Troy Denning - The Veiled Dragon

“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 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 column 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 forward, 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 farther 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 terrified horses up the hill.

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 warriors 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 fellows 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 savagely 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!”

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 throwing 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 tumbling.

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 harpooned 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.

“Cypress?”

“He came up from the Wetwoods to attack the caravans 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!”