The Veiled Dragon

Fourteen

At the far end of the Ginger Palace’s long audience hall, the new chamberlain drew aside two silk draperies and opened a pair of teak doors. A double column of Minister Hsieh’s yellow-cloaked guards marched into the room and split, one line filing to each side of Ruha and Vaerana. Behind the warriors followed a parade of servants bearing a triangular table, three teak chairs, and a tray with a steaming teapot and a trio of tiny, deep bowls.

As Hsieh’s men took their positions, Vaerana scowled and leaned close to Ruha. “I don’t know why I listen to you. This is going to be worse than Voonlar. They mean to take us prisoner.”

“You are too suspicious, Vaerana. They intend nothing of the kind.”

“Then why so many guards?”

“They are only for ceremony.” Ruha shook her head at the Lady Constable’s suspicions, remembering how easily Minister Hsieh had disabled Wei Dao. “The mandarin is quite capable of defending himself.”

Vaerana sneered doubtfully, but fell silent as the servants arrived with the furniture. They put the table on the chamber’s exquisite floor mosaic, carefully arranging it so the point of the triangle stood over the head of the flame-tailed bird and the base faced Ruha and the Lady Constable. They placed two chairs on the women’s side and positioned the third one before the tip of the table. The man bearing the tea tray stepped to one side, then stood at attention while Minister Hsieh, with Yu Po following close behind, entered the room.

The mandarin glided across the floor to the point of the table, then bowed to his guests. Ruha returned the gesture, making certain to bend lower than her host, but Vaerana barely nodded. Yu Po pulled the mandarin’s chair out. A pair of servants stepped forward to do likewise for the witch and Lady Constable.

Vaerana astonished the servant by taking her own chair and placing it opposite the tea bearer. She dropped heavily into the seat, then braced her elbows on the table and faced Hsieh.

“The witch tells me you have some ylang oil.”

Yu Po’s face turned instantly scarlet. He slipped around Hsieh’s chair. “You are ill-bred daughter of—”

“Yu Po!” Hsieh waited for his adjutant to stop, then waved at the tea tray. “You may serve.”

Yu Po’s jaw dropped, as did that of the tea bearer and the other servants; then the adjutant bowed to his master and stepped to obey.

Hsieh smiled at Vaerana. “Yes, ylang oil is ready.” He looked to Ruha. “Where is Lady Feng?”

The witch found it difficult to meet the mandarin’s gaze. “I am afraid we do not know.” She saw Hsieh’s lips tighten and had the cold, sinking feeling that she was doomed to appear a failure to everyone she met. “We were not able to follow the spy when he fled to the lair.”

The handle of the teapot nearly slipped from Yu Po’s grasp, and the lid clinked loudly.

The mandarin frowned at his adjutant’s clumsiness, then asked, “Then Lady Feng cannot tell you where to find lair?”

“Vaerana is … 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 east 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 of her 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 than he feared thinking of himself as a bumbling fool for the rest of his life.

By the time Cypress rounded the island, Tang could see little more than the dragon’s dull scales growing larger and darker as they neared the tunnel mouth. He reached the triple fork where he had stopped before and glanced up each branch. Two of the passages vanished into inky blackness, but one, the smallest, curved back toward the lake. There was a pale yellow glow at the far end, suggesting it actually connected with the vast treasure chamber.

“Cypress, stop!” Lady Feng’s voice was so muffled Tang could barely hear it. “If you love Yanseldara, you spare boy’s life.”

The dragon pivoted to look down at the island, allowing Tang a clear view of his mother. Lady Feng had grabbed the lip of the open oil cask and tipped it forward. The contents were dangerously close to spilling.

“Pour it out, Wise Mother!” Tang yelled. “Life and death are same; I fear only dishonor!”

The Third Virtuous Concubine frowned in the direction of Tang’s voice. “Then you are fool, Impertinent Son. You know nothing of life and death. If you do not understand that, you understand nothing at all!”

“What?” Tang gasped. If there was one thing his mother believed, it was that life and death were the same.

Lady Feng tipped the cask forward until the contents began to trickle down the side. Tombor the Jolly stooped over to reach for the other side of the cask, then found himself staring at a scorpion knife the Third Virtuous Concubine had produced from her sleeve pocket. The cleric withdrew his hand, and Lady Feng fixed her gaze on Cypress.

“Do you wish to have Yanseldara?” She tipped the cask forward even farther, and the trickle of oil became a steady stream. “Or not?”

