The Veiled Dragon Read Free

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 mission 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, blocking all sight of the caravel and its attacker, but Captain Fowler’s gray eyes looked toward the unseen battle and lingered there many moments. “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 survivors—or to those waiting in Pros.” Ruha laid a reassuring hand on the halfore’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 captain’s tone was overly patient, as though he were speaking 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 tavern, 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 services. 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, 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 Voonlar. Not a night passes when my nightmares do not ring with their cries.” Ruha raised her chin and locked gazes with the halfore. “But I assure you, my shame is as nothing compared to the disgrace of a coward who turns from those he can save.” The halfore’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 understanding of magic far exceeds my knowledge of Heartland customs.” Fowler shook his head as though trying to rid