"The Veiled Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Denning Troy)

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Inside the cargo box, the thick stench of ylang blos- soms did more to muffle the unexpected shriek than the canvas tarp-or so it seemed to Ruha. The first screech was instantly followed by more cries from all corners of the cavernous spicehouse, and then came a brief stam- pede of drumming boots. Wisps of another smell, rancid and even more cloying than ylang oil, drifted through the gaps between the wagon's sideboards. After that, the cav- ernous spicehouse fell silent, leaving the witch to wonder if, after untold hours of stillness, she dared uncurl herself

and peek outside.

Ruha decided to wait; ten heartbeats, twenty, thirty.

She had thought it would be a simple thing to stow away until the wagon was inside the palace, then slip out from beneath the tarp when it was parked to await unloading.

But the Shou had driven the witch's wagon and several others into the shady coolness of the spicehouse and left them there, then began to unpack the vehicles parked outside in the hot sun. Until now, the patter of feet pass- ing by her hiding place had been so steady that she had

hardly dared to breathe, much less poke her head out from beneath the tarp.

Ruha's count reached a hundred. She slowly uncurled herself, taking a moment to stretch her stiff muscles in case she suddenly had to run or fight, then half-swam through the dried blossoms to the back corner of the wagon. In the inky darkness beneath the tarp, her sun spell had grown weak and expired some time ago, leaving her as visible as any workman. She used the tip of her jambiya to lift the tarp, then raised her head high enough to peer over the tail boards.

A gasp of surprise rose into her throat and escaped, half-strangled, from her mouth. Less than five paces away sat a small black dragon. Save that it was no larger than a cargo wagon, the creature was identical to

Cypress, with the same dull scales, splintered horns, and sinister voids where his eyes should have been. The foul odor she had smelled earlier seemed to be coming from the carcass, and now the witch thought she could identify the stench: rotten fish.

Ruha dropped back into the wagon and tried not to choke on her own heart, which had somehow climbed high into her throat. When the creature did not immedi- ately come tearing through the tarp, the witch dared to hope it had not seen her and frantically tried to think of some reason that did not involve her that it might be waiting outside her wagon. She failed, rather quickly, and started to consider what she might do about the situ- ation.

Come out, my dear. Though the voice reverberated through Ruha's head without passing through her ears, it sounded as raspy and chilling as the first time she had heard it. You have no idea how I have been looking for- ward to our second meeting.

Ruha knew then that someone had betrayed her, but who: Vaerana or Fowler? The thought was ludicrous.

They both had more reason than she to hate Cypress, yet who else could have known where she was hiding? Any-

The VeUed Dragon

one they would have trusted with the secret. In Vaer- ana's case, at least, that circle was no doubt larger than

the witch would have liked.

Come out and give me that silver I smell in your pocket.

If you show that much courage, perhaps I will have mercy.

A prickling chill ran down Ruha's back, and a terrify- ing possibility occurred to her. I have seen your mercy, she thought. And you have seen my magic. Go away, or it will

be you who begs quarter.

The witch waited a moment for Cypress's response.

When none came, she breathed a little easier. If the dragon had been able to read her thoughts, her chances of surviving the coming battle would have fallen to nothing.

Ruha sheathed her dagger, then burrowed into the ylang blossoms. She crawled toward the front of the cargo box, taking care not to jiggle the wagon. As she moved, she summoned the incantation of a fire spell to mind. She doubted that she could trick Cypress into swallowing a chestful of oil vapor again, but neither would it take such a huge explosion to destroy his new body. A smaller blast, properly placed, would prove suffi- cient to annihilate him.

The witch was only halfway to her goal when some- thing jolted the wagon. She heard the zip-zip of oilcloth being ripped; then a flickering yellow light of the spice- house's oil lamps filtered down through the ylang blos- soms. Already uttering her incantation, Ruha lifted herself out of the blossoms and, expecting to feel the dragon's claws driving deep into her flesh at any moment, thrust her hand over the sideboard.

The flames shot off the wicks of half a dozen different lamps and streaked into the palm other hand, gathering themselves into a hissing, sputtering ball of fire. She whirled around, ready to slap the scorching sphere into

Cypress's empty eye socket or beneath his arm, or any- where that would channel the explosion into her

attacker's vital areas.

The dragon was not there. He stood three paces away

from the wagon, the dark voids beneath his brow fixed on the fire in Ruha's palm. From his talons hung the remains of the shredded tarp, and she could see the tip of his tail flicking back and forth behind his head. He made no move to attack.

There's no need to burn down poor Tang's spicehouse, the dragon said. Step out of the wagon. Give me that sil.

uer I smell and answer a single question. I promise, your death shall be mercifully quick.

Ruha felt as though the fire in her hand was cooking her bone marrow as far down as her elbow, but she made no move to throw the fireball. Without being properly placed, the blast would do no more than melt a few of the dragon's scales. Besides, as much as the searing heat grieved her, the sphere could cause her no real damage until after it left her hand.

"I have known enough pain in my life not to be fright- ened of it," Ruha said. "If I am to die, I do not particularly care whether it is quickly or slowly."

As the witch spoke, she stepped over to Cypress's side of the wagon. To her surprise, the dragon moved neither away from the fireball nor forward to attack. Ruha might have been able to reach the dragon with a good leap, but he would have time to turn away and, in all likelihood, impale her on his long talons. If her plan was to succeed, she had to draw him closer.

"You may ask your question. Perhaps I will answer, or perhaps I will not."

You will answer. Cypress promised. And you will step out of the wagon.

"Why is it so important that I leave the wagon? I can answer your question from here."

In the black depths of the dragon's empty eye sockets appeared two dirty yellow sparks. When we met the first time, was it happenstance? As Cypress asked his ques- tion, the sparks lengthened into gleaming lines, then began to flicker at the ends and thicken into stripes. Or did someone tell you I would be there?

"Who would have told me that?" Ruha wanted nothing more than to hurl her fireball at the dragon and run for her life, but she forced herself to stand fast. If Cypress bad not attacked by now, then it had to be because he was afraid of destroying what was in the wagon. The witch tipped her hand so that the fireball was precari- ously close to slipping from her palm, then added, "And stop what you are-"

You will not drop the fireball!

The yellow stripes shot from Cypress's vacant eyes and joined together, becoming a long-fanged bat of amber light. Ruha brought her hand around, placing the fireball between herself and her attacker.

Stupid Harper! Flames will not save you!

The bat emerged from the fireball, its wings blazing and its eyes glowing with rabid fury. Ruha reached for herjambiya, and the beast was upon her. Instead of rak- ing her eyes with its tiny claws or sinking its fangs into her throat, it appeared inside her mind, a flaming crea- ture of the night, flitting across the starry sky high over her memories ofAnauroch's purple-shadowed sand dunes.

Ruha cried out, but she could not bring herself to flee the dragon, or even to turn away. Cypress was already inside her mind, and trying break contact with him was as futile as trying to escape an unpleasant memory by closing one's eyes. The dragon sat motionless on the floor, his gaze pinning the witch in place as surely as if he had been standing on her chest.

Her only chance of escaping, Ruha realized, lay in dis- tracting Cypress. No sooner did she have this thought than a small brake of saltbush sprouted from the sands other mind. The words of a wind spell rose from the brush like a swarm of sand finches. Cypress's fiery bat streaked down to dive through the heart of the flock, scattering the syllables of the incantation before they could shape themselves. Ruha's arm remained motion- less, the fireball still burning in her hand.

Cypress's bat settled on the surface of Ruha's mind and began to beat its burning wings. Clouds of hissing yellow fume curled from the tips of the fiery appendages and rolled across the dune-sculpted terrain. Wherever the haze touched, the sands themselves melted into rivers and pools of bubbling brown acid. The witch started to feel hot and limp, as though a fever had taken hold of her body, and her limbs trembled with weakness.

For a moment, she feared she had guessed wrong about the dragon's fear of destroying the ylang blossoms, that he merely wanted her to drop the fireball at her own feet.

The bubbling brown pools inside Ruha's head joined and became a lake. The bat dove into the acid, sinking its fangs deep into the throat of some naked thought that was writhing just below the surface other mind. The witch saw Cypress's lips curl into something that re- sembled a smile; then she felt her foot sliding across the floor of the wagon. She tried to stop, but no sooner had the thought taken shape than it dissolved into nothing- ness in the bubbling acid. The dragon had won control of her mind, and now she had to fight him not only for her life, but for the possession other own thoughts.

It occurred to Ruha that this was a battle not of strength or speed, but of imagination, and a rocky island of hope instantly sprang up inside her mind.

Waves of acid began to lap at its shores, filling the air with hissing white smoke and reducing the isle to little more than a sandbar. The witch pictured the sand chang- ing to granite. She felt a strange tingling deep within her stomach, then experienced a momentary burning all over her body, as though she had exerted every muscle at once. The little island hardened into dense stone and stopped dissolving, but Ruha felt her foot slide a little closer to the rear of the wagon.

A deep-throated growl rumbled from Cypress's throat;

then the yellow acid inside Ruha's mind began to churn and froth like a storm-tossed sea. Mountainous waves rose and crashed over the witch's small isle, threatening

to submerge it entirely. She envisioned the island erupt- ing like a volcano, pushing its way higher above the sur- face and spreading immense blankets of molten stone across the lake. Again, she experienced a strange tingling deep within her abdomen, followed by a momentary burning over her entire body. She felt physically drained, as though she had been running for a long time in the scorching sun.

You only anger me. Cypress's voice broke like thunder inside Ruha's mind, and she felt her foot touch the wagon's tailgate. Are untrained mind cannot prevail.

The stars vanished from the purple sky over the witch's growing island of hope. Spears of lightning stabbed at the summit of the erupting volcano, and a few hissing drops of acid began to fall on its slopes.

Then, before Cypress could unleash the full fury of his storm, a pair of familiar forms came rushing across the spicehouse floor.

"Cypress!" gasped Wei Dao. "What do you want here?"

Prince Tang drew his sword and pointed it at the dragon. "You go!" Then he looked toward the door.

"Guards!"

Cypress glanced away from Ruha long enough to flick his tail at the approaching prince and send him crashing through the flimsy door of a spice bin. That instant was long enough for the witch. She envisioned her volcano bursting apart, flinging lava and ash in all directions. A

tremendous wave of fatigue rolled over her body; then her island erupted as she had envisioned, pouring forth molten stone in such prodigious quantities that the acid lake completely vanished beneath its fiery blanket.

Ruha felt control of her limbs return. Gasping for breath and trembling with fatigue, she slipped back to the center of the wagon. Her mind was not entirely free of its attacker, however. The dragon locked gazes with her again, and once more his bat figure appeared inside her mind, rising from beneath the sea of flaming rock like a phoenix reborn. An angry rumble rolled from

Cypress's throat; then the flaming bat transformed itself into an immense, black-haired Cyclops. The brute floated down to the ground, then waded through the lava toward the witch's volcano. He stood as tall as the summit, and his knobby hands looked powerful enough to crush stone.

Ruha pictured the ground beneath his feet turning to quicksand, but this time she experienced no strange tinglings in the pit other stomach. She felt only a dull, nauseating ache, then a searing wave of pain as the last of her energy drained from her muscles. The witch col- lapsed to her knees, so exhausted and enervated that she could not find the strength to rise. The cyclops stopped beside her volcano, then reached out and tore away a huge chunk of glowing stone.

As I annihilate this mountain, so I annihilate your mind! the cyclops cackled. When I finish, your head will be naught but a smoking hole, as empty and useless as a spent sulfur pit!

Ruha tried again to change the scene inside her head, but succeeded only in exhausting herself to the point that she almost dropped the fireball. The wagon rocked as someone climbed in behind her, but the witch could not rip her gaze away from Cypress's empty eye sockets to see who it was. She thought about trying to drop the fire- ball before the dragon seized control of her body again.

The resulting conflagration would kill her as well as the newcomer, but she felt fairly certain that destroying the ylang blossoms would also delay the theft ofYanseldara's spirit.

Prince Tang kneeled beside Ruha, holding several slender yellow leaves in his hand. His eyes appeared glassy and vacant, and he seemed to be chewing some- thing. Cypress glanced away from Ruha and glared at

Tang. Inside the witch's mind, the cyclops stopped tear- ing apart her volcano. She was too exhausted to take advantage of her foe's distraction, but she found herself free to look away from his gaze. A small company of Shou guards had appeared at the door and were cautiously

advancing into the shadowy spicehouse, squinting at the dragon as though they could not quite believe their sun- dazzled eyes.

Whatever the dragon said to Tang, Ruha could not hear it, but the prince's response was short and angry:

"No. If you want oil, you leave now-or I burn wagon myself." Tang raised one of the slender leaves to Ruha's lips, then instructed, "Chew leaf, wu-jen."

Ruha clenched her teeth and considered thrusting her

fireball into Tang's face.

"Trust me. This no love potion. It is lasal. Leaf protects

against Invisible Art."

Ruha allowed the prince to slip the leaf into her mouth and began to chew. The wail of a distant wind arose inside her mind, and the cyclops slowly turned toward the sound. Cypress glanced at Wei Dao, who immediately stepped to the wagon side and spoke to her husband in

Shou. The prince responded sharply and pointed toward the guards, who were advancing on the unconcerned dragon with polearms leveled for battle. They seemed rather unsteady on their feet, and even from halfway across the spicehouse, their eyes appeared more glassy

than Tang's.

Inside Ruha's mind, the wail of the wind became a roar, then a howling sand cloud billowed across the boil- ing plain. Cypress groaned, and the cyclops turned to face the storm. The brute took a deep breath and began to blow, but his breath was no match for the fury of the gale. The sand blasted over him, and he vanished into

the tempest.

Cypress grunted, his empty-eyed head recoiling as though the storm had struck him physically. He backed away from the wagon, trembling and sputtering and madly scratching at his temples. Tang's guards charged, filling the spicehouse with a tremendous clamor as their blades struck their foe's impenetrable scales. Several of the blades snapped on impact, but most either bounced off or became lodged without causing any damage. The

dragon lashed out with fangs, claws, and tail, littering the floor with the shattered bodies of Tang's loyal guards.

Finding herself completely in control of her own body-if somewhat exhausted and fuzzy-headed-Ruha rose to her feet and swung a leg over the side of the wagon.

"No!" Wei Dao shrieked.

The princess leapt toward Ruha, causing the witch to hesitate just long enough for Tang to grab her by the shoulder.

"If you leave wagon, we all die." The prince's words were slurred, and he seemed to be having trouble focus- ing his eyes. "Only fear of burning blossoms saves us now."

"I know that." Ruha scowled, struggling against the roaring storm in her head to remember why she had decided to throw the fireball in the first place. "But I

must attack… while we have the advantage."

You have nothing.

Cypress cast aside the bodies of two more guards, then pointed his long snout in Tang's direction. The dragon was far from destroyed, but he looked as haggard as

Ruha, and more than a few of his thick scales had been pulled or cut away. Tang called something to his surviv- ing guards, who looked rather relieved and backed away.

"But wu-jen is under my protection," the prince said, speaking in Common.

Your protection? This time, Ruha heard Cypress-though whether it was intended or an accident of his anger, she did not know. She is a Harper, sent to take

Yanseldara away from me!

Tang cringed at the dragon's anger, but did not back down. "Nevertheless, while she remains in Ginger

Palace, she is under my protection." The prince glanced at his battered guards and nodded once. They leveled their weapons and took a single step forward. "If you do not agree, we finish this now-and you lose Yanseldara anyway."

"Are you mad. Husband?" Wei Dao cried. "Give him

barbarian! She causes too much trouble already."

Tang glared at Wei Dao. "I hear enough from you, Wife.

I am Prince of Shou Lung, and to call me mad is treason."

Wei Dao's face darkened to an angry ocher, but she obediently lowered her gaze and mumbled, "Please to for- give outburst, Merciful Husband."

Cypress observed the exchange in silence, then pointed his snout in Tang's direction. Why all this trouble for a barbarian, Young Prince? he demanded, still allowing

Ruha to eavesdrop. Could it be you have fallen in love?

"That is not your concern," Tang replied. "I have ylang oil by evening. Please to bring Lady Feng, and we make

exchange."

Cypress stepped forward, bringing his nostrils almost to within arm's reach of Ruha. You are fortunate that I

understand the power of love. Harper. Treat Tang well.

You owe him your life.

Ruha brought her fireball around. So exhausted was

Cypress that he barely pulled his head away in time to keep her from stuffing the sphere into his nostrils.

"I'll treat Tang as well as he deserves, I assure you."

Ruha said.

The dragon backed away and swung his snout toward

Tang.

The prince listened for a moment, then pointed to the door. "You bring Lady Feng. I see to wu-jen."

Cypress allowed his empty gaze to linger on Ruha for a moment, then turned away. With a weary beat of his wings, he lifted himself into the air and flew out the door.

Tang waited until he was gone, then turned to Ruha.

"Perhaps now you understand wisdom of my actions."

The prince's voice was smug and condescending. "Or do you still believe Cypress is destroyed?"

Ruha shook her head. "I do not-but how could he have survived?" The lasal haze inside her mind was already beginning to clear, but it had not yet grown thin enough for her to understand what she had seen. "I

blasted him into a thousand pieces."

"You destroy body, not spirit," Tang explained, assum- ing a superior air. "Cypress is dracolich. He hides spirit inside gem-"

"Wise Prince," Wei Dao interrupted. "Cypress says she is Harper. Is it prudent to tell her so much?"

By the scowl Tang shot nis wife, Ruha could see that the prince wanted to impress her with his proscribed knowledge-and she wanted him to. The witch allowed an expectant gaze to linger on the prince's face for a moment, then rolled her eyes and looked away, letting out a deliberately loud sigh of disgust.

The silent put-down worked as no verbal upbraid could have. Tang's face reddened, and he snapped at Wei Dao,

"I decide what is prudent!" When the princess lowered her gaze, Tang looked back to Ruha. "Cypress hides his spirit inside gem. After his body is destroyed, he pos- sesses new corpse and consumes old one."

"But the sharks ate his old one," Ruha said, thinking aloud. "And that is why he smells like rotten fish now. He is eating the creatures that ate him!"

Tang nodded. "It is impossible to stop process. Even if you burn old corpse and spread ashes, he can find them and swallow them. When he has eaten enough, he becomes dracolich again."

"How close is he now?"

Tang shrugged. "It does not matter to you. For your protection, I must not allow you to leave Ginger Palace."

"Is that by Cypress's command, or yours?"

"By dragon's-and he warns me you have no gratitude.

He says you do not repay my bravery as woman should."

Ruha's eyes narrowed. "And how is that?"

The prince smiled. "Ginger Palace still has need ofwu- jen. Our union would be most blissful."

"Prince Tang, that will never be," Ruha said, speaking sharply. She climbed out of the wagon and moved several paces away. "But I have a better way to show my grati- tude. I shall let you leave the wagon before I throw my fireball into it."

The VeUed Dragon

In the blink of an eye, Ruha was surrounded by Tang's battered and bloodied guards, each holding a long-bladed halberd or square-tipped sword within an inch other body. Wei Dao stood behind them, looking more than a little disappointed that she had not been able to draw her dagger quickly enough to kill the witch before her hus- band's soldiers got in the way.

Tang eyed the witch's fireball and did not climb from the wagon. "Burning blossoms would be unfortunate mis- take for all concerned-especially Yanseldara."

Though the heat of the fireball felt as though it were melting her arm, Ruha stopped short of flinging it into the wagon. "Do not lie to me. I heard you say this morn- ing that Cypress needs something more from you to com- plete his spell." The witch waved her flaming sphere toward the wagon. "It seems obvious enough that what he needs is fresh ylang oil."

"Yes, that is true." Tang scowled at Wei Dao and motioned for her to return her dagger to its sheath.

"Cypress needs fresh ylang oil to make love spell."

"Love spell?" Ruha gasped.

"You know what ylang blossoms do," Tang replied. "You see that this morning."

"A dead dragon-a dracolich-wishes the love of a half- elf?"

Tang nodded. "He loves Yanseldara for many years, since she wounds him and sends him away from Elver- suit." Tang placed a hand over his heart. "Love unre- quited is most sad."

Wei Dao rolled her eyes, then gestured at the fireball still burning in Ruha's palm. "We have no time for this foolishness, Wise Husband. Tell witch why she cannot destroy ylang blossoms."

Tang looked into Ruha's eyes and, finding no sympathy there, reluctantly nodded. "Very well. Love is matter of spirit. To save Yanseldara's spirit or to steal it, same thing is needed-powerful love potion."

"Then there must be a difference in how it is used."

"It is not necessary that you know that," said Wei Dao.

The witch ignored Wei Dao and hefted her fireball.

"Perhaps you would prefer that I assume you are lying about the blossoms?"

Prince Tang looked genuinely hurt. "You call me liar? I

risk my life-life of royal Shou Prince-to save you, and this is how you repay my love?"

Ruha lowered the fireball and used her free hand to snuff it out. She had learned all she was going to about the blossoms, and it was just enough to keep her from destroying the wagon.

"Prince Tang, you cannot love me, any more than

Cypress loves Yanseldara." Ruha spoke softly, for her intention was more to explain than to hurt. "Only a man can love, and you have yet to become a man."

Tang leapt out of the wagon, pushing several guards aside as he stepped toward Ruha. "Shou prince becomes man in tenth year. I am man for twenty years!"

Ruha shook her head. "You want me because I deny you, and that is the emotion of a child, not a man."

Tang's face contracted into a shriveled mask of rage and pain. His mouth opened as though he were going to speak, but all that emerged was an unintelligible sputter.

Wei Dao stepped to the prince's side and took his arm.

