The Veiled Dragon

by Denning, Troy

  “Enough. You do not lie to me, and I grant mercy to your family.” Wei Dao stared at the prone chamberlain until his body began to tremble and great, racking sobs reverberated across the floor. “But you dishonor your ancestors before Mandarins of Heaven, and it is beyond me to ask that they make you welcome.”

  “Yes, Princess. I know.”

  Wei Dao looked up, then turned to a squat, flat-cheeked man with an unwavering scowl and granite eyes. “Please, General Fui.”

  Before Ruha realized quite what was happening, the general had drawn a heavy, square-tipped sword from one of the guard’s scabbards and stepped to Chuang’s side. There was a sharp, wet thunk, and the witch saw just how swiftly and surely death would come if the Shou found her out.

  The general cleaned the blade on the headless chamberlain’s silken robe, then returned the weapon to its owner and stepped back to his place. His face remained as impassive as ever.

  Wei Dao studied the chamberlain’s disembodied head for a moment, then seemed to remember herself and looked toward the chamber entrance.

  “Perfidious dwarf is permitted to leave.”

  The guards set Abazm down. As soon as the merchant’s feet touched the floor, he spun on his heel and bowed very low.

  “Your wisdom is more boundless than the sky, Princess!” As he spoke, he was backing out the door. “Only Eldath herself is more merciful and forgiving!”

  Wei Dao accepted the tribute with a faintly amused smirk. “You always welcome at Ginger Palace, Abazm. Please to call when berry lip paint is ready.”

  Once the dwarf was gone, Wei Dao rose and, stepping around the pool of blood at the base of her throne, led her entire entourage across the floor to Ruha and Fowler. She circled them slowly, running her gaze over their robes and studying the witch’s veil especially closely, then stopped in front of them.

  Ruha was astounded that Wei Dao’s guards would allow their mistress to approach so closely to two armed strangers, a fact that suggested they believed the princess to be perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

  “Abazm says you come to do business with Ginger Palace?”

  “Aye, with Prince Tang,” Fowler confirmed.

  Wei Dao’s eyes hardened. “Prince Tang is no longer receiving today. Perhaps you come back tomorrow.”

  “We’re wanting a large cargo, and we’re ready to pay now.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  The princess stepped away without turning her back on her visitors and paid no attention to the coffer in Fowler’s hands, even when he shook it to clank the heavy load of coins inside.

  Ruha laid a restraining hand on the captain’s arm. “That is enough, Fowal’sid.”

  The half-orc scowled, but held the coffer steady, and Wei Dao stopped short of turning to leave.

  “We have come to sell as well as buy, Princess,” Ruha said. “And you will be more interested in our wares than your husband.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Ruha caught Fowler frowning at her unexpected improvisation. She ignored him and lowered a hand to the pocket of her aba, asking, “If I may, Princess?”

  Wei Dao nodded, but Fowler, who had seen her draw spell components from those same pockets, cleared his throat.

  “Maybe now’s not the time—”

  Ruha whirled sharply on the burly half-orc. “Did I not tell you to be silent, Fowal’sid?”

  Fowler’s leathery lip trembled with the impulse to curl into a snarl, but the half-orc forced himself to lower his gaze and nod respectfully. “You did, Lady.”

  When the witch looked back to their hostess, she noticed a glimmer of respect in Wei Dao’s otherwise inexpressive face. Deciding that she had read the princess’s character correctly, Ruha reached into a pocket and withdrew two milky tears of hardened tree resin.

  “Have you heard of frankincense or myrrh?”

  Wei Dao examined the droplets closely. “Are they gems?”

  “In a manner of speaking, for they are more valuable than gold. If you can have someone fetch a brazier and fill it with coals, I will show you.”

  “Magic is forbidden in my presence.”

  “This is not magic.” Ruha found it interesting that the Shou considered sorcery a greater threat to the safety of their nobility than they did blades. “The drops will produce a pleasant smoke, nothing more.”

