Трой Деннинг - The Veiled Dragon

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 sorcerer 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 warrior.

“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.

“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 village 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 continue 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 crossbows. They dismounted and passed their reins to Tombor, who had been assigned to stay with the horse holders 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 opportunity 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 hundred 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 possible.” 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 nodded. “I guess we weren’t as sneaky as I thought. The Cult was watching us.”

“How’d they know you were there?” Fowler asked.

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 gossiping 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 Elversult.”

“Owe you?” Vaerana narrowed her eyes and glared at the half-orc as though she were considering running a dagger up his belly. “Why do you think I owe you a thousand 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 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!”