Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom)

by John Forrester

  Tael crinkled up his forehead, wondering what his father meant. How could realizing something be such a terrible thing? And how could this be considered magic? But he kept silent, wanting to hear the rest of the story.

  "Now where was I?" His father furrowed his brow and scratched his chin, eyes deep in remembrance. "Oh yes, the few that saw things clearly... Your grandfather—a prime example—realized that the root of the world's discord lay in those caves where the Hakkadians dwelled. He had just returned to Trikar from a secret meeting with the old Elven sages deep in the heart of Drazal'tan. With him he carried a gift—a fabled sword—one etched with powerful runes that spelled doom to dark powers. A gift fit for a king, even an emperor."

  "Which king did grandfather give the sword to?"

  "To the old King Salgar—the one your grandfather slew—the traitor to his people and bringer of the spawn of demons to our Kingdom. The father of our mad King Braxion. His mother a witch born of the depths of Naverstrom."

  Tael had stopped chewing as the weight of his father's words sunk into his mind. King Braxion, the thief of dragons, enslaver of the proud and ancient beasts, had an evil witch for a mother? But it made sense, as the King was ugly and foul as a nest of whores infected with the pox. And it was said that his father was handsome, square-jawed, and fair-eyed, whereas Braxion was short and fat and dull of eye—like the dead eye's of bulls.

  "The witch was said to be the most beautiful woman in the Kingdom, although from the vile result of their intermingling it was clear her beauty was all a magical illusion." His father grinned apologetically at Tael. "I've gotten ahead of my story, haven't I? Let's go back to the time to when your grandfather gave the Elven sword to the old King Salgar. The mission was clear: to kill and root out the Hakkadians from their lair in the northern mountains at the entrance of Naverstrom.

  "When they arrived at the maw of the cave, they found that the Hakkadians had fled deep into the mountain's black heart. An expedition was assembled together of brave knights, talented thieves and rangers with expert climbing skills, wizards of the Arcanum—including your grandfather, and King Salgar. They faced sheer drops into dark shafts, underground rivers filled with flesh-eating fish, hordes of poisonous snakes and crawling insects, and numbing waves of fear that infected the entrance to Naverstrom. Their numbers dwindled to only half of their original party until only twelve remained. All of the original four wizards, all of the five thieves, two of the rangers, and King Salgar."

  Tael chuckled at the image of the thieves surviving and the knights slain. "Thieves survived but the brave knights failed to make it? Maybe you should teach me the dagger and throwing knives, Father."

  His father pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow at that. "Likely the thieves killed the knights in their sleep. Your grandfather said little about the details, and the King is said to have spoken sparse facts about the fate of the knights. Although your grandfather guessed the King planned it that way, as the knights were known to be sworn to Lords unfriendly to the King."

  "So the King bribed the thieves to kill the knights?" Tael couldn't believe the old King could be so conniving.

  "He did many deeds worse than that. Don't look so surprised, expect Kings and nobles to do vile deeds and you won't underestimate your enemies...

  "When King Salgar and the party crossed the rune-protected barrier to Naverstrom, the wizards shielded them from the curses placed along the gold-and-silver-veined walls of the tunnel leading down into the heat of the lava-filled caverns. They battled ghouls, animated skeleton warriors, wights, blood-drinking bats, and specters that drained the hope from their hearts. The King fought valiantly and the Elven sword frightened away the undead, allowing the wizards and rangers to strike at a distance as the vile creatures fled.

  "One of the immortal Princes of Naverstrom was lured from his lair at the commotion and faced the party with raging, demonic eyes. King Salgar raised his sword and challenged the Prince to a fight to the death. Your grandfather says they fought hard and long until the King tired from exhaustion. But the wizards came to his aid and cast spells of sustenance and invigoration and holy wrath, and the King battled on. The rangers aimed crippling shots at the Prince's knees and the King leapt in with a magically infused jump and sliced half the head off the giant Prince. He hacked and he hacked until finally the dark Prince was slain. And from this Prince he stole a medallion of immense power."

  His father sighed and scrunched up his eyes at Tael. "I believe the only way the King won was from ancient Elven magic that your grandfather used to help the Old King. Cast at a terrible cost to his body and soul..."

