Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom)

by John Forrester

  "Might you teach me how to talk to her? I feel she listens to my will while I was flying. But I'd so love to listen to her and hear her voice." Sebine felt nervous and excited at the idea of knowing what dragons thought and felt and dreamed. Did they dream?

  "Yes, I will teach you someday, after a time." Master Vhelan gazed with fond eyes at the rising, stretching, snorting beast. "Her name is Alyxaria and she hails from an ancient, royal bloodline, as the King commanded us to conquer only dragons of noble birth, and we were forced to slay many of the other dragons who lacked nobility in their blood. She shares a fondness with your friend's dragon, the proud young Kraithen, son of King Braxion's dragon Keraxes."

  Tael wrinkled up his face in confusion. "How can a son fight against his father? Is Hakkadian magic so strong to break familial ties?"

  "Stronger than you can imagine, though the mind of the dragon still retains self-awareness and knowledge of family and struggles against separation from loved ones, as would humans. Though your dragon's feelings for Alyxaria eases that pain. He is aware though that he shares a similar fate as does his father. The children born under our rule are easier to handle than their parents. Though one might say they lack the wildness and ferocity of their fore-bearers."

  Sebine scanned the collection of dragons and noticed that only four of the dragons were of the size and strength of Master Vhelan's. "We only have four elder dragons?"

  "Quite observant of you, Your Royal Highness." Master Vhelan summoned his massive gold dragon and the creature flapped its great wings and flew over to them, the air from the beast's beating wings blew Sebine's hair back and ruffled her robe. The dragon smelled of sulfur and smoke and roared at the sky, shooting a spiral of flames into the air.

  "The King insisted on taking mostly elder dragons with him against the Malathians." The old sorcerer sighed as if disappointed in himself. "My fellow Hakkadians and my dragons, stolen right out underneath my foolish, old eyes."

  "The day is ready for us—let us ride and allow our words to die in this field," said Master Greyth, his face firm and determined, and the old sorcerer nodded at him in a look of resignation.

  They collected up their things and mounted the dragons, and Sebine whispered a silent thanks to Alyxaria as they took to the air. Tael rode alone as the sorcerer he had gone with before went to mount the riderless dragon that Master Vhelan had taken control over in the aerial battle. They were fewer in their group as they flew over the fields but lighter and swifter as well, and they aimed southwest for the Ferelian Sea. To the blue, to the sky, to the endless waves.

  Late in the afternoon they passed over green rolling hills dotted with stands of Sycamore trees, and plunged down a series of steep hills until they found a broad grassy plain and a meandering river. Night was coming soon so the party descended low over the ground in search of cattle to ravage and found it in a group of goats along the water's edge. The dragons needed no guidance and dived down and dragged the poor creatures for a moment then tossed them up into the air, roasted them, and crunched merrily, blood spraying from their vicious jaws.

  Sebine dismounted when Alyxaria had settled down, and with a flick of her wrist the dragon took this as permission and chased off after the other fleeing goats. She stretched her back and legs and hips to ease out the fatigue from riding so hard and long all day. At the river Tael scooped up the glistening water and drank his fill, and Sebine strolled over to his side and kicked off her slippers and felt the coolness wash over her toes and ankles. Fat, colorful trout glided in the shadowy deep while smaller, aggressive fish shimmied up to chase after insects pecking away at the surface.

  "I never realized how uncomfortable it was to ride a dragon all day." Sebine rolled her shoulders around to relax the stiffness. "Far worse than riding a horse with all the dragons movements side-to-side and up and down."

  Bishop Draven wore an agonizing grimace on his face and staggered like a man who's been shot in the ass with a crossbow bolt. "Nine more days of this insanity? Just leave me at a nice village along the sea filled with bronze-skinned girls and a bag of gold. I'll let the young and strong go off and save the world from evil."

  Master Greyth came over and gave the priest a bland look of fake mockery. "Look who is old and chasing around the world. You're just fat and spoiled from the creature comforts that wealth offers. Give yourself a month of hard life on the road and you'll chisel down to a fine tool."

