Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) (15 page)

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
7
^th
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 7
^th
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 choice?” 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.

The men stopped their debate, looking at the
young lady with a mixture of irritation and amusement. Her
insistence and strength had surprised them both when only yesterday
they had be embroiled in another similar debate and she’d given
them the boot herself; shoving them out of the room, booting Kevin
in the rear as she slammed the door.