Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom)

by John Forrester

  Each time the creature moved he tensed and gripped Balensaar, expecting the ghoul to strike. But the beast moved meticulously, purposefully, from body to body, as if savoring the slow process. Attack already! Tael could feel sweat drip down to the small of his back, despite the chill of the late autumn night. The wizard remained focused on the ghoul as well, crouched slightly, one hand outstretched at the creature and the other gripped the Dralden Tome. After a scan around him, Tael realized that all the bodies in the square had been desecrated by the undead creature of Naverstrom. They were next.

  The ghoul shook its body like a dog trying to rid itself of fleas. It was so comical that Tael let out a small laugh before he could stop himself. The creature tilted its head in a query and narrowed its eyes in consideration of the threat that he offered. It clicked long claws on the ground and scrambled at him.

  When a blast of air from the wizard hit the ghoul, the beast bent down and seemed to condense itself like a statue, resisting the gust. Memories flooded Tael's mind of his grandfather telling him that ghouls of Naverstrom naturally resist magic—likely Master Loral knew this so decided to attack using an elemental force. It didn't work. The ghoul's eyes shone a sickly yellow and the wizard collapsed to the ground, the Dralden Tome falling free from his hand. Tael knew he was going to die. His grandfather was right, he never should have left the safety of the mountains.

  Dying is a gift from the gods, Tael remembered his mother saying, Tis a journey from one dream to the next, a journey to greet loved ones lost, to see new and fascinating places, to experience the endless cycle of the universe. Never fear death...use your mind and see the tapestry of time, see the weaver and the secret working of the invisible hand. See beyond the pain and suffering of whatever insignificant thing that consumes the here and now of your life. There is a greater purpose to life, realize that, son, and let it guide you in all things.

  Tears flooded down his cheeks at the memory of his mother. He could feel her so close to him as he tightened his hold over his father's sword. The ghoul advanced and Tael readied himself, surrendering to whatever fate lay in store for him, determined to fight the undead creature with courage, and hoping his dance of death would make his father proud. He brought Balensaar up and charged the beast.

  As he was about to collide with the ghoul, light burst all around him—ancient runes shining brightly along the sword's edge—causing the creature to shriek in pain and scamper away in terror. Tael gazed at the sword in surprise. Balensaar is a magical sword—a ghoul's bane—like the one the old King wielded? Father had never mentioned anything about the blade other than it was very old and a family heirloom, and that one day Tael would inherit the sword and need to cherish it as if it were part of his body. But then again, many things in his family history were a mystery to Tael, especially the things that swirled around his grandfather's life.

  The ghoul paused about fifty feet away and glanced back, squinting at the now dimmed sword, and it sniffed the ground like a hound tracking prey. It started to sidle over to where the wizard had fallen and Tael shouted and darted forward, Balensaar blazing once again as he approached the undead creature. This is a hero's sword...the kind of sword that Grandfather talked about in legends and lore of Naverstrom. And he possessed such a sword. The ghoul fled back into the still shimmering portal, back into the dark, fetid world where it had come, and the portal's mouth closed and swallowed it up.

  Tael released a heavy sigh but noticed his shoulders and arms were still tensed from holding the sword. You can relax now, you're still alive...the ghoul is gone. The wizard! He turned and rushed over to where Master Loral lay and felt along his neck for a pulse. It was very weak but he was still alive, thank the gods. Some spell, perhaps? Or a curse that locked the wizard in a deep slumber... He was too heavy to carry and Tael worried about discovery from whatever remained of the King's soldiers. This would be a ridiculously difficult story to explain and likely they would never believe him. Too many innocent people were thrown in prison or some dark dungeon for little or no reason at all.

  He shook the wizard and called out to him, but it was useless; nothing could wake the man. Farther north he could hear voices and the stomping of boots coming close. He hated to leave the wizard alone and undefended, but he knew he had to keep away from attention. Off to a side alley he slipped away and hid behind a crate and covered himself with a canvas tarp. The hesitant crowd peered around the corner at the broken and littered square, some wielding swords while most held wooden cudgels or axes. Gasps of horror could be heard as the crowd spotted the brutalized bodies and many covered their eyes in response.

