Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2)

by David Temrick

  The shelves were lined with decades of dust, many scrolls had decayed to dust upon their tables and a great many tomes lay open and torn to pieces by rats seeking to make their nests with the pages. To call this room a library, would be like calling his dagger a sword, though to the dwarven folk it might as well be, Tristan mused with ill humor.

  A large shelf was carved into the wall of the room, and it was crowded with all manner of books, scrolls and tomes. The other shelves in the room had been improperly constructed using what must have been scraps from a hundred other projects. One of the shelves had collapsed, scattering the books it held in all directions. Another leaned perilously against the far wall. Being held up by the Gods only knew what. Only one shelf still stood, though it had precious few books on it, and a few of the planks had collapsed onto the one below it.

  In the middle of the room was a large plush chair, and it too was caked in decades worth of dust. In front of the chair sat a table, constructed much in the same fashion as the shelves around it. Various scrolls and tomes littered its surface and it seemed to almost sway as the fresh air from the cavern filtered into the room. Dwarves might be no one’s fool, but the disregard they showed for their written history was surprising. The King had chuckled and waved them in when Tristan asked if they could enter and search for the tome they required, and thusly they had been left in peace for two days.

  A loud knock came at the door again as Tristan sighed and lifted himself off the floor. He quickly crossed the room and opened the door to find their usual caterer standing there smiling as he presented a tray of food for the pair of them. He accepted the food and again passed a deep thank you to the King for his continued hospitality. The door was closed by the dwarf, whose hands were now free to do so. Tristan turned and walked back into the room placed the tray in the middle of the floor where he and Beth had been hunting through the tomes looking for Morte Vaciu.

  The tray, as always, was separated into two distinct sections. On one side were some steaming vegetables and mushrooms, and a joint of cooked meat. On the other side was a raw, still bloody, hunk of meat. While Beth didn’t require as much food as she did when she was in dragon form, she couldn’t properly digest cooked meat. Tristan turned his gaze away as she ripped into what appeared to be the hind leg of a mountain goat.

  Slowly the pair of them had swept through the room, finding nothing remotely like the tome Henjis told him about. After discovering no hint of the book, they had begun to skim through the books and scrolls hoping to find some sort of cure. Beth had been in contact with Henjis thought, and at least now knew the ingredients of the poison that was slowly killing Maggie.

  Geras Root, Hornbush, and Yew pulp. Beth had informed him.

  “Here’s a cure for Yew pulp.” Tristan commented. “Oh, never mind.” He said, turning the tome so that Beth could see the cure; an oak spear through the chest.

  Oh that’s helpful. She sent with heavy sarcasm. Here’s a cure for Hornbush though. She replied eagerly handing over the scroll she was reading.

  “Hmm, orchid stem.” Tristan read aloud. “The stem of any orchid will cure Hornbush poisoning.”

  That’s something at least. She commented hopefully.

  Tristan nodded; grunting theatrically as he gingerly set the scroll aside and took up another with renewed hope. For six more hours they poured through more books, making a neat pile in the corner nearest the door of the ones they’d finished skimming. The Prince intended to ask the King if he could take the books and keep them properly in his own keep so that the knowledge they contained wouldn’t be further abused through neglect. With the ire the King showed this room, Tristan doubted he would be refused.

  The Prince looked up a short time later to see Beth leaning against the wall, the tome she was skimming through laying beside her strewn on the floor. She quietly snored, issuing the odd spark, which caused Tristan to chuckle to himself. His own eyes were getting heavy, so he leaned over on the saddle one of the dwarves had been kind enough to bring in from the valley where Beth had discarded it in her rush down the trail.

  In his dreams Tristan found himself in a strange room. A solitary light fell down on him from far above, and all around him was absolute darkness. The comfort of the light offset the oppressing shroud of darkness around him. The silence was eerie, as though someone held their hands over his ears and all he could hear was his own troubled thoughts.

