The Veiled Dragon (28 page)

reluctant

to use your potion on Yanseldara.” Ruha cast an uncomfortable glance at the Lady Constable, who set her jaw and showed no sign of

feeling uncomfortable about her mistrust of the Shou. “I

am sorry.” Yu Po finished pouring and set the teapot back on the tray, then picked up one of the tiny bowls and looked uncertain as to where he should place it. Minister Hsieh graciously gestured to Ruha, and the adjutant placed the vessel on the table before her. When he started to set the next cup before Vaerana, however, the mandarin scowled harshly and cleared his throat. The young man paled and nearly sloshed tea on the table as he swung his hand toward his master. If the snub troubled Vaerana, she showed no sign. “I don’t want to strain Yanseldara. She’s not strong enough.” Hsieh waited for Yu Po to set a bowl before the Lady Constable, then picked up his own tea. Ruha slipped her cup beneath her veil and also sipped her drink, but Vaerana pretended not to see the steaming vessel before her. The mandarin returned his bowl to the table. “Whether Lady Yanseldara drinks potion is for Moonstorm House to decide, of course.” Hsieh turned back to Ruha. “But if you do not know where to find lair, why do you need ylang oil?” “Perhaps you have caught Winter Blossom?” Ruha asked. “We do know the general direction to the lair. If we carry the familiar close enough, he will lead us to Lady Feng.” Minister Hsieh shook his head. “The lemur eludes us. I fear he goes to hunt for his mistress.” He looked back to Vaerana. “It appears we have only one way to find Lady Feng—or Lady Yanseldara’s missing staff.” “I’m not going to pour your cricket juice down Yanseldara’s throat,” Vaerana declared. “It was Shou magic that put her into catalepsy in the first place.” “And it is only Shou magic that can cure her,” Hsieh reminded her. “Compared to need to reunite body with spirit, risk to Lady Yanseldara is small.” “I said no.” Hsieh nodded politely. “Very well. Lady Feng is in no

danger, but until you find staff—and Third Virtuous Concubine—you have no need of ylang oil.” Vaerana’s eyes flashed silver. “You’re threatening me?” “I state fact.” Hsieh sipped his tea, then said, “Until you find Lady Yanseldara’s spirit and free it from staff, ylang oil does no good. There is no reason to give it to you.” “No reason?” Vaerana stood, knocking her chair over. “I’ll give you reason!” “Vaerana, sit down!” Ruha urged. “It would be foolish to—” The witch’s warning was too late. Vaerana reached for Hsieh’s collar. The mandarin flung hot tea into the Lady Constable’s eyes and bent toward the floor, ducking her grab easily. Without putting his tea bowl aside, he cupped his free hand behind her heel and pulled her foot off the ground. Vaerana lost her balance and fell over backward, landing on her chair and smashing it into pieces. The tips of a dozen long-bladed Shou halberds instantly touched her throat. A dozen more encircled Ruha. Slowly, Ruha placed both her hands on the table and glanced down at Vaerana. A red mask had formed around the Lady Constable’s eyes where the tea had scalded her, but the way she was blinking suggested she was more astonished than injured. “Vaerana, if you value your life—or at least Yanseldara’s—do not move,” Ruha advised. “Allow me to explain the situation to Minister Hsieh, and I’m certain he—” “You don’t have to explain anything,” Vaerana snarled. “All Minister Hsieh needs to know is that Pierstar’s waiting outside with a hundred Maces. If I don’t join him with a cask of ylang oil in the next twenty minutes, there’ll soon be another two thousand—and they won’t be in a patient mood.” Hsieh rose, very slowly. Ruha said, “Minister, let me explain—” The mandarin waved her silent, a command that was

