Troy Denning - The Veiled Dragon

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 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 treasure 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, allowing 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 direction of Tang’s voice. “Then you are fool, Impertinent Son. You know nothing of life and death. If you do not understand 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 Tombor away from the cask, then stepped away from Tang’s passage. “I absolve the prince of his transgressions.”

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 authority. Once Lady Feng cast her spell, he would take his vengeance. 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 Concubine 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 passage 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 passage, 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 struggled 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 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 tunnels 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 passage 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 speaking in his deep dragon voice.

“Why is her spirit so-so pained? The spell couldn’t have worked!”

“I do not promise love feels good,” Lady Feng countered. “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 withered 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 Feng’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 blossoms picked in morning.”