Lady Feng looked at the keg, then slowly turned to face Cypress, who still wore the same crooked grin upon his long snout. “Now?”
“Of course now!” Cypress’s grumbling voice spread across the water in dancing ripples. “I have been ready for weeks.”
Lady Feng let her shoulders slump. “As you wish, then.”
She crooked a finger at Tombor, then turned toward a small coffer of polished mahogany sitting on the near side of the island. The Third Virtuous Concubine kneeled on a small ingot terrace before the chest, then had Tombor place the cask he had brought beside it. She opened the chest and removed several bundles carefully wrapped in waxed silk.
A painful lump formed in the pit of Tang’s stomach. The Third Virtuous Concubine had already prepared the other ingredients; it would take her only a few moments to mix the potion and east the enchantment that would forever unite Yanseldara’s spirit with Cypress. The prince crawled forward, struggling to think of some way short of matricide to stop his mother from finishing her spell.
Cypress climbed onto the far shore and stretched his neck over the summit of the little island, cocking his hideous head so that one empty eye socket hung directly above the Third Virtuous Concubine. Lady Feng had Tombor remove the top of the oil cask; then she suddenly drew back and wrinkled her nose.
“Is something wrong?” Cypress demanded.
“Only horrible smell.” Lady Feng took a deep breath, then leaned forward to peer into the cask.
Tang stopped a pace short of the mouth of the passage. He could go no farther without exposing himself to the dragon’s view—if he had not already—and still he did not know how to stop his mother. He was surprised to realize that failure mattered to him greatly, and not only because he wanted to impress Lady Ruha by saving Yanseldara. To a great extent, his weakness was responsible for the peril of both the Ruling Lady and his mother; unless he set matters right, he would always be the same cowardly, foolish prince he had been before entering the swamp.
Lady Feng pulled back from the cask and carefully unwrapped one of her silken bundles. Tang saw that he had a clear angle to the little keg. He wished for a crossbow so he could pierce the side—and at last one desperate idea occurred to him. The prince retreated into the passage and found a smooth, fist-sized rock. He tore the lapel off his fighting tunic, then fit the stone into the middle of it and stepped into the mouth of the tunnel. The passage was too small for a circular windup, so he simply cocked his arm back and hoped a simple whip-stroke would be powerful enough to span the distance.
Cypress’s head instantly swiveled in Tang’s direction, and the prince knew he did not have time to wait for his mother to move away from the ylang oil. He fixed his aim on the plump figure of Tombor the Jolly, who was standing on the hill above the cask, and snapped his arm forward.
The rock arced over the lake as fast as a shooting star. The shot was not a particularly difficult one, and it appeared the stone would strike its target square in the chest—not enough to kill the husky man, but certain to knock him from his feet and send him tumbling down the slope to spill the ylang oil.
Then, as the rock reached the shore of the ingot island, Cypress lowered his head. The stone bounced off the dragon’s skull and splashed into the water. Lady Feng spun around, her gaze instantly rising to the passage where Tang now stood trembling, not so much in fear as in frustration. The dragon turned his head slightly and brought both eye sockets to bear on the prince.
“It seems your son has found his courage, Lady Feng.”
“He finds courage, but he is still foolish boy.” The Third Virtuous Concubine waved her fingers at Tang, urging him to retreat deeper into his passage. “Mighty dragon has nothing to fear from him.”
“He killed my wyverns.” Cypress started to circle the island. “And he was trying to spill the ylang oil.”
Tang backed deeper into the passage, more because his mother had urged him to than because he imagined it would save him from the dragon. There was no hope now of stopping the spell, and he felt like a hopeless failure. He still feared death, of course, but only marginally more than he feared thinking of himself as a bumbling fool for the rest of his life.
By the time Cypress rounded the island, Tang could see little more than the dragon’s dull scales growing larger and darker as they neared the tunnel mouth. He reached the triple fork where he had stopped before and glanced up each branch. Two of the passages vanished into inky blackness, but one, the smallest, curved back toward the lake. There was a pale yellow glow at the far end, suggesting it actually connected with the vast treasure chamber.
