“We can’t defeat them alone, such are their numbers. We need to call the elves and dwarves to war, and more, we need the elders help, through training and leadership. Without you we surely go to our doom.” Finally she leaned back in her chair and looked down at the floor. Beth was ashamed to have spoken so harshly to her teachers, but she felt it was a necessary evil, even if she didn’t like it.
She’s right. Beth felt a strange voice in her mind. It was raspy and sounded old and in pain.
You heard? Lesa sent.
We heard. Beth felt the familiarity of Draconis’ mind brush against all of theirs.
What do you both think? Otis asked.
The dragons must take a hand. There is more at stake than just who will rule our lands, much more. The raspy old voice echoed in her mind.
Henjis? Beth sent in uncertain shock.
Aye young one, I am sorry we haven’t met yet. I am most impressed at your logic though. He complimented.
Chapter 8
Tristan sat, looking out of the window of his palace. Repair crews could be heard out in the courtyard and farther below in the town proper. He had rarely left their room, only briefly holding court for the most pressing concerns and delegating the day-to-day tribulations to his more than able administrators. He tilted back his glass, swirling the dark amber liquid inside it.
The past couple of years had been infinitely less painful than the Nightmare Spell had been, but at least the pain in the spell had been much the same variety with a steadily increasing cruelty. Life could be so much crueler than his dreams had been. He sighed as he drank down the last of the whiskey, wincing slightly as it burned down his throat.
A knock came at the door, tearing Tristan from his self-destructive habit. He scowled deeply, looking over his shoulder. “Enter.” He grumbled.
Eurydice entered slowly, stopping as she closed the door behind her. She looked around the room slowly. Tristan had used his increased strength to move the bed so that the rising sun could bathe his dying wife in its warmth. He rarely left his chair, and even rarer still did he shave. The Prince only bathed when his own stench began to bother him. Various bottles littered the floors and a pile of glass was the only proof of his violent outbursts as he launched empty bottle after empty bottle into the unused corner of their room.
Her eyes softened, showing sadness and empathy for her brother. It irritated Tristan. He didn’t want sympathy, he wanted a target, a mission, and a quest or someway that he could bring Maggie back. Instead he had to live with the enchantments put in place by his grandfather, gathering all the poison he could into a sphere in his wife’s stomach. When Tristan was really drunk he fantasized that he could see the bulge of the sphere in his wife’s flat stomach. He would stare at it endlessly for hours, reaching out and touching it as delicately as possible.
“How are you big brother?” She asked quietly.
He chuckled darkly, casting her a baleful look. “I’m fine.” He croaked. Even in this state he couldn’t bring himself to yell at her.
Abandoning her timid act she crossed the room, took his empty glass from him and placed in on the floor, and then she leaped into the air theatrically and landed painfully on his lap. Euri threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Not being able to help himself, Tristan burst out laughing. Her youthful exuberance often had this effect on him and she used it to good effect when she had need.
“No you’re not.” She admitted, holding him tightly. “Now hug me back or I’ll start singing one of mother’s dreadful lullabies.”
For long minutes he resisted, his pain conspiring to cause his anger to rise up and unleash itself. Then she began humming a little tune that embarrassed him every time his mother sang it out loud. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a brief hug in return. Euri began humming the tune louder, obviously not satisfied.
Tristan tried to pull his head away from her iron grasp to give her a dark look, but she only hummed louder while tossing in a few words. Finally, chuckling despite his dark mood, he hugged her back. Immediately the humming ceased, but he felt the pressure of her thoughts on his.
We will find the cure. She soothed.
Weeks of pain and suffering rose up inside him and Euri loosened her grip and allowed him to lean into her shoulder as he began to sob.
Your life will never be easy my brother. But we are here, we love you. Don’t lock yourself away in your pain. Euri sent with a reassuring voice.
For long minutes she soothed his mind, applying her healing arts to his pain. Eventually she touched a part of his mind that had been altered by the Gods gift and pulled away from him briefly. Tristan looked up to see shock clearly evident on her face.
“What have you done?” She asked uncertainly.
“You can look.” He offered.
Again he felt her pressure along the wall that protected his memories of the events with the Gods. She delved into those memories as she often did with her scrolls or books. He felt her investigate every nook and cranny of his memories.
“Oh Tristan.” She said softly. “You’re willing to pay such heavy price.”
“Don’t I know it.” He said darkly, looking over at Maggie. “I’d gladly trade places with her.”
“That’s not your fate anymore brother.” She warned him. “Once grandfather and uncle find the cure you can ride off into the sunset like the sagas and fetch it for her.” Euri laughed.
“I suppose.” He replied.
“Do me a favor though?” She asked.
Tristan tore his eyes away from Maggie’s fragile form and looked up at Euri again. “Stop drinking.” She said.
Young ones?
The pair of them started from their intense gaze as Draconis’ voice cut into their minds like an icy waterfall. Tristan lowered his gaze, nodding his head to Euri who smiled and hugged him again. Finally when he had composed himself slightly, Tristan replied. Yes grandfather?
