Cypress calmly brought a wing around to shield him- self from the flying halberds. The steel blades pierced the

leathery scales easily enough, but lacked the force to drag the heavy shafts through the tough hide and pene- trate the dragon's body. One weapon splashed into the swamp, but most simply lodged themselves in a wing and dangled there like needles in an oxhide.

Cypress lowered his wing and swept the line of charg- ing warriors off the toppled tree, then hopped off his roost and landed in the middle of the raft. The boat settled a few inches beneath the water, but did not sink, and its occupants whirled on their foe in a flurry of flashing steel. Growling and hissing like one of his wyverns, the dragon lashed out with tail and wings and sent bodies splashing into the water on all sides.

Tang gave his punt another shove and stepped into the bow, praying his weak knees would have enough strength to hold him up when he leaped onto Number One Raft.

Before he arrived, Cypress raked his black talons down the length of the raft, severing the lashings that held it together.

The logs rolled apart, plunging all who had been standing upon them into the swamp. Tang's punt contin- ued to glide forward, and somehow-perhaps because he was too frightened to move-the prince found himself standing fast in the bow, with a clear flank shot and

Cypress looking the other way. The prince clamped his arms around his halberd and gathered his rubbery legs beneath him, determined that the dragon would not shrug off this strike as easily as the wyvern had shrugged off his first.

Tang was staring at the scale through which he intended to drive his halberd, so he did not see Cypress's wing sweeping toward him on the backswing. He simply heard an earsplitting thump, then found himself sailing over the toppled tree trunk with his gold-trimmed helmet flying in one direction and his weapon in another. He splashed into the warm water, sank to the bottom, and nearly got tangled in a bed of fish skeletons before he recovered his wits and kicked free.

His head ringing and his body aching. Tang broke the surface and peered over the log. The bog scum had erupted into a pink-tinged froth, with the dragon stand- ing waist-deep in blood and shark skeletons, battering his foes with wings and tail and calmly tearing their bod- ies apart with gore-dripping talons. The prince's warriors could do little to defend themselves. The legs of most were hopelessly tangled among the fish bones, and the rest could barely hold their chins above the water, much less swing their heavy blades powerfully enough to pierce

Cypress's thick scales.

The voice inside Tang's head shrieked through the lasal haze, reminding him that he was a Shou prince and should have fled long ago. He managed to ignore it for a short time, but when the alligators appeared at the fringe of the battle and began to drag away the wounded, the voice began to sound wise. Tang pushed away from the log and, moving very slowly to avoid attracting alli- gators, he slipped beneath the surface and swam toward the mountain.

Twelve

A sliver of pearly light split the mid- night gloom between the gate towers, and Ruha realized the guards of Moon- storm House were opening the gates for her. She lashed her mount with the ends other reins, urging the exhausted

Shou prancer into the ragged sem- blance of a gallop. The two packhorses behind her snorted in protest, but had little trouble adjusting to the new pace. They were both larger than the witch's mount and, loaded with four sacks of ylang blossoms each, far less heavily burdened.

From behind Ruha came the clatter of firing cross- bows, followed instantly by the ringing echoes of iron bolts skipping across cobblestones. One of the packhorses screamed, and the witch's prancer stumbled as the train slowed. She twisted around and saw the last beast hob- bling badly. Like the animal ahead of it, its chest was covered in lather, and its eyes were bulging with fear and exhaustion.

Thirty paces down the deserted street, two dozen of

Hsieh's guards lashed their mounts madly, making a last desperate effort to catch Ruha. As planned, they were closing the distance and doing everything possible to make it appear they truly wanted to succeed. The lead rider accepted a loaded crossbow from the man at his flank, then raised the weapon and fired. A dark streak

flashed between him and the hobbling horse. The beast screeched and would have fallen had the other animals not dragged it along, stumbling and staggering.

Cursing her pursuers for heartless killers, Ruha blew a sharp breath in their direction and uttered a simple wind spell. A howling gust tore down the street, blasting the first three riders half out of their saddles. As they struggled to regain their balance, they were overtaken by the galloping throng at their backs; two more soldiers raised their crossbows. Hsieh had commanded his men to make a convincing show of the chase, and Shou were nothing if not obedient.

A chorus of strumming bowstrings sounded from atop the gate towers. The leading Shou riders sprouted arrows in their chests and fell from their wooden saddles. The rest of Hsieh's men whipped their reins around, guiding their horses into a sheltering alleyway.

Ruha's prancer clattered through the dark gateway of

Moonstorm House into a spacious, hexagonal courtyard of ornamental trees and twining garden pathways. The witch reined in her mount, bringing the entire train to a halt and drawing a relieved nicker from the wounded packhorse. The enormous garden was enclosed by a milky wall, with slender, cone-roofed towers standing at each of the six corners. The castle had no central keep, nor, as far as the witch could tell, any sort of inner defensework at all.

Despite the excitement of the phony chase, Ruha found herself completely and utterly exhausted by the long ride from the Ginger Palace. This was her second night with- out sleep. She kept yawning behind her veil, and her eyes were burning with the need to close. She braced her hands on her saddle pommel and fought to clear her head; she could not allow herself to even think of resting, not until she had laid her trap.

Captain Fowler rushed from a gate tower's narrow doorway, followed closely by Vaerana Hawklyn, Tombor the Jolly, and Pierstar Hallowhand. Though the hour was

well past midnight, they were still dressed in jerkins, tunics, and trousers. They had, no doubt, been up plan- ning tomorrow's assault on the Ginger Palace.

Fowler stopped beside Ruha and took her mount's foam-covered reins. "Are you well, Witch?" The half-ore scowled at the lather on his hand, then wiped it on his pants. "And what have you done to this poor beast?"

"Galloped him all the way from the Ginger Palace, by the looks of it," said Vaerana, joining them. She turned to

Pierstar. "You'd better have someone rouse John the far- rier and his boys. These horses need some attention."

Pierstar stopped beside the wounded beast and winced at the two bolts lodged in its rump, then turned toward a tower in the back of the castle.