The Veiled Dragon Read Free Page A

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, surrounded by four twinkling stars with a harp in the center. 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
    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 displeasure 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 summon them, she took some lint from her pocket and tossed it to the wind, making many strange gestures and reciting her lineage in the lyrical tongue of the Bedine. The sailor leapt off the stairs and ducked into the somercastle. Two of his fellows followed him inside, while several 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 reappeared, laden with thick-braided skeins and barbed harpoons 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 finished, the caravel lay a hundred yards ahead, lumbering forward at a shallow angle that would present her starboard 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 caravel, 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