The Veiled Dragon

Sixteen

Deep in the Jailgates’ thick foundations, Ruha caught herself staring at Yanseldara’s cataleptic face. The Lady Lord lay in an infirmary bed, a honey-haired beauty with the slender face and sharply delicate features of a half-elf. Save for the amethyst circles beneath her eyes, her skin was as pale as pearl. Her cheeks were hollow from the lack of eating, her lips as gray as ash, her brow lined by the strain of a wicked and endless nightmare. She could easily lack the strength to carry a message to Lady Feng, even if Vaerana would agree to try Hsieh’s potion.

Ruha turned to the Lady Constable who, despite having been knocked through a mud-brick wall by Cypress’s tail, sat in a chair next to Yanseldara’s bed. A priest had already examined and straightened the swollen purple mass that had once been Vaerana’s knee, but Minister Hsieh had volunteered to sew up her many deep cuts. He was sitting beside her now, smiling contentedly each time he pushed the needle into a long gash along her jawline.

Ruha said, “Vaerana, I am sorry to interrupt while you are being attended to, but we have something to discuss.”

“Please to wait until I finish here,” said Hsieh. “Or scar will be most unflattering.”

The mandarin’s voice was hoarse and raspy, no doubt from breathing the dusky smoke that pervaded even the fortress’s underground chambers. Elversult was burning—a good part of it at least—and there was no escaping the acrid murk. The fumes hung over the city as heavy as a fog, creeping past shuttered windows and seeping under barred doors to fill every room in every building with a choking gray cloud.

Perhaps that was a blessing, given the battle stench upon which Ruha would surely have been gagging if her nose had not been so clogged by bitter soot. With wounded Maces sprawled on the floor as thick as rats or holding each other upright on wooden benches, the chamber looked less like an infirmary than a crowded tavern after a vicious and bloody brawl. Through the smoke haze, the witch saw bandaged stumps where there should have been limbs, melted flesh bubbling up between the links of scorched chainmail, and a hundred more wounds too terrible to look upon for long. Many of the warriors had suffered their injuries when they rode with Vaerana to lure Cypress away from Ruha and Hsieh, but many more had been hurt in cult ambushes. Even now, with Elversult’s loyal citizens struggling to fight the fires Cypress had set in his flaming panic, more than a dozen patrols of Maces continued to battle the marauding bands.

Given the mild severity of her own wound, Ruha would have felt guilty for the healer’s attention she had received the moment she walked in the door—save that her battle was far from over. Her sun spell had driven Cypress into one of the city’s many lakes, but it had not destroyed him. Until the dragon was finally, utterly annihilated, the witch knew better than to think either she or Yanseldara would ever be safe.

Minister Hsieh looped his needle through the last stitch on Vaerana’s jaw, then cut the suture. “You may speak now.” He stood and began to cut the hair away from a long slash in her scalp. “But I advise you not to move head.”

Vaerana scowled at the cascade of blood-matted tresses tumbling past her shoulder. “Are you going to cut it all off?” she growled. Then, to Ruha, “Well?”

Ruha glanced toward Yanseldara’s slumbering form, then reached into her aba and removed the potion Hsieh had given her earlier. “If we are to finish this battle, we must contact Lady Feng.”

Vaerana shook her head, then hissed sharply as Hsieh’s needle dragged across her wound. “You can see for yourself she’s in no condition to be carrying messages.” She gestured at the bed beside her. “Besides, we’ve got Cypress well in hand, thanks to you—though I wish you hadn’t helped him burn down a quarter of Elversult.”

“One does not destroy great evil without great sacrifice,” Hsieh remarked.

“We have not destroyed anything,” Ruha corrected. “Surrounding Cypress while he hides in Hillshadow Lake is not having him ‘in hand.’ It is offering up Pierstar Hallowhand and his men to appease the dragon’s rage.”

