Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom)

by John Forrester

  Learned? As in casting spells? Sebine glanced around at the expecting eyes and stood, raising her hands in preparation. Likely she had no choice but to humor them. She began chanting remembered words and twirled her fingers, coaxing the heavy leather volume on the table to rise into the air. After allowing the book to rest on the surface, she shifted her sight to a goblet filled with rich, red wine. She repeated the spell that had slain the two guards on the night of the wedding feast. The burgundy-colored liquid bubbled and splattered, causing the nearby Hakkadians to shrink away in unconcerned expectation. The only other spell she'd learned was the creation of light, and the elimination of light like on that fateful evening in the ballroom. She cast both in quick succession, and returned to her chair, beaming from the look of satisfaction on the Hakkadian faces.

  "Acceptable, though a bit sloppy. And you forgot to demonstrate your knowledge of applying a death curse to jewelry. Yes, don't look surprised, we know all about your little gift to the Earl of Balgor." The sorcerer who spoke before addressed her. "You may call me Master Vhelan, and you will address me and me alone in your interactions with us. The others gathered are here to observe and correct your chanting and hand movements. Do you accept me as master and teacher in the ways of sorcery?"

  Sebine nodded her head and was about to speak when Vhelan raised his hand to interrupt her.

  "Before you agree, consider the conditions of studying as my apprentice. I demand blood and a blood oath. In simple terms this means you are bound to do my bidding when I call on you for a favor. This will be rare, and payment will be given in proportion to the task requested. If you betray me, I will use your blood against you. Consider purposefully before proceeding."

  A sharp fright lanced through Sebine as she pictured the blood boiling in the guard's veins, extreme agony contorting their faces. Would Master Vhelan be able to cast such a spell on her from anywhere if she turned against him? Or might she someday learn a defensive spell to protect herself against his dark arts? She doubted that if he possessed her blood there would be much she could ever do to stop him. Was the knowledge the Hakkadian sorcerers offered to teach worth the risk of being at their mercy? As she studied the cold, inhuman eyes gathered around her, she felt the weight of their lies pressing against her chest.

  "I don't know anything about you...what you want or what you believe. Why in the name of all that is holy should I trust you with my blood?" She paused and examined their immobile faces, hoping to read a hint of emotion but found none. "You have demonstrated your alliance to the King, and allowed me entry here in what I thought was in secret, and yet still you knew I was watching. What do you want from me?"

  Vhelan released a heavy sigh and an expression of fatigue crossed his face. "We are too direct and lack the refinements of royalty. My fellow Hakkadians and I are crude people, cave dwellers and wanderers, students of natural forces and patterns. We are bound and chained to the immortal Princes of Naverstrom—who in turn crave freedom and the domination of the living. The royal blood of a princess would be most pleasing to those princes. You must believe me when I say that I will not deliver your blood to them unless you force me with no other option. I despise them as much as any other sane person would."

  Sebine felt a wave of revulsion and nausea twist her stomach at the thought of some immortal dark Prince feasting on her blood. How would they use her blood to dominate her? This had gone on far too long. She should never have come here in the first place. She turned away from him.

  "Wait...please. Before you go I would ask that you hear me out." Master Vhelan set a shriveled hand on Sebine's shoulder and she winced at the heat of his touch. "Consider things from our perspective. Why should we trust you with our secret knowledge? What if you use it against us? What protection would you offer in assurance that you won't go to the King and betray us?"

  A scoff shot from Sebine's mouth. "I loathe the King...you must certainly know of this. Why would I do anything to help him?" Had she been so secret in her hatred of the King that no one else had noticed?

  A rubble of voices echoed through the chamber as the Hakkadians conferred with one another. Vhelan silenced them with an upraised finger. "This is news to us, though it does not sway us enough to win our confidence in you. Somehow the elves trust you, but this is not enough for us. They believe in you, for something in their visions has revealed you to their sages. We obeyed them and delivered to you the Ring of Galdora, but made it clear that the offer to take you under our tutelage was contingent upon certain oaths that we demand. Oaths that involve the gift of your blood."

