Ong's words fluttered like butterflies against Tycho's fear. That the dragon might be discovered had frightened the fearsome Tuigan women. Even at the height of his rage, Ong had hidden himself in clouds before turning against the men who had angered him.
Tycho's eyes went wide even as Li spread his hands and said desperately, 'Great one, neither of us will ever speak of this. By the honor of my ancestors, I swear it!'
'My apologies to your ancestors,' Ong growled back, 'but I cannot take that chance.'
His jaws parted and he lunged forward.
Tycho grabbed Li's shirt and jerked him back and through the door flap of the tavern as Ong's teeth snapped together like a hundred knives only a hand-span in front of them. They stumbled to the soiled carpets of the tavern floor, the door flap falling closed behind them. The fabric shook with Ong's anger. Li stared at it, his face pale. Tycho dragged him to his feet.
'Li, he can't leave the oasis!'
Li's eyes blinked, then focused on Tycho.
'Whatever powers forced Ong into exile here won't let him leave the oasis,' Tycho explained urgently. 'That's why he's afraid of being discovered-caravans would avoid the oasis if they knew a dragon occupied it, and warriors would just keep coming after him until he was dead. I bet that's why the Tuigan have a taboo against magic in the oasis. Magic could ferret out Ong!'
Li flung up his arm and cried, 'Tycho, we're still stuck in a tent! A tent won't keep out a dragon!'
'But it will keep him busy!'
Outside, Ong was shouting, his voice changing as he spoke, dwindling from the roar of a dragon to the bellow of a man. The Tuigan women were shouting too. Tycho forced the thought of their flashing knives from his mind. He pulled a dagger from his belt and shoved it into Li's hands.
'Get to the back of the tent and be ready to cut us a new door!'
Li swallowed and ran for the back of the pavilion. Tycho muttered a desperate prayer to whatever deities might be watching and grabbed at the iron leg of a brazier. The hot metal seared his palm, but he choked back the pain and dumped the coals out onto the nearest pile of cushions. He didn't wait to watch the smoldering embers take hold of the fresh tinder, but just ran after Li toward the back of the tent, knocking over every brazier he could.
'Tycho!' shouted Ong.
Tycho whirled around. The fat dragon, wearing his human shape once more, stood in the door of the tavern, flap clutched in his hand, and women crowded behind him.
All of them were momentarily frozen by the sight of the flames rising in the tent.
To lose either women or tavern, Ong had said, would be condemnation. Tycho's music might not have been strong enough to harm the dragon directly, but that didn't mean it couldn't affect him in other ways.
'How about one last song, Ong?' Tycho yelled. He reached inside himself and sang, light ripples of music that hissed and crackled on the air. He sang to the fire.
From within the flames, something answered. Glowing embers rose and shifted like eyes, staring first at Tycho then shifting to Ong. Flames gathered together into a form the size of a child and tendrils of fire reached out. Ong's eyes flashed with anger.
'A fire elemental? You attack a lord of water with a puppet of fire?'
The elemental's tendrils brushed the walls of the tent, which burst into flame. It moved across the carpets and they too burned.
'Who said I was attacking you?' called Tycho. He spun around and plunged through the flap into the back of the tavern. 'Now, Li!' he screamed.
Over the crackle of flames and the howls of the dragon, Tycho heard cloth tear as Li opened a rip in the wall of the tent. The fire gave him just enough light to see. He dived through the tavern's new door hard on Li's heels, and kept running-
'Are you sure that will get us enough time?' Li gasped as they raced through the rain.
'Ask me again after we've made it out!'
Behind them, women were shouting and Ong was roaring. A strange liquid rush rumbled through the night, followed by the long hiss of an extinguished flame. Tycho bent his head and ran harder.
The caravan that came straggling along the Golden Way in the morning light was a good deal more subdued than the one that had entered the oasis the night before. All eyes turned-some with wary suspicion, some with outright fear-to the two figures that waited in the meager shadow of the marker stone. Li nudged Tycho as the caravan approached.
'Mother of dogs!' he breathed.
Tycho looked where the Shou pointed.
Chotan and Ibakha rode alongside the caravan-on Li's and Tycho's horses. As they drew close to the marker, they jumped down, letting the horses walk on their own. Both women glared at the men.
'We have a message for you,' growled Ibakha. She flung a Tuigan knife into the ground at Tycho's feet. 'Ride the Wastes with care.'
Tycho swallowed and said, 'Is that a message from Ong?'
'No,' said Chotan. 'It's a warning from the Tuigan.'
'And Ong?' asked Li.
'He sends his respect for your fast thinking-and reminds you that even exiles have friends.' The grin she gave them was vicious and eager. 'Enjoy Shou Lung, Faroon. You ride with a dragon's attention now.'
They turned and walked back down the trail toward the oasis. Li and Tycho stared after them.
THE PRISONER OF HULBURG
1 amp; 2 Mirtul, the Year of Rogue Dragons
His leather cloak rattling in the cold night wind, Pavel Shemov hurled his god-granted power against the pale, twisted things hovering around the sailboat. First, assuming them to be a product of sorcery, the priest tried to wipe the gaunt, translucent figures from the air with a counterspell. Next, suspecting them to be spirits of the dead, he tried to burn them away with a blaze of conjured sunlight.
Nothing worked. Every second, more phantoms oozed into view, whispering obscenities, pawing at their prey. At first, Pavel had been unable to feel their touch. Then it had become a slimy brushing. Soon, he reckoned, the specters would be substantial enough to hurt a person.
The three-man crew realized the same thing, and panic-stricken, yammered and flailed ineffectually at the phantoms.
A child-sized figure among the humans, Will Turnstone shouted, 'Ignore them! Put in to shore!'
The halfling might as well have been a mute for all the good his exhortations did. An apparition raked at Pavel's forehead. The attack stung, and blood dripped down into his left eye. Across the deck, specters ripped the flesh of sailors, or assailed the boat itself, clawing at the timbers.
'Dive overboard!' Pavel shouted.
It was their only chance. He cast about for Will.
Swinging his curved, broad-bladed sword, the half-ling slashed one glimmering assailant to fraying ecto- plasmic tatters and sidestepped the talons of another. He was holding his own, but it couldn't last. There were just too many phantoms.
Pavel dashed forward, snatched up his friend, and leaped over the side. As he splashed down in the frigid waters of the Moonsea, he invoked the magic of his enchanted cloak.
The folds of the leather mantle expanded into rippling, pulsing wings to propel him through the depths like a manta ray. He could breathe like a fish as well. The water was cool in his lungs.
Will squirmed in his grip, pointed upward, and he realized that though he could breathe, his comrade couldn't.
