Troy Denning - The Veiled Dragon

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.”

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 themselves for battle. For a moment, the witch could not imagine 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 Moonstorm 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 Moonstorm 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 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 crossbows. 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 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 screaming 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 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.

As Ruha and her companions galloped 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.