  She turned to leave again, unconvinced and still disgusted at the thought of using her blood as leverage against her. Besides, what else might they want in the future? Where would it stop? Vhelan's low voice followed her as she ascended the staircase.

  "We will teach you everything your heart desires. Mastery of wind and storm, fire and ice—even mastery over the forces of death and darkness. You wander the city in search of freedom—in vain, for the shadow of the King follows you everywhere. I will teach you the way of illusions, and with this knowledge you will gain freedom."

  Sebine stopped walking and stared at Master Vhelan, intrigued by his words. Blood for freedom, she thought. Was it worth it? If she was patient she could discover a way out of the palace on her own. Or she would end up like her friend Melaninth—married off to some old, ugly noble. Sebine shook off the thought, determined never to face that fate. She'd sooner die or kill to gain her freedom.

  "You've provided me with no assurances that my blood won't be used for some vile purpose—in fact you dare threaten to use my blood to as a gift to immortal Princes? Do you take me for a madwoman?" Sebine stormed off up the stairs, ignoring the icy glares of the Hakkadians. As she was about to leave the chamber, Vhelan's ominous voice echoed off the stone floors.

  "If you leave now, you'll be powerless to deal with what will come tomorrow. The King will discover that your mother is a whore, and you, as her bastard child, will find yourself food for the King's dragons. I doubt you'd be so insane as to leave us, would you?

  "The offer of protection and apprenticeship demands blood."

  Chapter Eleven

  THE WALLS OF Trikar gleamed gold in the fading twilight as the ship floated under the city's cavernous water entrance, the passengers gawking up at the many hundred feet sheer stone face. In the weeks that had passed on their journey south, Tael found his thoughts turning to his parents and grandfather, of days by the ocean, of nights spent fleeing assassins, and of dreams of glory in the grand arena. Bishop Draven had spurned all conversation, and his only response was to scribble out on parchment that he had taken a vow of silence and wished to remain in a state of meditation and mental clarity throughout the voyage. His explanation seemed suspicious to Tael.

  They docked at the Trikar Port of Commons, greeted by long lines of visitors waiting to gain entry into the city. Tael frowned and stayed back, wondering why there were so many soldiers searching ship passengers and scanning papers the people produced upon inquiry. This was entirely different than the last time he had visited Trikar. And in a cold dread, he realized that with no documentation or letter of reference he would likely be taken away for questioning.

  Off a ways at the checkpoint, Bishop Draven broke his vow of silence and talked with a captain of the guard. The man wore a plumed helm and steel armor that looked as if it were cleaned and shined to perfection that morning. The Bishop turned back and stared at Tael, a serious expression fixing his face into a scowl. This was not going as Tael had planned. Why would the priest betray him now? Were all his kind words and reassurances just a ploy to lure him into the city, where the guards would imprison him?

  Tael glanced around, searching for an escape. But with all the guards mobbing the docks and the archers mounted atop buildings lining the Elden River, he doubted there was any chance of escape. He strode up to the Bishop, pretending he had been summoned.

  "Yes, Your Excellency?" Tael bowe
d.

  The Bishop gave him an odd look as if he wondered who Tael was, and why he bothered him. After a long, uncomfortable stare, Draven spoke. "Ah, of course. Young master Geldrin. In all my meditations I've seemed to have lost myself." He turned and waved away the captain. "He is with me...a young applicant to the Order of the Calathian Knights. Make way for us."

  The guards parted at the Bishop's unflinching steps, and Tael followed, sighing in relief, and was careful to keep his gaze fixed ahead and away from the soldiers' suspicious eyes. After they had passed the squad of soldiers, the priest whispered into Tael's ear.

  "You came quite close to being interrogated. I had to do something spontaneous to knock them off balance...the element of surprise. You owe me a substantial debt, lad." Bishop Draven fixed a serious stare on him for a long while as if to allow the weight of his statement to sink in. The priest continued on, navigating through the dense crowd that flowed away from the river. Tael tried his best not to glance back at the soldiers, pushing away any thoughts of imprisonment and torture.

