Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom)

by John Forrester

  Sebine nodded quickly, flustered and furious at the thought of Emitt being locked away in a dungeon, tortured or forgotten, suffering because of her actions.

  "Well enough. I believe you will do the right thing." He rang a small, silent bell sitting on the desk beside him, and a secret panel in the middle of the side wall slid open, and Master Vhelan shuffled into the room.

  "Yes, Your Majesty?" The sorcerer kept his head low and voice soft and subservient.

  "Somehow the Princess has learned spells of magic—from where I do not know and do not care. One spell must not be allowed for her to cast, the spell of self-illusion. She's been impersonating members of my guard and scholars studying here in the palace. Can you cast a curse over her and prevent this from happening in the future?"

  Master Vhelan circled around Sebine, inspected her face, and muttered incoherent words to himself in an expression of displeasure and uncertainty. "This is a difficult thing, Sir, and requires much preparation and expensive ingredients." He leaned in with surprising speed and sniffed her skin. "I sense the taint of the Arcanum on her, Sir. Have you allowed her to visit or study with the Wizards of the Arcanum?"

  "No...no, never. I've always had her followed."

  "But do you truly trust the one following her as absolutely incorruptible by determined forces outside your inner circle? Because the pulse of power coming from her is unmistakably that of the Arcanum... We know it well, Sir."

  The King frowned and thought for a long time until a flicker of doubt crossed his face. He rang another bell and Phineas Black returned to the room. "Summon Yaez. I'd like to speak with him."

  Sebine's stomach twisted at the thought of what ridiculous lies that eel of a man might say to the King about her. But what good was it for her to speak anything in her defense to the King? She had to just wait and find the right time to escape. There was no way the Hakkadians would let someone they valued, someone wielding the Ring of Galdora, be sold away to a life of slavery to a western nobleman.

  The door once again opened and the hard, suspicious eyes of her shadow stalked into the room. "Yes, Your Majesty? Master Black informed me that you requested my company." Yaez looked stricken at spotting Master Vhelan at the King's side.

  "There are questions regarding your loyalty to me...questions you will answer under interrogation." The King motioned the Hakkadian towards the now trembling Yaez.

  "I can assure you, Your Majesty...that will not be necessary. You have my ultimate loyalty—ah, gods, no!" Yaez collapsed and writhed on the floor, hands clenched over his head, and Sebine felt sick at the twisted expression of ferocious agony on the man's face. "Please no, stop it, stop the pain..." He vomited and gasped and choked, spittle and digested remains of food dribbling out of the side of his mouth as his leg twitched in a wild spasm.

  "Enough," the King stood and stared down at the man in disgust. "He looks ready to speak the truth now, don't you think Master Vhelan?"

  The Hakkadian nodded with grave eyes, his once tensed fingers relaxed and pressed together as in prayer. "I believe his mind is now open and amenable to your questions, Your Majesty."

  The King tapped Yaez's chin with a slippered toe. "Did you ever accept bribes from a member of the Arcanum?"

  The shadow swallowed and bobbed his head once, wincing up at the leering figure of the King. "Yes...yes, anything...please, just no more. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

  "So the man has admitted it." Master Vhelan scoffed. "A man you pay good coin to protect and watch your daughter has admitted to accepting bribes from an institution that secretly works behind your back to undermine the throne. All in an attempt to use the Princess against you."

  "Who bribed you? Which master of the Arcanum did this?" The King's voice had risen in volume now into a frenzied righteousness that sounded close to condemning the wretched man. Though Sebine found little sorrow inside her heart for him.

  Out to the side of her vision Sebine could see a twitching of Master Vhelan's fingers and Yaez's lips seemed to move on their own. "The Champion of the Arcanum. The wizard known as Master Loral. In a secret meeting with the outlaw, Master Greyth Shalinor, heretic of the Church." Sebine knew the man's words were not his own, spoken too smoothly and softly to be that of her shadow's. The words were that of Master Vhelan, chained magically to Yaez's mouth.

