Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom)

by John Forrester

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Copyright © 2014 by John Forrester

  All right reserved. Published by Amber Muse.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system.

  Cover Design by Anca Gabriela Marginean

  Visit: http://www.theftofdragons.com

  Chapter One

  ON A PLACID lake high in the Aradisian Mountains, a boy rowed his canoe through the morning mist, dreaming of the day he would kill a king as his grandfather once did. Tael had no great love for his grandfather, he was a cruel and demanding task master, his features twisted and gnarled, and his eyes as wild as the strange gods he worshipped in secret. No, Tael loved dragons and the dragon stories his grandfather would tell him, of the days when the dragons flew free, before King Braxion conquered the dragon kingdom, and stole or killed all of dragon kind. When the Hakkadians had arrived—lured with the King's gold—and with them the ancient power of beast shamanism, they tamed the centuries-hardened minds of the dragons.

  Now the beasts were bred and controlled by King Braxion the Bold, or as he was known to those who despised him, Braxion the Bovine, as he was as ugly and stubborn as a bull. As a boy, Tael had first seen King Braxion riding his massive black dragon over the shimmering Ferelian Sea to the south, at the port city of Cranth. Tael had clenched his sword as the hideous-faced king dismounted and addressed his subjects. He vowed then to slay the King, not out of any familial duty, but because Braxion possessed something Tael craved more than air: the dragons.

  Tael slapped the still lake with his paddle, knowing it was ridiculous for him to think he could ever get close to the king, let alone kill him. His job was to catch fish and he hadn't done much catching of anything all morning. Saulb always yelled at him for daydreaming, telling him to keep his mind on his work, but the kind of work Tael was assigned made his brain boggle with boredom.

  Why had his grandfather left him here in this stupid village? Tael was an outsider here, and treated almost like a slave. Even though he'd lived here for over a year, first arriving after his seventeenth birthday, the eeriness of the mountains unsettled him in a relentless way. He missed the warmth and ebb and flow of the sea. But being here was better than getting killed by the assassins who hunted him.

  The village from this distance looked small and pitiful, just a few huts with smoke spiraling up from the breakfast fires. Tael imagined a black dragon swooping down and shooting great spirals of flame over the pathetic village, and Saulb screaming in agony instead of yelling at him for not doing his work. After a year of waiting for his grandfather's return, Tael was sick of the village and the people, and despite all the warnings of the dangers of the world outside, he was past ready to leave. Trikar, the capitol city of the Kingdom of Valance, was waiting for him. The dragons were waiting. And the King's heart was waiting for the kiss of Tael's sword.

  But the warning words of his grandfather haunted him: The Black Heart Clan lies in wait across the world, their spies are everywhere...they know you, wait for you. Their blades are sharpened and ready to slice your throat, little one. He had lived with this fear for most of his life. Of moving around with the constant shroud of suspicion tainting every move he made. Glances interpreted as death threats. Smiles taken as pronouncements of violence. He'd learned to grasp meaning in every look cast upon him by strangers. And ignoring to do so had been the source of his many failures over the years. Including the failure to keep his parents from being killed—at the time when they needed him the most.

  Tael grimaced at the memory and shoved it back into the dusty recesses of his mind. Out here in the cold wind of autumn, memories replaced ghosts as hauntings. Of blood and shrieks and cackling from the Black Heart assassin. Tael was twelve when it happened and had cringed behind the statue of the Goddess Mirra, gripping a dagger so hard it stung his hand. But he was paralyzed by fear and shock. Or was it cowardice that kept him from helping his mother as she swung a useless chalice at the assassin's head? Grandfather had told him that he'd be dead now if Tael had been stupid enough to face his parent's attacker. Most days he wished he were dead instead of living like this. The only thing that kept him going was the desire to one day kill the King. The man who paid the bounty for his parents to be murdered.

  He had to face the facts: his grandfather wasn't coming back. Since his parents had been killed he'd never been away from him for more than several weeks. Off on some mission, meeting with old friends, or negotiating an alliance with a royal at the Valance Court. Tael knew Grandfather still held power and influence in the kingdom, despite the death of his son, for he was a secretive man, and had kept his wife and son away from the capitol, eschewing the courtly life for one of nature and solitude. A fact that made Tael question his grandfather even more.

  The old sly fox was caught and probably skinned by now. Tael frowned, scared to go out alone in the world but at the same time he felt excited at the prospect. And did the Black Heart assassins really know him? He was practically an adult now and bore no distinguishing marks, other than the same piercing green eyes he'd inherited from his mother. Did he bear a resemblance to his father? He bent over and peered into the now still lake. The undulating mirror showed the black hair and high forehead of his father, but the sharp nose and full lips were definitely from his mother. He saw both his parents in his features and told himself that would help in his disguise.

  They are looking for a boy of eighteen, they know you exist, but they know nothing of your name, and thank the gods for that, for there is power over a man in the knowledge of his name. Remembering Grandfather's words brought a wave of nostalgia over Tael. His grandfather had been cruel but he was also honest and never twisted words or meanings. Maybe too honest. Perhaps the overabundance of honesty was part of his cruelty. Tael had always wished that he never knew all the things about the world that Grandfather had told him. Especially about the Hakkadians.

