Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2)

by David Temrick

He had suffered losses, the most recent of which had been his army turned to rout by three dragons who’d slain five giants slain. Already the giant’s emissaries arrived wanting revenge on Prince Tristan and he welcomed a dozen more behemoths into his ranks. They looked strangely human, with the exception of their low foreheads and thick frames. Their powerful arms could throw boulders that only his trebuchets could match for distance, and their strength was unmatched.

  Boris knew now that the pavilion had been a vain construction, which had been heavily influenced by Cyrisa. He made a mental note not to allow her to interfere with his battle plans any further. Falling the ten feet from the pavilion hadn’t injured him too grievously, but the cost to him in morale and power over his troops had been disastrous. As it was he was going to have to execute one for every thousand to instill fear into the fracas groups that even now threatened to leave his army by stealth.

  Spring was only weeks away and he planned to return to the front lines and drive both Princes back deep into Vallius territory. Using Kenting as his new forward command post he would continue his conquest until he watched Metao burn down around King Dion.

  ~

  Be cautious my sister. Her brother-in-arms warned by way of the communication fire between them. The dragons have their powers back; you must not reveal our involvement.

  I am aware of that my brother. She replied a little too sharply. Cyrisa regained her composure before continuing. Apologies my brother, I am irritated at the dragon spawns progress. She sent.

  I understand. Came his stoic reply. Control, my sister; you must master yourself. He instructed.

  I had the pavilion created as a diversion. She admitted. I needed the vantage point from which to see what the boy had planned.

  She felt him laugh with general amusement. Got a little more than you anticipated? He asked rhetorically.

  Quite. She replied with thinly veiled sarcasm. But now we know what the dragons look like in their human forms. Cyrisa offered.

  True. He admitted. This is the only reason you’re not a smoking pile of ash. He warned.

  I will be more cautious. She offered.

  Then you’ll do. He replied with a smirk. Someone approaches. Good fortune to you sister.

  And you. She sent as the flames died down.

  Cyrisa looked over her shoulder in irritation as King Boris entered the room. Instantly she smoothed her face into a welcoming smile. She stood and motioned for him to assume his seat at the head of the table.

  “How fare you this morning my King?” She asked smoothly.

  She felt his contempt, though he tried to mask his thoughts from her. She allowed him to think he was succeeding. In his arrogance he was quickly becoming her puppet, though he thought otherwise. How cute. She thought venomously. He thinks I can’t hear him anymore.

  “I didn’t sleep well.” He replied a little too stiffly.

  She smiled warmly, hiding her growing impatience with the irritating peacock and replied; “I could make you a tonic, to help you sleep soundly.” She offered. Immediately she felt his suspicions and changed tactics, hoping that it wasn’t too late to appear flippant.

  “No need, I’ll sleep better tonight.” He said stiffly.

  Cyrisa cursed in her mind. He was definitely on to her machinations; she was going to have to accelerate her plan. She began reviewing his commanders, wondering which one would be easiest to influence to depose the King and become her willing puppet. Cyrisa hoped she wouldn’t have to use her body to influence the fool; lovemaking was such a waste of valuable energy.

  “Oh?” She asked as though she was interested.

  The sorceress felt his growing frustration, knowing full well that she would need to either kill him or outright posses the King. Either task could prove to be fatal if she was caught.

  “I’m riding east to check on the forward positions today.” He replied in a guarded tone.

  The King was slowly fighting his way free of her control and there were moments when he could shield his intentions from her thoughts. She reached out and touched the mind of her brother she had just been speaking to in the fire. Cyrisa concentrated as hard as she could, drawing her power in around her as she sent three words; Come to me. She hid her smile behind the loaf of rye bread as she felt his acceptance.

  ~

  “No chance in hell.” Tristan said with conviction. “It’s one thing to fly on your backs from one location to the other. It’s quite another to fly into battle on your back.” He shot in alarm.

