass trim.

The general bowed. "May it please the Prince to hear

me."

As with all Fui said, the statement was a command,

not a request. Prince Tang nodded, but looked away to
emphasize that he would not allow the general to bully

him.

"Night falls soon, and men are uneasy at being lost—"

"Do I say we are lost?" Tang whirled on the general so
fast that, had his boatpushers not had their poles planted
on the bottom, the punt would have capsized. "We are not
lost. Dragon uses Invisible Art to confuse honorable sol-
diers. They may eat another lasal leaf."

Fui did not turn to issue the command. "Since you are
not lost, perhaps you guide us to dry land. It is better to
camp outside swamp."

"No. We must rescue Lady Feng tonight."

The general's eyes remained stony. "If we perish in
dark—"

"Tonight."

Fui's Ups tightened. "Surely, Wise Prince knows it is
inauspicious to attack eminent dragon at all, but to
attack at night..."

"This dragon is different!" snapped Tang. "Cypress
does not have favor of Celestial Bureaucracy!"

"Perhaps Wise Prince explains why it takes so long to
reach dragon's palace?" Fui insisted. "This swamp is size
of peasant village. By now, we should find dragon's home

188

The Harpers

through tenacity alone."

"It is question of patience, not 'finding!' " Prince Tang
turned away from General Fui, silently cursing the
absence of a wu-jen. A little magic would go far toward
helping him find his goal. "Tell men to be ready. Not far
now!"

Selecting a direction at random, the prince pointed
down the fork on the right. General Fui barely had time
to leap back to his own raft before Tang's boatpushers
guided the punt into the channel. As they traveled down
the curving slough, the mosquito hum became a madden-
ing drone. Though the Shou berry juice the prince had
rubbed into his flesh protected him from bites, clouds of
the insects dragged across his skin like chiffon.

Tang began to sense an enormous, dark presence
ahead. The canopy arched higher above the water, and
the swamp grew steadily murkier and more forlorn. The
beards of moss vanished from the branches alongside the
passage, replaced by the curtainlike webs of brilliantly
striped spiders with abdomens as large as a man's fist.
Ahead of the punt, dark chevrons appeared in the water
as startled snakes swam for cover. The ends of sub-
merged logs sprouted eyes and watched the flotilla pass.
A half-remembered murmur echoed through the trees
from somewhere ahead: the purl of water trickling down
some steep slope.

Tang felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach and
beads of sweat sliding down his brow. He withdrew a
handful oflasal leaves from a basket in the bottom of the
dugout and distributed them among his boatpushers,
then placed two into his own mouth and chewed. As the
protective fog arose inside his head, he began to regard
the impending battle with increasing giddiness. Soon, he
would have vengeance on his enemy. After his men
destroyed Cypress's new body, he himself would find and
smash the spirit gem. Then, when Yen-Wang-Yeh's ser-
vants came to drag Cypress's wayward spirit down to the
Ten Courts of the Afterlife, Tang would recount all the

The Veiled Dragon            189

dragon's crimes against himself and Shou Lung, thus
insuring a stern verdict that would condemn his foe to
ten thousand centuries of torment in the Eighteenth

Hell.

The rancid stench of rotting fish began to waft through
the air. The channel widened into a broad basin of black
water strewn with mats of bog scum and studded by the
naked gray trunks of a bald cypress stand. On the far
side of the pool, a steep, green-blanketed scarp rose
abruptly from the murky water and disappeared above
the swamp's gloomy canopy. Down the face of this slope
snaked a tiny ribbon of silver water, the same small
brook casting its purl throughout the slough. To the left
of the stream, barely visible through the whirling clouds
of mosquitos, was a huge, half-submerged grotto, the
moss curtain that dangled over its mouth tattered and
frayed by the constant passage of some huge body.

Tang ordered his boatpushers to stop. Though the area
had been darker and more crowded on the two occasions
the prince had visited it before, he recognized it instantly.
Just outside the cavern lay a toppled cypress where the
dragon roosted during Lair, with the entire cult arrayed
before him upon the same rafts now occupied by General
Fui and his men. Rising from the waters around the
perch were heaps of large fish skeletons, some with bits
of gray, gritty hide still clinging to the thick bones, and
hanging in the limbs of nearby trees were hundreds of
long-toothed jaws.

Tang was most distressed to see that Cypress had
already devoured so many sharks. From what the prince
had learned during his brief association with the cult,
when a dracolich's body was destroyed, he lost the ability
to speak, cast magic spells, and use his terrible breath
weapon. Unfortunately, he could regain those capabilities
by consuming a mere tenth of his previous body, which he
could always locate via a strange mystical bond—even if
the corpse had been burned, shredded, or eaten. Judging
by the number of skeletons lying in the water, Cypress

190

The Harpers

could not be far from a full recovery.

General Fui's raft pulled alongside the punt, and Tang
pointed at the cavern. "That is dragon's palace." The
prince allowed himself the pleasure of a touch of sarcasm
at the term 'palace.' "Men a^e ready?"

The general glanced at the four rafts behind his, each
bearing fifteen anxious warriors, and flashed a hand sig-
nal. A gentle clatter rustled over the pond as his men
reached for their halberds and pushed lasal leaves into
their mouths. Fui watched a moment, then slipped a leaf
between his own lips and nodded.

Tang drew his sword, then looked back to the cave and
waited for General Fui to lead the soldiers forward
Thanks to his lasal-induced daze, the prince realized he
could actually see the murk gathering over the swamp. It
looked like a thick, oily smoke seeping from the fetid
depths of Cypress's lair, where the dragon rested upon
his bed of gold, dreaming ofYanseldara and filling the air
with the dank gloom of his wicked obsession.

The prince's thoughts turned to his mother, and he
found himself wondering what effect the unnatural murk
would have on her. If the fumes darkened her fair skin,
she would never forgive—most cursed lasal! That was
the trouble with it; the user found it difficult to keep his
mind focused on the task at hand, and he sometimes
found his head filled with ridiculous ideas.

Noting that Fui still had not given the order to
advance, Prince Tang looked to his general. "Why do you
wait?" He waved his sword at the cavern. "Go kill
dragon!"

Fui's head slowly turned toward Tang's punt. The gen-
eral's pupils were nearly as large as his irises, and a
blank, almost muddled expression had fallen over his
normally resolute face.

"You do not lead us into cavern, Brave Prince?"

"Me?" Tang looked at the sword in his hand and under-
stood the reason for the general's confusion. "I cannot
lead way into danger. I am Prince!"

The Veiled Dragon             191

"That is what I try to say in Ginger Palace." Under the
lasal's influence, Fui spoke more freely than he would
have otherwise. "Do I not suggest it is foolish for you to
take field? Do I not hint that your inadequate prepara-
tions oblige men to take extra risks to protect you?"

The lasal haze inside Tang's mind began to darken and
churn. "I am Prince! Soldiers die at my will!"

"True, but Honorable Prince does not waste their
lives!" the general spat. "If you desire Lady Pong's rescue,
you must stand aside and let someone who knows—"

A chorus of snickers filled the air behind Fui. The gen-
eral stopped speaking in midsentence, and his widening
eyes betrayed his astonishment at the words coming
from his mouth. He dropped to his knees and kowtowed
on the raft, pressing his forehead down so close to the
edge that his silver-trimmed helmet fell off and slipped
beneath the inky waters.

"Mighty Prince, I do not know these words! They are
not my own!"

Tang hardly heard the apology. The lasal clouds inside
his mind had worked themselves into a storm, and he
could think of nothing but his fury.

"Words belong to him who speaks them." Tang glanced
at the rafts behind Fui, where more than seventy sol-
diers were studying the swamp's gloomy canopy and bit-
ing their cheeks to keep from laughing. Bolts of lightning
began to flash inside the prince's head. "Lasal loosens
tongue. It cannot change secret thoughts of any man."

"Merciful Prince, I command garrison of Ginger Palace
since it is built, and before that I humbly serve in per-
sonal guard of Lady Feng. Please to allow me honor of
dying in battle." Fui lifted his head and dared to meet
Tang's eyes. "Let me lead soldiers into dragon's palace."

"I myself lead way into lair." Tang glared at his general
until the last soldier no longer found it necessary to bite
his cheeks; then he pronounced Fui's sentence: "Shou
general must respect master with heart as well as
tongue, so that he does not forget himself and make men

192

The Harpers

laugh at Worthy Prince. To fail in this is treason."

Fui's face went as stiff as a mask. He whispered a
prayer, beseeching his ancestors to find a place for him in
the Celestial Bureaucracy, then touched his brow to the
log. "I am ready."

Tang looked past Fui to Yuan Ti, the moon-faced com-
mander of the sentries who protected his lizard park.
Since the young officer had already faced the dragon and
lived, General Fui had selected him as second in com-
mand for this mission.

Yuan swallowed and reached for his sword, but his
hand began to tremble, and he did not draw the weapon.
The youth clenched his teeth as though fighting a wave
of nausea, and tears welled in his eyes.

Tang scowled at the hesitation. "Why do you delay?
Punish General Fui's insolence!"

Yuan managed to pull his sword halfway from its
sheath, then turned away sobbing. The youth's profile
accentuated his flat cheeks, and it was then Tang real-
ized the boy's identity. The fury faded from the lasal -
induced storm inside the prince's head, and the tempest
became instead a drizzle that clouded his thoughts with
cold, sick regret. It was not uncommon for Shou generals
to make places for their sons in their own commands, but
how was Tang to know the youth's identity? A Shou
prince did not trouble himself with the domestic lives of
his inferiors. He could hardly be expected to know every
son that his officers brought to the Ginger Palace.

Tang allowed General Fui's boy to weep, grateful for a
few moments to struggle with this new dilemma. As
much as he disliked the idea of ordering a son to slay hi?
own father, he could hardly retract the command now.
The men had already come close to treason when they
laughed at him earlier; to tolerate any further insubordi-
nation would only convince them that he was a weak and
inept leader. Yuan would have to obey the command. If
there was another way to solve the problem, the prince
could not see it through the lasal haze.

The Veiled Dragon            193

In a gentle but loud voice. Tang said, "You are a Shou
soldier. You must do as I order."

The youth choked back his sobs and turned to face
Tang. "Merciful Prince, the lasal leaves—"

General Fui raised his head. "Silence, Yuan!" His voice
had assumed the hard edge of command. "Do not dis-
honor our ancestors by arguing with your Prince!"

The general pressed his brow to the logs again. The
thought flashed through Tang's mind that there must be
a way to show mercy without showing weakness, but it
was chased into the lasal haze by a great cry from Yuan's
mouth. In a motion too fast to see, the youth unsheathed
his sword and brought the blade down on his father's
neck. There was a wet crack, and Fui's head toppled off
the raft into the swamp. The general's body shuddered
once, then went limp and slipped out of its kowtow,
slowly stretching forward to push its headless shoulders
into the dark pool.

Fui's head rolled in the water, bringing his granite
eyes around to stare vacantly upward. Tang's stomach
began to feel queasy, but he clenched his teeth against
the feeling and forced himself not to look away. The
whole point of the punishment had been to show his sol-
diers that he was a strong leader, and he would not
accomplish that by allowing the gaze of a dead man to
intimidate him.

Yuan ripped the front off his silken battle tunic and
used it to dab his father's blood off the blade. When he
finished, he sheathed his sword, then carefully folded the
cloth and slipped it beneath his leather corselet.

The adjutant bowed to Tang, his eyes now as hard as
his father's. "I obey your command. My Prince."

Tang honored the youth by returning his bow. "The
Minister of War shall—" The prince had to interrupt him-
self to take a deep breath and regain control of his churn-
ing stomach. "He shall hear of your dedication to duty."

Yuan's eyes showed no sign of softening, but they did
shift away from the prince's face toward the water, where

194

The Harpers

a dozen shapes were rapidly drifting toward General
Fui's body. At first. Tang took the forms for floating logs
Then he noticed the eyes and nostrils protruding above
the bog scum, and also the powerful tails snaking back
and forth behind their bodies.

The first beast slid between the prince's dugout and
Yuan's raft. Silently, it took Fui's head into its jaws and
slid beneath the dark water, vanishing from sight almost
before Tang realized he was looking at an alligator.

Yuan reached down to pull the rest of his father's body
back onto the raft, then almost lost a hand as another of
the monsters latched on to the corpse's shoulder. The
cadaver slid off the logs and disappeared beneath the
surface in a quick swirl. A second creature, easily as long
as Tang's dugout, dove after the body-stealer, and the
water erupted into a bloody, churning froth as the two
animals tore the cadaver to pieces.

Tang finally lost control of his rebellious stomach and
turned away while it purged itself—then nearly lost his
head as a pair of tooth-filled jaws rose from the water tr
snap at his face. He slashed at it ineffectually with the
sword in his hand, and his boatpushers stepped over to
hold the thing at bay while he finished retching. Behind
the prince sounded a startled scream, followed by a loud
splash and the brief gurgle of a man's voice.

An astonished murmur rustled through the swamp;

then half the soldiers in the company cried out in fear
The rippling siffle of halberds slashing water filled the
air. Several men fell into the pond and shrieked as they
were dragged beneath the surface.

When Tang's stomach finally finished with him, he
wiped his mouth on a boatpusher's sleeve, then turned to
see his entire company of soldiers besieged by alligators.
The men were standing back-to-back in the center of all
five rafts, thrusting the tips of their long halberds at the
throng of circling alligators—several of which looked
longer than the vessels themselves. Many of the logs
were smeared with blood, while the water was littered

The Veiled Dragon             195

with broken halberd shafts, ribbons of shredded silk, and
alligators writhing in pain.

As Tang watched, a swimming alligator whipped its
body around, driving its head and forequarters onto a
raft. The attack was met by a flurry of driving halberds,
most of which pierced the beast's armored hide and sank
to a depth of several inches. The monster clutched at the
logs with the claws of its stubby forelegs and dragged
itself forward. The men braced themselves, trying to
shove their blades deeper into their attacker's flesh.

The creature ignored the assault and continued to
claw its way onto the raft. One warrior lost his footing
and slid across the raft, where another alligator seized
his ankle and dragged him, screaming, into the scum-
covered waters. Several others, finding their halberds'
damp shafts slipping backward through their grasp,
dropped their polearms to reach for their swords. Only
one man could drive his weapon deep enough to cause
the behemoth any injury. The alligator simply snapped
its head to one side and jerked the weapon out of the sol-
dier's hands, then retreated into the water.

Tang peered over the side of his dugout and saw sev-
eral alligators floating alongside, their ravenous gazes
searching for something to snatch. Fortunately, the
punt's sides were high enough to conceal his vulnerable
legs, or one of the beasts would certainly have pulled him
into the swamp by now. As it was, he took the precaution
of raising his arms above his chest and ordering his boat-
pushers to do the same, lest one of the creatures attempt
to snatch a dangling hand and capsize the punt.

"Perhaps Wise Prince cares to give order?"

Yuan stood in the center of his own blood-streaked
raft, apparently oblivious to the screams of the legless
man at his feet. The young officer was watching Tang
with what could only be called a look of impertinent
impatience, as though he understood exactly what
needed to be done and knew his commander for too much
of a fool to see it.

196

The Harpers

Tang scowled in thought, determined not to lose an^
more face by asking Yuan's advice. The prince could not
order an advance without forcing the men to step within
reach of the alligators' snapping jaws, but neither did he
see any sense in remaining where they were and allow-
ing the monsters to pluck them off the rafts one-by-one.
What they needed was magic. A wu-jen could drive the
beasts away, so his soldiers could get on with the impor-
tant business of finding and slaying the dragon.

An angry light flared in Yuan's eyes. "When enemy
attacks, it is customary for commander to issue order."

"Alligators are not enemy!" Tang snapped, waving his
sword at the beasts between their vessels. "They are stu-
pid animals."

A loud thump sounded in the bottom of Tang's dugout.
He looked down to see a scaly brown cord gathering itself
into a coil. Whether because of the lasal haze in his mind
or the shock of having the thing drop into his boat, the
prince did not recognize the writhing tendril until it
showed the pink lining of its mouth. Tang calmly brought
his sword down, catching the snake behind the head.

The prince did not enjoy snakes as much as he did
lizards, but he knew enough about the species to recog-
nize the white-mouthed viper as more of a swimmer than
a tree climber. He scowled and looked up, then cried out
in surprise as three more dark, writhing ropes dropped
out of the canopy overhead. One of the snakes splashed
into the water beside the dugout, where it was promptly
snapped up by an alligator, but the other two plopped
into the bottom of the punt.

Almost before he realized it, Tang's sword had lashed
out to sever the head from one serpent. The other recov-
ered from its fall quickly enough to bury its fangs into a
boatpusher's leg. Unlike the other two snakes, this one
was gray, with a black diamond pattern and rattles on its
tail. The victim screeched and reached for his dagger.
Before the man could draw his weapon, Tang grasped the
viper behind its head and yanked it free. He tossed the

The Veiled Dragon             197

serpent into the water, where a ravenous alligator
quickly avenged its attack on the prince's servant.

The snake bite bled profusely, instantly coating the
boatpusher's foot in sticky red syrup. The man opened
bis mouth to thank Tang, then cried out and dropped into
the bottom of the punt. He clutched his leg and began to
squirm, causing the dugout to rock dangerously.

"Stop, fool!" Tang ordered. By the panicked cries echo-
ing across the pond, the prince knew that his boatpusher
was not the only soldier to suffer a snake bite. "Do you
mean to capsize us?"

The man looked up. "What does it matter? I die any-
way We all die!"

Tang slapped the man. "Poison makes bite bleed and
hurt, but it does not kill—unless you spill us into swamp
with alligators!" Though he was not particularly fond of
serpents, the prince's poison trade had taught him more
than a little about their venom. "Now stand up and
return to duty."

Tang glanced up and saw another ropy form dropping
out of the gloomy boughs overhead. He caught this snake
on his sword and flicked it away, then quickly returned
his eyes to the canopy. Though it was difficult to see into
the murk above, it seemed to him that the branches were
alive with slinking, writhing forms, all working their way
into positions over his small flotilla of rafts. The behavior
seemed most unnatural for snakes, which were usually
more anxious to avoid trouble than start it.

Tang hazarded a glance at the rafts and was horrified
to see his soldiers in a panic. They were lying prone on
the logs, groaning over their bleeding bites and begging
their ancestors for help, or they were dancing madly
about on the logs, hacking at serpents and trying to stay
beyond the reach of the voracious alligators. Many had
failed already. The water was thick with severed limbs
and shredded leather corselets, and some of the behe-
moths in the water were even beginning to drift away,
each clutching a drowned man in its crooked jaws.

198 The Harpers

"This is dragon's doing!" Tang yelled. "He fears to show
himself!"

Another pair of snakes dropped into his dugout. He
dispatched one, while the bitten boatpusher used his pole
to fling the other to the alligators.

"Take up poles and go to cavern!" the prince com-
manded. "Do not fear snakes! If you are bitten, you can
still fight."

Incredibly, the soldiers ignored their attackers and
obeyed. The alligators continued to pull men into the
water, and the snakes continued to rain down on their
heads, but the rafts started to drift forward. Now that
the company had orders, the entire troop was focused on
its goal, and it did not seem to matter how many ofthe>r
comrades fell. Thinking that perhaps he had a natur il
aptitude for military leadership, Prince Tang flicki <1
another serpent into the water and commanded his boc.'-
pushers forward, then turned to face the cavern.

He found Cypress roosting on the toppled tree outs-He
the cavern. The dragon looked half-agam as large as he
had in the spicehouse, with scales so dark they seemed
almost shadows in the murky swamp light. Perched
beside Cypress were a pair of small wyverns that had
been fluttering about the swamp during the prince's ear-
lier visits. The creatures looked like huge iguanas, save
that their thick tails ended in needle-sharp barbs and
they had wings instead of forelegs.

Cypress's empty eye sockets swung toward the prince
Am I to assume you don't have the ylang oil?

Tang's knees nearly buckled. His grip grew so we A
that he dropped his sword into the bottom of the boat.

"I have come for Lady Feng. Then we talk about oil."

There is nothing to talk about. Without the oil, you will
find only death.

"I prefer that fate to disgrace of leaving venerable
mother with you."

Tang retrieved his weapon, quietly relieved that
Cypress had not yet recovered his voice. Without his

The Veiled Dragon             199

breath weapon and magic spells, the dragon would not
prove so difficult to defeat. The prince glanced over his
shoulder, and when he saw the remains of his small com-
pany still behind him, he raised his sword. His hand was
trembling so badly that the blade wobbled like the mast
of a tempest-tossed caravel, but he did not let that stop
him from pointing it at Cypress.

"There is enemy! Do not be frightened. He cannot
spray you with acid, and he cannot hurt you with magic!"

Tang's soldiers raised their spears and cheered bravely,
then allowed their rafts to drift to a stop and glowered at
the dracolich. Cypress opened his muzzle slightly, return-
ing the troop's glare with a mocking, yellow-toothed grin.
The two wyverns licked their chops, and the alligators
pulled two more men into the water.

The prince scowled at his men, unable to understand
why they had stopped advancing. "Attack!"

"In what manner, Honorable Prince?" The question
came from Yuan, who stood on the raft closest to Tang's
dugout.

The order seemed clear enough to the prince. "Attack
with swords and halberds, of course!"

Yuan allowed himself the briefest shake of his head,
then turned to the troops. "Number One Raft, assault to
right. Number Two Raft to center. Number Three to left,
and others remain in reserve." When the men began to
maneuver as ordered, the adjutant bowed to Tang. "Per-
haps Brave Prince wishes to move to safer position
behind reserves?"

