“How are we going to do that?” Vaerana demanded. “Isn’t she with Yanseldara’s staff in Cypress’s lair?”
Ruha nodded. “When we recover one, we rescue the other. It costs us no extra effort.”
Vaerana considered this for a moment, then scowled. “That’d be fine—if we knew where to find the lair. And since you were trying to trick Tombor into leading us there …”
Ruha raised a hand to silence Vaerana. “There may be another way. In my room, I have a potion. If we can get Yanseldara to drink it, we can contact Lady Feng and perhaps discover the location of Cypress’s lair.”
Vaerana studied Ruha out of one swollen eye. “Where did you get this potion?”
“From Minister Hsieh,” Ruha answered. “Now that he is helping us—”
“Helping us!” Vaerana thundered. “It’s Shou magic that’s done this to Yanseldara!”
“Yes, but—”
The Lady Constable shook her head. “How do you know this won’t hurt her?”
“I do not,” Ruha admitted. “Minister Hsieh said that if the connection between Yanseldara’s body and spirit is too weak, we could sever it entirely—but that is unlikely as long as she remains strong enough—”
“No!” Vaerana shook her head vehemently, then stepped away from the table and started toward the door. “When will you learn? You can’t trust a Shou—ever.”
“What other choice do we have?” Ruha started after Vaerana, who did not even acknowledge the question. “Wait! Where are you going?”
The Lady Constable did not even slow down as she stepped through the door. “Where do you think? To have Pierstar wake his trackers!”
Thirteen
Tang saw the serpent dart beneath a ti plant and hopped across the stream after it. He stirred the spear-shaped leaves until the viper struck at his snake stick, then flipped the Y-shaped head around and pinned the creature’s neck to the ground. He kneeled beside his captive and grabbed it behind the head. This snake was the largest yet, so great in diameter that he could not close his hand around its slime-scaled throat. There would be plenty of venom.
The prince twined the serpent’s writhing body around the shaft of his stick and, picking his footing very carefully, carried the heavy thing across the stream to his workbench. Atop the flat rock lay two sacks of supple leather cut from the collars of a pair of boots. With sharpened sticks protruding from them at all angles, the bags looked like melon-sized cockleburs. They were stuffed with wads of silk ripped from the battle tunics of dead soldiers, whose voices Tang still heard screeching above the drone of the mosquitos.
“Be patient, my troops. Soon I intercede for you.” If Tang could find the strength to see his plan through, his ancestors would be so overjoyed that he would no longer need to hide his failure from them. “Soon I pray to Yen-Wang-Yeh; I testify to your bravery, and he renders honorable verdict.”
The spirits took no comfort in the prince’s promise. They continued to screech.
Tang sighed and set his snake stick aside. He took the sack by the long, unsharpened stake that served as a handle—it was not wise to touch the bladder with bare hands—and held it close to his captive’s face. The frightened viper struck instantly, sinking its fangs through the supple leather and into the wad of cloth inside. The prince shook the serpent to encourage the release of more venom, then repeated the process several more times. When he had milked the last of the creature’s toxins, he flung it down the hill and stooped over to inspect his handiwork. Both sacks were so full of poison that cloudy beads of venom were seeping back through the fang holes.
Tang carried the poison-filled bladders down to the swamp, where the cadavers of his dead soldiers lay scattered across the pond as thick as lily pads. Most of the corpses had been savagely mangled by alligators or bitten cleanly in two by the wyverns, but a few were blackened and bloated from dozens of snake bites, often to such an extent that runnels of thick black fluid spilled from splits in the skin. These had been molested by neither alligator nor wyvern, and it was the observation of this fact that had kindled again the prince’s hopes of redeeming himself.
After retrieving his dugout and making a careful search along the edge of the swamp, Tang had located two relatively whole bodies that were not bloated with snake poison. One man had managed to swim to dry land after being eviscerated, while the other had either drowned or died of fright—the prince had found him caught beneath a cypress root with no obvious wounds.
Tang stuffed one of his poison bladders into the abdomen of the eviscerated soldier, then used his dagger to create a place for the second ball in the other man’s stomach. He closed the wounds with small wooden pins and dressed the pair in the cleanest, least-tattered battle tunics he had been able to find. If the men’s spirits objected to having their bodies used as bait, the prince could not tell over the din of voices already assailing his ears. He loaded the cadavers into the dugout, leaning one man over the bow and propping the other in the stern. Into the bottom of the punt, he placed a halberd and some supplies he had gathered from his dead troops, including a rope, torches, oil, and a waterskin.
After peering through gray mosquito haze to make certain no alligators lurked nearby—most had retreated to their dens to gorge themselves on last night’s catch—Tang slipped into the bog scum. As the water rose above his waist, the stench of decaying plants and rotten fish grew immensely more powerful. He gagged and nearly emptied his stomach, then slapped a hand over his nose and forced himself to breathe through his mouth until he grew accustomed to the reek. He pushed the dugout toward Cypress’s cavern, moving so slowly that even he could not see the water rippling. A familiar, cold weakness crept over his limbs, and his heart began to pound so loudly it drowned out the wails of the dead soldiers. In response, they raised their voices until it seemed the entire swamp reverberated with their howls.
“Worthy ancestors, please to silence spirits,” the prince begged. “It is difficult to be brave with such din.”
If anything, the spirits wailed more loudly, yet not loudly enough to drown out the small, whispering voice that kept telling Tang he was a fool to face the wyverns alone. It was not the place of Shou princes to wade through swamps filled with the choking stench of death and rot, or to brave black waters infested with leeches and alligators.
The bottom vanished beneath Tang’s feet. He forced his legs and arms into service and swam toward the cave. The closer he came to the moss-draped maw, the weaker his limbs felt. He doubted he would have the strength to enter the grotto, but that was not required. All he had to do was push the dugout into view of the wyverns, and they would do the rest.
As the prince consoled himself with these thoughts, it occurred to him there was a weakness in his plan. How would he know when—or even if—the wyverns took his bait? The poison would be both painful and quick. Once the stakes punctured the lining of their stomachs, the great reptiles would thrash about and screech madly for a short time, but Tang would not hear them. The dead soldiers were wailing too loudly; the prince would not have heard it if Cypress himself roared in his ear.
Tang allowed the dugout to drift to a stop, then hung from its stern. He had two choices: go into the cave with the corpses, or make his report to Yen-Wang-Yeh so the soldiers would be silent.
Or sneak out of the swamp while Cypress was away, added the insidious voice inside his head.
“I do not go back!”
Feeling proud for avoiding the obvious choice of a coward, Tang took the second most cowardly course and swam the dugout toward the yawning cavern. It seemed entirely possible the wyverns would kill him, but that was preferable to disgracing his ancestors by admitting that he had turned out to be a fool.