Troy Denning - Forgotten Realms - The Harpers 12 - The Veiled Dragon

Forgotten Realms

The Veiled Dragon - The Harpers #12

Tony Denning

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 dis-

tant 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

Lormyr, 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

The Harpers

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 dis-

tant 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 ore 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 star-

board 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

The Veiled Dragon

was certainly shrewd enough to make a great show of

rushing to the caravel's aid while sailing at angles shal-

low enough to ensure he arrived after the battle was

done.

Ruha glanced over the starboard side and saw the car-

avel topping the moonlit crest of a rolling sea dune. High

upon its poop deck sat the dragon, swatting at the far-

away vessel's indiscernible crew as a man slaps at sting-

ing 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 mysti-

cal incantation of a wind enchantment. Her breath shim-

mered 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!"

The Harpers

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 cap-

tain. "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 trea-

sure 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 hor-

The Veiled Dragon

ror at the pale breeze spiraling along the lacquered sur-

face. 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 star-

board 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, Cap-

tain 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 over-

board 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 far-

ther into the dune and began to climb its face. The tor-

rents 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 Harpers

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, strain-

ing 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 mizzemnast 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 sput-

tered 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 com-

mand. The prow slammed into the next rolling dune, and

The Veiled Dragon

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-ore 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 noth-

ing you can do for them?"

The half-ore 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^f I tried to bring them back."

Ruha felt a terrible emptiness in her stomach, feeling

her spell had brought the Storm Sprite around too sud-

denly 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

The Harpers

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 mur-

derers 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."

Ruha had reason to be glad she still hid her face

behind the modest veil other people, for it would do

much to conceal her shock. The Harpers had paid a steep

price for her passage, which, having observed the effect

of gold on people in the Heartlands, she had expected to

make her master of the ship. She considered challenging

Fowler's claim, but saw by his composure and firm man-

ner that he was speaking the truth. Not for the first time,

the witch cursed her ignorance of the strange customs in

this part of the world and wondered if she would ever

learn them all.

The Storm Sprite crested another dune, and Ruha saw

they had closed half the distance to the ravaging dragon.

The dark wyrm stood upon the caravel's main deck, fac-

ing sternward and digging through the somercastle like a

pangolin after termites. The wings upon its back were

flapping fiercely, knocking aside the cloud of arrows and

spears assailing it from behind. The vessel itself had

begun to list, but the bow continued to slice neatly

through the heaving sea, giving Ruha hope that the ship

The Veiled Dragon

would survive until they arrived to help. Yet Captain

Fowler had not ordered his men to take up arms. Even

with a magic wind driving his vessel to the rescue, the

half-ore still did not mean to give battle.

The Storm Sprite pitched downward, and Ruha lost

sight of the battle. "Captain Fowler, I did not mean to

challenge your authority," she said. "I was told that you

are a Harper friend and, despite your mixed blood, a man

of honor. I can see now that my informant was mistaken."

The half-ore's face grew tight. "I have as much honor

as any human captain!" he snapped. "And would I have

Storm Silverhand's name upon my ship if I were not a

friend of the Harpers?"

Ruha shrugged. "I know only what my eyes show me—

and I can see that you have not called your men to arms.

You have no intention of aiding that ship."

"You'd do well to worry less about my intentions and

think of your assignment. The Harpers are not given to

hiring private ships unless the matter is urgent. Do you

think Lady Silverhand would want you to risk your mis-

sion over a fight that's none of your concern?"

"Storm Silverhand is not here."

The witch's reply was evasive because she did not

know the answer to Captain Fowler's question. Storm

Silverhand had told her only that she was to sail to the

port village of Pros, where an important Harper named

Vaerana Hawklyn would be waiting to take her to the

city ofElversult. Presumably, Vaerana would explain

Ruha's assignment, but even that was not certain.

Ruha looked toward the distant caravel. "I do know

one thing: neither Storm Silverhand, nor any other

Harper, would turn a blind eye on so many people in such

terrible danger. If you are truly her friend, you know this

as well."

The sea was piled high before the Storm Sprite, block-

ing all sight of the caravel and its attacker, but Captain

Fowler's gray eyes looked toward the unseen battle and

lingered there many moments.

10

The Harpers

"It will go better for us, and them, if we arrive after the

battle," he said. "If that dragon sends the Storm Sprite to

lie in Umberlee's cold palace, we'll be of no use to the sur-

vivors—or to those waiting in Pros."

Ruha laid a reassuring hand on the half-ore's hairy

arm. "Captain Fowler, you may tell your men to arm

themselves. I will not let the dragon sink your ship."

"Lady Witch, sea battles are wild things." The cap-

tain's tone was overly patient, as though he were speak-

ing to a little girl instead of a desert-hardened witch.

"Even with your magic, you might find you can't keep

such a promise."

"Captain Fowler, I have fought more battles than you

know. It is true that I have not won them all, but never

have I abandoned someone else out of fear for myself."

These last words Ruha spoke with particular venom, for

she was offended by Fowler's condescension. "But if you

truly value your ship above other men's lives, the Harpers

will guarantee my promise. If the dragon sinks the Storm

Sprite, we will buy you another."

Fowler's face hardened. "And why are you so keen to

fight the drake, Witch? Do you think to redeem yourself

for the Voonlar debacle?"

Ruha felt her cheeks redden, and her anger evaporated

like water spilled upon the desert floor. "At least I know

why you lack faith in me."

The Voonlar debacle had been Ruha's first assignment.