  "Soon after that great battle they reach a nest protected by giant spiders which they dispatched in a bloody, sticky mess. Instead of uncovering cringing Hakkadians they found a beautiful girl of perhaps sixteen tied and bound inside. The King valiantly freed her and upon encountering the girl's thankful tears took her in his arms and carried her out of that foul nest. She begged him—with sobs and tender whispers—to evacuate her out of the dungeon before the sorcerers of that place came back to offer her loins as a reward to the undead overlords of Naverstrom. And the King, taken in by her beauty and deceiving story, ordered the party to the surface.

  "The young maiden was of course a witch by the name of Koroshen, who managed to convince the King that she was an Elven daughter of a sage who lived in isolation in an old library protected by a keep along the western border of Drazal'tan. She spun her story with threads of magic that weaved their way deep into the King's mind until he was utterly entranced and taken in by her beauty. Soon after leaving the cave he vowed to take her back to the capitol and marry her in the Illumina Cathedral—despite being already wed six months prior. When one of the wizards dared remind the King of his marriage to the Queen, he had one of the rangers axe off the man's hands while he slept. And thus was born the enmity between the King and the Arcanum.

  "From their month-long journey back until the time Braxion was born it was clear that the King was seduced by the witch Koroshen far before their arrival in Trikar. She insisted that the King kill the young Queen, and rumors were heard of a strange ritual made in her slaying, a blood-rites sacrifice where the King drank the Queen's blood and they feasted together on her flesh. By now the King's mind was utterly under the control of the witch, with eyes drunk in blind adoration to her. Another wizard of the Arcanum commented to your grandfather that the girl looked older and craftier upon their arrival at the grand cathedral. Forgotten was the mission to root out the Hakkadians from Naverstrom. The King set aside all important matters of state and swept swiftly away to the warm southern islands with the witch while the vile creature within her womb grew and evil was nurtured."

  Tael's father sighed a pained, tired sigh and stared into his son's eyes. "On the Islands of Marr the scourge known as Braxion was brought into the world—and the gods still weep at this happening. The King and the witch Koroshen returned to the capitol to find the Kingdom in chaos with many nobles fighting for dominance and the Arcanum at odds with the strange ways adopted by the King's loyal advisors. While the King dealt with troubles in the capitol, the witch left the baby in the care of the nursery and snuck out of the city under cover of night, returning to Naverstrom."

  Tael studied the serious and troubled expression clouding his father's face as he waited almost a minute before continuing the story. "Old King Salgar was stunned and furious, certain at first that the Hakkadians had kidnapped his bride. But when it became clear from the accounts of guards and soldiers mesmerized by their encounters with the witch that she traveled alone and of her own free will, rage possessed the King's heart. He hastily assembled a party to return to Naverstrom and the Arcanum worked whatever influence they could muster on the King and sent your grandfather to join the party—with the explicit intent of slaying the King."

  "And that is when Grandfather killed King Salgar?" Tael said.

  His father nodded gravely and pushed himself to his feet, indicating
at the sword that the story was finished and it was time to continue practice.

  "That was the time the Kingdom of Valance fractured into many fiefdoms and under that chaos King Braxion was forged."

  Chapter Eight

  SEBINE LUXURIATED IN the soft feeling of the Prince's cheek against hers as she whispered in his ear. "I've always dreamed of traveling to the Elven Kingdom of Drazal'tan."

  A bemused smile spread across Prince Jaraz's face as he sent her twirling around, his fingers deftly supporting the spin. A sensual dizziness flushed over her as her silk dress swirled around in a white haze, and with every turn she caught sight of the Prince's exhilarated face, his eyes filled with a gentle craze. He pulled her tightly against his chest and they danced scandalously, their waists locked in a rhythmic shake. She felt hot and feverish at the place where their hips met, further taunted when she sensed the quick rise underneath his silk pants.