“Very well. I am in a generous mood.” Cypress waved Tombor away from the cask, then stepped away from Tang’s passage. “I absolve the prince of his transgressions.”

Tang did not believe the dragon for a moment, and knew that his mother would not either. Like any tyrant, Cypress could not forgive a rebellion against his authority. Once Lady Feng cast her spell, he would take his vengeance. So why was the Third Virtuous Concubine pretending to believe him? And why had she called the prince ignorant for quoting her?

She had tipped the cask. The Third Virtuous Concubine was trying to tell him something about the oil.

When Cypress turned his attention back to Lady Feng’s preparations, Tang began to collect the largest stones he could find, piling them inside the small passage that curved back toward the lake. As soon as the prince judged he had enough to suit his purpose, he removed his clothes. He laid his battle tunic on the far side of the tunnel, arranging it over a boulder so that it would look as if he were crouching on the floor, with his back to the treasure chamber.

Lady Feng closed her mahogany coffer, and Tang knew she was getting ready to cast the spell. He laid down on his belly and crawled backward into the smallest passage, dragging his undertunic, trousers, and sword belt after him. The tunnel was so low that he could feel his back touching the ceiling. The prince began to stack the stones he gathered, scraping his elbows raw as he struggled to move in the cramped confines. The little bit of dim light vanished entirely, and he had to work in the dark, trying to feel the shapes of the rocks so he could fit them into the available spaces as tightly as possible.

His wall had nearly reached the ceiling when Tang heard his mother’s muffled voice mumbling a command. Though he could not understand her words, he suspected she was calling for Yanseldara’s staff. In his mind’s eye, the prince saw her accept the pole from Tombor—would the traitor’s hands be trembling at the magnitude of his crime?—and dip the butt into the ylang potion.

As though on cue, the Third Virtuous Concubine’s voice began muttering the indiscernible syllables of her spell. Tang fed his undertunic through the narrow gap at the top of his little wall, stopping when he judged the tail would be touching the floor. He worked carefully, for he had plenty of time. It would take a few moments for the potion to work its magic, and, even then, Cypress would be in no hurry. The dragon would want to rejoice in his triumph and be certain the enchantment had worked before betraying his word.

Holding his undertunic against the ceiling with one hand and struggling to move stones with the other, Tang laid the last row of his wall. He folded the top of his shirt over his side of the barrier, using the extra rocks to anchor it in place. That done, he tore his trousers into strips and used them to plug the small gaps around the edges. The barricade would not stop the dragon’s breath entirely, but it would absorb the brunt of the attack and, with a little luck, send the acid cloud boiling down tunnels that offered less resistance.

Tang located his sword belt and crawled backward down the tiny passage. He felt the stone around him shudder as Cypress rumbled in astonishment, and the prince knew his mother had completed her spell. What had she been trying to tell him about the oil? Tang could think of only one thing: somehow, Tombor had pressed the wrong blossoms.

The prince felt the wall disappear beside his left foot and realized he had reached another fork. The side passage was not large enough for him to crawl into, but he was able to cram his legs in far enough to turn around and slither down the tunnel headfirst. The glow from the treasure chamber ahead had changed from bright yellow to a brilliant ruby red, and he could hear Cypress speaking in his deep dragon voice.

“Why is her spirit so—so pained? The spell couldn’t have worked!”

“I do not promise love feels good,” Lady Feng countered. “You share what Yanseldara’s spirit feels, and she shares what you feel. If she suffers, that is your fault, not mine.”

The ingot island appeared in the mouth of the passage, and Tang stopped crawling. Cypress sat on the beach of coins, bending forward over Lady Feng and Tombor, who were standing near the summit of the isle. The dragon was holding Yanseldara’s staff in the palm of his withered hand, his bony snout almost touching the fiery topaz set in the pommel.

“Then I have her?” Cypress closed the staff inside his claw. “Yanseldara is entirely mine?”

Lady Feng nodded. “Until potion wears off, yes. After that, what happens is between your spirit and hers.”

“Until it wears off?” Cypress’s roar was so loud that several pieces of jewelry fell into the lake. His empty claw flashed down and plucked up Lady Feng. “You told me the spell would last forever!”

“Your spy does not bring correct oil.” Lady Feng’s voice betrayed no hint of fear, and she stared into Cypress’s eye voids without wavering. “He brings oil made from blossoms picked at night. They are not as potent as blossoms picked in morning.”

“Ruha!” Tombor gasped. “That hag!”