Vaerana frowned at the witch. “Didn’t you listen to the last report, Witch? Cypress lost his wings, along with his hands—and underneath that baby sun you made, who knows what’s happening to his head? Pierstar has ballistae and wizards waiting on every shore. As soon as the dragon shows himself above water, they’ll blast him to pieces.” She glowered at the witch, then added, “And they won’t burn down the city.”

“It would not matter if they did,” Ruha replied. “You gain nothing if Pierstar destroys the dragon’s body. Cypress will simply take another; then we will not know where he is until he returns as he did before. To truly defeat our enemy, we must allow Minister Hsieh to contact Lady Feng and ask her to smash the dracolich’s spirit gem.”

Vaerana set her jaw. “Yanseldara’s too weak. I’m not going to risk her life. And even if we only destroy Cypress’s body, at least we’re buying time to find his lair.”

“But what of Lady Feng? Perhaps she has no time.” Hsieh stopped sewing and glanced at the bed next to them. “Perhaps Lady Yanseldara has even less. If Lady Feng uses oil from evening-picked blossoms, love potion does not last long. When it wears off, her spirit must do battle with the dragon’s.”

Vaerana craned her neck to look up at Minister Hsieh, then swore as the movement jerked the needle from his hands. “Don’t you give me any Shou double-talk! You’re only trying to worry me.”

“Vaerana, what he says sounds very true. Why are you being so stubborn?”

No sooner had the witch asked the question than she realized the answer. The Lady Constable felt responsible for Yanseldara’s condition—she had told Ruha as much shortly after their first meeting. On some level, at least, Vaerana wanted to redeem herself by becoming the Lady Lord’s rescuer.

Vaerana glowered at both Hsieh and Ruha for a moment, then folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not being stubborn.” She leaned back to let Hsieh finish stitching her scalp shut. “I’m being careful.”

“Yes, it is good to be careful.” Ruha nodded thoughtfully, then stepped over to Yanseldara’s bed. “She does look very weak, does she not, Minister?”

“It does not matter. Danger is from choking on potion. Even weak bond can carry message between body and spirit.”

“But Yanseldara needs extra strength to battle Cypress, does she not?” Ruha allowed her eyes to pivot toward Vaerana, then raised the potion in her hand. “Or did I misunderstand you when you gave me this?”

If Hsieh perceived Ruha’s intentions, his face showed no sign of it. He frowned slightly, then said, “I think you do misunderstand, Lady Ruha. I say not to worry about Cypress, because we give Lady Yanseldara strength.”

Ruha breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Yes, that is right. I had forgotten.”

“What are you two talking about?” Though Hsieh had stopped sewing, Vaerana remained surprisingly still. “Is there some way to make this safe?”

“More safe,” Hsieh said. “But small risk always remains.”

Ruha saw the interest fading from Vaerana’s eyes.

“The greatest risk, of course, would be to you,” Ruha added quickly. “If Cypress caught on—”

“I don’t care about the risk to me!” Vaerana twisted around to look at Hsieh, who deftly released the needle to keep from tearing her wound. “What will it mean to Yanseldara?”

“She draws strength from your spirit,” Hsieh said, expounding on Ruha’s fabrication. “Much better for her.”

“If there is trouble, you are certain to perish,” Ruha added, trying to make the ruse look as dangerous as possible. “Will you take the chance?”

Vaerana did not even hesitate. “Of course!”

Ruha handed the message potion to Hsieh. “If you will see to matters here, I must leave immediately.”

“Leave?” Vaerana asked. “Where are you going?”

“To Hillshadow Lake, of course,” Ruha answered. “When Lady Feng smashes Cypress’s spirit gem, I suspect Pierstar will have need of my magic.”

Hsieh produced the last of the lasal from his pocket. “Perhaps you need these.” He gave Ruha several of the slender leaves, but saved three for Vaerana. “Now, Lady Constable, please to chew and prepare yourself.”

* * * **

The water tickled Tang’s toes, and he knew it was rising.

