The Veiled Dragon Read online

  The dragon’s head rose into view and Ruha found herself staring not into the slit pupils of a wyrm’s diabolic eyes, but into the vastly more sinister void of the two black, empty sockets. Though a thin layer of shriveled black scales still clung to the beast’s brow and cheeks, its snout was a fleshless blade of cracked bone and cavernous nostrils. Even the creature’s curved horns, once as sturdy and long as horse lances, were mere splintered stumps of their ancient magnificence.

  “Umberlee have mercy!” Fowler ripped a golden ring from his ear and hurled it overboard, a piece of bloody lobe still dangling from the clasp. “Save us!”

  The dragon’s empty-eyed gaze followed the arc of the glimmering earring as it plunged into the sea, then snapped back to Fowler.

  “If you wish mercy, do not throw your gold to Umberlee.” The dragon spoke in a voice as raspy as it was loud, and the mere sound of it made Ruha’s legs shake so that she could hardly keep her feet. “Give it to me, and perhaps your death shall be quick!”

  THE HARPERS

  A semi-secret organization for Good, the Harpers fight for freedom and justice in a world populated by tyrants, evil mages, and dread concerns beyond imagination.

  Each novel in the Harpers Series is a complete story in itself, detailing some of the most unusual and compelling tales in the magical world known as the Forgotten Realms.

  THE HARPERS

  THE PARCHED SEA

  Troy Denning

  ELFSHADOW

  Elaine Cunningham

  RED MAGIC

  Jean Rabe

  THE NIGHT PARADE

  Scott Ciencin

  THE RING OF WINTER

  James Lowder

  CRYPT OF THE SHADOWKING

  Mark Anthony

  SOLDIERS OF ICE

  David Cook

  ELFSONG

  Elaine Cunningham

  CROWN OF FIRE

  Ed Greenwood

  MASQUERADES

  Kate Novak & Jeff Grubb

  CURSE OF THE SHADOWMAGE

  Mark Anthony

  THE VEILED DRAGON

  ©1996 TSR, Inc.

  ©2011 Wizards of the Coast LLC

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Forgotton Realms, Wizards of the Coast, TSR, Inc., and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries. All other trademarks are the property of their respective owners. Hasbro SA, Represented by Hasbro Europe, Stockley Park, UB11 1AZ. UK.

  All Wizards of the Coast characters and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Cover art by: Nick Jainschigg

  eISBN: 978-0-7869-6152-8

  U.S., Canada, Asia Pacific, & Latin America, Wizards of the Coast LLC, P.O. Box 707, Renton, WA 98057-0707, +1-800-324-6496, www.wizards.com/customerservice

  Europe, U.K., Eire & South Africa, Wizards of the Coast LLC, c/o Hasbro UK Ltd., P.O. Box 43, Newport, NP19 4YD, UK, Tel: +80457 12 55 99, Email: [email protected]

  Visit our websites at www.wizards.com

  www.DungeonsandDragons.com

  v3.1

  To My Father

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Map

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  I would also like to thank the following people for their contributions to The Veiled Dragon: my editor, Phil, for his prompt reviews, apt suggestions, and our long discussions; my instructor, Master Lloyd Holden of the AKF Martial Arts Academy in Janesville, WI, for his remarks on Shou culture and combat; and, as always, Andria, most especially

  One

  Far across the surging dunes of moonlit sea, the dark wyrm wheeled and, with a deftness surer than any desert falcon, struck again at the distant and battered caravel. The serpent caught the topyard in its ebony claws and snapped the thick timbers like twigs; the topsail tore free and away it flew, a gift to the wailing salt winds. From the caravel’s distant decks rose a flurry of tiny splinters, arrows and spears hurled by men who looked like insects beneath the belly of the monster. The black shafts struck its thick scales and bounced away without causing harm. The beast swooped low over the stern, spun upon its leathery wing, and returned at once to the vessel. Its talons tore into the wooden hull as the claws of a lion tear into the flanks of a camel.

  A great dune of wind-driven sea rose up before Ruha, robbing her eyes of the faraway caravel and the night-black dragon. She locked her arms around the starboard taffrail of her own vessel, a forty-foot cog hired out of Cormyr, and watched the black waters gather like a mountain beside the ship. The dune crashed down, and the froth roared over the wales and swirled about her waist, sweeping her feet from beneath her hips. Ruha hugged the rail as though it were a husband. The torrent raged on, and each second seemed a minute. The angry sea dragged at her long aba like a ravisher determined to disrobe her, and churning tears of foam beat at her face, soaking her veil and her shawl with cold briny water. Her arms trembled with the strain of holding fast.

  At last, the cog heeled to the wind and rose on the heaving sea. The fierce waters rolled across the deck and poured overboard, carrying with them all the torrent’s rage, and Ruha’s smooth-soled sandals found purchase on the wet planks. She stood and looked toward the distant caravel and saw neither dragon nor ship, only the splintered tip of a mainmast swaying above the crest of a faraway dune of water.

