The Veiled Dragon

by Denning, Troy

  Though she could not see how it might be connected to Yanseldara’s staff, the witch picked up the dwarven text. Aside from what she had already examined, there was little else in the room. She turned to leave, and that was when she heard the scratching.

  It was as gentle as the whisper of her feet across the floor, but it was steady, and there was something more: a weak, plaintive whimpering. Ruha returned the dwarven text to its place, then kneeled in the corner of the room. The scratching and the squealing grew more discernible, and she caught a faint whiff of a gamy and slightly rank odor. An animal.

  Ruha ran her fingers up the corner and felt the seam of a door. She pulled the writing desk away from the corner, and a small click sounded inside the wall. The scratching and squealing stopped, but the gamy odor grew stronger. Resisting the urge to pull her jambiya—if she attacked anything, the sun spell would fail and render her instantly visible—the witch laid her palms on a fresco of what looked like a slumbering mountain and pushed.

  A hidden panel swung open, revealing the interior of a cluttered chamber. A small, white-furred face peered around the edge of the door. At first, Ruha thought the thing was a monkey, until she saw that its black-tipped muzzle was long and foxlike. Then she noted the black mask around its eyes and thought it looked like a raccoon, save that its head was as small and narrow as that of a weasel.

  The creature, whatever it was, regarded the empty doorway for an instant, and then its nose twitched and its ears pricked forward. It raised its dark eyes, which remained as expressionless as they were large, toward Ruha’s face and chittered despondently. For a moment, the witch thought the little animal could not see her and was disappointed at finding no one in the door. Then it slipped forward, revealing an emaciated body and a white-ringed tail, and gently pawed at her with two tiny black hands.

  Hoping the creature was not trying to defend its territory, Ruha stepped past it into the secret chamber. Beneath a brass chandelier in the center of the room stood a worktable, the surface barely visible beneath a jumble of braziers, balances, cauldrons, and other alchemical instruments. Three of the laboratory walls were completely concealed behind rows of tall wooden cabinets, some so full of books and flasks they could not close. The fourth wall had two glass windows, beneath which were a red silk cushion, a box of fetid-smelling sand, and two silver bowls licked so clean they gleamed like mirrors.

  When Ruha paused at the worktable to examine Lady Feng’s apparatus, Chalk Ears, as she was beginning to think of the black-masked creature, leapt onto the only clear corner. It fixed its expressionless eyes on her face, watching her so intently she raised a hand to make certain she had not suddenly become visible. When the witch could not see her own flesh, she regarded Chalk Ears with a wary eye, then reached toward a flask of what looked like powdered blood.

  A surprisingly sinister growl rolled from the creature’s small throat. The hair rose along its spine and it lifted itself on its haunches, baring a mouthful of needlelike fangs. Ruha retracted her arm, and the little beast settled back onto its corner. The witch clasped her hands behind her back, then slowly walked around the table, studying the rest of the apparatus. Other than a fine coating of dust, she saw nothing to tell her what had become of Lady Feng. Chalk Ears watched her intently, but made no further objections as long as she did not attempt to touch anything.

  Ruha went to the first cabinet. Chalk Ears jumped off the table and took a post at her heels. Keeping a careful eye on her little escort, she pulled the door open. As before, the creature watched her carefully, and any doubts about its ability to see her vanished from the witch’s mind. Whatever it was, the animal clearly had some defenses against magic, and that could only mean Chalk Ears was Lady Feng’s familiar, linked to her by a special bond of magic and love.

  Ruha had never had a familiar, since the spell that summoned them had more to do with the spirit than the elements. But she had heard other witches describe the strength of the union. Sometimes, the two were so closely bound that, over relatively short distances, they could see through each other’s eyes and hear through each other’s ears.

  Ruha kneeled in front of the familiar. “Lady Feng?” she whispered, looking into the creature’s big eyes. “Are you there?”

  Chalk Ears blinked, but the tiny beast made no move to suggest that it understood.

  “Why have you left your familiar alone, Lady Feng? It is starving. Shall I feed it for you and give it water?”