  "Tool? You know where you can shove your tool, wizard." The Bishop flashed a wicked grin at the old man's disgusted face. "I'll be using my tool"—he grabbed his crotch—"to chisel down all the young maidens in town. Pardon my crudeness, Your Royal Highness. I fear life up in the wilds of Perinith has produced damaging effects on my spiritual life."

  "Your spirit seems lifted," Sebine said, and chuckling, glanced down at where his hand still clutched.

  "Oh! She's a tart, she is. Watch out young master Tael, better keep her on a close leash when you get to the Malathian Kingdom. I've seen those handsome Malathians in Trikar before. All of them sunbaked and muscled—eyes and hair wild from being in the desert so long. They're fierce fighters as well, kind of like how you fight, but different, dancing and whirling about in a fitful glee. Where you're a water dancer, they move like the wind and fire, raging and hot. Rumors say they mix their martial dances with magic."

  "I've witnessed their dances," Master Greyth said. Sebine shot Tael a glance and saw that his eyes were enraptured by their words. "Beautiful to watch, but ineffective and inefficient at scale and in the duration required of battle. Combat is considered an art form to the Malathians, a nine thousand year old tradition to be taught and cherished. Duels are a spectator sport backed by boasting and brokered bets. Yes, I've seen them fight many times, and I also cheered when my son beat them every time."

  "Father fought the Malathians?" Tael held his sword, face beaming with pride.

  "Of course he did, and he did it with the sword at your side. Balensaar is not only a bane to the undead but also legendary amongst the fighters in Shaar'el's grand arenas. Those were the glory days. Nights out stalking around the city, the lazy, full moon shining on the white marble buildings. Markets filled with spice, trinkets of silver and gold and bronze, food stalls with pig and lamb and goat roasting on a spit, and all the beautiful, exotic ladies wearing sheer silk veils with winking almond eyes."

  The Bishop barked out a deep, diaphragmatic laugh and slapped his belly. "Wizard...I've given up my notion of a quixotic life along the Ferelian Sea. You've convinced me to stay the course and press on all the way to Shaar'el. I'll save my appetite for our arrival."

  "Hate to be the bearer of bad news," the wizard said, "but the Malathians enjoy defiling Calathian priests and nuns sent as missionaries to their land. They reserve a special class of whorehouse just for such purpose."

  Sebine giggled at the shocked expression on the Bishop's face, and Master Greyth placed his mouth over his fist and sang a sacrilegious sucking song. She recognized the tune as a wedding song the Calathian choirboys sang. Draven's cheeks went red with holy fury, but at the raucous laughter of the soldiers he joined them with a sputtering, spewing sniggering that sent drool dripping down the sides of his mouth. Sebine felt a blush explode across her face.

  The sorcerers stood stone-faced at their merriment. Puzzled and ashamed, they tracked away along the river and prodded the depths with long sticks. Sebine left the coarse men to their ridiculousness and followed Master Vhelan along the bank's edge until the laughter faded away and the sound of crickets chirping chimed loud. Her master's voice was soft as if he were unwilling to disturb the tranquility.

  "You mimicked our casting of moving objects." He paused as if treading carefully. "Heat you've mastered, though cold you should learn as well. Light and the elimination of light. Self-illusion and stunning. Applying a deadly curse to jewelry. Let's see, is that all you've learned? Ah, that's right." He exhaled with remembrance. "Our time studying was cut short by our move against the Kin
g. What would be prudent to teach you next?"

  Master Vhelan poked the river with a long reed stick he had collected along the way. "Well, there are fish here so I suppose I could teach you a spell to catch fish."

  She almost laughed dismissively at the ridiculous notion, but she stopped herself and kept her eyes interested.

  "You see the mind of a fish is incredibly dull and easily suggestive." He stabbed the air with a bony finger. "You just prod inside their meager minds and make mention of a trove of insects on the surface and they'll believe your suggestion. Sounds silly, but it's not, it's quite true. Give it a try? The chanting is simple and the finger flourish a bit finicky, but I suspect you'll do all right."

  His hands danced and Sebine memorized and duplicated his movements, listening to the chants bubbling from the sorcerer's mouth. Soon she'd perfected both and took aim at a fat fish feeding on algae at the bottom of the clear, swift river. She sent a simple picture to the trout, a memory of a swarm of mosquitoes buzzing along the water's surface, a memory from a few years ago in the summer with her mother by a lake.