“Cypress, stop!” Lady Feng’s voice was so muffled Tang could barely hear it. “If you love Yanseldara, you spare boy’s life.”
The dragon pivoted to look down at the island, allowing Tang a clear view of his mother. Lady Feng had grabbed the lip of the open oil cask and tipped it forward. The contents were dangerously close to spilling.
“Pour it out, Wise Mother!” Tang yelled. “Life and death are same; I fear only dishonor!”
The Third Virtuous Concubine frowned in the direction of Tang’s voice. “Then you are fool, Impertinent Son. You know nothing of life and death. If you do not understand that, you understand nothing at all!”
“What?” Tang gasped. If there was one thing his mother believed, it was that life and death were the same.
Lady Feng tipped the cask forward until the contents began to trickle down the side. Tombor the Jolly stooped over to reach for the other side of the cask, then found himself staring at a scorpion knife the Third Virtuous Concubine had produced from her sleeve pocket. The cleric withdrew his hand, and Lady Feng fixed her gaze on Cypress.
“Do you wish to have Yanseldara?” She tipped the cask forward even farther, and the trickle of oil became a steady stream. “Or not?”
“Very well. I am in a generous mood.” Cypress waved Tombor away from the cask, then stepped away from Tang’s passage. “I absolve the prince of his transgressions.”
Tang did not believe the dragon for a moment, and knew that his mother would not either. Like any tyrant, Cypress could not forgive a rebellion against his authority. Once Lady Feng cast her spell, he would take his vengeance. So why was the Third Virtuous Concubine pretending to believe him? And why had she called the prince ignorant for quoting her?
She had tipped the cask. The Third Virtuous Concubine was trying to tell him something about the oil.
When Cypress turned his attention back to Lady Feng’s preparations, Tang began to collect the largest stones he could find, piling them inside the small passage that curved back toward the lake. As soon as the prince judged he had enough to suit his purpose, he removed his clothes. He laid his battle tunic on the far side of the tunnel, arranging it over a boulder so that it would look as if he were crouching on the floor, with his back to the treasure chamber.
Lady Feng closed her mahogany coffer, and Tang knew she was getting ready to cast the spell. He laid down on his belly and crawled backward into the smallest passage, dragging his undertunic, trousers, and sword belt after him. The tunnel was so low that he could feel his back touching the ceiling. The prince began to stack the stones he gathered, scraping his elbows raw as he struggled to move in the cramped confines. The little bit of dim light vanished entirely, and he had to work in the dark, trying to feel the shapes of the rocks so he could fit them into the available spaces as tightly as possible.
His wall had nearly reached the ceiling when Tang heard his mother’s muffled voice mumbling a command. Though he could not understand her words, he suspected she was calling for Yanseldara’s staff. In his mind’s eye, the prince saw her accept the pole from Tombor—would the traitor’s hands be trembling at the magnitude of his crime?—and dip the butt into the ylang potion.
As though on cue, the Third Virtuous Concubine’s voice began muttering the indiscernible syllables of her spell. Tang fed his undertunic through the narrow gap at the top of his little wall, stoppin
g when he judged the tail would be touching the floor. He worked carefully, for he had plenty of time. It would take a few moments for the potion to work its magic, and, even then, Cypress would be in no hurry. The dragon would want to rejoice in his triumph and be certain the enchantment had worked before betraying his word.
Holding his undertunic against the ceiling with one hand and struggling to move stones with the other, Tang laid the last row of his wall. He folded the top of his shirt over his side of the barrier, using the extra rocks to anchor it in place. That done, he tore his trousers into strips and used them to plug the small gaps around the edges. The barricade would not stop the dragon’s breath entirely, but it would absorb the brunt of the attack and, with a little luck, send the acid cloud boiling down tunnels that offered less resistance.
Tang located his sword belt and crawled backward down the tiny passage. He felt the stone around him shudder as Cypress rumbled in astonishment, and the prince knew his mother had completed her spell. What had she been trying to tell him about the oil? Tang could think of only one thing: somehow, Tombor had pressed the wrong blossoms.