Cypress’s muzzle swung toward his spy, whose eyes suddenly grew as round as his face. The cleric began to stumble down the slope away from the dragon, and Tang felt like a new man.

“The Harper witch s-s-said they were the blossoms Hsieh b-brought,” Tombor stammered. “She tricked me!”

“How unfortunate.”

Tombor clasped his hands in supplication and craned his neck to look up at the dragon. “Please, l-let me go back! I’ll k-kill the Harper! I can get the b-blossoms you need!”

“If that is true, why did you not bring them in the first place?” A white glimmer flashed deep within Cypress’s empty eye sockets; then he said, “Perhaps you knew you had the wrong oil, hmmmm? Perhaps you were hungry for my gold?”

Tombor dropped to his knees and tugged at the silver chain around his neck, pulling a gray velvet mask from inside his cloak. He pressed the disguise over his eyes, then began, “Unseen Mask, Great Lord of Shadows and Master of Deceit, hear the prayer of your most devoted servant—”

“Why do you pray to the King of Betrayal?” Cypress lowered his claw and, with a single black talon, flicked the gray mask away from Tombor’s face. “Do you think he will give you your reward?”

Tombor threw his arms over his face and tried to turn away, but the dragon was already inside his mind. A terrified howl echoed off the cavern walls; then the plump traitor began to pack gold ingots inside his clothes, his stiff and jerky arms obviously moving against his will. Once his robe was loaded, he filled his arms and waddled down to the lake’s edge, then threw himself into the clear waters. He sank like a stone.

The cleric held his breath for a long time, and Tang could see him still clutching his armload of gold ingots. At last, a long stream of bubbles streamed from his nostrils; then he opened his mouth and filled his lungs with water.

Cypress turned away from the traitor and raised Lady Feng to his face. “Now, what shall I do about you? You knew when you opened the cask that it was the wrong oil.”

“It makes no difference—if you have confidence in your own spirit,” Lady Feng said. “After potion wears off, you can subdue Yanseldara’s spirit and make her your slave.”

It astonished Tang to hear Lady Feng toying so boldly with the dragon. She knew Cypress loved Yanseldara only because no one else had ever bested him in battle. Considering that the first combat had cost him his life, it seemed unlikely he would welcome another fight for an even greater prize.

Wisps of black fume curled from Cypress’s nostrils, but when he spoke, he sounded more apprehensive than angry. “I do not want to make a slave of Yanseldara.” He lowered the Third Virtuous Concubine to the ingot heap and allowed her to step off his hand. “I want her to love me, as I love her.”

“You want to absorb her,” Lady Feng scoffed. “She is stronger than you, and you want to make her part of yourself.”

“Yes, to make her mine. Is that not what love is?” The dragon glanced toward the cavern where Tang had first taken refuge. “I’m certain your son would agree—though I’m afraid I can’t allow him that chance.”

“You leave son alone!” Lady Feng warned. “If you harm him—”

Cypress whirled on the Third Virtuous Concubine so fiercely that Tang feared he would murder her.

“I will kill him, and you will do nothing!” the dragon roared. “I have allowed you both to grow defiant, and now I must teach you to obey.”

Lady Feng dropped to her knees, then surprised Tang by kowtowing to the dragon—dishonoring both herself and the emperor. “Please. He is only son. Punish me—”

“I need you.”

Cypress drew himself to his full height, then turned Yanseldara’s staff upside down and wedged the butt into a ceiling fissure. The dragon waded into the lake. Tang retreated deep into his worm hole, beseeching his ancestors to make his foe see only the cowardly prince he had been before entering the swamp.

As Cypress neared the cavern wall, his great bulk blocked the red light from the treasure chamber, plunging the prince into darkness so thick he could not see the stone beneath his nose. The cavern shuddered around his body, and the dragon’s voice rumbled through the very rock.

“… not changed after all, have you, Prince?”

There was a muffled whisper as the dragon inflated his chest, then a sharp hiss as he emptied it into the next tunnel. The exhalation seemed to continue forever, and soon a chorus of soft, eerie trills arose from the treasure chamber as the breath whistled through the network of passages and found its way back toward the lake. From deep within Tang’s worm hole came a muffled clatter of stones, followed by the sputter and sizzle of dissolving limestone. The prince smelled the caustic stench of acid and expected to feel a stinging wind tear over his body, but the wall had not collapsed entirely. He felt only the light nettling of a faint mist. He crawled forward as far as he dared, and at last the eerie whistle died away.