  The trout jerked and twitched its tail and charged towards her, towards the origin of the suggestion. Sebine flailed her hands in shock at the swiftness of its movements, and despite Master Vhelan's shouts to yank it to the surface, she stood there in stunned surprised as the fish leapt and open-mouthed, bit at the imaginary insects.

  "Now you've learned another origin spell. Manipulating the mind of a fish is not so much different than manipulating a dog, or a horse, or even a human. Though each gets progressively more complex. Imagine the layers and layers of suggestions you'd need to deliver to the mind of a human in order to bend their will to yours."

  The old sorcerer glanced back at the dragons. "Now imagine how much exponentially harder it is to rule the mind of a dragon. It takes most sorcerers a lifetime to master."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  AFTER ANOTHER FULL day of flying, the group gazed at the Ferelian Sea as the sun blazed low over the rippling ocean. Master Vhelan had guided them from memory and soon Tael could see a large village set at the mouth of a river as it spilled into the ocean. The old sorcerer led them to a series of sheer walls set high away from the village, and the dragons seemed to recognize a group of caves carved into the cliffs.

  Inside the largest cave, they unloaded the gold from the packs and opened them to the enraptured eyes of the dragons.

  "Leave them here and they'll nest until we return." Master Vhelan and the sorcerers stared at the dragons for a few heartbeats as if speaking to them in their minds. "They'll hunt but we asked them to keep away from the village. Don't worry, they won't go anywhere, and the gold is undoubtedly safe under their protection."

  "And the villagers are friendly?" Bishop Draven winked at the old sorcerer, who scowled in disapproval at the priest's lewd look of longing.

  "They won't kill a representative of the Calathian Church. And once they find out you're a Bishop, they're likely to declare you a local saint in the hopes of ensnaring the gods' luck for their fishermen."

  The sorcerer shuffled softly over to the cliff's edge, with his fellows scurrying after him. "The leap of faith, the old devotees of the Qalian Religion used to call it, where most of the fervent fell futilely to their deaths. A short-lived religion, history tells us. They lacked a sufficient quantity of sorcerers to guide their jumps."

  "Can't we just walk down like normal humans?" said the Bishop. "Or just ask the dragons to give us a lift?"

  "No way to hike down, unless you excel at rock climbing, and even then the cliffs are sandstone and dangerous." Master Vhelan glanced back at the gaping maw of the cave. "And the dragons have worked hard all day carrying us, let's give them a rest, shall we? Now let's see, who's going to join me?"

  "Wait a minute." Kealian raised a hand to stop the sorcerer. "We have too few magicians to make the jump."

  Master Vhelan laughed and flourished his hands and mumbled a few words, and caused the knight to rise into the air. The man flailed his arms and legs in response, his face stricken with discomfort. The other sorcerers continued casting the spell until all the soldiers levitated.

  Tael noticed Sebine copying her master's movements and soon found himself defying gravity, much to the delight of the Princess. Lastly, Master Vhelan cast the spell on the Bishop, who seemed resigned and almost pleased that his body didn't need to bear the brunt of his girth.

  After Sebine had finished casting the spell on herself, Tael heard Kealian's concerned voice speak to the old sorcerer. "How do we bloody move? Is this a proper flying spell or do we just float around, flailing in the fucking air?"

  "I could throw a lasso around you and drag you down, I suppose that would be the easiest." Master Vhelan chuckled at the knight, then quickly stopped himself as he saw the fury in Kealian's eyes. "Listen, it's really quite simple, just fix your eyes on a place you want to go and you'll go—just like walking."

  The hard-faced knight looked up at the top of the cave's mouth and with a smooth acceleration flew over towards the rocky face. The other soldiers followed suit and joined him laughing and shouting at their newfound ability.

  "This is not an entertainment spell," Master Vhelan said, his eyes fatigued. "The more you fly the more we deplete ourselves of magical reserves and will need to rest. And this particular spell is very draining."