"She knows nothing. Great Prince."

The princess motioned to the guards and spoke in

Shou. A pair of them sheathed their swords and seized

Ruha by her arms. They started to drag her from the spicehouse, and Prince Tang made no move to stop them.

Ruha glanced over her shoulder. "A man takes respon- sibility for his actions, Prince Tang."

As she spoke, the witch tried to summon to mind the incantation of a wind spell and discovered she could not.

Only the faintest hint of the lasal haze remained in her mind, but it was enough to prevent her from using her magic.

Keeping her gaze fixed on the prince's face, Ruha con- tinued, "A man does not allow his fear to dictate his

actions, and a man does not hide his mistakes from those who can help him correct them."

Prince Tang looked away, and Wei Dao urged, "Pay her no attention. After Lady Feng is returned-"

"Returned?" Ruha snapped her arms free of her cap- tors and spun around, then found the tips of several hal- berds pressed against her body. She ignored them.

"Prince Tang, if you believe Cypress intends to return your mother, then you truly are a child."

The guards seized Ruha's wrists and started to drag her away, until Tang spoke to them in Shou. The two men stopped, but still grasped the witch's arms so tightly her bones ached.

"If he wants potion, Cypress must return Mother," said

Tang.

Ruha shook her head. "Does he not need her to cast the magic that will make Yanseldara love him? And even if he can do it himself-which he cannot, or you could not have been confident of her safety until now-remember why he attacked the Ginger Lady. Does he not fear that

Hsieh intends to put someone else in charge of the Gin- ger Palace? Would Lady Feng not make an excellent hostage to guarantee approval of the mandarin's choice?"

Tang turned to his wife. They began to argue in Shou.

"You need help to recover your mother." Ruha spoke loudly to make herself heard over the quarrel. "Admit that, and you have taken your first step to becoming a man."

Tang jabbed his index finger against his wife's fore- head and shouted something angry at her, then whirled away and strode over to Ruha.

"I need no help to rescue Mother!" The prince glared at

Ruha for a moment, then stepped past her and started toward the door. "And I am no child-I prove that soon enough!"

Ten

The dungeon beneath the Ginger

Palace was unlike any of those dank, deep, dark places from which the

Harpers had taught Ruha to escape.

Instead of mildew and offal, it smelled of cedar and lamp oil, and the sound that filled its corridors was not the wail of tortured prisoners, but the silken swishing of Shou robes. The doors hung on brass hinges rather than leather straps, and they were made of red-lacquered mahogany instead of rusty iron-a con- struction that would make them no less sturdy once they were barred shut. The stone walls were smooth- plastered, washed with white lime, and a foot thick; the ceiling, nearly fifteen feet above, was formed by the exposed underside of the floor planks above, and therein lay the only weakness Ruha could find.

The long procession of guards reached an intersection and, when Wei Dao attempted to turn right, came to a sudden halt. The leader of the soldiers spoke to the princess in Shou. She replied sharply and pointed at

Ruha. The witch had again been gagged with her own veil, her arms were pinned behind her by two separate men, and she was surrounded by a ring of warriors hold- ing naked sword blades within inches other throat.

Though the lasal haze had already faded from her mind, Ruha's escort had been too attentive to allow her to

cast any spells, so she could not understand the conver- sation. Nevertheless, she had explored the dungeon dur- ing her initial search for Yanseldara's staff and could imagine what they were discussing. Down the left corri- dor lay the palace's tidy prison cells; down the right lay the gruesome chambers of torture and death, where there were certainly enough shackles, fetters, and jaw clamps to keep even a wu-jen from escaping.

Wei Dao prevailed over the commander and led the column to the right. Ruha brought a two-syllable sun spell to mind and, as the clumsy ensemble around her struggled to turn the corner, pretended to stumble. The ring of swordsmen jerked their blades back-Prince Tang had been most emphatic in saying he expected the pris- oner alive when he returned-and that was all the room the witch needed.

Slipping her gag as she had once before, Ruha picked her feet off the brick floor and kicked them both back- ward. Only one of her heels landed on target, smashing the knee of one of the guards holding her arms. The other missed its mark and slipped between the fellow's legs. As she pitched forward, the witch brought her foot up, catch- ing the soldier squarely in the groin. Both men screamed and released her arms, then landed beside her on the floor.

At once, Ruha rolled onto her side, looked toward one of the oil lamps hanging on the wall, then closed her eyes, covered her ears, and uttered her spell. There was an ear-splitting boom and a flash of light so brilliant it pained the witch's eyes even through their closed lids.

The next thing Ruha knew, she was lying beneath a heap of writhing Shou guards. If they were screaming, the witch could not hear them; the ringing in her own ears was so loud she could not have heard a thunderclap breaking over her head. Half expecting to feel a long steel blade driving between her ribs, she opened her eyes and crawled from beneath the heap of soldiers.

The entire line of guards lay on the white bricks, their

open mouths voicing screams the witch could not hear.

Some of the men held their ears and some covered their eyes, but they all remained too stunned to do more than writhe in pain. The oil lamp she had used for her spell was gone, leaving a huge sooty smudge above the sconce where it had hung, but neither the wall nor the ceiling had suffered any material damage from the detonation.

Ruha searched for Wei Dao's form at the head of the column, weighing the wisdom of wading through the tangle of bodies to retrieve her late husband's jambiya from the princess. Unfortunately, the witch could not be sure how soon her captors would begin recovering from their shock. The effects would normally last long enough for her to run an eighth league, but she had no way to tell how long she herself had been incapacitated. Besides, there were a dozen more guards at the entrance to the dungeon, and it would not be long before they arrived to investigate the detonation.

Ruha pulled a dagger from a soldier's belt, then stepped over him and three other quivering men and started down the left-hand corridor. As she moved, the witch kept a careful watch on the floor, stopping to pry out any pebbles lodged between bricks. It took only a few moments to fill her hand, for even the tidy Shou could not keep from tracking tiny stones inside, and it hardly seemed worth the effort to scrape them from the seams of a dungeon floor.

The witch glanced back down the corridor. Although

Wei Dao had not entirely recovered from her shock, she had risen and was picking her way down the corridor.

The princess's eyes had the blank, inert stare of sight- lessness, and she was moving her open hands in front of her body in an ever changing pattern of circular motions.

Ruha found her pursuer's determination more than a little alarming; only a very good fighter would feel confi- dent enough to carry the battle to a foe while both blind and deaf.

Ruha shook her pebbles and uttered the incantation of

a sand spell. The stones began to oscillate in her palm, scrubbing off two layers of skin before she could hurl them at the ceiling. They struck in a circle as broad as her shoulders and continued to vibrate, much too fast for the eye to follow. She heard a faint drone above the ring- ing in her ears, and a steady shower of powdered wood rained down on her shoulders. The witch hiked up the hem of her aba, then pressed her hands and feet against opposite walls and began to chimney up the walls of the corridor.

Ruha had climbed about ten feet when Wei Dao passed beneath her, still circling her hands before her body and staring vacantly ahead. The drone of the sand spell must have been loud enough for the princess to hear, for she stopped directly beneath the scouring pebbles and cocked her head. She turned her palm up to catch some of the powdered wood raining down her, then seemed to guess what was happening and started after the witch.

Ruha climbed to the ceiling and waited beside her circle of buzzing pebbles. The stones had dug a deep labyrinth of wormy grooves into the wood, and it would not be much longer before they scoured clear through.

Already, islands of plank were trembling as though they would fall at any moment, but the witch did not dare reach up to pull them loose. The whirling pebbles would take her fingers off.

A short distance below, Wei Dao had nearly climbed within arm's reach. She carried Ruh amp;'s jambiya clenched between her teeth, and her blinking, squinting eyes were fixed vaguely on the hem of the witch's aba. Down the corridor, the guards were beginning to rise and rub their heads. Deciding to attack before they gathered their wits,

Ruha pulled a foot away from the wall and thrust it at the princess's head.

Wei Dao continued to squint until the approaching kick had nearly reached her face… then she calmly slipped the blow by looking away and allowing the witch's heel to glance off her brow. Instantly, the

princess's hand snapped back, smashing the hard bone of her wrist into the tendons of Ruha's ankle. A sharp, tingling pain shot up the witch's shin, and her leg went numb below the knee.

As Ruha tried to pull her foot back, Wei Dao trapped the witch's ankle in the crook of her elbow, then locked it in place by clasping her hand against the back of her neck. She pulled her legs away from the walls and dropped, already raising her free hand toward thejam- biya between her teeth.

The witch pushed against the walls with all her might, barely keeping herself from falling to the floor when Wei

Dao's weight hit the end other dangling leg. From behind

Ruha, barely audible over the ebbing roar inside her head, came the muted clamor of the guards gathering themselves up to help the princess.

Wei Dao took thejambiya from between her teeth.

Ruha swung her second leg away from the wall and smashed her heel into the back other foe's skull. Wei

Dao's head snapped forward; then the knife slipped from her hand and her body went limp. The princess dropped a man's height to the floor, landing in the semi-rigid heap of someone caught halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness. A pair of guards appeared beside her immediately.

Ruha looked up and saw light shining through the grooved planks above her head. The pebbles were gone, having eaten all the way through the wood. The witch did not wait to see if the soldiers below would attack her or tend to their mistress. She braced her good foot against the wall-the leg that Wei Dao had struck was too numb to trust-then made a fist and punched it through the boards above her head. The wood fell apart easily, and she had no trouble widening the hole until she came to a solid edge. The witch grabbed hold and glanced down to see several guards climbing after her.

Although Ruha did not know any wood magic, she sprinkled a handful of decaying wood on their heads and

muttered a few mystic-sounding syllables. That was enough to make them drop back into the corridor and scurry for cover. Having bought herself more time, the witch pushed her second hand through the hole-then gasped as her wrists were seized from above by a pair of small, callused hands. Without bothering to tear away what remained of the weakened planks, her unseen cap- tor pulled her up through the floor.

Ruha found herself standing before a blank-faced sol- dier dressed in Minister Hsieh's yellow, silk-jacketed armor. She was in a fair-sized room furnished only with kneeling mats, several low tables, and bookshelves, sur- rounded by a dozen more of the mandarin's guards, all with long, square-tipped swords in their hands. Along with Yu Po, Hsieh himself stood a half-dozen paces behind his guards.

"When strange events occur, it seems you are always near." Although Hsieh did not speak loudly, the ringing in Ruha's ears had faded to the point where, with a little effort, she could understand his words. The mandarin pointed overhead, where the witch's pebbles were scour- ing a fresh set of grooves into the coffered ceiling.

"Please to stop magic before it ruins Princess Wei Dao's apartment."

The man who had pulled Ruha out of the floor released her hands and stepped back, but the witch did not even consider casting a spell at the mandarin or any of his men. Although Tang had ordered his guards not to harm her, Hsieh's soldiers had received no such instructions and would undoubtedly strike her down at the first sign of danger to their master. Ruha gestured at the ceiling and spoke a single sibilant syllable. The pebbles fell out of the air, dropping through the hole to clatter off the dungeon's brick floor.

"So much better." Hsieh kneeled at one of the room's low tables and waved Ruha to the other side. "Please."

Ruha allowed herself to be escorted to the table, then sat cross-legged on one of the reed mats. Although she

was not overly fond of the chairs that Heartland hosts always thrust at their visitors, she found the Shou habit of kneeling even less comfortable.

Hsieh waited for her to arrange her aba and veil, and then said, "Please to explain your return to Ginger

Palace. I am under impression that Vaerana Hawklyn takes me hostage to get you out."

"She came too soon." As the witch spoke, she was fran- tically trying to calculate how much she should tell Hsieh about events in Elversult. Though he lacked the same reasons as Prince Tang and Wei Dao to conceal Lady

Feng's abduction, he might easily conclude that the best way to recover her was to let Cypress have what he wanted. "I had not concluded my business."

Hsieh nodded thoughtfully. "And this business-what- ever it is-do you finish it now?"

Ruha shook her head. "No, I was… interrupted."

Hsieh allowed himself a tiny smile, but made no remark about the interruption involving a trip to the dungeon. "Perhaps this business is something I can help you conclude."

Ruha lifted her brow. "Do you not wish to know what I

am doing?"

"You are spying," Hsieh replied simply. "I have need of

spy."

After a moment's consideration, Ruha asked, "And who am I to spy upon?"

"I come to speak to Lady Feng, but she is not here." He leaned forward and spoke so quietly that Ruha could barely make out the words. "I understand she is in Elver- suit. Perhaps she dishonors Peerless Emperor of Civi- lized World."

Ruha frowned, confused by the mandarin's implication and uncertain what he wanted from her. "What do you think she has done to dishonor your emperor?"

The mandarin flushed and looked at the tabletop. "Per- haps she takes lover."

"A lover?" Ruha scoffed.

Hsieh frowned and glanced toward his guards. "For spy, you are most imprudent."

"She is more than spy!" accused Wei Dao's voice.

The witch turned to see the princess pushing her head out of the hole in the floor. Her hair was disheveled and there was a red mark on her brow where Ruha's heel had glanced off, but otherwise she showed little sign of their battle.

Wei Dao allowed two of Hsieh's men to help her into the room, then pulled Ruha's jambiya from her sash and pointed the curved blade at the witch. "Lady Ruha is insidious assassin!"

The accusation caused several of the guards to reach for the witch, but Hsieh raised a finger and waved them off. "If Lady Ruha wishes me dead, she has many chances better than this to attack."

Ruha inclined her head to the minister. "I am grateful-"

Hsieh warned her off with a scowl and quick shake of his head. "Must wait for princess. To Shou, form is all."

The mandarin looked at Wei Dao, then gestured at one of the mats beside their table. "Please."

The princess slipped the jambiya into her sash, then took several moments to straighten her hair and collect herself. For a time, Ruha thought she might be stalling until her own guards entered the room, but no one climbed into the room after her, nor did Hsieh's men give any indication that they expected-or would welcome-any of the princess's soldiers to join them. At last, Wei

Dao came to the table and bowed to Hsieh, then calmly kneeled on a mat beside Ruha as though she had not just accused the witch of being a murderess.

"Esteemed Mandarin, please to forgive Prince and me."

By the continuing blare of Wei Dao's voice, it was clear that her ears were suffering from the detonation even more than Ruha's. "We do not tell you all."

"Then do so now-more quietly," Hsieh urged.

Wei Dao kept her eyes lowered, "Lady Feng does not visit sick friend in Elversult."

Hsieh barely kept from smirking. "Truly?"

"Truly. Prince Tang learns of plan to kill Third Virtu- ous Concubine, and he sends her into hiding." Wei Dao raised her chin and glared at Ruha. "Treacherous witch is assassin."

Ruha could not stomach the lie. "That is-"

Hsieh waved a cautioning finger at the witch. "You ignore form. Lady Ruha." Though his voice was stern, his face remained as blank as ever. "Please to let Princess explain why someone-presumably Vaerana Hawklyn-wishes to kill Lady Feng."

Wei Dao was ready with another lie. "To stop trade in poisons. Vaerana threatens many times to'take mea- sures' if we do not stop, but Honorable Husband does not let savages dictate business of Ginger Palace."

"How wise." Hsieh's tone was as flat as his expression was blank.

Wei Dao continued, "After we must exchange witch for person of Esteemed Minister, we think she give up and leave-then we find her hiding in ylang blossoms." The princess peered at Ruha from the corner of her eye. "She is most resolute killer."

Hsieh nodded sagely. "Most."

"We are taking her to Chamber of One Thousand

Deaths when she makes lamp explode and escapes again," Wei Dao continued. "Please to lend me sword. I

promise Honorable Husband that I kill barbarian before he returns with Virtuous Mother."

Yu Po immediately reached for his sword, but Minister

Hsieh quickly raised a hand to restrain him. The adju- tant's jaw fell slack, as did those of several guards.

"Do you not wish to hear what Lady Ruha says?" Hsieh asked.

Yu Po and the guards glanced at each other as though the thought had never crossed their minds. "But Lady

Ruha is barbarian!" Yu Po gasped. "Princess Dao is wife of son of Third Virtuous Concubine."

Hsieh nodded as though he were in complete agree-

ment with his adjutant, then bit his lips as though strug- gling with a difficult decision. "What you say is most true. It does not matter that Lady Ruha saves our lives when dragon attacks Ginger Lady."

The mandarin allowed his gaze to linger on Wei Dao, who took several quiet breaths and tried not to look con- cerned as the color drained from her face.

"If Shou princess claims barbarian witch intends to kill Lady Feng, then we must believe her." Hsieh contin- ued to glare at the princess. "If she feels certain we understand her correctly-and if she is certain she says what she means."

Wei Dao's painted lips began to quiver, but she did not look away from Hsieh's penetrating gaze. "I… I am cer- tain."

Yu Po placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, but cast a questioning look at Hsieh and stopped short of drawing it. The mandarin remained as motionless as a statue and continued to glare at Wei Dao. Ruha hardly dared to breathe. She did not understand all the nuances of the exchange, but it seemed clear enough that the minister was trying to save her life-whether because he wished to repay her or because he needed a spy, she did not know. It hardly mattered, and the witch sensed that even the slightest movement on her part might well bring the contest to an unfavorable end.

As frightened as Wei Dao appeared, it was Hsieh who looked away first. "It appears the princess is most confi- dent of herself."

Yu Po drew his sword. Before Ruha could summon the incantation of even a simple spell to mind, two guards grabbed her arms and pushed her forward, laying her head flat upon the table. The witch uttered a silent prayer, begging the forgiveness of Lander, her dead lover, for failing as a Harper, then took her last breath and pre- pared to die.

The blow did not fall. After a time, Ruha opened her eyes-she did not remember closing them-and craned

her neck against the restraining hands of her guards

She saw Hsieh and the others standing over her beside the table. The mandarin had taken Yu Po's wrist to restrain him from giving the sword to Wei Dao.

"The Emperor's justice cannot be denied, but we are in land of savages," said Hsieh. "We must allow Lady Ruha to speak, so her friend Vaerana Hawklyn may not protest that our execution is unjust."

"Esteemed Mandarin, why do we care if Vaerana

Hawklyn protests?" Wei Dao's voice continued to be over- loud. "She is barbarian!"

"Vaerana Hawklyn is barbarian with army. If she makes hostage of Shou Mandarin, does she hesitate to sack Ginger Palace?" Hsieh paused to let the others con- sider his point, then continued, "But if we follow form of barbarians and let prisoner speak, perhaps we appease

Vaerana's superiors. Perhaps we avoid battle."

The mandarin released his adjutant's wrist. Yu Po low- ered his sword, but did not return the blade to its scab- bard. He and the other Shou no longer seemed quite so confused by Hsieh's perverse defense of the witch's life.

Ruha dared to hope their reaction meant the minister had finally prevailed in the strange battle of protocol between him and Wei Dao.

The princess frowned, but seemed unable to effectively oppose the suggestion. "Ask, but her answer is lie."

Hsieh smiled grimly. "Yes, if you say it is." He leaned over Ruha. "Lady Ruha, does Princess tell truth?"

"No." The witch's answer reverberated through the tabletop and returned to her ear sounding loud and deep.

"Lady Feng has been abducted."

Ruha's assertion elicited no cries of outrage or gasps of surprise. The Shou remained as silent as stones, and by their silence the witch knew that none of them, even

Hsieh, gave any credence to her claims.

Wei Dao reached for Yu Po's sword.

"I can prove what I say!" Ruha exclaimed.

It was Hsieh who scorned the witch's claim. "How can

you prove what is not possible?"

The mandarin's tone was severe and impatient, as though he had expected her to say something else. Cold fingers of panic began to creep through the witch's belly.

Yu Po was awaiting permission to yield his sword, and

Ruha could not imagine what Hsieh wished to hear. Wei

Dao had already declared anything the witch said to be a lie, and the Shou seemed unwilling, perhaps even unable, to believe otherwise. The truth, even if it could be proved, did not matter-and Ruha suddenly realized what the minister wanted her to say.

"Princess Wei Dao is protecting her mother-in-law," the witch said. "Lady Feng has taken a lover."

Hsieh gasped much too loudly, prompting Yu Po to step back and sheath his sword.

"Lady Ruha, you are certain?" Hsieh did not even bother to feign his shock well. "Princess Dao is. ••. mis- taken?"

"Is that not a good reason for her to have me silenced?"

"Indeed, but it does not work. I suspect this myself."

Hsieh whirled on Wei Dao and fixed her with a stony glare. "Do I not warn you about lying to me?"

"I am Shou Princess." Though her chin was trembling,

Wei Dao held it high. "I do not lie, Esteemed Mandarin."

"No?" Hsieh glanced at the guards pinning Ruha to the table, who promptly released the witch and stepped back.

"Lady Ruha, please to show proof of Lady Feng's impru- dence."

Ruha straightened her aba and started to remind the mandarin that what she had offered to prove was not

Lady Feng's infidelity, but her abduction-then she thought twice about confusing the issue and held her tongue. To the Shou, the witch was beginning to realize, truth was a relative thing. As long as she had Hsieh's support, any evidence she offered would no doubt be taken as proof of whatever the mandarin wished.

Ruha started to lead the way out of the room, then remembered her manners and bowed to Wei Dao, gesturing

toward the door. "If the princess will show us to Lady

Feng's apartment?"

Wei Dao frowned in confusion, then turned to lead the way out of the room.

Halfway to the door, she suddenly stopped. Her fore- head was slick with sweat and her face was sick with fear. "This is not right. I cannot show others into Lady

Feng's apartment."

"Then I shall." Behind her veil, Ruha allowed herself a small smile. "I know the way, as I'm sure you remember."

As the witch moved to step past, she saw Wei Dao's hand drop toward her sash.

