Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2)

by David Temrick

  Bethia had no such fallback; she knew the welfare of an entire country and possibly the continent depended on her mastering her abilities much sooner than anyone would like. She chaffed to be at war with Tristan, though she couldn’t explain why. Socolis and Lesariu had yet to reach that part of the training and only explained that all would be revealed in time.

  Today had been especially difficult and Socolis and Lesariu knew why, they refused to share the knowledge with Bethia though. The hatchling felt irritation and anger alien to her thoughts. She also experienced sharp pains, though she couldn’t name their source. They had to restrain her for long hours while she struggled with someone else’s pain.

  Finally they had calmed her down enough to get back to the task at hand; making a column of water shoot out of the cup. Bethia couldn’t understand the necessity of the task; she also had developed something of a block about it. Lesariu chuckled as she called the cup to her hand, leaned over the Great River and filled it again.

  They’d been training in the dense forests to the south of Kenting for many weeks now and Bethia had mastered all they could teach her to date with minimal fuss. Controlling elements was always the hardest lessons and forced the mind to adopt thoughts and properties alien to its natural tendencies.

  Red dragons excelled at controlling the fire element for example. Bronze dragons could influence the heart, greens controlled nature, blues naturally controlled water, whites controlled air, and blacks had an affinity for night. Silver dragons were equally powerful, though they had no pre-destined control, they learnt as they grew, mastering none, but becoming proficient with all in time.

  Controlling fire came quite easily to Bethia of course. Making trees grow was slightly more challenging, but water was the antithesis of fire and it strove to irritate the red hatchling. She struggled and screwed up her eyes in concentration as she tried to make the water leap out of the glass. Finally, with great irritation she simply stomped her foot near the cup; making the water leap out. She then stuck out her forked tongue at her teachers, much to their amusement.

  Concentrate hatchling. Socolis instructed, retrieving the cup and filling it again.

  At least the trees are getting well fed. Lesariu joked.

  The pair of them laughed as Socolis placed the wooden cup back on the rotten log. He motioned for her to try again and stepped back. Bethia screwed up her face in concentration again and pushed out with her mind. She could feel the wood around the cup as though it was in her hands, the fine imperfections, and the gloss of the finely polished surface. She reached inside the cup with her mind, feeling the weight of the water.

  She focused; letting her mind caress the water, feel its contours and liquidity. Bethia lifted the water barely an inch out of the cup, keeping its form as it was. She pulled at it, like taffy was pulled, stretching it with her mind. She could feel Socolis and Lesariu’s approval, it gave her confidence as she began to twist it and control its shape.

  It elongated into a three-foot long disc, she let it float around playfully. Her eyes shot open as it flew forward, out of her control and sliced a thick tree trunk in two. Bethia fell backwards, sending birds to flight as their homes shook violently.

  Bethia! What’s wrong? Socolis asked in shock.

  It’s Tristan! She shouted to them both. He’s mortally wounded! She leaped back to her feet and launched herself into the air with startling speed. Socolis and Lesariu had to struggle to keep up with her.

  ~

  One minute the battle weary orcs limped towards the gates as Colonel Yeris’ men ushered them through, back north to the wild lands where they belonged. The next minute the Colonel could see an enormous dust cloud as thousands of men and creatures rushed towards the Great Gate. He called his men up onto the battlements as the ragged and battle worn mercenaries from the north ran at breakneck speed for the safety of their northern encampments.

  “Too bad for them we burned down every camp within a hundred yards of the wall.” One of his soldiers chuckled at his side.

  He smiled, silently agreeing with the corporal. They would need all summer to rebuild their camps and towns, and then the harsh winter would strike. Terum forces had won a tremendous victory, though word had reached him two days ago that Prince Tristan was on deaths door. The victory came at a high price, and Yeris hoped it was enough. The young Prince had promise and had been well on his way to being one of the finest military minds of the age. Even better than his father, whom Yeris had first served under thirty years ago now.

  The last stragglers made their way to the gate, looking around for any way to avoid returning north. Yeris pointed to the stragglers and half of them were filled with arrows in moments. The rest had been properly influenced and turned to flee back into the Great Expanse. Colonel Yeris looked over the parapet into the Expanse as the invading soldiers spread out and headed off in various directions.

  The Terumites that had been forced into conscription had been liberated and returned to their families, the fundamentalists had been run off and the Terum soldiers who refused to swear fealty to King Dion had been sent north. Those few who came rushing through the gates now were the last of the trouble makers and whoever took governorship of Terum had one less thing to worry about.

  Sergeant-Major Frose rode into view and waved up at the Colonel. Yeris’ men worked the cleverly designed winches and the gates began to close behind the invaders. In no time the gates closed with an ominous boom as the large iron cross beams turned into place, sealing the passage again.

  The plan was now to hold the gate with ten thousand men. The Colonel was charged with building a town near the gate and quickly getting crops in the ground, trees felled for fires, and a steady economy going. Administrators would likely arrive within the week and then he would be free to get his military affairs in order.

  “Sir, Sergeant Frose reporting for duty, sir.”

