no doubt larger than the witch would have liked.
Come out and give me that silver I smell in your pocket.
If you show that much courage, perhaps I will have mercy.
A prickling chill ran down Ruha's back, and a terrify- ing possibility occurred to her. I have seen your mercy, she thought. And you have seen my magic. Go away, or it will be you who begs quarter.
The witch waited a moment for Cypress's response.
When none came, she breathed a little easier. If the dragon had been able to read her thoughts, her chances of surviving the coming battle would have fallen to nothing.
Ruha sheathed her dagger, then burrowed into the ylang blossoms. She crawled toward the front of the cargo box, taking care not to jiggle the wagon. As she moved, she summoned the incantation of a fire spell to mind. She doubted that she could trick Cypress into swallowing a chestful of oil vapor again, but neither would it take such a huge explosion to destroy his new body. A smaller blast, properly placed, would prove sufficient to annihilate him.
The witch was only halfway to her goal when some- thing jolted the wagon. She heard the zip-zip of oilcloth being ripped; then a flickering yellow light of the spice- house's oil lamps filtered down through the ylang blossoms. Already uttering her incantation, Ruha lifted herself out of the blossoms and, expecting to feel the dragon's claws driving deep into her flesh at any moment, thrust her hand over the sideboard.
The flames shot off the wicks of half a dozen different lamps and streaked into the palm other hand, gathering themselves into a hissing, sputtering ball of fire. She whirled around, ready to slap the scorching sphere into Cypress's empty eye socket or beneath his arm, or any- where that would channel the explosion into her attacker's vital areas.
The dragon was not there. He stood three paces away from the wagon, the dark voids beneath his brow fixed on the fire in Ruha's palm. From his talons hung the remains of the shredded tarp, and she could see the tip of his tail flicking back and forth behind his head. He made no move to attack.
There's no need to burn down poor Tang's spicehouse, the dragon said. Step out of the wagon. Give me that sil. uer I smell and answer a single question. I promise, your death shall be mercifully quick.
Ruha felt as though the fire in her hand was cooking her bone marrow as far down as her elbow, but she made no move to throw the fireball. Without being properly placed, the blast would do no more than melt a few of the dragon's scales. Besides, as much as the searing heat grieved her, the sphere could cause her no real damage until after it left her hand.
'I have known enough pain in my life not to be fright- ened of it,' Ruha said. 'If I am to die, I do not particularly care whether it is quickly or slowly.'
As the witch spoke, she stepped over to Cypress's side of the wagon. To her surprise, the dragon moved neither away from the fireball nor forward to attack. Ruha might have been able to reach the dragon with a good leap, but he would have time to turn away and, in all likelihood, impale her on his long talons. If her plan was to succeed, she had to draw him closer.
'You may ask your question. Perhaps I will answer, or perhaps I will not.'
You will answer. Cypress promised. And you will step out of the wagon.
'Why is it so important that I leave the wagon? I can answer your question from here.'
In the black depths of the dragon's empty eye sockets appeared two dirty yellow sparks. When we met the first time, was it happenstance? As Cypress asked his ques- tion, the sparks lengthened into gleaming lines, then began to flicker at the ends and thicken into stripes. Or did someone tell you I would be there?
'Who would have told me that?' Ruha wanted nothing more than to hurl her fireball at the dragon and run for her life, but she forced herself to stand fast. If Cypress bad not attacked by now, then it had to be because he was afraid of destroying what was in the wagon. The witch tipped her hand so that the fireball was precari- ously close to slipping from her palm, then added, 'And stop what you are-'
You will not drop the fireball!
The yellow stripes shot from Cypress's vacant eyes and joined together, becoming a long-fanged bat of amber light. Ruha brought her hand around, placing the fireball between herself and her attacker.
Stupid Harper! Flames will not save you!
The bat emerged from the fireball, its wings blazing and its eyes glowing with rabid fury. Ruha reached for herjambiya, and the beast was upon her. Instead of rak- ing her eyes with its tiny claws or sinking its fangs into her throat, it appeared inside her mind, a flaming crea- ture of the night, flitting across the starry sky high over her memories ofAnauroch's purple-shadowed sand dunes.
Ruha cried out, but she could not bring herself to flee the dragon, or even to turn away. Cypress was already inside her mind, and trying break contact with him was as futile as trying to escape an unpleasant memory by closing one's eyes. The dragon sat motionless on the floor, his gaze pinning the witch in place as surely as if he had been standing on her chest.
Her only chance of escaping, Ruha realized, lay in dis- tracting Cypress. No sooner did she have this thought than a small brake of saltbush sprouted from the sands other mind. The words of a wind spell rose from the brush like a swarm of sand finches. Cypress's fiery bat streaked down to dive through the heart of the flock, scattering the syllables of the incantation before they could shape themselves. Ruha's arm remained motion- less, the fireball still burning in her hand.
Cypress's bat settled on the surface of Ruha's mind and began to beat its burning wings. Clouds of hissing yellow fume curled from the tips of the fiery appendages and rolled across the dune-sculpted terrain. Wherever the haze touched, the sands themselves melted into rivers and pools of bubbling brown acid. The witch started to feel hot and limp, as though a fever had taken hold of her body, and her limbs trembled with weakness.
For a moment, she feared she had guessed wrong about the dragon's fear of destroying the ylang blossoms, that he merely wanted her to drop the fireball at her own feet.
The bubbling brown pools inside Ruha's head joined and became a lake. The bat dove into the acid, sinking its fangs deep into the throat of some naked thought that was writhing just below the surface other mind. The witch saw Cypress's lips curl into something that resembled a smile; then she felt her foot sliding across the floor of the wagon. She tried to stop, but no sooner had the thought taken shape than it dissolved into nothing- ness in the bubbling acid. The dragon had won control of her mind, and now she had to fight him not only for her life, but for the possession other own thoughts.
It occurred to Ruha that this was a battle not of strength or speed, but of imagination, and a rocky island of hope instantly sprang up inside her mind.
Waves of acid began to lap at its shores, filling the air with hissing white smoke and reducing the isle to little more than a sandbar. The witch pictured the sand chang- ing to granite. She felt a strange tingling deep within her stomach, then experienced a momentary burning all over her body, as though she had exerted every muscle at once. The little island hardened into dense stone and stopped dissolving, but Ruha felt her foot slide a little closer to the rear of the wagon.
A deep-throated growl rumbled from Cypress's throat; then the yellow acid inside Ruha's mind began to churn and froth like a storm-tossed sea. Mountainous waves rose and crashed over the witch's small isle, threatening to submerge it entirely. She envisioned the island erupt- ing like a volcano, pushing its way higher above the sur- face and spreading immense blankets of molten stone across the lake. Again, she experienced a strange tingling deep within her abdomen, followed by a momentary burning over her entire body. She felt physically drained, as though she had been running for a long time in the scorching sun.
You only anger me. Cypress's voice broke like thunder inside Ruha's mind, and she felt her foot touch the wagon's tailgate. Are untrained mind cannot prevail.
The stars vanished from the purple sky over the witch's growing island of hope. Spears of lightning stabbed at the summit of the erupting volcano, and a few hissing drops of acid began to fall on its slopes.
Then, before Cypress could unleash the full fury of his storm, a pair of familiar forms came rushing across the spicehouse floor.
'Cypress!' gasped Wei Dao. 'What do you want here?'
Prince Tang drew his sword and pointed it at the dragon. 'You go!' Then he looked toward the door.
'Guards!'
Cypress glanced away from Ruha long enough to flick his tail at the approaching prince and send him crashing through the flimsy door of a spice bin. That instant was long enough for the witch. She envisioned her volcano
