Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2)

by David Temrick

  “You are more than you appear to be my young friend.” She observed to Tristan’s amusement.

  “Perhaps that’s the secret to my survival.” He joked.

  Taking on a deadly serious expression, the old woman leaned forward in her chair. “You have no idea how right you are.” She said gravely. “Now. I have taken the liberty of picking some of the Dactylorhiza Sambucina you came searching for.”

  Tristan looked at her, with clearly shown shock. “How did yo….”

  She waved off his question, showing clear irritation and continued with her narrative. “We’ll make a batch of the cure together and you’ll leave with it and some extra plants in case those fools up there decide it’s a good idea to pick another fight.”

  It was as though a veil had been lifted off of Tristan’s eyes, anger and resentment seemed to vanish and was replaced with excitement and hope. He thought about hiding his true feelings, but realized that the old woman seemed to be able to sense them anyway, so he didn’t bother.

  “Don’t get too happy young man. There’s still a long road ahead of you and there’s still the matter of getting off this island and back to your homeland before any of those ambitious idiots up there realize you survived the shipwreck.” She warned.

  Tristan was forced to laugh as he shook his head. “Is there anything you don’t know?” He asked sarcastically.

  “Yes.” She replied with a wink. “I haven’t decided what I’m having for supper yet.”

  For the first time in the last week, Tristan looked at the old lady over a table strewn with ingredients, sizzling concoctions, and beakers filled with steaming liquids of every color. It had taken Stella minutes to get the plant crushed up properly and it still simmered off to their left as she attempted to teach Tristan something of alchemy. The Prince wasn’t ashamed to admit that it was far beyond his skills, though understanding the theory could prove invaluable so he forced his wandering mind to try and absorb as much as possible.

  “Now, you do it.” She ordered.

  Tristan sighed as he picked up one of the orchids and began to carefully slice it into even one inch pieces. Stella chuckled as the Prince stuck his tongue out of his mouth as he concentrated; a habit he hadn’t realized he possessed until the old woman had pointed it out. Sighing, he closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes, making sure that each piece was even.

  “Good. You see? You aren’t without hope!” She complimented. “Now, fill that beaker half-full and bring it to a low boil.” Stella ordered.

  The Prince moved to comply, and again was greeted by the notion that the old woman refused to tell him anything more than was required. It irritated him to no end because he knew that at least some, if not all, of the Deusian sorcerers were involved in every evil plot that had transpired over the last quarter century. His questions were met by stony silence or outright ignored as she continued her instructions and lessons. The water began to bubble in the lower beaker, sending steam up and heating the second beaker. When the upper beaker was completely covered in steam, Tristan gently emptied the evenly cut pieces of orchid into it in pinches, then placed a cork stopper in the top with a small funnel stuffed through the middle. The vapor from the cooking flower traveled up a long funnel made of glass. It bent and twirled around itself, eventually emptying into a small test tube. The vapor liquefied into a bright purple color as it slowly filled the tube.

  When the last of the vapor had traversed the funnel and emptied into the tube Stella walked around the table and lightly pushed Tristan to the side. She inspected his work closely, looking at the liquid with her naked eye, and then with various glasses she wore around her neck, each progressively thicker. Stella gently lifted the tube off of its stand and smelt it. Grunting she placed it back in the rack and gave Tristan a playful slap on the back of his arm.

  “Well done lad!” She said with pride.

  Stella walked back around the table and pulled out a small metallic flask. She dumped the contents of her tube and Tristan’s into it and screwed the cap down tightly on it before tossing it to the Prince. He caught it easily despite being surprised, and placed it carefully into the satchel he’d made for himself out of the ruined sails.

  “Now, your questions.” She said, groaning theatrically as she crossed the cave and sat down in her favorite chair.

  “I thought there were no answers to be had.” Tristan commented as he sat opposite her.

  The old woman reached around her chair and tossed a few more pieces of wood into the dying fire, using the paddle to once again get it roaring. Once she was satisfied that it was properly lit, she looked across the flames and locked gaze with the Prince.

  “There are answers, though you might not like to hear them.” She said calmly, interlacing her fingers in front of her weathered face.

  Hundreds of questions swirled around his mind, all wishing to be unleashed at once, finally one come to supremacy and he found himself asking without hesitation. “Why me?”

  “Well, well. Of all the questions you could, ask you pick the shortest one with the longest answer. Impressive. Very well.” She said leaning back and getting comfortable. “Why you? The simplest answer is this; you are a nexus.”

  “A nexus?” Tristan asked, confused.

  “Yes. There are a great many prophecies told on this island, as you might imagine. Some of them are vanity asserting itself, some are trite ones that could apply to almost anyone. Others are more dangerous, like the one that seemed to be about you. Though now the leaders of the fools above know it refers to your son, they still believe that you are the lynchpin that holds everything together. The boy is also too young to be a threat to them…wise as they are.” The last she said with intense sarcasm that was not lost on the Prince.

  “Who told this prophecy?” Tristan asked with keen interest.

  “I did.” Stella answered matter-of-factly.

  “You?” The Prince asked in shock.