The prince lay beside his resting mother, his bare feet dangling over the edge of a sloping limestone ledge. The ceiling hung so low above his back that he could not rise to his knees, and the wall ahead stood so close to his face that each stale breath curled back into his eyes. Yanseldara’s staff lay at his side, and the ghostly head of General Fui hovered an arm’s length away. The only sound that broke the cramped silence was the erratic gasping of the Third Virtuous Concubine.

After pumping the fluid from Lady Feng’s lungs, Tang had collapsed beside her and listened to the drops trickling off his feet into the dark pool from which they had come. The steady splashing had ceased not long ago, and now he felt a cool tide creeping up his toes. The water was definitely rising, no doubt because Cypress had blocked the cavern’s only outflow.

Tang rolled onto his back, then picked up Yanseldara’s staff and held the glowing pommel over the pool. An alligator could hardly have squeezed between the surface of the black waters and ceiling. While lying on his back, it was difficult for the prince to see into all the shadowy corners of the cramped vault, but he discerned no hint of an exit above water.

As though to confirm what Tang already feared, General Fui drifted to the middle of the dark pool, then settled beneath the water and stopped to wait.

Lady Feng stirred and rolled onto her back. “What is happening, Brave Prince?”

“The water rises. We must go.”

Lady Feng grimaced and shook her head. “We lose our way.”

Tang lowered Yanseldara’s staff toward the ghostly head waiting in the dark pool. “General Fui guides—”

“Lady Feng?” The staff’s glowing spirit gem dimmed slightly as a dulcet voice filled the cramped vault. “Do you hear me?”

The words were Shou, but Tang, who had met Elversult’s Lady Lord on several ceremonial occasions, recognized the voice as Yanseldara’s. “Who is this?” he demanded. “You are not Lady Lord!”

“Nor are you, but I hear you in Lady Yanseldara’s voice. Are you Third Virtuous Concubine?”

Tang looked to his mother, who appeared only slightly less puzzled than he. She shook her head to indicate she did not wish to speak, then motioned for him to continue.

“This is Prince Kao Chou Tang.”

“I am most pleased to hear your voice, Young Prince,” came the reply. “When I give you leave to fetch Third Virtuous Concubine, I do not expect you to be gone so long.”

“Minister Hsieh!” Only the cramped quarters kept Tang from kowtowing to the spirit gem. “Please to—”

“We discuss your disobedience soon enough,” the mandarin replied. “I presume you find Yanseldara’s staff, or we could not speak. Do you also find Sagacious Mother?”

Before Tang answered, a terrible thought occurred to him. “Esteemed Minister, Cypress shares gem with Yanseldara. Perhaps he hears us!”

There was a short silence; then Hsieh said, “It does not matter. Witch has almost destroyed him.”

This drew a smile from Lady Feng, who said, “I am here.”

“Good. I bear greetings and message from Most High Emperor, but first—”

A sudden burst of darkness flared inside the spirit gem. “Tang! You are alive!” rumbled Cypress’s deep voice. “Well, no matter. I am not so hurt as those fools imagine.”

Tang was so startled that he let the staff slip from his hands, then barely caught it before it rolled down the sloping shelf into the dark water. Once again, the great topaz in the pommel glowed with the steady, brilliant scarlet light that it had assumed when the two spirits inside it united—though the prince fancied that he could now see glimmers of silver and black whirling deep within the gem.

“Minister Hsieh?”

Tang’s only answer was a faint purl as the dark waters seeped onto the ledge where he and his mother lay.

* * * **

Cypress lay at the bottom of Hillshadow Lake. Save for the golden ball still burning at the end of his sinuous neck, he was a huge black shape barely visible through the curtains of steam rising off the green waters. He hardly moved, and he made no sound; if not for his black tail occasionally rising to the surface, Ruha would not have known whether he still abided in his dark body.

“How long will your fire keep burning, Lady Runa?” Pierstar gestured vaguely toward the halo of yellow, boiling waters in the center of the lake. “We’ve been waiting for it to die out since he went under!”

