Трой Деннинг: The Veiled Dragon

The battered caravel stretched to five times the length of the little cog. Her hull, looming dark and sheer in the night, rose from the sea like a cliff. The wales were crowned by a crest of white railing, broken in many places and draped with shredded rigging. Her foremast, all that remained of three, could have scraped a cloud, and carried more cloth than three of the Storm Sprite ’s sails.

Having torn the somercastle completely off the caravel, the dragon now crouched on the stern of the ship. All that could be seen of the dark beast were fluttering black wings as large as sails, an immense ebony flank, and its serpentine tail sweeping back and forth across the main deck to keep at bay the warriors behind it.

The wyrm raised a black claw above the starboard wale and flung overboard a handful of refuse. Among the debris were a pilot’s table and three screaming women. The witch gasped and would have asked if all sea dragons were so large, except that she feared the question would alarm Captain Fowler. Instead, she watched as the Storm Sprite and the caravel continued to crash toward each other. Already, the two ships were so close that even when the sea heaved up between them, Ruha did not lose sight of the wyrm’s black wings.

At last, Captain Fowler said, “If that wyrm’s not the largest ever to fly the Dragonmere, I’m the Prince of Elves.” The Storm Sprite ’s bow crashed into the trough between two great sea dunes, and the water poured over the forecastle and came frothing down the main deck. “I hope your magic arrows are powerful ones. A dragon like that could make short work of us.”

Ruha thought it wiser not to mention that, unlike most sorcerers Fowler had seen, she could not create magic arrows. Heartland wizards used expensive and exotic ingredients to cast their spells, but desert witches seldom had access to such components. Instead, they fashioned their enchantments from the elements that ruled their lives: wind, sun, sand and stone, and, most preciously, water. Ruha was particularly adept at sand and sun magic; unfortunately, water was her weakness.

The witch rummaged through her aba until she found a small piece of obsidian. “My spell will cut through the wyrm as a scimitar cuts through a camel thief.” She displayed the black sliver. “But your men must also be ready, for the first blow does not always kill.”

Fowler glowered at the dark shard suspiciously. “On my command, Witch.” He flashed a menacing scowl that left no doubt about the consequences of disobeying. “Not a second before.”

Ruha inclined her head. “Of course, Captain.”

The Storm Sprite pitched upward. The boiling waters crashed against the somercastle and poured over the wales, and the little cog rose on the water dune. Thirty yards off the bow loomed a great wall of dark planks, the hull of the mighty caravel. The witch raised an inquiring eyebrow, but Fowler shook his head.

“Harpoons, let go atop!”

They crested the dune. Ruha cried out in shock, for the caravel lay only twenty yards ahead, with the dragon’s mountainous figure still hunched over the stern. A dozen astonished sailors stood at the great ship’s wales, staring down at the Storm Sprite .

From the bow of the little cog sounded a trio of sonorous throbs. Three barbed harpoons arced away from the Storm Sprite ’s ballistae, a long braided rope trailing from each. The first shaft sailed high over the wales of the devastated caravel and passed through one of the wyrm’s flapping wings. The other two harpoons dropped lower, piercing the mighty serpent’s black scales and sinking to their butts. The dragon gave a furious roar. Its sinuous neck undulated in rage, and clouds of roiling black fog shot from the caravel’s portholes.

The Storm Sprite started down the rolling dune, and the dragon disappeared behind the caravel’s looming hull. Ruha thought surely they would smash into the great ship.

Captain Fowler pushed the tiller to port. The Storm Sprite swung around, though not quickly enough to prevent her bowsprit from splintering on the other vessel. The little cog completed her turn, then a tremendous boom filled the air when she slammed hulls with the great caravel. The impact hurled Ruha to the deck, and she felt the sliver of obsidian shoot from between her fingers. A terrible rasping arose between the ships as they rubbed hulls, and the witch knew it would not be long before they were past each other.

A powerful hand closed around Ruha’s wrist, and she felt herself being dragged toward the tiller. “This is no time to lie about!”

“No, wait!”

Ruha’s protest went unheeded, for already Captain Fowler had pulled her to his side and set her on her feet. Her eyes darted toward the deck. The planks were wet and as dark as the night and, even if the obsidian had not washed overboard already, she would never have found it in time to attack the dragon.

“Ready, Witch!” Fowler ordered. “It’s almost time.”

Ruha looked forward, raising her eyes toward the wyrm. She found her view blocked by the huge flaxen square of the Storm Sprite ’s half-filled sail. Beneath the sheet’s fluttering edge, she could see harpoon lines playing out, and also the cog’s bow slipping past the caravel’s massive rudder. The witch thrust her hand into her aba and found several small pebbles.

Fowler hauled on the tiller, bringing his ship smartly around the stern of the caravel. The flaxen sail filled with wind and, like a proud stallion spurred to the gallop, the Storm Sprite leapt forward. The harpoon lines snapped taut, and a tremendous shudder ran through the cog.

Fowler flashed his tusks. “Now, Lady Witch! Slice that terror out of the sky!”

Ruha pulled the pebbles from her pocket and pivoted around to keep her gaze fixed on the looming caravel. Over the stern came a great mass of writhing darkness, the wyrm being dragged along by the sturdy harpoon lines. The dragon beat the air with its wings, struggling in vain to right itself and wheel on its attacker. Its wings were tattered and strewn with holes, while its dark scales looked strangely tarnished and dull. Even the serpent’s tail ended in a long section of gray, weathered bone, as though it were suffering from some wasting disease or festering wound.

Bracing herself against the binnacle, Ruha rolled her pebbles between her palms and called upon her stone magic. The rocks began to buzz and shake, vibrating so violently that it hurt her bones to hold them. She tossed the stones up before her face, and there they hung, sputtering and whirling around each other like angry wasps.

Recovering from its initial shock, the dragon ceased its flailing and stopped trying to wheel on its attacker. It beat its wings more slowly and contented itself with staying aloft.

“I said now , Witch!”

Fowler’s eyes were locked on the dragon, and Ruha knew what concerned him. Smaller wyrms than this could spew fire and acid twice the length of the Storm Sprite ’s harpoon lines, and the witch had no illusions about what would happen if such a spray caught the little cog. The serpent’s neck began to curl toward the Storm Sprite .

“Wait no longer!” Fowler pleaded.

At last, a faint sapphire gleam appeared inside the pebbles. Ruha blew upon the swirling stones, at the same time breathing the incantation of a wind spell. They sizzled away, screeching like banshees and trailing a ribbon of blue braided light. The dragon had almost brought its head around when the pebbles tore through its wing and blasted its flank, spraying shards of shattered scales in every direction. The wyrm stiffened and dropped toward the water, but when its belly touched the heaving sea dunes, it roared and once again lifted itself into the air.