  Tael seized the oars and rowed like death was whispering behind him. He was leaving the past in the wake, leaving the memories that haunted him, and leaving Saulb and this stupid village forever. He didn't care about the dangers of the world outside and he was tired of running. His father faced danger and tried to protect his mother from the assassin. And Father had done more than that, his blade had sliced and stabbed the assassin countless times in their dance of death until Mother's scream had distracted him. Tael wished he'd never seen the blood spraying from his father's neck, he wished he could erase the memory of the groaning
sound as he sank dying to the ground. If only he'd done something to help Father. Maybe his parents would still be alive.

  When the canoe dug into the lake's bottom, Tael leapt forward and landed on the rocky shore. The day was still young and he was determined to reach Perinith before nightfall. He had kept his backpack ready for escape, just as his grandfather had taught him, in the event he had to flee the village. After he dragged the canoe up to the grass, he flipped it over to let it dry in the morning sun. He strode over to where Loir and Kani were tending to an iron pot filled with simmering rice gruel. The smell was tantalizing, as was Kani's warm, inviting smile. She was a year younger than him and shy, never allowing her eyes to settle on him more than a few seconds. Likely she was afraid of her father's anger. Saulb was as suspicious as a jealous wife. Not that it stopped Tael from pleasing Kani in the dead of night while Saulb snored.

  "Yer hands are empty...nothing biting out there?" Loir cast him a disappointed expression as she stirred the gruel.

  Tael shook his head and sat on the log near the fire. "I've been thinking about it for a long while. Now's the time. I suspect I'll be leaving."

  Kani's eyes widened in surprise. "Leaving? But I thought it was dangerous for you out there?"

  "Shush, child." Loir glanced at her daughter. "You weren't supposed to know that. And it's only natural for Tael to want to leave us, who would want to live here? Tis a hard life living here in the mountains."

  The flap of the nearby hut opened, and Saulb stomped over, a scowl twisting his sunbaked face. The ring of fat around his indolent mid-section jiggled as he waddled over.

  "Anytime you want to leave, woman, just say the word." He spat into the fire and it sizzled, the smell tainting the sweet scent of the gruel. "Good luck surviving on your own...or maybe you prefer spreading your legs in a whorehouse for your food and shelter? Not that any man would pay to have you."

  Tael balled up his fists and took a step towards Saulb. You fat filthy bastard, he thought. "Leave her alone. Is that all you're good for? Insulting your wife and picking on kids? Maybe you should be the one to work in a whorehouse...I heard they had high demand for bitches like you in the capitol."

  Saulb's eyes looked perplexed and stunned for a moment, as if unable to comprehend what Tael had said. Then rage darkened his expression and he stabbed the air with a meaty finger.

  "Don't bite the hand that feeds you, boy. I did your grandfather a favor by taking you in. Another crack like that and I'll kick your ass all the way down to Perinith. You won't have such a big smile on your face then."

  "I'll save your foot the pain and trouble...I'm leaving for good. It's been a year too long staying here."

  A greedy grin spread over Saulb's face. "Suit yourself. One less mouth to feed during the long winter ahead."

  "And one less back to help prepare for winter as well." Loir scowled at Saulb and aimed the ladle at him. "More work for you, more chopping wood, and more fish to catch."

  "Shut your mouth, wench." Saulb wheeled around and cracked her on the cheek. She sprawled back onto the ground and raised hands to protect her face. But Saulb shoved her back and cocked his arm to strike again.

  Tael sprang forward and used one hand to cup Saulb's elbow and the other to twist back his wrist. Saulb's shoulder popped from the socket and he shouted in pain as the wrist broke. Tael kicked Saulb's chest, knocking him onto his back.

  After several agonizing groans, Saulb withdrew a dagger with his weak hand and pointed it at Tael. "I'm going to cut you for that, boy...cut you and gut you like a fish. I'll fatten up the pigs with your meat."

  Tael scoffed at his words. Saulb's eyes were fearful and his voice lacked any power. "Good luck chopping wood with that shoulder. I suspect you'll be needing some nursing from your wife. But why should she help a fat old bull like you?"

  But Loir rushed over to where Saulb groaned in pain. He had dropped the dagger and now cradled his injured arm, grimacing as she touched his shoulder.

  "He's my husband, Tael. The gods fated us together, for good or ill tides." She gripped his shoulder and arm, and with a quick blow, adjusted his shoulder back into place. Saulb screamed and his fleshy face went red as he pinched his eyes shut. His voice was low and menacing as he spoke.

  "Leave, now...or I'll kill you in your sleep." Saulb's eyes opened and Tael could see the truth there. "And may the gods damn your future."