  Yeris was shaken from his own thoughts as the burly old sergeant saluted him, only half mocking. “That’ll do Frose.” He replied with a bemused chuckle. “I suppose you know the 7th is now under my command?”

  “Sir, yes sir.” Frose replied with a smirk.

  “Well I don’t need smart aleck Sergeants, Frose.” Yeris said, losing his smile. “I need smart aleck Captains.” He said with a mocking grin.

  Frose swore.

  “My sentiments exactly.” Yeris answered with a smile. “Now, go get our men billeted and settled. We’ve got work to do.” He ordered. As Captain Frose turned to do as bidden, Yeris reached out and grabbed the older man’s shoulder. “How’s the Prince?” He asked.

  Captain Frose lost his characteristic smirk. “He might not make it.” He answered, heavy with emotion.

  Colonel Yeris swore.

  “Couldn’t have said it better m’self, sir.” Frose grunted.

  ~

  Tristan stood on the battlements of a castle. He wore simple leather trousers; cut wide at the knee to allow him to wear his favorite boots and he wore a simple red short-sleeved wool shirt. A cloak was gathered around his shoulders to keep out the unseasonably cool air. He looked out at the barren docks, which was strange, as he’d never seen abandoned docks in a thriving city.

  The town was silent, for no one walked the streets, no businesses were open and even the gates to the palace were sealed shut. An unearthly silence descended upon him like a blanket pulled tight around his head.

  “Hello lad.”

  Tristan jumped, the voice had shocked him. Beside him stood Knight-Captain Lance Robertson, late commander of the 7th Infantry, one of Tristan’s greatest teachers, and one of the few people he trusted implicitly. The Prince could hear horse’s hooves in the courtyard below and looked down to see his proud horse Pava prancing about, thoroughly enjoying herself. He chuckled at the display, turning his attention back towards his dead friend.

  “What’s going on?” Tristan asked.

  “You have a choice to make lad.” Robertson informed him.

  “A cho
ice?” The Prince asked.

  “Aye.” The Captain replied with a familiar grin.

  Above them dark purple clouds gathered. Thunder rolled across the sky as the clouds obscured the little light that illuminated the landscape around him. It wasn’t too long before all Tristan could see was Robertson. The Captain regarded him intently; he appeared more at peace than he had when Tristan had known him.

  “What choice?” Tristan asked.

  The Captain lost his grin, looking suddenly serious. “To live or die.” He said simply.

  “Is that a choice to be made?” The Prince asked in shock.

  “For you it is.” The Captain said with a proud smirk.

  “I don’t understand.” Tristan admitted.

  “You’ve been on deaths doorstep and pulled back far too many times for their liking.” Robertson chuckled, looking up. “However, our world stands on the brink of chaos and exceptions must be made for the greater good.”

  “Exceptions?” The Prince asked.

  “Indeed. You are to be given a choice.” He explained. “You can die now and death will accept and judge you based on your accomplishments, which I might add are many and you’ll be greatly rewarded.” Robertson said with another characteristically proud smirk.

  A small sphere popped into existence to Tristan’s left and in it played his life. His skills as a child, his lessons, eventually his attack with the aptly named Nightmare Spell, overcoming the effects of that spell, his battles, victories, losses…all played at incredible speed so that only flashes were distinguishable.

  “You can choose to live, though your body is damaged severely and it will take you months to walk again and perhaps years to fight as you once could.” The Captain motioned to the sphere, which showed a bitter version of Tristan, unable to walk without the aid of a cane, nearly blind, unable to use his sword arm properly.

  “Finally, you can choose to accept the Gods gift.” He said matter-of-factly.

  The sphere turned dark. Puzzled, Tristan cocked his head to the side and looked at Captain Robertson with a questioning glance.

  “Oh, that future is still unwritten pup.” He said with a knowing chuckle.

  Tristan cast his old friend a bemused wry grin before replying. “The gift is an uncertain future?”

  “It’s infinitely more than that lad.” Robertson said as he rubbed his face with his right hand before he sighed and continued. “Everything that has occurred until now has been preordained by the Gods. From your conception to your untraditional training, the attack on your mind, hell, even your victory over The Bane. But now the future is blocked from the Gods, which can only mean that their lives lay in the balance as well. As you might imagine, they have their own interests at heart, but they are limited in how they can respond. They cannot take a personal hand in what will come to pass; however, they can move their pieces and give their heroes the tools they will need to survive the coming battle.”

  “I don’t understand.” Tristan admitted.

  “Neither do I pup.” Robertson laughed. “I can only tell you what I’ve been told. Pieces move into play that could threaten our world. The Gods are part of our world and if it comes into mortal peril, they will also come into mortal peril.”

  “Wait….they’re Gods. How can their lives lay in the balance?” Tristan asked in shock.

  “I don’t know pup. I just don’t know.” The Captain admitted.

  The Prince sighed, irritated but resigned to the fact that these questions would go unanswered at the moment. “Alright, what’s the gift?” He asked.