In the next instant, two of Hsieh's guards lay on the floor holding their bloody throats, and Wei Dao was leap- ing through the air, slashing at Ruha's throat with her ov/njambiya. The witch twisted her body to the side and reached out to meet the assault at the wrist, but the princess's reflexes were as quick as lightning. She circled the blade beneath Ruha's blocking arm and reversed it, driving the tip toward her victim's heart as though she had been fighting withjambiyas all her life. The witch saved herself only by falling to the floor and madly flail- ing her feet in a desperate attempt to trip her attacker.

There was no need. Moving with a deliberate grace that appeared almost languid, Hsieh slipped behind the princess. He clamped one hand over the wrist of Wei

Dao's weapon hand, then shot his other forearm around her throat and brought it up under herjawline so hard her feet came off the ground.

Wei Dao's eyes bulged and her tongue appeared between her lips. She flung her head back in an attempt to smash her captor's nose, but Hsieh simply tipped his face out of the way. The princess made a brief, rasping attempt to breathe, but the veins in her neck were being pinched shut by the mandarin's arm, causing her head to run out of blood long before her lungs ran out of air. Her face turned a shocking shade of purple-gray, and the Jam – biya slipped from her hand. Her eyes rolled back in their

sockets; then she stopped struggling and began to spasm.

Hsieh dropped her at a guard's feet. "Greatly unex- pected. I am most curious to see what we find in Lady

Feng's chamber."

Ruha could not take her eyes off Wei Dao's unconscious form. During all her training with the Harpers, she had never seen a woman move with such deadly speed and grace. Had she not seen the ease with which Hsieh dis- abled her, the witch would not have believed anyone-especially a one-eyed man of Hsieh's age-could move more swiftly.

"Minister Hsieh, I thank you for my life," Ruha said.

"You are a man of many hidden talents."

The mandarin smiled. "In Shou Lung, we long ago learn wisdom of being better warriors than those who guard us." He turned to Yu Po and gestured at Wei Dao.

"Bind princess well and take her to apartment. Inspect her chambers to see that she is… safe."

Yu Po bowed, then began issuing orders in Shou. As

Hsieh's guards scurried into action, the mandarin selected a half-dozen men to accompany him, then led the way up an immense staircase to the second story, where he astonished the palace sentries by allowing

Ruha to use her wind magic to open the door to the Third

Virtuous Concubine's apartment. The minister scowled at the macabre frescoes that decorated Lady Feng's antechamber, then followed the witch through the dress- ing closet into the bedchamber.

Ruha went straight to the corner and pulled Lady

Feng's writing desk from the wall. When she did not hear any scratching or whining on the other side of the secret door, she began to fear that Wei Dao had done something with Chalk Ears. The witch took a deep breath and, won- dering how Hsieh would react if it turned out she could prove neither Lady Feng's indiscretion nor her abduction, pushed open the hidden panel.

The secret chamber looked as though a whirlwind had erupted inside. The worktable in the center of the room

had been swept clean of its cauldrons and balances, which now sat upon the floor amid a knee-deep jumble of books and broken glass. Heaps of severed bat wings, blackened fingernails, and silk-wrapped spider eggs were scattered everywhere, often coated by stripes ofrainbow- hued dusts and powders. One of the cabinets had even been pulled over and now lay broken into two splintered pieces.

Save for a sleeping cushion, sandbox, and two silver bowls containing untouched supplies of food and water, there was no sign of Chalk Ears. Although the jagged shards of glass had been broken out of the window through which Ruha had escaped, the casement itself remained open and not repaired.

"Is this what you bring me to see?" Hsieh asked.

"No. What I brought you to see is gone."

Ruha could almost see what had happened. After she jumped through the window, Wei Dao, or some other guards, had tried to capture Chalk Ears. The familiar had panicked, and the ensuing struggle had destroyed

Lady Feng's laboratory. In the end, the little creature had escaped through the broken window, and the princess had elected to leave it open in the hope that the beast would return.

The witch picked her way across the room. "I had hoped to show you Lady Feng's familiar." She picked up the red sleeping cushion. "But I fear Chalk Ears has fled."

"Chalk Ears? Perhaps you mean Winter Blossom?"

Ruha held her hands about a foot apart. "It was a little creature that could have been a cross between a monkey and a raccoon. I found it here when I-" The witch stopped short of admitting what she had been doing in Lady Feng's chambers. "It looked like it had not eaten for a week."

"He," Hsieh corrected. The mandarin waded into the room and kneeled beside the familiar's lair. "Winter Blos- som is male lemur-though I think Eye Biter is better name."

The VeUed Dragon

Ruha caught herself staring at Hsieh's silken eye patch and looked away. "Winter Blossom is more than a pet to Lady Feng. Had she departed the Ginger Palace willingly, I doubt she would have left him behind."

Hsieh sighed heavily. "But familiar is not here."

The mandarin waved his guards into the room, and

Ruha's mouth went dry. She glanced out the empty win- dow pane, already summoning to mind the same wind spell she had used to escape Wei Dao, then swallowed her fear and told herself not to panic. The guards arrived and arrayed themselves around Hsieh, at the same time blocking the witch's path through the window.

Ruha squatted beside Winter Blossom's silver bowls and waved her hand over the contents. "The familiar escaped after Lady Feng's departure, or these would not be full. Wei Dao hopes to lure him back."

Hsieh met Ruha's gaze. "I do not doubt what you say. If

Lady Feng takes Winter Blossom, she takes his bed." He picked up the lemur's sleeping cushion, then tossed it to a guard. "So, where is Lady Feng, and why does she not take familiar?"

"I told you-she was abducted."

"So you do, but I think you are lying. It is so much bet- ter if she takes lover." Hsieh shook his head in disap- pointment, then gave Ruha a stern glance. "Perhaps you tell me what you are doing in Ginger Palace-and no lies.

Today, I grow impatient with lies."

When Ruha paused to consider how much she should say, the mandarin rose. "Please do not refuse." He glanced at two guards, who took Ruha by the arms and jerked her to her feet. "Truth potions are most damaging to mind, and you cannot escape."

"It was not my intention to try to escape-and let us both hope that does not become necessary." Ruha fixed an icy glare on Hsieh and remained silent. When he finally waved his guards off, she began, "Not long ago, a staff of some sentimental value was stolen from the Lady Yansel- dara…"

The witch told Hsieh of how someone was using the staff to steal Yanseldara's spirit, and ofVaerana's belief that Lady Feng was responsible, and of her own effort to recover the staff from the Ginger Palace, and, finally, of her subsequent discovery of the Third Virtuous Concu- bine's abduction. The mandarin listened patiently and closely. He did not interrupt, even when she told him of

Tang's involvement in the Cult of the Dragon and how the prince had attempted to conceal his mother's kidnap- ping.

When Ruha finished, the mandarin contemplated her account in silence for many moments, then raised his hand and held up three splayed fingers. "I have ques- tions. Where is Prince Tang now?"

"He seems to have decided that the only way to redeem himself is to personally rescue his mother." Ruha did not say in whose eyes the prince wished to redeem himself.

The less Hsieh knew about the prince's attraction to her, the better. "I believe he has taken a company of guards and gone to attempt that."

Hsieh winced, but nodded and folded down one of his fingers. "Second question. Theft of spirit takes no more than two or three days. Why has Lady Feng not fin- ished?"

"I am not certain. But I do know Prince Tang was awaiting the fresh ylang blossoms aboard the Ginger

Lady." When the mandarin furrowed his brow, Ruha has- tened to add, "The kidnapper believes he is in love with

Yanseldara. Perhaps they are for a love potion?"

Hsieh shook his head. "Then why does he steal spirit?

Only reason to use love potion on spirit is to bind it to another spirit, for long journey through Ten Courts of

Afterlife."

A feeling of nausea crept over Ruha. "The thief is…

he is not living. He is one of the undead."

An expression of pity passed over Hsieh's face, and he folded down his second finger. "Final question. Who is kidnapper?"

This was the question Ruha had been dreading. She had omitted any mention of Cypress's identity, fearing that the mandarin would decide it was safer for Lady

Feng to cooperate with the dragon than to help Vaerana save Yanseldara. Nevertheless, the witch had no choice except to hope she could persuade Hsieh to ally with her, for it was growing clearer all the time that she did not understand enough about Lady Feng's magic to save

Yanseldara.

"Who take Lady Feng?" Hsieh demanded.

Ruha swallowed, then said, "The same barbarian who

tried to assassinate you."

Hsieh frowned at her. "No one tries to kill me."

Ruha nodded. "On the Ginger Lady. The dragon."

"You are greatly mistaken." Hsieh's rebuke was both confident and gentle. "Dragon is after gold and jewels-"

"And you," Ruha replied. "His name is Cypress, and he is the leader of the Cult of the Dragon. He fears you have come to replace Tang and stop the palace's trade in poi- sons, and so he tried to kill you."

"That is most impossible." Hsieh shook his head stub- bornly. "I send messenger with word of my visit only one day before dragon attack. Because I travel with only light bodyguard, I instruct Prince and Princess to tell no one of my journey-unless they tell Lady Feng?"

Ruha shook her head. "I overheard them say Lady

Feng was abducted before your message arrived."

"Then dragon cannot know I am coming. Who tell

him?"

That was when Yu Po appeared at the door. "Esteemed

Minister, I beg permission to report."

Hsieh frowned and started to hold him off, but Ruha, who needed time to think, said, "Yu Po is not interrupt- ing. Let him speak."

Hsieh nodded to his adjutant, who quickly picked his way across the debris and bowed. "Princess Wei Dao is most comfortable in her apartment," Yu Po reported. "As

I was inspecting her chambers to be certain of her safety,

I find this."

The adjutant opened his hand, revealing the exotic

Calimshan gold that Tombor had put into Ruha's coffer to impress Wei Dao.

Hsieh studied the coin, then scowled at his adjutant.

"Wei Dao is Princess, Yu Po. Do you expect to find no gold in her chamber?"

"Not gold like this."

Yu Po pinched the edges of the coin with both hands and pulled. The coin came apart, revealing a tiny com- partment where a small paper message might be con- cealed.

Hsieh took the two halves from his adjutant. "Most ingenious. Do you find what is inside?"

"No," Yu Po admitted.

"But I know who sent it to her," Ruha said. "And if I

am correct, Esteemed Mandarin, I also know who told

Cypress you were aboard the Ginger Lady."

"Wei Dao?" Hsieh asked.

"That coin was given to me by someone who promised it would win the princess's hospitality," Ruha said. "It did."

"How come Yu Po finds it in her chamber?"

"I saw her sneak it from my gold coffer. The person who gave it to me said the princess had a fondness for foreign coins," Ruha explained. "Now I think it contained a message from a spy in Moonstorm House, warning Wei

Dao of my identity. The princess has been most insistent about wishing to kill me-regardless of Prince Tang's commands to the contrary."

Hsieh pushed the two halves of the coin together and folded it into his palm, then waved the witch toward the door. "It seems our mutual problem is solved, does it not,

Lady Ruha?"

Ruha did not move. "No. How could it be?"

"If dragon kidnaps Lady Feng, then kidnapper is no threat."

The witch was confused by the mandarin's misunder-

standing-until she recalled that Hsieh had seen her destroy Cypress on the Dragonmere. She had said noth- ing about the dragon taking another body, and Ruha cer- tainly saw no reason to broach the subject now.

"Do you not understand, Lady Ruha?" Hsieh asked.

"We have only to locate dragon's lair; then we find both

Lady Feng and Yanseldara's stolen staff."

"Of course!" Ruha did her best to sound astonished.

"And if you will me tell more about these ylang blossoms, perhaps I know someone who can be tricked into leading us to the lair."

Eleven

Tang's punt came to another fork in the slough. His boatpushers jammed their poles into the black water, the butts angled forward to halt the little dugout while he guessed at the way to

Cypress's lair. Behind him arose a gentle sloshing as his men struggled to stop their heavy log rafts. Save for the unremitting hum ofmosquitos, no other sound broke the silence of the swamp. The evening light lay upon the glassy waters as sinuous and wispy as smoke, yielding no hint of the sun's location. Along the banks of the chan- nels rose tangled webs of prop roots, supporting thickets of vine-choked bog cane as impenetrable to the eye as walls of stone. Even the sky itself was hidden from view, concealed behind a murky canopy of moss-draped boughs.

Somewhere nearby loomed the Giant's Run Moun- tains, a chain of high peaks lying half a day's canter southeast of the Ginger Palace, but Tang could not find the way to their steep slopes. Though he had commanded his men to remain confident, he could feel their trust ebbing with every minute he remained lost, and even he was losing faith in his abilities. The swamp was so small that it had no name-indeed, few outside the Cult of the

Dragon knew it existed at all-and twice the prince had come to Lair here with fellow cult members. It seemed impossible that its meager maze of waterways should

disorient him or anyone else, yet Tang had been trying to locate Cypress's hole for more than two hours.

The punt rocked beneath the prince's feet. He glanced back to see the commander of the palace garrison, Gen- eral Fui D'hang, stepping into the dugout from a wagon- sized raft of lashed logs. A squat, flat-cheeked man with an unwavering scowl and granite eyes, he wore a helmet of silver-trimmed brass and an oversized battle tunic over leather armor. Most of the men behind him were dressed in a similar manner, save their helmets were steel with brass trim.

The general bowed. "May it please the Prince to hear

me."

As with all Fui said, the statement was a command,

not a request. Prince Tang nodded, but looked away to emphasize that he would not allow the general to bully

him.

"Night falls soon, and men are uneasy at being lost-"

"Do I say we are lost?" Tang whirled on the general so fast that, had his boatpushers not had their poles planted on the bottom, the punt would have capsized. "We are not lost. Dragon uses Invisible Art to confuse honorable sol- diers. They may eat another lasal leaf."

Fui did not turn to issue the command. "Since you are not lost, perhaps you guide us to dry land. It is better to camp outside swamp."

"No. We must rescue Lady Feng tonight."

The general's eyes remained stony. "If we perish in dark-"

"Tonight."

Fui's Ups tightened. "Surely, Wise Prince knows it is inauspicious to attack eminent dragon at all, but to attack at night…"

"This dragon is different!" snapped Tang. "Cypress does not have favor of Celestial Bureaucracy!"

"Perhaps Wise Prince explains why it takes so long to reach dragon's palace?" Fui insisted. "This swamp is size of peasant village. By now, we should find dragon's home

through tenacity alone."

"It is question of patience, not 'finding!' " Prince Tang turned away from General Fui, silently cursing the absence of a wu-jen. A little magic would go far toward helping him find his goal. "Tell men to be ready. Not far now!"

Selecting a direction at random, the prince pointed down the fork on the right. General Fui barely had time to leap back to his own raft before Tang's boatpushers guided the punt into the channel. As they traveled down the curving slough, the mosquito hum became a madden- ing drone. Though the Shou berry juice the prince had rubbed into his flesh protected him from bites, clouds of the insects dragged across his skin like chiffon.

Tang began to sense an enormous, dark presence ahead. The canopy arched higher above the water, and the swamp grew steadily murkier and more forlorn. The beards of moss vanished from the branches alongside the passage, replaced by the curtainlike webs of brilliantly striped spiders with abdomens as large as a man's fist.

Ahead of the punt, dark chevrons appeared in the water as startled snakes swam for cover. The ends of sub- merged logs sprouted eyes and watched the flotilla pass.

A half-remembered murmur echoed through the trees from somewhere ahead: the purl of water trickling down some steep slope.

Tang felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach and beads of sweat sliding down his brow. He withdrew a handful oflasal leaves from a basket in the bottom of the dugout and distributed them among his boatpushers, then placed two into his own mouth and chewed. As the protective fog arose inside his head, he began to regard the impending battle with increasing giddiness. Soon, he would have vengeance on his enemy. After his men destroyed Cypress's new body, he himself would find and smash the spirit gem. Then, when Yen-Wang-Yeh's ser- vants came to drag Cypress's wayward spirit down to the

Ten Courts of the Afterlife, Tang would recount all the

dragon's crimes against himself and Shou Lung, thus insuring a stern verdict that would condemn his foe to ten thousand centuries of torment in the Eighteenth

Hell.

The rancid stench of rotting fish began to waft through the air. The channel widened into a broad basin of black water strewn with mats of bog scum and studded by the naked gray trunks of a bald cypress stand. On the far side of the pool, a steep, green-blanketed scarp rose abruptly from the murky water and disappeared above the swamp's gloomy canopy. Down the face of this slope snaked a tiny ribbon of silver water, the same small brook casting its purl throughout the slough. To the left of the stream, barely visible through the whirling clouds of mosquitos, was a huge, half-submerged grotto, the moss curtain that dangled over its mouth tattered and frayed by the constant passage of some huge body.

Tang ordered his boatpushers to stop. Though the area had been darker and more crowded on the two occasions the prince had visited it before, he recognized it instantly.

Just outside the cavern lay a toppled cypress where the dragon roosted during Lair, with the entire cult arrayed before him upon the same rafts now occupied by General

Fui and his men. Rising from the waters around the perch were heaps of large fish skeletons, some with bits of gray, gritty hide still clinging to the thick bones, and hanging in the limbs of nearby trees were hundreds of long-toothed jaws.

Tang was most distressed to see that Cypress had already devoured so many sharks. From what the prince had learned during his brief association with the cult, when a dracolich's body was destroyed, he lost the ability to speak, cast magic spells, and use his terrible breath weapon. Unfortunately, he could regain those capabilities by consuming a mere tenth of his previous body, which he could always locate via a strange mystical bond-even if the corpse had been burned, shredded, or eaten. Judging by the number of skeletons lying in the water, Cypress

could not be far from a full recovery.

General Fui's raft pulled alongside the punt, and Tang pointed at the cavern. "That is dragon's palace." The prince allowed himself the pleasure of a touch of sarcasm at the term 'palace.' "Men a^e ready?"

The general glanced at the four rafts behind his, each bearing fifteen anxious warriors, and flashed a hand sig- nal. A gentle clatter rustled over the pond as his men reached for their halberds and pushed lasal leaves into their mouths. Fui watched a moment, then slipped a leaf between his own lips and nodded.

Tang drew his sword, then looked back to the cave and waited for General Fui to lead the soldiers forward

Thanks to his lasal-induced daze, the prince realized he could actually see the murk gathering over the swamp. It looked like a thick, oily smoke seeping from the fetid depths of Cypress's lair, where the dragon rested upon his bed of gold, dreaming ofYanseldara and filling the air with the dank gloom of his wicked obsession.

The prince's thoughts turned to his mother, and he found himself wondering what effect the unnatural murk would have on her. If the fumes darkened her fair skin, she would never forgive-most cursed lasal! That was the trouble with it; the user found it difficult to keep his mind focused on the task at hand, and he sometimes found his head filled with ridiculous ideas.

Noting that Fui still had not given the order to advance, Prince Tang looked to his general. "Why do you wait?" He waved his sword at the cavern. "Go kill dragon!"

Fui's head slowly turned toward Tang's punt. The gen- eral's pupils were nearly as large as his irises, and a blank, almost muddled expression had fallen over his normally resolute face.

"You do not lead us into cavern, Brave Prince?"

"Me?" Tang looked at the sword in his hand and under- stood the reason for the general's confusion. "I cannot lead way into danger. I am Prince!"

"That is what I try to say in Ginger Palace." Under the lasal's influence, Fui spoke more freely than he would have otherwise. "Do I not suggest it is foolish for you to take field? Do I not hint that your inadequate prepara- tions oblige men to take extra risks to protect you?"

The lasal haze inside Tang's mind began to darken and churn. "I am Prince! Soldiers die at my will!"

"True, but Honorable Prince does not waste their lives!" the general spat. "If you desire Lady Pong's rescue, you must stand aside and let someone who knows-"

A chorus of snickers filled the air behind Fui. The gen- eral stopped speaking in midsentence, and his widening eyes betrayed his astonishment at the words coming from his mouth. He dropped to his knees and kowtowed on the raft, pressing his forehead down so close to the edge that his silver-trimmed helmet fell off and slipped beneath the inky waters.

"Mighty Prince, I do not know these words! They are not my own!"

Tang hardly heard the apology. The lasal clouds inside his mind had worked themselves into a storm, and he could think of nothing but his fury.

"Words belong to him who speaks them." Tang glanced at the rafts behind Fui, where more than seventy sol- diers were studying the swamp's gloomy canopy and bit- ing their cheeks to keep from laughing. Bolts of lightning began to flash inside the prince's head. "Lasal loosens tongue. It cannot change secret thoughts of any man."

"Merciful Prince, I command garrison of Ginger Palace since it is built, and before that I humbly serve in per- sonal guard of Lady Feng. Please to allow me honor of dying in battle." Fui lifted his head and dared to meet

Tang's eyes. "Let me lead soldiers into dragon's palace."

"I myself lead way into lair." Tang glared at his general until the last soldier no longer found it necessary to bite his cheeks; then he pronounced Fui's sentence: "Shou general must respect master with heart as well as tongue, so that he does not forget himself and make men

laugh at Worthy Prince. To fail in this is treason."

Fui's face went as stiff as a mask. He whispered a prayer, beseeching his ancestors to find a place for him in the Celestial Bureaucracy, then touched his brow to the log. "I am ready."

Tang looked past Fui to Yuan Ti, the moon-faced com- mander of the sentries who protected his lizard park.

Since the young officer had already faced the dragon and lived, General Fui had selected him as second in com- mand for this mission.

Yuan swallowed and reached for his sword, but his hand began to tremble, and he did not draw the weapon.

The youth clenched his teeth as though fighting a wave of nausea, and tears welled in his eyes.

Tang scowled at the hesitation. "Why do you delay?

