To do so would cause the young woman endless pain and there was no guarantee that they could remove all of the poison, for some of it had made its way into her blood stream. Euri and Annadora made a tonic that would put Maggie into a deep sleep and help in slowing her heart rate down enough to hinder the poisons effects as much as possible.
Tristan pulled his hands away from his eyes slowly, blinking out the stars as he stared at his palms. He felt useless and out of control. It had more to do with the poison traveling through his body and leaving him unharmed; he longed to pass this ability to his wife. This is what Robertson must have meant by watching those he loved die, leaving him powerless to save them.
Even now his agents, assembled and trained by his father, questioned everyone from the baker of the loaf to the priest. The acolyte was found slain in the sewers a few days ago, although his torturer assured him that the young man had been dead for quite some time. Otis assumed this meant an assassin had taken his place for the ceremony.
Beth’s appearance was now far more humanlike, and she cast herself as a very attractive young woman. Tristan saw features in her that reminded him of his sister, mother and Maggie. The latter caused a pit of depression to form in his stomach from time to time. Both he and Beth agreed that the situation bore the signature of a powerful sorcerer. Tristan had to fight the urge to fly to Deus and destroy the school and every magic user there looking for the person responsible, even though he knew it would do no good, and that many magicians could very well kill him or at least injure him so severely it would take years to recover completely.
The Prince attempted again to try and contact his bride in her dreams, to reassure her and perhaps to offer hope. His own skills weren’t enough to penetrate her pain though, and he became more aware of the power his mother must have had to use to breach the spell that had entrapped him years ago. Magic, Tristan mused, was quite helpful when it wasn’t being used against him. He chuckled darkly to himself at the thought, still looking on in quiet desperation at his wife.
“Ahem.”
Tristan turned his head to see his grandfather in human form standing in the doorway. The middle aged man stepped inside the doorway and offered his arm to a hunched over figure who had been behind him. The Prince could scarcely credit his senses as the hunched over figure looked up to reveal the familiar face of Ben the hermit, also known as Henjis, and an elder black dragon.
He stepped forward and offered his arm to the old man, guiding him to the chair he’d just occupied. Ben sat down with an audible sigh, readjusted himself with a pained expression and finally settled back delicately.
“I thought you died.” Tristan said in shock.
Ben chuckled, and then winced at the pain it sent through his body. “Damn near did too. Bloody fireball was quite powerful.”
Tristan lowered his eyes. “Thank you.”
Ben waved him off. “None of that boy, we both knew it had to be done.” He sniffed the air theatrically. “Though one of us has changed quite a bit more than the other, you reek of magic boy, and I’ve never smelt its match.”
“Grandfather told you?” Tristan asked.
“Told me what boy? I’ve been unconscious for damned near a year. My body had to heal quite a bit before I was able to fly and even so it took me weeks to get here.” Ben explained.
“Why did it take weeks?” He blurted.
“Had to rely on my other senses and it’s been centuries since I had to move about without seeing where I was going.” The old man explained.
Tristan noticed the old man’s eyes were scarred and there were still patches of flesh that bore burn scars. “You’re blind?” He asked.
“For now. In time my eyes may heal.” He sighed. “Thanks to you, the others aren’t too upset with me. Maybe I’ll be able to convince Lesa to accelerate the process a touch.” He chuckled. Ben leaned over and began coughing; fine sprays of blood disappeared into his black robe, causing Tristan to wince, feeling guilty and responsible for the damage. He’d explained in detail what he, Euri and William had learnt in the pirates’ cove and Henjis’ lair, as well as the old dragons sacrifice in his battle against The Bane’s leader, who also happened to be Henjis’ daughter.
“Now, I know I missed a wedding, but I could feel your rage even as I made my way to your city boy. I’ve also heard rumors in the minds of your staff and citizens, but I’d like the facts from you if you wouldn’t mind.” Ben asked hoarsely.
Tristan spent almost an hour telling the story of how he passed out after his battle with the orc, his fevered dream, and the lightning that struck him after he made his choice. Drake echoed that the lightning hit him in his bed as well, pulling his armor to him and transforming it. Even the King of Dragons was hard pressed to explain how it happened, or the magic involved in its alteration.
Ben asked for the armor, and Tristan handed over one of the bracers. The old man sniffed and felt every inch of it, finally recoiling as though he recognized something. Shaking his head, he returned to examining the piece while Tristan told him about the wedding. Finally they broached the subject of most interest, how the bread had caused Tristan’s stomach to flip, but brought Maggie to her current state.
The old man handed back the bracer and asked Tristan to put it on. As always, Tristan simply slipped it on, it glowed briefly along the straight edges and sealed to his arm. Ben motioned for the Prince to bring his arm forward. He sniffed and ran his hands along it on all sides and finally let go of Tristan’s arm. The Prince grasped the bracer at the cuff and pulled, a small glowing line appearing first then the seam split and it slid off his arm effortlessly.
“Well it’s definitely the Gods gift that kept you alive, and that armor has been imbued in a way unknown to me I must admit. But since you are unharmed, perhaps we should have a look at the girl, no?” He asked lightly.