Tang almost said yes, then remembered how his men
had struggled to hide their laughter during General Fui's
u-nfortunate slip of tongue. "No. I lead attack, as I say
earlier."

Tang ordered his punt forward and was surprised by
the strength of the fear that boiled up inside him. It suf-
fused his entire being, filling him with a hot, queasy sen-
sation as foul as bile. He felt flushed and dizzy and achy,
as though he were physically ill, and it seemed that his

200 The Harpers

whole body had suddenly gone weak. Cypress remained
on his roost, flanked by his two wyverns and calmly
awaiting the battle, his empty eye sockets never straying
from the prince's dugout.

Tang chewed another lasal leaf, hoping that the sick-
ening dread he felt was the result of a mind attack and
not his own weak constitution. The haze inside his mind
grew thicker, but his fear did not subside.

Cypress allowed the prince's dugout to advance almost
into halberd-hurling range, then nudged the two
wyverns. The beasts folded their wings and tipped for-
ward, slipping into the swamp as quietly as alligators
They dove beneath the surface, then swam toward Tang's
boat, the bristling crests along their spines slicing
through the scummy water like shark fins.

Tang dropped his sword and grabbed a boatpusher's
halberd, then willed his heavy legs to carry him to the
front of the punt. He braced his feet against the walls
and tried to ignore the voice calling through the lasal
haze inside his head, urging him to remember himsel*
and take his proper place behind the reserves. The prince
raised his halberd and watched the wyverns approach
They came more or less straight on, their spine crests
cutting through the water to each side of the dugout. He
angled his weapon to the right and thrust the blade into
the water, aiming for the space between the creature's
shoulder blades.

The halberd bit deep into the wyvem's thick hide and
nearly jumped from Tang's hands. An unexpected scream
of wild, brutal exhilaration burst from the prince's lips.
He clamped down on the weapon's shaft and dropped into
a squat, both to drive the blade deeper and to keep from
being jerked out of the dugout. The creature's head
erupted from the water, filling the swamp with a loud,
sizzling hiss.

Tang jerked his halberd free and swung the blade, axe-
like, at the creature's head. The beast retracted its sinu-
ous neck. Instead of counterstriking, it hissed again,

The Veiled Dragon            201

wagging a forked tongue as long as a pennon flag.

Tang had seen whiptail lizards wag their tongues at
prey often enough to know what was coming next. He
dove into the bottom of the dugout and heard the
wyvern's barbed tail swishing over his back. The sound
ended in a slurpy thud, then a boatpusher—the snake-
bitten one, judging by his delirious voice—screamed.

With a trembling hand, the prince grabbed his sword,
dropped it, grabbed it again, and came up swinging in
time to see the wyvem's tail jerk his boatpusher from the
punt. The fellow landed facedown and did not move. So
deadly and quick was the wyvern's poison that the man
puffed up before Tang's eyes. The flesh on his hands and
neck grew black and slimy, while the red stain blossom-
ing around the man's head suggested his nose was bleed-
ing profusely.

The wyvern flicked its victim off its tail, then dove
back beneath the water and swam toward Number Three
Raft. Tang remembered the other beast and spun around,
half-expecting to feel a tail barb piercing his own flesh.
He found only an empty dugout, with a forsaken halberd
and a pool of black slime to mark where the second boat-
pusher had been standing a moment before.

Tang's earlier jubilation had vanished like smoke into
fog; now he felt helpless and frightened. If a halberd
could barely scratch a wyvern, how would it pierce a
dragon's thick armor? He had been a fool to come into
this swamp without a wu-jen.

The men on Number Two and Number Three Rafts
voiced their battle cries and thrust their halberds into
the swamp. A pair of tails lashed out of the water almost
as one, each driving a barb through a soldier's leather
armor. Tang saw scales rippling as the wyverns pumped
their victims full of poison, then a flurry of blades as his
soldiers hacked at the beasts' sinuous tails.

In the next instant, the back end of Number Three
Raft rose on a wyvern's back. The creature's wings beat
the swamp as it struggled to raise the boat higher. Men

202

The Harpers

tumbled into the water, screaming and slashing at alliga-
tors. Finally, when the raft had grown light enough, the
wyvern twisted sideways and flipped it.

Number Two Raft suffered a similar fate; then the two
creatures dove beneath the surface and swam toward the
rafts Yuan had held in reserve.

Tang grabbed a halberd and used it to push his punt
after Number One Raft, which had nearly reached
Cypress's roost. It was difficult to say whether the
dragon was watching the approaching vessel or not. He
held his head turned to one side and slightly cocked, so
that one empty eye socket was turned toward the dark
water and the other on the murky canopy. His scaly lips
were slightly curled, as though he found the cacophony of
howling voices a pleasant evening serenade.

Number One Raft scraped past a heap of shark skele-
tons and stopped beside Cypress's roost, less than twenty
paces from the dragon. Several men quickly formed a
wall at the front of the craft while their companions gath-
ered behind them.

Tang pushed harder, trying to catch up before they
launched their attack. The voice in his lasal-clouded head
kept urging him to turn back. The closer he came to his
foe, the less he cared about the disrespect his men had
shown him earlier—or the shame he would bring upon
himself by failing to rescue his mother. Nevertheless, the
prince continued forward, not because he cared about his
men or was suddenly determined to prove that he was no
coward, but because he knew that the only way to leave
the swamp alive was to kill his foe.

Tang had almost caught Number One Raft when the
men in the front hurled their halberds like spears. As the
shafts arced toward the dragon, half a dozen soldiers
leaped onto the toppled tree and rushed forward to
attack. The boatpushers again started to move their
clumsy vessel forward.

Cypress calmly brought a wing around to shield him-
self from the flying halberds. The steel blades pierced the

The Veiled Dragon            203

leathery scales easily enough, but lacked the force to
drag the heavy shafts through the tough hide and pene-
trate the dragon's body. One weapon splashed into the
swamp, but most simply lodged themselves in a wing and
dangled there like needles in an oxhide.

Cypress lowered his wing and swept the line of charg-
ing warriors off the toppled tree, then hopped off his roost
and landed in the middle of the raft. The boat settled a
few inches beneath the water, but did not sink, and its
occupants whirled on their foe in a flurry of flashing
steel. Growling and hissing like one of his wyverns, the
dragon lashed out with tail and wings and sent bodies
splashing into the water on all sides.

Tang gave his punt another shove and stepped into the
bow, praying his weak knees would have enough strength
to hold him up when he leaped onto Number One Raft.
Before he arrived, Cypress raked his black talons down
the length of the raft, severing the lashings that held it
together.

The logs rolled apart, plunging all who had been
standing upon them into the swamp. Tang's punt contin-
ued to glide forward, and somehow—perhaps because he
was too frightened to move—the prince found himself
standing fast in the bow, with a clear flank shot and
Cypress looking the other way. The prince clamped his
arms around his halberd and gathered his rubbery legs
beneath him, determined that the dragon would not
shrug off this strike as easily as the wyvern had shrugged
off his first.

Tang was staring at the scale through which he
intended to drive his halberd, so he did not see Cypress's
wing sweeping toward him on the backswing. He simply
heard an earsplitting thump, then found himself sailing
over the toppled tree trunk with his gold-trimmed helmet
flying in one direction and his weapon in another. He
splashed into the warm water, sank to the bottom, and
nearly got tangled in a bed of fish skeletons before he
recovered his wits and kicked free.

204

The Harpers

His head ringing and his body aching. Tang broke the
surface and peered over the log. The bog scum had
erupted into a pink-tinged froth, with the dragon stand-
ing waist-deep in blood and shark skeletons, battering
his foes with wings and tail and calmly tearing their bod-
ies apart with gore-dripping talons. The prince's warriors
could do little to defend themselves. The legs of most
were hopelessly tangled among the fish bones, and the
rest could barely hold their chins above the water, much
less swing their heavy blades powerfully enough to pierce
Cypress's thick scales.

The voice inside Tang's head shrieked through the
lasal haze, reminding him that he was a Shou prince and
should have fled long ago. He managed to ignore it for a
short time, but when the alligators appeared at the
fringe of the battle and began to drag away the wounded,
the voice began to sound wise. Tang pushed away from
the log and, moving very slowly to avoid attracting alli-
gators, he slipped beneath the surface and swam toward
the mountain.

Twelve

A sliver of pearly light split the mid-
night gloom between the gate towers,
and Ruha realized the guards of Moon-
storm House were opening the gates
for her. She lashed her mount with the
ends other reins, urging the exhausted
Shou prancer into the ragged sem-
blance of a gallop. The two packhorses
behind her snorted in protest, but had little trouble
adjusting to the new pace. They were both larger than
the witch's mount and, loaded with four sacks of ylang
blossoms each, far less heavily burdened.




From behind Ruha came the clatter of firing cross-
bows, followed instantly by the ringing echoes of iron
bolts skipping across cobblestones. One of the packhorses
screamed, and the witch's prancer stumbled as the train
slowed. She twisted around and saw the last beast hob-
bling badly. Like the animal ahead of it, its chest was
covered in lather, and its eyes were bulging with fear and
exhaustion.

Thirty paces down the deserted street, two dozen of
Hsieh's guards lashed their mounts madly, making a last
desperate effort to catch Ruha. As planned, they were
closing the distance and doing everything possible to
make it appear they truly wanted to succeed. The lead
rider accepted a loaded crossbow from the man at his
flank, then raised the weapon and fired. A dark streak

206

The Harpers

flashed between him and the hobbling horse. The beast
screeched and would have fallen had the other animals
not dragged it along, stumbling and staggering.

Cursing her pursuers for heartless killers, Ruha blew
a sharp breath in their direction and uttered a simple
wind spell. A howling gust tore down the street, blasting
the first three riders half out of their saddles. As they
struggled to regain their balance, they were overtaken by
the galloping throng at their backs; two more soldiers
raised their crossbows. Hsieh had commanded his men to
make a convincing show of the chase, and Shou were
nothing if not obedient.

A chorus of strumming bowstrings sounded from atop
the gate towers. The leading Shou riders sprouted arrows
in their chests and fell from their wooden saddles. The
rest of Hsieh's men whipped their reins around, guiding
their horses into a sheltering alleyway.

Ruha's prancer clattered through the dark gateway of
Moonstorm House into a spacious, hexagonal courtyard
of ornamental trees and twining garden pathways. The
witch reined in her mount, bringing the entire train to a
halt and drawing a relieved nicker from the wounded
packhorse. The enormous garden was enclosed by a
milky wall, with slender, cone-roofed towers standing at
each of the six corners. The castle had no central keep,
nor, as far as the witch could tell, any sort of inner
defensework at all.

Despite the excitement of the phony chase, Ruha found
herself completely and utterly exhausted by the long ride
from the Ginger Palace. This was her second night with-
out sleep. She kept yawning behind her veil, and her eyes
were burning with the need to close. She braced her
hands on her saddle pommel and fought to clear her
head; she could not allow herself to even think of resting,
not until she had laid her trap.

Captain Fowler rushed from a gate tower's narrow
doorway, followed closely by Vaerana Hawklyn, Tombor
the Jolly, and Pierstar Hallowhand. Though the hour was

The Veiled Dragon            207

well past midnight, they were still dressed in jerkins,
tunics, and trousers. They had, no doubt, been up plan-
ning tomorrow's assault on the Ginger Palace.

Fowler stopped beside Ruha and took her mount's
foam-covered reins. "Are you well, Witch?" The half-ore
scowled at the lather on his hand, then wiped it on his
pants. "And what have you done to this poor beast?"

"Galloped him all the way from the Ginger Palace, by
the looks of it," said Vaerana, joining them. She turned to
Pierstar. "You'd better have someone rouse John the far-
rier and his boys. These horses need some attention."

Pierstar stopped beside the wounded beast and winced
at the two bolts lodged in its rump, then turned toward a
tower in the back of the castle.

"I'll do it myself," he said. "And I'll send a patrol of
Maces after those riders. I doubt we'll catch them, but I
don't want them in the city. Those Shou can be sneaky."

Tombor the Jolly went to the first horse and stood on
his toes so he could reach the knots. "Perhaps we should
unload. Since Ruha risked her life to bring us this cargo,
I assume it is of some importance."

"It is." The witch glanced at the cleric just long enough
to nod, then stifled a yawn and dismounted. "It's the last
ingredient the Cult of the Dragon needs to steal Yansel-
dara's spirit—ylang blossoms. They arrived on the Gin-
ger Lady with Minister Hsieh."

"Then you've saved Yanseldara!" Fowler's outburst was
as much question as exclamation, but that did not stop
him from folding Ruha into his arms. "Maybe now you
can get me my gold."

"Not so fast." Vaerana went to help Tombor unload the
pack train. "As I understand things, stopping the cult's
not the same as saving Yanseldara."

"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

208

The Harpers

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.

The Veiled Dragon            209

"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 sus-
picions. "The dragon wants her spirit for himself."

"For himself?" Vaerana echoed.

Ruha nodded. "I think Cypress is in love with Yansel-
dara, 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 Con-

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stable?" 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 con-
taining the spirits of both Yanseldara and Cypress, the

The Veiled Dragon            211

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

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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

The Veiled Dragon            213

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."

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"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

The Veiled Dragon            215

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."

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The Harpers

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—extremely 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

The Veiled Dragon            217

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."

Jarvis missed a step and nearly fell, filling the stair-
well with a ringing clamor as he thrust a hand out to
catch himself.

"Is something wrong?" Ruha found the guard's conster-
nation puzzling. "Has she been here already?"

Jarvis shook his head and smoothed his tabard. "I
haven't seen the Lady Constable, but that doesn't mean

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she hasn't been here. She might come through the pas-
sage from Moon Tower, and I would never know it."

Ruha considered this worrisome possibility, then
rejected it as quickly as it entered her mind. Had Vaer-
ana already come and gone, she would certainly have left
a message with the guards.

Jarvis stopped at a landing and opened a doorway into
the main part of the tower, where a short corridor led to a
vaulted alcove that served as one of the fortress's exterior
arrow loops. He escorted Ruha past three doors, two with
loud rumbling snores reverberating through the wood,
then opened a fourth. The chamber inside was as lavishly
furnished as it was small, with wool tapestries on the
walls, a true wooden bed, a small table with a pitcher
and basin, and a stone bench built into the alcove of
another arrow loop.

Jarvis lit a tallow pot hanging inside the door, then
stepped aside to let Ruha enter. "I'll tell Vaerana which
room you're in."

"That is very kind. And do you know Captain Fowler?"
Jarvis's eyes widened slightly. "The half-ore?"
"Yes. If he asks for me, please fetch me at ence."
The guard nodded, then backed into the hall and
pulled the door shut. Ruha sat on the stone bench and
peered out the arrow loop at the side of a wooded hill.
She leaned her head back against the wall and felt her
heavy eyelids beginning to descend. She did not have the
strength to raise them.

*****

Tang lay facedown on the dark mountainside, his toes
kicked deep into the slippery mud to keep from sliding
through the ferns down into the swamp. Though he had
his palms pressed tightly over his ears, he could not shut
out the voices of the dead. The spirits of his soldiers kept
wailing at him. Their words were incoherent, but he
knew what they wanted. He could feel their craving, deep

The Veiled Dragon             219

down in his abdomen where his own shrunken spirit cow-
ered like that of a frightened peasant. They needed him
to look at them, to acknowledge the futility of their sacri-
fice, to intercede with Yen-Wang-Yeh and tell the Great
Judge that they had died bravely and well and that their
mission had failed through no fault of their own.

Tang could not bring himself to utter the prayer. To
concede their valor was to admit he had suffered defeat
at the hands of a barbarian; worse, it was to admit defeat
at his own hands. When his soldiers laughed at him, he
had let his embarrassment dictate General Fui's death.
The price for that arrogance had been the failure of his
assault, and the prince did not care to admit—to himself
or his ancestors—that he been had such a fool. If that
made him a coward, so be it; Shou princes were taught to
be cowards, and forgetting that lesson had been the
cause of his ignoble defeat.

Tang's resolve only made the voices echo louder inside
his head. He rolled onto his back and sat up. Midnight
gloom filled the swamp below like a funeral pyre's black
smoke, spreading an oily, clinging ink over everything it
touched. The darkness was broken only by a faint fox fire
glow that illuminated the floating corpses of the scream-
ing dead soldiers.

"Silence, I command!" Tang hissed. "Present your-
selves at Ten Courts and leave me in peace!"

A gentle sloshing sounded below. Something broke the
surface of the black water, sending a crazy pattern of rip-
pling, ghost-faint lights bouncing off invisible cypress
trunks. Tang froze, praying the disturbance had been
caused by a restless alligator.

It was impossible to say how long the prince stared
into the darkness. He was not conscious of breathing
until long after the air had grown heavy with silence and
the pond had returned to its glassy stillness. It occurred
to him that the voices of his dead soldiers had fallen
quiet; then he sensed a pair of long reptilian necks rising
from the black water. He did not see the creatures so

220

The Harpers

much as feel a pair of lighter, warmer presences among
the cypress trees below, but he knew without doubt that
his craven outburst of whispering had drawn the atten-
tion of Cypress's wyverns.

Tang had not expected the two reptiles to emerge froni
the cave that night. They had both suffered a substantial
battering during the destruction of the Shou assault
party, so the prince had assumed they would lie up for
the night and lick their wounds. Still, with a ready sup-
ply of fresh meat floating outside their door, it was not
surprising they had come out to feed. Tang was glad he
had decided not to hazard moving at night. If the crea-
tures had been outside when he started rustling through
the brush, they would surely have killed him.

No sooner had Tang finished congratulating himself on
his wisdom than the ground trembled beneath his legs
He stifled a cry and, thinking one of the reptiles had
landed nearby, reached for his only weapon, a pitifully
inadequate dagger. Instead of feeling the sharp sting of a
wyvern's tail barb, however, he heard a series of faint,
muffled knells—such as a distant bell or gong might
make.

The tolling had hardly begun to fade before a loud purl
rolled from the mouth of the grotto below. Cypress's
form—a huge, shadowy darkness far blacker than the
surrounding swamp—emerged from the lair and seemed
to pause outside the cavern.

The wyverns hissed in frustration and swam, rather
noisily, back into the cavern. A loud, basal throb rever-
berated through the swamp as Cypress's mighty wings
beat the air. Visions of the dragon swooping down out of
the darkness filled the prince's mind, at least until he
realized the pulsing was growing softer and more dis-
tant. The dragon was flying away.

Tang sighed in relief, then kicked his heels deep into
the mud and felt something slithering across his leg. The
prince remained motionless until he located the crea-
ture's head, then calmly grabbed it behind the jaws and

The Veiled Dragon            221

flung the writhing thing down the hill. He had nothing to
fear from snakes—perhaps from the spirits of his dead
soldiers, whose voices were again filling his ears—but
not from snakes.

se    *    *    *    *

Ruha slept without dreaming and awoke sometime
later, lying on the soft bed with the heavy woolen quilt
pulled high beneath her chin. Her first thought was not
that she usually took off her aba before sleeping, or that
she never pulled the blanket up to her chin, but that she
had slept the night away. She threw the cover off and
rushed to the alcove, where, to her relief, she saw the
treetops still dancing in silver moonlight. Only then did
she notice that someone had removed her veil and real-
ized that the tallow lamp had been extinguished—she
could not have been asleep long enough for it to burn
itself out!—and it occurred to her Vaerana had already
come and gone.

Ruha fumbled around in the darkness until she found
her veil on the stone bench, then felt her way out the
door, into the hallway, and down the spiraling staircase.
Jarvis and his partner were leaning on their lances out-
side the portcullis.

The witch paused to put on her veil, then demanded,
"How long have I been asleep?"

Startled by Ruha's question, they whirled around with
lance tips lowered. When she cautiously stepped into the
flickering light of their candle, both men sighed and
snapped to attention.

"How long ago did Vaerana put me in my bed?" Ruha
demanded.

The two guards glanced nervously at each other, then
Jarvis said, "Actually, I laid you in the bed."

Ruha raised a hand to her face. "You removed my
veil?"

Jarvis looked first confused, then embarrassed. "The

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The Harpers

Lady Constable commanded me to—er, she said that you
deserved your rest—"

"Vaerana said that?" Ruha could hardly imagine those
words coming from the Lady Constable's lips.

"Yes, about three hours ago. She rushed up the stairs
and right back down again." Jarvis glanced at his com-
panion, then added, "She ordered me to see that you
rested comfortably, and to tell you she would look in on
you when she returned."

"Kozah take her for an impatient she-camel!"

Jarvis scowled at that outburst. "There's no need for
calling names. She was only trying to be considerate—
and that's a rare thing for Vaerana Hawklyn."

"It would have been considerate to wake me!" Ruha
retorted. "She was taking advantage of my fatigue. How
soon will she return?"

Jarvis shrugged. "She was dressed for battle."

Ruha cursed again, this time under her breath. "And
what of Captain Fowler? I told you to fetch me if he
asked."

"He has not asked," Jarvis replied stiffly.

Ruha sighed in relief. If Fowler had not come for her,
she could still spring her trap. "I want one of you to come
with me, so you can show Vaerana where I am hiding."

"Hiding?"

"It is for the good ofYanseldara. That is all you need to
know, Jarvis."

Ruha started across the drawbridge without waiting
for the guard to agree. Before she reached the other side,
Jarvis's heavy steps were booming across the thick
planks behind her.

