Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2)

by David Temrick

  “When did you do that?” Kevin asked in mild shock.

  “When you were napping.” Tristan shot back with a wry grin as his older brother laughed in reply.

  ~

  Four days before their attack was planned Lesa, Drake and Otis, the human forms of Lesariu, Draconis and Socolis respectively, sat around Tristan’s desk discussing the plan as it was. The Prince felt that his old tactic of attacking from many different angles held merit, and Sergeant Frose quickly explained to the three dragons and Kevin the “Four Point Strike” as the 7th Infantry came to call it.

  Tristan’s plan was quite straightforward; he would assemble his men on the other side of their breastwork. They would make as much noise and fuss as possible, to draw attention away from the three dragons that would fly in from the north, south and west, setting fire to as much as possible.

  Their main concern was the giants. Though simple-minded, no one was certain if they would stand rather than flee before the might of a greater dragon. Kevin had a solution for them though. If the giants rushed their lines he would personally lead out teams on horseback that would use ropes and hooks to lash the giant’s legs together. Then they could either use their ballistae to kill or at least knock the giants over to a more manageable size. The dragons could of course converge and force the giant off balance. Lancers and archers could then stand ready to lash the giant to the ground if need be.

  Tristan never heard a plan that had so many things that could potentially go wrong. He was reminded though, that a plan could be perfect and still fail if situations arose that commanders weren’t prepared for. So the Prince set about making as many alternative plans as possible in the hope that he would need none of them.

  Then an unearthly horn sounded in the distance.

  Tristan felt the ground tremble beneath his feet and stood in his tent. Drake, Otis and Lesa rose from their seats and followed him out of the tent and away from their planning. Kevin was already outside and waited for them near the small mound Tristan used to see and command his troops. He saw them coming and motioned off into the distance.

  “I swear. That vanity must be genetically bred into them.” Tristan said darkly as he approached his brother.

  Before him, the five giants lifted an enormous pavilion off the ground. An impressive throne rose up on an elevated dais in the middle of the pavilion, next to it was a slightly lower throne. Even at this distance Tristan could make out a man dressed in a gaudy bright red robe and a towering crown made from what glinted as though it was gold. The woman seated in the lower throne was dressed in a black robe, though her hood was drawn back to reveal her young features. The ground shook while the pavilion was slowly moved forward.

  Tristan felt a familiar pressure in his mind. Do we fight my boy? Draconis asked.

  The Prince tried his best to send the reply to the three of them. Not yet. I want to hear what he has to say, and the longer we put the battle off, the closer to winter we’ll be. He sent.

  The three of them nodded their understanding and Tristan again was greeted by the feeling that he was becoming something more than he was sure he could handle. Drake put his hand reassuringly on his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. The Prince was glad for the thought, but he was still deeply troubled.

  Of late his dreams had taken on an almost nightmarish quality. He had dark thoughts that his leadership would crumble and thousands of hideous creatures would swarm into his father’s lands and destroy it. Of course, when he woke he would focus his mind and use the pain as a lesson to consider the consequences of his choices. Even so, the nagging fear threatened to rear up and unseats him at times such as these.

  The sorceress rose and waived her arms in an arc above her head. A familiar blue hue rose up around the pavilion as her defensive spell took its effect. Tristan smiled as he shot the dragons and his brother a thought.

  Oh brilliant. Protect the center, but leave it easy for me to kill a giant and send that monstrosity crashing to the ground. He sent.

  The four of them laughed at his side and he mentally sent Sergeant Frose the message to aim one of the ballistae at one of the giants and to wait for his command. Tristan looked out of the corner of his eye to see the Sergeant quickly stalk away, shaking his head, and motioned for the weapon to be loaded.

  We might need to move up our plans slightly. He sent to the three dragons. Be ready.

  Armor gives me such indigestion. Lesariu sent back.

