Read Online Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom) by John Forrester - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Forrester
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bring enmity between the two Kingdoms. They poisoned the minds of the Elven leaders against the humans, insinuating that they intended to steal the knowledge and riches found in the ancient Kingdom of Drazal'tan. After the elves closed their borders to the humans, the Hakkadians incited war between the dwarves and the elves, playing both sides against each other. And war continues until this day. Next they stoked human-kind's fire of suspicion against the dwarves by giving the Dwarven King Taeran the ancient battle hammer Dromm Raelz, and the King smashed through the humans' northern defenses and expanded their territory by over a hundred miles south past the City of Perinith."
Father puffed on his pipe and studied the rings twirling in the air above his mouth. "These actions completely reshaped the old peaceful world. Alliances a thousand years old between the dwarves and humans and elves were shattered in the span of twenty years. And few were wise enough to sense the disrupting force of the Hakkadians. Your grandfather was one of them."
"How did he know?" Tael said, and took another piece of chicken from the lunch box.
His father grinned mischievously. "Our family lineage possesses ancient Elven magic. Not the kind you read about in books or hear in fireside stories... Real magic, the ability to see things clearly as they are. Raw understanding of the world and people and the movement of life's changes. This is the gift your grandfather possesses."
"What about me? Do I possess the gift as well?"
"Not yet...not until you are older. If we are lucky enough to reach our fiftieth birthday, then the gift strikes our minds. It is said that only until then are we ready to withstand the power and the terrible burden the realization brings us."
Tael crinkled up his forehead, wondering what his father meant. How could realizing something be such a terrible thing? And how could this be considered magic? But he kept silent, wanting to hear the rest of the story.
"Now where was I?" His father furrowed his brow and scratched his chin, eyes deep in remembrance. "Oh yes, the few that saw things clearly... Your grandfather—a prime example—realized that the root of the world's discord lay in those caves where the Hakkadians dwelled. He had just returned to Trikar from a secret meeting with the old Elven sages deep in the heart of Drazal'tan. With him he carried a gift—a fabled sword—one etched with powerful runes that spelled doom to dark powers. A gift fit for a king, even an emperor."
"Which king did grandfather give the sword to?"
"To the old King Salgar—the one your grandfather slew—the traitor to his people and bringer of the spawn of demons to our Kingdom. The father of our mad King Braxion. His mother a witch born of the depths of Naverstrom."
Tael had stopped chewing as the weight of his father's words sunk into his mind. King Braxion, the thief of dragons, enslaver of the proud and ancient beasts, had an evil witch for a mother? But it made sense, as the King was ugly and foul as a nest of whores infected with the pox. And it was said that his father was handsome, square-jawed, and fair-eyed, whereas Braxion was short and fat and dull of eye—like the dead eye's of bulls.
"The witch was said to be the most beautiful woman in the Kingdom, although from the vile result of their intermingling it was clear her beauty was all a magical illusion." His father grinned apologetically at Tael. "I've gotten ahead of my story, haven't I? Let's go back to the time to when your grandfather gave the Elven sword to the old King Salgar. The mission was clear: to kill and root out the Hakkadians from their lair in the northern mountains at the entrance of Naverstrom.
"When they arrived at the maw of the cave, they found that the Hakkadians had fled deep into the mountain's black heart. An expedition was assembled together of brave knights, talented thieves and rangers with expert climbing skills, wizards of the
Father puffed on his pipe and studied the rings twirling in the air above his mouth. "These actions completely reshaped the old peaceful world. Alliances a thousand years old between the dwarves and humans and elves were shattered in the span of twenty years. And few were wise enough to sense the disrupting force of the Hakkadians. Your grandfather was one of them."
"How did he know?" Tael said, and took another piece of chicken from the lunch box.
His father grinned mischievously. "Our family lineage possesses ancient Elven magic. Not the kind you read about in books or hear in fireside stories... Real magic, the ability to see things clearly as they are. Raw understanding of the world and people and the movement of life's changes. This is the gift your grandfather possesses."
"What about me? Do I possess the gift as well?"
"Not yet...not until you are older. If we are lucky enough to reach our fiftieth birthday, then the gift strikes our minds. It is said that only until then are we ready to withstand the power and the terrible burden the realization brings us."
Tael crinkled up his forehead, wondering what his father meant. How could realizing something be such a terrible thing? And how could this be considered magic? But he kept silent, wanting to hear the rest of the story.
"Now where was I?" His father furrowed his brow and scratched his chin, eyes deep in remembrance. "Oh yes, the few that saw things clearly... Your grandfather—a prime example—realized that the root of the world's discord lay in those caves where the Hakkadians dwelled. He had just returned to Trikar from a secret meeting with the old Elven sages deep in the heart of Drazal'tan. With him he carried a gift—a fabled sword—one etched with powerful runes that spelled doom to dark powers. A gift fit for a king, even an emperor."
"Which king did grandfather give the sword to?"
"To the old King Salgar—the one your grandfather slew—the traitor to his people and bringer of the spawn of demons to our Kingdom. The father of our mad King Braxion. His mother a witch born of the depths of Naverstrom."
Tael had stopped chewing as the weight of his father's words sunk into his mind. King Braxion, the thief of dragons, enslaver of the proud and ancient beasts, had an evil witch for a mother? But it made sense, as the King was ugly and foul as a nest of whores infected with the pox. And it was said that his father was handsome, square-jawed, and fair-eyed, whereas Braxion was short and fat and dull of eye—like the dead eye's of bulls.
"The witch was said to be the most beautiful woman in the Kingdom, although from the vile result of their intermingling it was clear her beauty was all a magical illusion." His father grinned apologetically at Tael. "I've gotten ahead of my story, haven't I? Let's go back to the time to when your grandfather gave the Elven sword to the old King Salgar. The mission was clear: to kill and root out the Hakkadians from their lair in the northern mountains at the entrance of Naverstrom.
"When they arrived at the maw of the cave, they found that the Hakkadians had fled deep into the mountain's black heart. An expedition was assembled together of brave knights, talented thieves and rangers with expert climbing skills, wizards of the
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