"We're not supposed to leave our posts," he complained.

"And Vaerana was supposed to speak with me before
she left. Because she did not, we must now improvise."

They descended the stairs and retraced the meander-
ing path to Silavia's kitchen. With the door and shutters
all closed, the place looked as dark and silent as the
other sheds built along this section of the wall. Wonder-


The Veiled Dragon            223

ing how those inside could tolerate the cloying smell of
vlang oil without opening the windows, Ruha slipped
beneath an unruly wax myrtle. She settled into a hiding
olace so deliberately uncomfortable that she would not
fall asleep, then sent Jarvis back to Pearl Tower.

A long, bone-aching time later, Ruha began to debate
the wisdom of going to check on Tombor's progress. She
had expected it to take him quite some time to press all
eight sacks of ylang blossoms, but the first gray hint of
false dawn had already appeared in the eastern sky.
Household servants were beginning to trudge about their
morning tasks, and it would not be long before some
passing groom or maid discovered the witch lurking in
the bushes.

Ruha heard the crunch of heavy boots coming down
the path. She backed out from beneath the wax myrtle
and saw Jarvis and Vaerana approaching. All thoughts of
chiding the Lady Constable about last night's departure
quickly vanished from Ruha's mind. Vaerana was limp-
ing badly, with one arm hanging slack at her side and the
side of her face so swollen it looked as if she had been
kicked by a horse. What remained of her tattered jerkin
was black with half-dried blood, and even her boots
looked as though someone had tried to cut them off her
feet.

"What happened to you?"

Vaerana squatted beside Ruha. "Ambush." The word
came out mushy and difficult to understand. "They were
waiting."

"And I know who told them you were coming." Ruha
resisted the temptation to point out that Vaerana could
have avoided the beating by awakening her last night.
"The Cult of the Dragon has a spy inside Moonstorm
House."

A murderous glint flared in Vaerana's eyes. "Who?"

Ruha pointed toward the kitchen, where a pair of
scullery wenches were just entering the door. "The spy
will reveal himself soon enough."

224

The Harpers

Vaerana's hand drifted toward the blood-smeared hilt
of her sword. "What's the sense in waiting? Let's get him
now."

Ruha laid a restraining hand on the Lady Constable's
arm. "Wait. He is going to lead us to the dragon's lair
That's what I was trying to tell you last night."

Vaerana scowled. "Then why didn't you?"

"Because I would have ruined the trap," Ruha
explained. "The traitor was—"

The witch was interrupted by a muffled shriek from
inside the kitchen. The door burst open and both scullery
wenches came rushing outside. One woman held her
hands over her mouth, while the other waved her arms
at the door and yelled incoherently. With a sinking stom-
ach, Ruha leapt up and raced toward the shed behind
Vaerana and Jarvis. Vaerana pulled the crying wench out
of the way and led Jarvis and Ruha into the kitchen.

The room was as dark as pitch, for all of the candles
and tallow lamps had been extinguished. The cloying
perfume ofylang blossoms lingered in the air, though not
heavily enough to disguise a coppery, more familiar
scent: blood. A few steps inside the door, the Lady Con-
stable suddenly stopped and squatted on her haunches.

"Fetch a light."

As Jarvis left to do his mistress's bidding, Ruha knelt
close to Vaerana and ran her hands over the floor. It did
not take long to find Silavia's plump, cool body lying face-
down on the wooden planks. There was a soft, sticky
mess where the back other head should have been.

"Who did this?" Vaerana demanded.

"A cult spy." Ruha no longer felt any joy in her coming
vindication, in large part because they were going to find
another body in the kitchen and she knew who it would
be. "This is my fault. Had I not fallen asleep—"

"This is no time for blaming yourself!" Vaerana
snapped. "Just tell me about this spy."

"There were only two people in the kitchen with
Silavia: Tombor and Fowler."

The Veiled Dragon            225

"You think Tusks did this?" Vaerana scoffed. "And I
was beginning to think you might not be such a bungler!"

Ruha bit her tongue. A sharp retort would do nothing
to bring Fowler back, and even less to convince Vaerana
ofTombor's betrayal. The Lady Constable would realize
the truth for herself soon enough.

Jarvis returned with a lit candle, which he promptly
used to find and light several tallow lamps. As the flick-
ering light illuminated the room, it became apparent
that Silavia had been struck down as she fled, for she
had left a short trail of bloody footsteps behind her. The
rest of the kitchen looked normal enough; there were no
tables overturned, the room was not strewn with uten-
sils, and the walls were mercifully unspattered with
blood.

Ruha took Jarvis's candle and led the way toward the
pantry. The oil press was not on the table where it should
have been, but she quickly forgot about that as she
stepped around the corner of the table and saw Fowler's
stout body sprawled on the floor. The captain was lying
amidst a pool of dark blood, with the handle of a long
butcher knife protruding from the middle of his back. His
neck was turned at an impossible angle, and his aston-
ished gray eyes were staring straight ahead.

Vaerana slipped past Ruha and crouched down beside
Fowler. "So much for your spy."

"I did not say that Fowler was the spy." Ruha's tone
was sharper than she intended, for she was boiling over
with anger and guilt. "I was speaking of your friend,
Tombor the Jolly."

Vaerana's jaw dropped. "You think Tombor . . . ?"

Ruha nodded. "He was the only one in the room."

The Lady Constable rose, shaking her head. "Not Tom-
bor. He saved—"

"I know; he saved you from the cult's assassins, more
than once." Ruha paused, giving Vaerana time to draw
her own conclusions. When the witch saw no sudden
gleam of understanding in the Lady Constable's eyes, she

226

The Harpers

said, "The attacks weren't real. They were a trick to win
your confidence."

A look of humiliation flashed across Vaerana's face,
but it vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. "You don t
know that."

"Don't I?" Ruha waved her hand around the kitchen
"Where are the ylang blossoms?"

Vaerana's gaze roamed across the chamber, her com-
plexion turning as white as alabaster when she did not
find the eight bulky sacks. Finally, the Lady Constable
whirled on Ruha.

"You knew he would steal the blossoms—and you let
him?" Vaerana looked almost relieved to have someone
upon whom to vent her anger. "You let him kill Fowler?"

"I did not let him kill anyone!" the witch snapped
Vaerana's words hurt more than they should have, per-
haps because Ruha feared there was more truth to them
than she would have liked. "I had hoped we could follow
him to Yanseldara's staff—which we might have done,
had you bothered to awaken me and hear my plan!"

Jarvis interposed his armored bulk between the two
women. "Tombor was gone by then. I doubt he stayed
much longer than it took him to kill the half-ore and
Silavia."

Ruha turned to the empty table and, seeing no mess
upon the surface, nodded. "He was in a hurry to get out of
here. He took the oil press with him."

"The press maybe, but not even Tombor could sneak
eight sacks of ylang blossoms out the gate," said Vaerana,
"The sentries would ask too many questions. They saw
what you went through to bring those sacks to us."

"Perhaps he took them out some other way," Ruha sug-
gested.

"Yes, and I think I see how," said Jarvis. The burly
guard took Ruha's candle and went to the back wall,
where a mass of roofing straw lay scattered around a
butchering bench. He climbed onto the table and stuck
his head up between the rafters, then raised the candle

The Veiled Dragon            227

hieh enough to illuminate his shoulders sticking up
through a hole m the roof. "He climbed onto the roof and
threw the sacks over the wall."

"Fowler's tnck!" Ruha gasped.

A long, heartsick groan slipped from Vaerana's lips.
She hung her head and braced her hands on the table
edge. "I failed her."

"Not yet." Ruha went to the Lady Constable's side and,
rather uncertainly, laid a hand on her shoulder. "Tombor
took the wrong blossoms."

Vaerana raised her brow. "The wrong blossoms?"

Ruha nodded. "The ones Tombor took were only bait.
They were picked in the evening, and they are not potent
enough to serve the dragon's wishes. Cypress needs blos-
soms picked in the morning, and those remain at the
Ginger Palace."

Vaerana stood up straight. "Then what are we waiting
for?" She turned to Jarvis. "Find Pierstar and tell him to
call out the Maces! We've got a palace to storm!"

Ruha caught Jarvis's arm. "That won't be necessary.
Minister Hsieh has promised to give us the blossoms, in
exchange for returning Lady Feng to him unharmed."

"How are we going to do that?" Vaerana demanded.
"Isn't she with Yanseldara's staff in Cypress's lair?"

Ruha nodded. "When we recover one, we rescue the
other. It costs us no extra effort."

Vaerana considered this for a moment, then scowled.
"That'd be fine—if we knew where to find the lair. And
since you were trying to trick Tombor into leading us
there..."

Ruha raised a hand to silence Vaerana. "There may be
another way. In my room, I have a potion. If we can get
Yanseldara to drink it, we can contact Lady Feng and
perhaps discover the location of Cypress's lair."

Vaerana studied Ruha out of one swollen eye. "Where
did you get this potion?"

"From Minister Hsieh," Ruha answered. "Now that he
is helping us—"

228

The Harpers

"Helping us!" Vaerana thundered. "It's Shou mag
that's done this to Yanseldara!"

"Yes, but—"

The Lady Constable shook her head. "How do you
know this won't hurt her?"

"I do not," Ruha admitted. "Minister Hsieh said that if
the connection between Yanseldara's body and spirit is
too weak, we could sever it entirely—but that is unlikely
as long as she remains strong enough—"

"No!" Vaerana shook her head vehemently, then
stepped away from the table and started toward the dooi
"When will you learn? You can't trust a Shou—ever."

"What other choice do we have?" Ruha started after
Vaerana, who did not even acknowledge the question
"Wait! Where are you going?"

The Lady Constable did not even slow down as shf
stepped through the door. "Where do you think? To have
Pierstar wake his trackers!"

Thirteen

Tang saw the serpent dart beneath
a ti plant and hopped across the
stream after it. He stirred the spear-
shaped leaves until the viper struck at
his snake stick, then flipped the Y-
shaped head around and pinned the
creature's neck to the ground. He
kneeled beside his captive and grabbed
it behind the head. This snake was the largest yet, so
great in diameter that he could not close his hand around
its slime-scaled throat. There would be plenty of venom.




The prince twined the serpent's writhing body around
the shaft of his stick and, picking his footing very care-
fully, carried the heavy thing across the stream to his
workbench. Atop the flat rock lay two sacks of supple
leather cut from the collars of a pair of boots. With sharp-
ened sticks protruding from them at all angles, the bags
looked like melon-sized cockleburs. They were stuffed
with wads of silk ripped from the battle tunics of dead
soldiers, whose voices Tang still heard screeching above
the drone of the mosquitos.

"Be patient, my troops. Soon I intercede for you." If
Tang could find the strength to see his plan through, his
ancestors would be so overjoyed that he would no longer
need to hide his failure from them. "Soon I pray to Yen-
Wang-Yeh; I testify to your bravery, and he renders hon-
orable verdict."

230

The Harpers

The spirits took no comfort in the prince's promise.
They continued to screech.

Tang sighed and set his snake stick aside. He took the
sack by the long, unsharpened stake that served as a
handle—it was not wise to touch the bladder with bare
hands—and held it close to his captive's face. The fright-
ened viper struck instantly, sinking its fangs through the
supple leather and into the wad of cloth inside. The prince
shook the serpent to encourage the release of more
venom, then repeated the process several more times.
When he had milked the last of the creature's toxins, he
flung it down the hill and stooped over to inspect his
handiwork. Both sacks were so full of poison that cloudy
beads of venom were seeping back through the fang holes.

Tang carried the poison-filled bladders down to the
swamp, where the cadavers of his dead soldiers lay scat-
tered across the pond as thick as lily pads. Most of the
corpses had been savagely mangled by alligators or bit-
ten cleanly in two by the wyverns, but a few were black-
ened and bloated from dozens of snake bites, often to
such an extent that runnels of thick black fluid spilled
from splits in the skin. These had been molested by nei-
ther alligator nor wyvern, and it was the observation of
this fact that had kindled again the prince's hopes of
redeeming himself.

After retrieving his dugout and making a careful
search along the edge of the swamp, Tang had located
two relatively whole bodies that were not bloated with
snake poison. One man had managed to swim to dry land
after being eviscerated, while the other had either
drowned or died of fright—the prince had found him
caught beneath a cypress root with no obvious wounds.

Tang stuffed one of his poison bladders into the
abdomen of the eviscerated soldier, then used his dagger
to create a place for the second ball in the other man's
stomach. He closed the wounds with small wooden pins
and dressed the pair in the cleanest, least-tattered battle
tunics he had been able to find. If the men's spirits

The Veiled Dragon

231

objected to having their bodies used as bait, the prince
could not tell over the din of voices already assailing his
ears. He loaded the cadavers into the dugout, leaning one
man over the bow and propping the other in the stern.
Into the bottom of the punt, he placed a halberd and
some supplies he had gathered from his dead troops,
including a rope, torches, oil, and a waterskin.

After peering through gray mosquito haze to make cer-
tain no alligators lurked nearby—most had retreated to
their dens to gorge themselves on last night's catch—
Tang slipped into the bog scum. As the water rose above
his waist, the stench of decaying plants and rotten fish
grew immensely more powerful. He gagged and nearly
emptied his stomach, then slapped a hand over his nose
and forced himself to breathe through his mouth until he
grew accustomed to the reek. He pushed the dugout
toward Cypress's cavern, moving so slowly that even he
could not see the water rippling. A familiar, cold weak-
ness crept over his limbs, and his heart began to pound
so loudly it drowned out the wails of the dead soldiers. In
response, they raised their voices until it seemed the
entire swamp reverberated with their howls.

"Worthy ancestors, please to silence spirits," the prince
begged. "It is difficult to be brave with such din."

If anything, the spirits wailed more loudly, yet not
loudly enough to drown out the small, whispering voice
that kept telling Tang he was a fool to face the wyverns
alone. It was not the place of Shou princes to wade
through swamps filled with the choking stench of death
and rot, or to brave black waters infested with leeches
and alligators.

The bottom vanished beneath Tang's feet. He forced
his legs and arms into service and swam toward the cave.
The closer he came to the moss-draped maw, the weaker
his limbs felt. He doubted he would have the strength to
enter the grotto, but that was not required. All he had to
do was push the dugout into view of the wyverns, and
they would do the rest.

232

The Harpers

As the prince consoled himself with these thoughts, it
occurred to him there was a weakness in his plan. How
would he know when—or even if—the wyverns took his
bait? The poison would be both painful and quick. Once
the stakes punctured the lining of their stomachs, the
great reptiles would thrash about and screech madly for
a short time, but Tang would not hear them. The dead
soldiers were wailing too loudly; the prince would not
have heard it if Cypress himself roared in his ear.

Tang allowed the dugout to drift to a stop, then hung
from its stern. He had two choices: go into the cave with
the corpses, or make his report to Yen-Wang-Yeh so the
soldiers would be silent.

Or sneak out of the swamp while Cypress was away,
added the insidious voice inside his head.

"I do not go back!"

Feeling proud for avoiding the obvious choice of a cow-
ard, Tang took the second most cowardly course and
swam the dugout toward the yawning cavern. It seemed
entirely possible the wyverns would kill him, but that
was preferable to disgracing his ancestors by admitting
that he had turned out to be a fool.

The punt nosed in front of the cavern mouth. When the
wyverns did not immediately come swooping out of the
darkness, Tang took a deep breath, then slipped beneath
the water and pushed the dugout around the corner. The
din of his dead soldiers faded to a watery roar, and the
cowardly voice in his head stopped urging him to flee.
The prince continued to ease forward, hoping his feet did
not break the surface when he kicked, struggling to keep
his hand from slipping on the boat's slimy bottom. His
lungs were already burning for air, but he knew it was
only the coward in him looking for an excuse to flee.

Tang continued to kick, praying he would feel the
wyverns' strike rock the dugout before his craven lips
opened and sucked a mouthful of fetid water into his
lungs. It occurred to him that the wyverns might be
gorged already. But they had to be ravenous after last

The Veiled Dragon            233

night's burst of fighting, and the two lizards had not yet
finished feeding when Cypress sent them inside to guard
the lair. Unless the prince had misinterpreted last night's
events, they would be voracious enough to devour the
punt as well as its contents.

So why hadn't they attacked?

Tang's yearning for air grew so overwhelming that he
nearly opened his mouth. Instead, he blew his breath out
through his nostrils and continued to swim.

At this point, he expected the coward inside to remind
him that it was treason to risk the life of a Shou prince,
to urge him to swim for the swamp. The whispering voice
remained mercifully silent, perhaps because it knew
Tang had come too far. The punt was his only camou-
flage. If he was not behind its sheltering bulk when he
pushed his head above water, the wyverns would swoop
down to bite him in two, just as they had bitten apart
those bodies in the swamp outside.

A black fog gathered at the edges of Tang's percep-
tions, and he realized he could no longer deny his lungs.
He rolled onto his back and pushed his head up alongside
the slimy hull. When his face broke the surface, he
opened his mouth and quietly filled his chest with dank,
moldy air.

The cavern ceiling hung thrice a man's height above
hie head. It was a dark vault of broken stalactites and
shadowy hollows, dimly illuminated by the swamp's
emerald light. Here and there were blocky holes where
some huge chunk of stone had long ago fallen into the
water, shaken loose by an earthquake, or perhaps some
ancient outpouring of Cypress's anger.

Tang allowed his gaze to follow the curve of the ceiling
down to the wall, then farther down to a rock ledge loom-
ing above the water. Hanging above this stony bench
were two pairs of huge orange eyes with slit pupils and
gleaming, voracious gazes. The prince's heart skipped a
beat or several, and he stopped himself from crying out
only by pulling his head beneath the water.

234

The Harpers

The wyverns struck the next instant, taking Tang's
bait so hard that they slammed the bottom of the dugout
into his chest. The impact drove the air from his lungs,
and he found himself choking on fetid brown swamp
water. His head broke the surface of its own accord and
violent coughs began to rack the prince's body. He
grabbed the side of the punt and tried to regain control of
his convulsing chest.

A pair of severed legs splashed down on the other side
of the dugout. Tang looked up and saw four reeling wings
silhouetted against the cavern's far wall. Still coughing,
he grabbed for his halberd, nearly capsizing the punt as
he reached inside. The wyverns turned toward him.
Their orange eyes glowed bright as fire, and strings of
flesh dangled between their needle-sharp teeth. In the
dim light, the prince could barely make out a prickly
leather ball lodged in the corner of one creature's mouth.
He could not see the second poison sack, but the other
reptile kept whipping its narrow head from side to side
and thrusting out its forked tongue, as though something
were caught in its throat.

The wyverns swooped low over the water. Tang found
the heft of his weapon and saw his attackers raise their
tails to strike. He forgot about the halberd and pulled
hard on the side of the dugout, flipping it over on top of
him. The polearm's shaft fell across his shoulder; then a
pair of loud, sharp thuds cleaved the din of his dead sol-
diers' voices. The bitter smell of wyvern poison filled the
air. The prince grabbed the halberd and slipped beneath
the surface.

A muffled crack reverberated through the water, fol-
lowed quickly by a great gurgling sound as a large mass
splashed into the pool. Tang kicked away from the
spreading slick of wyvern poison—he did not want the
stuff seeping into his scratches—and came up for air.

At the base of the stony ledge lay one of the wyverns,
thrashing about in the water and hurling shards of splin-
tered dugout in every direction. A puffy black bulge had

The VeUed Dragon            235

formed halfway down its sinuous neck, where the snake
venom was eating away the delicate tissues of the throat
lining. As the ring of swollen flesh began to restrict the
flow of blood and air, the creature's nostrils flared, and
its eyes bulged. It swung around and, when it tried to rip
the obstruction from its own throat, came away with
nothing but a mouthful of black mush. It flung the putrid
flesh across the cavern, then suffered a wave of uncon-
trollable convulsions and collapsed into the water.

A long, mournful hiss sounded from atop the ledge,
where the second wyvem lay above its mate. One side of
the beast's head had bloated into a shapeless mass of
dark flesh. The reptile itself looked listless and sick, but
there were no tremors or spasms to suggest the venom
would ultimately prove fatal, and the venom ball was
hanging precariously at the corner of its mouth.

If the wyvem was to die, Tang realized, he would have
to kill it. He swam toward the back of the cavern, angling
toward a large block of stone that rose out of the water
and leaned against his foe's rocky perch. The great rep-
tile raised its neck, turning its head to track his progress.
As the prince neared his goal, the wyvem lifted its wings
as though to take flight, then abruptly let them fall and
reluctantly gathered its legs beneath its bulk.

If he turned back now, the wyvern would be too weak
to follow him, but Tang had no desire to flee. He wanted
to rescue his mother, and to do that he had to slay this
beast. He reached the boulder and clambered out of the
water, then started up the slippery limestone. The
wyvem peered over the top, then turned sideways and
whipped its poison-tipped tail toward his chest.

Tang brought his halberd around, slapping the poison-
dripping barb aside with the flat of the blade. In the
same instant, he continued the motion, circling it over
the top of the wyvern's tail and bringing the head up on
the inside. Had he been fighting a man with a lance or
spear, the maneuver would have sent his foe's weapon
flying away. In this case, it twined his polearm into the

236

The Harpers

powerful appendage. The prince clamped the shaft
beneath his arms and held on tight.

