“Tristan?” She asked uncertainly.
The orc Captain sneered and raised his human looking arm. The weak pink woman let out a scream of terror as he smiled sadistically. With all of his strength he plunged the shining metal blade deep into her chest. Her scream was cut off as she looked down at the blade in shock and fear. The woman mumbled something weakly, reaching up with her right hand and grasping the blade. Her eyes rolled up in her head as the blood ran between her breasts and gathered at her neck, spilling over onto the bed on either side of her head and shoulders.
The smell of human waste reached the Captains sensitive nose and he yanked the blade free in disgust. He ripped her gown and used the robe to clean the human woman’s red blood off of the blade. While he would normally let the blood dry and stain his blade, as was tradition among his brethren, he still had more weak pathetic humans to kill before his mission was a success.
He made his way back to the door where he opened it carefully and looked out into the hallway. A short woman and her small son walked towards him and he smiled again as he anticipated another kill. The little boy’s eyes widened and he pointed at the orc captain yelling something to his mother. The woman un-strapped some sort of whip from her hip and lashed out at the orc in disguise. He saw his own orc body rematerialize as his head soared through the air and landed at his feet, then the light faded from his eyes and he knew darkness. If the Immortal Horde called, he knew it not.
~
Can we go see father? Jonathan asked in his mothers mind.
“Now son, you know that’s rude.” She chastised half-heartedly. The truth was Mina cherished the times her son spoke to her with his mind. She could feel him and his state of mind, while outwardly he was calm and confident she could feel his underlying uncertainty. It made him seem more hers than his fathers, and she jealously guarded those things she saw of herself in their son.
“Sorry mother.” He admitted sheepishly.
“Can we go then?” Jonathan asked eagerly.
Mina laughed as the page, a servant dedicated to running messages back and forth inside the palace, grinned in spite of his duties. She nodded to her son who cheered and ran into his room of their apartment to put on his nicest tunic and trousers as he knew she would instruct him to do. Rising from the divan she’d been reading to her son on, Mina made herself busy touching up her makeup and letting her long hair out of its braids.
Jonathan came running back into the room wearing his best tunic. It was made to resemble his father’s armor, yet light enough to allow him to run around childishly waving about his small wooden scimitar. The sight always threatened to bring her to tears, but his youthful excitement made her smile instead. He reached out and grabbed her hand as the page bowed them through the doorway.
“Does madam require me to escort her?” He asked politely.
Jonathan pulled at her hand, half-dragging her down the hallway. “I think we’ll find our way!” She called over her shoulder with a chuckle.
The Guisian Princess felt more at home in these strange red brick halls than she had in many years in her own family’s home in Delhi. She couldn’t place the feeling though. Eurydice came to visit her fairly often, so much so that even since their quest into the Expanse she felt closer to Euri than her own mother. Her son was with her always. Perhaps it was the sense of family, despite the odd circumstances of her son’s birth, she felt as though she belonged with the Vallious family. She knew that her mother blamed herself for her father’s death, regardless of his scheming and ambition she’d loved him dearly.
Sadly, Mina felt that it tainted their time together. A bittersweet pang of guilt always hung in the air and no matter how Mina protested that she couldn’t imagine her life any other way, Peria still felt guilt. Deep down inside Mina knew that she always would harbor that guilt, like a dark lover, until her last breath. The Rajina refused to take another husband, or lover, punishing herself for not being the proper wife. It broke Mina’s heart to see her mother slowly fade away in front of her very eyes. This trip to visit the father of her son was just as much for her as it was for Jonathan.
The Princess envied Maggie secretly. Was it so much to ask for a husband to travel to the ends of the earth and back for his wife? All of her suitors seemed to think so; they scoffed as the rumors of Tristan’s adventures circulated the seven kingdoms. Even the suitor from Malus, long known for their mighty deeds in the name of love and honor, made sport of his hopeless quest as it had come to be known. Mina had faith though; she knew Tristan wouldn’t stop until he found the cure. With his dragon friends at his side he would fight and give his life without hesitation.