  Again, Chalk Ears did nothing. The witch breathed a sigh of relief, confident there would have been some response if Lady Feng were listening. Even if the starving creature’s mistress was as cruel as At’ar the Merciless, she would share its pain and be anxious to have it cared for. In fact, it seemed unthinkable that Lady Feng would allow the little beast to fall into such a wretched state unless she had been forced to depart under the direst circumstances.

  A muffled crash rumbled through Lady Feng’s apartment, and guards began to call from the anteroom. Ruha stepped into the bedchamber and pulled the writing desk back into its corner, then slipped into the laboratory and closed the secret door. She pressed her ear to the panel and heard several men rush into the room, still calling out as though they expected Lady Feng to return at any moment. Wei Dao arrived and began issuing commands. The witch listened for several moments more. When she heard no one dragging the desk from its place, she decided they did not know about the secret room and quietly resumed her search.

  With Chalk Ears watching intently, Ruha carefully opened each cabinet and looked over the contents. To a nomad’s eye at least, they contained an overabundance of magical supplies: scrolls and tomes in many different languages, a glut of ingredients for every spell imaginable and some that were not, arcane instruments so obscure the witch could not guess their purpose. Still, she found no sign of Yanseldara’s staff, nor any clue of Lady Feng’s whereabouts, nor any hint as to why the Shou sorceress had abandoned her familiar.

  Finally, Ruha came to a locked cabinet, and Chalk Ears’ long tail began to flick madly. The little beast rose on its haunches and sniffed at the doors, dripping a long stream of drool from its muzzle. The witch examined the latch and discovered that she could pop it easily enough, but Wei Dao and the guards were still shuffling about in Lady Feng’s bedchamber. Fearful of making any sharp noises that might draw their attention to the secret room, Ruha decided to move to the last cabinet.

  A long, deep growl rumbled from the familiar’s throat. The fur rose along its spine, and it slunk toward Ruha with bared fangs. The witch pulled her jambiya and brandished it menacingly in front of Chalk Ears’ face. The creature’s tail rose straight into the air. It slowly backed away, then took refuge beneath another cabinet and began to whine.

  Cursing the black-masked beast for a scoundrel and a blackmailer, Ruha returned to the locked cabinet and slipped her dagger blade into the door seam. Chalk Ears stopped crying and slunk from its hiding place, being careful to remain well out of reach. The witch worked her jambiya down to the latch, then twisted the blade against the jamb.

  The door popped open with a loud bang and a puff of yellow smoke. Ruha cried out in shock and found herself sitting halfway across the room, hurled there more by her own surprise than the force of the blast. A scolding harangue erupted from inside the cabinet, and the image of a tall, willowy woman appeared in the air before the doors. She looked almost ancient, with coarse gray hair pulled into a tight bun and a deeply wrinkled face. Something seemed wrong with her eyes; one of them was almost closed, while the other bulged from its socket as though it might fall out. The woman wagged her finger at the floor and continued her diatribe, sending Chalk Ears yelping and skittering across the floor to take refuge behind Ruha. The illusion looked so real the stunned witch did not fully grasp that the trap had not been intended to frighten her until Lady Feng’s familiar peered out from behind her and voiced a pitiful plea for food.

  The voices of several astonished Shou guards cried out from the other s
ide of the wall, at once puzzled and frightened. Wei Dao called something out, sounding more shocked and bewildered than the soldiers.

  The illusion—no doubt an image of Lady Feng herself—continued to harangue the floor. Ruha gathered herself up, forcing herself to remain calm and consider her options. Hiding was out of the question, for the Shou would certainly investigate until they discovered the cause of all the strange noises. That left only escape, and, as far as the witch could see, there was only one possible route.

  Finally, the illusion faded. Chalk Ears cautiously slunk toward the doors Ruha had pried open, where two large ceramic urns contained supplies of food and water that, apparently, the familiar had been unable to reach for several days. The guards, and then Wei Dao herself, called out. When they received no answer, the princess spoke again, this time in a more commanding tone.