  Wei Dao nodded to two men, who promptly left through a door in the rear of the chamber. Fowler continued to stare at the white tears so tensely that Ruha feared he would alarm Wei Dao. The witch stepped closer to her hostess, until their shoulders were almost touching.

  “While we await the brazier, I will tell you more about these wondrous tears.” Ruha raised her hand, displaying the milky drops before Wei Dao’s eyes. “They are resins, scraped from beneath the bark of certain trees that grow only on the eastern side of the highest mountains in Anauroch.”

  “The great desert?” Wei Dao asked.

  “Yes. There, we use frankincense and myrrh to scent the air around stagnant oases. The tears can also be pressed to create perfumes, or mixed with almond oil to create restorative tonics and soothing lotions, or stirred into elixirs to ease the pains of childbirth.” Ruha paused to see if this elicited any interest from the princess. When it did not, she continued, “They are also good for soothing stinging eyes, earaches—even as a remedy to the bites of certain venomous insects, and as an antidote to some kinds of poison.”

  Again, Ruha watched closely to see if the last item of her description drew any special notice from the princess. But if Wei Dao had any interest in poisons, it remained concealed with the rest of her thoughts.

  “Is there anything frankincense and myrrh cannot do?” Wei Dao’s voice was somewhat incredulous.

  “Perhaps there are other uses, but I have described all I can demonstrate.”

  The two men returned with a small brazier already filled with hot coals. Ruha crushed one of the tears between her palms, then sprinkled the crumbs onto the embers. An aromatic smoke rose from the pan, filling the entire chamber with such a sweet, fresh smell that the Shou finally allowed their stoic masks to slip. They began to smile openly and crowd closer to the source, taking such deep breaths that some of them actually snorted. Even the stern-faced guards could not keep their nostrils from flaring.

  Wei Dao studied her entourage’s reaction in bemused meditation. “This is not magic?”

  “I am no spellcaster,” Ruha lied. She pressed the other tear into the princess’s hand and motioned toward the brazier. “It will smell just as sweet if you sprinkle the crumbs. Tomorrow, I will demonstrate its use in the making of perfumes and poultices.”

  Wei Dao did not step toward the brazier. “Not necessary. We buy all you have.”

  “What about the price?” Fowler gasped. “Aren’t you even going to ask?”

  Wei Dao glanced at the brazier, where her entourage stood sniffing the sweet-smelling smoke. “You already tell me it is more valuable than gold. I believe you.”

  Fowler shook his head in amazement, then looked back to Ruha. “Well, Lady Ruha, how much do we have?”

  It took Ruha a moment to realize what he was asking, for she had not expected her plan to succeed quite so well. “I’m afraid we have very little at the moment.” The witch had only three more tears in her pocket. “You see, our ship was sunk by a dragon—”

  “By dragon?”

  Wei Dao’s exclamation caught Ruha as much by surprise as had the offer to buy all her frankincense. “It was a very large dragon,” the witch explained, keeping a watchful eye on the princess’s expression. “A black one. Do you know it?”

  Wei Dao’s face became as unreadable as ever. “I do not know this dragon. But it is difficult for Shou to hear of dragons doing evil things.”

  “Yes, I have heard your emperor is a green dragon.”

  “Jade.” Wei Dao bowed, suggesting that the audience was at an end. “Please return to Ginger Palace with more frankincense and myrrh.”

  Ruha di
d not return the bow. “You may be certain we will—but first, we are interested in purchasing some wares to take with us.” The witch fingered the silk veil that Hsieh had given to her. “As you can see, the love of Shou silk reaches even into the depths of Anauroch.”

  “Of course. You discuss with Prince Tang.” Wei Dao bowed again. “Come back tomorrow, and new chamberlain sees you are among first to see my husband.”

  “I am sorry, but that is not possible.” Ruha had to fight to keep the panic out of her voice. “We must leave for Ilipur tomorrow to buy a new ship.”

  “Then come very early in morning. Chamberlain give you first appointment.” Wei Dao turned to leave, this time without bowing.

  Ruha threw open the coffer in Fowler’s hands. “Before you go, Princess, Abazm said you would want to see the color of our gold.”