  "I've heard enough blabber from this traitor." The King summoned the Captain once again. "Pay the man...all his due coin." And the King tossed a thick sack of coins to the soldier, who with cruel eyes understood the meaning.

  Phineas Black and another knight knelt down next to Yaez and laid thick, hairy hands on the head of the writhing, frothing man. He forced open Yaez's mouth and despite resistance, shoved a piece of wood inside to keep the jaw open. He deposited coin after silver coin into the hissing, coughing mouth of Yaez until the man's neck went purple and his face turned a hopeless blue. Yaez's body went limp and the Captain closed his mouth, sealing his payment inside.

  A wave of the King's hand caused the removal of the body from the room, but Sebine still spotted a pool of spittle and blood shimmering on the floor under the firelight. That was all that remained of the man's life—a little movement left from his struggle. It felt cold and insubstantial and unworthy of a man's entire life, to only have such a small shivering pool of blood and vomit remain as evidence of one's existence.

  The King turned his vengeful, invigorated eyes towards her and chuckled. "Now cast your curse over my daughter, and keep the little bitch in her kennel."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ALTHOUGH TAEL FOUND the entrance to the Bishop's Quarters at the rear of the Illumina Cathedral intimidating, he straightened and brushed clean his Supplicant's Robes and strode up to the Calathian Knights guarding the entrance. He produced Draven's card and the fierce knight with a tree-like build studied him with suspicious eyes, glancing at the insignia on his robes with dissatisfaction.

  "Why is a supplicant of the Order visiting Bishop Draven? You've come to the wrong building, our sacred Order is far away near the river, aside the Grand Arena." The knight aimed a mail-clad finger towards the west.

  "The Bishop has summoned me here and plans to make an introduction to Lord Balgron."

  The knight scoffed and cast a look at his fellow brother of the Order. "This one here claims the Bishop will introduce him to Lord Balgron himself... They sure grow them mad and with steel balls these days." He flicked his hawkish gaze back to Tael. "If your story proves untrue I'll enjoy taking turns with you. Though I think my brother would appreciate a sparring dummy to beat on."

  Tael cast a challenging grin at the bulky knight next to him. "Looks like your brother could use the exercise. I'd be happy to oblige you after I finish with the Bishop." The chubby knight took a step towards Tael, a grimace on his face, but stopped himself at a warning glance from the other knight.

  "Follow me, you little cocky cunt. Let's hope you have more than steel balls to back up all your talk. We enjoy breaking in new recruits fresh off the streets. At least you don't have the look of a spoiled whelp noble boy. You hold yourself like you've seen more than a few fights. What's your name, supplicant?"

  "Geldrin...arrived in Trikar this week from the north." As they walked, Tael glanced at the marble floors and gold-etched walls and gem-studded eggs and figurines that nestled on sumptuously draped tables. He had to stop himself from barking out in disbelief at the ridiculous display of wealth, especially after viewing all the poverty and hunger on the streets. But then again, wasn't that what religion was all about? The hand of the gods out to squeeze the life out of the poor.

  "Harsh lands, the north. I've done more than a few campaigns with my brethren in the northlands. What brings you to the south, let me guess...fame and glory? Or the promise of fucking something other than milkmaids and sheep..." The knight shot him a lecherous grin. "You'll find plenty of that here in Trikar. Loose lips, loose mouths, and loose thighs. The city is oozing with young bitches ready to play
house with your cock."

  Tael was a bit surprised to hear such base words from a knight of the Order, but he could see he was no holy warrior: the man was mean and fierce as a champion arena fighter. "Have you fought in the arena?"

  "Piss off with your glorious illusions of the arena. I've won and waged war in that bloody place." He lowered his voice and craned his head around. "Fucking nobles and their desire for entertainment. If I don't see another arena fight I'll be a happy man. What I'd love is an expedition to Naverstrom...where real evil lurks. But what do I know...I'm just a simple knight who's drank too much wine, fucked too many women, and battled in too many wars for my own good."

  They reached the end of the corridor and turned to find an ornately carved door with gold leaf running along the edges. "You'll find the Bishop inside." The knight stretched out his hand and gripped Tael's in a firm handshake. "Name's Kealian. Keep your head down, young Geldrin."