  “I believe you’ve heard the actual prophecy, in its entirety no less.” She said with a smirk. “Those above heard a piece of it, and then drew their own learned conclusions.” Stella failed at keeping her disgust in check, which only served to evoke more questions.

  “While the prophecy clearly speaks of your son, there are those here who fear the future you and he propose. It will remove much of the power those doddering idiots abuse as it is. Like all those in power, they only fear to lose that power. So they strike out blindly and clumsily at you. Their methods are getting more dangerous though, the attack on you and your bride shows that they are willing to risk much for their cause. During your search for the cure for your young wife, they have been moving and planning in secret and in force. Even now they control all of the Great Expanse.” She admitted sadly.

  Tristan stood up quickly, nearly sending the flask with his wife’s antidote flying. Stella glared up at him as he caught the flask nervously. “First. Think before you act young man. I should think enough people have told you that for it to sink into a head even as thick as yours.” She chastised.

  The Prince sat back down, his face flushing. “Second. The force that gathers can be dealt with once your wife is cured. There’s no need to rush into fates hands, things must proceed at a stately pace.” Tristan felt sadness from her as she finished her sentence. “Now, I know you have more questions. Please, ask away.” She nodded at him.

  “Who leads this force? What kind of creatures do they bring against us this time? When will they strike?” Stella holding her hand up with a smile halted Tristan’s rush of questions.

  “Slowly young man.” She said with a laugh. “The first two questions are related, so I will answer them together. The orcs come to your Great Wall; they are led by their King, though they call him the Legate.” Stella explained patiently. “Though, perhaps to better answer your question, they are led by a Deusian sorcerer. He is quite intelligent and enjoys alchemy much more than his grandmother does.” She admitted sadly. “He’s quite mad with power now, an unfort
unate family trait I passed down to Veronica before him.”

  Tristan’s mouth dropped open, all of his thoughts and questions were driven from his mind. Here, sitting before him, was Henjis’ mate, the former leader of Draconis’ Bane’s mother and the original person who started this whole mess…though she wasn’t at all what he had expected. The Prince remembered all too clearly his battle with Veronica Rhodes over a year ago on the debris of a mighty castle.

  “So now you understand the crossroads you’ve come to I see.” Stella said lightly.

  “How…why….I…” Tristan stammered.

  “You’re handling this much better than I thought you would. Perhaps there is hope yet.” She observed aloud. “Now, as for the last question; I don’t know when they’ll attack, which can only mean my own future is tied in with yours now, for no mortal spell caster can see their own death.” Stella said with finality.

  “Wait. How did a Deusian sorcerer, your grandson I guess, come to lead orcs? They’re mindless brutes.” Tristan said as though it was obvious.

  “Remember that final battle for Terum you fought months ago?” She asked. Tristan nodded in reply. “Well he was one of their weaker leaders.” Stella said with no small amount of irritation in her voice. “That foolish boy took orcs and cross bred them with various lizards and amphibians until he made them into a race of monstrous proportions. Then he magically manipulated them until they stood seven feet tall, were broader than any bugbear and had the strength of a giant.”

  “Why in the hell would he do that?!” The Prince asked in shock.

  “He did it partly out of fear and partly out of ambition, but mostly because he’s a damned fool.” She answered him hotly.

  “Perhaps we should start at the beginning.” Stella admitted calmly. “Before dragons came to our world, there were no countries. Each city had its own militia and ruler and they warred constantly with one another. A few hundred years before the great gateway opened and the dragons, elves and dwarves fled into our world, all of the magic users on your continent escaped to this island. The most powerful formed the Congress of Weavers and ran a school dedicated to peace and safety for all magicians. Less than a century later, one of your forefathers sent the Congress a request for a learned magician to moderate peace talks between he and the Raj of Delhi. After the success of their treaty many other rulers asked for the same boon. Eventually The King of Vallius solidified his position and became the first country with only one leader.” She explained.

  “Guis followed after, Sutten adopted a different way to rule themselves, but it created peace among their clans none the less. Soon only the Expanse was a no man’s land, too many strange creatures with no desire for peace. Each ruler took a delegation of magicians as their advisors and there was peace for a time.

  About fifty years before the dragons arrived a simple negotiation between Terum and Sutten went badly. The rulers of both nations and their advisors were slaughtered in the night. Naturally, the Terumites and the Suttenites blamed each other. War erupted among all of the nations as each came to the aid of their allies. Advisors became warriors as the magicians turned against one another, each choosing a side in the battle. Wars raged on for thirty years.” She took a steadying breath.

  “The Congress of Weavers declared themselves apart from the rest of the mortals and drew back into their school. They wore red robes as a mark of their failure, and those that rise high enough in rank wear red leather masks to hide their appearance.” Stella sighed; it was clear that revealing these things were hard on her.

  “I was born here, and was taught that dragons caused the war between men and then stopped it to position themselves as a power on their new world. This was, of course, non-sense since men are warlike enough without anyone else’s influence. However, this is what our young are taught here and no one is really sure why.” She chuckled at that.