  Quietly a footfall echoed around him. Tristan turned his head in surprise, but could see nothing outside the circle of light that surrounded him. Another footfall sounded, causing him to turn around again, looking for the author of the noise. Yet again, an echo of a footfall caused Tristan to spin around reaching for his sword. Yet there was nothing to find on his hip, he stood with only a pair of light tan colored trousers. He felt very exposed and his heart began to race as another footfall echoed around the room.

  Slowly, almost painfully, a silhouette became outlined in the distance. With the light it was hard to tell how large or small the person was, though Tristan felt as though he knew who it was. For reasons he could not explain, he felt safe. The person moved closer and it became clear that it was female. The woman came closer and Tristan could tell she was shorter than he was, perhaps coming up to just under his chin in height. Her hair was pulled back and her eyes caught the light Tristan was basked in, she was lithe, not overly slim but at a healthy weight. She stepped forward into the light and Tristan’s breath caught in his throat.

  “Maggie?” He stammered.

  “Hello my husband.” She replied lightly, she leaned forward and briefly kissed his lips. Her touch was warm and electric, though it left him feeling a bittersweet pang of guilt.

  “We’re searching Maggie.” He said in a rush. “I’ve been pouring through books, reading all I can…” She placed her hand gently on his mouth.

  “I know, my love. I know.” She said quietly.

  “I will save you.” He vowed.

  Maggie smiled warmly at him and pulled him into an embrace. “Your quest will be long, beloved. It’s in the Gods hands now if you will succeed or fail.” She said in barely more than a whisper.

  “I will not fail.” He said with certainty.

  She pulled away, looking up into his eyes. “You may. The road is long and difficult, and the way is unclear.”

  “I will not fail.” He insisted.

  Her eyes filled with tears as she regarded him. “You mustn’t blame yourself.” She choked.

  “I will avenge you.” Tristan whispered.

  She smiled, kissed him lightly on the lips and walked away without another word. Tristan began to shout her name as she walked out of sight, and shouted louder for her when the footfalls faded away. He tried to run after her, but found himself rooted to the spot. All he could do was yell for her to come back to him.

  ~

  “I want all of them rounded up and tossed off the cliffs.” Binos ordered.

  “What about the mercenary companies?” The Legate asked.

  The sorcerer sighed. He hated his orders being questioned, he wanted blind obedience. Binos made a mental note that the next batch of hatchlings would serve better if he could find the proper spell to make them obey orders without question and still keep their intelligence. Perhaps one of the forbidden tomes would have such a spell, he mused. Shaking off his distracted thoughts he turned to the orc legate and narrowed his eyes.

  “Ubani, if any of these humans are alive when the sun sets I’ll have you tossed off the cliffs as well.” He warned in a menacing tone.

  The legate bowed and left the room, slamming the door with a growl. Binos smiled, while he hated their independence, he definitely enjoyed their aggressiveness. Perhaps it would be unwise to try and breed out the defiance; it could cost him thousands of soldiers if they blindly obeyed every command.

  Binos sat down in the plush chair in front of the fireplace. The annexation of the Great Expanse had gone quite well, the east fell quickly enough and the wes
t had only cost him a few thousand of his orcs. Of course the argument could be made that they really hadn’t met resistance until they had tried to reclaim the rubble that had once served as the fortress home to Draconis’ Bane.

  One of the more ambitious commanders had assumed command of what remained of The Bane and organized them into a small empire for himself. They had rebuilt the collapsed parts of the wall and then they had cleared the destroyed palace and rebuilt it. He set himself up as the patron of these lands and quickly had thriving farms and guarded trade with the neighboring kingdoms to the south.

  Even now, plans and plots ran through his mind. Poisoned grain shipments, barges loaded to capacity with orcs, building war galleys and attacking Vallius and its allies directly. All of those plans lacked originality though, he mused darkly. Binos wanted a stunning victory to cement his importance and be the next congressional lord.