Cypress stepped away from the cavern wall and turned toward the ingot island. Lady Feng threw herself into the water, wailing in motherly grief. The show was so convincing that, had Tang not been raised in the palace of the Third Virtuous Concubine, he would have believed her anguish to be genuine.

Cypress waded across the lake in two strides and plucked Lady Feng from the water. “Be quiet! That coward is not worth tears. He was groveling in the corner like a frightened child.”

The report only drew louder wails from the Third Virtuous Concubine.

The dragon placed her atop the ingot heap, then circled to the far side of the island. “I will fetch the proper oil. When I return, have your ingredients ready to cast another spell—the permanent one.”

Lady Feng raised her head. “Never! I let Yanseldara make slave of you!”

Cypress’s claw swept down so swiftly that Tang did not see it move. It simply appeared beside Lady Feng’s body, trembling with the dragon’s fury, and the prince did not even realize it had touched her until he saw the blood seeping through her shredded cheosong.

“We shall see, shall we?”

The dragon dove into the lake and vanished from sight. Both Tang and his mother remained motionless and did not speak for several minutes. When it became apparent that Cypress would not return, Lady Feng turned toward the prince’s hiding place.

“Are you there, Tang? I know you are fool, but honored ancestors claim you are no coward.”

Tang pushed his head out of his worm hole. “I am here. I see you kowtow to Cypress!”

Lady Feng shrugged. “I must convince him of grief. Besides, shame is removed after you destroy him.” She craned her neck to look at the staff lodged in the ceiling, thirty feet above her head. “Now, Courageous Prince, please to honor humble mother by climbing up to retrieve spirit gem.”

* * * **

Ruha urged her horse forward, once again nudging it between the mounts of Minister Hsieh and the Lady Constable. Vaerana had been on her best behavior since departing the Ginger Palace, but with the wooded hills of Elversult rising ahead and the planning session entering a crucial phase, the witch thought it wise to put herself between the two stubborn personalities.

“Very well. We hide Lady Yanseldara and ylang oil beneath city prison while we search for lair,” Hsieh said. “But who stays to guard them?”

“It’s the Maces’ barracks,” Vaerana answered simply.

“Humble Minister begs to disagree.” Hsieh’s tone was anything but humble. “Maces know nearby lands. Perhaps they search for lair while Shou guard oil.”

Vaerana leaned in front of Ruha, her face already turning the color of blood. “If you think I’m going to leave Elversult in the hands of a bunch of slanty—”

Ruha pushed the Lady Constable back toward her own horse. “The minister’s suggestion has merit, Vaerana. Perhaps it would be best to leave a mixed garrison at the barracks, and lend him some guides to help his men search for the lair.”

Vaerana clamped her mouth shut and took several deep breaths, then nodded curtly. “We can do that.”

Hsieh looked straight ahead. “As can we—for mutual benefit of all.”

Ruha’s sigh of relief was cut short by a chorus of alarmed cries. She turned in her saddle and looked down the long column to see riders of both races staring over their shoulders. They were tugging at armor buckles and tightening chin straps and generally readying themselves for battle. For a moment, the witch could not imagine what was troubling them, but then she saw it: a pair of distant black wings hanging low in the afternoon sky, steadily flapping and growing larger with every stroke.

“Most wretched dragon!”

“Elversult’s just over the hill,” Vaerana said. “We’ll skirt the edge and make a run for Moonstorm House!”

“We secure ylang oil first—then fetch Yanseldara!”

“This is my city. I know what’s—”

“You are both wrong.” Ruha kept her eyes fixed on Cypress, who had already covered so much distance she could make out the lines of his broken horns. “We cannot hope to outrun the dragon, so we must outwit him.”

Vaerana and Hsieh both studied the witch for a moment, then nodded their agreement. “What do you have in mind, Witch?”

“We should feign a stand in the forest. When the dragon attacks, we will split. Vaerana will take the Maces toward Moonstorm House. Minister Hsieh and the Shou will stay behind to act as a rear guard.”

Hsieh locked gazes with Vaerana, then nodded. He turned to Yu Po, who had two waterskins filled with ylang oil hanging from his saddle. Although the new blossoms had yielded more, the minister had assured them this was more than sufficient to save Yanseldara. The rest had been burned at the Ginger Palace.

Hsieh took the first skin off his adjutant’s saddle to pass it to Vaerana.

“That is not what I meant,” Ruha said. Cypress was so close now that she could see his legs and arms dangling beneath his body. “Vaerana is the bait. The dragon will follow her, and we will take the oil to the barracks.”