  Chapter Two

  SEBINE GNAWED ON her lip as she studied the somber procession of bishops, abbots, and monks following the train of the newly wedded couple: the plump, aging Earl of Balgor and Sebine's best friend, Melaninth, who was two moons past her sixteenth birthday. If Sebine were sold off to some noble like that, she was sure she'd put good use to the sharpest dagger she could find. Her death would be quick, like her blade master had taught her. Let your cuts be as smooth and silent as a snake. And preserve the purity of blood, collecting every drop with the Death Chalice.

  She caught the eye of old Bishop Parthal, who nodded and smiled at her as if to say, Your turn will come soon, child. The taste of bile spilled up her throat as the image of her being married flashed red in her mind. Why are all the royal girls married off at such a young age to such old, boring men? When she visited the countryside or spent time at the commoner's market, she always marveled at the open signs of affection between couples. Girls and boys her age kissing and flirting and teasing each other. They looked so happy and carefree, and their giggles and laughter made Sebine feel flushed and envious.

  The Earl of Balgor and his morbid, dazed bride reached the greeting line, where heroes and lords and princes awaited their turn to congratulate the gaudily dressed pair. The groom strode perky and perverse, his small eyes glancing greedily at the withering bride. Sebine had debated for days on which gift to give the Earl, which one suited him better? When the couple approached her at the end of the line, the Earl of Balgor and his beautiful bride bowed low, and upon rising, his plump face was red with exertion. The two Vizathian Knights guarding the throne stared disdainfully at the Earl, as if sharing Sebine's sentiment. Perhaps he would make a wrong move and they'd slice his fat head off his body. She thought that perhaps that would make the best wedding gift ever...

  "After all that, I suspect you'll need a drink. You're looking flushed." The King of Valance chuckled, displaying mottled, stained teeth that looked more suitable in a goblin than a king. "You may approach."

  The King was old and ugly and short, so old Sebine wondered how her mother could have ever married him. But his eyes held a powerful vibrancy that eliminated any doubt of frailty. And when he wore his silver and gold armor, and mounted to ride Keraxes, his dragon, kings and kingdoms cringed at his countenance. He motioned with a flourish of his hand and Xavier, the Grand Master of Ceremonies, had a servant carry a blood-red pillow with a small gold and jewel encrusted box perched on top.

  "Just a little token...a small thing of beauty for the bride."

  The Earl bowed his head. "Your Majesty, you are too kind."

  Sebine knew that if it wasn't for her friendship with Melaninth, the King wouldn't even bother attending, and likely Patriarch Rhazel of the Calathian Church would never have allowed the use of the Illumina Cathedral. Not for an earl with little land holdings.

  Sebine summoned Xavier with her eyes, and the sharp-tongued Grand Master of Ceremonies strode over and she handed him the gift best suited for the Earl of Balgor. Xavier raised an eyebrow at the gold Ghalaris puzzle lock box, and turned and presented it to the Earl. She had selected the most ornately decorated box, but with the easy difficulty to match his dim wits. Nothing must prevent him from discovering what awaits inside....

  "A gift for the Earl of Balgor, for his kindness in marrying Melaninth. May he live to bestow the finest gifts to her." Sebine spoke each word slowly and with precise elocution. With this gift she knew she was offering the best gift ever to Melaninth: the gift of an early death for the Earl of Balgor.

  It would take a long time, a y
ear or two perhaps, and to the physicians it would appear as a slow, weakening of the heart. They would test for poisons and find none, for what lay inside contained none. A mere amulet, worn around the neck; a black onyx, charmed with a deadly curse, with ghastly arms that longed to embrace the Earl. There were benefits of spying on the Hakkadian sorcerers at night. All that she learned was forbidden by law, but that didn't stop Sebine from practicing the magic that she'd discovered.

  "Your Royal Highness," the Earl said. "You honor me with your thoughtfulness. I've never had the pleasure of experiencing a Ghalaris puzzle box... I always wanted one as a boy."

  The King leaned forward and squinted at the box. "How very rare of you, Sebine. I never knew the ceremony of marriage could move you to such generosity...especially on this occasion."

  "Melaninth is infinitely precious to me." Sebine closed her mouth and leaned back in her chair, eyes studying the King's reaction. Her mother pursed her lips and shifted around uncomfortably. Sebine knew she was suspicious.

  "My daughter has the keenest sense for selecting the finest, well-suited gifts." Queen Marinel winked at Sebine. "Don't you think so, King Braxion?"

  "Yes, yes indeed. Our daughter is clever and beautiful." And so very unlike Braxion the Bovine. Knowing he wasn't her real father made life in the castle almost bearable for Sebine.

  The King cleared his throat and addressed the couple. "So as they say in the land of the dwarves, make haste and go, burrow your way into the lair and breed."

  The crowd fell silent at the crude comment. Sebine thought they would be used to the King's odd remarks by now, but neither chuckles nor remarks of disgust escaped the lips of those assembled around the King. Just silence. And a wry smile from Bishop Rathgor, who was notorious for his nightly visits to the nunnery. Although Sebine found it difficult to believe that the Goddess Naria spoke through the representatives of the Calathian Church, she hoped the Goddess would pay special attention to the Bishop and cause his member to shrivel and wrinkle like a burned snake.