Punish General Fui's insolence!"

Yuan managed to pull his sword halfway from its sheath, then turned away sobbing. The youth's profile accentuated his flat cheeks, and it was then Tang real- ized the boy's identity. The fury faded from the lasal – induced storm inside the prince's head, and the tempest became instead a drizzle that clouded his thoughts with cold, sick regret. It was not uncommon for Shou generals to make places for their sons in their own commands, but how was Tang to know the youth's identity? A Shou prince did not trouble himself with the domestic lives of his inferiors. He could hardly be expected to know every son that his officers brought to the Ginger Palace.

Tang allowed General Fui's boy to weep, grateful for a few moments to struggle with this new dilemma. As much as he disliked the idea of ordering a son to slay hi?

own father, he could hardly retract the command now.

The men had already come close to treason when they laughed at him earlier; to tolerate any further insubordi- nation would only convince them that he was a weak and inept leader. Yuan would have to obey the command. If there was another way to solve the problem, the prince could not see it through the lasal haze.

In a gentle but loud voice. Tang said, "You are a Shou soldier. You must do as I order."

The youth choked back his sobs and turned to face

Tang. "Merciful Prince, the lasal leaves-"

General Fui raised his head. "Silence, Yuan!" His voice had assumed the hard edge of command. "Do not dis- honor our ancestors by arguing with your Prince!"

The general pressed his brow to the logs again. The thought flashed through Tang's mind that there must be a way to show mercy without showing weakness, but it was chased into the lasal haze by a great cry from Yuan's mouth. In a motion too fast to see, the youth unsheathed his sword and brought the blade down on his father's neck. There was a wet crack, and Fui's head toppled off the raft into the swamp. The general's body shuddered once, then went limp and slipped out of its kowtow, slowly stretching forward to push its headless shoulders into the dark pool.

Fui's head rolled in the water, bringing his granite eyes around to stare vacantly upward. Tang's stomach began to feel queasy, but he clenched his teeth against the feeling and forced himself not to look away. The whole point of the punishment had been to show his sol- diers that he was a strong leader, and he would not accomplish that by allowing the gaze of a dead man to intimidate him.

Yuan ripped the front off his silken battle tunic and used it to dab his father's blood off the blade. When he finished, he sheathed his sword, then carefully folded the cloth and slipped it beneath his leather corselet.

The adjutant bowed to Tang, his eyes now as hard as his father's. "I obey your command. My Prince."

Tang honored the youth by returning his bow. "The

Minister of War shall-" The prince had to interrupt him- self to take a deep breath and regain control of his churn- ing stomach. "He shall hear of your dedication to duty."

Yuan's eyes showed no sign of softening, but they did shift away from the prince's face toward the water, where

a dozen shapes were rapidly drifting toward General

Fui's body. At first. Tang took the forms for floating logs

Then he noticed the eyes and nostrils protruding above the bog scum, and also the powerful tails snaking back and forth behind their bodies.

The first beast slid between the prince's dugout and

Yuan's raft. Silently, it took Fui's head into its jaws and slid beneath the dark water, vanishing from sight almost before Tang realized he was looking at an alligator.

Yuan reached down to pull the rest of his father's body back onto the raft, then almost lost a hand as another of the monsters latched on to the corpse's shoulder. The cadaver slid off the logs and disappeared beneath the surface in a quick swirl. A second creature, easily as long as Tang's dugout, dove after the body-stealer, and the water erupted into a bloody, churning froth as the two animals tore the cadaver to pieces.

Tang finally lost control of his rebellious stomach and turned away while it purged itself-then nearly lost his head as a pair of tooth-filled jaws rose from the water tr snap at his face. He slashed at it ineffectually with the sword in his hand, and his boatpushers stepped over to hold the thing at bay while he finished retching. Behind the prince sounded a startled scream, followed by a loud splash and the brief gurgle of a man's voice.

An astonished murmur rustled through the swamp;

then half the soldiers in the company cried out in fear

The rippling siffle of halberds slashing water filled the air. Several men fell into the pond and shrieked as they were dragged beneath the surface.

When Tang's stomach finally finished with him, he wiped his mouth on a boatpusher's sleeve, then turned to see his entire company of soldiers besieged by alligators.

The men were standing back-to-back in the center of all five rafts, thrusting the tips of their long halberds at the throng of circling alligators-several of which looked longer than the vessels themselves. Many of the logs were smeared with blood, while the water was littered

with broken halberd shafts, ribbons of shredded silk, and alligators writhing in pain.

As Tang watched, a swimming alligator whipped its body around, driving its head and forequarters onto a raft. The attack was met by a flurry of driving halberds, most of which pierced the beast's armored hide and sank to a depth of several inches. The monster clutched at the logs with the claws of its stubby forelegs and dragged itself forward. The men braced themselves, trying to shove their blades deeper into their attacker's flesh.

The creature ignored the assault and continued to claw its way onto the raft. One warrior lost his footing and slid across the raft, where another alligator seized his ankle and dragged him, screaming, into the scum- covered waters. Several others, finding their halberds'

damp shafts slipping backward through their grasp, dropped their polearms to reach for their swords. Only one man could drive his weapon deep enough to cause the behemoth any injury. The alligator simply snapped its head to one side and jerked the weapon out of the sol- dier's hands, then retreated into the water.

Tang peered over the side of his dugout and saw sev- eral alligators floating alongside, their ravenous gazes searching for something to snatch. Fortunately, the punt's sides were high enough to conceal his vulnerable legs, or one of the beasts would certainly have pulled him into the swamp by now. As it was, he took the precaution of raising his arms above his chest and ordering his boat- pushers to do the same, lest one of the creatures attempt to snatch a dangling hand and capsize the punt.

"Perhaps Wise Prince cares to give order?"

Yuan stood in the center of his own blood-streaked raft, apparently oblivious to the screams of the legless man at his feet. The young officer was watching Tang with what could only be called a look of impertinent impatience, as though he understood exactly what needed to be done and knew his commander for too much of a fool to see it.

Tang scowled in thought, determined not to lose an^

more face by asking Yuan's advice. The prince could not order an advance without forcing the men to step within reach of the alligators' snapping jaws, but neither did he see any sense in remaining where they were and allow- ing the monsters to pluck them off the rafts one-by-one.

What they needed was magic. A wu-jen could drive the beasts away, so his soldiers could get on with the impor- tant business of finding and slaying the dragon.

An angry light flared in Yuan's eyes. "When enemy attacks, it is customary for commander to issue order."

"Alligators are not enemy!" Tang snapped, waving his sword at the beasts between their vessels. "They are stu- pid animals."

A loud thump sounded in the bottom of Tang's dugout.

He looked down to see a scaly brown cord gathering itself into a coil. Whether because of the lasal haze in his mind or the shock of having the thing drop into his boat, the prince did not recognize the writhing tendril until it showed the pink lining of its mouth. Tang calmly brought his sword down, catching the snake behind the head.

The prince did not enjoy snakes as much as he did lizards, but he knew enough about the species to recog- nize the white-mouthed viper as more of a swimmer than a tree climber. He scowled and looked up, then cried out in surprise as three more dark, writhing ropes dropped out of the canopy overhead. One of the snakes splashed into the water beside the dugout, where it was promptly snapped up by an alligator, but the other two plopped into the bottom of the punt.

Almost before he realized it, Tang's sword had lashed out to sever the head from one serpent. The other recov- ered from its fall quickly enough to bury its fangs into a boatpusher's leg. Unlike the other two snakes, this one was gray, with a black diamond pattern and rattles on its tail. The victim screeched and reached for his dagger.

Before the man could draw his weapon, Tang grasped the viper behind its head and yanked it free. He tossed the

serpent into the water, where a ravenous alligator quickly avenged its attack on the prince's servant.

The snake bite bled profusely, instantly coating the boatpusher's foot in sticky red syrup. The man opened his mouth to thank Tang, then cried out and dropped into the bottom of the punt. He clutched his leg and began to squirm, causing the dugout to rock dangerously.

"Stop, fool!" Tang ordered. By the panicked cries echo- ing across the pond, the prince knew that his boatpusher was not the only soldier to suffer a snake bite. "Do you mean to capsize us?"

The man looked up. "What does it matter? I die any- way We all die!"

Tang slapped the man. "Poison makes bite bleed and hurt, but it does not kill-unless you spill us into swamp with alligators!" Though he was not particularly fond of serpents, the prince's poison trade had taught him more than a little about their venom. "Now stand up and return to duty."

Tang glanced up and saw another ropy form dropping out of the gloomy boughs overhead. He caught this snake on his sword and flicked it away, then quickly returned his eyes to the canopy. Though it was difficult to see into the murk above, it seemed to him that the branches were alive with slinking, writhing forms, all working their way into positions over his small flotilla of rafts. The behavior seemed most unnatural for snakes, which were usually more anxious to avoid trouble than start it.

Tang hazarded a glance at the rafts and was horrified to see his soldiers in a panic. They were lying prone on the logs, groaning over their bleeding bites and begging their ancestors for help, or they were dancing madly about on the logs, hacking at serpents and trying to stay beyond the reach of the voracious alligators. Many had failed already. The water was thick with severed limbs and shredded leather corselets, and some of the behe- moths in the water were even beginning to drift away, each clutching a drowned man in its crooked jaws.

"This is dragon's doing!" Tang yelled. "He fears to show himself!"

Another pair of snakes dropped into his dugout. He dispatched one, while the bitten boatpusher used his pole to fling the other to the alligators.

"Take up poles and go to cavern!" the prince com- manded. "Do not fear snakes! If you are bitten, you can still fight."

Incredibly, the soldiers ignored their attackers and obeyed. The alligators continued to pull men into the water, and the snakes continued to rain down on their heads, but the rafts started to drift forward. Now that the company had orders, the entire troop was focused on its goal, and it did not seem to matter how many ofthe›r comrades fell. Thinking that perhaps he had a natur il aptitude for military leadership, Prince Tang flicki ‹ another serpent into the water and commanded his boc.'- pushers forward, then turned to face the cavern.

He found Cypress roosting on the toppled tree outs-He the cavern. The dragon looked half-agam as large as he had in the spicehouse, with scales so dark they seemed almost shadows in the murky swamp light. Perched beside Cypress were a pair of small wyverns that had been fluttering about the swamp during the prince's ear- lier visits. The creatures looked like huge iguanas, save that their thick tails ended in needle-sharp barbs and they had wings instead of forelegs.

Cypress's empty eye sockets swung toward the prince

Am I to assume you don't have the ylang oil?

Tang's knees nearly buckled. His grip grew so we A

that he dropped his sword into the bottom of the boat.

"I have come for Lady Feng. Then we talk about oil."

There is nothing to talk about. Without the oil, you will find only death.

"I prefer that fate to disgrace of leaving venerable mother with you."

Tang retrieved his weapon, quietly relieved that

Cypress had not yet recovered his voice. Without his

breath weapon and magic spells, the dragon would not prove so difficult to defeat. The prince glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw the remains of his small com- pany still behind him, he raised his sword. His hand was trembling so badly that the blade wobbled like the mast of a tempest-tossed caravel, but he did not let that stop him from pointing it at Cypress.

"There is enemy! Do not be frightened. He cannot spray you with acid, and he cannot hurt you with magic!"

Tang's soldiers raised their spears and cheered bravely, then allowed their rafts to drift to a stop and glowered at the dracolich. Cypress opened his muzzle slightly, return- ing the troop's glare with a mocking, yellow-toothed grin.

The two wyverns licked their chops, and the alligators pulled two more men into the water.

The prince scowled at his men, unable to understand why they had stopped advancing. "Attack!"

"In what manner, Honorable Prince?" The question came from Yuan, who stood on the raft closest to Tang's dugout.

The order seemed clear enough to the prince. "Attack with swords and halberds, of course!"

Yuan allowed himself the briefest shake of his head, then turned to the troops. "Number One Raft, assault to right. Number Two Raft to center. Number Three to left, and others remain in reserve." When the men began to maneuver as ordered, the adjutant bowed to Tang. "Per- haps Brave Prince wishes to move to safer position behind reserves?"

Tang almost said yes, then remembered how his men had struggled to hide their laughter during General Fui's u-nfortunate slip of tongue. "No. I lead attack, as I say earlier."

Tang ordered his punt forward and was surprised by the strength of the fear that boiled up inside him. It suf- fused his entire being, filling him with a hot, queasy sen- sation as foul as bile. He felt flushed and dizzy and achy, as though he were physically ill, and it seemed that his

whole body had suddenly gone weak. Cypress remained on his roost, flanked by his two wyverns and calmly awaiting the battle, his empty eye sockets never straying from the prince's dugout.

Tang chewed another lasal leaf, hoping that the sick- ening dread he felt was the result of a mind attack and not his own weak constitution. The haze inside his mind grew thicker, but his fear did not subside.

Cypress allowed the prince's dugout to advance almost into halberd-hurling range, then nudged the two wyverns. The beasts folded their wings and tipped for- ward, slipping into the swamp as quietly as alligators

They dove beneath the surface, then swam toward Tang's boat, the bristling crests along their spines slicing through the scummy water like shark fins.

Tang dropped his sword and grabbed a boatpusher's halberd, then willed his heavy legs to carry him to the front of the punt. He braced his feet against the walls and tried to ignore the voice calling through the lasal haze inside his head, urging him to remember himsel*

and take his proper place behind the reserves. The prince raised his halberd and watched the wyverns approach

They came more or less straight on, their spine crests cutting through the water to each side of the dugout. He angled his weapon to the right and thrust the blade into the water, aiming for the space between the creature's shoulder blades.

The halberd bit deep into the wyvem's thick hide and nearly jumped from Tang's hands. An unexpected scream of wild, brutal exhilaration burst from the prince's lips.

He clamped down on the weapon's shaft and dropped into a squat, both to drive the blade deeper and to keep from being jerked out of the dugout. The creature's head erupted from the water, filling the swamp with a loud, sizzling hiss.

Tang jerked his halberd free and swung the blade, axe- like, at the creature's head. The beast retracted its sinu- ous neck. Instead of counterstriking, it hissed again,

wagging a forked tongue as long as a pennon flag.

Tang had seen whiptail lizards wag their tongues at prey often enough to know what was coming next. He dove into the bottom of the dugout and heard the wyvern's barbed tail swishing over his back. The sound ended in a slurpy thud, then a boatpusher-the snake- bitten one, judging by his delirious voice-screamed.

With a trembling hand, the prince grabbed his sword, dropped it, grabbed it again, and came up swinging in time to see the wyvem's tail jerk his boatpusher from the punt. The fellow landed facedown and did not move. So deadly and quick was the wyvern's poison that the man puffed up before Tang's eyes. The flesh on his hands and neck grew black and slimy, while the red stain blossom- ing around the man's head suggested his nose was bleed- ing profusely.

The wyvern flicked its victim off its tail, then dove back beneath the water and swam toward Number Three

Raft. Tang remembered the other beast and spun around, half-expecting to feel a tail barb piercing his own flesh.

He found only an empty dugout, with a forsaken halberd and a pool of black slime to mark where the second boat- pusher had been standing a moment before.

Tang's earlier jubilation had vanished like smoke into fog; now he felt helpless and frightened. If a halberd could barely scratch a wyvern, how would it pierce a dragon's thick armor? He had been a fool to come into this swamp without a wu-jen.

The men on Number Two and Number Three Rafts voiced their battle cries and thrust their halberds into the swamp. A pair of tails lashed out of the water almost as one, each driving a barb through a soldier's leather armor. Tang saw scales rippling as the wyverns pumped their victims full of poison, then a flurry of blades as his soldiers hacked at the beasts' sinuous tails.

In the next instant, the back end of Number Three

Raft rose on a wyvern's back. The creature's wings beat the swamp as it struggled to raise the boat higher. Men

tumbled into the water, screaming and slashing at alliga- tors. Finally, when the raft had grown light enough, the wyvern twisted sideways and flipped it.

Number Two Raft suffered a similar fate; then the two creatures dove beneath the surface and swam toward the rafts Yuan had held in reserve.

Tang grabbed a halberd and used it to push his punt after Number One Raft, which had nearly reached

Cypress's roost. It was difficult to say whether the dragon was watching the approaching vessel or not. He held his head turned to one side and slightly cocked, so that one empty eye socket was turned toward the dark water and the other on the murky canopy. His scaly lips were slightly curled, as though he found the cacophony of howling voices a pleasant evening serenade.

Number One Raft scraped past a heap of shark skele- tons and stopped beside Cypress's roost, less than twenty paces from the dragon. Several men quickly formed a wall at the front of the craft while their companions gath- ered behind them.

Tang pushed harder, trying to catch up before they launched their attack. The voice in his lasal-clouded head kept urging him to turn back. The closer he came to his foe, the less he cared about the disrespect his men had shown him earlier-or the shame he would bring upon himself by failing to rescue his mother. Nevertheless, the prince continued forward, not because he cared about his men or was suddenly determined to prove that he was no coward, but because he knew that the only way to leave the swamp alive was to kill his foe.

Tang had almost caught Number One Raft when the men in the front hurled their halberds like spears. As the shafts arced toward the dragon, half a dozen soldiers leaped onto the toppled tree and rushed forward to attack. The boatpushers again started to move their clumsy vessel forward.

Cypress calmly brought a wing around to shield him- self from the flying halberds. The steel blades pierced the

leathery scales easily enough, but lacked the force to drag the heavy shafts through the tough hide and pene- trate the dragon's body. One weapon splashed into the swamp, but most simply lodged themselves in a wing and dangled there like needles in an oxhide.

Cypress lowered his wing and swept the line of charg- ing warriors off the toppled tree, then hopped off his roost and landed in the middle of the raft. The boat settled a few inches beneath the water, but did not sink, and its occupants whirled on their foe in a flurry of flashing steel. Growling and hissing like one of his wyverns, the dragon lashed out with tail and wings and sent bodies splashing into the water on all sides.

Tang gave his punt another shove and stepped into the bow, praying his weak knees would have enough strength to hold him up when he leaped onto Number One Raft.

Before he arrived, Cypress raked his black talons down the length of the raft, severing the lashings that held it together.

The logs rolled apart, plunging all who had been standing upon them into the swamp. Tang's punt contin- ued to glide forward, and somehow-perhaps because he was too frightened to move-the prince found himself standing fast in the bow, with a clear flank shot and

Cypress looking the other way. The prince clamped his arms around his halberd and gathered his rubbery legs beneath him, determined that the dragon would not shrug off this strike as easily as the wyvern had shrugged off his first.

Tang was staring at the scale through which he intended to drive his halberd, so he did not see Cypress's wing sweeping toward him on the backswing. He simply heard an earsplitting thump, then found himself sailing over the toppled tree trunk with his gold-trimmed helmet flying in one direction and his weapon in another. He splashed into the warm water, sank to the bottom, and nearly got tangled in a bed of fish skeletons before he recovered his wits and kicked free.

His head ringing and his body aching. Tang broke the surface and peered over the log. The bog scum had erupted into a pink-tinged froth, with the dragon stand- ing waist-deep in blood and shark skeletons, battering his foes with wings and tail and calmly tearing their bod- ies apart with gore-dripping talons. The prince's warriors could do little to defend themselves. The legs of most were hopelessly tangled among the fish bones, and the rest could barely hold their chins above the water, much less swing their heavy blades powerfully enough to pierce

Cypress's thick scales.

The voice inside Tang's head shrieked through the lasal haze, reminding him that he was a Shou prince and should have fled long ago. He managed to ignore it for a short time, but when the alligators appeared at the fringe of the battle and began to drag away the wounded, the voice began to sound wise. Tang pushed away from the log and, moving very slowly to avoid attracting alli- gators, he slipped beneath the surface and swam toward the mountain.

Twelve

A sliver of pearly light split the mid- night gloom between the gate towers, and Ruha realized the guards of Moon- storm House were opening the gates for her. She lashed her mount with the ends other reins, urging the exhausted

Shou prancer into the ragged sem- blance of a gallop. The two packhorses behind her snorted in protest, but had little trouble adjusting to the new pace. They were both larger than the witch's mount and, loaded with four sacks of ylang blossoms each, far less heavily burdened.

From behind Ruha came the clatter of firing cross- bows, followed instantly by the ringing echoes of iron bolts skipping across cobblestones. One of the packhorses screamed, and the witch's prancer stumbled as the train slowed. She twisted around and saw the last beast hob- bling badly. Like the animal ahead of it, its chest was covered in lather, and its eyes were bulging with fear and exhaustion.

Thirty paces down the deserted street, two dozen of

Hsieh's guards lashed their mounts madly, making a last desperate effort to catch Ruha. As planned, they were closing the distance and doing everything possible to make it appear they truly wanted to succeed. The lead rider accepted a loaded crossbow from the man at his flank, then raised the weapon and fired. A dark streak

flashed between him and the hobbling horse. The beast screeched and would have fallen had the other animals not dragged it along, stumbling and staggering.

Cursing her pursuers for heartless killers, Ruha blew a sharp breath in their direction and uttered a simple wind spell. A howling gust tore down the street, blasting the first three riders half out of their saddles. As they struggled to regain their balance, they were overtaken by the galloping throng at their backs; two more soldiers raised their crossbows. Hsieh had commanded his men to make a convincing show of the chase, and Shou were nothing if not obedient.

A chorus of strumming bowstrings sounded from atop the gate towers. The leading Shou riders sprouted arrows in their chests and fell from their wooden saddles. The rest of Hsieh's men whipped their reins around, guiding their horses into a sheltering alleyway.