It was a trait she prayed her son would share. If he was to become the King of Kings, and bring peace and stability to the seven kingdoms, he would need a strong respect for life. She looked forward to his tutelage under Tristan’s father, if her son became half the man his father was he would bring the world into a new era the likes of which she doubted anyone could possibly hope for.
“Mother!” Jonathan shouted urgently.
Mina looked down at her son; his face was drained of its usual dark shade as he pointed in front of them. She looked up to find a guard exiting the royal apartments, not something uncommon or frightening in the least. Mina looked back down at her son.
“What’s wrong Jonathan?” She asked in confusion.
“Orc!” He shouted, forcing the image he could see into her mind.
While she could see a typical palace guard, dressed in full plate mail with a sweeping red cape hanging off one shoulder. Her son saw an orc, standing easily seven feet tall. His snarling face was merely a sloppy grin on the human. She’d never seen a superimposed image like this before, it was hard to credit her senses. A moment’s hesitation was all it took, for she trusted her son implicitly. Mina reached behind her back and unclasped her Dragon’s Fist, which she always carried with her now.
Bringing it around her hip she let it unravel on the floor as time seemed to slow to a crawl. Her arm snapped forward and the whip tied itself around the human guards’ neck. His hands shot up reflexively as he grasped the cord around his throat. She pulled back, wrapped the whip around the back of her arm and jerked with all of her strength.
Immediately the image of the human guard wavered, leaving a large orc head sailing in an arc and striking the wall with a sickening squelch. The orcs rancid body lurched forward and then fall backwards shaking the floor as it collided with the stones beneath their feet. Fear gripped her very soul as in her mind’s eye she could see the father of her son laying in a pool of his own blood.
Dragging her son along, she dropped her whip and ran into the apartment. The moment she entered she released her hold on Jonathans hand as she covered her mouth with both of her hands.
“Jonathan.” She called. Her son had moved into the room, slowly approaching the bed where his father’s wife lay dead at the hands of that monster.
“Jonathan!” She said harshly. The boy pulled his hand back, as though he’d been burned and looked back at his mother.
“Go get your father.” Mina ordered him, sensing his hesitation she lowered her hands and narrowed her eyes. “Now, Jonathan.” She reinforced. His three year old eyes looked at her reproachfully, but he turned on his heel and ran off to do as she asked.
Chapter 14
“You’re overextending your forces.” Tristan warned.
Kevin shot his younger brother a dark look as Euri giggled. Lesa, Beth and Otis sat, smiling smugly next to Euri, across the table from Tristan and his older brother.
“Don’t you three start either.” Kevin warned the dragons.
After a much needed meal, talk around the table had turned to the mundane and then eventually posturing between the eldest and youngest Vallious. Euri challenged Kevin to a game of chess and was soundly beating her older brother, again.
“You don’t need to let her win, you know.” Tristan offered light heartedly. The Prince had found that much of his
playful mood returned with the safety of his wife secured.
“I haven’t let her win since she was five.” Kevin replied in exasperation as he knocked his King over, resigning for the third time. “You play her then.” He said in disgust. No sooner had Tristan and Eurydice made their opening moves when a page came bursting into the room.
“My Lord!” He shouted. “A large army gathers at the Great Wall!” He paused for dramatic effect before hissing; “Orcs!”
Chairs toppled over as everyone rushed towards various exists from the room. Tristan had left his armor in one of the guest apartments where he bathed, so his wife could have peace and quiet to recover. He went there now and ripped off his court attire in short order. He pulled on a pair of leather trousers before wrapping his grieves and shin guards around his legs. Each piece glowed briefly, molding itself into solid pieces of armor. Next he threw a simple cotton tunic on before slipping his breastplate over his shoulder and allowing it to glow and attach itself together. Finally he pulled on a pair of boots over his socks and grabbed his cloak and weapons as he rushed out of the apartment. He tossed his cloak over his shoulder with his shield as he tied his sword belt around his waist.
