outside.

A black fog gathered at the edges of Tang's perceptions, 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 looming 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 soldiers' 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, followed 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 splintered 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 uncontrollable 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 reptile 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 poisondripping 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 realized it was dragging something and
stopped. The misshapen 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 sufficiently urgent, he tried to
roll onto his back and discovered 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 barbless 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 darkness. 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 Hallowhand rode up to join
Ruha and Vaerana. Behind him followed one of his gray-cloaked trackers and a
bedraggled, 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 bedraggled 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 Hawklyn'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 Ginger 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 passage
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 disappeared 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 himself 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 easily 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 carefully 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 hammer, 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 realized 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 suddenly 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 feeling that he had died and, despite
his many faults, surfaced 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, emeralds 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 silver. 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 rescuing 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 certain 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 Concubine." 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 soaking 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 chamberlain
drew aside two silk draperies and opened a pair of teak doors. A double column
of Minister Hsieh's yellowcloaked guards marched into the room and split, one
line filing to each side of
Ruha and Vaerana. Behind the warriors 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 servants 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 following 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 gesture, 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 likewise 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 master 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 Vaerana 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 Yanseldara'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 Concubine—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 Yanseldara'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 waiting 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 withdraw 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 halberds 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 suggestion'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 collapsed 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 position. "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 redeeming 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 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 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
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, 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 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 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 blossoms 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'fr

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 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 genuine.

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.

"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. Perhaps they search for lair while Shou guard oil."

Vaerana leaned in front of Ruha, her face already turning 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 themselves for battle. For a moment, the witch
could not imagine 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
crossbows. 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 screaming 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 galloped 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-anddaub 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 several 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 concealing 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, creating 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 slapping 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, leaning
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 survivors 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 gloomshrouded figures appeared at the
end of the street, blocking 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 fingers 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
tenement; 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 rapturous 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 battleground.

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 mandarin 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 nostrils. 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 on1.;;
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 backward 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 staggerü^
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 allowing 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 treasure." 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 spellbook. 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 nostril plugs remained in place, but her cheeks were
puffedout 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 pas-


sage 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 passage; 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 boulder, 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 struggling 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 forward and looked Tang up
and down, and the Third Virtuous 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 convulsions 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.

*!l!***

Cypress stood in the heart of the sunlit plaza, towering high above a sea of
tent-roofed stalls. His empty eye sockets 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
circumscribed 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
outnumbered 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 uttering 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 disappointed; 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 walking. 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 forward 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 meaningless 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 tenement. 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 supposed—but she was glad for the company.

"Where now?" Hsieh squinted at Ruha with his uncovered 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 soldier'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 plaintive, 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, holding 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 apothecary.

"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, twolegged 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 alcohol, 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. J
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 powerful 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 brimstone 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. "Perhaps you would be kind enough to guide me to
the Jailgates?"

Sixteen

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




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

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

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

The mandarin's voice was hoarse and raspy, no doubt from breathing the dusky
smoke that pervaded even the

fortress's underground chambers. Elversult was burning—a good part of it at
least—and there was no escaping the acrid murk. The fumes hung over the city
as heavy as a fog, creeping past shuttered windows and seeping under barred
doors to fill every room in every building with a choking gray cloud.

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

Given the mild severity 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 messages." She gestured at the bed beside her.
"Besides, we've got Cypress well in hand, thanks to you—though I
wish you hadn't helped him burn down a quarter of
Elversult."

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

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

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

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

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

"But what of Lady Feng? Perhaps she has no time."
Hsieh stopped sewing and glanced at the bed next to


them. "Perhaps Lady Yanseldara has even less. If Lady
Feng uses oil from evening-picked blossoms, love potion does not last long. When
it wears off, her spirit must do battle with the dragon's."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you two talking about?" Though Hsieh had stopped sewing, Vaerana
remained surprisingly still. "Is

there some way to make this safe?"

"More safe," Hsieh said. "But small risk always remains."

Ruha saw the interest fading from Vaerana's eyes.

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

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

"She draws strength from your spirit," Hsieh said, expounding on Ruha's
fabrication. "Much better for her."

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

Vaerana did not even hesitate. "Of course!"

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

"Leave?" Vaerana asked. "Where are you going?"

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

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

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


the Third Virtuous Concubine.

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

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

As though to confirm what Tang already feared, Ge:i eral Fui drifted to the
middle of the dark pool, then se*
tied 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 Elversuit's Lady Lord on several
ceremonial occasions, recognized the voice as Yanseldara's. "Who is this?" he
demanded. "You are not Lady Lord!"

"Nor are you, but I hear you in Lady Yanseldara's voice. Are you Third Virtuous
Concubine?"