The reptile pulled its tail back to strike again, jerking
Tang up the boulder and swinging him across the stony
ledge. He slammed into the cavern wall and nearly
blacked out as the breath exploded from his body. The
wyvern started to whip its tail back toward the boulder,
nearly ripping the halberd from Tang's grasp, then real-
ized it was dragging something and stopped. The mis-
shapen head swung around and fixed an angry orange
eye on the prince, who began to wish he had not been so
rash when he had had the chance to flee.

Tang leapt over the tail, thereby freeing his halberd,
and brought the blade around in a quick arc. The sharp
edge slashed through the scaly tendril and sent the tail's
poisonous barb skittering across the stones.

Even had he not felt the wyvem's hot breath washing
over his back, Tang would have known what was coming
next. He instantly pulled back, pushing the halberd butt
into the air behind him, and smoothly switched stances so
that he was facing the opposite direction. He found the
wyvem's fang-filled jaws descending toward his head. The
prince stepped forward to meet the attack, at the same
time thrusting the butt of his weapon into the leathery
ball lodged in the corner of the reptile's gaping maw.

The poison sack came loose and rolled deep into the
wyvem's throat; then the beast's jaws snapped shut and
severed the halberd shaft a hairbreadth above the
prince's fingers. Tang started to shuffle backward, then
saw a flash of motion in the corner of his eye and turned
to dive off" the stony bench. The leathery wing caught him
squarely in the back, launching him with such force that
he sailed across the cavern and slammed into the far
wall. His body erupted in pain; then he plunged into the
black water.

Tang floated for a long time, too sore to breathe even if
he had not been lying facedown in a pool of fetid swamp
water. He ached from the tips of his fingers to the ends of

The Veiled Dragon            237

his toes, which was probably a good thing, since it meant
the wyvern's blow had not broken his back. He tried to
take stock of other possible injuries, but everything hurt
too much to tell if any particular bone was broken or out
of joint. When the need to breathe finally grew suffi-
ciently urgent, he tried to roll onto his back and discov-
ered the water was only knee-deep. He gathered his legs
beneath him and rose out of the water.

At first, Tang did not recognize the strange growling
sound he heard and thought perhaps the wyvern was
coming after him. Then he recognized it as his own voice,
groaning in pain, and realized with a start that the
voices of his dead soldiers had fallen silent. In the dim
light, he could barely make out the figure of the great
reptile across the cavern, lying on the ledge with its barb-
less tail and one leathery wing dangling motionless over
the side. There was a large black bulge near the top of its
scaly neck, and the amorphous mass that had once been
its head was so swollen that the flesh had split open.

"Two wyverns!" the prince whispered. "Perhaps I am
fool, but no longer am I coward!"

Even as he spoke them, Tang realized the words were
not altogether true. There were many forms of cowardice,
some more important than others, and he could not
redeem himself through a single act of bravery. He
turned toward the entrance of the cavern and bowed in
deep respect.

"Listen, 0 Yen-Wang-Yeh, Great Judge and King of
Eighteen Hells." Tang spoke loudly and clearly, so that his
ancestors might hear his words as well. "Listen and hear
testimony of foolish Shou prince who squanders lives of
General Fui D'hang and many dutiful soldiers ..."

In the amber dawn light, even Ruha could see that the
cart tracks led up the hill straight to the gloomy ruins of
what had once been a many-spired fortress of hanging

238

The Harpers

bartizans and dark hoardings. Tombor had driven
through a grimy stream at the edge of the small wood
where Vaerana had stopped the column, and the wagon
wheels had left a pair of dark lines in the center of the
dusty road.

"I should have guessed," Vaerana growled. "The Night
Castle."

"The Night Castle?" Ruha asked.

"We've chased cult assassins in there before," Vaeranp
explained. "Whenever we do, the place fills with dark-
ness. It'll be a hard thing to find Yanseldara's staff in
that murk—especially if Cypress is there defending it."

Ruha glanced toward the eastern horizon, where the
shrines of Temple Hill were silhouetted against At'ar's
blazing golden orb. "The sun is rising; in a few minutes,
my fire spells will be powerful enough to dispel even the
thickest darkness."

"That won't do us any good, I'm afraid." Pierstar Hal-
lowhand rode up to join Ruha and Vaerana. Behind him
followed one of his gray-cloaked trackers and a bedrag-
gled, long-bearded man who looked as frightened of his
mount as he did the company of Maces gathered on the
road. "If the staff was there, it's gone now."

"How can you know that?" Vaerana demanded.

"Longnose found a shepherd grazing his herd south of
here." Pierstar motioned his scout to bring the bedrag-
gled fellow forward, then nodded to the man. "Tell the
Lady Constable what you saw last night."

The fellow snatched his grimy cap from his head and
began to wring it in his hands, then stared at the ground
beneath Vaerana's stirrups. "It was well past high night,
ma'am," he began. "I was waked by me dogs howling, an'
I heard a bell ringing, only it was real deep."

The man paused, which prompted Vaerana's gaze to
snap toward Pierstar. "I don't see what—"

"Let him finish," Pierstar said. Then, to the man, he
ordered, "Go on, and be quick about it. Vaerana Hawk-
lyn's not known for her patience."

The Veiled Dragon            239

Looking more frightened than ever, the man blurted,
"It was maybe an hour later. My dogs went mad, an' I
looked up and saw a dragon flying over. I thought I'd lost
me herd an' me life too, but it just flew by." He pointed
toward the Night Castle. "It landed in there. I'll tell you,
ma'am, I rolled me blanket quick and started the herd for
these woods, but the dragon was back in the air before I
made a hundred paces—an' he was carryin' something
real careful-like in his claws."

"What?" Vaerana demanded. "An oak staff with a big
topaz pommel?"

It was Ruha who answered. "No. Cypress would not
trust anyone else with that staff. It had to be the ylang
blossoms."

"I don't know about your blossoms or your staff," said
the man. "All I saw was a real fat cleric holding a big
wooden cask, an' he looked about as scared as me."

"Then we've lost the trail." Vaerana did not curse or
cry out; her shoulders simply slumped forward. "Even if
we knew where the lair was, we can't ride as fast as
Cypress can fly."

"We have lost the trail, but not the battle," said Ruha.
"Minister Hsieh is pressing the real oil for us at the Gin-
ger Palace. Perhaps we should go and retrieve it; when
Cypress returns home and discovers that he has been
deceived, he will come to us."

*****

Tang hurled the torch against the gray limestone, then
sat upon a fallen stalactite to contemplate the back wall
of the cavern. He had explored every nook, cranny and
fissure without finding Cypress's lair. Not a single pas-
sage large enough for a man, much less a dragon, led
deeper into the mountain. The prince had even scaled a
giant-high dropblock to peer into the ceiling's shadowy
recesses, and he had seen nothing. It was as if Cypress
vanished when he entered the cavern.

240

The Harpers

Given that the dragon was more dead than alive, that
seemed entirely possible. Still, Tang had not yet searched
one place, perhaps because if he found the passage there,
he stood every chance of dying in it.

The prince retrieved his guttering torch and climbed
down to the pool. On the far bank, the cavern did not end
in a true wall. The ceiling simply angled down and disap-
peared into the water, which was so fetid and brown with
decay it was impossible to see a hand's span beneath the
surface. The passage, if the cavern had one, could only be
hidden there.

Tang returned to the small pile of equipment he had
salvaged from his dugout and prepared for his dive. He
folded his tinderbox into its oilcloth and knotted the ends
together so they would not leak. He pushed the stopper
well down into his oil flask and used a bootlace to fix it to
his sword belt. He emptied his waterskin into the pool,
then refilled it with several breaths of air and slung it
around his neck. Finally, the prince uncoiled his rope,
tying one end to his sword belt and the other to a small
boulder at the edge of the pond.

Tang waded into the pool until it became chest-deep,
then doused his torch and wedged it into his empty
sword scabbard. In the dim swamp light filtering in from
the cavern mouth, he could barely see the ceiling of the
grotto, sloping down like the roof of some huge mouth.
He swam over to it and dove. The water turned instantly
as thick and dark as plum wine. The prince rolled onto
his back so he could use his hands and feet to push him-
self along the roof of the passage.

Tang's heart began to pound in his ears and his throat
grew tight, but he gave no thought to turning back. It
was not that he felt no fear; on the contrary, he was filled
with a cold, queasy dread that made his hands shake and
his bowels churn. The thought occurred to him that the
passage might have more than one branch. He could eas-
ily be swimming into an underwater labyrinth; in such
suffocating darkness, he would never know it.

The Veiled Dragon            241

Dragging himself through the passage was hard work,
and Tang's breath did not last long. He turned over, then
emptied his lungs into the black water. The prince pulled
his buoyant waterskin beneath his body and allowed it to
press him against the ceiling, then placed his lips over
the mouth. Biting the stopper between his teeth, he care-
fully opened the skin and allowed a stream of stale air to
seep into his chest. Closing the sack was more difficult.
He had to use his fingers to push the stopper back into
place, losing several precious bubbles when he slipped
the digits into the corner of his mouth.

Tang continued forward, if not growing less afraid,
then at least growing more accustomed to fear. Though
he had lost all sense of direction, he no longer worried
about becoming lost. No matter how complicated the
labyrinth, he could always follow the rope back. He filled
his lungs from his air sack two more times, each time
allowing a few cherished bubbles to slip along his cheek
as he pushed the stopper back into place. Even that loss
did not trouble him. If he ran out of air, it would be much
easier to pull himself back to the pond than to crawl
forward as he was doing. Then he would simply find a
couple of extra waterskins and resume his explorations.

A flicker of orange-yellow light caught Tang's eye, and
he began to hope it would not be necessary to turn
around. He dragged himself forward. When the flicker
became a diffuse gold-red gleam pushing its way through
the murky water, he realized he had to be nearing
Cypress's lair. The glow was the color of flame, and fires
do not burn underwater. More importantly, where there
was light, Lady Feng was also bound to be. The prince
pulled himself forward with renewed vigor—only to come
to an abrupt stop as he reached the end of the rope.

Tang did not even consider going back for another
length of rope. Instead, he sucked the last dregs of air
from his waterskin, then untied himself and swam
toward the light. He began to count heartbeats, not
because he feared he would drown before he reached the

242

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end of the passage, but to give him some idea of how far
it was back to the rope. The golden glow brightened
slowly. His count had reached thirty by the time it was ab
large as a head. At fifty, his lungs began to ache for air,
and the light was no larger than a harvest moon. When
the count reached seventy, his limbs grew so heavy and
weak that he could hardly move them. Yellow-orange
radiance filled the whole passage ahead, and still the
ceiling held Tang beneath the water.

The prince blew out the last of his breath and swam
another dozen strokes. His count reached a hundred and
ten, and the orange glow was so bright that he could see
his hands silhouetted against it. His heart began to beat
faster, pounding inside his chest like a forge's trip ham-
mer, and a trickle of sweet-tasting water seeped between
his lips. At the count of a hundred and thirty, the golden
light began to sparkle and shimmer, and the prince real-
ized he had made a terrible mistake. Whatever it was,
this radiance was too strong, too brilliant to be firelight.
Perhaps his testimony to the Chief Judge had come too
late; perhaps the spirits of his dead soldiers, angry at his
hesitation, had created the luminescence to trick him.
One hundred and sixty .. .

The ceiling lifted off of Tang's back, and his head sud-
denly popped out of the water. With a great, racking
groan, he sucked in the musty cave air, continuing until
it seemed his lungs would burst. An orchestra of blissful
purling echoed all around the prince, giving him the feel-
ing that he had died and, despite his many faults, sur-
faced in the Land of Extreme Felicity. He exhaled and
drew in even more air, as though he were trying to drain
the cavern of its last wisp of dank atmosphere.

The chamber itself only added to Tang's impression
that he had surfaced in a place of eternal paradise. The
ceiling and walls were draped with jewelry both ancient
and new: thumb-sized diamonds set into gold rings,
blood-red rubies strung end-to-end in long chains, emer-
alds as large as cat eyes dangling from ear clips of pure

The Veiled Dragon            243

platinum. From dozens of ancillary passages poured
streams large and small, all passing over beds of pearl
and opal before they fell into a sparkling lake that filled
the lower half of the cavern.

Unlike the brown soup at the other end of the passage,
the waters here were as clear as glass, and the bottom of
the entire pool was covered by minted coins of every
imaginable size and kingdom. A short swim away, the
coins rose up to form the glistening beach of an island
made entirely of precious ingots—and more gold than sil-
ver. In the center of the isle stood a single oaken staff—
no doubt Yanseldara's—with three gnarled branches
rising at the top to grasp a huge orange topaz. From the
depths of this gem burned the fiery light that illuminated
the entire chamber, glimmering so brilliantly that the
prince could hardly make out the form of the tall, willowy
woman standing beside it.

"Lady Feng!" Tang swam to the island, then stopped on
the shore and bowed to his mother. "Will Third Virtuous
Concubine honor her humble son with audience?"

The woman stepped away from the staff and peered
down the slope at her son. Unlike most Shou women, she
showed every day of her age—and then some. She wore
her gray hair pulled into a tight bun that did little to
lessen its unruly appearance, and her skin was as ashen
and flaky as lizard scales. The crow's-feet at the corners
of her eyes fanned out like spiderwebs to veil her entire
face, while the curious way that she cocked her head only
emphasized the contrast between the pop-eye through
which she saw the outer world and the squinty white orb
that was usually turned inward to watch the spirit world.

"Tang!" she said at last. "What do you do here?"

"I come to rescue you, Lady Feng." The prince held his
bow. It was not unusual to have an entire conversation
with the Third Virtuous Concubine without receiving
permission to rise. It was a good thing she was not a
queen; he would have had to kowtow. "I also come to
destroy Cypress's spirit gem."

244

The Harpers

"No. You mustn't!" She began to pick her way down the
ingot slope. "Cypress would know!"

"It does not matter. He already tries to kill me for res-
cuing you."

"You risk life?" Lady Feng slapped Tang on the back of
the head. "You are Shou prince!"

"Rescuing you is only way to redeem honor of Ginger
Palace."

"Do I ask to be rescued?" Lady Feng grabbed Tang's
chin and pulled his head up, then waved her arm around
the glittering chamber. "Here is more wealth than all
Imperial treasuries!"

Tang scowled at this, for his mother had always been
too wise to value wealth above freedom. "What good are
these riches? Whole room of gold and diamonds is worth
less than nothing if it makes prisoner of you."

Lady Feng's squinty eye rolled in its socket, perhaps in
dim recognition of the wisdom she herself had imparted
to the prince. Her pop-eye, however, darted around the
room from bauble to bauble, as though checking to be cer-
tain that each one remained in its place.

"Do not argue!" she ordered. "Wealth shown is wealth
lost to thieves."

Tang shook his head sadly. "You have dragon sickness."
He started up the ingot slope. "Show me where Cypress
hides spirit gem; then we leave."

"Go no farther, Tang."

Tang stopped in his tracks. When Lady Feng assumed
that tone, she was not a woman to be trifled with. His
mother was capable of killing a man with the merest
wisp of an incantation. Though he believed she loved him
as any mother loved her child, she was a Scholar ofYen-
Wang-Yeh, and to scholars of the Great Judge, life and
death were merely aspects of one existence; even a son
could not be sure his mother would care which state he
happened to occupy.

After a moment's consideration, Tang realized how to
solve his dilemma. He faced his cronish mother. "I only

The VeUed Dragon            245

try to protect your treasure, Lady Feng. Cypress thinks it
belongs to him. We must destroy him."

Lady Feng's pop-eye flashed in anger, but the squinty
one rolled around to study him. It was horribly bloodshot,
with a milky iris and a black pupil that seemed as deep
as the Well of Eighteen Hells itself, and Tang had not
seen it since he was a little boy.

"Tang, you try to trick me?"

For the first time since his battle with the wyverns,
Tang felt like a coward. He let his gaze drop and nodded.
"But only to protect you from Cypress. Whether you
understand or not, dragon sickness has made you his
prisoner more than chains."

The squinty eye trembled as though from a palsy, but
continued to linger on Tang's face for a long time. At last,
Lady Feng said, "Tunnel is long. If we destroy spirit gem,
how do we escape?"

"We carry extra air." To demonstrate, Tang opened his
water skin and filled it with breath. "Then I pull us
through passage on rope I leave tied to other end."

Lady Feng eyed the air sack for a long time, then
reluctantly nodded. "But we do not smash gem until we
are outside." The squinty eye rolled back into her head,
and she added, "Then we destroy Cypress and come back
to cave of wealth!"

"Of course—if that is truly wish of Third Virtuous Con-
cubine." Tang ran a troubled eye over the glittering
chamber; a month ago, his mother would have looked on
the vast treasure with the mocking disdain of one who
recognized such things as a worldly illusion. Now, it was
all too easy to imagine Lady Feng returning to live out
her life among these lonely riches. "Perhaps we even
build palace for you."

A pithy smile crept across the gray lips of the Third
Virtuous Concubine. "Most excellent idea. You know
where to find spirit gem?"

"Cypress wishes to be with love. Gem can be only one
place." Tang looked at the glowing gem in Yanseldara's

246

The Harpers

staff. "I get staff. You gather your things."

As the prince turned to climb the ingots, a gentle wave
rolled up the beach, stirring the precious coins and soak-
ing his feet to the ankles. Tang scowled at the rising
water, trying to imagine what might have caused the
surge.

Lady Feng grabbed his arm and shoved him into the
water. "You must hide! Cypress returns!"

Fourteen

At the far end of the Ginger Palace's
long audience hall, the new chamber-
lain drew aside two silk draperies and
opened a pair of teak doors. A double
column of Minister Hsieh's yellow-
cloaked guards marched into the room
and split, one line filing to each side of
Ruha and Vaerana. Behind the war-
riors followed a parade of servants bearing a triangular
table, three teak chairs, and a tray with a steaming
teapot and a trio of tiny, deep bowls.




As Hsieh's men took their positions, Vaerana scowled
and leaned close to Ruha. "I don't know why I listen to
you. This is going to be worse than Voonlar. They mean to
take us prisoner."

"You are too suspicious, Vaerana. They intend nothing
of the kind."

"Then why so many guards?"

"They are only for ceremony." Ruha shook her head at
the Lady Constable's suspicions, remembering how easily
Minister Hsieh had disabled Wei Dao. "The mandarin is
quite capable of defending himself."

Vaerana sneered doubtfully, but fell silent as the ser-
vants arrived with the furniture. They put the table on
the chamber's exquisite floor mosaic, carefully arranging
it so the point of the triangle stood over the head of the
flame-tailed bird and the base faced Ruha and the Lady

248

The Harpers

Constable. They placed two chairs on the women's side
and positioned the third one before the tip of the table.
The man bearing the tea tray stepped to one side, then
stood at attention while Minister Hsieh, with Yu Po fol-
lowing close behind, entered the room.

The mandarin glided across the floor to the point of the
table, then bowed to his guests. Ruha returned the ges-
ture, making certain to bend lower than her host, but
Vaerana barely nodded. Yu Po pulled the mandarin's
chair out. A pair of servants stepped forward to do like-
wise for the witch and Lady Constable.

Vaerana astonished the servant by taking her own
chair and placing it opposite the tea bearer. She dropped
heavily into the seat, then braced her elbows on the table
and faced Hsieh.

"The witch tells me you have some ylang oil."

Yu Po's face turned instantly scarlet. He slipped
around Hsieh's chair. "You are ill-bred daughter of—"

"Yu Po!" Hsieh waited for his adjutant to stop, then
waved at the tea tray. "You may serve."

Yu Po's jaw dropped, as did that of the tea bearer and
the other servants; then the adjutant bowed to his mas-
ter and stepped to obey.

Hsieh smiled at Vaerana. "Yes, ylang oil is ready." He
looked to Ruha. "Where is Lady Feng?"

The witch found it difficult to meet the mandarin's
gaze. "I am afraid we do not know." She saw Hsieh's lips
tighten and had the cold, sinking feeling that she was
doomed to appear a failure to everyone she met. "We
were not able to follow the spy when he fled to the lair."

The handle of the teapot nearly slipped from Yu Po's
grasp, and the lid clinked loudly.

The mandarin frowned at his adjutant's clumsiness,
then asked, "Then Lady Feng cannot tell you where to
find lair?"

"Vaerana is ... reluctant... to use your potion on
Yanseldara." Ruha cast an uncomfortable glance at the
Lady Constable, who set her jaw and showed no sign of

The Veiled Dragon            249

feeling uncomfortable about her mistrust of the Shou. "I

am sorry."

Yu Po finished pouring and set the teapot back on the
tray, then picked up one of the tiny bowls and looked
uncertain as to where he should place it. Minister Hsieh
graciously gestured to Ruha, and the adjutant placed the
vessel on the table before her. When he started to set the
next cup before Vaerana, however, the mandarin scowled
harshly and cleared his throat. The young man paled and
nearly sloshed tea on the table as he swung his hand
toward his master.

If the snub troubled Vaerana, she showed no sign. "I
don't want to strain Yanseldara. She's not strong enough."

Hsieh waited for Yu Po to set a bowl before the Lady
Constable, then picked up his own tea. Ruha slipped her
cup beneath her veil and also sipped her drink, but Vaer-
ana pretended not to see the steaming vessel before her.

The mandarin returned his bowl to the table. "Whether
Lady Yanseldara drinks potion is for Moonstorm House
to decide, of course." Hsieh turned back to Ruha. "But if
you do not know where to find lair, why do you need
ylang oil?"