Drake lifted the chair, Ben still in it, closer to the bed where the old man could perform his own strange assessment. Again, he sniffed around her mouth, ears and navel, rubbed her feet and stomach and finally felt the muscles between her neck and shoulders. When he’d finished he asked for his satchel. Tristan hadn’t even noticed his grandfather had a satchel draped over his shoulder as he passed it to the old man. He rummaged through the bag, feeling around for what only he could discern.
“Drake my old friend, I need you to place your hands on her stomach, I just don’t have the power.” He asked.
Tristan’s grandfather stepped forward and placed his hands on Maggie’s stomach, a faint glow appeared around the outline of his hands. Ben uncorked one of the vials and wove it under Maggie’s nose. The young lady wrinkled her nose as she inhaled the contents. The glow turned a dark blue color as Ben placed his hands on Drakes. The old man mumbled words in draconic, his brow furrowed in concentration.
After what felt like hours, the old man drew his hands back. Tristan’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of his face. It was pale and drawn, beads of sweat gathered at his temples and he seemed to be wheezing as he attempted to catch his breath. For several minutes Tristan watched as he recovered from his investigation.
“I need to check my books.” Ben finally admitted. “I know the compounds used to create the poison, but I don’t know what the cure could be when they are combined in this manner.”
“I’ll fly you home old friend.” Drake volunteered. Tristan’s grandfather turned to him and said; “I’ll help him find the answer.” He comforted, placing his hand on Tristan’s shoulder.
~
Bethia, the new patron dragon of Terum, glided along on the updrafts created by the heat radiating from the volcanic activity below. Three such mountains she had tamed, redirecting their devastating eruptions to the volcanoes under water miles out to sea. Even now she could see, with grim satisfaction, the steam rising from one of the larger volcanoes under water that she had sent the erupting magma from three smaller ones towards.
She stretched out her mind, feeling the warmth of the magma as
it coursed along beneath the surface of a large farming community. The mountain the inhabitants lived in the shadow of had begun to spit small droplets of lava sporadically from its mouth. Last week one such droplet had set fire to one of the farms, ruining the family and killing their only milk cow.
Even now the local constables and barons were helping the family rebuilt their home and a cow was on its way, along with several chickens if her nose wasn’t playing false with her. It was a delicate balance she was taught. Otis especially, being the closest to Terum, knew that completely redirecting the magma would render the landscape infertile and useless. Small eruptions were required to keep the farmlands rich and rain on schedule.
Bethia stretched her mind forward, redirecting a part of the flow off to the south where the land had dried out and become barren. Small crevices in the surface of the earth were showing red lava rising close to the surface. Two small volcanoes erupted, one between Hyas and Magna and one between Magna and the Sutten border. Already rain clouds began to gather as lava slowly climbed inside their mouths and pored over.
She was proud of the work she was accomplishing, though her mind was often troubled with flashes of human faces and surroundings. Lesa had warned that she would bond with Tristan, though she dismissed it as tradition and perhaps a little romanticizing their roles with humans. Though it appeared that the elder bronze had been correct, there were times when she could feel his powerful emotions.
During his fevered dreams she felt pain and sadness, his wedding brought joy and hope. For the past month though she’d been besieged with murderous feelings tempered with desperation. Bethia struggled to separate herself from the emotions, knowing that they were not her own and striving to control the black impulses that her friend shared unwittingly.
Hello young one. She felt the presence of Socolis in her mind.
Hello elder white. Bethia replied with a mental laugh.
Would you meet us in your lair? He asked.
Of course father. She answered.
Banking to the right she floated along the warm air currents towards her new home. She had selected one of the larger mountains west of Kumia. The entrance faced the ocean far below and gave her an amazing view of the weather patterns at sea. It must have been one of the early dragon holds; it was quite large and boasted a library much like Draconis’. She had yet to learn how to read though. Socolis, Lesariu and Draconis had promised to remedy that situation soon.
Slowly she descended from her flight as rain began to pour down in earnest. While it didn’t bother her, she didn’t enjoy the energy it leached from her body. She smiled as she pinned her wings back for the last hundred feet, aiming precisely for the entrance hole.
The water had made the stone passageway slick, and she laughed aloud as she slid down the entrance into the cave below. She flipped over allowing the air currents to pull her wings out and act as a parachute as she floated down to the cavern floor. Socolis and Lesariu were standing a short way off, laughing at her youthful exuberance.
Hello my friends. She sent in a light welcoming tone.
The pair of them chuckled mildly as they transformed themselves into their human forms. Bethia sighed theatrically as she screwed up her eyes in concentration. The transformation still came with difficulty, though it was becoming easier and she found she didn’t have to concentrate on her human form very hard to have success.
She’d begun adding small decorative items, red beads that mimicked Maggie’s wedding gown. Her hair was a vivid red color though she often chose to wear it in much the same fashion as Eurydice; the hair from the top and sides of her head were pulled back and laced with a red ribbon leaving the hair from the back of her head to flow freely down her back. She chose to imitate Annadora’s length of hair and height as she felt it gave her the almost regal bearing she admired in the Queen. Her gown was cut similar to Draconis’ robe; it was tighter at the top with a chevron shape cut out in a differing shade of red, much like Maggie’s wedding gown. The lower half of her robe extended and wove around her, hanging loosely like Mina’s gowns did.