  Tael studied the knight's swagger as he marched off, and he chuckled to himself, admiring Kealian's brutal candor. That was one soldier he wouldn't mind fighting side-by-side with in battle. His figure radiated quiet confidence and brutality.

  In the sudden stillness of the richly adorned hallway Tael took a deep breath to compose himself, and rapped on the door. Light flooded the way as the door swung open, and an ancient crone scowled at him with vast displeasure in her crinkled eyes.

  "What do you want, young supplicant?" She squinted at his displayed card, then opened the door wider and swung a skeletal arm around, inviting him to enter. The light inside was so bright it was painful to the eyes. When Tael scanned the room for the source of the light, he found no torches or lamps or fires, and concluded the light magical in origin.

  "Your name?" The crone's voice was watery and as croaky as a toad's.

  Tael gave her the name of his alias and with a disbelieving expression, the old woman strode with insect-like steps into the next room—a vast chamber of gold and silver threaded wall covering—and bowed abruptly to Bishop Draven, who sat pompously on a plump sofa, wearing the gold, silk, and silver robes of a powerful Bishop.

  "Young supplicant Geldrin calling on you, Your Excellency." The crone swiveled around and soon departed the room with her heels clicking against the shiny, hardwood floors.

  The Bishop grinned at Tael's robes and motioned for him to sit at a chair opposite him. "Impressive that you managed to survive the Festival's madness, and walk in here with actual Supplicant's Robes, apparently unmolested by the knights. They usually at least rough up unknown, unintroduced visitors to my steps. You don't even bear a bruise..."

  "I guess I was fortunate, then." Tael gave Draven a conniving grin as the Bishop poured him a glass of wine.

  "Don't feel too cocky. Likely the moment you step foot inside the Order they'll beat you to a pulp as part of your initiation rites. They go much harder on the stronger supplicants, regardless how much you think they respect you. You're just another unproven piece of pork to them."

  "I've taken brutal beatings before." Tael grimaced at the memory of his recent assault, and could still feel the scars on his chest and arms. "Most recently several nights ago at the Wintertide Festival."

  The Bishop raised an eyebrow at that. "So that's why you never returned that night? I thought you'd shacked up with some young plaything. Or worse yet, gotten yourself married. But alas there's hope for the world, you've come to me in perfect accordance with my request. Very promising, I must say..."

  "I've survived, Your Excellency, and paid a visit as asked. And I thank you for keeping my possessions safe."

  "Everything is all in order. Now tell me, young supplicant Geldrin, do you really aspire to join the Order?"

  Tael felt his inspecting eyes on him as he prepared to speak. "I talked to a knight of the Order, Kealian, and he shared some words on the foolishness of the grand arena. That sobered me up and made me realize there is more to this world than just games and contests. There's a real struggle going on in the wider forces of the world. The ghoul in Perinith showed me that. That was a real display of evil, the evil in the heart of darkness, the lair of Naverstrom. Kealian told me that the one place he dreamed of waging battle was in there, deep in Naverstrom. And when he spoke the words, I couldn't help but feel the same way."

  Bishop Draven tilted his head and pursed his lips, chewing on his words for a few moments. "I am Bishop in the north...in the lands surrounding the mouth of Naverstrom. But I have to tell you, lad, I've no desire to face that kind of evil. What you did that night, in facing and fighting off the ghoul with that sword of yours, that was a bravery and folly like I've never seen before. And I can respect that, truly respect the strength I saw in you that night."

  He rolled around his head as if tossing an unpleasant situation over in his mind. "However, that doesn't change the facts of certain realities in this world, in this Kingdom. We have the King and King Braxion has banned all quests to Naverstrom. So of course the Church and the Order obeys the King and respects his wishes. The arena is a poor substitute. Waging war against the Malathians is also a poor substitute, but at least it humors the troops in the illusion of fighting a meaningful war. Perhaps one day you might understand."