I have isolated the ingredients and searched endlessly through my library. Henjis sent. I regret to say that the book I need was lost centuries ago.
Tristan’s heart sank It’s hopeless then? He asked in anguish.
Not quite. When we fled Fangoria the dwarves carried much of our tomes and scrolls on their clever wagons. Draconis explained.
But the dwarves faded into legend. Surely none of them are left? Tristan asked.
If there’s one thing we learned long ago, young one, it’s that you should never underestimate a dwarf. They’re clever little people. Henjis chuckled.
Hope rose up in Tristan, threatening to delve him into another bout of depression. Before either feeling could fully manifest itself he focused his mind, locking out his emotions as best as he could.
Where do I begin my search? The Prince blurted.
Ironically, in your own backyard. Draconis laughed. The last time we had an envoy from the dwarves they had built a home for themselves in the vast mountain ranges in western Terum.
You must find them there, nephew. Henjis interjected. I remember the tome’s title, but nothing more; Morte Vaciu.
It’s in draconic, so you’ll need to let us know as soon as you find it so we can find the cure and administer it. My protection will only last so long. Draconis warned.
Tristan stood, allowing Euri to slide off his lap. Bethia? He sent.
Moments later he felt the pressure of her voice in his mind. You called my friend? She asked.
Do you know where the dwarves live? He asked.
No, but we will find them together. Bethia offered in a soothing tone.
~
Two days later found Tristan riding the currents of hot air with Bethia. She had arrived shortly after dawn to find Tristan in his armor, his shield and bow strapped to his back and his sword at his hip. If the dragon knew of his oath to the Gods she hid it masterfully as he set about cinching the straps about her neck and torso. When he was finished he leaped athletically onto her back, he could feel her surprise as he settled into the
saddle and strapped his legs into the sleeves of the saddle.
Ready? He sent.
As though to answer, she flung herself from the tower and climbed high into the sky, so high that they burst through the clouds. Tristan was drenched, but quite happy to be doing something other than laying around brooding. The sun was warm and he was soon quite dry as Bethia showed off her favorite dips and dives.
You’ve grown quite a bit since we last flew together, he observed.
As have you. She returned the compliment with the smallest hint of sarcasm.
Tristan’s thoughts dwelt on his oath and again he was visited by the same feeling of guilt, he would gladly take his wife’s place. Bethia banked hard to the left and pulled into a steep dive. She took them plummeting through the clouds at incredible speed. They cleared the clouds and the Prince was once again soaked to the bone, he used his gloved hand to wipe the rain out of his eyes only to be greeted by the sight of the gaping mouth of a volcano.
Up! He projected to Bethia.
He got no reply and still they descended at incredible speed. UP damn you! His mind screamed.
I thought you wanted to die? She answered calmly.
No! That’s not what I meant! Pull up! He shouted.
Oh? She shot back with clear anger. You wish to trade places with your wife, to be the one laying there dying, do you not? Bethia asked.
I…no, I don’t want to die. I don’t want Maggie to die either though! He answered quite calmly considering the heat he could now feel from the lake of lava below.
Then stop punishing yourself! She yelled at him with surprising authority. You’ll not save her if you’re constantly berating yourself. You will outlive her, your parents, your brother…even your friends. You must learn to accept that inevitability and continue to fight!
There was no denying her logic; he had wasted so much time in self-pity and depression. Maggie wasn’t dead yet and he could still find a way to save her. Even if he couldn’t find this book and her days had already come to an end, he still had to protect his people.
Much better. Bethia said calmly, pulling up from her dive.
Tristan could feel the intense heat rise up in waves as the surface bubbled like a boiling pot of water. He could feel Bethia’s joy as she banked and swerved around the rising bubbles and minor explosions of the lake of fire. A large bubble to their left exploded raining lava all around the mouth of the volcano. Bethia laughed as she dodged and rolled, avoiding every drop of the lava as they arced through the air, landing with a faint sizzling sound.
The incredible heat dried Tristan in record time and soon he was laughing along with Bethia as the large red dragon bobbed and weaved around the mouth of the volcano. She pulled up into a steep climb and they shot out of the mouth of the volcano like a bolt of lightning. Her speed left him speechless, and her agility was unmatched.
Soon they were gliding lazily over the great mountain ranges in western Terum. She carried him high in the air, and everywhere he looked he could see snow capped mountains. They stretched out as far as his eyes could see, obscuring the rising sun behind them. The vastness of the mountain range left him feeling small and inconsequential, though it also raised a very serious question in his mind.
Have you any inkling of where to start looking? He asked bemused.
She chuckled in his mind. Dwarves are a strange race, my friend. The last contact our kin had with them had been on the plains of what is now known as Vallius. Bethia recalled. They are quite private. After the war, I can hardly blame them.
Tristan remembered all too well the war of which Bethia eluded, and he agreed with her assessment. If the dwarves were going to be found, it wouldn’t be a simple manner. For hours Bethia flew over the mountains, looking for small patches of life that would hint at the dwarf cities. Tristan concentrated on the mountainsides looking for caves and openings that could have served as doorways into cites under the mountains themselves, as Bethia had informed him the dwarves were known to do.
