The Veiled Dragon Read Free Page B

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 largest ever to fly the Dragonmere, I’m the Prince of Elves.” The Storm Sprite’s bow crashed into the trough between two great sea dunes, and the water poured over the forecastle and came frothing down the main deck. “I hope your magic arrows are powerful ones. A dragon like that could make short work of us.” Ruha thought it wiser not to mention that, unlike most sorcerers Fowler had seen, she could not create magic arrows. Heartland wizards used expensive and exotic ingredients to cast their spells, but desert witches seldom had access to such components. Instead, they fashioned
    their enchantments from the elements that ruled their lives: wind, sun, sand and stone, and, most preciously, water. Ruha was particularly adept at sand and sun magic; unfortunately, water was her weakness. The witch rummaged through her aba until she found a small piece of obsidian. “My spell will cut through the wyrm as a scimitar cuts through a camel thief.” She displayed the black sliver. “But your men must also be ready, for the first blow does not always kill.” Fowler glowered at the dark shard suspiciously. “On my command, Witch.” He flashed a menacing scowl that left no doubt about the consequences of disobeying. “Not a second before.” Ruha inclined her head. “Of course, Captain.” The Storm Sprite pitched upward. The boiling waters crashed against the somercastle and poured over the wales, and the little cog rose on the water dune. Thirty yards off the bow loomed a great wall of dark planks, the hull of the mighty caravel. The witch raised an inquiring eyebrow, but Fowler shook his head. “Harpoons, let go atop!” They crested the dune. Ruha cried out in shock, for the caravel lay only twenty yards ahead, with the dragon’s mountainous figure still hunched over the stem. A dozen astonished sailors stood at the great ship’s wales, staring down at the Storm Sprite. From the bow of the little cog sounded a trio of sonorous throbs. Three barbed harpoons arced away from the Storm Sprite’s ballistae, a long braided rope trailing from each. The first shaft sailed high over the wales of the devastated caravel and passed through one of the wyrm’s flapping wings. The other two harpoons dropped lower, piercing the mighty serpent’s black scales and sinking to their butts. The dragon gave a furious roar. Its sinuous neck undulated in rage, and clouds of roiling black fog shot from the caravel’s portholes. The Storm Sprite started down the rolling dune, and the dragon disappeared behind the caravel’s looming
    hull. Ruha thought surely they would smash into the great ship. Captain Fowler pushed the tiller to port. The Storm Sprite swung around, though not quickly enough to prevent her bowsprit from splintering on the other vessel. The little cog completed her turn, then a tremendous boom filled the air when she slammed hulls with the great caravel. The impact hurled Ruha to the deck, and she felt the sliver of obsidian shoot from between her fingers. A terrible rasping arose between the ships as they rubbed hulls, and the witch knew it would not be long before they were past each other. A powerful hand closed around Ruha’s wrist, and she felt herself being dragged toward the tiller. “This is no time to lie about!” “No, wait!” Ruha’s protest went unheeded, for already Captain Fowler had pulled her to his side and set her on her feet. Her eyes darted toward the deck. The planks were wet and as dark as the night and, even if the obsidian had