Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom) (22 page)

"I'm not defenseless going in there. My grandfather has taught a few spells of magic, though he's refused formal training until I'm eighteen. He claims the study of the arts twists young minds not fully mature and capable of withstanding the pressure and allure of power. The Hakkadians are trained since birth in the way of sorcery and it warps their entire view of people and the world."

 
"What spells have you learned?"

"A few...but the one I use the most is the spell to cloak myself in shadows. It makes me practically invisible to non-magical eyes."

"So other wizards and sorcerers can still see you?" Sebine wrinkled up her brow in concern.

"Only if they have the gift of true-sight—which most lack. Besides, the Church has few wizards amongst their ranks, and those are mostly off meditating at monasteries in the mountains." He pulled her close and lifted her chin to gaze deep into his convincing eyes. "So if I sense anything amiss I'll escape and return to my grandfather. Can you meet me tomorrow night at the healer's house?"

"I will...I promise. But do you have to go now?" Sebine leaned in to him and snaked her hand around his neck and pulled his mouth into hers, and kissed him with a fervor she didn't know she possessed. She felt like all the world around her was crumbling and only Tael and she stood on ground unmolested. But she knew that could change in an instant.

He exhaled after her kiss, panting, and forehead-to-forehead they stared into each other's eyes. "I don't want to go. I want to take you someplace quiet and safe and hold you and kiss you all night. Now that you're here I don't ever want to leave you again. I know there's a way for us to escape this together, and I think we have no choice but to leave. We're just small pieces in the world's vicious game and we have to survive. But I need my sword to survive. It is part of what defines my fate. I was foolish and left it alone and now I have to fix that bad decision...and I will."

She nodded in acceptance and squeezed his scalp, pressing his forehead even harder against hers until the pain was sweet from their contact. "Just don't die and don't be captured. Find your sword and I'll see you tomorrow night."

With that she turned and stalked away, refusing to glance back for she knew she'd burst into tears for all the sorrow and anger and frustration she was feeling. She cast a spell and changed forms back into Emitt Weylor and strode to the palace, ignoring the murmur and moments of life stirring around her. Instead, she fixed her mind on the one immense realization that still echoed inside:
everything is truly connected.

The thought propelled her through the palace gates and past the guards and royals and courtesans milling around in the soft torchlight of early evening, past the hunger and longing that comes to men and women at night, hunger for food and sex and attention, and a longing for finding all that is missing in their lives. And for the first time in her life, Sebine felt like the important things were connecting along her path. There was another life waiting for her that promised freedom and power and hope.

She eased back into the library, nodding at the immobile guard, and upon entering found a squad of Vizathian Knights waiting for her. Her chest pounded with the force of her quickening heartbeat and her mouth went dry as sand.

"Two Emitt Weylors?" The Captain of the Guard said, a righteous grin on his face. "I suppose you were the very same one that impersonated me the other night and confused my soldiers. I don't like magic and I despise being impersonated—even by a Princess. Come on now, we've orders to return you to the King."

The knights had the decency to turn and allow Sebine the moment to transform back into her real self. Only well-trained soldiers would keep themselves from gawking at displays of magic, likely learned from lessons given them by Hakkadians sorcerers. She followed the soldiers up the stairs to the King's Chambers, where she found the King sitting at the great, blazing hearth. He refused to raise his eyes to greet her, and when the Captain closed the door, only the snapping and crackles of the fire filled the emptiness of the room.

The King tossed a letter at the burning logs and squinted as the flames lapped up around the paper, illuminating the black stains of ink for a moment, and then only an ashen shell remained. His mouth opened and he exhaled hard in displeasure and frustration.

"Tomorrow is the wedding...we've hastened the day in light of these circumstances, for you are far beyond being trusted. And I've had that poor fool scholar whom you've impersonated imprisoned. We found his studies improper and his associations with you questionable. If you fail to act reasonably I'll have him killed. Are my words clear enough?"

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?"