“The spell draws its fire from the sun.” The witch could hardly bear to take her eyes off Cypress. It would not be long before Lady Feng smashed his spirit gem, and then Ruha would truly earn the right to be called a Harper. “The magic will fade when the sun sets—or when I cancel the spell.”

“Then you may call it off when you wish,” Pierstar said. “We are ready to fight when you are.”

Along with a small company of officers and runners, Ruha and the commander were standing behind the parapets of Baldagar Manor. The villa was the lowest of four keeplike mansions grouped together on the western shore of Hillshadow Lake. It offered the best view of the dragon, and it was also well placed to serve as a command post.

The lake itself lay at the foot of Temple Hill, with beachfront streets encircling one end and magnificent villas the other. Fully fifteen hundred Maces stood along the shores, either arrayed along the cobblestone roads or crowded together atop the roofs of the great mansions. In lieu of their customary maces and horse lances, the men were armed with harpoon-firing ballistae or net-flinging catapults. Should they be fortunate enough to actually bring Cypress down, groups of horse-mounted battle wizards waited in strategic locations to reinforce them.

Ruha nodded. “Your preparations are beyond reproach, Pierstar, but—how can I put this without seeming rude?”

“Rude?” the commander snorted. “Why would you worry about being rude when you’ve met Vaerana Hawklyn?”

Ruha smiled. “Then I will speak bluntly. While it is clear that even the dragon cannot slay all of the men gathered here, I fear you may not stop him from escaping. Cypress is no fool. When he leaves the lake, he will not do the predictable thing.”

“Of course not. But how can we predict the unpredictable?” Pierstar asked. “We are not gods.”

“No, but we can control some things,” Ruha replied. “By using those to our advantage, we can guide our foe’s actions.”

Pierstar raised a bushy eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”

The witch described her plan, and by the time she finished, Pierstar looked both hopeful and concerned.

“You’re taking a big risk on Elversult’s behalf, Lady Witch,” he said. “Are you sure you want to?”

Ruha nodded. “I am sure. After Lady Feng smashes Cypress’s spirit gem, we will have only one chance to destroy him—and the best way to be certain we do is to use his rage against him.”

“Then Elversult thanks you, and so do I.” Pierstar laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll give the orders.”

Before the commander could leave, a breathless messenger stormed out of the stairwell. He raised a hand in salute to Pierstar, then rushed over to Ruha. “Minister Hsieh sends word that he has spoken to Lady Feng—and her son, Prince Tang.”

“And?” Pierstar asked.

“He reports that they have Yanseldara’s staff, but Cypress interfered before he could tell them to crush the gem.”

Ruha’s stomach turned queasy and cold, and she grew acutely aware of the dull ache of the wound she had suffered earlier. She did not realize she was swaying, however, until Pierstar reached out to brace her.

“Lady Witch?”

“We’re only fighting for time.” Ruha’s voice was so low that even she could barely hear it. “Unless the gem is smashed, we cannot win.”

“The Shou are a smart people.” Pierstar’s confidence sounded forced. “They will understand what their mandarin wanted.”

Ruha took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes, that is what we must hope. We have no other choice.” Gently, she freed herself from Pierstar’s supporting hand. “Perhaps you should issue your orders. There is no telling what Cypress will do now.”

The commander nodded and went to speak with his officers.

When the messenger did not leave, Ruha asked, “Is there more?”

“The minister is reluctant to mix the ylang potion,” the messenger reported. “He said the spirit battle between Cypress and Yanseldara has begun. Unless Prince Tang destroys the gem, it will only distract the Lady Lord and make her weaker.”

Ruha thought for a moment, remembering the fury in Tang’s eyes when he vowed to prove himself a man and stormed out of the spicehouse. She had expected his words to come to nothing, of course, but if he had actually reached Lady Feng, perhaps his promise had not been an empty one.

“Tell Hsieh to give her the potion.”

“Then you think the prince will smash the gem?” The messenger’s voice was hopeful.