Ruha's prancer clattered through the dark gateway of

Moonstorm House into a spacious, hexagonal courtyard of ornamental trees and twining garden pathways. The witch reined in her mount, bringing the entire train to a halt and drawing a relieved nicker from the wounded packhorse. The enormous garden was enclosed by a milky wall, with slender, cone-roofed towers standing at each of the six corners. The castle had no central keep, nor, as far as the witch could tell, any sort of inner defensework at all.

Despite the excitement of the phony chase, Ruha found herself completely and utterly exhausted by the long ride from the Ginger Palace. This was her second night with- out sleep. She kept yawning behind her veil, and her eyes were burning with the need to close. She braced her hands on her saddle pommel and fought to clear her head; she could not allow herself to even think of resting, not until she had laid her trap.

Captain Fowler rushed from a gate tower's narrow doorway, followed closely by Vaerana Hawklyn, Tombor the Jolly, and Pierstar Hallowhand. Though the hour was

well past midnight, they were still dressed in jerkins, tunics, and trousers. They had, no doubt, been up plan- ning tomorrow's assault on the Ginger Palace.

Fowler stopped beside Ruha and took her mount's foam-covered reins. "Are you well, Witch?" The half-ore scowled at the lather on his hand, then wiped it on his pants. "And what have you done to this poor beast?"

"Galloped him all the way from the Ginger Palace, by the looks of it," said Vaerana, joining them. She turned to

Pierstar. "You'd better have someone rouse John the far- rier and his boys. These horses need some attention."

Pierstar stopped beside the wounded beast and winced at the two bolts lodged in its rump, then turned toward a tower in the back of the castle.

"I'll do it myself," he said. "And I'll send a patrol of

Maces after those riders. I doubt we'll catch them, but I

don't want them in the city. Those Shou can be sneaky."

Tombor the Jolly went to the first horse and stood on his toes so he could reach the knots. "Perhaps we should unload. Since Ruha risked her life to bring us this cargo,

I assume it is of some importance."

"It is." The witch glanced at the cleric just long enough to nod, then stifled a yawn and dismounted. "It's the last ingredient the Cult of the Dragon needs to steal Yansel- dara's spirit-ylang blossoms. They arrived on the Gin- ger Lady with Minister Hsieh."

"Then you've saved Yanseldara!" Fowler's outburst was as much question as exclamation, but that did not stop him from folding Ruha into his arms. "Maybe now you can get me my gold."

"Not so fast." Vaerana went to help Tombor unload the pack train. "As I understand things, stopping the cult's not the same as saving Yanseldara."

"That is correct. I have bought us more time, but

Yanseldara is still in danger until we recover the staff."

Vaerana tossed a sack of ylang blossoms on the ground.

"I don't suppose you can tell us where it is?"

The witch shook her head. "I am sorry. Lady Feng's

familiar was gone. It was all I could do to return with the ylang blossoms."

Vaerana sighed wearily. "I guess I'll have to do this myself."

"I am sorry I failed you."

Vaerana shrugged. "I'm sure you did your best."

The Lady Constable probably did not mean to be insulting, but her patronizing tone vexed Ruha and made the witch burn to expose Tombor's treachery. Unfortu- nately, vindication would have to wait. Until the cleric was gone, Ruha could not tell Vaerana about his treach- ery, or about her plan to trick him into leading them to

Cypress's lair.

"What are you planning to do?" Ruha tried to sound genuinely sorry for her failure. Once she sprang her trap and exposed Tombor, it would be Vaerana's turn to apolo- gize. "Perhaps I can help?"

Vaerana rolled her eyes, but managed to make a civil reply. "Why don't you get some rest? You look like you need it, and this is better done alone."

"Then you'll try to snatch a member of the cult?" asked

Fowler.

Vaerana nodded and reached across a horse to untie another sack of ylang blossoms. "I know a couple of likely places to find one."

Tombor shook his head. "Even if you're lucky enough to catch someone who knows where the lair is, he won't tell you. If you want to make him talk, take me along."

"Sorry, Tombor. We'll be moving fast tonight." Vaerana patted the cleric's stomach. "I don't think you can keep up."

"You'll have to torture them."

Vaerana nodded grimly. "I won't enjoy it."

Somehow, Ruha suspected the Lady Constable of being less than honest.

"Vaerana, before you go, we should talk." Ruha could hardly explain why in front of Tombor, but the last thing she wanted was for Vaerana to leave Moonstorm House.

"I should tell you of some other things I learned in the

Ginger Palace."

"Then talk." Vaerana continued to help Tombor unload.

"I don't have all night."

Ruha forced herself not to look in Tombor's direction.

"First, Cypress is back."

Vaerana's jaw fell, and she let a sack of blossoms slip from her grasp.

"I saw him in the spicehouse," Ruha explained. "He was smaller than the first time I saw him. He could not speak or use his magic, but it was definitely Cypress. By kidnapping his cult members, you may be drawing his attention to you."

Vaerana turned back to the pack train. "Better to face him in Elversult than in his lair." There was not much conviction in her voice. "What else?"

"Cypress is not stealing Yanseldara's spirit so his cult can control Elversult." Ruha was frantically trying to think of something that would keep the Lady Constable inside Moonstorm House without arousing Tombor's sus- picions. "The dragon wants her spirit for himself."

"For himself?" Vaerana echoed.

Ruha nodded. "I think Cypress is in love with Yansel- dara, or believes he is."

Tombor raised his brow. "You seem to have learned quite a lot during your visit!"

Behind her veil, Ruha bit her lip and wondered if she had said too much. Her mind was as weary as her body, and she found it difficult to be subtle when her thoughts were so sluggish.

"I overheard a conversation between the prince and the dragon." Then, doing her best to sound indignant,

Ruha said, "I am not entirely inept."

"No one said you were-er, at least not lately." Vaerana motioned Fowler over to hold the wounded packhorse.

"But Cypress doesn't have any reason to love Yanseldara.

She's the one that killed him!"

"You don't know much about men, do you Lady Con-

stable?" Fowler gave her a roguish, yellow-fanged grin.

"There's a fine half-elf tavern wench over in Saerloon who slams an ale tankard against my head every time I

see her, and I keep coming back for more. What's that tell you?"

"That you let your orcish blood get the best of you."

Vaerana growled. "You ought to know when to quit."

Fowler shrugged, trying not to look hurt. "Maybe, but what I'm saying is that I don't quit. I keep wanting what will never be mine. Seems like that's what Cypress is doing. Yanseldara killed him-maybe Sharee'll kill me with that tankard someday-and now he's trying to steal her, just as he stole all that treasure that belonged to someone else. He wants what he can't have. It's part of being male."

Vaerana pulled the last of the ylang blossoms off the wounded horse. "Fair enough. Let's say I don't under- stand men-not that I'd want to-what does it matter?"

The Lady Constable dropped the sack on the ground. "It doesn't change anything I've got to do tonight."

Vaerana turned to walk toward one of the towers, and

Ruha, desperate to keep her from leaving, caught her by the arm.

The Lady Constable frowned at the witch's hand.

"What now?"

"Do you have an oil press?" Ruha asked.

"In the kitchens," Tombor answered. "Why?"

The witch hesitated. She had already baited the trap, and she worried that in her exhaustion, she would explain too much and alert Tombor to her trap. On the other hand, if she did not explain, Vaerana would not stay to see the traitor take the bait.

"The members of the Cult of the Dragon are not the only ones who need the ylang oil. After we recover the staff, we must pour the ylang oil over Yanseldara to draw her spirit back into her body." Ruha continued to hold

Vaerana's arm. "But if the oil is poured over a vessel con- taining the spirits of both Yanseldara and Cypress, the

two will be joined together forever. That is why I believe the dragon is in love with Yanseldara."

"And how did you learn so much about the uses of ylang oil?" Tombor asked.

"I am a witch," Ruha replied, trying to dodge the ques- tion with a cryptic reply. "So is Lady Feng."

In fact, Minister Hsieh had explained how to use the ylang oil. He had also provided Ruha with another Shou potion, one with which she was to send a message through Yanseldara to Lady Feng.

Vaerana studied Ruha for several moments, then asked, "So, you're saying we need to press the oil our- selves-and be damned sure the cult doesn't steal it back?"

"Yes." Actually, this was only what Ruha wanted Tom- bor to believe. The blossoms in the sacks were the old, unsuitable ones; the fresh ylang was still in the Ginger

Palace, being pressed in the spicehouse refinery. "That is what I'm saying."

"Fine." Vaerana looked to Tombor. "See to it that the blossoms are pressed and well guarded."

If there had been any lingering doubts in Ruha's mind that Tombor was the spy, they vanished when she saw the delighted twinkle in his eye. "The oil will be ready when you get back."

Vaerana turned back to Ruha. "If you're satisfied, now

I've got to go."

With that, Vaerana pulled her arm out of Ruha's grasp and started across the courtyard. The witch stared after her in bewilderment, then scurried to catch up.

"Wait, Vaerana! There is one more thing."

The Lady Constable stopped beneath the dark branches of a fragrant sweetbay tree. "What is it?"

Before the witch could explain, Tombor called, "There's no need to delay Vaerana. If you need something, I'm sure I can help."

Ruha glanced over her shoulder and saw Tombor com- ing after them, his jolly face bent into a mask of solicitous

concern. The witch cursed under her breath and turned her back on him.

"Before you leave, you must visit me in my chamber."

she whispered to Vaerana, "alone!"

Vaerana shook her head. "I don't have time-"

Ruha took her arm again. "You must! Promise me."

Vaerana glanced down at the witch's hand. "Then will

you let me go?"

Ruha nodded and removed her hand. "It is important."

"If you say so." Vaerana looked past Ruha's shoulder to

Tombor, who was already upon them. "Lodge the witch in

Pearl Tower."

"Pearl Tower?" Tombor echoed, clearly surprised.

"Pearl Tower." Vaerana turned to leave. "Are you hav- ing trouble with your ears?"

The cleric took Ruha's arm, gripping it more tightly than was necessary. "I'll show you to a chamber as soon as we've seen to the blossoms."

"Perhaps we could go to the tower first," Ruha sug- gested, worried she would not be there when Vaerana came to see her. "I have not slept in two days."

Tombor shook his head. "You said yourself we can't let these blossoms fall into the hands of the Cult of the

Dragon. Besides, the kitchen is on the way to Pearl

Tower. It'll take only a few minutes to stop and set up the press."

Ruha accompanied the cleric back to the horses. She removed a small satchel of supplies from her saddle, then helped Fowler and Tombor gather up the bulky sacks of ylang blossoms. Leaving the beasts with a guard, they walked down a chain of meandering pathways to a thatch-roofed shed against the back wall of the fortress.

The place smelled of animal grease, smoke, and fresh

Heartland spices.

Tombor stopped at the entrance and banged on the wooden door. "Up with you, Silavia! I've business in your kitchen!"

"The cook bars the door when she sleeps," explained

Fowler. "Otherwise, the night guards pilfer her breakfast

tarts."

They had to wait several minutes before a sleepy voice sounded on the other side of the door. "Go away, Tombor. I

won't have you calling in the middle of the night. You only want something to eat."

Tombor looked slightly embarrassed. "I've-uh-guests with me, Silavia. We need the oil press. It's for

Lady Yanseldara."

Silavia hesitated a moment, then asked, "Truly?"

"Truly," replied Ruha. "The matter is urgent, I assure you."

"Very well." Silavia sounded more put-upon than curi- ous. "Let me throw on an apron."

From inside the building came several moments of bustling and whispering, which elicited a resentful scowl from Tombor. When a muffled thump finally announced the withdrawal of the bar, the cleric pushed the door open and stepped inside, where a stout, tousle-haired woman stood in a nightshirt and crisp white apron. The flickering taper in her hand illuminated an ashen, moon- shaped face with a bottle nose and plump-lipped frown.

Tombor dropped his sacks inside the door, then snatched the candle from the cook and went to light sev- eral others. A flickering yellow glow soon filled the room, revealing a neatly kept chamber filled with cutting tables, kneading troughs, and spice barrels. The embers of several spent fires glowed in three different fireplaces, one with a roasting spit over the hearth, one with soup cauldrons sitting in the firebox, and one built beneath a brick oven. Silavia's sleeping pallet lay behind a dough bench, where a burly, black-bearded man stood looking down at a half-eaten honeycake and two empty mead pitchers.

Tombor glared at the embarrassed man for a moment, then growled, "You'd better get yourself to the gate, John.

There's a wounded horse there, and Pierstar's looking for you."

"My thanks for telling me so, Tombor." The farrier, looking happy for any excuse to leave, started toward the door.

Tombor watched the man leave, then turned to Silavia

"What was he doing here?"

"It's none of your concern who I give my honeycakes to!" Silavia retorted. "Not that there wouldn't be some foi you, if you ever came around at a decent hour."

"It's this trouble with Yanseldara's catalepsy!" the cleric protested. "I've been busy."

"So have I," Silavia snorted. She led the way to a small storage pantry and unlocked the door with a key from her apron. "The oil press is in here, if you want it. Don't expect me to help you with it."

Tombor motioned to Fowler, who dropped his ylang blossoms beside the cleric's and followed him into the little room. Ruha put her own sacks on the floor and tried not to yawn as Silavia glared at her.

Tou a friend of Tombor or Tuskface?" the cook asked.

"I am closer to Fowler. I do not know Tombor very well

Is he an important person in Elversult?"

"You could say that," Silavia replied proudly. Tombor's the one who saved Vaerana when the assassins first got after her. He's done the same twice since-at the risk of his own life, I might add."

The witch smiled, anticipating the apology she would be due when she exposed Tombor's heroism as a cull ploy

"I had not realized he is so well thought of."

Fowler emerged from the storage pantry, carrying a small oil press in his arms. The device was a mere frac- tion the size of the screw press in the spicehouse at the

Ginger Palace, being small enough so that a single cook could move it without help. Tombor followed a moment later, holding a small, empty cask beneath one arm. The two men set their burdens on a vacant table, then the cleric motioned Silavia to his side.

"How do I work this thing?"

Silavia fetched a large bowl from a shelf, then set it

beneath the drainage spout. "It's simple enough. First you put the raw goods in here."

She pulled the handle, raising the platen and display- ing a small wooden box. The bed had a grid of channels cut into the bottom, and it was tilted so that the oil would run into a collection trough at one end.

"Then you lower the top plate, and it squeezes the oil out." Silavia demonstrated, then stepped aside. "And when you're done, you clean up after yourself."

Tombor cast a wary eye at the eight bags of ylang blos- soms, then looked to Ruha. "How much oil do we need?"

"Enough to cover Yanseldara from head to foot," she replied. "I suggest you press all of the blossoms."

Silavia smiled at the cleric. "It looks like you're going to be here a while. Maybe I can find some honeycakes for

you."

Tombor's eyes lit up. "That would make our task more

enjoyable."

"If I may be excused, I shall leave it to you to press the oil." Ruha did not bother to stifle the yawn that came over her. "I am very tired. Perhaps Captain Fowler can show me to Pearl Tower."

Silavia raised her brow. "Pearl Tower? I think not.

Jarvis isn't likely to let a pair of strangers in there."

"No, but you can take her, Silavia." Tombor tried to remove a gold ring from his chubby finger, but had to moisten the knuckle with saliva before he could tug it off.

"Show this to Jarvis, and hell know you speak for me."

Scowling at the imposition, Silavia accepted the ring and threw a cloak over her shoulders. Ruha retrieved the small satchel she had taken from her horse, then waved at Fowler to come along and followed her guide into the gloomy courtyard. They passed several dark sheds simi- lar to the kitchen before turning onto a serpentine path of white crushed rock.

The witch paused there and allowed Silavia to march a dozen paces ahead, then whispered to Fowler, "You must return to the kitchens and help Tombor with the blossoms."

The half-ore frowned. "You couldn't tell me that before we left?"

"I could not. Tombor is a cult spy."

"What?"

"I lack the time to explain, but I am certain. He and

Wei Dao were working together." Ruha pushed the half- ore back toward the kitchen. "Now, return to the kitchen.

When he opens the last sack of blossoms, come get me."

Fowler did not move. "Why?"

"So we can follow him to Yanseldara's staff, of course."

Ruha whispered. "Go!"

"We?" he grumbled, starting back toward the kitchen.

"Collecting the gold you owe me's getting to be as much work as stealing Storm Sprite in the first place."

"You stole your ship?" Ruha gasped.

Fowler frowned. "Aye-you don't think I could've bought a ship like her, do you?"

"Truthfully, I had not given the matter much thought."

Ruha turned to find Silavia waiting fifteen paces up the path, hands on hips.

"Are you coming or not? I thought you were tired."

"I am tired-extremely tired." Ruha scurried to catch up. "That must be why it did not occur to me to leave

Captain Fowler with Tombor. I'm sure his work will go faster with an assistant."

"Not much," snorted the cook. "You can squeeze oil only so fast."

Ruha followed Silavia down the path, past several intersections to a slender tower faced with gleaming abalone shell. To reach the building's entrance, they had to climb a detached stairway to the second story, then cross a small drawbridge to an open portcullis. A pair of

Maces stood beside the entrance, fully armored in scale- mail and equipped with more weapons than they could have used with six hands. As the witch and her guide approached, the guards continued to stare straight ahead.

The largest, a swarthy giant of a man with brown eyes

and dark straight hair, spoke in an officious voice. "By the order ofVaerana Hawklyn, household staff is no longer permitted in Pearl Tower."

The two guards crossed their lances before the door- way; then the speaker scowled at the cook.

"You know that, Silavia-and especially at this time of

night."

"Don't get haughty with me, Jarvis!" The cook pro- duced Tombor's ring and shoved it under Jarvis's nose.

"Take a look at that and do as I say."

Jarvis pulled back so he could inspect the ring, then snapped his lance back to his side and returned to atten- tion. The smaller man followed suit.

"You have a command from the Jolly One?" asked

Jarvis.

Silavia smiled as though she were thinking of telling the huge guard to jump off the drawbridge, but she only stepped back and waved a hand at Ruha. "Tombor wants this woman shown to-" Silavia stopped in midsentence and scowled at the witch. "Not to his chamber?"

Ruha shook her head quickly. "No, and it was Vaerana who asked Tombor to see that I was lodged here."

If Jarvis was impressed, he did not show it. He simply waved Ruha into the tower, then picked up a candle and lit it from one burning in a wall sconce. Shielding the flame with his free hand, he led the witch up a spiraling staircase. The passage was so narrow that his mail-clad shoulders rasped against both walls at once.

Once they were safely out of Silavia's earshot, Ruha said, "I am expecting a-" she yawned, "-a visit from

Vaerana."

Jarvis missed a step and nearly fell, filling the stair- well with a ringing clamor as he thrust a hand out to catch himself.

"Is something wrong?" Ruha found the guard's conster- nation puzzling. "Has she been here already?"

Jarvis shook his head and smoothed his tabard. "I

haven't seen the Lady Constable, but that doesn't mean

she hasn't been here. She might come through the pas- sage from Moon Tower, and I would never know it."

Ruha considered this worrisome possibility, then rejected it as quickly as it entered her mind. Had Vaer- ana already come and gone, she would certainly have left a message with the guards.

Jarvis stopped at a landing and opened a doorway into the main part of the tower, where a short corridor led to a vaulted alcove that served as one of the fortress's exterior arrow loops. He escorted Ruha past three doors, two with loud rumbling snores reverberating through the wood, then opened a fourth. The chamber inside was as lavishly furnished as it was small, with wool tapestries on the walls, a true wooden bed, a small table with a pitcher and basin, and a stone bench built into the alcove of another arrow loop.

Jarvis lit a tallow pot hanging inside the door, then stepped aside to let Ruha enter. "I'll tell Vaerana which room you're in."

"That is very kind. And do you know Captain Fowler?"

Jarvis's eyes widened slightly. "The half-ore?"

"Yes. If he asks for me, please fetch me at ence."

The guard nodded, then backed into the hall and pulled the door shut. Ruha sat on the stone bench and peered out the arrow loop at the side of a wooded hill.

She leaned her head back against the wall and felt her heavy eyelids beginning to descend. She did not have the strength to raise them.

Tang lay facedown on the dark mountainside, his toes kicked deep into the slippery mud to keep from sliding through the ferns down into the swamp. Though he had his palms pressed tightly over his ears, he could not shut out the voices of the dead. The spirits of his soldiers kept wailing at him. Their words were incoherent, but he knew what they wanted. He could feel their craving, deep

down in his abdomen where his own shrunken spirit cow- ered like that of a frightened peasant. They needed him to look at them, to acknowledge the futility of their sacri- fice, to intercede with Yen-Wang-Yeh and tell the Great

Judge that they had died bravely and well and that their mission had failed through no fault of their own.

Tang could not bring himself to utter the prayer. To concede their valor was to admit he had suffered defeat at the hands of a barbarian; worse, it was to admit defeat at his own hands. When his soldiers laughed at him, he had let his embarrassment dictate General Fui's death.

The price for that arrogance had been the failure of his assault, and the prince did not care to admit-to himself or his ancestors-that he been had such a fool. If that made him a coward, so be it; Shou princes were taught to be cowards, and forgetting that lesson had been the cause of his ignoble defeat.

Tang's resolve only made the voices echo louder inside his head. He rolled onto his back and sat up. Midnight gloom filled the swamp below like a funeral pyre's black smoke, spreading an oily, clinging ink over everything it touched. The darkness was broken only by a faint fox fire glow that illuminated the floating corpses of the scream- ing dead soldiers.

"Silence, I command!" Tang hissed. "Present your- selves at Ten Courts and leave me in peace!"

A gentle sloshing sounded below. Something broke the surface of the black water, sending a crazy pattern of rip- pling, ghost-faint lights bouncing off invisible cypress trunks. Tang froze, praying the disturbance had been caused by a restless alligator.