  Eurydice was beside herself with excitement, but Tristan’s growing trepidation was beginning to visibly upset her. Otis had sprung the news on him with sadistic glee that only the old man in white could have done. Ruth and Lesa were equally amused, it seemed only Drake shared his concerns.

  The old man had grabbed Tristan by the arm and frog marched him over to Bethia who was laying down contently snoring. Small columns of sparks issued from her snout as she sputtered in her sleep slightly, causing the Prince to leap back; much to Otis’ amusement. The old man laughed as he reached out with his hand, closing his eyes briefly.

  A large intricately constructed saddle flew towards them as Otis used his arts to wake Bethia gently. The large red dragon opened her eyes and regarded the Prince openly. The familiarity of the dragons he knew created a false sense of security, upon closer inspection, dragons were large, dangerous looking and those talons were enough to give the bravest person pause. While Tristan was not unaccustomed to flying by dragon, he had never met a younger dragon before either. All in all, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

  Hello…friend. He felt inside his mind.

  He smiled widely as he focused his mind, finding it slightly more difficult than talking to the elder dragons. Hello Bethia. He replied as calmly as he could.

  We fly? She asked.

  The Prince looked over at Otis who was placing the black and red saddle over her back and cinching it behind her forelegs. He ran the strap along and buckled them together on her chest. He watched as she took a few deep breaths to make sure it wasn’t too tight. Otis then pulled two straps down on either side of her neck and strapped them to a four-point harness where the other two straps connected.

  Bethia rose experimentally, stretching her wings out to their full length and flapping them slowly up and down. A gust of wind caused Tristan’s hair, ruffling it as he held his ground, fighting down the urge to turn and flee. She shook her body, making sure that the saddle wouldn’t move. Otis secured the stirrups and adjusted their height for Tristan.

  “Well?” Drake asked bemused.

  “Well what? I can secure my legs to those stirrups, but how am I supposed to fight?” He asked in shock.

  Bethia surprised him by clamping her jaw down on his nightshirt and lifting him up, dropping him in the saddle. Tristan landed with a grunt and quickly thrust his feet into the stirrups for fear of her taking off abruptly. He used the fold of leather from the front over each leg and the buckles to secure himself to the saddle. He twisted experimentally, moving his arms and torso around to become accustomed to the movement.

  “I like it.” He admitted, grinning widely. He felt like a child on the back of a father: safe, yet exhilarated.

  Otis locked eyes with Bethia and she took off with surprising speed. Tristan was thrown back in the saddle; the small rise on the back stopped his short slide as he struggled forward to grasp the horn. The large red dragon shot upwards and Tristan’s ears popped from the rapid climb. They shot out of a tunnel cut into the top of the cave. They cleared the top of a mountain, finally leveling out just above the peaks. Tristan could see the snow falling on the tops of the mountain range, but felt no cold. Reaching in front of the horn he felt Bethia’s scales to find them hot to the touch. Their heat warmed him and kept the chill of the high altitude away from the Prince.

  Tristan reached out with his mind and contacted Bethia, opening the connection between them. This is amazing! He urged her.

  Want roll? She
asked.

  Her words were still coming to her with a degree of difficulty, but with Tristan strapped to her back he felt oddly safe. Yes! He called.

  Almost at once he wished he hadn’t. Her roll was a sharp incline that threw him back in the saddle again. As she pulled over Tristan felt light as his rear left the saddle and he dangled by his legs briefly. The weight came crashing back down as she completely her loop and Tristan cheered in his mind between them. He tried to communicate the word to her of what she had just accomplished, and she satisfied him with the right phrase.

  That was loop? She asked uncertainly.

  The Prince laughed out loud as he answered yes in her mind. She snorted sparks in happiness as she asked; you like loop? Tristan cheered and she pulled another loop, this one tighter than the last and he was forced to flex his leg muscles to keep from sliding out of the saddle.