Ruha spread her hands. “Not the prince I know—but the prince I know would not have had the courage to go into a dragon’s lair after his mother. We can only hope this new prince is someone more worthy of the title.”

“I’ll tell the minister what you said. Is there anything else?”

Ruha shook her head, and the messenger departed. Pierstar returned a short time later.

“Our wizards are on the way,” the commander reported. “I’ve also taken the liberty of taking a few other preparations.”

Pierstar gestured at the mansions flanking Baldagar Manor, where several ballista crews were sighting their weapons through the open shutters of the highest windows. On the roofs of the two buildings, the catapult crews were also moving their war engines into the corners closest to the command post. Although the men kept the weapons directed toward the lake, they were careful to leave room to swing around at the last moment.

“You have thought of everything, Pierstar,” Ruha commented. “And now, there is no reason for you and your men—”

“We’re staying.” Pierstar picked up a long, steel-shanked pike and stepped to the parapets. “If you look like bait, this plan won’t work.”

* * * **

Tang filled the waterskin with air, then pushed the stopper into place and looked over at his mother. She had sealed her nostrils with wax and was breathing shallow and fast in preparation for their dive. The water was creeping up the ledge; already, the prince could feel its coolness lapping at his hips. He pulled his dagger and slipped the tip between the spirit gem and its mounting.

“Tang, what do you do?” gasped Lady Feng.

“Minister Hsieh says Lady Ruha almost destroys Cypress.” The prince began to work his dagger back and forth. “He contacts us to smash spirit gem.”

Lady Feng laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Wait until we escape cave.”

“Perhaps we do not escape cave.” Tang continued to pry at the glowing topaz. “Perhaps we drown first.”

“Stop! I command you!”

Tang obeyed, surprised by his mother’s frightened tone. “What is wrong, Lady Feng? You always say life and death are same!”

“They are, but it is great insult for humble scholar to usurp authority of Great Judge by throwing life away.” She did not take her hand from his arm. “And if you destroy gem, how do we find way out?”

The prince waved the butt of the staff toward the dark pool, where the glowing figure of General Fui’s head waited to guide them to safety. “General Fui leads us.”

“General Fui is no longer bound to you by duty, Brave Prince. I call him earlier because I sense change in you that, perhaps, earns his respect. But it is difficult for him to be with us. Even most faithful of servants cannot stay long, and in past you have done little to win his loyalty.”

Tang let his head drop onto the hard stones and stared at the gray ceiling hanging like a tomb’s lid above his face. He heard again the wet crack as the general was beheaded by his own son. That Fui had answered Lady Feng’s summons at all was a wonder, and that he continued to wait in the dark pool was an even greater marvel.

“Fui D’hang was most loyal soldier. Not to follow him now is great insult.” Tang raised his head, then gave his mother a crooked smile. “Besides, we must smash spirit gem. If we die in cavern, it is only way to protect treasure from Cypress.”

Lady Feng’s pop eye looked as though it might fall from its socket; then she released her son’s arm. “I get rock.”

The prince twisted his dagger, then caught the glowing topaz as it popped free of its mounting. He placed it on the ledge beside him and took the large rock his mother thrust into his palm. Tang lifted the heavy stone to the ceiling, a breath’s length above his face, and positioned it over the gem.

“Wicked dragon, when you present yourself before the Ten Courts of Yen-Wang-Yeh, know that Prince Tang sends you there—and may the Great Judge sentence you to an eternity in all Eighteen Hells!”

Tang brought his hand down. He felt the topaz shatter beneath the stone, then heard his mother cry out as a powerful concussion hurled them both against the chamber walls. There was an ear-splitting wail and a deafening roar; then two flashing lights whirled through the room, one as silver as the moon and the other as black as obsidian. The prince’s head felt as though it would split, and he found himself struggling for breath against a tremendous weight. He closed his eyes and beseeched his ancestors to make ready for him in the Celestial Bureaucracy.