By the time he reached the tower he’d donned his cloak and climbed up onto Bethia’s waiting back. Before he even had time to strap himself into the saddle she leaped into the air. Below, Kevin had the Terum army mobilized and moving towards the Great Wall.
“What took you so long?” Euri shouted over the wind.
Tristan looked over to find his sister on the back of a large white dragon, beside her, much to his surprise and dismay, was the mother of his child. Mina rode her grandmother with a practiced ease he found impressive. Neither of them possessed saddles though and this concerned him greatly.
Oh don’t worry. Lesariu scolded him in his mind. They’ll be fine. See?
Tristan looked over as the serpentine bronze colored dragon barrel rolled. Mina’s eyes flew open in fear as she clutched the plates in her mother’s neck tighter. A faint nimbus of golden light flashed around the Guisian Princess, holding her fast to the bronze dragons back, causing Tristan to laugh at the sight.
It was then that the Prince noticed the armor his sister and Mina wore. What appeared to be a simple homespun robe bristled with a fine glittering that was unmistakably dragon scale. Each of them wore a white tunic, cut low to cover their upper legs. Beneath the tunic appeared to be simple leather grieves and knee high boots. Euri had her staff strapped to her back, and Mina wore a curious looking whip at her hip. She had a curiously sad and sympathetic look on her face that confused Tristan. Satisfied that they were as protected as they were going to be, he redirected his attention on the wall as it grew closer to them by the moment.
Bethia let forth a thundering roar. Look! She shouted in his mind.
Gliding above the wall in lazy circles appeared to be another dragon, though it was on the wrong side of the wall and set Tristan’s nerves to a frazzled edge. He could feel the magic at play again as the hair on the back on his neck rose in alarm. The large dragon belched out a nearly clear flame, which caused Terum defenders on the wall to scatter. Those few who hadn’t escaped the fiery display fell from the walls as their hair, skin and armor melted. The pungent scent of burning flesh was thick along the wall and those not fleet of foot fell to their deaths as mystic fire killed them before the fall did.
Tristan’s worst suspicions were verified as they came into range of the large mystic dragon. It was smaller than its brother that had chased the pair of them over the Careless Sea. Though this one bore a rider as well and all that the dragon failed to destroy, the magician was attempting to. The Prince redirected Bethia’s flight with his thoughts, flying her straight into the purple mystic dragon.
At least this one is your size. He shot sarcastically.
Bethia chuckled darkly as she flipped over, giving Tristan the perfect chance to strike a blow. As she sped by Tristan lashed out with his blade. It sliced through the sorcerer’s protective charm, and gave him a shallow wound along his shoulder. The Prince grinned in morbid satisfaction as Bethia spun around and banked hard to the left. Tristan felt his arms get heavy and his face droop at the cheeks as she pulled herself around with tremendous force.
Tristan felt power gathering as Bethia pulled out of her sharp turn and raised his shield just as lightning collided with it and traveled up his arm. His shoulder twitched in pain and he lost his grip on the handles of his shield. His arm hung limp at his side and he cursed as the shield slipped from his fingers. He looked up to find the sorcerer bearing down on him again; his staff raised above his head.
Tristan sheathed his sword, pulled his dagger and threw it as hard as he could as the dragons crashed into each other. Bolts of lightning cascaded over Bethia’s neck and shoulders as the mystic dragon lashed out. He could hear the mage curse as a nimbus of blue light leapt up into his field of vision. Moments later Bethia belched an enormous column of fire into the face of the magical purple dragon.
The Prince’s left arm began to tingle as feeling slowly returned to it, and Tristan drew his sword once again. Another spell was unleashed and Bethia was blown clear. She toppled end over end; Tristan had to struggle to keep his hold on his sword while gripping the horn of the saddle. Bolts of pain laced up his arm as he forced the previously numb appendage to work harder than it was ready for.
The mighty red dragon spread her wings and abruptly stopped their fall with a jarring motion that compressed Tristan’s spine and made him cry out. She beat her wings and they seemed to leap back into a grappling battle with the large purple dragon and its sorcerer rider. Bethia screamed out in his mind as the mystic dragon used its hind legs to rip several scales off her stomach and tear into the tender flesh underneath.