"Perhaps you have caught Winter Blossom?" Ruha
asked. "We do know the general direction to the lair. If
we carry the familiar close enough, he will lead us to
Lady Feng."

Minister Hsieh shook his head. "The lemur eludes us. I
fear he goes to hunt for his mistress." He looked back to
Vaerana. "It appears we have only one way to find Lady
Feng—or Lady Yanseldara's missing staff."

"I'm not going to pour your cricket juice down Yansel-
dara's throat," Vaerana declared. "It was Shou magic that
put her into catalepsy in the first place."

"And it is only Shou magic that can cure her," Hsieh
reminded her. "Compared to need to reunite body with
spirit, risk to Lady Yanseldara is small."

"I said no."

Hsieh nodded politely. "Very well. Lady Feng is in no

250

The Harpers

danger, but until you find staff—and Third Virtuous Con-
cubine—you have no need of ylang oil."
Vaerana's eyes flashed silver. "You're threatening me?"
"I state fact." Hsieh sipped his tea, then said, "Until
you find Lady Yanseldara's spirit and free it from staff,
ylang oil does no good. There is no reason to give it to
you."

"No reason?" Vaerana stood, knocking her chair over.
"I'll give you reason!"

"Vaerana, sit down!" Ruha urged. "It would be foolish
to—"

The witch's warning was too late. Vaerana reached for
Hsieh's collar.

The mandarin flung hot tea into the Lady Constable's
eyes and bent toward the floor, ducking her grab easily.
Without putting his tea bowl aside, he cupped his free
hand behind her heel and pulled her foot off the ground.
Vaerana lost her balance and fell over backward, landing
on her chair and smashing it into pieces. The tips of a
dozen long-bladed Shou halberds instantly touched her
throat. A dozen more encircled Ruha.

Slowly, Ruha placed both her hands on the table and
glanced down at Vaerana. A red mask had formed around
the Lady Constable's eyes where the tea had scalded her,
but the way she was blinking suggested she was more
astonished than injured.

"Vaerana, if you value your life—or at least Yansel-
dara's—do not move," Ruha advised. "Allow me to explain
the situation to Minister Hsieh, and I'm certain he—"

"You don't have to explain anything," Vaerana snarled.
"All Minister Hsieh needs to know is that Pierstar's wait-
ing outside with a hundred Maces. If I don't join him
with a cask of ylang oil in the next twenty minutes,
there'll soon be another two thousand—and they won't be
in a patient mood."

Hsieh rose, very slowly.

Ruha said, "Minister, let me explain—"

The mandarin waved her silent, a command that was

The Veiled Dragon             251

instantly enforced as his guards touched their halberd
tips to her throat. Hsieh stepped over to Vaerana and
peered down at her supine form.

"Since you know nothing but threat, we converse in
manner you understand. First threat: If you try to touch
me again, I snap offending arm. Second threat: If we do
not find Lady Feng, you do not receive ylang oil, and
Lady Yanseldara dies. Final threat: If Maces do not with-
draw from grounds of Ginger Palace immediately, my
guards slay them all. Then they slay your family, your
servants, and everyone inside Moonstorm House."

Vaerana met the mandarin's icy glare with one of her
own. "No one threatens Yanseldara or Moonstorm House.
One way or—"

"Vaerana, you have the manners of a jackal!" Ruha
barked. "If you say another word, I swear by the name of
my father that I shall let the Shou cut your throat, and
save Yanseldara without you!"

The Lady Constable looked at Ruha with the stunned
expression of a sheikh being dressed down by the tribe
beggar. Before Vaerana could recover from her shock, the
witch turned her attention to the angry mandarin.

"And Minister Hsieh, your guards will not slay anyone
inside Moonstorm House—or Elversult." Several hal-
berds pricked Ruha's skin menacingly, but she ignored
them. "There is no time for a battle—at least not now. If
you wish to see Lady Feng or Yanseldara alive again, you
must work together."

"I have no need to work with this woman," Hsieh
snarled. "Lady Feng is in no danger."

"I am sorry to tell you she is—and also everyone inside
the Ginger Palace." When Hsieh scowled, Ruha hastened
to add, "I do not speak of Vaerana's Maces. I am speaking
of Cypress. We must take the ylang oil and flee before the
dragon discovers his spy's mistake."

"Do not lie to me," Hsieh said. "I see you destroy
dragon."

"You saw me destroy his body, not his spirit," Ruha

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The Harpers

said. "Do you not remember that he was undead? He has
taken a new body."

Hsieh glared at the witch. "How long do you know
this?"

"That does not matter." Ruha saw no use in lying; the
mandarin had already guessed the truth. "What is
important is that we leave before Cypress comes. If you
allow him to have the oil now, you will never see Lady
Feng again."

It was Yu Po who posed the question Ruha had been
anticipating since they left the Night Castle. "Forgive me
for speaking, Esteemed Mandarin, but perhaps we make
bargain with dragon for return of Lady Feng?"

Ruha was spared the necessity of pointing out the sug-
gestion's folly when Hsieh shot the adjutant an impatient
glower. "Only fool bargains with angry dragon."

Yu Po's face reddened with embarrassment, but he was
determined to redeem himself. He puffed out his chest. "I
am not afraid, Worthy Minister. When I explain how
witch deceives us—"

"If Cypress promises to return Lady Feng, who will
cast the spell?" Ruha interrupted. "And after you give
him the ylang oil, why would he return such a valuable
hostage—and one who may well have the power to undo
what he has worked so hard to do?"

Yu Po scowled at the witch and started to reply, but
Hsieh raised a hand to silence him. "Say no more, Yu Po.
Perhaps Lady Ruha neglects to tell us about dragon's
new body, but that does not make her wrong now. Go now,
and prepare my guards to ride!"

*****

Tang stopped well back in the cramped passage, where
it branched into three smaller tunnels. The limestone felt
almost slimy beneath his sodden boots, and the trill of the
tiny stream echoed surprisingly loud in his ears. Stooping
over so he would not hit his head on the low ceiling, he

The Veiled Dragon            253

turned around and kneeled, his legs straddling the
rivulet. The mouth of his hiding place was wide enough
that he could see most of the ingot island, where Lady
Feng stood beside Yanseldara's staff, calmly awaiting
Cypress's arrival. Though the prince judged no man could
see him hiding so far back in the passage, he had no idea
whether the darkness would also conceal him from the
empty-eyed dragon. He would find out soon enough, for it
seemed unlikely the beast would waste much time before
searching out the slayer of his pet wyverns.

A tremendous sloshing sounded from the treasure
chamber; then Cypress's head rose into view beyond the
island. The dragon appeared larger than even the night
before, with horns as long as lances and a snout the size
of a horse. He spread his wings, concealing the entire far
wall of the cavern, and water poured down the dull scales
in cataracts. He waded forward, rising high above the
island as he climbed the beach of tinkling coins. Tang
could see that Cypress carried a brown-cloaked figure in
the talons of one hand.

The dragon paused beside the island and lowered his
claw to the summit of the ingot heap. A plump, wide-eyed
man clutching a small wooden cask crawled off, then col-
lapsed to his knees and stared gaped-mouthed at the
sparkling chamber around him. Cypress turned his
vacant-eyed gaze on Lady Feng and dropped Tang's rope
at her feet.

"I see some of your son's men survived." The dragon's
booming words echoed off the stony walls like drum
music. "Where are they? I would repay them for the pain
they caused my pets."

When he heard Cypress assume it had taken a whole
party to kill the wyverns, Tang's heart swelled with
pride. Then it occurred to the prince that his mother's
captor had spoken aloud, and the air inside his inflated
chest turned cold and sickening. If the dragon could talk
again, he could speak spell incantations and, no doubt,
breathe acid. The prince felt as if he had chased a

254

The Harpers

chameleon into the brush and found a crocodile waiting
instead.

The Third Virtuous Concubine studied the rope at her
feet, then craned her neck to fix her outward-looking eye
on the dragon. "I know nothing of Prince Tang's men."

Cypress snorted wisps of black fume into the air, then
dropped his head and held one gaping eye socket over
Lady Feng's head. "Why are you lying? Perhaps you
think these men can steal my treasure for you?"

Lady Feng's bulging eye looked as though it might pop
from the socket. She slipped away from the dragon and
started toward the man with the cask, clearly anxious to
change the subject.

"Who is this fool? I do not ask for company."

The tactic seemed to work, for a crooked grin inched
up the length of Cypress's snout. "He is not company; he
is my spy."

The plump man rose and bowed to Lady Feng. "Tombor
the Jolly at your service. Virtuous Concubine."

Lady Feng's squinty eye swung outward to gaze the
man up and down, then rolled back to its original posi-
tion. "I have no need of your service; you worship god of
masks and betrayal. But I warn you, sentence of Number
Six Court is sure to be harsh. Do not die before redeem-
ing yourself."

Tombor's florid face paled, and he looked quickly away
from Lady Feng. "I was only offering a greeting, but I
shall remember your advice." He snatched up the cask he
had brought and held it before him. "I have here the
ylang oil you need."

Lady Feng looked at the keg, then slowly turned to
face Cypress, who still wore the same crooked grin upon
his long snout. "Now?"

"Of course now!" Cypress's grumbling voice spread
across the water in dancing ripples. "I have been ready
for weeks."

Lady Feng let her shoulders slump. "As you wish,
then."

The Veiled Dragon            255

She crooked a finger at Tombor, then turned toward a
small coffer of polished mahogany sitting on the near
side of the island. The Third Virtuous Concubine kneeled
on a small ingot terrace before the chest, then had Tom-
bor place the cask he had brought beside it. She opened
the chest and removed several bundles carefully wrapped
in waxed silk.

A painful lump formed in the pit of Tang's stomach.
The Third Virtuous Concubine had already prepared the
other ingredients; it would take her only a few moments
to mix the potion and cast the enchantment that would
forever unite Yanseldara's spirit with Cypress. The
prince crawled forward, struggling to think of some way
short of matricide to stop his mother from finishing her

spell.

Cypress climbed onto the far shore and stretched his
neck over the summit of the little island, cocking his
hideous head so that one empty eye socket hung directly
above the Third Virtuous Concubine. Lady Feng had
Tombor remove the top of the oil cask; then she suddenly
drew back and wrinkled her nose.

"Is something wrong?" Cypress demanded.

"Only horrible smell." Lady Feng took a deep breath,
then leaned forward to peer into the cask.

Tang stopped a pace short of the mouth of the passage.
He could go no farther without exposing himself to the
dragon's view—if he had not already—and still he did not
know how to stop his mother. He was surprised to realize
that failure mattered to him greatly, and not only because
he wanted to impress Lady Ruha by saving Yanseldara.
To a great extent, his weakness was responsible for the
peril of both the Ruling Lady and his mother; unless he
set matters right, he would always be the same cowardly,
foolish prince he had been before entering the swamp.

Lady Feng pulled back from the cask and carefully
unwrapped one other silken bundles. Tang saw that he
had a clear angle to the little keg. He wished for a cross-
bow so he could pierce the side—and at last one desperate

256

The Harpers

idea occurred to him. The prince retreated into the pas-
sage and found a smooth, fist-sized rock. He tore the lapel
off his fighting tunic, then fit the stone into the middle of
it and stepped into the mouth of the tunnel. The passage
was too small for a circular windup, so he simply cocked
his arm back and hoped a simple whip-stroke would be
powerful enough to span the distance.

Cypress's head instantly swiveled in Tang's direction,
and the prince knew he did not have time to wait for his
mother to move away from the ylang oil. He fixed his
aim on the plump figure of Tombor the Jolly, who was
standing on the hill above the cask, and snapped his
arm forward.

The rock arced over the lake as fast as a shooting star.
The shot was not a particularly difficult one, and it
appeared the stone would strike its target square in the
chest—not enough to kill the husky man, but certain to
knock him from his feet and send him tumbling down the
slope to spill the ylang oil.

Then, as the rock reached the shore of the ingot island,
Cypress lowered his head. The stone bounced off the
dragon's skull and splashed into the water. Lady Feng
spun around, her gaze instantly rising to the passage
where Tang now stood trembling, not so much in fear as
in frustration. The dragon turned his head slightly and
brought both eye sockets to bear on the prince.

"It seems your son has found his courage, Lady Feng."
"He finds courage, but he is still foolish boy." The Third
Virtuous Concubine waved her fingers at Tang, urging
him to retreat deeper into his passage. "Mighty dragon
has nothing to fear from him."

"He killed my wyverns." Cypress started to circle the
island. "And he was trying to spill the ylang oil."

Tang backed deeper into the passage, more because his
mother had urged him to than because he imagined it
would save him from the dragon. There was no hope now
of stopping the spell, and he felt like a hopeless failure.
He still feared death, of course, but only marginally more

The Veiled Dragon            257

than he feared thinking of himself as a bumbling fool for
the rest of his life.

By the time Cypress rounded the island, Tang could
see little more than the dragon's dull scales growing
larger and darker as they neared the tunnel mouth. He
reached the triple fork where he had stopped before and
glanced up each branch. Two of the passages vanished
into inky blackness, but one, the smallest, curved back
toward the lake. There was a pale yellow glow at the far
end, suggesting it actually connected with the vast trea-
sure chamber.

"Cypress, stop!" Lady Feng's voice was so muffled Tang
could barely hear it. "If you love Yanseldara, you spare
boy's life."

The dragon pivoted to look down at the island, allow-
ing Tang a clear view of his mother. Lady Feng had
grabbed the lip of the open oil cask and tipped it forward.
The contents were dangerously close to spilling.

"Pour it out, Wise Mother!" Tang yelled. "Life and
death are same; I fear only dishonor!"

The Third Virtuous Concubine frowned in the direc-
tion of Tang's voice. "Then you are fool, Impertinent Son.
You know nothing of life and death. If you do not under-
stand that, you understand nothing at all!"

"What?" Tang gasped. If there was one thing his
mother believed, it was that life and death were the
same.

Lady Feng tipped the cask forward until the contents
began to trickle down the side. Tombor the Jolly stooped
over to reach for the other side of the cask, then found
himself staring at a scorpion knife the Third Virtuous
Concubine had produced from her sleeve pocket. The
cleric withdrew his hand, and Lady Feng fixed her gaze
on Cypress.

"Do you wish to have Yanseldara?" She tipped the cask
forward even farther, and the trickle of oil became a
steady stream. "Or not?"

"Very well. I am in a generous mood." Cypress waved

258

The Harpers

Tombor away from the cask, then stepped away from
Tang's passage. "I absolve the prince of his transgres-
sions."

Tang did not believe the dragon for a moment, and
knew that his mother would not either. Like any tyrant,
Cypress could not forgive a rebellion against his author-
ity. Once Lady Feng cast her spell, he would take his ven-
geance. So why was the Third Virtuous Concubine
pretending to believe him? And why had she called the
prince ignorant for quoting her?

She had tipped the cask. The Third Virtuous Concu-
bine was trying to tell him something about the oil.

When Cypress turned his attention back to Lady
Feng's preparations. Tang began to collect the largest
stones he could find, piling them inside the small pas-
sage that curved back toward the lake. As soon as the
prince judged he had enough to suit his purpose, he
removed his clothes. He laid his battle tunic on the far
side of the tunnel, arranging it over a boulder so that it
would look as if he were crouching on the floor, with his
back to the treasure chamber.

Lady Feng closed her mahogany coffer, and Tang knew
she was getting ready to cast the spell. He laid down on
his belly and crawled backward into the smallest pas-
sage, dragging his undertunic, trousers, and sword belt
after him. The tunnel was so low that he could feel his
back touching the ceiling. The prince began to stack the
stones he gathered, scraping his elbows raw as he strug-
gled to move in the cramped confines. The little bit of dim
light vanished entirely, and he had to work in the dark,
trying to feel the shapes of the rocks so he could fit them
into the available spaces as tightly as possible.

His wall had nearly reached the ceiling when Tang
heard his mother's muffled voice mumbling a command
Though he could not understand her words, he suspected
she was calling for Yanseldara's staff. In his mind's eye,
the prince saw her accept the pole from Tombor—would
the traitor's hands be trembling at the magnitude of his

The Veiled Dragon            259

crime?—and dip the butt into the ylang potion.

As though on cue, the Third Virtuous Concubine's
voice began muttering the indiscernible syllables of her
spell. Tang fed his undertunic through the narrow gap at
the top of his little wall, stopping when he judged the tail
would be touching the floor. He worked carefully, for he
had plenty of time. It would take a few moments for the
potion to work its magic, and, even then. Cypress would
be in no hurry. The dragon would want to rejoice in his
triumph and be certain the enchantment had worked
before betraying his word.

Holding his undertunic against the ceiling with one
hand and struggling to move stones with the other. Tang
laid the last row of his wall. He folded the top of his shirt
over his side of the barrier, using the extra rocks to
anchor it in place. That done, he tore his trousers into
strips and used them to plug the small gaps around the
edges. The barricade would not stop the dragon's breath
entirely, but it would absorb the brunt of the attack and,
with a little luck, send the acid cloud boiling down tun-
nels that offered less resistance.

Tang located his sword belt and crawled backward
down the tiny passage. He felt the stone around him
shudder as Cypress rumbled in astonishment, and the
prince knew his mother had completed her spell. What
had she been trying to tell him about the oil? Tang could
think of only one thing: somehow, Tombor had pressed
the wrong blossoms.

The prince felt the wall disappear beside his left foot
and realized he had reached another fork. The side pas-
sage was not large enough for him to crawl into, but he
was able to cram his legs in far enough to turn around
and slither down the tunnel headfirst. The glow from the
treasure chamber ahead had changed from bright yellow
to a brilliant ruby red, and he could hear Cypress speak-
ing in his deep dragon voice.

"Why is her spirit so—so pained? The spell couldn't
have worked!"

260

The Harpers

"I do not promise love feels good," Lady Feng coun-
tered. "You share what Yanseldara's spirit feels, and she
shares what you feel. If she suffers, that is your fault, not
mine."

The ingot island appeared in the mouth of the passage,
and Tang stopped crawling. Cypress sat on the beach of
coins, bending forward over Lady Feng and Tombor, who
were standing near the summit of the isle. The dragon
was holding Yanseldara's staff in the palm of his with-
ered hand, his bony snout almost touching the fiery topaz
set in the pommel.

"Then I have her?" Cypress closed the staff inside his
claw. "Yanseldara is entirely mine?"

Lady Feng nodded. "Until potion wears off, yes. After
that, what happens is between your spirit and hers."

"Until it wears off?" Cypress's roar was so loud that
several pieces of jewelry fell into the lake. His empty
claw flashed down and plucked up Lady Feng. "You told
me the spell would last forever!"

"Your spy does not bring correct oil." Lady Pong's voice
betrayed no hint of fear, and she stared into Cypress's
eye voids without wavering. "He brings oil made from
blossoms picked at night. They are not as potent as blos-
soms picked in morning."

"Ruha!" Tombor gasped. "That hag!"

Cypress's muzzle swung toward his spy, whose eye?
suddenly grew as round as his face. The cleric began to
stumble down the slope away from the dragon, and Tang
felt like a new man.

"The Harper witch s-s-said they were the blossoms
Hsieh b-brought," Tombor stammered. "She tricked me!"

"How unfortunate."

Tombor clasped his hands in supplication and craned
his neck to look up at the dragon. "Please, 1-let me go
back! I'll k-kill the Harper! I can get the b-blossoms you
need!"

"If that is true, why did you not bring them in the first
place?" A white glimmer flashed deep within Cypress'fr

The Veiled Dragon            261

empty eye sockets; then he said, "Perhaps you knew you
had the wrong oil, hmmnim? Perhaps you were hungry

for my gold?"

Tombor dropped to his knees and tugged at the silver
chain around his neck, pulling a gray velvet mask from
inside his cloak. He pressed the disguise over his eyes,
then began, "Unseen Mask, Great Lord of Shadows and
Master of Deceit, hear the prayer of your most devoted

servant—

"Why do you pray to the King of Betrayal?" Cypress
lowered his claw and, with a single black talon, flicked
the gray mask away from Tombor's face. "Do you think he
will give you your reward?"

Tombor threw his arms over his face and tried to turn
away, but the dragon was already inside his mind. A ter-
rified howl echoed off the cavern walls; then the plump
traitor began to pack gold ingots inside his clothes, his
stiff and jerky arms obviously moving against his will.
Once his robe was loaded, he filled his arms and waddled
down to the lake's edge, then threw himself into the clear
waters. He sank like a stone.

The cleric held his breath for a long time, and Tang
could see him still clutching his armload of gold ingots.
At last, a long stream of bubbles streamed from his nos-
trils; then he opened his mouth and filled his lungs with
water.

Cypress turned away from the traitor and raised Lady
Feng to his face. "Now, what shall I do about you? You
knew when you opened the cask that it was the wrong oil."

"It makes no difference—if you have confidence in your
own spirit," Lady Feng said. "After potion wears off, you
can subdue Yanseldara's spirit and make her your slave."

It astonished Tang to hear Lady Feng toying so boldly
with the dragon. She knew Cypress loved Yanseldara
only because no one else had ever bested him in battle.
Considering that the first combat had cost him his life, it
seemed unlikely he would welcome another fight for an
even greater prize.

262

The Harpers

Wisps of black fume curled from Cypress's nostrils, but
when he spoke, he sounded more apprehensive than
angry. "I do not want to make a slave of Yanseldara." He
lowered the Third Virtuous Concubine to the ingot heap
and allowed her to step off his hand. "I want her to love
me, as I love her."