The prayer went unanswered. Almost as soon as they had begun, the wailing and the roaring died. The flashing lights vanished, and the terrible weight was lifted from Tang’s chest. He found himself lying on his back, gasping for breath and staring at the low ceiling, still lit by the crimson glow of General Fui’s spirit.

“Tang?”

The prince turned his head and saw his mother lying beside him. She looked even paler and older than usual. “Yes, Lady Feng?”

“Now may we go?”

* * * **

Together, Ruha and Pierstar looked out over Hillshadow Lake’s steaming waters, waiting for the dark figure at the bottom to rise and attack. The war wizards had begun to arrive and take their positions, both on Baldagar Manor and the adjacent mansions. The witch was rubbing a round, fist-sized stone between her palms, wondering if she had misjudged Tang and desperately hoping she had not. She could lure Cypress from the water at any time, but the ensuing battle would mean nothing if the prince had not smashed the spirit gem.

The stone grew warm in Ruha’s hands. She continued to rub her hands over it, more to calm her nerves than to increase the effectiveness of her magic. She would have time to hurl only one spell at Cypress, but she did not want it to be so powerful it drove him away. Her job was to draw the dragon onto the roof of Baldagar Manor. Pierstar and his Maces would do the rest.

The ballista crews hiding in the adjacent buildings closed their window shutters. The last of the war wizards arrived and took their places, and still the dragon did not move. Ruha’s heart sank, and she reluctantly turned to face Pierstar.

“I fear Prince Tang has not changed. Perhaps I …”

A dreadful sputter broke over the parapets, and Ruha let her sentence trail off. She looked toward the lake and saw huge geysers of steam rising from its heart. Just beneath the roiling green surface, the amber globe of her sun spell was rapidly growing larger, with the murky figure of Cypress’s body rising beneath it like a swelling black cloud.

“Prepare yourselves!” yelled Pierstar.

An anxious clatter rattled across the roof as the Maces and their war wizards steeled themselves for battle.

Cypress erupted from the lake with the roar of a volcano, flinging a spray of boiling water and hissing steam in all directions. Though the golden fire had burned the scaly hide completely off his wings, that did not prevent them from lifting him into the air as the charred bones curled and undulated like so many clattering fingers. It was impossible to see through the blazing globe at the end of his neck, but the rest of his body, aside from a broad scattering of melted scales and the scorched stumps at the ends of his arms, looked remarkably intact.

Ruha set her stone on the parapet, then tucked two of Hsieh’s lasal leaves into the sleeve of her aba, where she would be able to reach them quickly.

A chain of cracks and loud bangs echoed over the water, the arms of the war engines slamming against their stops. Most of the missiles and nets splashed harmlessly into the water, but three harpoons lodged deep in Cypress’s flanks, and one net tangled in the spindly bones of his wings. The men who had hit quickly looped their lines around stakes driven deep into the ground, while those who had missed rewound their skeins.

Cypress roared. He whipped his fire-shrouded head around his body, and the instant the golden flames touched the harpoon lines and the net, they flashed and dissolved. The dragon’s wings siffled through the air, and he began to rise again.

“Shut your eyes, Maces!” Pierstar ordered. “Now, Ruha!”

The witch uttered her counterspell. At the end of Cypress’s neck, the fiery globe burst apart with a white flash so brilliant she saw it even through her eyelids. Summoning her stone spell to mind, she grabbed her rock and looked toward the dragon.

Cypress hung over the lake almost motionless, the tips of his skeletal wings fluttering as though that tiny motion were enough to hold his hulking mass aloft. At the end of his neck hung a smoking lump of melted bone that vaguely resembled a head. Glowing masses of cinder filled his empty eye sockets, and his long snout had fused into a stubby, tangled mass of fangs and jaw. Only his ebony horns had emerged from the conflagration unscathed, and even they made the air shimmer with heat.

Ruha hissed her spell and hurled the stone. The rock disappeared with a thunderous crack. It reappeared in the same instant, shattering Cypress’s temple. The dragon’s wing tips stopped waving. His gruesome chin dropped as he watched the splinters of scorched bone flutter into the water below. He brought his head up and looked toward Baldagar Manor.