  The dancers around them were urgent now, faces red, brows moist, lips locked and tongues visible between passionate kisses. In her close embrace she'd worried that others would stare at their impropriety, but instead it was clear to her that the party had quickly degraded to debauchery and drunkenness. Wives of Earls rubbed their thighs greedily against Lords of faraway fiefs, whilst their husbands groped young courtesans off in distant corners. The musicians played some wild and exotic tune, drums hammering in time with the movements of the dancers. The once brightly lit ballroom darkened until flickering candles casts churning, living shadows across the now grey-and-orange marble floor.

  Prince Jaraz teased her with his eyes as his fingers traced up from her hips to the foothills underneath her breasts, sending goose pimples flaring across her skin. The hand that held her Elven ring surged with a pulsing electricity, sending prickles up her arm and down her spine until something raged between her legs. Her knees buckled as pleasure flooded through her body, wracking her thighs with a feeling so intense a moan escaped from her lips. Eyelids fluttering, she caught the grin on the Prince's mouth as he bent down to inspect her face.

  "Is everything quite all right, Princess Sebine?" His devilish eyes spoke that indeed he knew all was quite well, and he brought soft fingers to rest along her feverish cheek. "Perhaps we should rest someplace far away from the noise of the crowd."

  Sebine nodded and accepted his hand as he led her away from the ballroom. She motioned towards a resting room at the end of a statue-lined hallway, but the room was occupied by two young men and an enraptured older woman compressed together naked on a red, reclining sofa. Princess Sebine gaped at the erotic scene until the Prince pulled her away.

  "Are the nobles of your Kingdom always so shameful?" Prince Jaraz narrowed his eyes in a quick glance that contained a heavy measure of scorn. "It was almost as if they wanted to be seen—the door was open."

  "I'm sorry for my people...this is all new to me. Wedding feasts are infamous in our lands and open to only those nobles and courtesans of age. This is my first such feast."

  Prince Jaraz cleared his throat and released a sigh. "I've heard rumors of such parties in my Kingdom as well, fortunately I've no taste for such extravagances. Though I'm certain Marquis Kalan indulges regularly as his appetite for lust is never satiated."

  "And you've no such lust, my prince?" She winked at him and ran ahead to stairs that led up to the staterooms.

  Blood pumped wildly through her veins as she climbed the stairs, and she could hear the Prince's footsteps and voice trailing behind her. "Of course I lust as other men! I just don't need to flout it to prying eyes. My lust is all for you."

  "Prove it!" she shouted, and glanced back at the Prince's now sobered face. What was wrong? A cold chill sank into her shoulders as she turned to see the King's head poking out from a doorway, his eyes hateful and face clenched and shaking in fury. The Prince backed away—fearful—and raised hands defensively as the King barked orders to his Vizathian Knights. Two burly steel-clad knights chased after the Prince and failed to stop despite Sebine's pleas.

  "He has done nothing wrong!" she shouted. "By our treaty with the Malathians we must not hurt him. He is Prince Jaraz...oh, Father stop them, talk to Ambassador Droman, he knows him!"

  "Get out of my way, you filthy slut." King Braxion shoved her aside and strode down the hallway after the Prince, with streams of soldiers pouring in behind him. "Give me your sword, fool!" He wrenched a sword from a stunned soldier, and raced down the stairs.

  Sebine went to chase after them but two guards blocked her way. Rage possessed her heart at the soldier's obstinate expression. How did they dare stop her? She ordered them to move, but they ignored her command. The spell—to boil the blood of men—how did their fingers move, what did they chant? Memory flooded her mind of a shriveled Hakkadian sorcerer casting the deadly spell. She felt the rage pulse down to the hand that wielded the Ring of Galdora. She wanted the soldiers dead. If they disobeyed, they deserved to die. She couldn't let the King kill Prince Jaraz. Her hands flourished in imitation of the hand movements, chants pouring from her parted lips. The guards took an uncertain step away from her, but as the power flooded through Sebine's hands their eyes widened then clenched in horrific pain. A burst of blood gushed from their nostrils and ears and mouth as the men collapsed to the ground like tossed aside carcasses from the hunt.