  For close to an hour she offered to fly dangerous and highly enjoyable stunts with Tristan strapped to her back. He began to appreciate how this could help in battle, especially if she could fly inverted as she had for him to scoop a handful of snow from the peak of a mountain. He held his hands, palm up on her bareback to melt the snow and drink the water out of his cupped hands.

  He sensed that she was getting tired; his added weight was something she was going to have to get used to. Her communications were becoming clearer as she searched his mind freely; looking for words to associate with the images she presented him with. We can return now if you like Bethia. He offered her.

  Thank you. She answered, much less disjointed than it had been a short time ago.

  You learn very quickly my large friend. Tristan chuckled.

  You fly better than father does. She returned a compliment.

  She and Tristan laughed as she presented the unnerved image of Socolis in his human form of Otis on her back. He appeared terrified, yet smiling despite his fear. Slowly she circled the hole in the mountain they had burst through, and descended inside at a steep glide. The pair of them touched down with her mighty wings batting the air, causing the others who had returned to their cushions to block the dust she sent swirling from stinging their eyes.

  The Prince leaped athletically from her back and patted her jaw as she swung her head around towards him. She crooned, leaning her head closer to his hand and he chuckled as he scratched her where her skull met her first neck plate. Bethia sighed in comfort as she sent a few errant sparks out of her nose.

  “Well?” Otis asked with his eyebrows raised theatrically.

  Tristan sent them all Bethia’s last thought; you fly better than father does. Followed by the image she’d shared with him. Everyone burst out laughing, including Bethia and Otis.

  ~

  Shortly after sunrise Tristan, Euri, Lesa and Drake materialized inside Tristan’s apartment in the Guisian capital. Maggie gasped as she came out of the bathroom, a towel around her hair and another around her body. She bolted back into the small room and closed the door with a huff. The Prince chuckled as his sister and Lesa left the room. Drake put his hand on Tristan’s shoulder and turned the young man to face him.

  “There are some hard times coming my boy.” He said seriously. “We all have faith in you though, and if the Fates are kind we’ll see each other on the other side of these times happy and at peace.” With a final squeeze he turned and walked out through the archway into the courtyard where he vanished in a blink of light.

  “Are they gone yet?” Maggie called in annoyance from behind the door.

  Tristan laughed as he replied; “Yes, they’re gone.”

  Maggie marched forward, wound up and punched him with surprising strength in his shoulder. “Ow.” Tristan complained, rubbing the spot she’d hit.

  “That was for leaving without telling me!” She accused, pointing her finger at his chest. Then she grabbed the back of his head, pulled him close and kissed him passionately. “And that’s for coming back.” She purred.

  Tristan laughed as he returned her affection. A knock at the door interrupted their privacy forcing the Prince to sigh theatrically as he untangled himself from Maggie’s embrace to answer the door.

  “Breakfast begins in ten minutes my Lord.” The servant reported as Tristan poked his head out into the hall. The Prince nodded his understanding and the servant made a quick bow before rushing off to the next doorway.

  Maggie hurriedly got herself dressed and dried out her hair as best she could as Tristan explained where he had disappeared to in the middle of the night. The Prince hated the worried look that often crossed her features when he told her that he took even the smallest risk. Even so he revealed to her everything except the dragon lore he’d learnt, he felt protective of that knowledge for reasons he couldn’t put into words. Perhaps it was a racial trait he mused as she took his offered arm and they walked out into the hallway.

  The couple walked into the main dining hall to find everyone seated around the largest circular table. He smiled as his sister greeted them, she casted her eyes to her left. Tristan’s focus followed to see the strangest looking woman he’d ever laid eyes on, holding his son on her seated lap. Her features were too smooth and her nose was barely more than a small protrusion from her face. She possessed no ears, her eyes were tiny slits and her eyebrows were far too thick for her diminutive features. The woman’s hair was wild, red, windswept and unwashed.