  Ruha released the taffrail and clambered down the listing deck, half sliding over the wet planks to where Captain Fowler stood at the rear of the ship. He was as much orc as human, with a jutting brow, swinish snout, and tough, grayish-green skin, and he seemed a strange sort of commander to the eyes of a Bedine witch not long absent from Anauroch’s burning sands. He hugged the tiller with one burly arm, and his gray eyes never strayed from the ship’s single bulging sail.

  Ruha grabbed the binnacle, the wooden compass stand before the tiller, and asked, “Captain Fowler, why do you sail in the wrong direction?” She pointed over the starboard side. “Do you not see the dragon? Over there!”

  “Lady Witch, I know the beast’s bearings well enough.” Though his voice was deep and gravelly, the captain spoke with a deliberate composure that belied his feral aspect. “But even I cannot sail Storm Sprite full into the wind. We must beat our way.”

  Ruha had learned a little of the strange speech used by the men who lived upon the water, enough to know Fowler meant they had to follow a zigzag course to their goal, and she did not need the captain to explain why. Even a woman who had not set eyes on a ship until three days ago could see that the Storm Sprite could not sail directly against the wind. But she could also see that Captain Fowler placed a high value on his vessel, and he was certainly shrewd enough to make
a great show of rushing to the caravel’s aid while sailing at angles shallow enough to ensure he arrived after the battle was done.

  Ruha glanced over the starboard side and saw the caravel topping the moonlit crest of a rolling sea dune. High upon its poop deck sat the dragon, swatting at the faraway vessel’s indiscernible crew as a man slaps at stinging flies.

  “Captain Fowler, we have no time for this sailing of a snake’s path! By the time we reach the ship, we shall find nothing but dead men.”

  “What would you have me do, Witch?” Fowler demanded. “I cannot change the way the wind blows!”

  “And if you could turn the wind, would you have it blow straight at the caravel?”

  The captain scowled, suspicious. “Aye, but first I would call Umberlee up from the great depths and have her chain her pet.”

  “That I cannot do. I know nothing of this Umberlee.”

  Ruha released the binnacle and cupped her hands together. She blew upon her fingers and spoke the mystical incantation of a wind enchantment. Her breath shimmered with a pale sapphire glow, then it swirled in her palms, emitting a low, keening howl such as starving jackals make at night. From Captain Fowler’s throat arose a gasp of surprise, and his gaze swung from his ship’s flaxen sail to the whistling breeze she held in her grasp.

  “Lady Witch, what have you there?”

  “It is the wind, Captain Fowler.” Twinkling blue streamers spilled from Ruha’s hands and spun across the gloomy deck, each adding its own piercing note to the wailing of the gale. “I am determined to reach that ship before the dragon sinks it.”

  “That I can see, but it is no simple thing to bring a ship like Storm Sprite around. It takes time.”

  “The dragon will give you no time!”

  Ruha raised her hands toward the distant caravel, which now lay hidden behind another black and looming water dune.

  “Hold your magic, Lady Witch!” commanded the captain. “You may have hired this ship, but I am the—”

  The dune broke over the starboard side, and a torrent of white foam came boiling down the deck. Ruha flung her spell at the distant caravel and saw a dazzling stream of blue-sparkling wind shoot from the side of her own vessel. She threw her arms around the binnacle, and the dark waters were upon her. The raging currents swept her feet from beneath her. Had her elbows not been tightly wrapped around the slippery wood, surely she would have tumbled overboard and drowned in the angry black sea. Instead, she locked her fingers into the cloth of her aba and held fast, and when the torrent had receded, she pulled herself to her feet.

  A few yards off the starboard side hung Ruha’s spell, a glittering wedge of blue air that constantly whirled back on itself, yet steadily drove forth into the fierce night wind. As this wedge moved forward, its fan-shaped tail broadened and stretched back toward the Storm Sprite, until it engulfed the whole of the small cog. A fog of cold indigo vapor spread over the decks, causing the crew to give many shouts of alarm and promise offerings of treasure to Umberlee, and eddies of sapphire wind sprang to life atop the taffrail. Azure drafts raced along the wales and undulated through the ratlines, and pale glowing breezes twined their way up the mast to spread along the yardarms.

  Then a magnificent flapping arose in the sail. The night wind spilled from its belly, pouring a cascade of swirling turquoise zephyrs down upon the crew, and the small cog slowed. The sailors wailed in fear, tossing many rings and earrings overboard to win the favor of their avaricious sea goddess.

  “You wretched witch!” Fowler held the tiller at the length of his arm, and his gray eyes were staring in horror at the pale breeze spiraling along the lacquered surface. If it troubled the captain to have the scintillating currents swirling over his green skin also, he showed no sign of it. “What have you done to my ship?”

  “I have done nothing to harm her.” Beyond the starboard taffrail, Ruha’s wind spell had stretched to twice the Storm Sprite’s length. The glowing breezes had lost much of their sparkle and swirl, and they were beginning to look like a flight of spears aimed straight across the churning sea. “Perhaps you should change course, Captain Fowler. The wind is about to shift.”

  Fowler glanced at the shining wind spell, then looked at the great water dune gathering off his ship’s starboard side. “I hope you haven’t capsized us!”

  Ruha met his glower evenly. “And I hope you are done with your stalling, Captain Fowler.”