The prince felt the wall disappear beside his left foot and realized he had reached another fork. The side passage was not large enough for him to crawl into, but he was able to cram his legs in far enough to turn around and slither down the tunnel headfirst. The glow from the treasure chamber ahead had changed from bright yellow to a brilliant ruby red, and he could hear Cypress speaking in his deep dragon voice.
“Why is her spirit so—so pained? The spell couldn’t have worked!”
“I do not promise love feels good,” Lady Feng countered. “You share what Yanseldara’s spirit feels, and she shares what you feel. If she suffers, that is your fault, not mine.”
The ingot island appeared in the mouth of the passage, and Tang stopped crawling. Cypress sat on the beach of coins, bending forward over Lady Feng and Tombor, who were standing near the summit of the isle. The dragon was holding Yanseldara’s staff in the palm of his withered hand, his bony snout almost touching the fiery topaz set in the pommel.
“Then I have her?” Cypress closed the staff inside his claw. “Yanseldara is entirely mine?”
Lady Feng nodded. “Until potion wears off, yes. After that, what happens is between your spirit and hers.”
“Until it wears off?” Cypress’s roar was so loud that several pieces of jewelry fell into the lake. His empty claw flashed down and plucked up Lady Feng. “You told me the spell would last forever!”
“Your spy does not bring correct oil.” Lady Feng’s voice betrayed no hint of fear, and she stared into Cypress’s eye voids without wavering. “He brings oil made from blossoms picked at night. They are not as potent as blossoms picked in morning.”
“Ruha!” Tombor gasped. “That hag!”
Cypress’s muzzle swung toward his spy, whose eyes suddenly grew as round as his face. The cleric began to stumble down the slope away from the dragon, and Tang felt like a new man.
“The Harper witch s-s-said they were the blossoms Hsieh b-brought,” Tombor stammered. “She tricked me!”
“How unfortunate.”
Tombor clasped his hands in supplication and craned his neck to look up at the dragon. “Please, l-let me go back! I’ll k-kill the Harper! I can get the b-blossoms you need!”
“If that is true, why did you not bring them in the first place?” A white glimmer flashed deep within Cypress’s empty eye sockets; then he said, “Perhaps you knew you had the wrong oil, hmmmm? Perhaps you were hungry for my gold?”
Tombor dropped to his knees and tugged at the silver chain around his neck, pulling a gray velvet mask from inside his cloak. He pressed the disguise over his eyes, then began, “Unseen Mask, Great Lord of Shadows and Master of Deceit, hear the prayer of your most devoted servant—”
“Why do you pray to the King of Betrayal?” Cypress lowered his claw and, with a single black talon, flicked the gray mask away from Tombor’s face. “Do you think he will give you your reward?”
Tombor threw his arms over his face and tried to turn away, but the dragon was already inside his mind. A terrified howl echoed off the cavern walls; then the plump traitor began to pack gold ingots inside his clothes, his stiff and jerky arms obviously moving against his will. Once his robe was loaded, he filled his arms and waddled down to the lake’s edge, then threw himself into the clear waters. He sank like a stone.
The cleric held his breath for a long time, and Tang could see him still clutching his armload of gold ingots. At last, a long stream of bubbles streamed from his nostrils; then he opened his mouth and filled his lungs with water.
Cypress turned away from the traitor and raised Lady Feng to his face. “Now, what shall I do about you? You knew when you opened the cask that it was the wrong oil.”
“It makes no difference—if you have confidence in your own spirit,” Lady Feng said. “After potion wears off, you can subdue Yanseldara’s spirit and make her your slave.”
It astonished Tang to hear Lady Feng toying so boldly with the dragon. She knew Cypress loved Yanseldara only because no one else had ever bested him in battle. Considering that the first combat had cost him his life, it seemed unlikely he would welcome another fight for an even greater prize.
Wisps of black fume curled from Cypress’s nostrils, but when he spoke, he sounded more apprehensive than angry. “I do not want to make a slave of Yanseldara.” He lowered the Third Virtuous Concubine to the ingot heap and allowed her to step off his hand. “I want her to love me, as I love her.”