  Still, there was air of familiarity about her and it wasn’t until she smiled at him that he placed it, her teeth, despite her best efforts, where quite jagged and dragon-like in appearance. He stopped himself from blurting out her draconic name and simply asked with his mind, Bethia?

  She nodded her head eagerly in reply as she gently held his son in her arms. Jonathan looked up at her, watching her features with rapt enjoyment. He giggled on her lap, drawing her attention back to him as she clearly spoke with him through their thoughts. Tristan tore his eyes from her strange appearance, looking around the table for someone to direct his questions to, finding no one. Drake sat to the Rajina’s right talking quietly with her; Lesa sat beside Bethia instructing her in how to behave like a believable human woman. Euri seemed to be the only one unoccupied as Mina engaged Maggie in a friendly discussion.

  The Prince was happy that the two of them had come to an understanding early on, and much to his own surprise found that they had far more in common than he was sure either one of them wanted to admit. He sat down and filled his plate with some fruits and sweetbread as he directed his thoughts to his sister.

  When did she arrive? He asked.

  Bethia? Euri asked rhetorically. Just a few moments after we did.

  She can barely speak, how did she manage to assume human form? He blurted.

  Euri looked over her shoulder at Bethia. I think she did rather well; at least the robes hide her scales. She admitted lightly.

  Her scales? Tristan asked, trying not to look overly shocked as he bit into a pear.

  It is her first transformation. Euri warned him. Socolis had to help her quite a bit, but the others have been trying to accelerate her training and growth so she can assume patronage of Terum before things get too crazy there.

  Too crazy? Tristan asked with a mental chuckle. There’s an army of creatures and murderers in control of the country.

  True. Euri admitted. But they don’t control the weather and volcanoes. She explained. Oh. By the way, we call her Beth in her human form.

  Tristan grunted in reply, biting into a sweetbread roll with gusto as Otis made his way into the hall from the courtyards. The old man looked a little tired to Tristan but waved off the comment as he directed his concerns to the old man’s mind. The Prince assumed this was all part of the young dragons training and the elders had far more experience with this than he did, so Tristan resigned himself to their wisdom.

  After breakfast was done Tristan headed back to their apartment to put his armor back on and pack up Maggie’s keepsakes while she said her goodbyes. After the heat of the last couple of mont
hs, he was boiling hot in his armor in a matter of minutes. He sighed as he hefted his shield onto his back and tied his sword belt off around his waist. Finally, with one last wistful glance at his comfortable surroundings, he turned and walked out of the room.

  As he walked down the hall he barely heard the swish of heavy fabric. The sound seemed out of place in a palace full of people dressed entirely in silk. When he turned his head to get a look at the author of the sound, he caught a blood red robe vanishing around a corner. Tristan’s eyes narrowed as he tried to remember the last time he’d seen fabric of that kind. He closed his eyes, trying to focus his thoughts.

  He felt a flash of light across his mind and the red leather cross-gartered sandals and black painted toenails. Tristan forced himself to look up in his mind’s eye at his attacker, the vision hadn’t stricken him in over a year; the vision of his attack at the hands of a sorcerer who cast the Nightmare Spell on him. The attackers robe was blood red, and as it loomed over his prone body his vision began to swim. Just before losing consciousness he beheld the face. Or mask, as it was, a red leather mask with golden eyebrows and a golden inverted arch on its forehead. Tristan tried to force himself to hear what the sorcerer said, but the image fled his mind’s eye before he could make it out.

  He felt sick; the same people who had attacked him over two years ago were now creeping around the palace his son was in. Tristan needed to find Peria and warn her, and then he had to hunt down the bastard and kill him.

  “Tristan? Are you alright?” Mina’s voice was thick with apprehension.

  “I’m fine.” He replied quietly, opening his eyes.

  His vision swam before him and he was disoriented. Mina held his arm as he shook himself free of the image he was holding on to; the masked face of his attacker, and likely a threat to his son. Then he remembered why he had tried to call up the image and to color drained from his face.