Hsieh shook his head. “That is not—”

“The witch is right, Minister. Cypress knows who the desperate ones are. He’ll follow us.” Vaerana turned to Pierstar. “Do it.”

“You hold one skin, Lady Ruha.” Hsieh passed an oil sack to the witch, then hung the other on his own saddle and nodded to Yu Po. “You hear plan. Prepare line at edge of wood.”

As the two adjutants passed the orders along, Vaerana led Ruha and Hsieh off the road. “Once you hit town, you can see Temple Hill from practically anywhere. Elversult Hall is straight across the market square from there, and the Jailgates—that’s the city prison—is a block north of the hall.” She looked at Hsieh. “And try not to kill any of my Maces when they challenge you. They don’t know what’s going on, and we don’t care much for foreign armies running through our city streets.”

“Not one man falls to Shou blade,” Hsieh promised.

Vaerana accepted the reassurance with a grim smile. “Then I’ll see you in the barracks, Helm willing.” She turned away and spurred her horse after Pierstar and the rest of the Maces, who were just disappearing into the wood. “May your steel bite deep!”

Hsieh’s Shou followed close behind the Maces, then stopped at the forest edge and dismounted. They quickly formed a long wall bristling with halberds and crossbows. Ruha and the minister slipped through the line and guided their mounts past the rein holders, taking up a sheltered position from which they could flee in any direction.

There was no time to grow nervous or contemplate the coming battle. The last few men were still settling in when a deep, steady throbbing began to pound the air. The dragon appeared an instant later, flying low and fast, then wheeled toward the hill. Ruha raised a hand toward the sun. Before she could utter an incantation, Hsieh pushed her arm down.

“They are soldiers. It is their duty to die.” He gestured at the skins hanging from their saddle horns. “We must not draw attention to ourselves. What we carry is too important.”

As Cypress neared the trees, he suddenly turned and swooped along the edge of the wood. “Give me the oil!” he roared. “The oil and your gold!”

“Kozah save us!” Ruha gasped. “He speaks!”

The clacking of a hundred crossbows reverberated through the wood, and a wall of iron darts rose to answer the dragon’s demands. Cypress roared and wheeled into the trees, and the battle did not begin so much as erupt. The forest shook with the crack of splintering treetops and steel blades glancing off bony scales and men screaming in fury and anguish. Ruha saw a huge, dark shape dancing across the broken oak trunks, his head swiveling this way and that as he bit attackers in two and searched for the precious ylang oil. Shou soldiers rushed him from all directions, flinging halberds and firing crossbows and hurling themselves against his flanks. Shattered scales and runnels of dark, smoking ichor began to fall from the dragon’s body, and for one moment, the witch thought Hsieh’s warriors might bring their foe down through sheer weight of numbers.

Somewhere up the hill, Pierstar Hallowhand cried, “Ride!”

The ground trembled with the distant thunder of pounding hooves. Cypress’s slender head rose out of the melee and turned toward the sound. He tried to raise his wings so he could pursue the fleeing horsemen, but even he lacked the strength to fling off the hundred Shou hacking at his flanks. He opened his mouth, and the leaves in the trees began to rustle.

Instinctively, Ruha’s hand dropped toward her pocket. “He’s going to breathe!”

Hsieh reached over and grasped the witch’s arm. “We must let him.”

The dragon swung his head in an arc around himself, spraying a boiling black vapor from his maw. The caustic fog billowed through the treetops and began to settle groundward, filling the wood with a tremendous sound of sizzling and popping. Out of the dark cloud fluttered a deluge of leaves and sticks, disintegrating as they fell. Then came a cascade of heavy branches that crashed down upon the heads of the Shou and turned the forest floor into an impassible tangle of smoking, acid-drenched wood.

Hsieh’s men cried out in fear and confusion, and their attack faltered. A low, bitter growl rumbled from Cypress’s throat. He beat the air with his tattered wings, then rose above the carnage and, dripping runnels of acid from his dull scales, flew after the Maces.

Some of the Shou dove beneath the jumbled tree limbs to seek shelter, while others clambered across the tangled branches in a desperate effort to escape the black shroud descending upon their heads. Hsieh glanced toward the hilltop to be certain that Cypress was gone, then released Ruha’s arm so she could help his men.

It was too late. The burning fumes had already reached the ground, and a hundred Shou warriors were raising their voices in a single wail of agony. Mercifully, the very darkness of the fog spared Ruha the sight of the dragon’s acid eating the flesh from their bones.