  Tristan couldn’t help himself, he began to laugh out loud, remembering all too well the bronze dragons’ help the last time a large wooden fort threatened them. The other dragons joined him, laughing heartily as the pavilion came to a stop a hundred yards in front of them.

  “Welcome to my country.” King Boris spoke with a magically amplified voice.

  “This should be interesting.” Kevin muttered at his side. Tristan grinned as he nodded in agreement.

  “By what right do you invade my lands?” The King asked.

  The Prince turned to his brother and dramatically mouthed the words; ‘my lands’ with a raised eyebrow.

  Tristan replied in his own amplified voice, thanks to Draconis; “The last King of these lands, Roger by name, was the father to the Queen of Vallius.” The Prince explained. “As he died without an heir, the lands revert to her husband to control.” Tristan shot. “So the question becomes; by what right to you occupy my lands?” He demanded in anger.

  The sorceress leaned over and whispered something to Boris; his shoulders seemed to sag for a brief moment before his gaze locked forward once again. In a disjointed voice he answered. “Leave my lands and return home, lest you incur my wrath.” Boris ordered.

  Tristan smiled sarcastically, sending the dragons a message with his mind. Off with you three! We start now. He sent.

  “Your wrath?” Tristan yelled. “Very well. Let’s see what your wrath can do then, shall we?”

  FIRE! Tristan shouted in his mind to Frose.

  Behind Tristan three humans disappeared in a bright flash of light, followed by a white, silver and bronze dragon taking flight. Their take off ruffled his hair and cloak as Sergeant Frose shouted the order to fire the ballistae missile. The sorceress began launching balls of fire and arcs of lightning at the three dragons as they playfully looped along shooting their own flames at her waning defensive dome.

  The ballistae snapped, sending its missile high into the air quickly closing the distance between the two armies. Tristan watched in morbid satisfaction as it arced high and struck the giant on the far right in the chest. It looked down pathetically at the wood left protruding from its chest. The giant’s left hand closed around it weakly as blood began dripping out of the corner of its mouth. It groaned dramatically as it swayed, releasing his hold on the large pavilion. The self-styled King of Terum and his sorceress tumbled from their thrones and lay sprawled on their stomachs. All of the sorceress’s attacks ceased for a moment.

  You would think they learn their lesson the first time. Socolis chuckled in Tristan’s mind.

  Tristan laughed as he shouted; “CHARGE!” He leaped up onto his horse Pava’s back, drew his sword and urged her into a gallop. Kevin and Tristan each lead out their squad of hook and rope specialists. The pavilion tittered alarmingly, but the other four giants readjusted their grip and steadied it. On top the sorceress had regained her bearing and began calling down lightning bolts on Tristan as he and broke Pava into a full gallop in a mad dash for the nearest giant.

  The Prince pulled his shield off his back and raised it over his head as a lightning bolt connected. The shock of it traveled up his arm making his muscles twitch and tingle, but he was otherwise unhurt as he signaled for his men to surround the giant they were nearing. Using precision, two of the horsemen stood up in their saddles as they rode past on each side of the giant’s enormous legs.

  The first man threw the hook up into the air and the second caught the hook and quickly joined it to his own rope hook. The remaining men tied off their
end of the ropes on the horns of their saddles as they continued their wheel around the giants’ feet. After the fifth pass the ropes were released just as they went taught.

  Slowly the giant lost its balance and came crashing down. Lancers raced forward and launched their spears as the giant looked up. Four of them found their marks in its eye. It rolled away in intense pain, screaming as blood flowed from its eye.

  “Flee!” Tristan shouted as he saw the giant roll into another one bringing it down as well.

  The pavilion began to tip backwards as his unit wheeled around as one and rode hard back towards their lines. Kevin joined him as his unit came forward and another round of ballistae missiles rocketed across the gap over their heads. Risking a glance backwards Tristan saw two miss completely, one shatter on the pavilion’s defensive shield and the last one pierced the stomach of a giant, bringing it to its knees. The giant wobbled hopelessly and grunted something in their strange language before falling over, shaking the ground around it.

