Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom) (4 page)

If he remembered right, the barge running down the Elden River was south past the artisan quarter. Tael's hopes sank as he ran south and heard more explosions coming from the same direction. The view south cleared as the smoke lifted into the air. Buildings were wrecked, streets filled with broken stone and brick, all the way to the city walls.
The gods are playing tricks tonight...
Then a plume of fire a hundred feet high shot into the starry sky. The smoke condensed into low clouds and a wave of lightning wracked the walls below and caused screams of agony to burst from a squad of soldiers far off at the southern gate.
Lightning craves the steel of sword and helm.
The words of his grandfather poured into his mind.

He charged on anyway, believing that whoever was up ahead fighting would be too distracted to notice him sneaking outside the city. When he reached the southern gate, he spied two figures radiating silver and black waves of light facing a taller figure that glowed the brilliant color of sapphire, a hand stretched out towards the other two.
A wizard locked in battle against two sorcerers...
Tael had been trained by his grandfather to understand the difference: in the shadows silently watching the Hakkadians practice their sorcery, or under the glow of the full moon studying the shamans boiling their potions in a pot, and at the Arcanum listening to lectures by wizards of the Order, of the elements, of light and darkness, of ancient lore and legend.

Tael's heart leapt as something about the wizard's movement seemed familiar to him. He stalked on, intent to catch a closer view of the battle. Over rubble and ruin he ran, avoiding broken bodies of men and horses, until he stopped, transfixed at the intensifying battle. The wizard's glowing blue robe dimmed as he strained to ward off the waves of silver and black lightning splinters that streamed from the sorcerer's hands. The crackling and snapping sound of thunder echoed off the walls, creating an eerie, empty feeling of desolation and doom. Not a soul stood in sight to oppose the three, no archers remained poised behind murder holes, and no city guards ready to enforce the King's law. Only the wispy wraiths of death roamed the city, and out of the corner of his eye Tael could see them devouring the souls of the newly departed.
 

Closer still to the figures he crept until at last he recognized the wizard: Master Loral of the Arcanum, champion of light, and wielder of the Dralden Tome.
Why are the Hakkadian sorcerers attacking Master Loral?
King Braxion paid the Hakkadians handsomely for their allegiance, although Tael's grandfather often expressed doubts that the twisted sorcerers could ever truly be trusted.
 

Master Loral was losing the battle against the two, his face hard and pale as he struggled. Tael knew it was a foolish thing to try and help the wizard; it wasn't his fight and he had no reason to risk his life for nothing. But the way out of the city was blocked and he would be exposed and at risk of discovery if the wizard lost.

Hakkadians leave no witnesses alive
, his grandfather had said. Likely they would torch the entire city and spread rumors of a horde of dwarves rampaging the north. Tael realized that he had no choice but to act, and to act quickly against the sorcerers. Behind the two he circled, keeping his steps silent and timed to the rhythm of their magical attacks. When he was positioned directly behind the pair, sword raised and ready, he pulled the shadows around his figure to erase himself from the sorcerer's view, a spell his grandfather had taught him. The words of his father echoed in his mind.
Feel the sword, feel the weight of magic, let it summon death as your ally.
He latched ahold of the familiar sensation, and with the rush of blood pumping through his veins he charged at an unsuspecting sorcerer.
 

The older Hakkadian on the left stood for a few seconds after Tael's clean slice along the neck, while blood jettisoned from the sorcerer's headless torso. His partner whipped around, but the fury and shock only remained in his eyes for a second until he was vaporized by a lightning strike from the wizard's hand. Tael stared at the empty spot where the man once stood, where now only a fine layer of ash covered the ground.

"Stab the eyes out!" yelled the wizard.

Tael scanned around, uncertain of whom the wizard spoke of, and spotted the first sorcerer's head on the ground, his eyes gazing intently at him. When Master Loral ran over, the eyes glanced at the wizard, and the mouth of the head opened wide in a rictus smile, releasing a green smoke into the air.

"No!" The wizard waved his tome and tried to clear the smoke but he soon gave up and backed away as it formed into a swirling, shimmering portal. Hope drained from the wizard's eyes. "Run...flee the city and don't turn back. The Ghouls of Naverstrom will come and consume every living thing. Run!"

Festering, boil-covered hands burst through and grabbed both sides of the portal. Tael knew he was too late.

Chapter Four

THE HAKKADIANS? WHY would they want to give me a gift?
The anger at the Yhalan merchant ceased as she gaped at him. A grin re-formed on the young man's handsome face, likely due to her expression of confusion.
 

"A thousand apologies for interrupting your tea and cake, Princess Sebine." The merchant winked at her and flourished a hand towards a room in the back of the stall. She wanted nothing more than to slap his haughty face.
 

Someone cleared their throat behind her and she turned to see Yaez shaking his head in disapproval.

"It's ok...just wait outside." She followed the merchant past a canvas flap into a room with a silk-covered table filled with precious jewels, rings, necklaces, anklets and bracelets. She sat on a wooden chair and stared up at the man. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Yaez peering in through the gap in the curtain. Instead of fuming at the intrusion, for once she felt glad to have his protection.

The Yhalan merchant seemed to feel differently. He glanced at the curtain and sighed, but seemed to resign himself to the fact that Yaez stood watch. Instead of speaking he rummaged through a leather satchel and retrieved a rolled parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. He wrote words in a brilliant, flowery script that caused her to marvel in breathless amazement.