“Hello young one.” Lesa said, stepping forward and embracing Beth.
Otis chuckled as Beth released her aunt and embraced her father tightly. While most dragons rarely showed such emotion, this new generation of younglings seemed to empathize more as their human friends did. Beth knew that it amused the pair of elders, watching the younglings imitate the humans they looked up to. It was a natural side effect to the roles the younglings were learning.
Already eggs had begun to hatch in Draconis’ lair and the elders had begun instruction in the rudimentary skills, such as hunting and flying. Out of the twenty hatchlings there were another two reds, four blue, three green, one silver, two bronze, three black and five whites. Typically with predators and the remnants of The Bane lurking about you could expect half of them to survive. However, since the entire draconic race depended on their survival the elders had woven power spells around the lair, protecting it with their enchantments and always one of them stayed with the hatchlings to protect them.
“How go the repairs?” Otis asked with a warm smile.
“Well enough, I’ve tried not to tamper too much with the magma flows. The farms are showing excellent crops so it’s just to keep the volcanoes from erupting.” Beth explained.
“Excellent. We’re very impressed. The land is beginning to resemble its former self.” Lesa complimented.
“But that’s not the reason you’re both here.” Beth replied quietly. “This all could have been communicated in the usual fashion.” She accused.
Otis cleared his throat theatrically looking at Lesa. “The apple doesn’t fall far from…”
“The tree, yes, so it would seem.” Lesa replied dryly to Otis’ amusement.
Lesa motioned for Beth to sit opposite them on the plush, yet dust covered chairs. “We need to talk with you about Tristan.” Lesa said bluntly.
“What about him?” Beth asked.
“His feet are set on a path that we cannot follow.” Otis ordered.
“Cannot, or will not?” She asked with narrowed eyes.
“Both, youngling.” Lesa replied quickly. “There are precious few of us and we have our domains to consider. Terum has lived on the verge of chaos for over twenty years, while that may seem a short amount of time to our race, it has cost many human lives and we long since sworn to protect them, even from themselves.”
Beth sighed. “This I know all too well, but he is my friend. I feel his pain and anguish. I would risk much to help him.” Fire burned in her eyes as she continued. “As he helped us.” She accused.
Lesa held her hands up as Otis leaned forward in his chair. “Human lives are short and fragile, we must preserve our strength.” He sighed, leaning back in the plush chair. “I once thought as you did, Draconis often had conversations like these with me.”
“It sounds harsh young one.” Lesa continued. “Human lives will come and go; you will live on and must establish control and dominance over your domain. To sacrifice yourself before another is ready to take your place would hopelessly complicate matters for our race.”
Beth’s shoulders sagged slightly as she exhaled. She could see how the elders had come to this conclusion, but as her more base feelings melded with Tristan’s a curious side effect had begun to materialize. Not only did she feel the need to oversee the health of her domain, she felt the need to oversee the health of the ruler of her country. Beth could feel Tristan’s strength, his drive and most of all she felt he was, and all humans for that matter were, far more important to the dragons than the elders had taught her.
Part of her training had been dragon lore and she knew their reason for wanting to be apart from the mortal races. Their reasons were not hers though; she knew that the strength of their race and its future was forever tied to this world now. Wars raged still in the Expanse, Henjis was dead and unable to put an end to them, and those wars would spread back into her country and then i
n Draconis’ and Socolis’ domain. Eventually the war would reach Lesarius’ country and the whole world, dragons and the mortals alike would be at an end.
“Father, Sister.” Beth began. “Dragons are no longer the authors of our world’s future. Someday perhaps our numbers will return, but then the slayers will resurface and thin those numbers out regardless of our wishes.”
She took a steadying breath as Lesa and Otis leaned forward in their chairs. “Men build our future with their fragile hands, and I would risk much to protect the best that their race has to offer. The boon is that their best is of our blood, and has already risked much for our kind. He could have run, he could have submitted to the spell that damaged his mind, he could have given up and allowed The Bane and their masters to destroy him utterly.
Instead he did what no man or dragon could accomplish; he returned our magic to us and saved himself in the process. Now an army gathers in the north; you know as well as I do that they will march on the humans and destroy them.”
“Do you honestly think that they will stop with the humans?” She asked rhetorically.
“They will turn their might on our kind, the elves and dwarves will not be able to remain hidden either. Alone none of our races can survive, the sorcerers fear dragons and the orcs hate us all. They will not stop until they have wiped the world clean, and then they will build it in their own fashion.” She concluded.
“If I must sacrifice myself to keep that dark future from coming true, then that is what the fates have in store for me. I understand the fear that stays your hands, but you cannot expect the younger dragons to share your fear. I have already spoken with the hatchlings; they agree that we must fight.” She informed them.
Otis and Lesa stared in open wonder at their youngling. Already she mastered arts normally taking decades to breach. Before either of them could speak, Beth continued her line of thought.
Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) Page 13