  Master Greyth snapped his fingers and a dust devil formed on the ground beside him. He stepped onto the cloud and it carried him off the cliff where he flew down towards the sea far below. The others joined his descent, and Tael, feeling giddy at the freedom, swam through the air towards their destination like he was underwater. Sebine rolled her eyes at him while he made bubbling sounds with his mouth.

  Soon they reached the Ferelian Sea on the outskirts of the village as darkness firmly set its hold over the day. Master Vhelan cast a spell towards the sea and a small sailing cutter appeared in the water, masts popping under the firm breeze. He motioned them towards the vessel, and with some trepidation Tael flew over and landed on the deck, surprised at how the sorcerer had the power to conjure an entire ship.

  "It's an illusion," the old sorcerer explained. The others in the group settled on deck and the soldiers rapped their boots on the wood and seized the railing.

  "Pretty damn good illusion." Bishop Draven sauntered over to the ship's wheel and turned it left and right, a puzzled look on his face. "So this wheel turning in my hands, and the feel of the wood, is all an illusion? Just in my mind?"

  Master Vhelan smiled a frightful, knowing smile and released a bubbling wave of energy at the priest. Draven's face went white in shock as he glanced down and whirled around. To Tael's eyes nothing had changed about the boat, but from how the Bishop moved about, it seemed like the ship had vanished for him.

  "Where did it go?" cried the Bishop, and he glanced at the calm eyes of the others. "Has it disappeared for you also?" Heads shaking, the priest calmed himself and fixed a stare at the old sorcerer.

  "Ancient Hakkadian lore says that all life is an illusion. A kind of vivid waking dream. The magic of illusions simply plays into your memories and your mind's object definition system. Likely this ship looks different to many of you, since each of your experience seeing and interacting with ships is different."

  "To me I see strings of shimmering light emanating from your belly, sorcerer." Master Greyth cleared his throat. "And a haze of soft light bouncing off the heads of these blind fools. How long can you sustain this illusion? And for how many people?"

  The old sorcerer grinned with sly, shifting eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know, wizard...."

  Tael pondered both their words, wondering what kind of history the two men had with each other. Were they enemies caught in a mutually beneficial peace? How long would it last? The way the sorcerer acted he thought he was leading the expedition, and Tael had caught his grandfather's disapproving eyes at the old sorcerer's actions.

  The cutter caught a gust of wind and the sh
ip glided sleekly through the sea, the sorcerer guiding them towards an old, dilapidated dock outside the village. Set in a valley with steep cliffs on either side, the large village contained crammed-together shacks and wooden buildings higher up, with a menacing stone keep staring down from the highest point of the village. A flock of fishing boats tended vast nets out in the bay, bobbing lanterns creating a shimmering mesh across the water. Tael was curious why the sorcerer refused to sail the ship up to the main docks, but decided that the man wanted to avoid excess attention.

  When they reached the dock, the group debarked the ship and moved away as if pleased to leave the vessel. An old man at the shore lit a lantern, and with a lame leg hobbled over to meet them. He scratched his balding, scabby head with hairy hands and farted in greeting at their arrival.

  "Fine little cutter lass you're sailing there." The man shifted his balls around in his pants and spit out an enormous gob of black goo that stuck onto a pile. "I'm a guessin ye be wantin to avoid pryin eyes, am I right?"

  Master Greyth flipped the old man a gold coin and strode past without so much as even a glance. Tael and the others followed the wizard across the creaking, complaining dock until they found comfort in having the earth under their feet. They followed a muddy path to the edge of the village and Tael took Sebine's hand and steered her around the areas with the most muck. He chuckled to himself after glancing at her silk shoes, realizing she hardly had the time to pack for their journey.

  The dusty and drab villagers gawked at the group's arrival, and stared at the wizard's blue, silk robe, the blood-red robe of Master Vhelan, the shining, shimmering steel of the knight's chain mail armor, and the gold-trimmed silk of Princess Sebine's robe. Their stares turned reverent as they spotted Bishop Draven's gold and silver robes, and they touched thumbs to their foreheads in a gesture of worship. With holy eyes the priest sauntered up to the prettier girls and placed a thumb of blessing against their foreheads and whispered some invocation into their ears. Tael thought it likely that the Bishop's words were an invitation for a more personal prayer session with the priest in the privacy of his soon-to-be-found room.