An ancient ring, from the Elven ruin of Eleria, last of the fabled cities of the dawn of Elven-kind. To you we do bequeath. We know the true nature of your lineage, you are not of the false king, and we bow in worship to you because of this fact. Seek this truth, one day your father you will find, and the path to your destiny. For now accept this gift, and connect to an ancient power...

Sebine gasped as she read the script and wondered how the Hakkadians could know that the King was not her father? Would they use it against her to cause a betrayal of some kind? Perhaps the ring contained a curse or a spell to hold sway over her mind. The Hakkadians were notoriously devious and regularly broke bonds and promises. From what she had heard, the King and his agents had to work constantly to ensure their alliance held. But from the whispers in the dark recesses of the palace dungeon, the Hakkadians had plans and schemes that rarely included the King. This was one of the many reasons she spent so much time there listening and learning magic. She picked up the quill and dabbed it into the inkwell.

Why should I trust you or the Hakkadians? You know my deepest secret, what do I know of you to deserve my trust?

She handed the merchant the quill and noticed the letters he had first written had already begun to fade away to nothing. He began to write in an entirely different style that startled Sebine.

I am called Rez'Ghal by the Hakkadians and Dakar by my family. Never have I revealed this to a stranger. The reason I do so now is to earn your trust. Now that you know my true name you hold power over me. If I lie, may the gods of my father and of my mother strike me down. Ask, and I will answer you truthfully.

Sebine studied the fading script, remembering back to her study of names and meanings. Dakar meant "little one" in the ancient tongue. She believed him; something in his eyes told her he was telling the truth. He may be an agent to the Hakkadians, but no malice existed in his eyes. He handed her the quill and she wrote once again.

Tell me of this ring and the power it holds, and if a curse it possesses, tell me truthfully now or the dark hand of fate shall strike you down.

Dakar shook his head and his eyes glowered at her as if her words struck a blow at his honor. He withdrew a golden ring from his pocket and slid it onto his finger. His hands glowed golden and filaments of lights stretched from his fingertips and lapped the jewels on the table below, igniting them with a brilliant radiance. He took off the ring and placed it on the table in front of Sebine and the light from the ring ceased.

Do not dishonor me with your doubt, for my words are true. No curse befalls the Ring of Galdora. It is a prize worthy of an empress, an ancient legend amongst the Elven-world filled with living legends. It is the bringer of the dawn, or the bestower of the darkest night. In your hands we believe it will bring the world good, and the Elves have seen you wearing the ring in their vapor visions. If you accept the Ring of Galdora, the wheel of the world's fate will turn a notch forward.

Sebine thought for a moment as she stared at the ring lying in wait on the table. Ancient Elven runes were etched along the inside of the ring, in a script she could not decipher. She had studied the modern Elven language—a rare thing in itself—and learned to read and write the archaic script only as a literal translation of characters. To understand or to speak the Elven tongue, this was forbidden by the Calathian Church as heresy.

What were the motivations of the elves in giving her such a powerful ring? Before she accepted the gift, she wanted to understand why they chose her. So she wrote again and poised the question to Dakar. His answer was swift.

The elven lords have chosen you because their high mages have seen you in their visions. The Hakkadians obey the elves and have accepted the task to bring you the ring. And I am a humble servant of the Hakkadians. They have informed me of your nighttime adventures into the depths of the palace, learning their words of power and the movement of the hands to invoke Hakkadian magic. They know you are there in the dark, watching and listening to them. Precious little passes their attention—especially when there are many Hakkadians gathered together.

Dakar smirked and raised an eyebrow as if he'd caught her in a lie.
How did they know I was there?
He gestured at the ring and studied her reaction. She hated to give in to his arrogance, but realized there was truth in his words. Despite her better judgement, she reached out and took the ring, studying it closely in the dim light of the room. As if responding to her touch, the Ring of Galdora illuminated into a golden brilliance and she felt a heat surge through her at its touch. Her first instinct was to drop the ring and flee from the stall. The ring's power was too strong and scared her. What if it drove her mad?

At her hesitation, Dakar stretched out his hand to retrieve the ring. His face held a sour expression of disappointment and contempt at Sebine's failure to wear the ring. But a sharp vision of sorrow and loss flooded her mind: of the Kingdom of Valance ruined and laid low, horrific creatures from the depths of Naverstrom, of humans enslaved by a strange race that came from black-sailed ships from the west—it was a twisted future that consumed her mind. She knew that if she rejected the gift of the ring, this would all come true. It was a future she couldn't bear to accept.

Sebine placed the ring on her forefinger and studied the Yhalan merchant with a grim, determined expression on her face. Dakar looked surprised, then pleased, and he clapped his hands together and said an old familiar prayer to the Goddess Mirra, the protector of children. He seized the pen and wrote again.

May the ring serve you well, and the wearing of it on your finger bring good fortune to the world.

With a kind smile on his youthful face, Sebine relaxed and returned the smile, blushing a bit at his warm attention. He was very handsome, indeed. Nothing like the old men that came courting her at the palace. The king would be furious to know she was here all alone with a strange young man.

"Forgive my forwardness, but you wear no anklet...tis a shame. I have a beautiful, golden one from a fabled elven artist." He lowered his eyes and seemed unable to stop himself from adoring the sight of her legs. "They would accentuate your...your feet."

Yaez burst in the room, his face fuming and furious at the young merchant's remark.
 

"I told you to wait outside!" Sebine stood and scowled at the bodyguard. "Go on, scoot! You're to protect my life, not my chastity."
 

Dakar chuckled at that and studied her with surprised eyes. "I thought all princesses were prudes."