Tristan gritted his teeth, trying to block out the worst of her screaming as he sliced the buckles that held him to the saddle. Cutting through the last one, Tristan leapt to his feet and ran up the length of Bethia’s neck. Placing one foot on the top of her head, he launched himself into the air. The mystic dragon reared its head up and snapped at him. Bethia drove her horned forehead into the purple dragons face, snapping its head back and protecting Tristan. A shower of lightning lit up behind him, burning some of his hair.
The sorcerer was ready for the Prince’s attack though, and swung his staff as he rushed towards him. Tristan ducked under the blow and drove his shoulder into the mage’s stomach, knocking them both off of the dragons. A single strange urge rose up in Tristan as they fell to their certain death. Reaching up he ripped the sorcerers mask off. If he was going to die, he wanted to see his enemy. His face looked oddly familiar to Tristan. As the ground rushed up towards them all he could think of was his family and how sad they’ll all be now. Time seemed to slow down, as well as their fall.
The sorcerer drove his staff into Tristan’s neck and the Prince was forced to release his hold on him. Tristan’s feet hit the ground and he rolled into a large wooden building, his senses reeled and he struck his head painfully on something metallic. He rose shakily to his feet, raising his sword instinctively as another bolt of lightning stuck it. Again the electric feeling traveled up his arm and his sword nearly fell from his fingers.
The magician smiled sadistically as blood covered Tristan’s face from a throbbing head wound. The Prince lost his balance and fell to one knee as he used his sword to keep erect. He pulled his hair back with his gloved left hand and rubbed the blood out of his eyes. The sorcerer walked right in front of him and used his staff to knock the sword out of Tristan’s weak hand.
“You lose, dragon spawn.” He said triumphantly. “Such a pathetic way to go too; knocked senseless by your own shield.” The sorcerer goaded.
Tristan leaned back on the building behind him and used it to push himself back to his feet. His surroundings began to come into focus. He was in the middle of a staging area, the building behind him was a rolling tower, off to his left half buried in the mud and muck, was
his shield. High above him he could hear the roars of battle of Bethia and the mystic dragon.
“Who the hell are you?” Tristan grumbled.
Casting him a sinister smirk he replied with heavy sarcasm. “It wounds me deeply that you don’t recognize my face.” The sorcerer pulled his hood back, raised his staff and pinned Tristan’s numb right shoulder to the rolling tower. “Look closely you filthy half-breed.” He ordered.
If there was anything recognizable about the man, Tristan was in no shape to find it. His vision blurred and faded as he fought to remain conscious. The blood from his head wound ran down his face kept his wits dull. He couldn’t focus long enough for a quip, having no strength for much else he simply spit on the man.
The sorcerer growled in reply, using his free hand to slap Tristan’s face. The Prince smiled in spite of himself. If he hadn’t cracked his head open this fool would be feasting on his fist. Instead he merely smiled in reply, drawing another angry growl from the red robed magician.
“Insolent dog.” The sorcerer replied, once he’d mastered his own anger. “You killed my mother.” He accused.
“Ah.” Tristan replied with a grunt. “Another Rhodes.” He said dismissively.
“Where she failed, Binos will succeed.” He gloated as he pushed his staff harder into Tristan’s shoulder.
“You realize…” Tristan began with his usual mocking tone. “…that speaking of yourself in the third person is the first sign of insanity.”
Binos laughed. “And pray tell, what’s the second?” He asked with disgust.
“Blinding arrogance.”
Tristan reached out with his left hand and the dagger secreted in the back of his shield ripped out of its sheath and flew into his grasp. In one fluid motion he swiped the blade towards the mage, slicing into his neck. Immediately the staff dropped from his grip as Binos’ hands clasped around his gaping neck wound. He tried vainly to staunch the flow as he dropped to one knee, looking up at Tristan in disbelief.
Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) Page 24