Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom) (19 page)

I am your father, child. Find blessings in my gift to you. Wear the Ring of Galdora and with its power aid me.

Her father's eyes burned as a coal ignited and raging. He spoke again.

Do my bidding and kill the King.

Chapter Nineteen

THE AFTERNOON RAYS of sunlight poured over the river's rippling surface, mesmerizing Tael with their undulating, ceaseless rhythms. An agitation filled his heart from the strange serenity in the city: boats docked, workers drank apple tea and whispered, slept, or stared at the river. The never-ending river. He pondered this simple fact and let his mind wander freely, connecting memories and sights and vivid feelings.
 

This isn't where I ought to be
, Tael thought, and believed himself foolish for leaving the safety of the mountains despite his grandfather's warnings. An echoing, vast reverie filled him, spurned on by the old healer's words this morning that his grandfather might still be alive.
He's afflicted,
she had said. His grandfather had been struck by a curse dealt by Hakkadian assassins and was out west, deep in the Malathian Kingdom seeking a cure. Or he could be dead.

"I doubt the old crow is gone," the healer had cackled. "You can't kill a bird like him that easily. Besides, when I close my eyes at night and stretch out my spirit like the shivering hands of a beggar, I can feel him—right here in my stomach—I can feel he's still alive."

Alive. The word still reverberated in him like a mantra. For all his differences and disputes with his grandfather, he still loved him and hoped he was alive. He was his only connection to his family and his past. And there was so much his grandfather had refused to tell him, things that he promised to explain someday when he was a man. Like why his grandfather always told him how important it was for Tael to stay alive...

The boar figurehead of a galley came into view along the southern stretch of the river, slipping through the white walled river gate and under the iron portcullis waiting to close for the day. The ship was proud and determined, but her crew was languid and lazy and shuffled about uninterestedly as they docked. Tael realized the ship was emptied of goods and held few passengers. Likely returning from an unprosperous trading trip to the southern Islands of Marr.

He was about to look away from the vessel when he caught sight of a familiar face filtering through the crew as they debarked. "Grandfather!" he found himself saying. And with joy and surprise he darted down the stone steps and ran to the docks.

At the sight of the worn, haggard expression on his grandfather's once fierce and powerful face, Tael took pause and found his feet had refused to move. His grandfather's tired, defeated eyes lifted and turned puzzled, staring at Tael as if he were a hallucination, and those eyes seemed habitually vague and undetermined as if the world itself had fallen into unrealities. His mouth dropped open in surprise and Tael moved towards him in the hope of reassuring his grandfather that he was real. When Tael was about to embrace his grandfather, the old man raised a hand to stop him.

"Why the hell are you here?" Grandfather's once aged face seemed to quickly melt away into a powerful, dogged kind of alertness. The transformation shattered Tael's pity for the old man's now disappeared frailty. His shock of long, white hair and white beard seemed to add to the ferocity of his power. But his gold-flecked grey eyes pierced Tael with a look of utter disappointment.

"What happened just now?" Tael took a step away from him. "Once moment you were decrepit and ragged and the next you're back to your old, crazy self."

"In Trikar—the lair, the viper's pit"—the wizard leaned in close, his face a growl—"the convocation of our enemies. Do you value your life so little?"

Tael exhaled, trying to suppress his irritation. "It's been over a year now that I haven't seen you. I thought you were dead or imprisoned." He glanced back at the healer's stone house. "Let's talk someplace else."

"At that stone house?" His grandfather raised an eyebrow and paused, exhaling forcefully, then walked in resignation with him. "Why would you choose there in particular?"

"It's a long story...but I awoke just now from my recovery."

"Recovery?" The wizard stopped in his ascent of the stairs to look Tael over. "You were attacked, weren't you?"

At the top of the stairs Tael motioned towards the healer's door. "You'll find answers inside."

"Answers that I already know I won't like," muttered his grandfather, but he opened the door and stepped into the healer's home.
 

"I'm not dead yet," he announced to the healer's room as he glanced around. "Where is that old bat, anyway? Last time she nearly killed me with some gods-awful brew she mixed for my curse. The only thing it did was to make me shit out a year's worth of meat stuck in my intestines. How is
cleansing the system
supposed to help with an ancient curse?"

Tael closed the door. "And just how did you get afflicted with this curse?"

His grandfather took off his sun-stained travel cape and placed it on a bronze coat-rack with twisted, gnarled fingers rising towards the ceiling. He leaned back and sat with a sigh, a contented expression warming his face.

"It feels good to be home." His grandfather winked at him, a mysterious twinkle in his eyes.

"This is your home?" Tael's puzzled face caused a wave of chuckles to release from his grandfather's mouth.

"Perfect, right? The heart of our enemies...but an ideal location at the docks, in the house of the healer loved across the city for her kindness and compassion in treating all who need. Deflects all suspicion when a visitor such as myself arrives." His grandfather flourished a hand and instantly his face returned to the frail, old man Tael had seen at the docks. "Poor aged man needs another potion...fixed him up over a few days. Who would ever suspect she was my wife?"

Wife? But Tael's grandmother had died years ago...before he was born.

"Yes, believe it or not, old men can remarry." A hint of lasciviousness flashed in his grandfather's eyes. "Keeps a man young and hopeful."

Tael forced himself from laughing out loud at the image of his grandfather with the healer. Strange as it was, he guessed it made sense, especially considering he and his grandfather were all that was left of their family. He took a seat at a leather chair and began telling him the story of all that had transpired on his trip, though he left out the details of meeting Princess Sebine. The entire time his grandfather listened patiently—retrieving his ornate, ivory pipe and puffing thoughtfully on the sweet smoke. When Tael finished his story, his grandfather sniffed and wagged his head from side to side.