  By the time Tristan, Kevin and their men had returned to their own lines the pavilion had shattered behind them as it hit the ground. A joyous cheer went up from his men. The cheer caught on like wildfire, spreading along the entire centerline of Tristan’s forward position. An odd silence followed, making Tristan wonder if he’d gone deaf. He turned in his saddle to see the author of his forces silence. The dust had cleared from the rubble to reveal the sorceress floating several feet off of the ground, her puppet King supported below her by her arts. She shrieked in anger and vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

  As more of the dust cleared, Tristan could see the enemy army in full flight. The drawbridge slammed down onto the road it blocked as Boris’ soldiers ran for their lives. The three circling dragons looped down lazily, picking up random enemies and throwing them into the walls, rocks or simply into other groups of fleeing soldiers. The Prince could see Socolis lift up a trebuchet and throw it into one of the few companies of men who had elected to stand and fight. King Boris’ army was in full rout as they fled back towards Kumia. Tristan’s soldiers slew the last giant as the dragons made sure that whatever squads were brave enough to stick around, ended up on fire or eaten.

  Slowly Tristan’s forces cleared the area as they moved forward to occupy the fort. The moment Tristan entered the fort he sent for one of his better commanders, Colonel Yeris, as he stripped off his gloves and sat in the main chamber. It had been cleverly built, and Tristan was thankful he hadn’t tried to take it by force. What looked like a simple wood and stone fort was in fact reinforced with long thin poles of iron that appeared to make the walls almost impossible to collapse.

  He was thinking of its construction and what could be accomplished if he could figure out how they fired the iron poles and kept their strength when Yeris knocked and entered the chamber. Serving almost a year together had created the kind of simple discussions that the Prince had enjoyed with Captain Robertson. The Colonel motioned to a seat in front of Tristan, and with a nod from the Prince; sat down.

  “You sent for me?” Yeris asked.

  “Yes.” Tristan began. A servant came in with some water and jerked beef, placed it on the table between them and quickly departed with a bow. “Winter should be here in a few weeks I’m told.” The Prince said. “I’m going leave you with some messenger pigeons, and the bulk of the army.” He explained.

  “Where are you off to my Lord?” He asked formally. Yeris did this when he was uncomfortable with orders; he reverted to guard respect least his annoyance show.

  Tristan sighed dramatically. “I need a vacation. I haven’t left the lines in almost a year and I’m getting sloppy.” He admitted.

  The Colonel began to object. Tristan cut him off before he could get started.

  “I’m putting you in charge, keep vigil over the fort and its surroundings.” He ordered. “They’ll regroup for the winter, we bloodied them horribly today.” He explained more calmly. “If you need anything, send a fast rider or a homing pigeon to Duke Kevin.” Tristan said finally.

  He leaned back in the chair and allowed his chin to drop onto his chest. Almost instantly he passed out of exhaustion, days of fighting with little sleep and several wounds finally took their toll.

  ~

  Tristan passed in and out of consciousness for the next week. On the second day he awoke freezing cold, his teeth chattered loudly and he wasn’t able to move his body so he could curl up. A warm body pressed reassuringly next to him and he was briefly aware of the smell of lilac before he sighed deeply and passed out again.

  ~

  The Princes eyes opened slowly. He tried to wipe the sand from his eyes only to find that his arms were bound to the bed. He struggled uselessly as he tried to roll over and found that his legs were likewise bound. Outside of the room he could hear three people talking loudly.

  “His fever broke this morning.” A familiar female voice said.

  “Has he woken up yet?” His brother asked.

  “Not for the last two days.” Alison replied quietly.

  Tristan’s throat was dry and he was quickly becoming irritated at being tied down. “He’s up now!” He shouted hoarsely.