  The merchant quarter hung colorful flags along the lantern-lit streets—draped proudly over vendor stalls and larger shops. Tael was surprised to find that the mood about town was jubilant and sensual, and in the early night's serenity, wine flowed freely from painted, earthenware jugs. The last time he had visited, the city guards had lashed a poor boy of around ten to a wooden contraption, and sliced off his fingers for thievery. The process had been so smooth it was as if it happened daily. But the memory of the blood spurting from the boy's sliced stumps and his clenched face screaming in terror and pain haunted Tael to this day.

  "What are the flags for?" Tael asked Bishop Draven, trying to force the memory from his mind.

  The priest looked up and frowned. "The Wintertide Festival of Lights...a vile, hedonistic party that will hopefully be banished from the city one day. Though I doubt it, for the citizens and slaves love it so. Nights of freedom from the heavy burden of work and oppression. There will be droves marauding the streets over three nights. Today is the preparation. The real licentiousness starts tonight, though every year they seem to start earlier and earlier."

  A grin must have formed on Tael's face for the Bishop stopped and lowered his voice. "As a representative of the Calathian Church I would be forsaking my duties in not advising you to stay in your room, lock the door, and spend the next few days in meditation." He coughed and covered his mouth. "But as a man who rarely adheres to all his vows, I would overlook it if you were to go roaming as the dogs do on nights when the bitches are in heat. However I'm quite sure that the leaders of the Order of Calathian Knights would not be so forgiving. Though those of the Order will likely be locked away in prayer and contemplation during the Festival—as is their tradition. We've nothing to do but to wait these few days until the Order is open to receive outside guests."

  Tael followed the Bishop through the wine-soaked streets, certain that no knight could ever spot him sneaking out of the Order. His days of wasting away in the mountains with no entertainment other than a fisherman's daughter were gone. He caught the flirting eyes of girls and young women alike as he strode through the streets, and their warm, wondering glances at his rugged, leather leggings and coarse clothing made him feel out of place in the refined city. But his style of dress seemed to somehow invite more stares, so perhaps it wasn't a bad thing that he stood out.

  In front of a finely crafted store with grapes etched on a wooden sign, Tael spotted a particularly striking girl his age with long, wavy hair who giggled with her friends as she dared a longing glance at Tael. He would definitely be returning here at night.

  After a time they left the merchant quarter and snaked through canal-lined streets with gondoliers pressing long poles into the green, murky water, their thin, curved boats laden with goods gliding gracefully. Darker here, figures as shadows hobbled and stumbled about as if drunk. In this district the faces were haggard, with gaunt, hungry eyes staring after Tael. He even noticed the Bishop hurrying his pace as if wanting to leave the area without being waylaid by criminals.

  A grumbling in his stomach reminded Tael he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He wished the Bishop had stopped to eat at one of the food stalls back in the merchant quarter. The lack of food was making him irritated and jumpy, and even more nervous as groups of men huddling around fires pointed at Tael and the Bishop as they rushed past. A beggar's hand held Tael's arm and he brushed it aside, catching a glimpse of disappointment in the shriveled man's eyes. Were there as many poor and unfortunate souls in Trikar the last time he'd visited? It seemed significantly changed for the worse. Usually his grandfather stayed in the common areas of Trikar to avoid the suspicious stares of the city guard, disguising themselves as traveling merchants or tinkers. At the time there was an acceptance of poverty on people's faces, but now either defiance or drug-induced indifference filled the eyes around him. And yet the ever-present filthy cloud of hopelessness still left its stain everywhere.

  They reached an inner wall with a band of soldiers guarding the entrance into the city's artisan quarter. The soldiers tensed as Bishop Draven and Tael approached.

  "Your Excellency!" The leader of the group stiffened, grazing fingers over forehead in the formal salute.

  "Yes, yes..." Bishop Draven waved away the soldier and motioned for them to move aside. The men obeyed and without even a glance let them both pass. After they were out of earshot, the priest spoke again. "We will dine in civility up ahead. I shun the Calathian Church's sense of minimalism...little reason I should suffer for fine food and a decent bath after traveling for weeks in cramped quarters."