“You want to absorb her,” Lady Feng scoffed. “She is stronger than you, and you want to make her part of yourself.”
“Yes, to make her mine. Is that not what love is?” The dragon glanced toward the cavern where Tang had first taken refuge. “I’m certain your son would agree—though I’m afraid I can’t allow him that chance.”
“You leave son alone!” Lady Feng warned. “If you harm him—”
Cypress whirled on the Third Virtuous Concubine so fiercely that Tang feared he would murder her.
“I will kill him, and you will do nothing!” the dragon roared. “I have allowed you both to grow defiant, and now I must teach you to obey.”
Lady Feng dropped to her knees, then surprised Tang by kowtowing to the dragon—dishonoring both herself and the emperor. “Please. He is only son. Punish me—”
“I need you.”
Cypress drew himself to his full height, then turned Yanseldara’s staff upside down and wedged the butt into a ceiling fissure. The dragon waded into the lake. Tang retreated deep into his worm hole, beseeching his ancestors to make his foe see only the cowardly prince he had been before entering the swamp.
As Cypress neared the cavern wall, his great bulk blocked the red light from the treasure chamber, plunging the prince into darkness so thick he could not see the stone beneath his nose. The cavern shuddered around his body, and the dragon’s voice rumbled through the very rock.
“… not changed after all, have you, Prince?”
There was a muffled whisper as the dragon inflated his chest, then a sharp hiss as he emptied it into the next tunnel. The exhalation seemed to continue forever, and soon a chorus of soft, eerie trills arose from the treasure chamber as the breath whistled through the network of passages and found its way back toward the lake. From deep within Tang’s worm hole came a muffled clatter of stones, followed by the sputter and sizzle of dissolving limestone. The prince smelled the caustic stench of acid and expected to feel a stinging wind tear over his body, but the wall had not collapsed entirely. He felt only the light nettling of a faint mist. He crawled forward as far as he dared, and at last the eerie whistle died away.
Cypress stepped away from the cavern wall and turned toward the ingot island. Lady Feng threw herself into the water, wailing in motherly grief. The show was so convincing that, had Tang not been raised in the palace of the Third Virtuous Concubine, he would have believed her anguish to be gen
uine.
Cypress waded across the lake in two strides and plucked Lady Feng from the water. “Be quiet! That coward is not worth tears. He was groveling in the corner like a frightened child.”
The report only drew louder wails from the Third Virtuous Concubine.
The dragon placed her atop the ingot heap, then circled to the far side of the island. “I will fetch the proper oil. When I return, have your ingredients ready to cast another spell—the permanent one.”
Lady Feng raised her head. “Never! I let Yanseldara make slave of you!”
Cypress’s claw swept down so swiftly that Tang did not see it move. It simply appeared beside Lady Feng’s body, trembling with the dragon’s fury, and the prince did not even realize it had touched her until he saw the blood seeping through her shredded cheosong.
“We shall see, shall we?”
The dragon dove into the lake and vanished from sight. Both Tang and his mother remained motionless and did not speak for several minutes. When it became apparent that Cypress would not return, Lady Feng turned toward the prince’s hiding place.
“Are you there, Tang? I know you are fool, but honored ancestors claim you are no coward.”
Tang pushed his head out of his worm hole. “I am here. I see you kowtow to Cypress!”
Lady Feng shrugged. “I must convince him of grief. Besides, shame is removed after you destroy him.” She craned her neck to look at the staff lodged in the ceiling, thirty feet above her head. “Now, Courageous Prince, please to honor humble mother by climbing up to retrieve spirit gem.”
* * * **
Ruha urged her horse forward, once again nudging it between the mounts of Minister Hsieh and the Lady Constable. Vaerana had been on her best behavior since departing the Ginger Palace, but with the wooded hills of Elversult rising ahead and the planning session entering a crucial phase, the witch thought it wise to put herself between the two stubborn personalities.
The Veiled Dragon Page 26