"You want to absorb her," Lady Feng scoffed. "She is
stronger than you, and you want to make her part of
yourself."

"Yes, to make her mine. Is that not what love is?" The
dragon glanced toward the cavern where Tang had first
taken refuge. "I'm certain your son would agree—though
I'm afraid I can't allow him that chance."

"You leave son alone!" Lady Feng warned. "If you harm
him—"

Cypress whirled on the Third Virtuous Concubine so
fiercely that Tang feared he would murder her.

"I will kill him, and you will do nothing!" the dragon
roared. "I have allowed you both to grow defiant, and
now I must teach you to obey."

Lady Feng dropped to her knees, then surprised Tang
by kowtowing to the dragon—dishonoring both herself
and the emperor. "Please. He is only son. Punish me—"

"I need you."

Cypress drew himself to his full height, then turned
Yanseldara's staff upside down and wedged the butt into
a ceiling fissure. The dragon waded into the lake. Tang
retreated deep into his worm hole, beseeching his ances-
tors to make his foe see only the cowardly prince he had
been before entering the swamp.

As Cypress neared the cavern wall, his great bulk
blocked the red light from the treasure chamber, plung-
ing the prince into darkness so thick he could not see the
stone beneath his nose. The cavern shuddered around his
body, and the dragon's voice rumbled through the very
rock.

"... not changed after all, have you, Prince?"

There was a muffled whisper as the dragon inflated

The Veiled Dragon            263

his chest, then a sharp hiss as he emptied it into the next
tunnel. The exhalation seemed to continue forever, and
soon a chorus of soft, eerie trills arose from the treasure
chamber as the breath whistled through the network of
passages and found its way back toward the lake. From
deep within Tang's worm hole came a muffled clatter of
stones, followed by the sputter and sizzle of dissolving
limestone. The prince smelled the caustic stench of acid
and expected to feel a stinging wind tear over his body,
but the wall had not collapsed entirely. He felt only the
light nettling of a faint mist. He crawled forward as far
as he dared, and at last the eerie whistle died away.

Cypress stepped away from the cavern wall and turned
toward the ingot island. Lady Feng threw herself into the
water, wailing in motherly grief. The show was so con-
vincing that, had Tang not been raised in the palace of
the Third Virtuous Concubine, he would have believed
her anguish to be genuine.

Cypress waded across the lake in two strides and
plucked Lady Feng from the water. "Be quiet! That cow-
ard is not worth tears. He was groveling in the corner
like a frightened child."

The report only drew louder wails from the Third Vir-
tuous Concubine.

The dragon placed her atop the ingot heap, then cir-
cled to the far side of the island. "I will fetch the proper
oil. When I return, have your ingredients ready to cast
another spell—the permanent one."

Lady Feng raised her head. "Never! I let Yanseldara
make slave of you!"

Cypress's claw swept down so swiftly that Tang did not
see it move. It simply appeared beside Lady Feng's body,
trembling with the dragon's fury, and the prince did not
even realize it had touched her until he saw the blood
seeping through her shredded cheosong.

"We shall see, shall we?"

The dragon dove into the lake and vanished from
sight. Both Tang and his mother remained motionless

264

The Harpers

and did not speak for several minutes. When it became
apparent that Cypress would not return, Lady Feng
turned toward the prince's hiding place.

"Are you there, Tang? I know you are fool, but honored
ancestors claim you are no coward."

Tang pushed his head out of his worm hole. "I am here
I see you kowtow to Cypress!"

Lady Feng shrugged. "I must convince him of grief
Besides, shame is removed after you destroy him." She
craned her neck to look at the staff lodged in the ceiling,
thirty feet above her head. "Now, Courageous Prince,
please to honor humble mother by climbing up to retrieve
spirit gem."

* * * * «

Ruha urged her horse forward, once again nudging it
between the mounts of Minister Hsieh and the Lady Con-
stable. Vaerana had been on her best behavior since
departing the Ginger Palace, but with the wooded hills of
Elversult rising ahead and the planning session entering
a crucial phase, the witch thought it wise to put herself
between the two stubborn personalities.

"Very well. We hide Lady Yanseldara and ylang o 1
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. Per-
haps they search for lair while Shou guard oil."

Vaerana leaned in front of Ruha, her face already turn-
ing 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."

The Veiled Dragon            265

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 them-
selves for battle. For a moment, the witch could not imag-
ine 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 Moonstonn 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 Moonstonn 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

The Harpers

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 cross-
bows. 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

The Veiled Dragon            267

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 scream-
ing 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

268

The Harpers

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 gal-
loped 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 people 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.

270

The Harpers

"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 sev-
eral 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 ofylang 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 con-
cealing 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?"

The Veiled Dragon            271

"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 draw-
ing 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, creat-
ing 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 slap-
ping the nose of Hsieh's. The rest of the Shou were close

272

The Harpers

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, lean-
ing 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

The Veiled Dragon            273

began to churn and close. Someone clamped a hand over
the old sorcerer's mouth; then a dagger tip erupted from
bis chest. Hand axes and short swords appeared from
under cloaks and cleaved three Elversian skulls before
the Maces realized they were being assaulted. The sur-
vivors 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, block-
ing 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 fin-
gers and arced down the street, twining themselves

274

The Harpers

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 tene-
ment; 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 hor
rid stench of charred flesh filled her nose. She found her
self 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 rap-
turous 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 battle-
ground.

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 herjambiya and galloped

The Veiled Dragon            275

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 man-
darin give a short angry yell; then a hand caught hold of
her saddle, and she lost track other companions.

The witch lashed down into the black murk, and her
dagger sliced harmlessly through air. The cinch strap
around her horse's belly popped loudly; then her saddle
came loose. Ruha felt herself slipping down her mount's
flank and grabbed for the ylang oil. The cobblestones
slammed into her shoulder, and her body went rigid with
pain. She bounced head over heels, feet still caught in
her stirrups, and came to a rest, her head spinning.

The darkness around her exploded with clapping
hooves and confused voices, both Shou and Elversian. A
pair of steel horseshoes grazed Ruha's leg; then a horse
screamed and crashed to the street. The witch found her
saddle horn. She untied the oil sack and kicked free of
her stirrups. A sharp point tangled briefly in the thick
cloth other aba, then pushed through and bit deep into
her side.

For a moment, Ruha was too confused to realize what
had happened. Then she felt a fiery sting and warm, wet
blood spilling down her stomach. She screamed and
rolled away, lashing out with heTJambiya.

The blade dragged. Something hot and sticky poured
over her hand, and a rich, coppery smell filled her nos-
trils. The witch flipped her wrist and brought her weapon
back to inflict the famous T-shaped wound that made the
curved daggers so dangerous, but her foe had already
vanished into the darkness.

Ruha pulled the ylang oil closer and clutched it to her
breast. A clamorous clash of steel rang out behind her as
the Shou turned to meet their cult pursuers. The witch
weaved her dagger through the darkness in a blind
defense pattern, but a stinging anguish was spreading
outward from her wound, and her arm would not move

276

The Harpers

swiftly. The oil sack felt warm and sticky against her
breast, but she knew by its smell that the fluid was on1.;;

her own blood. Had any ylang oil spilled, she would
surely have been nauseated by its sick-sweet smell.

"Ruha?" Hsieh's voice sounded shaky and weak.

"Here, Minister." Ruha heard someone step to her side,
then a small Shou hand took her beneath her dagger
arm. When it began to pull her up, she asked, "They did
not steal your oil sack, did they?"

The hand suddenly loosened its grasp, and Hsieh's
voice hissed, "I thought you had the oil."

Ruha did not hesitate; she swung her arm up back-
ward and drove the tip of her jambiya deep into the
impostor's torso. The hand opened entirely and a haggi ,'i
scream filled the witch's ear. She scrambled to her fe "•
and stumbled away as fast as she could, clutching tt
ylang oil to her breast and slashing her dagger blind.,
through darkness. After a few steps, the witch sniffed
familiar scent. The odor was fresher and not quite - -i
cloying as the ylang oil she had smelled in Prince Tang's
spice refinery, but there could be no doubting it. She
turned slightly off her course and followed the fragrance
toward its source.

A moment later, the witch stepped into the sunlight
and found herself staring at Hsieh's blood-spattered
back. The mandarin reeked of ylang oil and still carri? •"'
his burst sack over his shoulder, and in his hand he he
the dark knight's black sword. Ahead of him, the shan
owy sorceress was groaning feebly and staggerii^
through the deserted market plaza toward a looming,
black-winged shape.

After a hundred tries, Tang managed a flawless hurl
Flying sideways, the golden necklace hit Yanseldara's
staff, and the heavy amulet at the end whipped around
and swung over its own chain. The choker slid down the

The Veiled Dragon            277

shaft and stopped at the red-glowing pommel, which
hung over Tang and his mother's heads like a strange,
uby-flamed chandelier. The prince carefully pulled his
rope taut, then walked around the ingot island to twine
the line more securely about the shaft.

"This no time to stretch legs, Brave Prince." Lady Feng
positioned herself directly beneath the staff. "Pull!"

Tang climbed to the center of the island and hauled on
the rope. The staff popped free and plummeted straight
toward the head of the Third Virtuous Concubine, who
stepped aside and plucked it from the air without allow-
ing the topaz to strike the ingots. Before the prince could
comment on her catch, she slipped the rope off the shaft,
then took a small bundle from her mahogany chest and
started down the slope.

Tang gathered up his rope and empty waterskin and
followed. "The passage is long one, Esteemed Mother. It
would be better if you also had air."

"Cypress does not provide prisoners with sacks for air."
She opened her bundle and sat at the edge of the water.
"But not to worry. With you doing work, I do not need
breath."

Lady Feng began to breathe quick and shallow, forcing
her body to absorb as much extra air as possible.

Tang sat at her feet and tied her ankles together.
"What of your spellbook?"

"Even small amount of water ruins it."

"Your chest is waterproof."

Lady Feng glowered at him. "You already pull too
much. Spellbook is safe enough here, with my other trea-
sure." She snatched the rope from his hand, then untied
the jewelry he had used to weight the end. She tossed the
necklace on the ingot pile. "With all my treasure."

Tang sighed, resigning himself to a return trip after
Lady Feng recovered her senses and wanted her spell-
book. He snatched his rope back, finished binding his
mother's ankles, and fastened the other end of the line to
his waist. The prince filled his waterskin with air and

278

The Harpers

tied it around his neck, then helped the Third Virtuous
Concubine seal her mouth with a gag of waxed silk. She
picked up Yanseldara's staff, and soon they were in the
water. Tang helped her out into the lake and swam over
to where the treasure vault's ceiling sloped down to meet
the water.

"Are you ready. Esteemed Mother?"

Lady Feng took a few more breaths through her nose,
then nodded and mumbled something that might have
been, "No dawdling."

She plugged her nostrils, and Tang dove beneath the
surface, dragging the Third Virtuous Concubine behind
him. The light from the glowing spirit gem in Yansel-
dara's staff illuminated the watery cavern in shimmering
scarlet light, revealing a huge, winding passage that was
not so much a single corridor as a confluence of smaller
tunnels arriving from all directions. Despite the
labyrinthine appearance, there was no doubt about
which passage Cypress used; even if the other tunnels
had been large enough to hold him, his stony scales had
scoured hundreds of shallow furrows along the proper
route.

Although Tang could not be certain, the trip out of the
treasure chamber seemed to go much faster than it had
coming in. A slight current carried him forward even
when he did nothing, while the light from the spirit gem
made it much easier to find handholds. The prince drew
himself yards at a pull, and he had just drawn his second
breath from the air skin when the first brown hints of
bog rot began to cloud the water. The rope grew slack as
Lady Feng drifted toward him.

Tang glanced back and saw his mother's pop-eyed
stare locked on his kicking heels. Her waxed gag and nos-
tril plugs remained in place, but her cheeks were puffed-
out and her face was crimson with the desire for breath
She scowled and waved him forward, then clamped her
free hand over her mouth and nose.

The prince looked ahead and pulled through the pas-


The Veiled Dragon             279

sage with renewed vigor. To his dismay, the water did not
grow any murkier. The gentle current that had been
pushing them forward died away. He started to worry
that he had somehow lost his way, but that could not be.
They had passed no side tunnels large enough to hold
Cypress, and the walls in this passage still showed the
deep scouring marks left by the dragon's scales.

Tang began to sense a dark presence ahead. For a
moment, he feared it was their foe swimming up the pas-
sage; then he saw a curtain of gray stone at the end of
the tunnel: Cypress had blocked the exit. The prince did
not waste any of his precious breath lamenting the
dragon's foresight. He simply pulled himself to the boul-
der, then turned to take Yanseldara's staff from his
mother so he could search for gaps around the edges.

Lady Feng's pop-eye was fluttering in its socket. Her
cheeks were no longer puffed out and her face had turned
more purple than crimson. Though she still held her free
hand clamped over her mouth, a small stream of bubbles
was rising from between her fingers. Tang knew she had
pulled her gag aside to expel her breath and was strug-
gling not to fill her lungs with water. Only one gulp of air
remained in the air skin. The prince's own lungs were
burning with the desire for another breath, but he
pushed the sack toward his mother's mouth.

Lady Feng caught his arm. Her squinty eye rolled for-
ward and looked Tang up and down, and the Third Virtu-
ous Concubine smiled. She shook her head and pushed
the air skin back toward the prince's mouth, then pointed
from his lips to hers.

Tang nodded and expelled his breath, then sucked the
last of the air from the skin. He held it in his lungs only a
moment before placing his mouth over his mother's and
blowing a long gasp into her lungs. It was the third time
the air had been used, and he did not know how much
good it would do her, but he hoped that it would at least
reduce the temptation to open her mouth.

Lady Feng accepted the gift, then pushed Yanseldara's

280 The Harpers

staff into his hand and pulled his dagger from his belt,
Tang scowled in confusion. Before he realized what she
was doing, the Third Virtuous Concubine grabbed his
free arm and drew the blade across his empty palm. As
blood clouded around his fingers, she opened her mouth
and spoke. Water rushed into her lungs, and her body
began to convulse instantly as it instinctively tried to
cough. Horrified at the sight of what he took to be his
mother's fast-approaching death, the prince reached out
to draw her close.

Lady Feng pushed him away and pointed at the bloody
cloud in the water beside them. To Tang's surprise, it was
coalescing into the shape of a man's head.

Suddenly, the Third Virtuous Concubine threw her
arms around the prince's neck. A series of powerful con-
vulsions racked her chest; then her body went limp and
her lips fell open. Tang clamped his hand over her mouth
and tried not to think of the terrible burning in his own
chest.

When the prince turned back to the crimson head, he
was amazed to see the familiar grim face of General Fui
D'hang floating in the water beside him.

Fui's head tipped forward, as though bowing, and
floated toward a small side passage. Tang jammed
Yanseldara's staff into his belt, then grabbed a handhold
and pulled himself after the loyal general.

*      !l!      *      *      *

Cypress stood in the heart of the sunlit plaza, towering
high above a sea of tent-roofed stalls. His empty eye sock-
ets turned in the direction ofRuha and Hsieh. The
dozens of lances and arrows hanging from his thick
scales hinted at the fight Vaerana's Maces had put up
before—before what? The witch had no way to guess
whether the dragon had killed the Lady Constable and
all her men, or had simply discovered the ruse and flown
away.

The Veiled Dragon            281

Save for the groaning shadow-sorceress and the meat
animals clucking and snorting inside their cages, the
market was silent and deserted, with bolts of cloth
strewn through the narrow lanes and dried legumes
spilling onto the ground from open sacks. Ox wagons and
pushcarts sat abandoned upon the road that circum-
scribed the plaza, and all the buildings that fronted it
had their windows shuttered and barred against the
impending acid storm. On the far side of the bazaar,
almost directly behind the dragon, loomed a handsome
building of marble pillars and arched entranceways that
could only be Elversult Hall.

The clang of steel against steel still rang from the
darkness at Ruha's back, but it seemed wiser to risk that
battle than to venture into the open with the dragon. The
witch reached for Hsieh's shoulder, then groaned sharply
as her bleeding wound protested with lances of pain. She
settled for the mandarin's arm and pulled him into the
blackness after her.

They took no more than two steps before Cypress's
deep-voiced incantation rumbled across the marketplace.
The sunlight burned the magical darkness into ash,
which fell to the ground and spread a grimy layer of soot
over the many corpses—Shou, cult, and horse—piled
atop the cobblestones. Five blood-covered Shou were
bouncing between three and four attackers each, striking
as often with a driving elbow or flying foot as with
whirling blades. The street beyond was clear as far as the
intersection, but beyond that it remained thickly choked
with refugees.

The cobblestones trembled with the heavy thud of the
dragon's step. Seemingly oblivious to his wounds, Hsieh
leapt a mangled horse and charged toward his outnum-
bered men.

"Stay close. Lady Ruha!"

The witch clenched her teeth against the pain in her
side and circled the dead beast, shuddering with fear
each time she felt the ground tremble with Cypress's

282 The Harpers

heavy step. Hsieh reached the battle and swung his
sword at the nearest cult member. The man raised a
long-handled axe to parry. The minister's dark blade
passed through both weapon and armor with no more
effect than a shadow. The instant the black sliver touched
the fellow's skin, however, it grew as solid as steel and
cleaved him down the center.

After that, Hsieh wielded his weapon as though it
were black lightning, felling one, then two, three, and
four more enemies in as many eye blinks. The remaining
Shou quickly seized the advantage and began to slay
their attackers.

Ruha was beginning to have visions of turning the
remarkable weapon against Cypress when the last cult
member fell. The witch stepped over a Shou corpse and
rushed to follow Hsieh toward the intersection; then she
heard the dragon's voice rumbling with another magic
invocation. She scooped a handful of bloody pebbles off
the street and turned, hurling them at her foe and utter-
ing her briefest stone spell.

The rocks streaked straight into Cypress's empty eyes,
striking with a loud, sharp crackle. The dragon's head
snapped back; then a spray of bone shards and shattered
scales erupted from the back of his skull. He roared,
spraying a fine black mist into the air, and then began to
shake his head.

Ruha turned to follow Hsieh. She was not disap-
pointed; it would take a hundred such attacks to destroy
Cypress, but at least she had interrupted the dragon's
spell—or so she thought, until a corpse's lukewarm hand
caught her by the ankle.

Ruha twisted to avoid landing on the ylang oil and
came down on her wounded side. The impact drove
spikes of pain deep into her body. The witch found herself
struggling for breath, and she knew she was dangerously
close to blacking out. The corpse grabbed hold with its
second hand and dragged itself forward. She looked down
and saw that her attacker was the dead Shou over which

The Veiled Dragon             283

she had stepped earlier. She tried to kick free, but it felt
no pain from her blows and would not let go.

Hsieh appeared at Ruha's side and brought his sword
down across the corpse's shoulders. The dark blade
passed over the zombie's body like a shadow, causing no
harm at all. The mandarin's narrow eyes grew as round
as saucers; then the arms of a dead cultist grabbed him
from behind and hurled him to the ground.

The cobblestones shuddered as Cypress resumed walk-
ing. Ruha craned her neck and saw that she and Hsieh
were not the only ones in dire circumstances. The dragon
had animated all the corpses in the street. Though the
zombies were slow and clumsy, they were pressing the
Shou survivors by virtue of their numbers alone.

Ruha's attacker grabbed hold other belt, then slammed
its free fist into the pit other stomach. She tried to
scream in pain, but the blow had driven her breath away,
and she could do no more than grunt. The zombie raised
its fist to strike again. She released the oil sack and
deflected the punch with her forearm. In the same
motion, the witch drove the heel other free hand into the
side of her attacker's head and heard the temple snap.
^  Pushing with all the strength in her legs, she rolled onto
"-  her side and threw the dead Shou off.

•^     Ruha grabbed the oil sack and leapt up. As she turned
to flee, the dragon's huge shadow fell over her body. She
sprinted for the intersection. The pain in her side was
excruciating, but she managed to ignore it and rush for-
ward at a pace that would have made a hare-hound
proud. She kept expecting Cypress to say something, to
iw  command her to stop or at least to taunt her, but he held
his tongue. Ruha found the silence even more alarming
than the hiss of his lungs filling to spray acid. The
dragon was thinking of only one thing: killing her. To
comment on his intentions would have been a meaning-
less waste of breath.

The street trembled again, and Ruha knew she had no
hope of outrunning her pursuer. She summoned a wind

284 The Harpers

spell to mind and darted toward the street side, then
heard the whoosh of the dragon's huge talons slicing
through the air behind her. The witch forced herself not
to look toward her pursuer's face; the last time she met
his gaze, he had nearly taken over her mind.

Ruha angled toward the entrance to the nearest tene-
ment. In the corner other eye, she glimpsed Cypress's
other huge claw sweeping down to pluck her up. She
slammed her feet against the street and managed to slow
herself, allowing the black hand to sweep past without
catching her. Then, feeling like a spiny iguana dodging a
hungry Bedine boy, she darted forward again.

The tenement was barely three paces away. Ruha took
a deep breath, then uttered her wind spell and exhaled.
A ferocious gust of air howled from her lips, blasting the
heavy oaken door into splinters. The witch rushed
blindly into the building's deep-shadowed interior. Three
paces inside, she stumbled over a step and slammed face
first into a wooden staircase.