instantly enforced as his guards touched their halberd tips to her throat. Hsieh stepped over to Vaerana and peered down at her supine form. “Since you know nothing but threat, we converse in manner you understand. First threat: If you try to touch me again, I snap offending arm. Second threat: If we do not find Lady Feng, you do not receive ylang oil, and Lady Yanseldara dies. Final threat: If Maces do not withdraw from grounds of Ginger Palace immediately, my guards slay them all. Then they slay your family, your servants, and everyone inside Moonstorm House.” Vaerana met the mandarin’s icy glare with one of her own. “No one threatens Yanseldara or Moonstorm House. One way or—” “Vaerana, you have the manners of a jackal!” Ruha barked. “If you say another word, I swear by the name of my father that I shall let the Shou cut your throat, and save Yanseldara without you!” The Lady Constable looked at Ruha with the stunned expression of a sheikh being dressed down by the tribe beggar. Before Vaerana could recover from her shock, the witch turned her attention to the angry mandarin. “And Minister Hsieh, your guards will not slay anyone inside Moonstorm House—or Elversult.” Several halberds pricked Ruha’s skin menacingly, but she ignored them. “There is no time for a battle—at least not now. If you wish to see Lady Feng or Yanseldara alive again, you must work together.” “I have no need to work with this woman,” Hsieh snarled. “Lady Feng is in no danger.” “I am sorry to tell you she is—and also everyone inside the Ginger Palace.” When Hsieh scowled, Ruha hastened to add, “I do not speak of Vaerana’s Maces. I am speaking of Cypress. We must take the ylang oil and flee before the dragon discovers his spy’s mistake.” “Do not lie to me,” Hsieh said. “I see you destroy dragon.” “You saw me destroy his body, not his spirit,” Ruha

said. “Do you not remember that he was undead? He has taken a new body.” Hsieh glared at the witch. “How long do you know this?” “That does not matter.” Ruha saw no use in lying; the mandarin had already guessed the truth. “What is important is that we leave before Cypress comes. If you allow him to have the oil now, you will never see Lady Feng again.” It was Yu Po who posed the question Ruha had been anticipating since they left the Night Castle. “Forgive me for speaking, Esteemed Mandarin, but perhaps we make bargain with dragon for return of Lady Feng?” Ruha was spared the necessity of pointing out the suggestion’s folly when Hsieh shot the adjutant an impatient glower. “Only fool bargains with angry dragon.” Yu Po’s face reddened with embarrassment, but he was determined to redeem himself. He puffed out his chest. “I am not afraid, Worthy Minister. When I explain how witch deceives us—” “If Cypress promises to return Lady Feng, who will cast the spell?” Ruha interrupted. “And after you give him the ylang oil, why would he return such a valuable hostage—and one who may well have the power to undo what he has worked so hard to do?” Yu Po scowled at the witch and started to reply, but Hsieh raised a hand to silence him. “Say no more, Yu Po. Perhaps Lady Ruha neglects to tell us about dragon’s new body, but that does not make her wrong now. Go now, and prepare my guards to ride!”

*****

Tang stopped well back in the cramped passage, where it branched into three smaller tunnels. The limestone felt almost slimy beneath his sodden boots, and the trill of the tiny stream echoed surprisingly loud in his ears. Stooping over so he would not hit his head on the low ceiling, he

turned around and kneeled, his legs straddling the rivulet. The mouth of his hiding place was wide enough that he could see most of the ingot island, where Lady Feng stood beside Yanseldara’s staff, calmly awaiting Cypress’s arrival. Though the prince judged no man could see him hiding so far back in the passage, he had no idea whether the darkness would also conceal him from the empty-eyed dragon. He would find out soon enough, for it seemed unlikely the beast would waste much time before searching out the slayer of his pet wyverns. A tremendous sloshing sounded from the treasure chamber; then Cypress’s head rose into view beyond the island. The dragon appeared larger than even the night before, with horns as long as lances and a snout the size of a horse. He spread his wings, concealing the entire far wall of the cavern, and water poured down the dull scales in cataracts. He waded forward, rising high above the island as he climbed the beach of tinkling coins. Tang could see that Cypress carried a brown-cloaked figure in the talons of one hand. The dragon paused beside the island and lowered his claw to the summit of the ingot heap. A plump, wide-eyed man clutching a small wooden cask crawled off, then collapsed to his knees and stared gaped-mouthed at the sparkling chamber around him. Cypress turned his vacant-eyed gaze on Lady Feng and dropped Tang’s rope at her feet. “I see some of your son’s men survived.” The dragon’s booming words echoed off the stony walls like drum music. “Where are they? I would repay them for the pain they caused my pets.” When he heard Cypress assume it had taken a whole party to kill the wyverns, Tang’s heart swelled with pride. Then it occurred to the prince that his mother’s captor had spoken aloud, and the air inside his inflated chest turned cold and sickening. If the dragon could talk again, he could speak spell incantations and, no doubt, breathe acid. The prince felt as if he had chased a