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

"This is Prince Kao Chou Tang."


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Minister Hsieh?"

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

*S|i***

Cypress lay at the bottom ofHillshadow 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, boiling waters in the
center of the lake. "We've been waiting for it to die out since he went under!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Rude?" the commander snorted. "Why would you worry about being rude when you've
met Vaerana Hawklyn?"

Ruha smiled. "Then I will speak bluntly. While it is

clear that even the dragon cannot slay all of the men gathered here, I fear
you may not stop him from escaping. Cypress is no fool. When he leaves the
lake, he will not do the predictable thing."

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

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

Pierstar raised a bushy eyebrow. "What are you thinking?"

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

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

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

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

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

"And?" Pierstar asked.

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

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

"Lady Witch?"

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



"The Shou are a smart people." Pierstar's confidence sounded forced. "They will
understand what their mandarin wanted."

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

The commander nodded and went to speak with his officers.

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

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

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

"Tell Hsieh to give her the potion."

"Then you think the prince will smash the gem?" The messenger's voice was
hopeful.

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

"I'll tell the minister what you said. Is there anything else?"

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

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

Pierstar gestured at the mansions flanking Baldagar


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

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

"We're staying." Pierstar picked up a long, steelshanked 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 staylong, and in past you have done little to win his
loyalty."

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

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

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

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

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

Tang brought his hand down. He felt the topaz shatter beneath the stone, then
heard his mother cry out as a powerful concussion hurled them both against the
chamber walls. There was an ear-splitting wail and a deafening roar; then
two flashing lights whirled through the

room, one as silver as the moon and the other as black as obsidian. The
prince's head felt as though it would split, and he found himself struggling for
breath against a tremendous weight. He closed his eyes and beseeched his
ancestors to make ready for him in the Celestial
Bureaucracy.

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

"Tang?"

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

"Now may we go?"

:^it;•//.*

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

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

The ballista crews hiding in the adjacent buildings


closed their window shutters. The last of the war wizards arrived and took
their places, and still the dragon did not move. Ruha's heart sank, and she
reluctantly turned to face Pierstar.

"I fear Prince Tang has not changed. Perhaps I…"
A dreadful sputter broke over the parapets, and Ruha let her sentence trail off.
She looked toward the lake and saw huge geysers of steam rising from its heart.
Just beneath the roiling green surface, the amber globe of her sun spell was
rapidly growing larger, with the murky figure of Cypress's body rising beneath
it like a swelling black cloud.

"Prepare yourselves!" yelled Pierstar.
An anxious clatter rattled across the roof as the Maces and their war wizards
steeled themselves for battle.

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

Ruha set her stone on the parapet, then tucked two of
Hsieh's lasal leaves into the sleeve 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
harmlessly into the water, but three harpoons lodged deep in
Cypress's flanks, and one net tangled in the spindly bones of his wings. The men
who had hit quickly looped their lines around stakes driven deep into the
ground, while those who had missed rewound their skeins.

Cypress roared. He whipped his fire-shrouded head

around his body, and the instant the golden flames touched the harpoon lines
and the net, they flashed and dissolved. The dragon's wings siffled through the
air, and he began to rise again.

"Shut your eyes, Maces!" Pierstar ordered. "Now,

Ruha!"

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

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

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

You!

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

Chew the leaves, she told herself.

Even as the words reverberated through her skull, she slammed down and went
tumbling across the roof. If the fall caused her any injury, the witch did not
know it; she could feel only the anguish inside her mind, a fiery agony

such as she had never felt. Swimming in boiling tar would have hurt less, or
falling naked upon At'ar's blazing face. She glimpsed Cypress's murky figure
swooping down toward Baldagar Manor; then she rolled one more time and came to
rest on her face.

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

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

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

Then I will make you bear another kind of agony.

Cypress's tail thrashed in anger, smashing through the parapets and sweeping
half a dozen men over the side.
He stooped over, reaching out as though he had forgotten't he had only stubs
where once he had claws; then a window shutter slammed open.

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

The witch landed amidst a shower of snapped planks and beams, her body erupting
into pain despite the cushioning of the soft furniture favored by Elversult


merchants. She lay a long time without moving, halfexpecting Cypress's
scorched skull to appear above her at any moment. Instead, the yellow glow and
fiery pain faded from her mind and, much to her surprise, so did the lasal
haze—no doubt burned off by the ferocity of the dragon's attack. At length, the
terrible aching in her body also faded, and she began to realize that, other
than the dull throbbing of a few new bruises, she had
survived the fall uninjured.

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

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

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

"What's that?" he croaked.