  Wei Dao spun around, affronted. “Show me money? What for?”

  Fowler tipped the box so she could look inside, and the princess’s expression changed instantly—first to one of puzzlement, then interest.

  “Yes, of course. Abazm always tells us we must inspect coins.” She glided over to the box and started to reach inside, then remembered herself and asked, “May I touch?”

  Ruha nodded, and Wei Dao picked up several gold pieces and raised them to her face. When Ruha saw the coin from Calimshan slide down the long sleeve of the princess’s dress, she thought it best not to say anything.

  “You stay tonight in Ginger Palace,” Wei Dao said, as though she had thought of the idea herself. “We see Prince Tang soon after breakfast.”

  Seven

  Ruha raised her veil, blew into the tree-shaped keyhole, and whispered the incantation to her wind spell. A short blast of air whistled softly through the slot, raising a gentle clatter as it rattled the lock. The sound was not loud, but the witch cringed. After a long night of skulking through the Ginger Palace, she had worked her way deep into the labyrinthine corridors of the residential section, and the guards here were thick as ants in their hill.

  The bolt slid back with a muffled clack. Ruha stood, then looked back down the long hall. Already, two sentries were stalking toward her, their bare feet sliding across the silk runner in utter silence. It was their incredible stealth that made the witch’s search so nerve-wracking. She never knew when she would meet one coming around a corner, or suddenly feel someone gliding past her as she kneeled before a keyhole.

  Ruha pressed herself into a corner beside the door, moving very slowly and deliberately. Although she had rendered herself invisible with a sun spell, the mirage was not perfect. Any quick motion would cause a shimmering blur that might alert the guards to her presence.

  The men stopped before the door, gesturing at the knob and whispering to each other in the lilting language of the Shou. After arguing a few moments, they tried the latch. When the door swung open, they gasped and backed away, both reaching for their square-tipped swords. One of them spoke, and the other scurried down the hall.

  The remaining guard peered into the room, calling gently, as though saying someone’s name. No one answered. He reluctantly entered the chamber, still speaking softly. Though she was puzzled by the man’s alarm, Ruha followed him through the door and instantly realized she had found the personal quarters of Lady Feng.

  Opposite the door was a glass window, through which spilled the pale dawn light illuminating an anteroom similar to those Ruha had found in the private apartments of both the prince and princess. Like many chambers in the Ginger Palace, this one was furnished with nothing more than a single low table and a few straw mats. The walls were covered not by the resplendent frescoes of birds and reptiles that decorated the other royal apartments, but by subtly hued paintings of symbolic portent: a snake coiled into an ascending spiral, a feeble old man sailing backward across a rainbow, a spider that had spun its web in the mouth of a singing woman, and many more images that would have put the witch into a contemplative mood, had she not been so jittery from hours of skulking about the Ginger Palace.

  The guard crossed the chamber and nervously called through the doorway into the next room. When no one answered, he reluctantly inched forward. Ruha went to the window and, while she waited for the sentry to complete his search, looked out upon the rear part of the palace complex. She could not see much, for a large, high-walled enclosure sat in the middle of the grounds, blocking her view of everything beyond save the tiled roofs of the two huge buildings the witch had noticed yesterday.

  Ruha could not decide what the enclosure was. Its walls were capped by a double row of barbed spikes, as though it were some sort of prison, but the gates hung open beneath a strange, scaly archway that vaguely resembled a dragon’s tail. A short, opal-paved path connected the peculiar courtyard to the mansion, crossing an arcing, multicolored bridge and snaking through a thicket of well-tended shrubbery. The witch noticed several sentries kneeling among the bushes, not hiding so much as trying to avoid obtrusiveness.

  Ruha was dismayed to note that the sun had already risen high enough to kindle an iridescent glimmer in the pearly surfaces of both the walkway and the enclosure’s scaly arch. There was not much time to find Yanseldara’s staff. Soon, the breakfast servants would arrive at the guest house in the front courtyard. Fowler could probably keep them at bay, but he would be hard-pressed to explain the witch’s absence when someone called to escort them to Prince Tang’s audience hall.