Storm Silverhand had sent her to work in a Voonlar tav-

ern, where she was to serve as a secret intermediary and

messenger. On her first day, a slave smuggler had crossed

her palm with a silver coin. Ruha, failing to understand

the significance of the gesture, had accepted the offering

with thanks, then balked at delivering the expected ser-

vices. Feeling slighted, the furious slaver had refused to

accept the coin's return and drawn his dagger. He would

certainly have killed the witch if one of his own men, a

Harper spy, had not leapt to her defense. As it was, she

and the spy had been forced to fight their way to safety,

The Veiled Dragon 11

leaving the smuggler free to sell a hundred men, women,

and children into bondage.

"I am sorry for the misery I caused the slaves of Voon-

lar. Not a night passes when my nightmares do not ring

with their cries." Ruha raised her chin and locked gazes

with the half-ore. "But I assure you, my shame is as noth-

ing compared to the disgrace of a coward who turns from

those he can save."

The half-ore's arm slipped free of the tiller, his lips

curling back to show sharp tusks and yellow fangs, and

he stepped toward Ruha. The witch did not back away,

nor did she avoid his eyes, and when there came on the

wind a distant roar and the splintering of ship timbers,

Fowler was the first to glance away.

"Do not fear the dragon," Ruha urged. "My under-

standing of magic far exceeds my knowledge of Heart-

land customs."

Fowler shook his head as though trying to rid himself

of some evil thought, and when he spoke, his voice was as

low and guttural as a growl.

"As you wish, then!" He thrust his leathery palm under

Ruha's face. "But give me your pin. I wager this battle

will go harder than you think, and if Umberlee takes

offense at your gall, I'll want proof of your pledge."

Ruha started to object, then thought better and turned

away. She reached inside her aba and removed the

Harper's pin hidden over her heart. It was a small silver

brooch fashioned in the shape of a crescent moon, sur-

rounded by four twinkling stars with a harp in the cen-

ter. The pin had once belonged to Lander ofArchenbridge,

a valiant scout who had died helping the Bedine tribes

resist an army of rapacious Zhentarim invaders.

The witch handed the brooch to Fowler. "Guard it well.

This pin was once worn by my beloved, and I cherish it

more than life itself."

"That makes the risk the same for both of us." Fowler

pinned the brooch inside his tunic, then hooked his arm

around the tiller and turned his attention to the main

12

The Harpers

deck. "Man the harpoons! Break out the axes and spears!

Ready yourselves for the attack!"

Every man upon the decks turned an astonished eye

toward their captain, and the crew grumbled its displea-

sure in one voice. A greasy-haired youth in a thin cotton

tunic and gray, brine-stiffened trousers rushed up the

stairs, stopping at the edge of the half deck.

"Cap'n, sure ye canno' mean to strike that dark thing

first?"

"I can and do!" Fowler pulled a key from a chain

around his neck and passed it to the man. "Now, you

alley-spawned son of a tavern hag, open the weapon lock-

ers before the witch calls the squids to drag us all down

to Umberlee!"

The youth's eyes darted toward Ruha. Though the

witch did not know who the squids were or how to sum-

mon them, she took some lint from her pocket and tossed

it to the wind, making many strange gestures and recit-

ing her lineage in the lyrical tongue of the Bedine. The

sailor leapt off the stairs and ducked into the somer-

castle. Two of his fellows followed him inside, while sev-

eral others struggled forward to the forecastle, fighting

their way through the churning froth that boiled over the

bow twice every minute.

The magic wind continued to drive the little cog

onward. At intervals, Captain Fowler adjusted the tiller

or ordered the crew to tighten a line, and each time they

crested a dune, Ruha marvelled at how the distance

between the Storm Sprite and her goal had closed. The

sailors who had gone into the somercastle returned with

boarding axes and spears for their companions, and those

who had struggled forward to the forecastle also reap-

peared, laden with thick-braided skeins and barbed har-

poons twice a man's height. They tied lines about their

waists and clambered onto the foredeck, where they

pulled the oilskins off three ballistae and, fighting

against raging waters and the ship's mad pitching, set to

work stringing the heavy weapons. By the time they fin-

The Veiled Dragon 13

ished, the caravel lay a hundred yards ahead, lumbering

forward at a shallow angle that would present her star-

board side to the Storm Sprite.

The battered caravel stretched to five times the length

of the little cog. Her hull, looming dark and sheer in the

night, rose from the sea like a cliff. The wales were

crowned by a crest of white railing, broken in many places

and draped with shredded rigging. Her foremast, all that

remained of three, could have scraped a cloud, and carried

more cloth than three of the Storm Sprite's sails.

Having torn the somercastle completely off the car-

avel, the dragon now crouched on the stern of the ship.

All that could be seen of the dark beast were fluttering

black wings as large as sails, an immense ebony flank,

and its serpentine tail sweeping back and forth across

the main deck to keep at bay the warriors behind it.

The wyrm raised a black claw above the starboard

wale and flung overboard a handful of refuse. Among the

debris were a pilot's table and three screaming women.

The witch gasped and would have asked if all sea dragons

were so large, except that she feared the question would

alarm Captain Fowler. Instead, she watched as the Storm

Sprite and the caravel continued to crash toward each

other. Already, the two ships were so close that even

when the sea heaved up between them, Ruha did not lose

sight of the wyrm's black wings.

At last, Captain Fowler said, "If that wyrm's not the

Troy Denning - Forgotten Realms - The Harpers 12 - The Veiled Dragon

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