Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2)

by David Temrick

  As they approached Tristan could see a tall figure in a bright yellow cloak. The hood was up; obscuring the figures features and it covered it from head to toe. The Prince was unsure what he was about to see, but the figure alone stood well over his own six feet in height. It towered above the dwarves surrounding it, and it was at that point when Tristan looked over to his right to see a group of another dozen or so taller forms gathered in the gloom of the hall.

  “Ah! Prince Tristan Vallious, I presen’ Queen Giani o’ the Elven people.” The King boomed over the buzzing discussions of his subjects.

  The figure in yellow turned around and pulled her hood away. Others might find her appearance attractive, but Tristan found it to be quite offsetting. While he could see similarities between himself and his dwarven hosts, whatever similarities in physical appearance he shared with the Elf Queen were superficial at best.

  Her face was fair, though her impossibly high cheekbones gave it an angular cast, as though someone had built her face out of carved marble. Her upswept ears lacked the lobes the human race had and the dwarves were overly blessed with. Her ears ended in sharp points that only added to the angular cast of her face. Her hair was the darkest black he’d ever seen and her eyes were close to the color of the sky, though so pale they looked almost white. The Queen’s lips were thin, and although she was smiling, there was something altogether disquieting about the look she was searching him with.

  The Queen unpinned her cloak as one of her kin raced forward with astonishing speed to catch it, folding it carefully over his arm, he backed away almost reverently. His hood obscured his appearance but from what Tristan saw of his arms and hands, elves appeared to be uniform in size. The Prince turned his attention back to the Queen to see that she wore a dress of the strangest construction.

  It looked lighter than Guisian silk, and yet had a rigidity that reminded Tristan of his old leather armor. The main part of her dress was a long flowing single piece of fabric that ran from her shoulders to just below her knees. On top of this main piece, were hundreds of small patterned patches of fabric so white it made the main piece look gray by comparison. Thousands of tiny beads were woven into the seams and tiny glyphs were scattered all over the dress.

  Her arms were bare and while they were trim and muscular they appeared as soft as the fabric of her dress. The Queen’s legs were equally muscular and lean. She wore simple slippers of a golden hue, also embroidered with beads. She smiled warmly at him and again the disquieting beauty she possessed struck him.

  “Prince Tristan, at last we meet.” She said affecting a shallow bow.

  Tristan returned the bow, “Queen Giani.” He said respectfully.

  She’s quite beautiful. Beth observed.

  I agree, though in a somewhat strange fashion. He replied.

  I thank you for the compliment. The pair of them felt Giani’s musical voice fill their minds.

  Tristan narrowed his eyes slightly, not out of anger, more out of confusion, the only mortals who could communicate with him in this way possessed dragon genes. You can hear us? He asked uncertainly.

  Of course. She replied, spreading her arms in a welcoming fashion. It was we who first taught the dragons to communicate in this fashion. The Queen explained.

  Both he and Beth were rocked by the revelation. Tristan had always assumed the dragons were the elder species, but if the elves had been the ones to teach them how to communicate with mortals, perhaps they were the elder race.

  No one alive is quite sure which race is older. The Queen explained sympathetically. It matters not though, the dragons taught us a great many things in return. She said, bowing to Beth.

  Where did you all come from then? Tristan asked suddenly forgetting his quest in the thirst for knowledge.

  Lifetimes have been spent in study and debate on that very issue. The Queen answered with a smile. It may be that we will never know. She concluded as though it was of no consequence. We tarry from your true question though, young Prince. Giani observed.

  “Tha elves be visitin’ us from time to time, I told ‘em what you’d all been up ta for days. Locked away in a room, readin’, it’s unnatural I tells ya.” He accused with a grin. “Her Highness be insistin’ ta meet ya.” The King added with a wink.

  “If you would be so kind, I would love a tour of the library.” The Queen said, stepping forward. “I have never visited it in fact.” She added with a smirk directed at the dwarf King.

