Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom) (12 page)

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.

"Boy!" the Bishop barked, and caused Tael to jump in attention, nearly knocking over the girl. "Come here and clean my toenails. They're a mess."
Was he talking to him?

From the side room a small boy of ten ran over with a box clutched in his hands, and Tael exhaled, allowing himself to relax again. The girl rolled her eyes and smirked, bending down to unlace his leather hunting pants. She winked at him and reached around to pull the front curtain closed, then turned back and cinched his pants off, her fingers teasing his stomach.
This is crazy!
Tael thought, hearing the Bishop's complaints as the other woman scrubbed away at the man.

Tael gave the now beaming girl a helpless look, and gulped as she pulled down her linen top, revealing generous breasts that lolled around as she scrubbed away at his stomach with a soapy sponge, while her other hand slid sneakily down to clean his cock.
 

"Refrain from speaking at dinner," the Bishop shouted, and startled Tael from a dream of doing more with this girl than just stare at her bouncy breasts. "There will be powerful people there tonight and you are expected to look refined and listen, but not engage any of the guests that are highly likely to come and talk with me tonight. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Your Excellency. I understand perfectly." Tael swallowed as the girl ran soapy fingers up to rub and pinch her nipples, and he couldn't help but enjoy the shiver that flashed across her face and caused her mouth to part. Were all the girls in the capital this bold? He was unable to stop his hands from stretching out and cupping her breasts.

"Hurry up and finish your bath. I'm done here." Tael heard the Bishop complain to the maid a she tried to dress him, and decided it was time to slip into his own bath. The girl whispered in his ear, asking if he'd like company tonight, and quickly went to work scrubbing and soaping his skin, until soon all the layers of grime and dirt were washed away, leaving him finally clean after weeks of travel. When Tael failed to respond other than a shrug, the girl pouted, feigning disappointment.

He stepped out of the now filthy bath, and the girl wet her lips as she toweled him dry. She tugged up her top, exhaled forcefully, and her big hips bounced angrily as she sauntered off. She was likely not the first sneaky slut that would cross his path in Trikar.
 

The Bishop left the room, wearing the shimmering silver silk and gold robes of the Calathian Church, which indicated his position of esteem. On the dressing table were clean undergarments, a fresh pair of black pants, a white silk shirt, and black slippers, the cost of which were likely a small fortune.
So not only is the man a Bishop, but he's also stupidly wealthy.
Tael dressed swiftly and stalked off after the man.
 

Downstairs he found Draven chatting with an old man dressed in a tweed suit who puffed thoughtfully on a curled pipe. As Tael was about to head towards the Bishop, Braithe took hold of his arm.

"Good evening, young master Geldrin." The manservant held contempt firmly on his face. "The Bishop has instructed me to show you to your room. You will dine there in peace. Please follow me."

Tael felt his neck flush in irritation at the slight, and allowed himself a scathing glance at the Bishop as Braithe led him down a hallway.
 

The Bishop ignored him.

Chapter Twelve

SEBINE WINCED IN pain as Master Vhelan stabbed the inside of her upper thigh with a silver dagger. Blood dribbled down into a crystal vial and filled all the way up until she almost fainted. The Hakkadian sorcerer cast a quick spell and sealed the wound, leaving a faint ribbon-like scar. He studied her thigh, his expression curious and fearful.

"The symbol of loyalty to our magical order." The old sorcerer ran the edge of the bloodstained blade along the mark, and Sebine felt revolted at its contact. She wanted to kill him for daring to touch her like that, but was confused by the look of reverence on his face.

She yanked down her red dress and stood to go. "I am leaving now. I've had enough of this tonight." All she could think about was locking herself in her room and sleeping off this experience until it turned into a distant nightmare. This didn't happen—none of it—she couldn't have been so stupid as to let herself get caught in this sadistic trap. She balled up her fists and screamed through a clenched-jaw mouth.
 

The Hakkadians backed away from her as if frightened of the latent potential of her rage.

A small, timid voice spoke from within the crowd of sorcerers. "You are one of us now, fragrant one. We are part of you, as you are a part of us. You have chanted our words and felt the flow of magic surge through you, as we all have. Don't let anger dwindle your power and shrink your potential. You wear the Ring of Galdora—the most powerful known ring of the ancient land of Drazal'tan. The elves have seen something very precious in you. Do not squander the gift...the gift from your true father."

Her father? Did the Hakkadians know who her real father was? She scanned the flock of sorcerers for signs of who spoke, but found none. Had she heard the words in her mind?

Master Vhelan studied her for a long, silent moment, his eyelids trembling as if he were having a vision. "I feel it necessary to teach you your next spell...the binding of illusive form to oneself. Are you prepared to learn the spell tonight?"

They were purposefully goading her—they knew she wanted to learn spells of illusion. Anything to get her mind off the fact that she was a slave to Hakkadian demands. Could she even leave? Or would they force her to stay and learn the spell? In unison the sorcerers began chanting, tracing curved lines in the air with their small hands until after a time they changed forms into a tribe of lithe women wearing white, flowing robes. The transition was so gradual and natural that she found herself gawking in alarm and excitement at the beauty of the process of transformation.

"How does it work?" she found herself stammering. "I mean how do you control who or what you'll change into?"

Master Vhelan reverted back to his old form. "You don't change, per se—you stay the same shape, but to others you'll appear as someone or something else. You merely fix your mind on the image of the person—or even creature—you want to assume the illusion, and...well, it works like this." He chanted again and flourished his hands and soon transformed into a white horse. "Come and touch me. Find the man within the horse."