  Ruha cast an impatient look toward the room the guard had gone to inspect. She was tempted to start her own search before he left the apartment, but that would be very dangerous. As quietly as Shou sentries moved, he might slip into the chamber while she wasn’t looking and see her move something. Besides, if anyone in the other rooms was a light sleeper, it would be better to let the sentry disturb them.

  A short time later, the guard finally returned, muttering to himself and glancing askance at the mystical symbols on the walls. Ruha had heard no conversations or startled cries to suggest he had awakened anyone, so she did not understand his anxiety. When she had inadvertently drawn the guards’ attention before, they had seemed much more confident of themselves. In one case, they had remained quite composed while they explained to a startled bureaucrat why they had awakened him. Another time, they had efficiently searched an entire apartment without disturbing the sleeping residents.

  Ruha waited until the fellow left the room, then went to the door and used the same spell she had used to unlock the latch to lock it again. A muffled cry of surprise sounded from the hall. The guard tried the door, again speaking softly. The witch turned away and crept silently into the next room, not caring that she had alarmed him further. When the other sentry returned, he would no doubt bring a superior, who would probably insist on searching the apartment again. If the witch was still here, the sound of the lock turning would alert her to their arrival.

  The next room appeared to be Lady Feng’s dressing closet. In one corner stood a wooden screen decorated with the painting of a naked king and queen lying together upon a bed of purple night. In the corner opposite the screen were two dressing bureaus, each with a costly silver mirror hanging behind it. One wall of the room was lined by several wardrobes decorated with paintings of astrological constellations.

  Though Ruha considered the room an unlikely place to hide Yanseldara’s staff, she paused long enough to peer behind the screen—nothing there—and open each of the wardrobes. Inside were dozens of silk gowns in many different styles, all dyed black as kohl and brocaded with the same endless pattern of open and closed eyes. The witch ran her hands over the floor and explored the corners behind the clothes. When she found nothing but sashes and slippers, she closed the wardrobes and crept into the next chamber.

  Against the far wall sat the most elaborate piece of furniture in Lady Feng’s apartment, a large canopied bed surrounded by a folding partition. Each panel was decorated with the fearsome aspects of leering, grotesque monsters, such as sometimes invaded a sleeper’s dreams. In their claws, t
he fiends carried strange, exotic weapons like those stored in the secret armory that Ruha had discovered beneath the palace. There was a horned goat-man brandishing a two-bladed sword, a bat-winged tiger carrying a spear with barbed points at both ends, a red-eyed centaur whirling a three-chained flail, and a wide assortment of other hideous creatures to protect Lady Feng’s spirit while she slept.

  They were not needed now. No clothes lay folded on the dressing couch beside the bed, and four of the partition panels hung open, revealing a black silken quilt embroidered with the same green dragon that hung beneath the prow of Hsieh’s ship. The blanket lay neatly spread over the mattress and pillows, lacking even the slightest rumple to suggest anyone had slept beneath it the night before.

  Ruha’s stomach sank. She had assumed all along that she would find Yanseldara’s staff somewhere near Lady Feng, but it had never occurred to her that Lady Feng would not be at home.

  The absence certainly explained the guards’ reaction to the rattling lock, but not much else. Perhaps Lady Feng had spent the night in a lover’s chamber, or communing with the spirits in some occult place Ruha had not yet discovered. There could be any number of explanations, most of which meant the staff would not be found here. Nevertheless, the witch decided to continue her search. Even if she failed to recover Yanseldara’s staff—she could hear Vaerana maligning her already—at least there was a chance she would find something to lead her to Lady Feng.

  Ruha crawled onto the mattress and ran her hands over the black quilt, then felt under the pillows. When she found nothing, she crawled off and straightened the quilt, then looked under the bed and stood on the dressing couch to peer above the canopy. She went to the corner and inspected a low writing desk. On the surface sat a bottle of ink, a small calligraphy brush, and several blank leaves of rice paper. A well-worn text in ancient Dwarven sat on one corner; the witch knew just enough of the arcane language to recognize the words “alchemy” and “first materials.”