  What had she just done? The scene was so revolting she turned her eyes away and felt bile rising up her throat. Had she really meant to kill two innocent soldiers? They were only doing their duty... She couldn't think about it now. If she waited another second the Prince was likely to be killed by the Vizathian Knights, or killed by the hand of the King. Lifting up the hem of her dress, she jumped over the slain soldiers and pooling blood and dashed down the stairs, not thinking, just intent on helping the Prince. In the main ballroom she heard screams and shouts and the clashing of steel as men loyal to Prince Jaraz flocked around him in a vain attempt to protect the young Malathian noble.

  The once drunk and wild dancers now clung to each other and shrank away from the battle, fear clenching their faces. The Malathians were vastly outnumbered, but Sebine saw they had a witch in their midst: the young Princess Marei, who protected her comrades with a silver shimmering shield of light. Ambassador Droman flapped his hands, shouting words of peace and supplication, begging mercy from the King. Braxion responded with a flick of his sword and cut the fat man's belly open, bright-pink-and-purple intestines spilling out. Droman howled as he collapsed to the ground in a bloody mess, his pitiful moans and cries sinking with his slow journey to the Underworld.

  The King turned his blade towards Princess Marei. With hands raised and fingers stretched out, beads of perspiration dripped down her delicate face at the exertion of sustaining the shield. From her observations of the Hakkadians, spells like these were very difficult to cast and were only meant for a short burst of protection—likely against a hailstorm of arrows on the battlefield.

  "Fetch the Hakkadians," King Braxion shouted at a soldier. The man clapped his sword against his breastplate and charged off with a retinue of royal guards. The King turned his attention back to the Malathians. "You'll all die from daring to oppose me. Only your young Prince offended me by trying to seduce my daughter. My palace, my Kingdom, my rights!"

  Spit dribbled down the King's dry, wrinkled lips and Sebine recognized the drunken-haze in his eyes and the red flush of his cheeks. Did she dare interfere with him in this state? Intoxicated, he was capable of any kind of violence, even against his own family.

  "Pray to the gods for pity on your soul, witch. Even now you are weakening—you sweat as a wench at work in a whorehouse."

  Prince Jaraz pressed his way through the protecting arms of his fellow Malathians to face the King. "You dare speak such vile words against my sister?"

  "The witch is a princess? It gets even better! When the Hakkadians come they'll disarm your shield and I'll command my knights to fuck your precious sister all night, even after her body is cold. And I'll make you watc
h—I'll force your eyes open if necessary—until she's dead."

  The Prince's face reddened as he clenched his fists, but his friends held his arms back as he tried to make his way towards Braxion. The King interrupted him just as he was about to speak.

  "I'm sick and tired of hearing my ministers and ambassadors grovel to you haughty Malathians... You and your superior attitude—your ancient, royal bloodline and rich history. Let's see how your desert cities fare against the fire of my dragons."

  Prince Jaraz aimed a finger at the King. "I have come to your Kingdom seeking peace and a mutually-beneficial trade agreement—and you reward me with treacherous words of violence against me and my sister? Instead of peace your actions will bring war upon your Kingdom and a curse on your name. It's clear to me that the rumors surrounding your monstrous character are true. You may have dragons on your side, but we Malathians possess an ancient magic capable of defending our cities against any attack you would be stupid enough to bring. My sister has given you but a taste of our power—"

  King Braxion scoffed mockingly. "The dragons will feast on your power. Have you never heard the tale of the magic of dragons? Sword and fire and stone you may be able to defend against, but there is little hope of your surviving against dragon sorcery. If you had bothered learning anything about me you would known better than to set your eyes on my daughter—especially on a feast night."

  "Who says I didn't set my eyes on him first?" Sebine said, and stepped out amongst the soldiers, who quickly parted when they heard her approach.

  "Why are you here?" The King's face reddened in fury as he stormed over to her. Even though he was angry, Sebine thought for a moment that he almost looked embarrassed. He should be embarrassed for what he said about Princess Marei. "I had not wanted you here to witness such a scene."

  Sebine softened her expression and reached out to the King's arm in an attempt to placate him. "I never meant to make you angry, Father. This was my first wedding feast and I was lonely tonight. The Ambassador"—Sebine couldn't help but glance at the fat man's bloated body bleeding on the floor—"came to our table and introduced us to Prince Jaraz and his sister. And I was the one who asked him to dance... I flirted with him. It's not his fault."