  “Ah! The gift.” Robertson motioned over to an alter Tristan hadn’t seen before. A rack beside it held his armor, shield, sword, dagger, bow and a strange looking red cloak. The cloaks color matched the trim of his armor; though its cut and tailoring was beyond anything the Prince had ever seen before. Runes seemed to be stitched into the fabric itself, they were the same color as the cloak but they appeared to be raised slightly. Tristan ran his hands over some of the runes and a chill crawled up his arm.

  “Here’s the choice.” The deceased Captain instructed. “The Gods will heal your body, infusing it with their power. You will know things without knowing how, you will be compelled to act and not know the reason. For all intents and purposes you will be immortal; the only way you can be killed is if someone decapitates you, and I’ve heard tell that it’s not a very pleasant way to go.” He said with a chuckle.

  “As long as the Gods live, your wounds will heal, given time and rest, no matter how much damage you’ve sustained.” Tristan stared at Captain Robertson in wide-eyed wonder, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

  “That’s a mighty gift.” The Prince answered breathlessly. “What’s the catch?” He asked, taking on a more serious tone.

  “The catch, as you so aptly name it, is that you will watch as everyone you love will grow old and die around you, for you will become to defender of this world.” Robertson said calmly.

  “What of the dragons?” Tristan blurted.

  The Captain smiled. “The dragons are something of an exception. They are still quite young by their races standards, even Draconis is barely a thousand years old and while that makes him the oldest dragon on this world, he is by no means the oldest dragon in existence.”

  “There are other dragons?” Tristan asked in shock.

  Robertson held his hand up. “Yes, but that’s beside the point at the moment.” He took another deep breath. “Gods I miss doing that.” He smiled wistfully. “The gift?”

  Tristan took a steadying breath, trying to think of all the things he’s going to outlive, all the things he would lose. Lifetimes passed before his eyes, children and grandchildren he would appear much as he is now standing beside their beds while they took their final breaths. The weight of his decision hit him hardest when thinking of his parents, brother, sister, Maggie and Mina. He would watch, unable to stop the passage of time, as they died slowly beneath his eternal gaze. Tears came unbidden to his eyes as he weighed the effects of their deaths on him.

  “How can I refuse?” Tristan finally choked out.

  Captain Robertson put his arm on the Prince’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He motioned towards the alter using his grip on Tristan’s shoulder to steer him. They walked forward and he indicated the Prince should don his armor.

  Never before had Tristan taken his time putting his armor on. He was keenly aware of each lace and grommet as he slipped his shin guards over his boots and pants. He strapped on his greaves, keenly aware of the coolness of the buckles. Everywhere lace touched he could feel its constriction, every grommet was a spot of coolness as the rain began to fall in earnest and the wind picked up. Tristan slipped his breastplate over his head and tightened the laces along his sides. Finally, he slipped on his bracers and tightened them methodically.

  Robertson passed Tristan his sword belt, which the Prince buckled around his waist obediently. The Captain then motioned for Tristan to lay down on the elevated alters. Tristan felt the stone beneath him; it felt like fine marble with no imperfections that he could feel. His shield was placed above his head and his bow at his side. Finally, when Robertson was satisfied he stood to Tristan’s right.

  “Ready lad?” He asked.

  The Prince took another steadying breath, unsure of what was about to occur. “Yes.” He finally replied. A bolt of lightning laced out from the sky striking the Prince. Tristan screamed out as a pain more terrible than he had ever felt before racked his body.

  ~

  “If you two don’t stop arguing, I’m going to have Beth throw you out!” Maggie shouted, pointing her finger accusingly at the King and his eldest son.

  For the hundredth time, Dion and Kevin were arguing about how best to proceed with the occupation of Terum. Kevin had faith that Tristan would recover in due time and then he could assume command. Dion was unwilling to allow another bandit to set himself up, as King and then it would take another year to dig him out.

/>   Both of them were right in Annadora’s opinion, but she couldn’t bring herself to take a side. Her son was once again unconscious before her and this time she couldn’t reach his mind. The Queen had tried when he first arrived, in the talons of Bethia moments after he fell in battle. No one seemed to have any details, but as soon as they stripped off his armor it was clear that it was due to injuries.

  She still couldn’t understand how he lived. The elder dragons had worked their magic as best they could, mending his body and sealing his wounds. He had numerous lacerations and minor cuts, but there was a long jagged wound along his ribs and his hamstring had been severed. Lesa had worked until she nearly passed out tending to his more severe injuries. They had succeeded in breaking his fever, and that more than anything gave else them all hope.

  Maggie had been beside herself when she forced her way into the room, showing surprising strength as she pushed three soldiers aside to do so. The young lady’s face told the Queen all she needed to know. She had long suspected that Tristan had found someone who made him happy, but the way the girl took care of her son deeply moved her.

  Beth, Lesa, Otis and Drake stood off in the corner, discussing things quietly in their draconic language. Their low growls and chirps added an alien feel to the air that chilled Annadora. Euri sat at the foot of the bed, leaning against one of the bedposts dozing in the afternoon heat. Summer had asserted itself days ago and Alison made herself busy tending her gardens. The Queen knew that it was done more out of respect for their plight than any real inclination to garden, a fact which was confirmed when Annadora went walking through those gardens to find her daughter-in-law crying on one of the ornate benches that surrounded her lovely flowers beds.