  Beth stepped back as the Queen took Tristan’s offered arm and the three of them made their way through the halls and chambers to the still dust infested room. Giani made a strange noise, which Tristan assumed was the elfish version of shock. Turning to see her face, he amended his definition, the sound was disgust. Clearly the elves didn’t share the dwarves sense detachment to literature.

  She walked forward and gently pulled down on the books Beth and Tristan had been reading through. The Queen gently ran her fingers along the spine of the book and whispered something in a strange language. Immediately all traces of dust and dirt fell off the book like water being poured from a glass. She reverently opened the book and flipped through some of the pages.

  “Such a waste.” She muttered.

  “Sorry?” Tristan asked, stepping forward.

  “Dwarves love their machines, metal and precious stones…but they have nothing but contempt for anything written that is not a schematic.” She replied sadly.

  “Do you have libraries?” The Prince asked hopefully, his thoughts now stubbornly fixed on Maggie’s health.

  The Queen turned and regarded the Prince closely. “Oh yes, we do. Though, they’re likely alien to your definition.” She paused, looking back at the open book in her hands. “Tell me, how goes your quest?”

  Tristan went into detail, more out of hope that the Elf Queen could lend aid than any true desire to talk about so painful a topic. He told her of their success and that they still were no closer to unraveling the mystery despite their discoveries. When he’d finished he leaned up against the stone counter that must have served as the librarian’s desk at some point. Giani nodded her understanding while she gently closed the book in her hands.

  “I believe it’s time that we move these books and yourselves to our home.” She said in even tones. “Perhaps there, with the help of our elders, we can unravel many mysteries.”

  “You know of the orcs.” Tristan calmly said in reply.

  “We know of the orcs.” She replied; her face contorted slightly before she mastered herself and was calm again.

  It took three days to properly catalog the works from the dwarven library, and more often than not the elven ambassadors consulted with Tristan over the contents of a book or tome. They could speak his language well, though only the Queen showed proficiency in reading it, and she was often in closed-door council with the dwarf King.

  The Prince could only guess at their discussions, though he was convinced he had both patriarchs measure well enough to gleam their subject. Orcs. A blemish on both their races pasts and if orc genealogy ever became common knowledge, it would be a blemish on the future of all non-human races. Often Beth would accompany the pair of monarchs, leaving Tristan alone to deal with the facetious elves and the boorish dwarves.

  When not being consulted about literature, he spent most of his time cleaning his armor and weapons, which were the only things that both races found intriguing. The dwarves marveled at the craftsmanship that had gone into his blades and other weapons, while the elves marveled at the construction and magical properties of his armor. It was the only time either race would show any outward emotion that wasn’t hostile. Shouting matches broke out between the two races every few hours as spirited debates on history quickly disintegrated into outright arguments.

  Both races treated him with a sort of detached curiosity, anything they could not readily explain or find in common was largely treated as suspect. Tristan’s quick temper was appreciated by the dwarves and looked down upon by t
he elves, his speed and agility when sparing was loathed by the dwarves and applauded by the elves. All in all, Tristan had never felt so unwelcome and yet revered.

  On the third day, Tristan retrieved his saddle and Bethia transformed herself back into the large red dragon. Many of the younger dwarves fled at the sight of her, and none too few of the elves looked unnerved by her presence. The elves rushed out of the cave, pulling large cleverly fashioned wagons behind them. The Queen strode out before them, and in the clearing of the grassy knoll in front of the cave, she raised her hands to her mouth and made a strange keening sound.

  Tristan was cinching up the saddle to Bethia’s back when a dozen blurs of white ran past him. He looked over his shoulder to see the elves tethering up a dozen or so horses of pure white to the wagons. Each one of them was so white in appearance that the Prince was sure they would be blinding in direct sunlight. Not for the first time, Tristan was thankful to be riding Bethia rather than being permanently blinded by the vain horses.