  The door flew open admitting Kevin, Alison and the matron of their son, Maggie. The young servant rushed forward and made herself busy checking over his dressing. Finally assured that her handiwork was still in place she began untying his restraints. Kevin looked down at his brother, smiling warmly while his wife looked curiously relieved at his side.

  “What happened?” Tristan asked, his voice cracking slightly.

  “You took an arrow in the side little brother.” His brother chuckled. “How you couldn’t feel it while you occupied the fort is beyond me.” He observed.

  “Kevin rode you like mad back to Kenting.” Alison explained; her face still white with fear. “I was afraid he might have done more harm than good.” She concluded, casting him a mock accusing look.

  “Maggie here has been seeing to your healing.” She said finally.

  At the mention of her name, Maggie’s cheeks flushed as she untied Tristan’s left wrist. Her face was inches from his as he quietly said. “Thank you.”

  She mumbled her reply and quickly shuffled over to the fireplace and stoked the fire, adding logs to it from the cutout in the wall beside it. Tristan watched her closely, remembering moments of consciousness when he could hear her singing quietly to him as she changed his dressings or washed his sweating forehead and chest. Kevin cleared his throat theatrically, wrenching Tristan’s attention back to his brother.

  Kevin smiled as he said; “You got an infection, it must have been a filthy arrow at any rate. Took the healers hours to clean the wound and dress it properly.” He explained calmly, though Tristan could tell his brother had been greatly disturbed. “Good thing you’re in shape. The damn thing could have killed you.” He observed.

  Tristan sat up in the bed. His side itched like it was on fire, just below his rib cage, though he fought not to scratch it. Alison came around the bed and Tristan rolled his eyes, assuming she would mother over his wound. Instead, she wound up and hit him in the shoulder.

  “It’s time to get your armor resized!” She accused with a laugh.

  The Prince looked down to see the fresh dressing in his side; it looked as though it had just slipped into the gap where his armor was tied. Over the last year he’d come into his last growth as he broadened out and his chest expanded. This created gaps in his cherished armor, and he simply did not have the time to have attended to. He had begun packing the gaps with thick leather, though clearly that wasn’t enough.

  His brother and sister-in-law chucked as he sighed dramatically at his own error. They bade him goodnight as Maggie walked over to him and began checking his dressings again. Her touch was electric and it made him draw in his breath sharply.

  “Did I hurt you?” She asked, her face losing color.

  “No.” Tristan answered simply, grasping her arm gently and pulling her towa
rds him and kissed her.

  Chapter 2

  Tristan Vallious stood in the main hall, splendid in his black dragon scale armor trimmed in red. Fresh dragon scales, donated by his grandfather, had been stained and added to fill in the gaps. His scimitar and dagger hung at his hip, partially hidden by the long black cloak he wore. A small curve in the black cloth folds on his back were the only hint at his shield strapped to his back.

  Kevin and Alison Vallious ran their court with practiced ease and efficiency. Each citizen stepped forward to state his or her case and each was dealt with politely. Kevin’s court was much more organized than their fathers, though they only had a duchy to administer and The King had an entire country. Still, Tristan mused, he could see his brother bringing his attention to efficiency and loathing of politics to the throne when he assumed it in a few years.

  Maggie came into the hall through the back door that led to the bedchambers and main dining hall. In her arms she carried Nathan, Kevin and Alison’s son. Already he showed the baring of his mother, and the size of his father as Maggie was forced to rebalance the baby Prince on her hip to compensate for his size.

  Tristan smiled at her, which she warmly returned as she made a show of readjusting the way she carried the lad. Upon viewing his parents he had begun to squirm and try to break free so that he could waddle over to them as he enjoyed doing. Tristan smiled as he walked over to her, his cape flapping behind him, and offered to liberate her from his nephews growing insistence.

  “Having trouble milady?” He asked playfully as he rescued her from the baby’s squirming. He lifted Nathan into his arms; the little Prince regarded him skeptically before giving in and relaxing with a huff of indignation.