  Ruha went to the glass windows and looked out. She was on the second story of the palace, no more than thirty feet off the ground. The sentries lurking in the shrubbery around the opal path were all looking away from the mansion, toward the strange enclosure. When they heard the glass break, they would certainly turn toward the sound, so the witch would have to take care not to reveal herself by moving too fast.

  Wei Dao spoke again, this time in Common. “I know it is you, Witch! Come out now, or you go to Chamber of One Thousand Painful Deaths!”

  Ruha had seen the room to which the princess referred. It was a dank, fetid place in the deepest of the palace’s sub-basements, filled with all manor of chains, hooks, and grim instruments of agony.

  Chalk Ears leapt up and grabbed the rim of a ceramic urn. The whole thing toppled out of the cabinet and shattered, spilling a pool of stale water over the floor. Wei Dao hissed a command, and sword pommels began to hammer at the wall.

  Summoning a wind spell to mind, Ruha grabbed the brazier off the worktable and hurled it through a window. She followed it an instant later, uttering the syllables of her incantation as she fell. A terrific gust of wind tore across the courtyard and rose up beneath her, catching her body in an airy bed as soft as a cloud. The witch somersaulted once to bring her feet beneath her, then settled to the ground as though stepping off a stairway.

  The sentries in the shrubbery began to yell at each other in Shou. Several rose from their posts and started to run toward the mansion, drawing an angry shout from a young, moon-faced officer. The guards stopped where they were, but continued to stare toward the mansion, squinting and furrowing their brows as they tried to find the strange blur that had just come crashing out the window.

  Ruha’s stomach had tied itself into knots. The coward in her wanted to flee as quickly as possible, but that would be exactly what her hunters expected. Certainly, a messenger was already rushing to the barracks to call out the guard. Besides, the witch had not yet found Yanseldara’s staff, and if the sentries would not leave their posts to investigate a breaking window, whatever they were protecting had to be important. Ruha turned toward the enclosure and, ever so slowly, began to creep down the opal path.

  * * * **

  Over the garden wall came the tintinnabulation of breaking glass. Prince Tang rose and scowled toward the palace, but the crest of the rampart rose just high enough to block the second-story windows—he himself had made certain of that—and he could not see what had happened. No matter. Windowpanes cost as much as diamonds, but this morning he was working on the problem of the ants, and he had only a short time to solve it before his officious wife fetched him to meet with some new merchant.

  Tang glanced at the gate, hanging slightly ajar, and wondered if he dared close it. He had repaired only a quarter of the damage to his garden, and every day he failed to restore the delicate balance meant more dead lizards. Still, he could not hazard shutting himself off from his guards. Minister Hsieh was well overdue, which meant the fresh ylang blossoms had not yet been pressed, which meant Cypress was likely to appear at any moment, spitting acid and demanding his oil.

  It puzzled Tang that the dragon had not come already. It had been seven days since the last visit, far longer than Cypress had granted him to provide the oil, and still there had been no demands or threats. The prince was not anxious for the call, of course, but he was prepared. His guards—half new, half veterans of the dragon’s first appearance—had been eating lasal leaves, a mind-numbing herb that defended against the effects of the Invisible Art. Unfortunately, it also caused tremors and disorientation, and as often as not left long-term users little better than zombies.

  Trying to force all thoughts of Cypress from his mind, Tang kneeled in the sand, turning back to the problem of the ants. On a slab of stone before him, four Thornback lizards were basking in the morning sun, warming their cold blood in preparation for the day’s activities. They should have been plump and round of body, with blotchy, tan-colored hides indistinguishable from the sand of the desert quarter. Instead, they were no fatter than snakes and as white as alabaster, almost translucent at the tips of their stumpy tails. After Cypress’s attack, all of the ants upon which the lizards preyed had mysteriously vanished from the garden, perhaps destroyed or driven away by the Invisible Art.