  Timing was key, it was already two months after the failure in Terum and if he was going to take the great wall on midsummer he would need to assemble the troops and have them marching by the end of the week. Runners would need to be sent out to the caches to bring the hatchlings along where he and his magicians could accelerate their growth sufficiently.

  “Binos.” A voice called from the fireplace.

  The self-styled King of The Expanse was shaken from his thoughts as he looked into the embers of the roaring fire. He adjusted his vision slightly, bringing it into focus with the face in the fire.

  “My Lord.” He said, bowing his head slightly.

  “What did I tell you about feigned supplication Binos?” He asked with a smirk.

  “Apologies my Lord.” Binos said with a smile.

  “Report.” Petrus ordered without further preamble.

  “We now control everything south of the Bear Claw Mountains and north of the Great Wall.” Binos replied.

  “Impressive.” Complimented the older magician. “What news of the dragons and their champion?” He asked with contempt.

  “He lives while his wife lays, dying, beside him.” Binos answered.

  “He lives?” Petrus shot.

  “It wasn’t unexpected; he has survived a great many things. The loss of his new bride will keep him busy for months, and if they should happen to discover the cure, then they will need to invade Deus to find it.” He said calmly.

  “You create complications my pupil.” Petrus warned.

  Binos chuckled, waving the comment away.

  “Even if the cure is only found on our shores, there is nothing to suggest that we had any part in the poisoning of his bride. I have agents in Metao, Kenting and now Kumia, all of them report that they all assume the orcs are in league with the remnants of The Bane.”

  Petrus made a dismissive grunt, which caused Binos to smile slightly as his former masters’ nervousness. Before too long he would have Terum under his heel, then he would be on the Congress and shortly thereafter he would have all of those old fools under his heel as well. The dragons would soon fall, as would their half-breed hero. He alone would be the most powerful magic user on the planet, able to command nations and expand his rule to encompass the entire world.

  ~

  Tristan’s eyes shot open and he looked deeply into the red eyes of Beth. She was crouching in front of him with her arms on his shoulders. There was a look of deep concern on her face as she regarded him.

  What’s wrong?! She asked loudly.

  “I’m fine, I…I was screaming wasn’t I?” He asked sheepishly.

  She nodded that he was correct and then released his shoulders and sat down in front of him. She crossed her legs and kept watching him closely.

  “What time is it?” He asked, changing the topic.

  It should be just after noon, if I judge things properly. It’s hard to tell underground. She replied, narrowing her eyes slightly.

  He sighed as he picked up the book he’d been skimming through when he fell asleep, absentmindedly picking up a piece of cheese and popping it into his mouth. Beth spared another minute watching his features with sympathy in her eyes. He knew she could feel his impatience and pain even though she rarely showed it. She reached over and retrieved the tome she had cast aside when she had rushed to his aide and continued reading.

  Hours passed and a lone dwarf would enter and leave, refreshing their water and food supplies before casting them a confused glance and taking his leave. Slowly they poured through the last of the books and tomes, finding nothing after the first revelation about the stem of an orchid. Tristan was tempted to find an orchid just so he could feel as though he’d accomplished at least something in the last couple of weeks.

  I think I have something here. Beth sent him excitedly.

  “What is it?” Tristan asked quickly.

  The pulp of the Yew tree has only one known cure; ground seeds from the flower of the Dactylorhiza Sambucina, more commonly known as the “Cliff Orchid”. She replied, looking up at him confused. What’s the Cliff Orchid? She asked quizzically.

  “I have no idea.” He answered hopelessly.

  “Perhaps ye shoul’ be askin’ an elf laddie.” A voice called from the doorway.

  Tristan looked over quickly to see Prince Neran standing in the doorway, lighting his pipe. He drew in a deep lungful of air and exhaled a puff of smoke. Satisfied that it was lit sufficiently he grinned mischievously as he entered the room. Tristan still wasn’t overly impressed with the dwarf Prince; he enjoyed smoking too much and giving straight answers too little.