  The waiting was the hardest part for Tael, listening to the wails and crying as the citizens recognized loved ones amongst the remains of the fallen soldiers. Eventually a few ventured forward, covering their mouths as if trying to hold back the urge to vomit. It was a gruesome sight: the soldiers' blackened armor from the lightning strikes, the helms and crushed heads scattered haphazardly, and the decapitated sorcerer with the severed head, the eyes and mouth still open in a horrific expression of ultimate satisfaction. And Master Loral, to Tael's relief, was discovered by a priest dressed in the cloth of the Calathian Church.

  "This one is alive!" shouted the priest, his voice trembling from the strain of the sickening scene. Several men came over and stood guard as the priest tended to the wizard. "I recognize him, he's Master Loral of the Arcanum. You there, help carry him back to the Abbey. With help from the Goddess Naria, the healers can nurse him back to health."

  Tael made a silent prayer to the Goddess as well, hoping for the wizard's recovery. Exhaustion overtook him and the warmth he felt under the canvas lulled him off to sleep, despite the voices fading away into the distance.

  The late morning sun shone over the rooftop and bore down on Tael, waking him with a start. How long have I been sleeping? He rubbed his eyes and peered over the crate at the square now cleared of bodies. Workers milled around, lifting broken stones and bricks onto carts. The southern gates were now open, and oxen pulled wagons laden with rubble out of the city. Now was the perfect time to escape. He waited until a group of people walked by and followed them through the city gates.

  He listened to rumors being spoken of dwarves invading the city last night. Of sorcerers and their evil minions preying on the poor soldiers. A swarm of people stood near the docks along the Elden River, flapping their hands to get the attention of the dock master selling tickets. But the boat was already filled with people, livestock, and crates.

  "There'll be a boat tomorrow to take the rest of you. No more room, I said!" The dock master's fat face was flustered, and his neck bulged with redness from yelling. "Go home, now."

  The disappointed crowd turned and shuffled away, leaving only a cat that chased shadows dancing from the breeze that swayed the elm branches above. Tael strode up to the boatswain, who was commanding his crew to release the ropes for departure. The aged man eyed him with curiosity.

  "You don't by chance have room for one more?" Tael grinned and displayed a gold crown to the man.

  The boatswain showed a sly smile and motioned him onto the vessel. Tael jumped onboard and slid the coin into the man's calloused hand. The boatswain pretended to ignore the bribe and barked orders at the crew, sending them into a frenzy of untying ropes and shoving the boat away from the docks with long poles. Tael perched atop a crate and let out a happy sigh, feeling free of the previous night's madness.

  The Elden River ran over fifteen hundred miles from Perinith to Trikar, the capitol city of Valance, and split off into three arteries, running seven hundred miles farther to the City of Cranth along the Ferelian Sea. This far north the river was narrow and treacherous; sheer, jutting granite cliffs gazed down at the boat like sentinels of ages lost. The people onboard stared up with lost, frightened eyes. They clutched children and loved ones and packs. A sorry group of refugees from a city devastated by the wizard's battle with the sorcerers. Tael had gained a newfound respect for
practitioners of the magical arts.

  As darkness fell, he observed curious eyes studying him in the torchlight of the boat. He recognized the man as the priest from the square, who had tended to Master Loral. The man had a rugged face that was lined with deep wrinkles, with a protruding belly that indicated a less than abstinent life. With a wave of his hand the priest motioned Tael over to where he sat eating.

  "Come and share some bread and cheese." The priest attempted a kind smile but in the harsh light of the torches it came off looking like a snarl. The hairs along the back of Tael's neck stood up. Grandfather had always warned him to keep away from the clergy. Pawns of the Patriarch Rhazel and bedmates to the corrupt king. But this priest had helped Master Loral, and for that Tael was grateful.

  "Thank you for your kindness, Preserver of Naria's Light." Tael bowed as he offered the formal address to the priest. "Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Geldrin." The lie slipped easily from his lips, a practiced alias he'd used over the years.