It was impossible to say how long the prince stared into the darkness. He was not conscious of breathing until long after the air had grown heavy with silence and the pond had returned to its glassy stillness. It occurred to him that the voices of his dead soldiers had fallen quiet; then he sensed a pair of long reptilian necks rising from the black water. He did not see the creatures so

much as feel a pair of lighter, warmer presences among the cypress trees below, but he knew without doubt that his craven outburst of whispering had drawn the atten- tion of Cypress's wyverns.

Tang had not expected the two reptiles to emerge froni the cave that night. They had both suffered a substantial battering during the destruction of the Shou assault party, so the prince had assumed they would lie up for the night and lick their wounds. Still, with a ready sup- ply of fresh meat floating outside their door, it was not surprising they had come out to feed. Tang was glad he had decided not to hazard moving at night. If the crea- tures had been outside when he started rustling through the brush, they would surely have killed him.

No sooner had Tang finished congratulating himself on his wisdom than the ground trembled beneath his legs

He stifled a cry and, thinking one of the reptiles had landed nearby, reached for his only weapon, a pitifully inadequate dagger. Instead of feeling the sharp sting of a wyvern's tail barb, however, he heard a series of faint, muffled knells-such as a distant bell or gong might make.

The tolling had hardly begun to fade before a loud purl rolled from the mouth of the grotto below. Cypress's form-a huge, shadowy darkness far blacker than the surrounding swamp-emerged from the lair and seemed to pause outside the cavern.

The wyverns hissed in frustration and swam, rather noisily, back into the cavern. A loud, basal throb rever- berated through the swamp as Cypress's mighty wings beat the air. Visions of the dragon swooping down out of the darkness filled the prince's mind, at least until he realized the pulsing was growing softer and more dis- tant. The dragon was flying away.

Tang sighed in relief, then kicked his heels deep into the mud and felt something slithering across his leg. The prince remained motionless until he located the crea- ture's head, then calmly grabbed it behind the jaws and

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.

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 real- ized 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 out- side 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 com- panion, 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 meander- ing 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. Wonder-

ing 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 limp- ing 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 blood-smeared 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 stom- ach, 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 Con- stable 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 face- down 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 flick- ering 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 aston- ished 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 Tom- bor. 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 com- plexion 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, per- haps 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 half-ore 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 sug- gested.

"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 blos- soms 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 spear- shaped leaves until the viper struck at his snake stick, then flipped the Y- shaped 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 care- fully, 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 sharp- ened 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 hon- orable 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 fright- ened 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 scat- tered across the pond as thick as lily pads. Most of the corpses had been savagely mangled by alligators or bit- ten cleanly in two by the wyverns, but a few were black- ened 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 nei- ther 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

objected to having their bodies used as bait, the prince could not tell over the din of voices already assailing his ears. He loaded the cadavers into the dugout, leaning one man over the bow and propping the other in the stern.

Into the bottom of the punt, he placed a halberd and some supplies he had gathered from his dead troops, including a rope, torches, oil, and a waterskin.

After peering through gray mosquito haze to make cer- tain no alligators lurked nearby-most had retreated to their dens to gorge themselves on last night's catch-

Tang slipped into the bog scum. As the water rose above his waist, the stench of decaying plants and rotten fish grew immensely more powerful. He gagged and nearly emptied his stomach, then slapped a hand over his nose and forced himself to breathe through his mouth until he grew accustomed to the reek. He pushed the dugout toward Cypress's cavern, moving so slowly that even he could not see the water rippling. A familiar, cold weak- ness crept over his limbs, and his heart began to pound so loudly it drowned out the wails of the dead soldiers. In response, they raised their voices until it seemed the entire swamp reverberated with their howls.

"Worthy ancestors, please to silence spirits," the prince begged. "It is difficult to be brave with such din."

If anything, the spirits wailed more loudly, yet not loudly enough to drown out the small, whispering voice that kept telling Tang he was a fool to face the wyverns alone. It was not the place of Shou princes to wade through swamps filled with the choking stench of death and rot, or to brave black waters infested with leeches and alligators.

The bottom vanished beneath Tang's feet. He forced his legs and arms into service and swam toward the cave.

The closer he came to the moss-draped maw, the weaker his limbs felt. He doubted he would have the strength to enter the grotto, but that was not required. All he had to do was push the dugout into view of the wyverns, and they would do the rest.

As the prince consoled himself with these thoughts, it occurred to him there was a weakness in his plan. How would he know when-or even if-the wyverns took his bait? The poison would be both painful and quick. Once the stakes punctured the lining of their stomachs, the great reptiles would thrash about and screech madly for a short time, but Tang would not hear them. The dead soldiers were wailing too loudly; the prince would not have heard it if Cypress himself roared in his ear.

Tang allowed the dugout to drift to a stop, then hung from its stern. He had two choices: go into the cave with the corpses, or make his report to Yen-Wang-Yeh so the soldiers would be silent.

Or sneak out of the swamp while Cypress was away, added the insidious voice inside his head.

"I do not go back!"

Feeling proud for avoiding the obvious choice of a cow- ard, Tang took the second most cowardly course and swam the dugout toward the yawning cavern. It seemed entirely possible the wyverns would kill him, but that was preferable to disgracing his ancestors by admitting that he had turned out to be a fool.

The punt nosed in front of the cavern mouth. When the wyverns did not immediately come swooping out of the darkness, Tang took a deep breath, then slipped beneath the water and pushed the dugout around the corner. The din of his dead soldiers faded to a watery roar, and the cowardly voice in his head stopped urging him to flee.

The prince continued to ease forward, hoping his feet did not break the surface when he kicked, struggling to keep his hand from slipping on the boat's slimy bottom. His lungs were already burning for air, but he knew it was only the coward in him looking for an excuse to flee.

Tang continued to kick, praying he would feel the wyverns' strike rock the dugout before his craven lips opened and sucked a mouthful of fetid water into his lungs. It occurred to him that the wyverns might be gorged already. But they had to be ravenous after last

night's burst of fighting, and the two lizards had not yet finished feeding when Cypress sent them inside to guard the lair. Unless the prince had misinterpreted last night's events, they would be voracious enough to devour the punt as well as its contents.

So why hadn't they attacked?

Tang's yearning for air grew so overwhelming that he nearly opened his mouth. Instead, he blew his breath out through his nostrils and continued to swim.

At this point, he expected the coward inside to remind him that it was treason to risk the life of a Shou prince, to urge him to swim for the swamp. The whispering voice remained mercifully silent, perhaps because it knew

Tang had come too far. The punt was his only camou- flage. If he was not behind its sheltering bulk when he pushed his head above water, the wyverns would swoop down to bite him in two, just as they had bitten apart those bodies in the swamp outside.

A black fog gathered at the edges of Tang's percep- tions, and he realized he could no longer deny his lungs.

He rolled onto his back and pushed his head up alongside the slimy hull. When his face broke the surface, he opened his mouth and quietly filled his chest with dank, moldy air.

The cavern ceiling hung thrice a man's height above hie head. It was a dark vault of broken stalactites and shadowy hollows, dimly illuminated by the swamp's emerald light. Here and there were blocky holes where some huge chunk of stone had long ago fallen into the water, shaken loose by an earthquake, or perhaps some ancient outpouring of Cypress's anger.

Tang allowed his gaze to follow the curve of the ceiling down to the wall, then farther down to a rock ledge loom- ing above the water. Hanging above this stony bench were two pairs of huge orange eyes with slit pupils and gleaming, voracious gazes. The prince's heart skipped a beat or several, and he stopped himself from crying out only by pulling his head beneath the water.

The wyverns struck the next instant, taking Tang's bait so hard that they slammed the bottom of the dugout into his chest. The impact drove the air from his lungs, and he found himself choking on fetid brown swamp water. His head broke the surface of its own accord and violent coughs began to rack the prince's body. He grabbed the side of the punt and tried to regain control of his convulsing chest.

A pair of severed legs splashed down on the other side of the dugout. Tang looked up and saw four reeling wings silhouetted against the cavern's far wall. Still coughing, he grabbed for his halberd, nearly capsizing the punt as he reached inside. The wyverns turned toward him.

Their orange eyes glowed bright as fire, and strings of flesh dangled between their needle-sharp teeth. In the dim light, the prince could barely make out a prickly leather ball lodged in the corner of one creature's mouth.

He could not see the second poison sack, but the other reptile kept whipping its narrow head from side to side and thrusting out its forked tongue, as though something were caught in its throat.

The wyverns swooped low over the water. Tang found the heft of his weapon and saw his attackers raise their tails to strike. He forgot about the halberd and pulled hard on the side of the dugout, flipping it over on top of him. The polearm's shaft fell across his shoulder; then a pair of loud, sharp thuds cleaved the din of his dead sol- diers' voices. The bitter smell of wyvern poison filled the air. The prince grabbed the halberd and slipped beneath the surface.

A muffled crack reverberated through the water, fol- lowed quickly by a great gurgling sound as a large mass splashed into the pool. Tang kicked away from the spreading slick of wyvern poison-he did not want the stuff seeping into his scratches-and came up for air.

At the base of the stony ledge lay one of the wyverns, thrashing about in the water and hurling shards of splin- tered dugout in every direction. A puffy black bulge had

The VeUed Dragon

formed halfway down its sinuous neck, where the snake venom was eating away the delicate tissues of the throat lining. As the ring of swollen flesh began to restrict the flow of blood and air, the creature's nostrils flared, and its eyes bulged. It swung around and, when it tried to rip the obstruction from its own throat, came away with nothing but a mouthful of black mush. It flung the putrid flesh across the cavern, then suffered a wave of uncon- trollable convulsions and collapsed into the water.

A long, mournful hiss sounded from atop the ledge, where the second wyvem lay above its mate. One side of the beast's head had bloated into a shapeless mass of dark flesh. The reptile itself looked listless and sick, but there were no tremors or spasms to suggest the venom would ultimately prove fatal, and the venom ball was hanging precariously at the corner of its mouth.

If the wyvem was to die, Tang realized, he would have to kill it. He swam toward the back of the cavern, angling toward a large block of stone that rose out of the water and leaned against his foe's rocky perch. The great rep- tile raised its neck, turning its head to track his progress.

As the prince neared his goal, the wyvem lifted its wings as though to take flight, then abruptly let them fall and reluctantly gathered its legs beneath its bulk.

If he turned back now, the wyvern would be too weak to follow him, but Tang had no desire to flee. He wanted to rescue his mother, and to do that he had to slay this beast. He reached the boulder and clambered out of the water, then started up the slippery limestone. The wyvem peered over the top, then turned sideways and whipped its poison-tipped tail toward his chest.

Tang brought his halberd around, slapping the poison- dripping barb aside with the flat of the blade. In the same instant, he continued the motion, circling it over the top of the wyvern's tail and bringing the head up on the inside. Had he been fighting a man with a lance or spear, the maneuver would have sent his foe's weapon flying away. In this case, it twined his polearm into the

powerful appendage. The prince clamped the shaft beneath his arms and held on tight.

The reptile pulled its tail back to strike again, jerking

Tang up the boulder and swinging him across the stony ledge. He slammed into the cavern wall and nearly blacked out as the breath exploded from his body. The wyvern started to whip its tail back toward the boulder, nearly ripping the halberd from Tang's grasp, then real- ized it was dragging something and stopped. The mis- shapen head swung around and fixed an angry orange eye on the prince, who began to wish he had not been so rash when he had had the chance to flee.

Tang leapt over the tail, thereby freeing his halberd, and brought the blade around in a quick arc. The sharp edge slashed through the scaly tendril and sent the tail's poisonous barb skittering across the stones.

Even had he not felt the wyvem's hot breath washing over his back, Tang would have known what was coming next. He instantly pulled back, pushing the halberd butt into the air behind him, and smoothly switched stances so that he was facing the opposite direction. He found the wyvem's fang-filled jaws descending toward his head. The prince stepped forward to meet the attack, at the same time thrusting the butt of his weapon into the leathery ball lodged in the corner of the reptile's gaping maw.

The poison sack came loose and rolled deep into the wyvem's throat; then the beast's jaws snapped shut and severed the halberd shaft a hairbreadth above the prince's fingers. Tang started to shuffle backward, then saw a flash of motion in the corner of his eye and turned to dive off" the stony bench. The leathery wing caught him squarely in the back, launching him with such force that he sailed across the cavern and slammed into the far wall. His body erupted in pain; then he plunged into the black water.

Tang floated for a long time, too sore to breathe even if he had not been lying facedown in a pool of fetid swamp water. He ached from the tips of his fingers to the ends of

his toes, which was probably a good thing, since it meant the wyvern's blow had not broken his back. He tried to take stock of other possible injuries, but everything hurt too much to tell if any particular bone was broken or out of joint. When the need to breathe finally grew suffi- ciently urgent, he tried to roll onto his back and discov- ered the water was only knee-deep. He gathered his legs beneath him and rose out of the water.

At first, Tang did not recognize the strange growling sound he heard and thought perhaps the wyvern was coming after him. Then he recognized it as his own voice, groaning in pain, and realized with a start that the voices of his dead soldiers had fallen silent. In the dim light, he could barely make out the figure of the great reptile across the cavern, lying on the ledge with its barb- less tail and one leathery wing dangling motionless over the side. There was a large black bulge near the top of its scaly neck, and the amorphous mass that had once been its head was so swollen that the flesh had split open.

"Two wyverns!" the prince whispered. "Perhaps I am fool, but no longer am I coward!"

Even as he spoke them, Tang realized the words were not altogether true. There were many forms of cowardice, some more important than others, and he could not redeem himself through a single act of bravery. He turned toward the entrance of the cavern and bowed in deep respect.

"Listen, 0 Yen-Wang-Yeh, Great Judge and King of

Eighteen Hells." Tang spoke loudly and clearly, so that his ancestors might hear his words as well. "Listen and hear testimony of foolish Shou prince who squanders lives of

General Fui D'hang and many dutiful soldiers…"

In the amber dawn light, even Ruha could see that the cart tracks led up the hill straight to the gloomy ruins of what had once been a many-spired fortress of hanging

bartizans and dark hoardings. Tombor had driven through a grimy stream at the edge of the small wood where Vaerana had stopped the column, and the wagon wheels had left a pair of dark lines in the center of the dusty road.

"I should have guessed," Vaerana growled. "The Night

Castle."

"The Night Castle?" Ruha asked.

"We've chased cult assassins in there before," Vaeranp explained. "Whenever we do, the place fills with dark- ness. It'll be a hard thing to find Yanseldara's staff in that murk-especially if Cypress is there defending it."

Ruha glanced toward the eastern horizon, where the shrines of Temple Hill were silhouetted against At'ar's blazing golden orb. "The sun is rising; in a few minutes, my fire spells will be powerful enough to dispel even the thickest darkness."

"That won't do us any good, I'm afraid." Pierstar Hal- lowhand rode up to join Ruha and Vaerana. Behind him followed one of his gray-cloaked trackers and a bedrag- gled, long-bearded man who looked as frightened of his mount as he did the company of Maces gathered on the road. "If the staff was there, it's gone now."

"How can you know that?" Vaerana demanded.

"Longnose found a shepherd grazing his herd south of here." Pierstar motioned his scout to bring the bedrag- gled fellow forward, then nodded to the man. "Tell the

Lady Constable what you saw last night."

The fellow snatched his grimy cap from his head and began to wring it in his hands, then stared at the ground beneath Vaerana's stirrups. "It was well past high night, ma'am," he began. "I was waked by me dogs howling, an'

I heard a bell ringing, only it was real deep."

The man paused, which prompted Vaerana's gaze to snap toward Pierstar. "I don't see what-"

"Let him finish," Pierstar said. Then, to the man, he ordered, "Go on, and be quick about it. Vaerana Hawk- lyn's not known for her patience."

Looking more frightened than ever, the man blurted,

"It was maybe an hour later. My dogs went mad, an' I

looked up and saw a dragon flying over. I thought I'd lost me herd an' me life too, but it just flew by." He pointed toward the Night Castle. "It landed in there. I'll tell you, ma'am, I rolled me blanket quick and started the herd for these woods, but the dragon was back in the air before I

made a hundred paces-an' he was carryin' something real careful-like in his claws."

"What?" Vaerana demanded. "An oak staff with a big topaz pommel?"

It was Ruha who answered. "No. Cypress would not trust anyone else with that staff. It had to be the ylang blossoms."

"I don't know about your blossoms or your staff," said the man. "All I saw was a real fat cleric holding a big wooden cask, an' he looked about as scared as me."

"Then we've lost the trail." Vaerana did not curse or cry out; her shoulders simply slumped forward. "Even if we knew where the lair was, we can't ride as fast as

Cypress can fly."

"We have lost the trail, but not the battle," said Ruha.

"Minister Hsieh is pressing the real oil for us at the Gin- ger Palace. Perhaps we should go and retrieve it; when

Cypress returns home and discovers that he has been deceived, he will come to us."

Tang hurled the torch against the gray limestone, then sat upon a fallen stalactite to contemplate the back wall of the cavern. He had explored every nook, cranny and fissure without finding Cypress's lair. Not a single pas- sage large enough for a man, much less a dragon, led deeper into the mountain. The prince had even scaled a giant-high dropblock to peer into the ceiling's shadowy recesses, and he had seen nothing. It was as if Cypress vanished when he entered the cavern.

Given that the dragon was more dead than alive, that seemed entirely possible. Still, Tang had not yet searched one place, perhaps because if he found the passage there, he stood every chance of dying in it.

The prince retrieved his guttering torch and climbed down to the pool. On the far bank, the cavern did not end in a true wall. The ceiling simply angled down and disap- peared into the water, which was so fetid and brown with decay it was impossible to see a hand's span beneath the surface. The passage, if the cavern had one, could only be hidden there.

Tang returned to the small pile of equipment he had salvaged from his dugout and prepared for his dive. He folded his tinderbox into its oilcloth and knotted the ends together so they would not leak. He pushed the stopper well down into his oil flask and used a bootlace to fix it to his sword belt. He emptied his waterskin into the pool, then refilled it with several breaths of air and slung it around his neck. Finally, the prince uncoiled his rope, tying one end to his sword belt and the other to a small boulder at the edge of the pond.

Tang waded into the pool until it became chest-deep, then doused his torch and wedged it into his empty sword scabbard. In the dim swamp light filtering in from the cavern mouth, he could barely see the ceiling of the grotto, sloping down like the roof of some huge mouth.

He swam over to it and dove. The water turned instantly as thick and dark as plum wine. The prince rolled onto his back so he could use his hands and feet to push him- self along the roof of the passage.

Tang's heart began to pound in his ears and his throat grew tight, but he gave no thought to turning back. It was not that he felt no fear; on the contrary, he was filled with a cold, queasy dread that made his hands shake and his bowels churn. The thought occurred to him that the passage might have more than one branch. He could eas- ily be swimming into an underwater labyrinth; in such suffocating darkness, he would never know it.

Dragging himself through the passage was hard work, and Tang's breath did not last long. He turned over, then emptied his lungs into the black water. The prince pulled his buoyant waterskin beneath his body and allowed it to press him against the ceiling, then placed his lips over the mouth. Biting the stopper between his teeth, he care- fully opened the skin and allowed a stream of stale air to seep into his chest. Closing the sack was more difficult.

He had to use his fingers to push the stopper back into place, losing several precious bubbles when he slipped the digits into the corner of his mouth.

Tang continued forward, if not growing less afraid, then at least growing more accustomed to fear. Though he had lost all sense of direction, he no longer worried about becoming lost. No matter how complicated the labyrinth, he could always follow the rope back. He filled his lungs from his air sack two more times, each time allowing a few cherished bubbles to slip along his cheek as he pushed the stopper back into place. Even that loss did not trouble him. If he ran out of air, it would be much easier to pull himself back to the pond than to crawl forward as he was doing. Then he would simply find a couple of extra waterskins and resume his explorations.

A flicker of orange-yellow light caught Tang's eye, and he began to hope it would not be necessary to turn around. He dragged himself forward. When the flicker became a diffuse gold-red gleam pushing its way through the murky water, he realized he had to be nearing

Cypress's lair. The glow was the color of flame, and fires do not burn underwater. More importantly, where there was light, Lady Feng was also bound to be. The prince pulled himself forward with renewed vigor-only to come to an abrupt stop as he reached the end of the rope.

Tang did not even consider going back for another length of rope. Instead, he sucked the last dregs of air from his waterskin, then untied himself and swam toward the light. He began to count heartbeats, not because he feared he would drown before he reached the

end of the passage, but to give him some idea of how far it was back to the rope. The golden glow brightened slowly. His count had reached thirty by the time it was ab large as a head. At fifty, his lungs began to ache for air, and the light was no larger than a harvest moon. When the count reached seventy, his limbs grew so heavy and weak that he could hardly move them. Yellow-orange radiance filled the whole passage ahead, and still the ceiling held Tang beneath the water.

The prince blew out the last of his breath and swam another dozen strokes. His count reached a hundred and ten, and the orange glow was so bright that he could see his hands silhouetted against it. His heart began to beat faster, pounding inside his chest like a forge's trip ham- mer, and a trickle of sweet-tasting water seeped between his lips. At the count of a hundred and thirty, the golden light began to sparkle and shimmer, and the prince real- ized he had made a terrible mistake. Whatever it was, this radiance was too strong, too brilliant to be firelight.

Perhaps his testimony to the Chief Judge had come too late; perhaps the spirits of his dead soldiers, angry at his hesitation, had created the luminescence to trick him.