  The prince opened one of the many small lacquered boxes he had brought into the park. A pair of red ants that had survived their capture tried to escape. He killed the fugitives and returned them to the container with their ten dead fellows, then sprinkled all twelve bodies onto the stone. The tongue of a single Thornback lashed out and caught one insect in midair, but it showed no interest in the others. The remaining lizards paid the offering no attention at all.

  Tang sighed and reached for the fifteenth box. After several failed attempts to feed the lizards common household ants, he had ordered his servants to capture twelve of every kind of ant that lived within a mile of the Ginger Palace. He had not realized there were so many varieties, or that even Thornbacks could be so particular about the ones they ate.

  Tang opened the box and found several large carpenter ants trying to chew their way to freedom. Deciding it would be necessary to punish his servants for their carelessness, he smashed the survivors and dumped the whole box onto the stone. These plumper insects seemed to interest the lizards more than the previous offerings, as they each snapped up one or two before they stopped eating.

  The prince threw the lacquered box down in the sand. “You are foolish old men! Food need not taste good to save life!”

  As one, the Thornbacks lifted their bodies off the rock. They puffed out their throats and bobbed their heads up and down in the universal challenge of lacertilians. At first, Tang thought his exhortation had angered them, but then he realized they were looking past him toward the Arch of Many-Hued Scales.

  The gates were closed and barred.

  * * * **

  Ruha breathed a sigh of relief, then braced her hands against the timber crosspiece and tried to stop trembling. The trip down the path of opals had been as nerve-wracking as it had been long. When Wei Dao appeared in the mansion’s broken window, the moon-faced officer had sent half his men down the path to see what was wrong. The witch had barely managed to creep off the trail before the sentries rushed past, and despite her caution, one of the men’s eyes had briefly drifted in her direction.

  After receiving instructions from the princess, the detail had spread out in all directions to begin searching for her. In the meantime, the young officer had assembled the rest of his men at the rainbow-colored bridge, and Ruha had been forced to creep past them less than a hand’s breadth behind their backs. By the time she had passed beneath the enclosure’s scaly gate, the first guards from the barracks were arriving to join the search for her. Though they had not seemed to realize she was invisible, the witch felt certain that Wei Dao would surmise as much as soon as she emerged from the mansion to direct the search.

  From behind Ruha came the metallic swish of a sword leaving its scabbard. She turned to see that the foolish Shou who was trying to feed dead ants to spiny sand iguanas had risen. The
witch could not help gasping, and not because she feared the square-tipped sword he now held in his hands.

  It was the man from her vision on the raft. He had the same upturned nose, smooth complexion, and silky black hair, but it was his eyes that convinced her. They were deep and dark, at once confident and self-absorbed. His jaw was set but not tense, and the stance he had adopted suggested that he was no stranger to holding a sword. Ruha realized at once that her first evaluation, made from a hasty glance at the fellow’s back, had been mistaken; this was no simple gardener.

  The man studied the gates for a moment, then glanced at his lizards and opened his mouth to call his guards.

  “Please, there is no need to call for help.” Ruha spoke softly and started across the courtyard, moving quickly enough so that he would see her as a shimmering column of air. “I mean you no harm.”

  An expression of relief crossed the Shou’s face. He started to lower his sword, then glanced at the barred gate and raised it again.

  “Do not think of crying out,” Ruha warned. She had reached the edge of the courtyard, where the stones gave way to sand. “I have no wish to harm you. Perhaps I can even be of service, if you wish to know why the spiny iguanas will not eat your ants.”

  “Come no closer.” The Shou pointed his sword more or less in Ruha’s direction, holding it with both hands so there would be no question of disarming him with a quick strike. “Deliver your message and go.”

  Ruha stopped at the base of a miniature sand dune. “What of the iguanas?”

  “I take care of Thornbacks myself.” The man’s eyes turned cold and angry, as though he blamed his unseen visitor for the condition of his lizards. “Your message?”

  “Why do you think I have come to deliver a message?”

  The Shou’s jaw dropped, and the anger in his eyes changed to puzzlement. “Perhaps you show yourself, wu-jen.” The man took the precaution of retreating a step, then lowered his sword. “And I do not call guards.”