  The priest touched a thumb to Tael's forehead and said the prayer of blessing to the faithful. "You have been taught well the modes of addressing the priesthood, young Geldrin. Tis rare to find these days."

  Tael accepted the bread and cheese from the priest, but before eating he opened his pack and withdrew a wineskin of red vintage filled from Saulb's oak barrels. "But first partake of my wine, Keeper of the Seven Truths. For without wine life would be barren and dry."

  "Indeed and well said." The priest took a drink and handed back the wineskin. "My name is Bishop Draven of the Diocese of Perinith. I know I don't look like a bishop—that is my way—I prefer to blend in with the common folk."

  After a swig of the wine Tael tore off a chunk of the hearty bread and chewed, thinking of how best to handle the situation with the Bishop. A priest was trouble enough, but a bishop? "What brings you down the Elden River, Your Excellency?"

  Again the bishop smiled and wagged his head from left to right. "Who taught you such proper forms of address?"

  "My mother, of course. She instructed me in manners of all kinds. But I'm afraid my father roughened me up a bit, much to my mother's disappointment."

  Bishop Draven eyed the sword slung over Tael's back. "She was a lady, no doubt, or a pupil of the Church?"

  Tael let out a small laugh. "No, not a lady, nothing like that. My mother was a simple woman, but held high aspirations for her son. And yes indeed, she was a pupil of the Church."

  "Are you going to visit your family now, perchance?" Draven studied Tael with careful eyes.

  "No, no, I'm going out on my own, away from the nest, so to speak." Tael wrinkled up his forehead in a practiced look of musing. "To find my fortune in the world, you could say. As a soldier, my father taught me the blade and always told me stories of the grand arena in Trikar—where all the world's best fighters go to prove themselves."

  The Bishop pursed his lips in disapproval. "Not quite the way of the cloth, however the Goddess Naria does ordain heroes and champions to do the bidding of the Church. But the grand arena? Isn't that a foul place for a boy with a good upbringing and a respect for the Church? Why not join the Order of the Calathian Knights?"

  Tael paused for a moment as if considering the Bishop's words, all the while thinking through his next move. The Calathian Knights conducted the dirty deeds the Patriarch Rhazel needed done. Although they officially were a peaceful order, sworn to protect the Church and its high officials, secretly they worked behind the scenes to strong-arm any opposition to its goals.

  "That is a lofty aspiration, indeed. Tis a fair dream for a simple boy such as myself... And my lifelong hopes lies in the competition found in the arena—the chance to prove the skills my father taught me. Can't you see my inner turmoil, Bishop Draven?"

  "You may not realize this, but from time to time those of the Order of the Calathian Knights fight in the arena to demonstrate their skills to the world. Especially when there are formidable contenders at play. Were the Order to remain peaceful for many years they would lose their reputation as the highest order of knights, save of course King Braxion's Vizathian Knights."

  Tael made a disheartened face to the Bishop. "Alas, I fear I would not be accepted to such an illustrious Order, considering my humble upbringing to a family with no name and no reputation. But if I prove my worth in the arena, perhaps the gods might find favor in one so insignificant as myself?"

  "Yes, perhaps, but then again you might find yourself dead. And dying to the sword in a most unholy arena—without the blessing of the Church behind you. I fear for your soul, child. Might your talents not be put to better use? I imagine Lord Balgron would listen to a petition for admittance—if it came from someone such as myself."

  "But why would you do that for me?"

  A devious smile spread across the Bishop's face. "Because I saw you helping Master Loral..."

  Chapter Six

  SEBINE PREPARED HERSELF for the inevitable confrontation with the King at the grand feast celebrating the wedding of the Earl of Balgor to Melaninth. She could tell by the expression on Yaez's face that he would go straightaway to the King and tell him the story of her encounter with Dakar. Likely Braxion would send a squad of Vizathian Knights out after the merchant in an attempt to prove his dominion over Princess Sebine. He'd bring the handsome young man's head back on a pike and display it to her as a constant reminder of who ruled her life.