  Fowler’s face darkened to stormy purple. He looked forward, and his voice boomed over the main deck like a thunderclap. “Ready about!”

  Terrified though the Storm Sprite’s crew might have been, the command sent every man lurching through the froth to form lines at the braces. So marvelous was their skill and balance that not one sailor lost his footing, though the raging sea would have hurled Ruha overboard in an instant. By the time the last man had taken his place, the final glimmers of blue light were fading from the rigging. The wind bent to the witch’s magic and swirled around to blow against the gale. The sail filled from the opposite side, and the Storm Sprite heeled farther into the dune and began to climb its face. The torrents of water pouring over her decks grew even greater.

  “Loose the braces!” Fowler bellowed.

  The crew freed the heavy lines that controlled the angle of the yardarms, leaving the sail to swing free and flap in the wind. The ship righted itself and slowed as it had earlier, but the starboard wales finally rose out of the water, and the sea drained off the decks. The captain gave no further commands and did not take his eyes from the dune’s moonlit crest. Ruha saw his lips moving in silence, and she wondered whether he was cursing her magic or offering some bribe to the faithless Queen of the Sea. The Storm Sprite drifted to a full stop, then heeled away from the heaving sea. It slipped sideways down the face of the great water dune, and Ruha thought they would capsize.

  “Haul the braces!” Fowler commanded.

  The crew hauled on the thick lines that trailed down from the yardarms, bringing the sail around to catch the wind. The flaxen sheet ceased its flapping, then bulged outward and snapped taut. The sailors grunted, straining to hold the braces steady, and several were pulled off their feet and left to dangle above the deck. The ship rolled back toward the dune, and the dark waters boiled over the decks, flinging strings of men about like beads on a thread. Somehow the crew held the yardarms in position, and the Storm Sprite lurched forward again.

  The taffrail rose above the crest of the dune. In the moonlight, Ruha glimpsed the distant caravel, the dragon still standing on the poop deck. The beast had ripped the mizzenmast from its step and was using it like a spear to jab at its foes, almost too tiny to see, upon the main deck. The witch thought it strange that the wyrm fought with a makeshift weapon instead of spraying its enemies with fire or acid, but perhaps the creature feared sinking the vessel and losing its treasure.

  The Storm Sprite’s bow cleared the top of the dune, and Captain Fowler shoved the tiller to one side. The ship’s bow swung neatly over the crest, and the sail sputtered as it lost the wind.

  “Fill the sail!”

  The command had barely escaped Fowler’s lips before the yardarms swung around. Once more, the sail caught the wind. The Storm Sprite lunged forward and slipped down the back of the dune so swiftly that it reached the bottom trough before the captain could give his next command. The prow slammed into the next rolling dune, and the ship groaned as though her spine would break. A wall of water roared over the forecastle and rolled down the decks to splash against the somercastle, then the bow pitched up and the flood drained overboard, carrying with it two screaming men.

  Ruha cried out in alarm. Captain Fowler let out a long breath and fondly patted the Storm Sprite’s tiller.

  “That’s a fine girl.” The half-orc made no remark upon the loss of his crewmen, but looked forward and, in a calm voice, ordered, “Fasten the braces.”

  The crew tugged at the brace lines until the last flutter disappeared from the sail and, with the Storm
Sprite rushing madly up the face of the heaving water dune, secured the lines to the belaying pins. The little cog crested the top and raced down the other side, then sped, pitching and crashing, toward the distant caravel. The sailors busied themselves with clearing away the great tangle of lines scattered over the decks, coiling the loose ends and hanging them in their proper places, and paid no heed to the misfortune of their two lost fellows.

  “Captain Fowler, what of your lost men? Is there nothing you can do for them?”

  The half-orc shrugged and did not look at Ruha. “Even if we could find them, I would not turn back.” His voice was sharp with restrained anger. “They’re the price Umberlee demanded for letting us come about, and she’d look harshly upon me if I tried to bring them back.”

  Ruha felt a terrible emptiness in her stomach, feeling her spell had brought the Storm Sprite around too suddenly and caused their loss. “Then I am sorry for their deaths.”

  “For their deaths?” Fowler snapped. “And what of Storm Sprite? She could have lost the rudder or snapped a yardarm!”

  “You care more for boards and cloth than for men’s lives?”

  The captain’s jutting brow rose, and his flat nose twitched uncomfortably. He squared his shoulders and looked forward and did not speak. The crew had finished the tidying of the lines and now stood in the center of the ship, clinging to whatever they could find to keep from being swept away by the cataracts that boiled down the decks each time the bow crashed into another water dune.

  When Fowler finally spoke, his gravelly voice was again deliberate and composed. “I doubt the world’s going to miss those two. They were cutpurses and murderers both, and if Umberlee doesn’t take them for her own, I pity the shore they wash up on.” The captain peered at Ruha from the corner of his narrow eye, then added, “But I warn you, Storm Sprite is mine. Hiring her does not give you leave to disregard my commands. While a ship is at sea, the captain is lord and master, and those who cross him are filthy mutineers. I could sail into Pros with your rotten carcass hanging from my yardarms, and your friends would not question your punishment.”