  “When I was young, I fell in love with a young man who came here to learn. He was strange and quiet, yet he was a very fast learner and quickly rose in rank. When my father died of old age, he took his place on the Congress and we married.” Stella looked into the flames of the fire for a long time, composing her thoughts. Tristan could see tears forming in her eyes, though the old woman fought them back.

  “One night, when our daughter was still just a baby, he rose from our bed and walked out into the yard. I watched him, as I often did, standing in the moonlight and lost in thought. Then the man I knew as Ben transformed into an enormous black dragon and took flight. I was so shocked I couldn’t move.

  When he returned home as a man, hours later, I had still not moved from where I stood before the window that looked out onto our lands. He took me into his arms and asked me what was wrong. I pushed myself away from him. His touch had awoken me from my shock, and I hit him with a spell so powerful that he was launched out of that same window I watched him through. The last I saw of my dear Ben was a black dragon flying erratically off into the night.

  Ben had spoken at length on how he felt the dragon host was doing more harm than good, thoughts he called the bane of their King. I adopted the name Draconis’ Bane and my anger became my daughters. I was already an old woman when she rose to the Congress and left the island.

  Now my grandson seeks to complete the mission his mother failed. He’s created these orcs and he’s gathered hundreds of magicians and sorcerers to his cause. Binos has gathered a mighty host; once he’s killed all of the dragons and taken control of Terum he’s going to let the orcs loose on the elves and dwarves. Then his path of revenge will lead him to your family, including your son. Once he has exacted his vengeance on you all, he’ll kill off the orcs and likely name himself King or Emperor or some other honorific. His ambition has twisted his already damaged mind.” Stella admitted sadly.

  The old woman cried silently for hours. She appeared to be lost in thought as she stared at the flames of her small fire. A dozen times Tristan added wood to the fire; more out of concern for her warmth than anything else. Stella’s revelations had awoken something inside the Prince and he was anxious to discuss these newly surfaced memories with his mother and grandfather. Everything she had told him had surprised him at first, but as her story continued it took on a more familiar tone and he longed to have questions answered.

  An hour ago, Tristan had finally established contact with Lesariu. It appeared as though his skills had limits and distance was chief among them. She offered to come and fetch him herself, but Tristan wanted to discuss some things with Draconis. As much as he wanted his wife back and well again, he felt there was something more important and infinitely more dangerous at work than a simple assassination attempt gone wrong. This army of orcs was no small part, but he felt more behind the attack. He couldn’t place the feeling, but he knew down to his very soul that he needed more information than he currently had to survive.

  You’ll want to get out of the way. Tristan felt in his mind. The presence was familiar, though tainted with emotion he couldn’t properly place with the presence. Just a couple steps back will do. Henjis chuckled in his mind.

  The familiar form of the scrawny hermit hobbled his way into the cave. Ben used an impressively carved staff to help his limp; his left leg still appeared to be mangled beyond use as he relied heavily on the black polished staff. His clothing had changed back into the garments he remembered, a simple black long tunic gathered around the waist by a simple leather strap. His trousers were fairly non-descript and did little to conceal his damaged appendage.

  A cry of rage and sadness caused Tristan to spin in place as the old woman walked purposefully towards him. The Prince reflexively stepped back, not wishing to be the target of her anger. Power bled off of her like steam from a hot bath as she stalked towards the old hermit. Ben closed his eyes, preparing himself for her onslaught but not raising any defenses Tristan could feel. The short plump woman stood before the tall gangly hermit, Tristan couldn’t see her face but he assumed her angry gaze was a withering assault. Sl
owly, almost regretfully, Ben opened his eyes to regard the old woman. She flung her arms wide and Tristan braced himself for a magical battle between former lovers and partners.

  “Oof.” Ben grunted.

  Tristan opened his eyes to see the damage he couldn’t hear. The little old woman had her arms wrapped around the old hermit and his staff. His surprise matched Tristan’s as he looked over her head at the Prince. The younger man turned away as the old hermits eyes filled with tears, leaving them to their scant privacy.

  ~

  Mina leaned against the stone banister that surrounded the wall into her rooms. Her mind raced, its only comfort was the deep even breathing of her beautiful boy. Since returning from the north she had been haunted by the images of cruel animals and savage humans that had been killed by their small band. While the Princess accepted that the thing had to be done, both for the safety of her son and the prosperity of the world she knew, it served little defense when nightmares set upon her as they did this night.

  It had been the better part of a year since Tristan’s visit and she felt a loneliness that she couldn’t quite understand. No small part of it was due to how she now she remembered him; gone was the taint of their union, the manipulation at the hands of her father and his chief aide. Instead, what now remained was a dimmed version of what she had felt during their courting. The passion wasn’t there, but she felt connected to him and love entered her heart as she watched him play with their son.

  The boy would be approaching his third Midsummer soon and he was beginning to understand the strange dynamic of his parents union. She felt guilty that she hadn’t provided him with a father, but none of the suitors, who came to court presumably at the bequest of her mother, piqued her interest as the moody western Prince did. She had been too proud to profess her feelings when he visited with his lady friend, and now she heard that they were married. Doubt, more than anything else, had cost her a great many things.