One hundred and sixty…

The ceiling lifted off of Tang's back, and his head sud- denly popped out of the water. With a great, racking groan, he sucked in the musty cave air, continuing until it seemed his lungs would burst. An orchestra of blissful purling echoed all around the prince, giving him the feel- ing that he had died and, despite his many faults, sur- faced in the Land of Extreme Felicity. He exhaled and drew in even more air, as though he were trying to drain the cavern of its last wisp of dank atmosphere.

The chamber itself only added to Tang's impression that he had surfaced in a place of eternal paradise. The ceiling and walls were draped with jewelry both ancient and new: thumb-sized diamonds set into gold rings, blood-red rubies strung end-to-end in long chains, emer- alds as large as cat eyes dangling from ear clips of pure

platinum. From dozens of ancillary passages poured streams large and small, all passing over beds of pearl and opal before they fell into a sparkling lake that filled the lower half of the cavern.

Unlike the brown soup at the other end of the passage, the waters here were as clear as glass, and the bottom of the entire pool was covered by minted coins of every imaginable size and kingdom. A short swim away, the coins rose up to form the glistening beach of an island made entirely of precious ingots-and more gold than sil- ver. In the center of the isle stood a single oaken staff-no doubt Yanseldara's-with three gnarled branches rising at the top to grasp a huge orange topaz. From the depths of this gem burned the fiery light that illuminated the entire chamber, glimmering so brilliantly that the prince could hardly make out the form of the tall, willowy woman standing beside it.

"Lady Feng!" Tang swam to the island, then stopped on the shore and bowed to his mother. "Will Third Virtuous

Concubine honor her humble son with audience?"

The woman stepped away from the staff and peered down the slope at her son. Unlike most Shou women, she showed every day of her age-and then some. She wore her gray hair pulled into a tight bun that did little to lessen its unruly appearance, and her skin was as ashen and flaky as lizard scales. The crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes fanned out like spiderwebs to veil her entire face, while the curious way that she cocked her head only emphasized the contrast between the pop-eye through which she saw the outer world and the squinty white orb that was usually turned inward to watch the spirit world.

"Tang!" she said at last. "What do you do here?"

"I come to rescue you, Lady Feng." The prince held his bow. It was not unusual to have an entire conversation with the Third Virtuous Concubine without receiving permission to rise. It was a good thing she was not a queen; he would have had to kowtow. "I also come to destroy Cypress's spirit gem."

"No. You mustn't!" She began to pick her way down the ingot slope. "Cypress would know!"

"It does not matter. He already tries to kill me for res- cuing you."

"You risk life?" Lady Feng slapped Tang on the back of the head. "You are Shou prince!"

"Rescuing you is only way to redeem honor of Ginger

Palace."

"Do I ask to be rescued?" Lady Feng grabbed Tang's chin and pulled his head up, then waved her arm around the glittering chamber. "Here is more wealth than all

Imperial treasuries!"

Tang scowled at this, for his mother had always been too wise to value wealth above freedom. "What good are these riches? Whole room of gold and diamonds is worth less than nothing if it makes prisoner of you."

Lady Feng's squinty eye rolled in its socket, perhaps in dim recognition of the wisdom she herself had imparted to the prince. Her pop-eye, however, darted around the room from bauble to bauble, as though checking to be cer- tain that each one remained in its place.

"Do not argue!" she ordered. "Wealth shown is wealth lost to thieves."

Tang shook his head sadly. "You have dragon sickness."

He started up the ingot slope. "Show me where Cypress hides spirit gem; then we leave."

"Go no farther, Tang."

Tang stopped in his tracks. When Lady Feng assumed that tone, she was not a woman to be trifled with. His mother was capable of killing a man with the merest wisp of an incantation. Though he believed she loved him as any mother loved her child, she was a Scholar ofYen-

Wang-Yeh, and to scholars of the Great Judge, life and death were merely aspects of one existence; even a son could not be sure his mother would care which state he happened to occupy.

After a moment's consideration, Tang realized how to solve his dilemma. He faced his cronish mother. "I only

The VeUed Dragon

try to protect your treasure, Lady Feng. Cypress thinks it belongs to him. We must destroy him."

Lady Feng's pop-eye flashed in anger, but the squinty one rolled around to study him. It was horribly bloodshot, with a milky iris and a black pupil that seemed as deep as the Well of Eighteen Hells itself, and Tang had not seen it since he was a little boy.

"Tang, you try to trick me?"

For the first time since his battle with the wyverns,

Tang felt like a coward. He let his gaze drop and nodded.

"But only to protect you from Cypress. Whether you understand or not, dragon sickness has made you his prisoner more than chains."

The squinty eye trembled as though from a palsy, but continued to linger on Tang's face for a long time. At last,

Lady Feng said, "Tunnel is long. If we destroy spirit gem, how do we escape?"

"We carry extra air." To demonstrate, Tang opened his water skin and filled it with breath. "Then I pull us through passage on rope I leave tied to other end."

Lady Feng eyed the air sack for a long time, then reluctantly nodded. "But we do not smash gem until we are outside." The squinty eye rolled back into her head, and she added, "Then we destroy Cypress and come back to cave of wealth!"

"Of course-if that is truly wish of Third Virtuous Con- cubine." Tang ran a troubled eye over the glittering chamber; a month ago, his mother would have looked on the vast treasure with the mocking disdain of one who recognized such things as a worldly illusion. Now, it was all too easy to imagine Lady Feng returning to live out her life among these lonely riches. "Perhaps we even build palace for you."

A pithy smile crept across the gray lips of the Third

Virtuous Concubine. "Most excellent idea. You know where to find spirit gem?"

"Cypress wishes to be with love. Gem can be only one place." Tang looked at the glowing gem in Yanseldara's

staff. "I get staff. You gather your things."

As the prince turned to climb the ingots, a gentle wave rolled up the beach, stirring the precious coins and soak- ing his feet to the ankles. Tang scowled at the rising water, trying to imagine what might have caused the surge.

Lady Feng grabbed his arm and shoved him into the water. "You must hide! Cypress returns!"

Fourteen

At the far end of the Ginger Palace's long audience hall, the new chamber- lain 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 war- riors 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 ser- vants 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 fol- lowing 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 ges- ture, 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 like- wise 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 mas- ter 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 Vaer- ana 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 Yansel- dara'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 Con- cubine-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 Yansel- dara'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 wait- ing 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 with- draw 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 hal- berds 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 sug- gestion'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 col- lapsed 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 posi- tion. "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 redeem- ing 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 Tom- bor 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 cross- bow so he could pierce the side-and at last one desperate idea occurred to him. The prince retreated into the pas- sage 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 trea- sure 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, allow- ing 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 direc- tion of Tang's voice. "Then you are fool, Impertinent Son.

You know nothing of life and death. If you do not under- stand 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 transgres- sions."

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 author- ity. Once Lady Feng cast her spell, he would take his ven- geance. 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 Concu- bine 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 pas- sage 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 pas- sage, 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 strug- gled 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 tun- nels 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 pas- sage 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 speak- ing 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 coun- tered. "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 with- ered 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 Pong'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 blos- soms picked in morning."

"Ruha!" Tombor gasped. "That hag!"

Cypress's muzzle swung toward his spy, whose eye?

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, 1-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 empty eye sockets; then he said, "Perhaps you knew you had the wrong oil, hmmnim? 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 ter- rified 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 nos- trils; 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 ances- tors 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, plung- ing 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 con- vincing 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 cow- ard is not worth tears. He was groveling in the corner like a frightened child."

The report only drew louder wails from the Third Vir- tuous Concubine.

The dragon placed her atop the ingot heap, then cir- cled 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 Con- stable. 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 o 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. Per- haps they search for lair while Shou guard oil."

Vaerana leaned in front of Ruha, her face already turn- ing 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 them- selves for battle. For a moment, the witch could not imag- ine 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 Moonstonn 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 Moonstonn 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 cross- bows. 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 scream- ing 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.

Fifteen

As Ruha and her companions gal- loped into the shadow of Temple Hill-a barren, stone-flanked tor towering high above the city's close-packed heart-they met a wall of jabbering, frightened townsmen. It was the first sign of dragon-spawned fear they had encountered. Until now, the people of

Elversult had leapt into nearby doorways and hurled insults at the battered foreigners charging up Snake Road. This mob barely seemed to hear the clattering hooves.

Ruha reined her mount to a walk, slowing the whole column. Counting Hsieh, there were thirteen riders behind her. It seemed likely that more Shou had survived the battle with Cypress, but neither the witch nor the mandarin had thought it wise to spend time regrouping.

They had simply turned their horses toward the heart of the city and urged them into a gallop, trusting that any warriors who could would follow.

The mob began to swirl around the column of riders.

Ruha saw no blood or horrible acid burns, and the crowd appeared more determined than panicked. The witch stopped her horse and caught a swarthy man by the shoulder of his embroidered merchant's robes. He cried out and whirled around, glaring at the witch as though she had tried to rob him.

"Sir, please tell me what is happening."

"Haven't you heard? They say a dragon's coming!"

"Where?" Ruha asked. "Is he ahead?"

The merchant shrugged. "Don't know. No one's seen him, and the Maces don't mean us to… They've ordered everyone out of town."

"How much farther is…"

The man turned away and vanished into the crowd before Ruha could finish the question. She urged her horse forward. The mob reluctantly parted ahead of her, alternately shouting warnings and curses. The witch ignored both and cast thoughtful glances down the empty alleyways that occasionally separated one wattle-and- daub tenement from the adjacent one. She was tempted to search for a faster route to the Jailgates, but she had seen the back streets of enough Heartlands cities to know most were confusing labyrinths of filth and dead ends.

Hsieh edged his horse alongside Ruha's, drawing sev- eral vehement curses from the river of people coming in the opposite direction. The mandarin leaned over and grabbed the rope holding the witch's skin ofylang oil, then deftly looped it an extra time around her saddle horn.

"Someone follows us." He did not point or turn his head, but his eyes flickered toward his far shoulder. "I think they are not Vaerana's men."

Ruha turned as though speaking to the minister and glanced down the avenue. It did not take long to discover their stalkers. There were at least five of them, pressed close to the buildings and scurrying along against the crowd. They wore plain cloaks that did a poor job of con- cealing the breastplates beneath, and they carried swords and axes on their belts. Though they were not wearing the black caps Ruha had seen in Pros, she felt sure they were cult members; their faces all had the dark, gluttonous look of pillagers and murderers.

"Have you seen more on the other side of the street?"

"Many more."

Ruha looked forward again. "Cypress has called out his militia."

"Then he discovers trick. Soon he comes for us."

Ruha filled her lungs, and then spoke the incantation of the same wind spell she had used to attract the Ginger

Lady's attention on the Dragonmere.

"Stand aside!" Ruha's horse reared at the thunder of her voice. She maintained a secure grip on the reins and spoke again, "Clear the road!"

The command blasted a dozen nearby people off their feet. Many more covered their ears and cast terrified glances skyward, confident that such a thunderous sound could only have come from the heavens. The largest part of the mob froze in their tracks and stared at each other with dumbstruck expressions.

"Stand aside, I say!"

A few people drifted toward the sides of the street, but most of crowd remained too stunned to move. Ruha glanced back and saw that the cult members were draw- ing their weapons.

"Make threat." Hsieh, who was holding his hands over his own ears, shouted the suggestion. "Fear moves what kind words cannot."

"Move, or I shall move you!" Ruha commanded. "You have to the count of three. One…"

By the time she reached two, even the people who had been knocked to the ground were scrambling out of the way. A brief clash of steel sounded behind her as the cult stalkers rushed to attack. The witch dug her heels into her mount's flanks. The trembling beast sprang forward, leaping four people who had not been quick enough to gather themselves up.

Ruha continued to yell. The mob split before her, creat- ing a narrow canyon down the center of Snake Road.

Trusting her mount to pick its own path, she glanced back and was relieved to see the tail of her horse slap- ping the nose of Hsieh's. The rest of the Shou were close behind, several holding blood-stained swords in their free hands. The witch turned her attention forward again, doing her best to search the crowd ahead for any sign of an attack.

Ruha rounded a gentle bend and saw more people pouring onto Snake Road from a large side street ahead.

In the intersection stood a small party of stern-faced

Maces, blocking the narrow pathway created by the witch's booming threats. Their weapons were drawn, and behind them stood a blue-robed man with the impatient scowl of a sorcerer who had better things to do than deal with dragon panics and columns of careless horsemen.

Beyond the roadblock, the avenue continued only two hundred paces before it passed out of Temple Hill's shadow and opened into a vast, sunlit market plaza.

Ruha slowed her mount, bringing the column to a stop before the glowering Maces. A grim-faced man with a ruddy complexion stepped forward and pointed his mace at the witch.

"See here, Stranger. Even in the best of times, we don't like-"

"Vaerana Hawklyn would be most appreciative if you will lead us to the Jailgates." Although Ruha whispered the words, the leader and his fellow Maces cringed at the strength of her voice. She urged her horse forward, lean- ing down to offer the man a hand up. "The Cult of the

Dragon is close behind, and it won't be long before the dragon himself comes for us."

The leader arched an eyebrow and lowered his weapon, but made no move to climb up behind Ruha. "What's going on?"

"We lack time to explain matter, but it is of great urgency for safety of Lady Yanseldara," said Hsieh. "Now, please to get on horse or stand aside."

The leader jammed his mace into his belt and reached for the witch's hand. "This had better not be some kind of trick."

As Ruha clasped the man's steel glove, the crowd

began to churn and close. Someone clamped a hand over the old sorcerer's mouth; then a dagger tip erupted from his chest. Hand axes and short swords appeared from under cloaks and cleaved three Elversian skulls before the Maces realized they were being assaulted. The sur- vivors turned to find themselves facing half-a-dozen attackers each.

"Ambush!"

The angry leader clamped his mailed fingers around

Ruha's wrist and jerked, nearly pulling her from her mount.

Suddenly, he cried out in anguish and threw himself against the flanks of the witch's horse. She glimpsed the butt of a crossbow bolt sticking through the armor between his shoulders, then felt hands tugging at her saddle straps.

"Get away from me!" she bellowed.

Her horse reared at her thunderous command, and the grasping hands fell away from her saddle. Hsieh came up beside her, at once trampling the Maces' fallen leader and burying his square-tipped sword in an axe-man's skull. Ruha urged her own mount forward, then led the column across the intersection, scattering ambushers and bystanders alike with the might of her booming voice.

They had barely crossed before a pair of gloom- shrouded figures appeared at the end of the street, block- ing the route into the sunlit market plaza. The man was tall and broad-shouldered. He wore steel plate as black as jet and carried not a sword, but a sliver of darkness shaped like a sword. It was impossible to say what the woman looked like; she was a mere silhouette, a night phantom obtruding on the light of day.

Ruha dropped her reins and raised one hand toward the sky. She pointed the other at the phantom-woman and shook the lane with the rumbling incantation of her sun spell. Five streaks of golden flame shot from her fin- gers and arced down the street, twining themselves together into a crackling cord as thick as a man's leg.

The spell took less than three heartbeats to streak the length of the street, and in that time Ruha's galloping horse had carried her halfway to the marketplace. The fiery rope arced down to strike the shadow-sorceress. The black-armored knight stepped in front of his mistress, raising the tip of his dark sword as though he meant to split the fire.

Instead of dividing down the center, the blazing cord entered the dark blade and drained from sight. A black flash shone through the window of a street-front tene- ment; then the entire building erupted into golden flame

The conflagration engulfed a dozen bystanders and seared many more. The crowd erupted into hysteria, some howling in anguish and others wailing in terror

Those near the buildings, fearing more such explosions, pushed toward the center of the street, while those nearer the charging horses pressed toward the buildings

The witch rode into a cloud of greasy smoke, and the hor rid stench of charred flesh filled her nose. She found her self struggling to keep her gorge down, sickened more by the knowledge that her magic had helped cause the awful smell than by the odor itself.

The column had nearly reached the end of the street

Ruha felt a horse flank brush against her leg and looked over to see a Shou warrior moving up beside her, sword drawn and eyes wild with battle lust. On her other flank rode Hsieh himself. The mandarin's face was almost rap- turous in its placidity, his square-tipped blade held loosely in his hand.

The dark knight raised his black sword and rushed forward to meet Hsieh. At the same time, the shadowy sorceress drew her hands up before her body, raising an impenetrable curtain of darkness around the battle- ground.

There was no time to rein in. Praying they would emerge in the marketplace with at least one sack of ylang oil intact, Ruha pulled herjambiya and galloped

into the darkness. From Hsieh's side came the crackle of breaking bones, followed by the scream of a horse and the crash and clamor of armored and unarmored bodies tumbling along the cobblestones. Ruha heard the man- darin give a short angry yell; then a hand caught hold of her saddle, and she lost track other companions.

The witch lashed down into the black murk, and her dagger sliced harmlessly through air. The cinch strap around her horse's belly popped loudly; then her saddle came loose. Ruha felt herself slipping down her mount's flank and grabbed for the ylang oil. The cobblestones slammed into her shoulder, and her body went rigid with pain. She bounced head over heels, feet still caught in her stirrups, and came to a rest, her head spinning.

The darkness around her exploded with clapping hooves and confused voices, both Shou and Elversian. A

pair of steel horseshoes grazed Ruha's leg; then a horse screamed and crashed to the street. The witch found her saddle horn. She untied the oil sack and kicked free of her stirrups. A sharp point tangled briefly in the thick cloth other aba, then pushed through and bit deep into her side.

For a moment, Ruha was too confused to realize what had happened. Then she felt a fiery sting and warm, wet blood spilling down her stomach. She screamed and rolled away, lashing out with heTJambiya.

The blade dragged. Something hot and sticky poured over her hand, and a rich, coppery smell filled her nos- trils. The witch flipped her wrist and brought her weapon back to inflict the famous T-shaped wound that made the curved daggers so dangerous, but her foe had already vanished into the darkness.

Ruha pulled the ylang oil closer and clutched it to her breast. A clamorous clash of steel rang out behind her as the Shou turned to meet their cult pursuers. The witch weaved her dagger through the darkness in a blind defense pattern, but a stinging anguish was spreading outward from her wound, and her arm would not move swiftly. The oil sack felt warm and sticky against her breast, but she knew by its smell that the fluid was on1y her own blood. Had any ylang oil spilled, she would surely have been nauseated by its sick-sweet smell.

"Ruha?" Hsieh's voice sounded shaky and weak.

"Here, Minister." Ruha heard someone step to her side, then a small Shou hand took her beneath her dagger arm. When it began to pull her up, she asked, "They did not steal your oil sack, did they?"

The hand suddenly loosened its grasp, and Hsieh's voice hissed, "I thought you had the oil."

Ruha did not hesitate; she swung her arm up back- ward and drove the tip of her jambiya deep into the impostor's torso. The hand opened entirely and a haggi,'i scream filled the witch's ear. She scrambled to her fe "•

and stumbled away as fast as she could, clutching tt ylang oil to her breast and slashing her dagger blind., through darkness. After a few steps, the witch sniffed familiar scent. The odor was fresher and not quite – -i cloying as the ylang oil she had smelled in Prince Tang's spice refinery, but there could be no doubting it. She turned slightly off her course and followed the fragrance toward its source.

A moment later, the witch stepped into the sunlight and found herself staring at Hsieh's blood-spattered back. The mandarin reeked of ylang oil and still carri? •"'

his burst sack over his shoulder, and in his hand he he the dark knight's black sword. Ahead of him, the shan owy sorceress was groaning feebly and staggering through the deserted market plaza toward a looming, black-winged shape.

After a hundred tries, Tang managed a flawless hurl

Flying sideways, the golden necklace hit Yanseldara's staff, and the heavy amulet at the end whipped around and swung over its own chain. The choker slid down the shaft and stopped at the red-glowing pommel, which hung over Tang and his mother's heads like a strange, uby-flamed chandelier. The prince carefully pulled his rope taut, then walked around the ingot island to twine the line more securely about the shaft.

"This no time to stretch legs, Brave Prince." Lady Feng positioned herself directly beneath the staff. "Pull!"

Tang climbed to the center of the island and hauled on the rope. The staff popped free and plummeted straight toward the head of the Third Virtuous Concubine, who stepped aside and plucked it from the air without allow- ing the topaz to strike the ingots. Before the prince could comment on her catch, she slipped the rope off the shaft, then took a small bundle from her mahogany chest and started down the slope.

Tang gathered up his rope and empty waterskin and followed. "The passage is long one, Esteemed Mother. It would be better if you also had air."

"Cypress does not provide prisoners with sacks for air."

She opened her bundle and sat at the edge of the water.

"But not to worry. With you doing work, I do not need breath."

Lady Feng began to breathe quick and shallow, forcing her body to absorb as much extra air as possible.

Tang sat at her feet and tied her ankles together.

"What of your spellbook?"

"Even small amount of water ruins it."

"Your chest is waterproof."

Lady Feng glowered at him. "You already pull too much. Spellbook is safe enough here, with my other trea- sure." She snatched the rope from his hand, then untied the jewelry he had used to weight the end. She tossed the necklace on the ingot pile. "With all my treasure."

Tang sighed, resigning himself to a return trip after

Lady Feng recovered her senses and wanted her spell- book. He snatched his rope back, finished binding his mother's ankles, and fastened the other end of the line to his waist. The prince filled his waterskin with air and tied it around his neck, then helped the Third Virtuous Concubine seal her mouth with a gag of waxed silk. She picked up Yanseldara's staff, and soon they were in the water. Tang helped her out into the lake and swam over to where the treasure vault's ceiling sloped down to meet the water.

"Are you ready. Esteemed Mother?"

Lady Feng took a few more breaths through her nose, then nodded and mumbled something that might have been, "No dawdling."