"That?" The witch whispered an incantation and raised her hand, then started to
spin her finger in the direction opposite the whirlwind. The vortex began to
lose speed, and the two ribbons came apart. The silver light circled the
shoreline once, then streaked away toward the Jailgates and vanished from sight.
The black


one was caught by the waterspout and dragged into
Hillshadow Lake, where it darkened the water only briefly before sinking into
the muddy bottom. "That was nothing—a fool for love, I fear."

Epilogue

Even the Shou did not have a table with enough sides for all those at the
Great Banquet of Apology, so the servants had set the platters of candied duck
and ginger hart upon a round table and arranged seven chairs around it in evenly
spaced intervals.
Prince Tang himself welcomed each guest at the door, and when Yanseldara entered
the room, he produced a long oaken staff with three gnarled fingers gripping the
finest ruby from his personal treasury. He held it before him and bowed very
low.




"I find this in dragon's lair, Lady Yanseldara," he said.
"I am sorry that I must smash original topaz."

Yanseldara accepted the staff with a sincere smile.
"The topaz was ruined by Cypress's touch, and I thank you for crushing it. I
accept this magnificent ruby as a token of the new friendship between the Ginger
Palace and Elversult. I shall treasure it always."

Vaerana rolled her eyes, then leaned close to Ruha and, in a voice much too
loud, whispered, "I'll treasure it more if they really stop selling poison!"

The servants gasped, and Lady Feng shot an indignant scowl in the Lady
Constable's direction. Hsieh quickly stepped forward and smoothed matters over
by personally taking Vaerana's arm.

"If we are all here, perhaps we sit down." The proces-


sion filed somewhat uncomfortably to the table, where the mandarin scowled and
turned to Prince Tang. "I see seven chairs, but only six guests."

The prince pointed to a chair with no goblet or flatware. "This is for Lady
Ruha's friend. Captain Fowler. It is most unfortunate he cannot join us."'

The explanation only drew a deeper scowl from Hsieh.
"It is not for Princess Wei Dao?"

Tang's jaw fell. "She dishonors Ginger Palace! I do not set place in her
memory!"

Hsieh's uncovered eye narrowed in what Ruha now recognized as a well-practiced
expression of displeasure.
"Wei Dao is Shou princess. Trouble she cause in Elversuit is of no consequence
to Emperor, so it is appropriate to treat her as well as you treat guests."

Before the stupefied prince could respond, the mandarin spun to face Lady
Feng, who was holding Winter
Blossom on her shoulder and casting covetous glances at the golden serving
platters. According to rumor, she had developed a distressing habit of sneaking
off to Cypress's swamp with the Ginger Palace's finest tableware.

"I must offer condolences, Lady Feng," Hsieh said.
"Most High Emperor sends me to invite you to Tai Tung, but your son's bad
manners do not make that possible."

Prince Tang looked first insulted, then relieved. He forced a grave expression
and bowed to the mandarin.
"Please to pardon, but I never honor Wei Dao at my table."

"Then you never return to Shou Lung."

Tang could not keep from smiling. He turned to Ruha and asked, "Perhaps you sit
next to me? I never return to
Emperor's court, so perhaps you consider becoming my
Princess?"

"I—uh—Brave Prince, I don't know what to say," Ruha stammered. Since his return
from the dragon's lair, Tang had shown himself to be a gracious and gallant man,
but the witch was not in love with him. "I will be pleased to sit with you, but
perhaps we should discuss the rest at

another time."

Hsieh frowned, almost angrily, and stepped toward the witch. "Surely you accept.
It is great honor to be Shou princess!"

Ruha's heart sank. Normally, the Harpers would not dictate the person she
married, but these were hardly normal circumstances; Storm Silverhand would look
very unfavorably on starting trouble with the Shou. The witch glanced around the
room and saw Vaerana watching her icarefully, as though she expected Ruha to
start a war at any moment.

It was Yanseldara who broke the silence. "Before Ruha decides, perhaps you
should give her that message, Vaerana."

The Lady Constable rolled her eyes, then turned to
Ruha. "I almost forgot, Witch," she said, a roguish grin upon her lips. "Storm
sent for you this morning. Some giants up in Oak Dale stole a duke's daughter,
and she doesn't think anyone else can bring the girl back alive."

Ruha did not know whether to hit Vaerana or hug her.
"When did you plan to tell me? After my wedding?"

"I don't think Storm can wait that long." Vaerana chuckled, then took something
from her pocket and pressed it into the witch's hand. It was the Harper pin
Ruha had given to Captain Fowler. "I suppose you'll be needing this."

"I suppose I will." Ruha pinned the signet inside her aba, then turned to Tang,
who looked almost as amused as he did disappointed. "I'm sorry, Brave Prince,
but I
cannot stay. You know I am a Harper, and Harpers go where they are needed."