chameleon into the brush and found a crocodile waiting instead. The Third Virtuous Concubine studied the rope at her feet, then craned her neck to fix her outward-looking eye on the dragon. “I know nothing of Prince Tang’s men.” Cypress snorted wisps of black fume into the air, then dropped his head and held one gaping eye socket over Lady Feng’s head. “Why are you lying? Perhaps you think these men can steal my treasure for you?” Lady Feng’s bulging eye looked as though it might pop from the socket. She slipped away from the dragon and started toward the man with the cask, clearly anxious to change the subject. “Who is this fool? I do not ask for company.” The tactic seemed to work, for a crooked grin inched up the length of Cypress’s snout. “He is not company; he is my spy.” The plump man rose and bowed to Lady Feng. “Tombor the Jolly at your service. Virtuous Concubine.” Lady Feng’s squinty eye swung outward to gaze the man up and down, then rolled back to its original position. “I have no need of your service; you worship god of masks and betrayal. But I warn you, sentence of Number Six Court is sure to be harsh. Do not die before redeeming yourself.” Tombor’s florid face paled, and he looked quickly away from Lady Feng. “I was only offering a greeting, but I shall remember your advice.” He snatched up the cask he had brought and held it before him. “I have here the ylang oil you need.” Lady Feng looked at the keg, then slowly turned to face Cypress, who still wore the same crooked grin upon his long snout. “Now?” “Of course now!” Cypress’s grumbling voice spread across the water in dancing ripples. “I have been ready for weeks.” Lady Feng let her shoulders slump. “As you wish, then.” She crooked a finger at Tombor, then turned toward a small coffer of polished mahogany sitting on the near side of the island. The Third Virtuous Concubine kneeled on a small ingot terrace before the chest, then had Tombor place the cask he had brought beside it. She opened the chest and removed several bundles carefully wrapped in waxed silk. A painful lump formed in the pit of Tang’s stomach. The Third Virtuous Concubine had already prepared the other ingredients; it would take her only a few moments to mix the potion and cast the enchantment that would forever unite Yanseldara’s spirit with Cypress. The prince crawled forward, struggling to think of some way short of matricide to stop his mother from finishing her

spell. Cypress climbed onto the far shore and stretched his neck over the summit of the little island, cocking his hideous head so that one empty eye socket hung directly above the Third Virtuous Concubine. Lady Feng had Tombor remove the top of the oil cask; then she suddenly drew back and wrinkled her nose. “Is something wrong?” Cypress demanded. “Only horrible smell.” Lady Feng took a deep breath, then leaned forward to peer into the cask. Tang stopped a pace short of the mouth of the passage. He could go no farther without exposing himself to the dragon’s view—if he had not already—and still he did not know how to stop his mother. He was surprised to realize that failure mattered to him greatly, and not only because he wanted to impress Lady Ruha by saving Yanseldara. To a great extent, his weakness was responsible for the peril of both the Ruling Lady and his mother; unless he set matters right, he would always be the same cowardly, foolish prince he had been before entering the swamp. Lady Feng pulled back from the cask and carefully unwrapped one other silken bundles. Tang saw that he had a clear angle to the little keg. He wished for a crossbow so he could pierce the side—and at last one desperate

idea occurred to him. The prince retreated into the passage and found a smooth, fist-sized rock. He tore the lapel off his fighting tunic, then fit the stone into the middle of it and stepped into the mouth of the tunnel. The passage was too small for a circular windup, so he simply cocked his arm back and hoped a simple whip-stroke would be powerful enough to span the distance. Cypress’s head instantly swiveled in Tang’s direction, and the prince knew he did not have time to wait for his mother to move away from the ylang oil. He fixed his aim on the plump figure of Tombor the Jolly, who was standing on the hill above the cask, and snapped his arm forward. The rock arced over the lake as fast as a shooting star. The shot was not a particularly difficult one, and it appeared the stone would strike its target square in the chest—not enough to kill the husky man, but certain to knock him from his feet and send him tumbling down the slope to spill the ylang oil. Then, as the rock reached the shore of the ingot island, Cypress lowered his head. The stone bounced off the dragon’s skull and splashed into the water. Lady Feng spun around, her gaze instantly rising to the passage where Tang now stood trembling, not so much in fear as in frustration. The dragon turned his head slightly and brought both eye sockets to bear on the prince. “It seems your son has found his courage, Lady Feng.” “He finds courage, but he is still foolish boy.” The Third Virtuous Concubine waved her fingers at Tang, urging him to retreat deeper into his passage. “Mighty dragon has nothing to fear from him.” “He killed my wyverns.” Cypress started to circle the island. “And he was trying to spill the ylang oil.” Tang backed deeper into the passage, more because his mother had urged him to than because he imagined it would save him from the dragon. There was no hope now of stopping the spell, and he felt like a hopeless failure. He still feared death, of course, but only marginally more