  He shook his head as he crawled up into the saddle and strapped himself in. His cloak billowed out behind him as a cool wind swept through the clearing. The dwarf King came strolling out of the cave and waved good-naturedly at Tristan. The Prince returned the wave with a smile, not quite sure if the dwarves considered themselves friends or foe, but such was the dwarven people; a conundrum.

  The Elf Queen leaned down and the two of them exchanged some words before she straightened up and they both bowed to one another. A throat was cleared loudly at his feet and Tristan looked down to see Neran looking up at him, his ever-present pipe in his mouth. He took a breath in, reached up and pulled the pipe out. The dwarven Prince smiled, exhaled his smoke and winked at Tristan, patting Bethia on the leg.

  “Good luck ta ye laddie.” He grunted.

  “Thank you for your hospitality my little friend.” Tristan replied, laughing.

  “Little am I? Get yer skinny arse down here lad. I’ll teach ye some manners ya damned giant.” Neran said in mock anger.

  After weeks in the mountains, Tristan was finally beginning to understand dwarfish humor. Their jokes had an edge to them that reminded Tristan of his bantering with his brother and sister. He laughed as Neran made a show of reaching for his axe, his pipe back in his mouth and a false growling issued from the dwarven Prince as Tristan raised his hands in surrender.

  “If you should ever feel adventurous, come visit me in Kumia.” Tristan offered.

  The dwarf Prince gave up his mock anger and stood tall. “It woul’ be me honor laddie.” He replied.

  The elves wagons began to roll forward down the pathway out of the mountain ranges, and Tristan watched as they vanished around the first bend in the road. He looked back to the dwarf King and his gathered subjects and nodded his head in thanks again. Looking back down at Neran he smiled mischievously.

  “Of course, our stairs may be a little steep for you. I’m sure we can find some little serving girls to carry you lot around.” He added with an evil grin.

  “Why ye smar’ mouthed son of a…” Neran scolded.

  Tristan urged Bethia to take flight, cutting off the dwarf’s final word as he laughed. Again the Prince was back where he felt free and happy, despite the red dragon’s insistence in flying between cracks in rocks faces and around large razor sharp crags.

  Chapter 10

  “…and I’m telling you we’re heading down the same dangerous path our ancestors did!” Ben shouted.

  “Thinking of started up another subversive movement again?!” Drake shot.

  “Would you two stop it already?” Ruth shouted. “You’re setting a bad example for the hatchlings.” She chastised with a laugh.

  Ever since Lesariu and Socolis had healed the last of Henjis’ wounds, the five remaining elder dragons would sit around in human form debating their role in the future of mankind. Ruth, or Raithia as she was known in her natural blue dragon form, agreed with Ben that dragon kind had to keep their patronage of the world at a distance. Separating themselves from mortal concerns and repopulating their species. Drake, Lesa and Otis (who all had half-breed children) believed that it was only through dragon-human harmony that the future could exist in any meaningful way.

  No one wavered in their opinion and no one was willing to give up their stance, so again they argued uselessly with one another for hours while the hatchlings feasted on the elks the elders had rounded up for them. The safety of their young was by far the only thing all five of them could agree upon. None of them would abandon the others as had happened in the past, though many were sorely tested and pushed to their limits. With their tempers under control, Drake and Ben set about their debate again.

  “No one is denying that your grandson is exceptional, your great grandson even more so.” Ben complimented.

  “But for every good person, there are twenty evil. I would spare our race more hardship.” He said, clearly embarrassed that his own daughter had been the author of their latest near annexation.

  “As would I, my brother.” Drake began. “But I believe, and Annadora, Tristan, Eurydice and now Jonathan, are proof of my belief that we must trust the human species with our lives. Just as they rely on our patronage of their country, so should we rely on them for the growth and continuation of our kind.” He emphasized.