She plugged her nostrils, and Tang dove beneath the surface, dragging the Third Virtuous Concubine behind him. The light from the glowing spirit gem in Yansel- dara's staff illuminated the watery cavern in shimmering scarlet light, revealing a huge, winding passage that was not so much a single corridor as a confluence of smaller tunnels arriving from all directions. Despite the labyrinthine appearance, there was no doubt about which passage Cypress used; even if the other tunnels had been large enough to hold him, his stony scales had scoured hundreds of shallow furrows along the proper route.

Although Tang could not be certain, the trip out of the treasure chamber seemed to go much faster than it had coming in. A slight current carried him forward even when he did nothing, while the light from the spirit gem made it much easier to find handholds. The prince drew himself yards at a pull, and he had just drawn his second breath from the air skin when the first brown hints of bog rot began to cloud the water. The rope grew slack as

Lady Feng drifted toward him.

Tang glanced back and saw his mother's pop-eyed stare locked on his kicking heels. Her waxed gag and nos- tril plugs remained in place, but her cheeks were puffed- out and her face was crimson with the desire for breath

She scowled and waved him forward, then clamped her free hand over her mouth and nose.

The prince looked ahead and pulled through the passage with renewed vigor. To his dismay, the water did not grow any murkier. The gentle current that had been pushing them forward died away. He started to worry that he had somehow lost his way, but that could not be.

They had passed no side tunnels large enough to hold Cypress, and the walls in this passage still showed the deep scouring marks left by the dragon's scales.

Tang began to sense a dark presence ahead. For a moment, he feared it was their foe swimming up the pas- sage; then he saw a curtain of gray stone at the end of the tunnel: Cypress had blocked the exit. The prince did not waste any of his precious breath lamenting the dragon's foresight. He simply pulled himself to the boul- der, then turned to take Yanseldara's staff from his mother so he could search for gaps around the edges.

Lady Feng's pop-eye was fluttering in its socket. Her cheeks were no longer puffed out and her face had turned more purple than crimson. Though she still held her free hand clamped over her mouth, a small stream of bubbles was rising from between her fingers. Tang knew she had pulled her gag aside to expel her breath and was strug- gling not to fill her lungs with water. Only one gulp of air remained in the air skin. The prince's own lungs were burning with the desire for another breath, but he pushed the sack toward his mother's mouth.

Lady Feng caught his arm. Her squinty eye rolled for- ward and looked Tang up and down, and the Third Virtu- ous Concubine smiled. She shook her head and pushed the air skin back toward the prince's mouth, then pointed from his lips to hers.

Tang nodded and expelled his breath, then sucked the last of the air from the skin. He held it in his lungs only a moment before placing his mouth over his mother's and blowing a long gasp into her lungs. It was the third time the air had been used, and he did not know how much good it would do her, but he hoped that it would at least reduce the temptation to open her mouth.

Lady Feng accepted the gift, then pushed Yanseldara's staff into his hand and pulled his dagger from his belt, Tang scowled in confusion. Before he realized what she was doing, the Third Virtuous Concubine grabbed his free arm and drew the blade across his empty palm. As blood clouded around his fingers, she opened her mouth and spoke. Water rushed into her lungs, and her body began to convulse instantly as it instinctively tried to cough. Horrified at the sight of what he took to be his mother's fast-approaching death, the prince reached out to draw her close.

Lady Feng pushed him away and pointed at the bloody cloud in the water beside them. To Tang's surprise, it was coalescing into the shape of a man's head.

Suddenly, the Third Virtuous Concubine threw her arms around the prince's neck. A series of powerful con- vulsions racked her chest; then her body went limp and her lips fell open. Tang clamped his hand over her mouth and tried not to think of the terrible burning in his own chest.

When the prince turned back to the crimson head, he was amazed to see the familiar grim face of General Fui

D'hang floating in the water beside him.

Fui's head tipped forward, as though bowing, and floated toward a small side passage. Tang jammed

Yanseldara's staff into his belt, then grabbed a handhold and pulled himself after the loyal general.

Cypress stood in the heart of the sunlit plaza, towering high above a sea of tent-roofed stalls. His empty eye sock- ets turned in the direction ofRuha and Hsieh. The dozens of lances and arrows hanging from his thick scales hinted at the fight Vaerana's Maces had put up before-before what? The witch had no way to guess whether the dragon had killed the Lady Constable and all her men, or had simply discovered the ruse and flown away.

Save for the groaning shadow-sorceress and the meat animals clucking and snorting inside their cages, the market was silent and deserted, with bolts of cloth strewn through the narrow lanes and dried legumes spilling onto the ground from open sacks. Ox wagons and pushcarts sat abandoned upon the road that circum- scribed the plaza, and all the buildings that fronted it had their windows shuttered and barred against the impending acid storm. On the far side of the bazaar, almost directly behind the dragon, loomed a handsome building of marble pillars and arched entranceways that could only be Elversult Hall.

The clang of steel against steel still rang from the darkness at Ruha's back, but it seemed wiser to risk that battle than to venture into the open with the dragon. The witch reached for Hsieh's shoulder, then groaned sharply as her bleeding wound protested with lances of pain. She settled for the mandarin's arm and pulled him into the blackness after her.

They took no more than two steps before Cypress's deep-voiced incantation rumbled across the marketplace.

The sunlight burned the magical darkness into ash, which fell to the ground and spread a grimy layer of soot over the many corpses-Shou, cult, and horse-piled atop the cobblestones. Five blood-covered Shou were bouncing between three and four attackers each, striking as often with a driving elbow or flying foot as with whirling blades. The street beyond was clear as far as the intersection, but beyond that it remained thickly choked with refugees.

The cobblestones trembled with the heavy thud of the dragon's step. Seemingly oblivious to his wounds, Hsieh leapt a mangled horse and charged toward his outnum- bered men.

"Stay close. Lady Ruha!"

The witch clenched her teeth against the pain in her side and circled the dead beast, shuddering with fear each time she felt the ground tremble with Cypress's heavy step. Hsieh reached the battle and swung his sword at the nearest cult member. The man raised a long-handled axe to parry. The minister's dark blade passed through both weapon and armor with no more effect than a shadow. The instant the black sliver touched the fellow's skin, however, it grew as solid as steel and cleaved him down the center.

After that, Hsieh wielded his weapon as though it were black lightning, felling one, then two, three, and four more enemies in as many eye blinks. The remaining Shou quickly seized the advantage and began to slay their attackers.

Ruha was beginning to have visions of turning the remarkable weapon against Cypress when the last cult member fell. The witch stepped over a Shou corpse and rushed to follow Hsieh toward the intersection; then she heard the dragon's voice rumbling with another magic invocation. She scooped a handful of bloody pebbles off the street and turned, hurling them at her foe and utter- ing her briefest stone spell.

The rocks streaked straight into Cypress's empty eyes, striking with a loud, sharp crackle. The dragon's head snapped back; then a spray of bone shards and shattered scales erupted from the back of his skull. He roared, spraying a fine black mist into the air, and then began to shake his head.

Ruha turned to follow Hsieh. She was not disap- pointed; it would take a hundred such attacks to destroy

Cypress, but at least she had interrupted the dragon's spell-or so she thought, until a corpse's lukewarm hand caught her by the ankle.

Ruha twisted to avoid landing on the ylang oil and came down on her wounded side. The impact drove spikes of pain deep into her body. The witch found herself struggling for breath, and she knew she was dangerously close to blacking out. The corpse grabbed hold with its second hand and dragged itself forward. She looked down and saw that her attacker was the dead Shou over which she had stepped earlier. She tried to kick free, but it felt no pain from her blows and would not let go.

Hsieh appeared at Ruha's side and brought his sword down across the corpse's shoulders. The dark blade passed over the zombie's body like a shadow, causing no harm at all. The mandarin's narrow eyes grew as round as saucers; then the arms of a dead cultist grabbed him from behind and hurled him to the ground.

The cobblestones shuddered as Cypress resumed walk- ing. Ruha craned her neck and saw that she and Hsieh were not the only ones in dire circumstances. The dragon had animated all the corpses in the street. Though the zombies were slow and clumsy, they were pressing the

Shou survivors by virtue of their numbers alone.

Ruha's attacker grabbed hold other belt, then slammed its free fist into the pit other stomach. She tried to scream in pain, but the blow had driven her breath away, and she could do no more than grunt. The zombie raised its fist to strike again. She released the oil sack and deflected the punch with her forearm. In the same motion, the witch drove the heel other free hand into the side of her attacker's head and heard the temple snap.

Pushing with all the strength in her legs, she rolled onto her side and threw the dead Shou off.

Ruha grabbed the oil sack and leapt up. As she turned to flee, the dragon's huge shadow fell over her body. She sprinted for the intersection. The pain in her side was excruciating, but she managed to ignore it and rush for- ward at a pace that would have made a hare-hound proud. She kept expecting Cypress to say something, to iwcommand her to stop or at least to taunt her, but he held his tongue. Ruha found the silence even more alarming than the hiss of his lungs filling to spray acid. The dragon was thinking of only one thing: killing her. To comment on his intentions would have been a meaning- less waste of breath.

The street trembled again, and Ruha knew she had no hope of outrunning her pursuer. She summoned a wind spell to mind and darted toward the street side, then heard the whoosh of the dragon's huge talons slicing through the air behind her. The witch forced herself not to look toward her pursuer's face; the last time she met his gaze, he had nearly taken over her mind.

Ruha angled toward the entrance to the nearest tene- ment. In the corner other eye, she glimpsed Cypress's other huge claw sweeping down to pluck her up. She slammed her feet against the street and managed to slow herself, allowing the black hand to sweep past without catching her. Then, feeling like a spiny iguana dodging a hungry Bedine boy, she darted forward again.

The tenement was barely three paces away. Ruha took a deep breath, then uttered her wind spell and exhaled.

A ferocious gust of air howled from her lips, blasting the heavy oaken door into splinters. The witch rushed blindly into the building's deep-shadowed interior. Three paces inside, she stumbled over a step and slammed face first into a wooden staircase.

Ruha gathered herself together and spun around, then barely leapt aside in time to prevent Hsieh's dark sword from piercing her heart. The mandarin stumbled over the same stair as the witch, but managed to recover more gracefully by picking up his feet and landing two steps up the stairwell. Behind him came two of his men, who also displayed their incredible agility by managing to catch each other when they also tripped over the step.

The witch did not know how any of them had escaped the zombies-in a manner similar to how she had, she sup- posed-but she was glad for the company.

"Where now?" Hsieh squinted at Ruha with his uncov- ered eye.

"I do not know."

Ruha stepped around the stairwell and ran down a broad, dirty corridor toward the back of the building. As

Hsieh and his men moved to follow. Cypress's hand burst through the doorway and caught the last one in line. The warrior howled in pain, and Hsieh raised his sword to charge the doorway.

Ruha caught him by the shoulder. "If that blade did not affect the corpses, it will not harm Cypress. He is also undead."

"Thank you. I would feel most foolish." The mandarin gestured down the corridor. "Please to make most of sol- dier's sacrifice."

Ruha turned down the hall and tried a dozen barred doors before the captured man finally stopped screaming.

There was a brief silence; then the warrior behind Hsieh said, "Dead men follow us."

"Cypress fears to destroy oil sack," Hsieh observed.

"Otherwise, he sprays us with acid."

"True, but I doubt he is willing to let us escape." Ruha started down the corridor again, judging they had less than forty paces before it ended in a windowless stone wall. "And we will soon run out of room. I fear the back of this building stands against Temple Hill."

Hsieh caught Ruha by the shoulder. "You stop dead men. We find way out."

Ruha glanced down the corridor at the long line of zombies. The closest was only ten paces away, but was slow and shambling. She nodded. As Hsieh's warrior began hacking at a door, the witch picked up a small stone lying among the refuse against the wall. She used it to scrape a line up both walls to within a few inches of the ceiling. She connected them with another line on the floor, then laid the rock upon it. The leading corpse was only two steps away.

A muffled clamor sounded somewhere in the structure far above, presumably Cypress tearing the roof away. As much as Ruha wanted to glance at the ceiling, there was no time. She spoke the incantation other stone spell. The rock on the floor disappeared, then a shimmering gray wall formed between the three lines the witch had traced on the floor. The first corpse, a dark-haired cult member with an ugly skull wound, arrived at the barrier. He managed to push his head and one arm through before the magic wall

turned as solid as granite. The zombie remained there, reaching for the witch's oil sack and moaning in the plain- tive, incoherent voice of a tormented spirit.

Another crash reverberated down from above, this time followed by the clatter of falling rubble.

"He is digging his way down through the building!" Ruha cried, spinning toward Hsieh.

She completed the turn in time to see an iron bolt shoot through the breach Hsieh's man had hacked in the door. The dart buried its head in the opposite wall, and the muffled clatter of a bow crank sounded from inside the chamber. The warrior reached through the hole and lifted the crossbar off its supports.

"Get on with you!" cried the man on the other side of the door. His voice sounded both fearful and old. "The next one won't miss!"

Hsieh's soldier shoved the door open and stormed inside, yelling, 'You dare to attack Shou mandarin!"

A heavy thud shook the building; then the ceiling began to crack and groan beneath a great weight. Ruha and Hsieh followed the warrior into a small, windowless shop filled with the cluttered shelves of an apothecary.

The soldier was leaning over a chest-high counter, hold- ing his sword to the throat of a mousy, squint-eyed man.

On the counter lay an empty crossbow and a crucible heating over the flame of an alcohol lamp.

As soon as she saw the lamp's blue flame, Ruha's heart skipped a beat. If she could use such a hot fire to cast her most powerful sun spell, even Cypress would be helpless to defend himself. She stepped toward the apothecary, but Hsieh spoke before she could ask the old man if he had any brimstone.

"Where is Number Two Exit?" Hsieh demanded, his gaze darting from one cramped corner to the next.

"Isn't one."

"What is this material?" Hsieh stepped to the outside wall and ran his fingers over the smooth, white-washed surface.

"Wattle and daub," the apothecary answered.

When the mandarin did not seem to understand, Ruha said, "A sort of mud plaster."

The planks above their heads creaked, then began to pop and crack. The chandelier above the apothecary's counter started to swing, and Ruha looked up to see the exposed joist logs bowing directly over their heads. The dragon knew exactly where they were, and it took the witch only an instant to guess how. If the smell ofylang oil had led her to Hsieh earlier, then certainly the dragon, with his much larger nose, could track them by the same scent.

A tremendous splintering filled the room as five huge talons pierced the ceiling. The apothecary wailed and dropped to his knees behind the counter, and Hsieh shoved his warrior toward the outside wall.

"Kick hole."

The claws began to rip through planks of thick wood as if they were made of paper. Hsieh's soldier sheathed his sword and stepped back to get a running start, and Ruha leaned over the counter to look at the cowering apothe- cary.

"Have you brimstone?" When the man only looked at her with terrified eyes, she yelled, "Brimstone powder-now!"

The dragon's fist closed around a joist log and started to tug. The beam, a rough-hewn pine trunk as thick as an ogre's leg, groaned and bowed, but it would not break-at least not easily. Hsieh's man charged across the room, then picked up both feet and attacked with a flying, two- legged stomp kick. The daub cracked beneath his heels, and he crashed through the wall to disappear outside.

The apothecary shoved an open bottle of yellow powder onto the counter and ducked out of sight again. Ruha grabbed the lamp from beneath the crucible and pulled the wick stopper. The cloth was still saturated with alco- hol, so the flame continued to burn as she poured the fuel into the brimstone bottle.

A deep, rumbling grunt shook the shop. The joist log snapped with a mighty crack, and the ceiling sagged beneath Cypress's weight. The dragon tore a handful of wood away, creating a hole twice the size of a door.

Hsieh stepped to Ruha's side. "You must come now!"

"In a moment." Holding the saturated brimstone in one hand and the flickering lamp wick in the other, Ruha turned to face Cypress. "First I must stop the dragon."

"That will not be so easy as you think!" Cypress's voice boomed through the empty hole as loud as thunder. "I have learned to be wary of you."

The dragon's second sentence tolled through Ruha's head like a striking bell, shattering her concentration

She tried to summon the incantation of her most power- ful sun spell, but could not.

Did you think I had to see your eyes to attack your mind? The words echoed back and forth through Ruha's head, building on each other, growing louder and sharper with every reverberation. Any contact will do.

Ruha tried to bring the flickering wick to the brim- stone bottle, but her body did not seem to hear her wishes. Her hands remained a foot apart, shaking with the memory of what she had intended, yet unable to obey.

The wick in her hand sputtered and smoked darkly as it ran out of alcohol and began to consume itself instead.

"Why do you wait?" Hsieh demanded. "Cast spell!"

The sound of cracking wood filled the chamber once again, and the ceiling sagged almost to their heads as the dragon lay on the floor above. When Ruha did not move,

Hsieh apparently realized what was wrong. He pulled a lasal leaf from his pocket and slipped it between her lips.

The witch allowed it to fall from her mouth; if they were to have any chance of escaping the dragon, she could not allow a lasal haze to cloud her mind.

Hsieh watched the leaf flutter to the floor, then pulled his dagger from its sheath.

"So sorry, Lady Witch." He cut the rope hanging over her shoulder and took the sack of oil. "Must not let dragon have ylang oil."

The dragon's withered hand came through the hole and snaked toward the witch. The mandarin quickly stepped away, then turned and threw himself through the opening in the wall.

Cypress's talons stopped a foot short of Ruha, and the din assailing her head quieted to a dull roar. The lamp wick hissed and flickered and began to shrink. The witch considered trying to resist the dragon's mind attack, but he was too powerful to defeat. Instead, she let all her defenses down, envisioning her mind as the great hall of an empty Heartlands castle, where even the slightest sound reverberated like a drum.

What is happening to you? Cypress demanded. Where is the oil?

Ruha made no reply, allowing the dragon's words to crash through her mind with such force they shattered the walls of the hall she had envisioned.

The ruse worked. Cypress's hand suddenly pulled away, and the cacophony in Ruha's mind quieted as he sniffed out the ylang oil. Her hand obeyed when she tried to move it; even the dragon could not focus his attention in two different places at once. She pushed the bottom of the wick into the mixture of brimstone and alcohol. The flame quickly returned to its steady blue gleam, but the witch forced herself not to think about her sun spell. The dragon was still inside her head, and he would feel the effort of summoning the incantation from her memory.

Ruha had to wait only an instant before Cypress's head shot through the hole, his nostrils flaring as he tried to sniff out the fading scent of Hsieh's oil-soaked body. The witch hurled her bottle at an eye socket. The dragon flinched away, and the glass shattered against the side of his head. The burning wick instantly touched off the mixture of alcohol and sulfur, filling the chamber with a searing blue-yellow flash.

Cypress bellowed in shock and pulled his burning face out of the chamber. Ruha stepped over to the hole, summoning her incantation as she went. She saw the dragon's head more than two stories above, shaking madly from side to side, trailing long tails of sapphire and amber flame. The witch thrust her hand toward the fire and spoke her incantation.

The blaze erupted into a blistering orb of white-hot flame, as brilliant as the sun in the sky and twice as large. The dragon wailed in anguish. When he raised his claws to his face, they caught fire and started to burn with a flickering yellow flame. He started to dance about, and Ruha heard a tremendous crash in the next room as one of his heavy feet came through the ceiling. Burning scales began to flutter off his head and touch off fires on the floors above. Cypress raised his wings, then roared in fury and launched himself into the air.

The witch turned away from the conflagration and saw the astonished apothecary standing behind his counter, his rheumy eyes fixed on the fiery hole over his head. She pulled him from behind the counter.

"Come along. We had better leave this place," she said dragging the old man toward the hole in the wall. "Per- haps you would be kind enough to guide me to the Jail- gates?"

Sixteen

Deep in the Jailgates' thick founda- tions, 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 circlesbeneath 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 Vaer- ana would agree to try Hsieh's potion.

Ruha turned to the Lady Constable who, despite hav- ing 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 burn- ing-a good part of it at least-and there was no escap- ing 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 ter- rible to look upon for long. Many of the warriors had suf- fered 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 other 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 Yansel- dara 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 mes- sages." 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 sacri- fice," 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 Hal- lowhand 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 ballis- tae 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 con- tact 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 thought- fully, 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 pos- sible. "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 sus- pect 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. Yansel- dara's staff lay at his side, and the ghostly head of Gen- eral 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 trick- ling 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 alli- gator 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 Elver- suit's Lady Lord on several ceremonial occasions, recog- nized 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 Vir- tuous 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 man- darin 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 Ruha?"

Pierstar gestured vaguely toward the halo of yellow, boil- ing 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 com- mand 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 wiz- ards 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 Hawk- lyn?"

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 escap- ing. 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 unpre- dictable?" 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 think- ing?"

The witch described her plan, and by the time she fin- ished, 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 mes- senger 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 suf- fered earlier. She did not realize she was swaying, how- ever, 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 man- darin 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. "Per- haps 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 win- dows. On the roofs of the two buildings, the catapult crews were also moving their war engines into the cor- ners 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 com- mented. "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 contin- ued 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 cham- ber walls. There was an ear-splitting wail and a deafen- ing 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 flash- ing 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?"

"Yes."

Together, Ruha and Pierstar looked out over Hill- shadow Lake's steaming waters, waiting for the dark fig- ure 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. Pier- star 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 vol- cano, 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 other 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 harm- lessly 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 blaz- ing 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't he had only stubs where once he had claws; then a win- dow shutter slammed open.

Ruha's world detonated: the sky went silver with light- ning, 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 overlook- ing Hillshadow Lake. In the center of the lake, a murky green waterspout was stretching skyward, as though try- ing 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 bat- tered 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."