"Bishop Draven selected you...you of all people, as a candidate for joining the Order of Calathian Knights?" He scrunched up his face and took another drag from his pipe. "But he saw you kill the Hakkadians and ward off the ghoul with Balensaar. And even worse, you helped Master Loral of the Arcanum...an archenemy of the Calathian Church. You do realize that likely the Bishop was there to witness the slaying of Master Loral by the Hakkadians? They've been colluding for years."

His grandfather clicked his tongue in disapproval. "And you left Balensaar at the Dour Bear Inn to go out and carouse at the Wintertide's Festival? Stupid and ill planned. I don't mind you enjoying women and the wine, just plan better. Keep your sword with you at all times...hasn't that stuck in your head yet? Not only would you still have it with you now, but you'd have something other than the stick between your legs to fight off that little assassin bitch."

Tael winced at his words, knowing they were true and he blamed himself for his stupidity. Only just awaking from his days-long slumber, he knew he had to act quickly and find his sword. If the Bishop was still residing in the Dour Bear Inn...

"The question is whether the Bishop recognized you—he won't recognize the sword. I'm inclined to believe he won't realize whom you are. More likely he'll prize you as a possible champion for the Church. A mystery with a powerful sword...someone worth exploiting." His grandfather arched his back in a long stretch and nodded in some self-agreement. "You must go quickly to the inn where the Bishop is staying. Retrieve your sword and possessions and return here if possible. Though if he asks you to stay with him, agree and sneak back here when you can."

When Tael still sat and thought about what he had said, his grandfather rose from his chair and shooed Tael towards the door.

"Go on now, not a moment to lose. And remember to cloak yourself in shadows if you feel you are in danger or if someone is following you. This is not a safe city, remember that."

Obeying, Tael trod through the now open door, giving his grandfather a glance as he reached the steps. "It's good to find you're still alive."

At the expression of warm feeling in his grandfather's eyes, Tael felt filled with a sense of belonging and purpose, as if now his life had a clear direction. His feet were swift and sure as he made his way back through the merchant quarter, avoiding the looks of hunger and desperation on the faces of the destitute he passed. One change since the last time he'd gone through: vicious-eyed soldiers patrolled along the path to the artisan quarter, clubbing the poor souls with cruel targeting, causing a wide wake as he hurried along the way.

Tael saw an anger and indignation in the eyes of the homeless—an anger so strong and unified across those gathered in this quarter that even the pack of five patrolling guards sensed their unwieldy position. Through the gate with confident eyes he strode, and he benefitted from the retreating pack of soldiers whistling to draw the attention of the guards at the gate.
 

Mayhem left behind, Tael strode across the busy square to where the wealthy artisans had arrayed their finely lacquered carriages around the Dour Boar Inn. He wrapped his mended cloak around him and made his way to the door. The sour-faced doorman he'd seen before stopped him.

"The Bishop has left. He asked me to give you this in case you returned." The man handed Tael an envelope with his name written in an elaborate, formal script.

Tael thanked the doorman and shuffled off, breaking the blood-red seal stamped with the mark of the Calathian Church: twin cougars, claws outstretched in opposing forces. Inside Tael found the Bishop's card and a letter written in the same flowery script as on the envelope.

You may be dead, drunk, or married—all of which amount to similar states. If you find yourself not in any of the previously mentioned conditions, do pay me a visit at my chambers to the rear of the Illumina Cathedral. Wisely wear white to inform the Calathian Knight at the gate that you are a supplicant. Use my included card when purchasing the robes.

I have your pack and sword safely secured and under my personal protection.
 

— Bishop Draven

No implied threat, just humor and vulgarity in those words. Tael believed it was better to act quickly and try and see the Bishop tonight. He asked one of the doormen at the Dour Bear Inn where he might be able to purchase Supplicant's Robes this evening. The youthful man scrunched up his face and looked him over, but when Tael produced Draven's card the doorman charged off to talk to an older, sober man who nodded, concerned, and listened to the young man's words. Soon the doorman returned.

"Go to Calathian Vestments on Carver Street." The man sliced the air and aimed a finger north, deeper into the artisan quarter. "They'll help you out."

 
Tael thanked the man and made his way north and after winding around the quarter and asking for directions a few times, he found himself looking into a small, glass-windowed shop filled with sacred vestments on display. The shop had a closed sign but he could see a man rummaging around inside, cleaning up for the day.

With a knock the shopkeeper waddled over towards the door and frowned, peering out through the window. Tael displayed Bishop Draven's card to the man and his expression brightened to a holy visage. The door unlocked and slid open.

"Blessings to the gods, child, enter and find solace." The bulbous-faced obese man wagged his head in simple-minded fervor, and rotated his fat arm to gesture inside.

Tael stepped in, glanced around at the gaudy silk-and-gold-thread vestments, and suppressed sacrilegious laughter at the obscene display of wealth. "I need Supplicant's Robes—the simpler the finer in the eyes of the gods."

Much to his enjoyment, the shopkeeper blanched at the implied insult, his gape displaying a toad-like tongue, and his mouth clamped shut, beady eyes glancing around his wares. "Simple Supplicant's Robes...now where might I have them stored. Surely the Bishop requires more of his candidates?"

A shake of Tael's head stopped the man. "The Order of Calathian Knights requires martial raiments."

"Ah, of course, now I know exactly. Normally we don't supply such vestments—however I believe I do have a robe in the back room that will suit you."

While the man jiggled away Tael scanned the shop and caught sight of a loose stack of papers on a desk and one that had fallen to the floor. He leaned down and picked up a letter stamped with the seal of Bishop Rathgor of the Illumina Cathedral.