The Veiled Dragon (25 page)

flung the writhing thing down the hill. He had nothing to fear from snakes—perhaps from the spirits of his dead soldiers, whose voices were again filling his ears—but not from snakes.

se**** Ruha slept without dreaming and awoke sometime later, lying on the soft bed with the heavy woolen quilt pulled high beneath her chin. Her first thought was not that she usually took off her aba before sleeping, or that she never pulled the blanket up to her chin, but that she had slept the night away. She threw the cover off and rushed to the alcove, where, to her relief, she saw the treetops still dancing in silver moonlight. Only then did she notice that someone had removed her veil and realized that the tallow lamp had been extinguished—she could not have been asleep long enough for it to burn itself out!—and it occurred to her Vaerana had already come and gone. Ruha fumbled around in the darkness until she found her veil on the stone bench, then felt her way out the door, into the hallway, and down the spiraling staircase. Jarvis and his partner were leaning on their lances outside the portcullis. The witch paused to put on her veil, then demanded, “How long have I been asleep?” Startled by Ruha’s question, they whirled around with lance tips lowered. When she cautiously stepped into the flickering light of their candle, both men sighed and snapped to attention. “How long ago did Vaerana put me in my bed?” Ruha demanded. The two guards glanced nervously at each other, then Jarvis said, “Actually, I laid you in the bed.” Ruha raised a hand to her face. “You removed my veil?” Jarvis looked first confused, then embarrassed. “The Lady Constable commanded me to—er, she said that you deserved your rest—” “Vaerana said that?” Ruha could hardly imagine those words coming from the Lady Constable’s lips. “Yes, about three hours ago. She rushed up the stairs and right back down again.” Jarvis glanced at his companion, then added, “She ordered me to see that you rested comfortably, and to tell you she would look in on you when she returned.” “Kozah take her for an impatient she-camel!” Jarvis scowled at that outburst. “There’s no need for calling names. She was only trying to be considerate—and that’s a rare thing for Vaerana Hawklyn.” “It would have been considerate to wake me!” Ruha retorted. “She was taking advantage of my fatigue. How soon will she return?” Jarvis shrugged. “She was dressed for battle.” Ruha cursed again, this time under her breath. “And what of Captain Fowler? I told you to fetch me if he asked.” “He has not asked,” Jarvis replied stiffly. Ruha sighed in relief. If Fowler had not come for her, she could still spring her trap. “I want one of you to come with me, so you can show Vaerana where I am hiding.” “Hiding?” “It is for the good ofYanseldara. That is all you need to know, Jarvis.” Ruha started across the drawbridge without waiting for the guard to agree. Before she reached the other side, Jarvis’s heavy steps were booming across the thick planks behind her. “We’re not supposed to leave our posts,” he complained. “And Vaerana was supposed to speak with me before she left. Because she did not, we must now improvise.” They descended the stairs and retraced the meandering path to Silavia’s kitchen. With the door and shutters all closed, the place looked as dark and silent as the other sheds built along this section of the wall. Wondering how those inside could tolerate the cloying smell of vlang oil without opening the windows, Ruha slipped beneath an unruly wax myrtle. She settled into a hiding olace so deliberately uncomfortable that she would not fall asleep, then sent Jarvis back to Pearl Tower. A long, bone-aching time later, Ruha began to debate the wisdom of going to check on Tombor’s progress. She had expected it to take him quite some time to press all eight sacks of ylang blossoms, but the first gray hint of false dawn had already appeared in the eastern sky. Household servants were beginning to trudge about their morning tasks, and it would not be long before some passing groom or maid discovered the witch lurking in the bushes. Ruha heard the crunch of heavy boots coming down the path. She backed out from beneath the wax myrtle and saw Jarvis and Vaerana approaching. All thoughts of chiding the Lady Constable about last night’s departure quickly vanished from Ruha’s mind. Vaerana was limping badly, with one arm hanging slack at her side and the side of her face so swollen it looked as if she had been kicked by a horse. What remained of her tattered jerkin was black with half-dried blood, and even her boots looked as though someone had tried to cut them off her feet. “What happened to you?” Vaerana squatted beside Ruha. “Ambush.” The word came out mushy and difficult to understand. “They were waiting.” “And I know who told them you were coming.” Ruha resisted the temptation to point out that Vaerana could have avoided the beating by awakening her last night. “The Cult of the Dragon has a spy inside Moonstorm House.” A murderous glint flared in Vaerana’s eyes. “Who?” Ruha pointed toward the kitchen, where a pair of scullery wenches were just entering the door. “The spy will reveal himself soon enough.” Vaerana’s hand drifted toward the bloodsmeared hilt of her sword. “What’s the sense in waiting? Let’s get him now.” Ruha laid a restraining hand on the Lady Constable’s arm. “Wait. He is going to lead us to the dragon’s lair That’s what I was trying to tell you last night.” Vaerana scowled. “Then why didn’t you?” “Because I would have ruined the trap,” Ruha explained. “The traitor was—” The witch was interrupted by a muffled shriek from inside the kitchen. The door burst open and both scullery wenches came rushing outside. One woman held her hands over her mouth, while the other waved her arms at the door and yelled incoherently. With a sinking stomach, Ruha leapt up and raced toward the shed behind Vaerana and Jarvis. Vaerana pulled the crying wench out of the way and led Jarvis and Ruha into the kitchen. The room was as dark as pitch, for all of the candles and tallow lamps had been extinguished. The cloying perfume ofylang blossoms lingered in the air, though not heavily enough to disguise a coppery, more familiar scent: blood. A few steps inside the door, the Lady Constable suddenly stopped and squatted on her haunches. “Fetch a light.” As Jarvis left to do his mistress’s bidding, Ruha knelt close to Vaerana and ran her hands over the floor. It did not take long to find Silavia’s plump, cool body lying facedown on the wooden planks. There was a soft, sticky mess where the back other head should have been. “Who did this?” Vaerana demanded. “A cult spy.” Ruha no longer felt any joy in her coming vindication, in large part because they were going to find another body in the kitchen and she knew who it would be. “This is my fault. Had I not fallen asleep—” “This is no time for blaming yourself!” Vaerana snapped. “Just tell me about this spy.” “There were only two people in the kitchen with Silavia: Tombor and Fowler.” “You think Tusks did this?” Vaerana scoffed. “And I was beginning to think you might not be such a bungler!” Ruha bit her tongue. A sharp retort would do nothing to bring Fowler back, and even less to convince Vaerana ofTombor’s betrayal. The Lady Constable would realize the truth for herself soon enough. Jarvis returned with a lit candle, which he promptly used to find and light several tallow lamps. As the flickering light illuminated the room, it became apparent that Silavia had been struck down as she fled, for she had left a short trail of bloody footsteps behind her. The rest of the kitchen looked normal enough; there were no tables overturned, the room was not strewn with uten sils, and the walls were mercifully unspattered with blood. Ruha took Jarvis’s candle and led the way toward the pantry. The oil press was not on the table where it should have been, but she quickly forgot about that as she stepped around the corner of the table and saw Fowler’s stout body sprawled on the floor. The captain was lying amidst a pool of dark blood, with the handle of a long butcher knife protruding from the middle of his back. His neck was turned at an impossible angle, and his astonished gray eyes were staring straight ahead. Vaerana slipped past Ruha and crouched down beside Fowler. “So much for your spy.” “I did not say that Fowler was the spy.” Ruha’s tone was sharper than she intended, for she was boiling over with anger and guilt. “I was speaking of your friend, Tombor the Jolly.” Vaerana’s jaw dropped. “You think Tombor