Ruha gathered herself together and spun around, then
barely leapt aside in time to prevent Hsieh's dark sword
from piercing her heart. The mandarin stumbled over the
same stair as the witch, but managed to recover more
gracefully by picking up his feet and landing two steps
up the stairwell. Behind him came two of his men, who
also displayed their incredible agility by managing to
catch each other when they also tripped over the step.
The witch did not know how any of them had escaped the
zombies—in a manner similar to how she had, she sup-
posed—but she was glad for the company.

"Where now?" Hsieh squinted at Ruha with his uncov-
ered eye.

"I do not know."

Ruha stepped around the stairwell and ran down a
broad, dirty corridor toward the back of the building. As
Hsieh and his men moved to follow. Cypress's hand burst
through the doorway and caught the last one in line. The
warrior howled in pain, and Hsieh raised his sword to

The Veiled Dragon             285

charge the doorway.

Ruha caught him by the shoulder. "If that blade did
not affect the corpses, it will not harm Cypress. He is also
undead."

"Thank you. I would feel most foolish." The mandarin
gestured down the corridor. "Please to make most of sol-
dier's sacrifice."

Ruha turned down the hall and tried a dozen barred
doors before the captured man finally stopped screaming.

There was a brief silence; then the warrior behind
Hsieh said, "Dead men follow us."

"Cypress fears to destroy oil sack," Hsieh observed.
"Otherwise, he sprays us with acid."

"True, but I doubt he is willing to let us escape." Ruha
started down the corridor again, judging they had less
than forty paces before it ended in a windowless stone
wall. "And we will soon run out of room. I fear the back of
this building stands against Temple Hill."

Hsieh caught Ruha by the shoulder. "You stop dead
men. We find way out."

Ruha glanced down the corridor at the long line of
zombies. The closest was only ten paces away, but was
slow and shambling. She nodded. As Hsieh's warrior
began hacking at a door, the witch picked up a small
stone lying among the refuse against the wall. She used
it to scrape a line up both walls to within a few inches of
the ceiling. She connected them with another line on the
floor, then laid the rock upon it. The leading corpse was
only two steps away.

A muffled clamor sounded somewhere in the structure
far above, presumably Cypress tearing the roof away. As
much as Ruha wanted to glance at the ceiling, there was no
time. She spoke the incantation other stone spell. The rock
on the floor disappeared, then a shimmering gray wall
formed between the three lines the witch had traced on the
floor. The first corpse, a dark-haired cult member with an
ugly skull wound, arrived at the barrier. He managed to
push his head and one arm through before the magic wall

286 The Harpers

turned as solid as granite. The zombie remained there,
reaching for the witch's oil sack and moaning in the plain-
tive, incoherent voice of a tormented spirit.

Another crash reverberated down from above, this
time followed by the clatter of falling rubble.

"He is digging his way down through the building!"
Ruha cried, spinning toward Hsieh.

She completed the turn in time to see an iron bolt
shoot through the breach Hsieh's man had hacked in the
door. The dart buried its head in the opposite wall, and
the muffled clatter of a bow crank sounded from inside
the chamber. The warrior reached through the hole and
lifted the crossbar off its supports.

"Get on with you!" cried the man on the other side of
the door. His voice sounded both fearful and old. "The
next one won't miss!"

Hsieh's soldier shoved the door open and stormed
inside, yelling, 'You dare to attack Shou mandarin!"

A heavy thud shook the building; then the ceiling
began to crack and groan beneath a great weight. Ruha
and Hsieh followed the warrior into a small, windowless
shop filled with the cluttered shelves of an apothecary.
The soldier was leaning over a chest-high counter, hold-
ing his sword to the throat of a mousy, squint-eyed man.
On the counter lay an empty crossbow and a crucible
heating over the flame of an alcohol lamp.

As soon as she saw the lamp's blue flame, Ruha's heart
skipped a beat. If she could use such a hot fire to cast her
most powerful sun spell, even Cypress would be helpless
to defend himself. She stepped toward the apothecary,
but Hsieh spoke before she could ask the old man if he
had any brimstone.

"Where is Number Two Exit?" Hsieh demanded, his
gaze darting from one cramped corner to the next.

"Isn't one."

"What is this material?" Hsieh stepped to the outside
wall and ran his fingers over the smooth, white-washed
surface.

The Veiled Dragon            287

"Wattle and daub," the apothecary answered.

When the mandarin did not seem to understand, Ruha
said, "A sort of mud plaster."

The planks above their heads creaked, then began to
pop and crack. The chandelier above the apothecary's
counter started to swing, and Ruha looked up to see the
exposed joist logs bowing directly over their heads. The
dragon knew exactly where they were, and it took the
witch only an instant to guess how. If the smell ofylang
oil had led her to Hsieh earlier, then certainly the
dragon, with his much larger nose, could track them by
the same scent.

A tremendous splintering filled the room as five huge
talons pierced the ceiling. The apothecary wailed and
dropped to his knees behind the counter, and Hsieh
shoved his warrior toward the outside wall.

"Kick hole."

The claws began to rip through planks of thick wood as
if they were made of paper. Hsieh's soldier sheathed his
sword and stepped back to get a running start, and Ruha
leaned over the counter to look at the cowering apothe-
cary.

"Have you brimstone?" When the man only looked at
her with terrified eyes, she yelled, "Brimstone powder—
now!"

The dragon's fist closed around a joist log and started
to tug. The beam, a rough-hewn pine trunk as thick as an
ogre's leg, groaned and bowed, but it would not break—at
least not easily. Hsieh's man charged across the room,
then picked up both feet and attacked with a flying, two-
legged stomp kick. The daub cracked beneath his heels,
and he crashed through the wall to disappear outside.

The apothecary shoved an open bottle of yellow powder
onto the counter and ducked out of sight again. Ruha
grabbed the lamp from beneath the crucible and pulled
the wick stopper. The cloth was still saturated with alco-
hol, so the flame continued to burn as she poured the fuel
into the brimstone bottle.

288 The Harpers

A deep, rumbling grunt shook the shop. The joist log
snapped with a mighty crack, and the ceiling sagged
beneath Cypress's weight. The dragon tore a handful of
wood away, creating a hole twice the size of a door.

Hsieh stepped to Ruha's side. "You must come now!"

"In a moment." Holding the saturated brimstone in one
hand and the flickering lamp wick in the other, Ruha
turned to face Cypress. "First I must stop the dragon."

"That will not be so easy as you think!" Cypress's voice
boomed through the empty hole as loud as thunder. J
have learned to be wary of you.

The dragon's second sentence tolled through Ruha's
head like a striking bell, shattering her concentration
She tried to summon the incantation of her most power-
ful sun spell, but could not.

Did you think I had to see your eyes to attack your
mind? The words echoed back and forth through Ruha's
head, building on each other, growing louder and sharper
with every reverberation. Any contact will do.

Ruha tried to bring the flickering wick to the brim-
stone bottle, but her body did not seem to hear her
wishes. Her hands remained a foot apart, shaking with
the memory of what she had intended, yet unable to obey.
The wick in her hand sputtered and smoked darkly as it
ran out of alcohol and began to consume itself instead.

"Why do you wait?" Hsieh demanded. "Cast spell!"

The sound of cracking wood filled the chamber once
again, and the ceiling sagged almost to their heads as the
dragon lay on the floor above. When Ruha did not move,
Hsieh apparently realized what was wrong. He pulled a
lasal leaf from his pocket and slipped it between her lips.
The witch allowed it to fall from her mouth; if they were
to have any chance of escaping the dragon, she could not
allow a lasal haze to cloud her mind.

Hsieh watched the leaf flutter to the floor, then pulled
his dagger from its sheath.

"So sorry, Lady Witch." He cut the rope hanging over
her shoulder and took the sack of oil. "Must not let

The Veiled Dragon

dragon have ylang oil."

The dragon's withered hand came through the hole
and snaked toward the witch. The mandarin quickly
stepped away, then turned and threw himself through
the opening in the wall.

Cypress's talons stopped a foot short of Ruha, and the
din assailing her head quieted to a dull roar. The lamp
wick hissed and flickered and began to shrink. The witch
considered trying to resist the dragon's mind attack, but
he was too powerful to defeat. Instead, she let all her
defenses down, envisioning her mind as the great hall of
an empty Heartlands castle, where even the slightest
sound reverberated like a drum.

What is happening to you? Cypress demanded. Where
is the oil?

Ruha made no reply, allowing the dragon's words to
crash through her mind with such force they shattered
the walls of the hall she had envisioned.

The ruse worked. Cypress's hand suddenly pulled
away, and the cacophony in Ruha's mind quieted as he
sniffed out the ylang oil. Her hand obeyed when she tried
to move it; even the dragon could not focus his attention
in two different places at once. She pushed the bottom of
the wick into the mixture of brimstone and alcohol. The
flame quickly returned to its steady blue gleam, but the
witch forced herself not to think about her sun spell. The
dragon was still inside her head, and he would feel the
effort of summoning the incantation from her memory.

Ruha had to wait only an instant before Cypress's
head shot through the hole, his nostrils flaring as he
tried to sniff out the fading scent of Hsieh's oil-soaked
body. The witch hurled her bottle at an eye socket. The
dragon flinched away, and the glass shattered against
the side of his head. The burning wick instantly touched
off the mixture of alcohol and sulfur, filling the chamber
with a searing blue-yellow flash.

Cypress bellowed in shock and pulled his burning
face out of the chamber. Ruha stepped over to the hole,

290 The Harpers

summoning her incantation as she went. She saw the
dragon's head more than two stories above, shaking
madly from side to side, trailing long tails of sapphire
and amber flame. The witch thrust her hand toward the
fire and spoke her incantation.

The blaze erupted into a blistering orb of white-hot
flame, as brilliant as the sun in the sky and twice as
large. The dragon wailed in anguish. When he raised his
claws to his face, they caught fire and started to burn
with a flickering yellow flame. He started to dance about,
and Ruha heard a tremendous crash in the next room as
one of his heavy feet came through the ceiling. Burning
scales began to flutter off his head and touch off fires on
the floors above. Cypress raised his wings, then roared in
fury and launched himself into the air.

The witch turned away from the conflagration and saw
the astonished apothecary standing behind his counter,
his rheumy eyes fixed on the fiery hole over his head. She
pulled him from behind the counter.

"Come along. We had better leave this place," she said
dragging the old man toward the hole in the wall. "Per-
haps you would be kind enough to guide me to the Jail-
gates?"

Sixteen

Deep in the Jailgates' thick founda-
tions, Ruha caught herself staring at
Yanseldara's cataleptic face. The Lady
Lord lay in an infirmary bed, a honey-
haired beauty with the slender face
and sharply delicate features of a half-
^ elf. Save for the amethyst circles
/   beneath her eyes, her skin was as pale
as pearl. Her cheeks were hollow from the lack of eating,
her lips as gray as ash, her brow lined by the strain of a
wicked and endless nightmare. She could easily lack the
strength to carry a message to Lady Feng, even ifVaer-
ana would agree to try Hsieh's potion.




Ruha turned to the Lady Constable who, despite hav-
ing been knocked through a mud-brick wall by Cypress's
tail, sat in a chair next to Yanseldara's bed. A priest had
already examined and straightened the swollen purple
mass that had once been Vaerana's knee, but Minister
Hsieh had volunteered to sew up her many deep cuts. He
was sitting beside her now, smiling contentedly each time
he pushed the needle into a long gash along her jawline.

Ruha said, "Vaerana, I am sorry to interrupt while you
are being attended to, but we have something to discuss."

"Please to wait until I finish here," said Hsieh. "Or scar
will be most unflattering."

The mandarin's voice was hoarse and raspy, no doubt
from breathing the dusky smoke that pervaded even the

292 The Harpers

fortress's underground chambers. Elversult was burn-
ing—a good part of it at least—and there was no escap-
ing the acrid murk. The fumes hung over the city as
heavy as a fog, creeping past shuttered windows and
seeping under barred doors to fill every room in every
building with a choking gray cloud.

Perhaps that was a blessing, given the battle stench
upon which Ruha would surely have been gagging if her
nose had not been so clogged by bitter soot. With wounded
Maces sprawled on the floor as thick as rats or holding
each other upright on wooden benches, the chamber
looked less like an infirmary than a crowded tavern after
a vicious and bloody brawl. Through the smoke haze, the
witch saw bandaged stumps where there should have
been limbs, melted flesh bubbling up between the links of
scorched chainmail, and a hundred more wounds too ter-
rible to look upon for long. Many of the warriors had suf-
fered their injuries when they rode with Vaerana to lure
Cypress away from Ruha and Hsieh, but many more had
been hurt in cult ambushes. Even now, with Elversult's
loyal citizens struggling to fight the fires Cypress had set
in his flaming panic, more than a dozen patrols of Maces
continued to battle the marauding bands.

Given the mild severity other own wound, Ruha would
have felt guilty for the healer's attention she had received
the moment she walked in the door—save that her battle
was far from over. Her sun spell had driven Cypress into
one of the city's many lakes, but it had not destroyed
him. Until the dragon was finally, utterly annihilated,
the witch knew better than to think either she or Yansel-
dara would ever be safe.

Minister Hsieh looped his needle through the last
stitch on Vaerana's jaw, then cut the suture. "You may
speak now." He stood and began to cut the hair away
from a long slash in her scalp. "But I advise you not to
move head."

Vaerana scowled at the cascade of blood-matted
tresses tumbling past her shoulder. "Are you going to cut

The Veiled Dragon            293

it all off?" she growled. Then, to Ruha, "Well?"

Ruha glanced toward Yanseldara's slumbering form,
then reached into her aba and removed the potion Hsieh
had given her earlier. "If we are to finish this battle, we
must contact Lady Feng."

Vaerana shook her head, then hissed sharply as
Hsieh's needle dragged across her wound. "You can see
for yourself she's in no condition to be carrying mes-
sages." She gestured at the bed beside her. "Besides,
we've got Cypress well in hand, thanks to you—though I
wish you hadn't helped him burn down a quarter of
Elversult."

"One does not destroy great evil without great sacri-
fice," Hsieh remarked.

"We have not destroyed anything," Ruha corrected.
"Surrounding Cypress while he hides in Hillshadow Lake
is not having him 'in hand.' It is offering up Pierstar Hal-
lowhand and his men to appease the dragon's rage."

Vaerana frowned at the witch. "Didn't you listen to the
last report. Witch? Cypress lost his wings, along with his
hands—and underneath that baby sun you made, who
knows what's happening to his head? Pierstar has ballis-
tae and wizards waiting on every shore. As soon as the
dragon shows himself above water, they'll blast him to
pieces." She glowered at the witch, then added, "And they
won't burn down the city."

"It would not matter if they did," Ruha replied. "You
gain nothing if Pierstar destroys the dragon's body.
Cypress will simply take another; then we will not know
where he is until he returns as he did before. To truly
defeat our enemy, we must allow Minister Hsieh to con-
tact Lady Feng and ask her to smash the dracolich's
spirit gem."

Vaerana set her jaw. "Yanseldara's too weak. I'm not
going to risk her life. And even if we only destroy
Cypress's body, at least we're buying time to find his lair."

"But what of Lady Feng? Perhaps she has no time."
Hsieh stopped sewing and glanced at the bed next to

294

The Harpers

them. "Perhaps Lady Yanseldara has even less. If Lady
Feng uses oil from evening-picked blossoms, love potion
does not last long. When it wears off, her spirit must do
battle with the dragon's."

Vaerana craned her neck to look up at Minister Hsieh,
then swore as the movement jerked the needle from his
hands. "Don't you give me any Shou double-talk! You're
only trying to worry me."

"Vaerana, what he says sounds very true. Why are you
being so stubborn?"

No sooner had the witch asked the question than she
realized the answer. The Lady Constable felt responsible
for Yanseldara's condition—she had told Ruha as muc .
shortly after their first meeting. On some level, at least,
Vaerana wanted to redeem herself by becoming the Lady
Lord's rescuer.

Vaerana glowered at both Hsieh and Ruha for a
moment, then folded her arms across her chest. "I'm not
being stubborn." She leaned back to let Hsieh finish
stitching her scalp shut. "I'm being careful."

"Yes, it is good to be careful." Ruha nodded thought-
fully, then stepped over to Yanseldara's bed. "She does
look very weak, does she not. Minister?"

"It does not matter. Danger is from choking on potion
Even weak bond can carry message between body and
spirit."

"But Yanseldara needs extra strength to battle
Cypress, does she not?" Ruha allowed her eyes to pivot
toward Vaerana, then raised the potion in her hand. "Or
did I misunderstand you when you gave me this?"

If Hsieh perceived Ruha's intentions, his face showed
no sign of it. He frowned slightly, then said, "I think you
do misunderstand, Lady Ruha. I say not to worry about
Cypress, because we give Lady Yanseldara strength."

Ruha breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Yes, that is right
I had forgotten."

"What are you two talking about?" Though Hsieh had
stopped sewing, Vaerana remained surprisingly still. "Is

The Veiled Dragon

there some way to make this safe?"

"More safe," Hsieh said. "But small risk always
remains."

Ruha saw the interest fading from Vaerana's eyes.

"The greatest risk, of course, would be to you," Ruha
added quickly "If Cypress caught on—"

"I don't care about the risk to me!" Vaerana twisted
around to look at Hsieh, who deftly released the needle to
keep from tearing her wound. "What will it mean to
Yanseldara?"

"She draws strength from your spirit," Hsieh said,
expounding on Ruha's fabrication. "Much better for her."

"If there is trouble, you are certain to perish," Ruha
added, trying to make the ruse look as dangerous as pos-
sible. "Will you take the chance?"

Vaerana did not even hesitate. "Of course!"

Ruha handed the message potion to Hsieh. "If you will
see to matters here, I must leave immediately."

"Leave?" Vaerana asked. "Where are you going?"

"To Hillshadow Lake, of course," Ruha answered.
"When Lady Feng smashes Cypress's spirit gem, I sus-
pect Pierstar will have need of my magic."

Hsieh produced the last of the lasal from his pocket.
"Perhaps you need these." He gave Ruha several of the
slender leaves, but saved three for Vaerana. "Now, Lady
Constable, please to chew and prepare yourself."

The water tickled Tang's toes, and he knew it was rising.
The prince lay beside his resting mother, his bare feet
dangling over the edge of a sloping limestone ledge. The
ceiling hung so low above his back that he could not rise
to his knees, and the wall ahead stood so close to his face
that each stale breath curled back into his eyes. Yansel-
dara's staff lay at his side, and the ghostly head of Gen-
eral Fui hovered an arm's length away. The only sound
that broke the cramped silence was the erratic gasping of

296

The Harpers

the Third Virtuous Concubine.

After pumping the fluid from Lady Feng's lungs, Tang
had collapsed beside her and listened to the drops trick-
ling off his feet into the dark pool from which they had
come. The steady splashing had ceased not long ago, and
now he felt a cool tide creeping up his toes. The water
was definitely rising, no doubt because Cypress had
blocked the cavern's only outflow.

Tang rolled onto his back, then picked up Yanseldara's
staff and held the glowing pommel over the pool. An alli-
gator could hardly have squeezed between the surface of
the black waters and ceiling. While lying on his back, it
was difficult for the prince to see into all the shadowy
corners of the cramped vault, but he discerned no hint of
an exit above water.

As though to confirm what Tang already feared, Ge:i
eral Fui drifted to the middle of the dark pool, then se*
tied beneath the water and stopped to wait.

Lady Feng stirred and rolled onto her back. "What is
happening, Brave Prince?"

"The water rises. We must go."

Lady Feng grimaced and shook her head. "We lose our
way."

Tang lowered Yanseldara's staff toward the ghostly
head waiting in the dark pool. "General Fui guides—"

"Lady Feng?" The staff's glowing spirit gem dimmed
slightly as a dulcet voice filled the cramped vault. "Do
you hear me?"

The words were Shou, but Tang, who had met Elver-
suit's Lady Lord on several ceremonial occasions, recog-
nized the voice as Yanseldara's. "Who is this?" he
demanded. "You are not Lady Lord!"

"Nor are you, but I hear you in Lady Yanseldara's
voice. Are you Third Virtuous Concubine?"

Tang looked to his mother, who appeared only slightly
less puzzled than he. She shook her head to indicate she
did not wish to speak, then motioned for him to continue

"This is Prince Kao Chou Tang."

The Veiled Dragon            297

"I am most pleased to hear your voice, Young Prince,"
came the reply. "When I give you leave to fetch Third Vir-
tuous Concubine, I do not expect you to be gone so long."

"Minister Hsieh!" Only the cramped quarters kept
Tang from kowtowing to the spirit gem. "Please to—"

"We discuss your disobedience soon enough," the man-
darin replied. "I presume you find Yanseldara's staff, or
we could not speak. Do you also find Sagacious Mother?"

Before Tang answered, a terrible thought occurred to
him. "Esteemed Minister, Cypress shares gem with
Yanseldara. Perhaps he hears us!"

There was a short silence; then Hsieh said, "It does not
matter. Witch has almost destroyed him."

This drew a smile from Lady Feng, who said, "I am
here."

"Good. I bear greetings and message from Most High
Emperor, but first—"

A sudden burst of darkness flared inside the spirit
gem. "Tang! You are alive!" rumbled Cypress's deep voice.
"Well, no matter. I am not so hurt as those fools imagine."

Tang was so startled that he let the staff slip from his
hands, then barely caught it before it rolled down the
sloping shelf into the dark water. Once again, the great
topaz in the pommel glowed with the steady, brilliant
scarlet light that it had assumed when the two spirits
inside it united—though the prince fancied that he could
now see glimmers of silver and black whirling deep
within the gem.