  But she doubted Dakar could ever be found by any of the King's men. He probably wasn't even a merchant and likely not from Yhalan. The entire setup was a ruse designed to trick the King. Sebine had hid her hand from Yaez as she left the Yhalan merchant stall, afraid he might spot the new ring. She promised herself to never take it off her finger. It imbued her with a strange, fantastic power that filled her with hope and rebelliousness and invigorated every step she took.

  Tonight she wore long, white gloves that stretched up to her elbows. Her lady's maid, Eloise, buttoned up her white, silk ballroom gown from the back. Sebine studied herself in the mirror, wondering if the dress was too scandalous in the front. It wasn't scandalous enough, she decided. She pulled the dress down further, revealing far too much cleavage, hoping to embarrass the King again tonight. Lately he fumed after every dinner, swearing never to allow her out in public again. What do I care...I'm eighteen and unmarried. What's the worst he can do to me?

  Mother never seemed to mind that she put on antics to raise the ire of the King. In fact, Sebine was quite certain she enjoyed it. The all powerful and great King Braxion and his armada of fire breathing dragons. While he dominated on the battlefield, his success at home was limited. Especially in the Queen's Bedroom.

  "Which fragrance, Your Royal Highness?" Eloise displayed two crystal bottles, one with a slight purple hue and the other green and dangerous.

  "Forest Romance." Princess Sebine smiled to herself. If only I could be out in the forest with Dakar, and make love to him under the Hunter's Moon. She pictured his fearless eyes and wished she'd stolen away with him. I could have blinded Yaez's eyes with a spell of light and left the city forever. But then she knew her mother would suffer, and Sebine would lose the ability to learn magic from the Hakkadians. Now that she was certain they were aware of her eavesdropping—and they didn't mind—she felt bold enough to introduce herself. If she survived dinner tonight...

  Eloise displayed a selection of diamond, pearl, and emerald necklaces to the Princess, and she chose an elegant necklace with a single tear-shaped emerald that drooped low in between her breasts. She twisted her body left and right, admiring the fullness that had developed over the last year or so. I'm a truly a woman now, and desired by men. Sebine wore the intricate gold serpent anklet on her right ankle and imagined Dakar putting it on her, his soft hands sliding up her leg. She shivered and opened her eyes, annoyed at the curious expression on Eloise's face.

  "That will be all... I won't need any more help tonight." The girl grew up with Sebine—they were playmates as children—and thoug
h barely only a year younger than Sebine, when she strode out of the room, her pear-shaped hips wiggled like a woman who has intimately known men. And that knowledge made Sebine terribly jealous of her. How a maid so far beneath her station could experience something so exquisite and wonderful before Sebine could—this galled her and excited her at the same time. I'm sure men love playing with the little toy...likely she squeals like a rabbit caught in a cat's mouth.

  As she applied rouge on her cheeks, she decided that tonight might yield savory fruits worth tasting—experiences she craved and feared at the same time. It was a party after all, with drinks flowing and debauchery said to be common. This was the first wedding party she'd ever been allowed to attend, although the rumors she'd heard made her blush with a strange kind of fever. Many said that fathers insisted on marrying their daughters before they turned eighteen to ensure their chastity remained intact prior to the wedding night. Anything could happen at wedding parties, and that was why they only allowed royals who had come of age to enter. Maybe that was where I was conceived, in the drunkenness and heat of night.

  After the image of herself in the mirror proved satisfactory, she stood and made her way through several gaudily decorated rooms to the grand antechamber where she was to meet up with two of her friends. Rose was the daughter of Duke Harthan, a girl of eighteen whose looks bore no resemblance to the flower. But her personality was sweet and she was a kind friend to Sebine since childhood. Rose was also unmarried—but for a different reason—as no suitors knocked on Duke Harthan's door. His estate floundered and Rose's dowry was rumored spent to maintain appearances at court.

  Rose gasped as Sebine entered the sitting area. "You're father will have a fit...dressed like that!" She giggled and gawked at Sebine's dress and plummeting neckline.

  "Lovely to see you, Rose." Sebine inspected Rose's lavender silk dress that highlighted long legs and minimized the attention to her otherwise flat figure. "Beautiful dress...and it suits you very well."