?” Ruha nodded. “He was the only one in the room.” The Lady Constable rose, shaking her head. “Not Tombor. He saved—” “I know; he saved you from the cult’s assassins, more than once.” Ruha paused, giving Vaerana time to draw her own conclusions. When the witch saw no sudden gleam of understanding in the Lady Constable’s eyes, she

said, “The attacks weren’t real. They were a trick to win your confidence.” A look of humiliation flashed across Vaerana’s face, but it vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. “You don’tknow that.” “Don’t I?” Ruha waved her hand around the kitchen “Where are the ylang blossoms?” Vaerana’s gaze roamed across the chamber, her complexion turning as white as alabaster when she did not find the eight bulky sacks. Finally, the Lady Constable whirled on Ruha. “You knew he would steal the blossoms—and you let him?” Vaerana looked almost relieved to have someone upon whom to vent her anger. “You let him kill Fowler?” “I did not let him kill anyone!” the witch snapped Vaerana’s words hurt more than they should have, perhaps because Ruha feared there was more truth to them than she would have liked. “I had hoped we could follow him to Yanseldara’s staff—which we might have done, had you bothered to awaken me and hear my plan!” Jarvis interposed his armored bulk between the two women. “Tombor was gone by then. I doubt he stayed much longer than it took him to kill the halfore and Silavia.” Ruha turned to the empty table and, seeing no mess upon the surface, nodded. “He was in a hurry to get out of here. He took the oil press with him.” “The press maybe, but not even Tombor could sneak eight sacks of ylang blossoms out the gate,” said Vaerana, “The sentries would ask too many questions. They saw what you went through to bring those sacks to us.” “Perhaps he took them out some other way,” Ruha suggested. “Yes, and I think I see how,” said Jarvis. The burly guard took Ruha’s candle and went to the back wall, where a mass of roofing straw lay scattered around a butchering bench. He climbed onto the table and stuck his head up between the rafters, then raised the candle