You!

Ruha barely managed to stuff the lasal leaves into her mouth before a fiery yellow sun burst inside her head. She heard Pierstar and his men cry out in astonishment, then felt herself sailing backward across the roof.

Chew the leaves, she told herself.

Even as the words reverberated through her skull, she slammed down and went tumbling across the roof. If the fall caused her any injury, the witch did not know it; she could feel only the anguish inside her mind, a fiery agony such as she had never felt. Swimming in boiling tar would have hurt less, or falling naked upon At’ar’s blazing face. She glimpsed Cypress’s murky figure swooping down toward Baldagar Manor; then she rolled one more time and came to rest on her face.

A lasal haze filled Ruha’s head, but the dragon’s fury was so great that the fog merely diffused the fire and did not drive it from her mind. The golden blaze became a choking yellow mist, not nearly as hot, but as thick as syrup. She heard screaming and realized it was her own voice.

That is but a portion of my pain. The building shook beneath Cypress’s weight, and the voices of screaming Maces joined with that of the witch. Soon, you shall bear it all.

“Not all.” Ruha found the strength to raise her head and saw the dragon standing in the middle of the roof, a cloud of dark acid billowing around his mangled snout. “You cannot make Yanseldara love you, and that pain I will never bear!”

Then I will make you bear another kind of agony.

Cypress’s tail thrashed in anger, smashing through the parapets and sweeping half a dozen men over the side. He stooped over, reaching out as though he had forgotten he had only stubs where once he had claws; then a window shutter slammed open.

Ruha’s world detonated: the sky went silver with lightning, meteor showers and ice storms chased each other down from the heavens, tongues of flame crackled through the air, crimson bolts and sapphire rays raced from every direction. The dragon’s stump disintegrated before her eyes; a deep, rumbling growl reverberated through her bones, and the roof of Baldagar Manor began to come apart. She leapt up to run for the parapets and felt the floor vanishing beneath her feet.

The witch landed amidst a shower of snapped planks and beams, her body erupting into pain despite the cushioning of the soft furniture favored by Elversult merchants. She lay a long time without moving, half-expecting Cypress’s scorched skull to appear above her at any moment. Instead, the yellow glow and fiery pain faded from her mind and, much to her surprise, so did the lasal haze—no doubt burned off by the ferocity of the dragon’s attack. At length, the terrible aching in her body also faded, and she began to realize that, other than the dull throbbing of a few new bruises, she had survived the fall uninjured.

Ruha clambered out of the debris and found herself standing amidst the ruins of the mansion’s top story, where the family’s servants and young children had once kept their chambers. She picked her way toward the front of the building, too dazed to think about what she was doing, and discovered that this floor of Baldagar Manor now held nothing but the shattered remnants of the inhabitants’ belongings, two dozen groaning Maces, and the smoking, mangled corpse of a ten-foot river monitor.

As the witch’s ears stopped ringing, she grew aware of a loud, chugging roar coming from the direction of the water. She rushed forward, then climbed over a collapsed wall onto what had once been a private balcony overlooking Hillshadow Lake. In the center of the lake, a murky green waterspout was stretching skyward, as though trying to grasp a small whirlwind with flashing ribbons of silver and black luminescence.

Ruha heard someone clattering over the collapsed wall behind her. She turned to see Pierstar Hallowhand’s battered form limping toward her, his eyes fixed on the waterspout in the center of the lake.

“What’s that?” he croaked.

“That?” The witch whispered an incantation and raised her hand, then started to spin her finger in the direction opposite the whirlwind. The vortex began to lose speed, and the two ribbons came apart. The silver light circled the shoreline once, then streaked away toward the Jailgates and vanished from sight. The black one was caught by the waterspout and dragged into Hillshadow Lake, where it darkened the water only briefly before sinking into the muddy bottom. “That was nothing—a fool for love, I fear.”