  Tael shrugged, and offered up his palms to the Bishop. "These are simple hands...the hands of someone used to hard work, the hands that expect little and receive much, the hands that are capable of killing and loving at the same time. How would you have me guide these hands in service of the gods?"

  "That's a hard question for me to answer. I will say that the gods are legion, and not all are worthy of serving. And even this choice is a personal one for you to make. I would advise you to spend time considering carefully before you choose. You may not like this kind of answer, but it's all I can give."

  "You gave an honest answer, and I appreciate it."

  "Still doesn't solve the situation you are in. Do you choose to join the Order, and follow in the well-ordained path of a holy knight? Or do you fight in the arena and prove your skills in a frenzied bloodlust? However, there is a third option—you could come and work directly for me. Not as a priest, not as a knight, but as an assistant, working on important projects and quests as I deem fit. And you won't ever have to worry about interference from the others in the Church. They leave me alone as an oddity with a powerful family. You see, Duke Selby is my brother and rules the northern lands for the King. One could say that my brother has a keen appetite for power. And in finding you, I couldn't help but see power in you and of course, in that mysterious sword of yours."

  The Bishop waved a placating hand at Tael. "Don't get all ruffled up. The sword is safe and I will return it to you tonight. My recommendation is for someone like you, in your...shall we say, untenable position, to forge an alliance with a powerful family and enjoy the extremely beneficial results of that decision. For you"—he cleared his throat and gulped down the rest of his wine—"and for your grandfather... Master Greyth Shalinor."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  AS SEBINE FOLLOWED Master Vhelan down the secret tunnel from the King's Chambers, she had a hard time believing the Hakkadian would or even could cast a curse on her that might prevent the casting of spells. The sorcerer was plotting something against the King, and whatever it was, Sebine was a part of it. But her master refused to respond to any of her attempts at conversation as they walked along the dark and dusty corridor. But her feeling of certainty regarding a plot grew stronger each step she took.

  At last they reach the bottom of the tunnel, and exited out through a panel that led into the main Hakkadian lair. The most surprising discovery was to find it empty inside, as every other time she'd visited in the past she found it quite filled with Hakkadians.

  "Our fellow members have been dispatched on their various missions throughout the city." The way Master Vhelan said the words implied a vast exercise of violence and chaos and disruption. "We've been planning this now for years, after establishing key allies in all the royal families, and bribin
g members of the wealthy artisans and merchants. Needless to say the tide will turn in Trikar tonight, with little left of the old Kingdom. The people loathe the King and will rejoice in the streets upon hearing word of his demise. Even shadows of the dragons shall fall over her streets and cathedrals, with the flames of the ancient creatures releasing their many-years long bent up rage. Do you join us, tonight, in slaying the King? Or do you choose to die, without whimper, without noise?"

  Sebine found herself stunned in disbelief at his words, unable to imagine the city soon raging in violence. And what about the wizards of the Arcanum? Certainly they would join up and defend the Kingdom? Or would they flee to safety, leaving the King and his Kingdom to crumble under the weight of its guilt and sin. Why did they want her for this struggle, anyway? It seemed like they had everything meticulously planned out.

  As if reading her musings, the sorcerer pointed at the Ring of Galdora. "Only with this ancient artifact can a practitioner of the arts hope to land a spell on the King. We are powerless without this blessing. And only with the wielder can the spell be cast, and only with one special spell can the Ring of Galdora help land. A spell I will teach you, if your answer is yes."

  Did she have a choice? She was bound to the Hakkadians by a blood oath, and if this was a battle, it was a battle she didn't mind avoiding with the Hakkadians. She would fight them another day, find another way, and live with the experience to strengthen her.

  "I accept, Master Vhelan, and choose to join you tonight. The King will not survive the night."

  The sorcerer scratched his chin in appreciation of her words, but still shook his head in some secret knowing. "You make a vow to join us...but don't be so bold in believing that you alone can slay the King. The spell I will teach you is the stunning spell, a simple spell, really, but in the right hands and with the right team, effective. It won't last more than a few seconds...we're not actually certain of how long it will last on the King, especially considering his composition."