The first day had been uneventful; they neither located a field, valley or cave that would possibly lead to a city inside the mountains. The cold air nipped at Tristan’s ears and hair, forcing the Prince to draw his cloak tightly around himself to block the wind. They coasted down to the base of a small set of hills and setup camp for the night. Tristan removed the saddle from Bethia’s back and the large red dragon took off to hunt for herself. He started a small fire and sat back against the bole of a tree, snacking on some jerked beef. They turned in early and were up before sunrise to take back to the skies, again searching for hints of dwarven activity.
Shortly after noon, driven by hunger the pair of them landed on an outcropping of rock. It was little more than a roughly flat ledge that was large enough for Bethia to land on. After Tristan had dismounted and removed the saddle, she had leaped into the heavens to hunt for herself. The Prince busied himself looking for scraps of wood to start a fire for warmth and comfort. A short time later, after finding a large fallen tree, he had a merry little blaze going as the sun reached its zenith.
Tristan sat munching on some jerked beef, warming his hands before the fire, as Bethia landed on the outcropping. He could smell blood on her breath as she lay down in front of the fire and sighed theatrically from her feast. She shuffled slightly and threw a couple of rabbits down next to the fire. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he drew his dagger and began to skin the pair of conies. In no time they were sizzling as he turned them on a spit over the flames.
How can you stand that? She asked.
Stand what? He replied.
Burnt meat… She said with distain.
He laughed as he finished cooking the rabbits, turning his mind instead to the task at hand. It might be better if I scout around on foot for a while. He suggested. I’ll put the saddle back on you, and tie my bow, quiver and shield to it. That should give me more mobility to climb around these mountains a little.
Bethia made a non-committal snuff, sending sparks out of her nose. I don’t like the thought of you wandering around these mountains alone. There are more than just dwarves around here. She warned.
Tristan smiled sarcastically. I’ll be fine. He assured her.
He knew she was less than impressed at the prospect, but after an hour of rest he tied the saddle to her back again and relieved himself of his cloak, bow, arrows and shield. Taking one of the free straps from her saddle he tied it around the pommel and scabbard of his sword and strapped it over his shoulder so it rested comfortably on his back. Tristan shifted his belt so that his dagger lay along the small of his back; he reached up for a rock hold and began to climb the mountain they had set down on.
Tristan walked slowly through a grassy valley between mammoth mountains. The sun dried whatever snow would gather here, leaving a lush green pasture that showed signs of recent grazing. His heart leaped as he continued to scout around the valley, looking for the entrance or exit of the herd that had grazed here.
Far to the south of the valley he found little more than a goat path leading away from the valley down the mountainside. He set his feet along the path, finding that it winded its way steeply down. He used his arms to steady himself as he feet slipped on the packed dirt and rock trail.
I found a goat path I’m following. He sent to Bethia.
I can’t see where the path leads. Keep in contact. She instructed.
He smiled in spite of himself at her mothering. He rarely submitted to such treatment, but then the dragon was slightly larger than anyone who had mothered him before. Tristan chuckled as his feet slipped down the incline and he was forced to use his arms alone to negotiate the descent. The path began to widen as it leveled out into a large cave, it looked more like an entrance to a large hall than anything else he mused.
Tristan found his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light in the cave. The light spilling in from the path served to aid his vision when he looked away from the faint sunlight coming down. He felt along semi-blindly, l
ooking for a solid wall to lean on as his eyes became accustomed to the lack of light. Slowly small details began to make themselves clear to him. The walls were impossibly smooth and painted with many colors in interesting mosaics that defied explanation.
He turned to look at the wall he’d leaned against only to see what must have been how the dwarves saw their escape to this world. Large wagons, driven by no horse but spewing black smoke from large metal chimneys, wheeled through a terrible electrical storm. Dwarves fought from the tops of the wagons, firing crossbow bolts at the coming orc hordes. High above them, almost too small to see, were the dragons. There was no depiction of the elves Tristan knew had come through with them, perhaps they simply ignored them rather than casting them in a dark light he mused.
The next wall showed the dwarves beating back the orcs who turned and ran through an enormous stone and wood gateway Tristan instantly recognized as the Wall of Terious. An impressive looking dwarf stood atop the wall, his hammer held aloft as a bolt of lightning hit it, illuminating his powerful features. He assumed this was.
“Aye lad, that’s King Terious.”
Tristan whipped around, surprised by the voice, as he had reached up to grab the sword still strapped to his back. Before him stood a dwarf and though he didn’t know in truth what to expect, he was the strangest looking creature Tristan had ever laid eyes on.
He stood about four and a half feet tall, had a round shield strapped to his back that when used would cover everything above his ankles and below his chin. Strapped to his belt was a selection of small throwing axes, as well as a larger twin bladed axe at an angle on his back. His beard was tucked into his belt, which had a rather large buckle. His helm swept back along his head; there was a small ridge that lowered to protect his bulbous nose. He was covered head to toe in finely crafted plate armor; it was clear to him that beneath it the dwarf was heavily muscled to carry himself so lightly.
Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) Page 14