"Minister Hsieh?"

Tang's only answer was a faint purl as the dark waters
seeped onto the ledge where he and his mother lay.

*      S|i      *      *      *

Cypress lay at the bottom ofHillshadow Lake. Save for
the golden ball still burning at the end of his sinuous
neck, he was a huge black shape barely visible through
the curtains of steam rising off the green waters. He

The Harpers

hardly moved, and he made no sound; if not for his black
tail occasionally rising to the surface, Ruha would not
have known whether he still abided in his dark body.

"How long will your fire keep burning, Lady Ruha?"
Pierstar gestured vaguely toward the halo of yellow, boil-
ing waters in the center of the lake. "We've been waiting
for it to die out since he went under!"

"The spell draws its fire from the sun." The witch could
hardly bear to take her eyes off Cypress. It would not be
long before Lady Feng smashed his spirit gem, and then
Ruha would truly earn the right to be called a Harper.
"The magic will fade when the sun sets—or when I cancel
the spell."

"Then you may call it off when you wish," Pierstar
said. "We are ready to fight when you are."

Along with a small company of officers and runners,
Ruha and the commander were standing behind the
parapets of Baldagar Manor. The villa was the lowest of
four keeplike mansions grouped together on the western
shore of Hillshadow Lake. It offered the best view of the
dragon, and it was also well placed to serve as a com-
mand post.

The lake itself lay at the foot of Temple Hill, with
beachfront streets encircling one end and magnificent
villas the other. Fully fifteen hundred Maces stood along
the shores, either arrayed along the cobblestone roads or
crowded together atop the roofs of the great mansions. In
lieu of their customary maces and horse lances, the men
were armed with harpoon-firing ballistae or net-flinging
catapults. Should they be fortunate enough to actually
bring Cypress down, groups of horse-mounted battle wiz-
ards waited in strategic locations to reinforce them.

Ruha nodded. "Your preparations are beyond reproach,
Pierstar, but—how can I put this without seeming rude?"

"Rude?" the commander snorted. "Why would you
worry about being rude when you've met Vaerana Hawk-
lyn?"

Ruha smiled. "Then I will speak bluntly. While it is

The Veiled Dragon            299

clear that even the dragon cannot slay all of the men
gathered here, I fear you may not stop him from escap-
ing. Cypress is no fool. When he leaves the lake, he will
not do the predictable thing."

"Of course not. But how can we predict the unpre-
dictable?" Pierstar asked. "We are not gods."

"No, but we can control some things," Ruha replied.
"By using those to our advantage, we can guide our foe's
actions,"

Pierstar raised a bushy eyebrow. "What are you think-
ing?"

The witch described her plan, and by the time she fin-
ished, Pierstar looked both hopeful and concerned.

"You're taking a big risk on Elversult's behalf, Lady
Witch," he said. "Are you sure you want to?"

Ruha nodded. "I am sure. After Lady Feng smashes
Cypress's spirit gem, we will have only one chance to
destroy him—and the best way to be certain we do is to
use his rage against him."

"Then Elversult thanks you, and so do I." Pierstar laid
a hand on her shoulder. "I'll give the orders."

Before the commander could leave, a breathless mes-
senger stormed out of the stairwell. He raised a hand in
salute to Pierstar, then rushed over to Ruha. "Minister
Hsieh sends word that he has spoken to Lady Feng—and
her son, Prince Tang."

"And?" Pierstar asked.

"He reports that they have Yanseldara's staff, but
Cypress interfered before he could tell them to crush the
gem."

Ruha's stomach turned queasy and cold, and she grew
acutely aware of the dull ache of the wound she had suf-
fered earlier. She did not realize she was swaying, how-
ever, until Pierstar reached out to brace her.

"Lady Witch?"

"We're only fighting for time." Ruha's voice was so low
that even she could barely hear it. "Unless the gem is
smashed, we cannot win."

300

The Harpers

"The Shou are a smart people." Pierstar's confidence
sounded forced. "They will understand what their man-
darin wanted."

Ruha took a deep breath, then nodded. "Yes, that is
what we must hope. We have no other choice." Gently,
she freed herself from Pierstar's supporting hand. "Per-
haps you should issue your orders. There is no telling
what Cypress will do now."

The commander nodded and went to speak with his
officers.

When the messenger did not leave, Ruha asked, "Is
there more?"

"The minister is reluctant to mix the ylang potion," the
messenger reported. "He said the spirit battle between
Cypress and Yanseldara has begun. Unless Prince Tang
destroys the gem, it will only distract the Lady Lord and
make her weaker."

Ruha thought for a moment, remembering the fury in
Tang's eyes when he vowed to prove himself a man and
stormed out of the spicehouse. She had expected his
words to come to nothing, of course, but if he had actually
reached Lady Feng, perhaps his promise had not been an
empty one.

"Tell Hsieh to give her the potion."

"Then you think the prince will smash the gem?" The
messenger's voice was hopeful.

Ruha spread her hands. "Not the prince I know—but
the prince I know would not have had the courage to go
into a dragon's lair after his mother. We can only hope
this new prince is someone more worthy of the title."

"I'll tell the minister what you said. Is there anything
else?"

Ruha shook her head, and the messenger departed.
Pierstar returned a short time later.

"Our wizards are on the way," the commander reported.
"I've also taken the liberty of taking a few other prepara-
tions."

Pierstar gestured at the mansions flanking Baldagar

The Veiled Dragon            301

Manor, where several ballista crews were sighting their
weapons through the open shutters of the highest win-
dows. On the roofs of the two buildings, the catapult
crews were also moving their war engines into the cor-
ners closest to the command post. Although the men kept
the weapons directed toward the lake, they were careful
to leave room to swing around at the last moment.

"You have thought of everything, Pierstar," Ruha com-
mented. "And now, there is no reason for you and your

men—"

"We're staying." Pierstar picked up a long, steel-
shanked pike and stepped to the parapets. "If you look
like bait, this plan won't work."

Tang filled the waterskin with air, then pushed the
stopper into place and looked over at his mother. She had
sealed her nostrils with wax and was breathing shallow
and fast in preparation for their dive. The water was
creeping up the ledge; already, the prince could feel its
coolness lapping at his hips. He pulled his dagger and
slipped the tip between the spirit gem and its mounting.

"Tang, what do you do?" gasped Lady Feng.

"Minister Hsieh says Lady Ruha almost destroys
Cypress." The prince began to work his dagger back and
forth. "He contacts us to smash spirit gem."

Lady Feng laid a restraining hand on his arm. "Wait
until we escape cave."

"Perhaps we do not escape cave." Tang continued to
pry at the glowing topaz. "Perhaps we drown first."

"Stop! I command you!"

Tang obeyed, surprised by his mother's frightened
tone. "What is wrong, Lady Feng? You always say life and
death are same!"

"They are, but it is great insult for humble scholar to
usurp authority of Great Judge by throwing life away."
She did not take her hand from his arm. "And if you

302

The Harpers

destroy gem, how do we find way out?"

The prince waved the butt of the staff toward the dark
pool, where the glowing figure of General Fui's head
waited to guide them to safety. "General Fui leads us."

"General Fui is no longer bound to you by duty. Brave
Prince. I call him earlier because I sense change in you
that, perhaps, earns his respect. But it is difficult for him
to be with us. Even most faithful of servants cannot stay-
long, and in past you have done little to win his loyalty."

Tang let his head drop onto the hard stones and stared
at the gray ceiling hanging like a tomb's lid above his
face. He heard again the wet crack as the general was
beheaded by his own son. That Fui had answered Lady
Feng"s summons at all was a wonder, and that he contin-
ued to wait in the dark pool was an even greater marvel.

"Fui D'hang was most loyal soldier. Not to follow him
now is great insult." Tang raised his head, then gave his
mother a crooked smile. "Besides, we must smash spirit
gem. If we die in cavern, it is only way to protect treasure
from Cypress."

Lady Feng's pop eye looked as though it might fall
from its socket; then she released her son's arm. "I get
rock."

The prince twisted his dagger, then caught the glowing
topaz as it popped free of its mounting. He placed it on
the ledge beside him and took the large rock his mother
thrust into his palm. Tang lifted the heavy stone to the
ceiling, a breath's length above his face, and positioned it
over the gem.

"Wicked dragon, when you present yourself before the
Ten Courts of Yen-Wang-Yeh, know that Prince Tang
sends you there—and may the Great Judge sentence you
to an eternity in all Eighteen Hells!"

Tang brought his hand down. He felt the topaz shatter
beneath the stone, then heard his mother cry out as a
powerful concussion hurled them both against the cham-
ber walls. There was an ear-splitting wail and a deafen-
ing roar; then two flashing lights whirled through the

The Veiled Dragon            303

room, one as silver as the moon and the other as black
as obsidian. The prince's head felt as though it would
split, and he found himself struggling for breath against
a tremendous weight. He closed his eyes and beseeched
his ancestors to make ready for him in the Celestial
Bureaucracy.

The prayer went unanswered. Almost as soon as they
had begun, the wailing and the roaring died. The flash-
ing lights vanished, and the terrible weight was lifted
from Tang's chest. He found himself lying on his back,
gasping for breath and staring at the low ceiling, still lit
by the crimson glow of General Fui's spirit.

"Tang?"

The prince turned his head and saw his mother lying
beside him. She looked even paler and older than usual.
"Yes, Lady Feng?"

"Now may we go?"

4:      ^      it;      •//.      *

Together, Ruha and Pierstar looked out over Hill-
shadow Lake's steaming waters, waiting for the dark fig-
ure at the bottom to rise and attack. The war wizards
had begun to arrive and take their positions, both on
Baldagar Manor and the adjacent mansions. The witch
was rubbing a round, fist-sized stone between her palms,
wondering if she had misjudged Tang and desperately
hoping she had not. She could lure Cypress from the
water at any time, but the ensuing battle would mean
nothing if the prince had not smashed the spirit gem.

The stone grew warm in Ruha's hands. She continued
to rub her hands over it, more to calm her nerves than to
increase the effectiveness of her magic. She would have
time to hurl only one spell at Cypress, but she did not
want it to be so powerful it drove him away. Her job was
to draw the dragon onto the roof of Baldagar Manor. Pier-
star and his Maces would do the rest.

The ballista crews hiding in the adjacent buildings

304

The Harpers

closed their window shutters. The last of the war wizards
arrived and took their places, and still the dragon did not
move. Ruha's heart sank, and she reluctantly turned to
face Pierstar.

"I fear Prince Tang has not changed. Perhaps I..."
A dreadful sputter broke over the parapets, and Ruha
let her sentence trail off. She looked toward the lake and
saw huge geysers of steam rising from its heart. Just
beneath the roiling green surface, the amber globe of her
sun spell was rapidly growing larger, with the murky fig-
ure of Cypress's body rising beneath it like a swelling
black cloud.

"Prepare yourselves!" yelled Pierstar.
An anxious clatter rattled across the roof as the Maces
and their war wizards steeled themselves for battle.

Cypress erupted from the lake with the roar of a vol-
cano, flinging a spray of boiling water and hissing steam
in all directions. Though the golden fire had burned the
scaly hide completely off his wings, that did not prevent
them from lifting him into the air as the charred bones
curled and undulated like so many clattering fingers. It
was impossible to see through the blazing globe at the
end of his neck, but the rest of his body, aside from a
broad scattering of melted scales and the scorched
stumps at the ends of his arms, looked remarkably
intact.

Ruha set her stone on the parapet, then tucked two of
Hsieh's lasal leaves into the sleeve other aba, where she
would be able to reach them quickly.

A chain of cracks and loud bangs echoed over the
water, the arms of the war engines slamming against
their stops. Most of the missiles and nets splashed harm-
lessly into the water, but three harpoons lodged deep in
Cypress's flanks, and one net tangled in the spindly
bones of his wings. The men who had hit quickly looped
their lines around stakes driven deep into the ground,
while those who had missed rewound their skeins.

Cypress roared. He whipped his fire-shrouded head

The Veiled Dragon            305

around his body, and the instant the golden flames
touched the harpoon lines and the net, they flashed and
dissolved. The dragon's wings siffled through the air, and
he began to rise again.

"Shut your eyes, Maces!" Pierstar ordered. "Now,

Ruha!"

The witch uttered her counterspell. At the end of
Cypress's neck, the fiery globe burst apart with a white
flash so brilliant she saw it even through her eyelids.
Summoning her stone spell to mind, she grabbed her
rock and looked toward the dragon.

Cypress hung over the lake almost motionless, the tips
of his skeletal wings fluttering as though that tiny
motion were enough to hold his hulking mass aloft. At
the end of his neck hung a smoking lump of melted bone
that vaguely resembled a head. Glowing masses of cinder
filled his empty eye sockets, and his long snout had fused
into a stubby, tangled mass of fangs and jaw. Only his
ebony horns had emerged from the conflagration
unscathed, and even they made the air shimmer with
heat.

Ruha hissed her spell and hurled the stone. The rock
disappeared with a thunderous crack. It reappeared in
the same instant, shattering Cypress's temple. The
dragon's wing tips stopped waving. His gruesome chin
dropped as he watched the splinters of scorched bone
flutter into the water below. He brought his head up and
looked toward Baldagar Manor.

You!

Ruha barely managed to stuff the lasal leaves into her
mouth before a fiery yellow sun burst inside her head.
She heard Pierstar and his men cry out in astonishment,
then felt herself sailing backward across the roof.

Chew the leaves, she told herself.

Even as the words reverberated through her skull, she
slammed down and went tumbling across the roof. If the
fall caused her any injury, the witch did not know it; she
could feel only the anguish inside her mind, a fiery agony

306 The Harpers

such as she had never felt. Swimming in boiling tar
would have hurt less, or falling naked upon At'ar's blaz-
ing face. She glimpsed Cypress's murky figure swooping
down toward Baldagar Manor; then she rolled one more
time and came to rest on her face.

A lasal haze filled Ruha's head, but the dragon's fury
was so great that the fog merely diffused the fire and did
not drive it from her mind. The golden blaze became a
choking yellow mist, not nearly as hot, but as thick as
syrup. She heard screaming and realized it was her own
voice.

That is but a portion of my pain. The building shook
beneath Cypress's weight, and the voices of screaming
Maces joined with that of the witch. Soon, you shall bear
it all.

"Not all." Ruha found the strength to raise her head
and saw the dragon standing in the middle of the roof, a
cloud of dark acid billowing around his mangled snout.
"You cannot make Yanseldara love you, and that pain I
will never bear!"

Then I will make you bear another kind of agony.

Cypress's tail thrashed in anger, smashing through the
parapets and sweeping half a dozen men over the side.
He stooped over, reaching out as though he had forgotten  \
he had only stubs where once he had claws; then a win-
dow shutter slammed open.

Ruha's world detonated: the sky went silver with light-
ning, meteor showers and ice storms chased each other
down from the heavens, tongues of flame crackled
through the air, crimson bolts and sapphire rays raced
from every direction. The dragon's stump disintegrated
before her eyes; a deep, rumbling growl reverberated
through her bones, and the roof of Baldagar Manor began
to come apart. She leapt up to run for the parapets and
felt the floor vanishing beneath her feet.

The witch landed amidst a shower of snapped planks
and beams, her body erupting into pain despite the
cushioning of the soft furniture favored by Elversult

307

The Veiled Dragon

merchants. She lay a long time without moving, half-
expecting Cypress's scorched skull to appear above her
at any moment. Instead, the yellow glow and fiery pain
faded from her mind and, much to her surprise, so did
the lasal haze—no doubt burned off by the ferocity of the
dragon's attack. At length, the terrible aching in her
body also faded, and she began to realize that, other
than the dull throbbing of a few new bruises, she had

survived the fall uninjured.

Ruha clambered out of the debris and found herself
standing amidst the ruins of the mansion's top story,
where the family's servants and young children had once
kept their chambers. She picked her way toward the
front of the building, too dazed to think about what she
was doing, and discovered that this floor of Baldagar
Manor now held nothing but the shattered remnants of
the inhabitants' belongings, two dozen groaning Maces,
and the smoking, mangled corpse of a ten-foot river

monitor.

As the witch's ears stopped ringing, she grew aware of

a loud, chugging roar coming from the direction of the
water. She rushed forward, then climbed over a collapsed
wall onto what had once been a private balcony overlook-
ing Hillshadow Lake. In the center of the lake, a murky
green waterspout was stretching skyward, as though try-
ing to grasp a small whirlwind with flashing ribbons of

silver and black luminescence.

Ruha heard someone clattering over the collapsed wall

behind her. She turned to see Pierstar Hallowhand's bat-
tered form limping toward her, his eyes fixed on the
waterspout in the center of the lake.

"What's that?" he croaked.

"That?" The witch whispered an incantation and
raised her hand, then started to spin her finger in the
direction opposite the whirlwind. The vortex began to
lose speed, and the two ribbons came apart. The silver
light circled the shoreline once, then streaked away
toward the Jailgates and vanished from sight. The black

308

The Harpers

one was caught by the waterspout and dragged into
Hillshadow Lake, where it darkened the water only
briefly before sinking into the muddy bottom. "That was
nothing—a fool for love, I fear."

Epilogue

Even the Shou did not have a table
with enough sides for all those at the
Great Banquet of Apology, so the ser-
vants had set the platters of candied
duck and ginger hart upon a round
table and arranged seven chairs
around it in evenly spaced intervals.
Prince Tang himself welcomed each
guest at the door, and when Yanseldara entered the
room, he produced a long oaken staff with three gnarled
fingers gripping the finest ruby from his personal trea-
sury. He held it before him and bowed very low.




"I find this in dragon's lair, Lady Yanseldara," he said.
"I am sorry that I must smash original topaz."

Yanseldara accepted the staff with a sincere smile.
"The topaz was ruined by Cypress's touch, and I thank
you for crushing it. I accept this magnificent ruby as a
token of the new friendship between the Ginger Palace
and Elversult. I shall treasure it always."

Vaerana rolled her eyes, then leaned close to Ruha
and, in a voice much too loud, whispered, "I'll treasure it
more if they really stop selling poison!"

The servants gasped, and Lady Feng shot an indignant
scowl in the Lady Constable's direction. Hsieh quickly
stepped forward and smoothed matters over by person-
ally taking Vaerana's arm.

"If we are all here, perhaps we sit down." The proces-

310

The Harpers

sion filed somewhat uncomfortably to the table, where
the mandarin scowled and turned to Prince Tang. "I see
seven chairs, but only six guests."

The prince pointed to a chair with no goblet or flat-
ware. "This is for Lady Ruha's friend. Captain Fowler. It
is most unfortunate he cannot join us."   '

The explanation only drew a deeper scowl from Hsieh.
"It is not for Princess Wei Dao?"

Tang's jaw fell. "She dishonors Ginger Palace! I do not
set place in her memory!"

Hsieh's uncovered eye narrowed in what Ruha now
recognized as a well-practiced expression of displeasure.
"Wei Dao is Shou princess. Trouble she cause in Elver-
suit is of no consequence to Emperor, so it is appropriate
to treat her as well as you treat guests."

Before the stupefied prince could respond, the man-
darin spun to face Lady Feng, who was holding Winter
Blossom on her shoulder and casting covetous glances at
the golden serving platters. According to rumor, she had
developed a distressing habit of sneaking off to Cypress's
swamp with the Ginger Palace's finest tableware.

"I must offer condolences, Lady Feng," Hsieh said.
"Most High Emperor sends me to invite you to Tai Tung,
but your son's bad manners do not make that possible."

Prince Tang looked first insulted, then relieved. He
forced a grave expression and bowed to the mandarin.
"Please to pardon, but I never honor Wei Dao at my
table."

"Then you never return to Shou Lung."

Tang could not keep from smiling. He turned to Ruha
and asked, "Perhaps you sit next to me? I never return to
Emperor's court, so perhaps you consider becoming my
Princess?"

"I—uh—Brave Prince, I don't know what to say," Ruha
stammered. Since his return from the dragon's lair, Tang
had shown himself to be a gracious and gallant man, but
the witch was not in love with him. "I will be pleased to
sit with you, but perhaps we should discuss the rest at

The Veiled Dragon            311

another time."

Hsieh frowned, almost angrily, and stepped toward the
witch. "Surely you accept. It is great honor to be Shou
princess!"

Ruha's heart sank. Normally, the Harpers would not
dictate the person she married, but these were hardly
normal circumstances; Storm Silverhand would look very
unfavorably on starting trouble with the Shou. The witch
glanced around the room and saw Vaerana watching her
i   carefully, as though she expected Ruha to start a war at
any moment.

It was Yanseldara who broke the silence. "Before Ruha
decides, perhaps you should give her that message, Vaer-
ana."

The Lady Constable rolled her eyes, then turned to
Ruha. "I almost forgot, Witch," she said, a roguish grin
upon her lips. "Storm sent for you this morning. Some
giants up in Oak Dale stole a duke's daughter, and she
doesn't think anyone else can bring the girl back alive."

Ruha did not know whether to hit Vaerana or hug her.
"When did you plan to tell me? After my wedding?"

"I don't think Storm can wait that long." Vaerana
chuckled, then took something from her pocket and
pressed it into the witch's hand. It was the Harper pin
Ruha had given to Captain Fowler. "I suppose you'll be
needing this."

"I suppose I will." Ruha pinned the signet inside her
aba, then turned to Tang, who looked almost as amused
as he did disappointed. "I'm sorry, Brave Prince, but I
cannot stay. You know I am a Harper, and Harpers go
where they are needed."