Troy Denning - The Veiled Dragon

“The Cult of the Dragon worships dead dragons.” Vaerana 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 reason 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 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 debacles, well 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 had stopped until she reached the horses and took her reins from Tombor. “Well?”

“I cannot save Yanseldara.” The words came so difficultly 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 supposed to be a Harper, and a Harper goes where she’s called. Besides, all you’ve got to do is sneak into the Ginger 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 seriously 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 to Vaerana. “And what will you and the rest of the Maces be doing, Lady Constable?”

“Inspecting a caravan,” Vaerana replied. “A Shou caravan.”

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 captain 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 disappeared instantly, then he chuckled merrily. “Sorry; 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 gathered. “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.”