hieh enough to illuminate his shoulders sticking up through a hole in the roof. “He climbed onto the roof and threw the sacks over the wall.” “Fowler’s tnck!” Ruha gasped. A long, heartsick groan slipped from Vaerana’s lips. She hung her head and braced her hands on the table edge. “I failed her.” “Not yet.” Ruha went to the Lady Constable’s side and, rather uncertainly, laid a hand on her shoulder. “Tombor took the wrong blossoms.” Vaerana raised her brow. “The wrong blossoms?” Ruha nodded. “The ones Tombor took were only bait. They were picked in the evening, and they are not potent enough to serve the dragon’s wishes. Cypress needs blossoms picked in the morning, and those remain at the Ginger Palace.” Vaerana stood up straight. “Then what are we waiting for?” She turned to Jarvis. “Find Pierstar and tell him to call out the Maces! We’ve got a palace to storm!” Ruha caught Jarvis’s arm. “That won’t be necessary. Minister Hsieh has promised to give us the blossoms, in exchange for returning Lady Feng to him unharmed.” “How are we going to do that?” Vaerana demanded. “Isn’t she with Yanseldara’s staff in Cypress’s lair?” Ruha nodded. “When we recover one, we rescue the other. It costs us no extra effort.” Vaerana considered this for a moment, then scowled. “That’d be fine—if we knew where to find the lair. And since you were trying to trick Tombor into leading us there

” Ruha raised a hand to silence Vaerana. “There may be another way. In my room, I have a potion. If we can get Yanseldara to drink it, we can contact Lady Feng and perhaps discover the location of Cypress’s lair.” Vaerana studied Ruha out of one swollen eye. “Where did you get this potion?” “From Minister Hsieh,” Ruha answered. “Now that he is helping us—” “Helping us!” Vaerana thundered. “It’s Shou mag that’s done this to Yanseldara!” “Yes, but—” The Lady Constable shook her head. “How do you know this won’t hurt her?” “I do not,” Ruha admitted. “Minister Hsieh said that if the connection between Yanseldara’s body and spirit is too weak, we could sever it entirely—but that is unlikely as long as she remains strong enough—” “No!” Vaerana shook her head vehemently, then stepped away from the table and started toward the dooi “When will you learn? You can’t trust a Shou—ever.” “What other choice do we have?” Ruha started after Vaerana, who did not even acknowledge the question “Wait! Where are you going?” The Lady Constable did not even slow down as shf stepped through the door. “Where do you think? To have Pierstar wake his trackers!” Thirteen Tang saw the serpent dart beneath a ti plant and hopped across the stream after it. He stirred the spearshaped leaves until the viper struck at his snake stick, then flipped the Yshaped head around and pinned the creature’s neck to the ground. He kneeled beside his captive and grabbed it behind the head. This snake was the largest yet, so great in diameter that he could not close his hand around its slime-scaled throat. There would be plenty of venom. The prince twined the serpent’s writhing body around the shaft of his stick and, picking his footing very carefully, carried the heavy thing across the stream to his workbench. Atop the flat rock lay two sacks of supple leather cut from the collars of a pair of boots. With sharpened sticks protruding from them at all angles, the bags looked like melon-sized cockleburs. They were stuffed with wads of silk ripped from the battle tunics of dead soldiers, whose voices Tang still heard screeching above the drone of the mosquitos. “Be patient, my troops. Soon I intercede for you.” If Tang could find the strength to see his plan through, his ancestors would be so overjoyed that he would no longer need to hide his failure from them. “Soon I pray to Yen-Wang-Yeh; I testify to your bravery, and he renders honorable verdict.” The spirits took no comfort in the prince’s promise. They continued to screech. Tang sighed and set his snake stick aside. He took the sack by the long, unsharpened stake that served as a handle—it was not wise to touch the bladder with bare hands—and held it close to his captive’s face. The frightened viper struck instantly, sinking its fangs through the supple leather and into the wad of cloth inside. The prince shook the serpent to encourage the release of more venom, then repeated the process several more times. When he had milked the last of the creature’s toxins, he flung it down the hill and stooped over to inspect his handiwork. Both sacks were so full of poison that cloudy beads of venom were seeping back through the fang holes. Tang carried the poison-filled bladders down to the swamp, where the cadavers of his dead soldiers lay scattered across the pond as thick as lily pads. Most of the corpses had been savagely mangled by alligators or bitten cleanly in two by the wyverns, but a few were blackened and bloated from dozens of snake bites, often to such an extent that runnels of thick black fluid spilled from splits in the skin. These had been molested by neither alligator nor wyvern, and it was the observation of this fact that had kindled again the prince’s hopes of redeeming himself. After retrieving his dugout and making a careful search along the edge of the swamp, Tang had located two relatively whole bodies that were not bloated with snake poison. One man had managed to swim to dry land after being eviscerated, while the other had either drowned or died of fright—the prince had found him caught beneath a cypress root with no obvious wounds. Tang stuffed one of his poison bladders into the abdomen of the eviscerated soldier, then used his dagger to create a place for the second ball in the other man’s stomach. He closed the wounds with small wooden pins and dressed the pair in the cleanest, least-tattered battle tunics he had been able to find. If the men’s spirits