  “And where might I find an elf?” Tristan asked, forcing his voice to calmness that he didn’t share.

  “Not quite sure, laddie, been some time since them elves be visitin our halls.” He replied idly between puffs with a smile.

  He’s lying. Beth warned.

  Neran’s smile faltered as he made eye contact with her. “Ye stay outta me head, dragon.” He shot. “Me people be havin’ enough of ye dragons over the centuries. Ye mind yer manners and keep ta yer own thoughts.” Neran warned, pointing the tip of his pipe at her.

  Beth didn’t break eye contact as she nodded once, with narrowed eyes. Tristan wasn’t sure how the dwarf had known she was searching around in his mind, but he’d felt it often enough to know that it would be irritating if a stranger were to go delving around in his memories. The Prince cleared his throat theatrically, drawing Neran’s gaze back to him.

  “I’m sure she meant nothing by it Prince Neran.” He soothed. “She’s used to people lying to her, and she’s still young by her races standards.”

  “Fair ‘nuff lad. No insult taken.” He returned her nod. “Ye tall folk never much appreciated riddles anyway.” Neran observed.

  “That’s often the case when lives are at stake master dwarf.” Tristan replied.

  The dwarf Prince narrowed his eyes dramatically and answered in a harsh whisper. “There are always lives at stake, boy.”

  Tristan chuckled dryly. “True.” He admitted. “Now, where can I find an elf?”

  Neran grinned again, setting Tristan’s nerves to a ragged edge. “Oddly ‘nuff, ye can find one in me fathers’ throne room.”

  With his pronouncement the dwarf Prince turned and walked out of the room. Tristan jumped to his feet, grabbed the tome and the scroll with the cures, jammed them into his travel satchel, and hurried to catch up to the dwarf. The Prince assumed this was another dwarven riddle or jest, but even so he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the dwarfs’ words.

  The chambers of the dwarven hold were curiously silent; all work seemed to be at a standstill. All around him, Tristan could see dwarves normally hard at work eyeing them suspiciously. When the Prince mentioned this to Neran, the dwarf shrugged and muttered something about elves being unwelcome bringers of ill fortunes. Tristan suspected the work stoppage was more to do with superstition than anything else. The revelation made him fight to hide his smirk, although Beth, who shared his thoughts, laughed audibly at his observation.

  I’ve never met an elf, what sh
ould I expect? Tristan asked her.

  No idea, I’ve never met one either. She answered with a chuckle.

  What?! He shot back, clearly shocked.

  Up until a few days ago I’d no idea what a dwarf looked like either. Beth sent laughing.

  I sense your fathers thirst for adventure in you. He answered darkly.

  Perhaps, but I think that our learning together will better lay the foundation for this new world we desire. She observed.

  Fair enough. He chuckled.

  That’s better. She said calmly.

  What is?

  Laughter, you need to do that more my friend.

  I haven’t had much to laugh about lately. He brooded.

  True, but then both of our lives are going to be long and filled with many dark times. Maybe it’s better we both learn how to take what joy we can, while we can. She replied with a smirk.

  There was no denying her logic, whether it was now to poison or sixty years to old age, Tristan was going to eventually lose Maggie. The full weight of that realization came crashing down on him and Tristan found himself darkly pondering the wisdom of his choice. As though sensing his turmoil, Beth quickened her step and wrapped her arm around his.

  In front of them the large double doors to the throne room opened smoothly to admit them into the crowded throng that gathered. Thousands of dwarves gathered, some sitting on others shoulders to get a better view of the goings on around the King. Their tilting acrobatic stances amused Tristan and Beth who chuckled lightly at the display as Neran set about clearing a pathway for them to the front of the room.

  “Outta tha way there lads! Move yer feet man!” He shouted, shoving his countrymen to the right and left as he cleared a path wide enough for the pair of them to walk up to the throne.