Трой Деннинг: The Veiled Dragon

“What’s the matter?” Fowler demanded. As he spoke, a pair of ebony talons shot from the water on both sides of the bow. There was no hide over the gnarled fingers, and even the wrists exhibited bare patches of gray, weathered bone. The claws dug into the wales, and the little cog’s bow dipped into the sea. The half-orc released the tiller and stepped forward. “Cowards! Stand and fight!”

For the first time since Ruha had boarded, the captain’s words seemed to have no effect on his crew. The bravest of them watched over their shoulders as they opened a hatch or door, but most simply screamed in terror and hurled themselves through the nearest opening. Their panic surprised the witch, for until now they had exhibited the unwavering discipline of men who knew their lives depended upon working together. She pulled a small crystal of quartz from her pocket, at the same time catching Fowler’s arm with her free hand.

“Your men are braver than this,” she said. “It is only the dragon’s magic frightening them.”

“Only?” the half-orc scoffed. “It will be enough to sink us!”

Ruha pointed her crystal over the ship’s bow. “ I am not frightened.”

The dragon’s head rose into view and, despite her claim, the witch was so shocked she could not keep the syllables of her incantation from fleeing her mind. She found herself staring not into the slit pupils of a wyrm’s diabolic eyes, but into the vastly more sinister void of two black, empty sockets. Though a thin layer of shriveled black scales still clung to the beast’s brow and cheeks, its snout was a fleshless blade of cracked bone and cavernous nostrils. Even the creature’s curved horns, once as sturdy and long as horse lances, were mere splintered stumps of their ancient magnificence.

“Umberlee have mercy!” Fowler ripped a golden ring from his ear and hurled it overboard, a piece of bloody lobe still dangling from the clasp. “Save us!”

The dragon’s empty-eyed gaze followed the arc of the glimmering earring as it plunged into the sea, then snapped back to Fowler.

“If you wish mercy, do not throw your gold to Umberlee.” The dragon spoke in a voice as raspy as it was loud, and the mere sound of it made Ruha’s legs shake so that she could hardly keep her feet. “Give it to me, and perhaps your death shall be quick!”

When Fowler made no move to produce more gold, the dragon opened its jaws, revealing a hundred broken fangs and a scabrous white tongue, and the Storm Sprite ’s sail billowed toward its mouth. A loud rasp rustled down the length of the ship, and Ruha realized the serpent was gorging itself with air. She squeezed the quartz crystal between her thumb and forefinger, at the same time summoning her spell back to mind.

The rasping ceased, and wisps of dark fog rose from the dragon’s nostrils. Ruha called out the words of a wind spell. The quartz crystal evaporated in a searing flash, and a bolt of white lightning leapt from her hand. It struck the wyrm’s head with a thunderous bang, hurling desiccated scales and shards of gray bone high into the air. The creature’s neck snapped back, and from its shattered maw shot a plume of boiling, turbid vapor.

The dragon roared in pain, shaking the Storm Sprite from stem to stern, and the sea sputtered with the sound of its torn flesh dropping into the water, but the beast did not slip beneath the surging dunes. Instead, it dug its ebony talons deep into the ship’s wales, then laid its neck over the bow to display the smoking, mangled crater that had once been its face.

“Who would do this to me?” the dragon rumbled. “Cast yourself to Umberlee, or you shall wish you had.”

Captain Fowler glanced back at Ruha. His lips were as white as the moon. “Well, Harper, c-can you k-keep your promise?”

Ruha thrust her shaking hands into her aba and, fearing her efforts would come to naught, fumbled through her pockets. Live wyrms could be killed, but what could she—or anyone—do against this dead beast?

The turbid vapor that had spilled from the dragon’s maw earlier began to settle over the front part of the ship. As soon as the dark fog touched the rigging, lines started to snap and fall, hissing and smoking as though they were on fire. The sail broke free of the yardarms and fluttered to the deck, as sheer and full of holes as old lace. The mast, and then all the wood from midships forward, began to sizzle and fume.

Fowler sank to his knees. “Wretched witch! What have you done to my ship?”

The dragon turned its shattered face toward the captain. “Did she give the order to interfere with me? Or was it you, thinking of Cormyr’s filthy bounty?”

With that, the wyrm withdrew its head and slipped beneath the sea’s dark surface. Ruha stepped to the taffrail and saw the shadow of one huge wing gliding through the water toward her.

“Captain, did I not promise that the Harpers would buy you another ship?” She stepped toward the half-orc. “How can they do that if we perish with this one?”

Fowler looked at Ruha with disbelieving eyes. “You think we’ve a choice in the matter? If you could destroy the dragon, you’d have done it by now.”

The yardarms broke free and crashed down upon the deck. The thick planks gave way as though they had been rotting for a hundred years, and the spars struck several barrels stowed below decks. One of the casks split in two, spilling a viscous liquid that filled the air with a bitter, caustic stench. The babble of swirling water sounded behind the Storm Sprite .

Without glancing back, Ruha pointed into the hold. “What is in those casks?”

The half-orc looked puzzled, as though he found it a strange time for Ruha to question the cargo. “Lamp oil. We’ve got to have ballast, and it might as well pay—”

A sharp crack sounded from the rear of the deck. Ruha glimpsed the tiller disappearing through its housing, then three black talons rose into sight and hooked themselves over the taffrail. The witch grabbed Fowler’s arm and jerked him off the poop deck, pushing him toward a boarding axe down on the main deck.

“I cannot save your ship, Captain, but I can save us. Go and smash those oil casks.”

The half-orc jumped down and retrieved the weapon, then leapt into the hold. Ruha ducked down beside the somercastle and emptied her pockets of all the brimstone powder she possessed, piling it upon the deck before her. A sharp crack sounded from the stern of the ship, then the Storm Sprite pitched to her rear. The witch shaped the heap of yellow powder into the figure of a tiny bird and uttered a wind spell.

The brimstone vanished in a brief flash of yellow, and in its place appeared the diaphanous form of a yellow canary. Ruha pointed toward the ship’s hold, where Captain Fowler was busy smashing oil casks, and made a quick sweeping motion. The little bird flitted off to circle the area she had indicated.

A tremendous crackling sounded from the poop deck, and Ruha peered over the edge to see the dragon’s claws ripping into the stern of the ship. She withdrew another quartz crystal from her aba , then jumped onto the ladder and pointed it at the creature’s pulverized face, yelling a series of nonsensical syllables that she hoped the beast would mistake for those she had used to cast her first lightning bolt.

The dragon’s head swiveled toward Ruha. She felt oil-laden air swirling past her head and heard the unmistakable rasp of the creature filling its chest. The beast sucked the diaphanous yellow bird she had created earlier into its throat. The witch dropped behind the somercastle, squeezing the quartz crystal and uttering the incantation of a fire spell.

A fiery spark shot from the tip of the crystal, igniting the stream of air being sucked into the dragon’s throat. Ruha threw herself through the somercastle door. She felt a jolting crash; then there was a searing fulguration, the smell of wood ash, and finally the cool bite of saltwater.