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Ben admitted. “I feel forces are at play, and they have yet to reveal themselves to us.”

  “On that we agree.” Drake replied dryly.

  “You both forget we’ve lost a brother and sister. Both were murdered by human hands.” Ruth interjected.

  “No one could forget that.” Otis observed darkly. “Draconis is right, we can control the elements, divert rivers and help this world grow, but we can’t control the hearts and minds of men. I trust the boy and if the prophecy is to come to fruition I would cast my life with the future that his birth promises.”

  Lesa adjusted uncomfortably in her chair around the oval table. She looked over towards the hatchlings as the younger ones ate enough and began to curl up and sleep. The older hatchlings continued to feast for a few more moments, until they too submitted to fatigue and fell asleep. Lesa wrestled with a great deal, it was also her great grandson who stood poised to become King of Kings and bring forth an era of peace. She worried endlessly about his safety; her maternal instincts worked themselves into frenzied panic for her daughter and granddaughter as well.

  “You have something to add little sister?” Ruth asked kindly.

  “Everyone seems to be forgetting one simple thing.” She warned.

  “I was wondering when we would broach this topic.” Otis said jovially.

  His infectious humor often brought much needed levity to their serious discussions. Lesa felt as though his humor helped her feel brave enough to speak up. Although no one viewed her opinions as unworthy because of her age, she still felt like a child in the presence of her companions. Although she was well over three hundred years old herself, others around the table were almost a millennia in age and still were unable to reach a consensus. She sighed as she leaned forward, faint dark lines under her eyes only hinted at the exhaustion she felt inside. Healing Henjis had taken more energy than she had anticipated, and his injuries had been severe and life threatening than anyone cared to admit.

  “The orcs gain in number again.” She said finally.

  “Another reason why we should divorce ourselves from mortal affairs.” Ben interrupted.

  While Lesa was younger than Ben, she still cast him a warning glare. “As I was saying.” She said through clenched teeth, revealing her impatience due to her exhausted state of mind. “The orcs gain in numbers again. Already they lay claim to your domain.” She accused Ben a little too harshly. Ruth reached out and placed her hand on the younger dragon’s human back and began rubbing it in a circular motion for comfort. Lesa’s shoulders relaxed and she took a steadying breath.

  “I’m sorry big brother.” She admitted.

  Ben looked a
cross the table with surprising sympathy. “Think nothing of it.” He said without guile.

  “The orcs control the Great Expanse; it’s only a matter of time before they attack the Great Wall.” She began.

  “Tristan’s quest may prove futile, and if it does he will strike out at them with little regard for his own life, even should he be successful it’s unlikely he will take their attack with anything short of full retaliation.” She continued.

  Lesa shuddered slightly, the others hadn’t known, but Draconis had been forced to carry her through the gateway from Fangoria when it was clear her own powers wouldn’t be sufficient to survive the transition. She saw what the orcs had done to his father; she feared the same fate for all of them, including Tristan. Lesa took a steadying breath before continuing.

  “We need to stomp out the orcs permanently.” She said with conviction. “I think we need to visit the dwarves and elves, convince them to help Tristan and his army wipe out the orc threat forever.”

  “They’ll have women and hatchlings as well little sister. What of them?” Ruth asked quietly, as though she was almost afraid of the answer.

  “All of them.” Lesa replied evenly.

  She looked up at her older brothers and sister as a single tear ran down her dark face. Lesa knew exactly what she was proposing and although genocide was repugnant to her, she knew there was little chance of peace while their greatest mistake still drew breath. Drake looked at her, more serious than she had ever seen him before.

  “What do you propose?” He asked.

  “I will take Eurydice and Mina; we’ll fly to the swamps where the orcs keep their un-hatched young. The pair of them are more able than I think even they know.” Lesa explained.

  Ruth gently brushed back some of Lesa’s hair, looking pained but kindly at her old friend. “I will help her.” She said. Her voice was heavy with emotion.