  Tael was a bit surprised at the priest's change in propriety. Especially considering his previous weeks of meditation and plain countenance in Perinith. In the capitol, a different side of the Bishop appeared: arrogant, pampered, and selfish. Although what did he expect from a Bishop of the Calathian Church? The very institution that allied itself with the corrupt King and did its best to bring down the Arcanum. It was a vivid reminder for Tael to stay alert and focused, and to not trust a soul other than his grandfather—and even with him Tael was uncertain of his motives in the politics of the world around. But did Tael even really care other than exacting revenge against the King for his parent's death?

  Ahead gaslit lanterns illuminated the wood-plank-and-stone facade of a very large, multi-storied inn. Manservants in white and red livery stood in crisp attention at the white marble entrance. A black, shiny carriage unloaded a well-dressed couple to the practiced hands of the servants, who escorted the pair inside. A smile brightened the initially suspicious face of one of the older manservants.

  "Your Excellency...what a pleasure to have your unexpected return to our humble establishment. The Dour Bear Inn welcomes you once again."

  Bishop Draven sniffed and extended a ring for the man to kiss. Several other servants scuttled over to take their bags, and Tael found himself resisting the urge to kick one in the face who was trying to retrieve his backpack.

  "Go ahead, lad." The Bishop gestured. "We'll be cleaning up for dinner and we won't need our things right now."

  Tael reluctantly gave up his pack and sword, unable to help himself from glaring at the servant as he trotted off inside. The older manservant that had first addressed the Bishop sidled over and whispered in a conspiratorial voice.

  "Your suite is being prepared. I do believe a quick freshening up for dinner is in order, Your Excellency?"

  "Quite. Lead on, Braithe. The night chill falls."

  Braithe marched off inside and led them up curving stairs with gorgons perched on inlets along the wall.

  "What of the rabble in the commoners quarter?" Bishop Draven gave no notice to the white-and-black-clad maidservants assembled along the corridor in attention at their arrival.

  Braithe cleared his throat with a small harumph. "Rather nasty lot loafing around there these days. I will speak to the captain of the guard and ask if he can clear them out along the path
from the docks. It is unfortunate you had to experience such vileness. Did any of the ruffians dare bother you?"

  "No, no, nothing of that sort. It has been almost a year since I've been to the capitol and I do find the change unsettling."

  "As do we all, Your Excellency. Perhaps there is something—" Braithe stopped himself from finishing, and Tael thought he'd spotted a flash of fear on his face.

  "What was that?"

  "Oh, silly of me, I forgot what I was going to say. My apologies." Tael was sure Braithe was covering up an attempt at an honest request of the Bishop.

  They reached a door with steam flooding out underneath, and found themselves escorted inside a room with several bath maids of similar age to Tael. They aimed scrub brushes at several stone baths with thick linen curtains in between. Tael followed one particularly pretty girl to the left bath, who blushed as she caught his curious eyes. She was going to scrub him? The day was turning out stranger than he'd anticipated. Not that he minded...

  "I'll leave you to it," said Braithe, and with a stoic expression on his face, he turned and treaded out of the room.

  Bishop Draven groaned on the other side of the curtain, complaining to the maid who was helping him out of his clothes. "Don't be so rough and hasty...I'm an old man, after all."

  Tael must have grinned, for the girl helping him undress gave him a sly smile. Was she flirting with him? She took off his leather jerkin, and slid in so close he could feel the warmth of her ruddy skin against his leg. As she took her time unbuttoning his shirt, he looked away, trying to stop himself from being aroused.

  "Gods, you're murdering me, woman! Do you have to scrub so hard?" the Bishop exclaimed.

  The pretty maid straddled Tael's legs and stifled a laugh, mouthing "poor old baby" to Tael, and stripped off his shirt. He did his best to ignore the heat of her thighs pressed against him. She traced slender fingers along his chest, playing with the scar on his shoulder he'd gained from a sparring injury. He swallowed, realizing his attempt at resisting her playful movements was hopeless.