Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) (17 page)

Cyrisa had been a great loss, and Terum was
even greater. Even now the Great Wall was being manned with
thousands of soldiers. He still had a score of mages under his
command and he used them whenever necessary. When the time is right
he will return to the wall and launch his invasion of Terum, then
the other countries will fall before his will. After the entire
world was under the command of the
Congress of Weavers
they
would weed out all of the dragon spawn and half-breeds. Then man
would be free to rule, once they disposed of their orc servants of
course.

The flame in his fireplace flickered, the
colors danced as it drew the sorcerer’s attention. He wove his arms
in an arc, creating a protective dome around himself and the
fireplace. The flames danced and sizzled, turning pink, then purple
and finally blue as a face materialized in them. The sorcerer
recognized his former teacher and master and bowed.

“Lord Petrus, an honor my master.” He
intoned.

“Master Binos.” Petrus began. “I’ve received
word that Terum is now free of our control.”

“It is so, my master.” Binos admitted with
another bow.

“Since you never failed as a student, I will
assume you have a plan?” He asked skeptically.

“Yes, my master.” Binos replied.

“Enough with the honorific Binos, we both
know you show little difference and certainly don’t waste your time
bowing about the place acting submissive.” Petrus shot. “What is
your plan?”

Binos smiled, irritated and impressed at the
same time. He probably should have known that his teacher would
know him far better than that. It was only those fools on the
congress he could manipulate through feigned difference. He knelt
down in front of the fire and straightened his back out.

“The loss of Cyrisa was regrettable.” He
began. “She was a good student, but our position in Terum was being
overrun for well over a year and that fool of a King she found was
more interested in his own grandeur than truly bringing that
country under heel.” Binos took a steadying breath before he
continued.

“The orcs I’ve created are larger, stronger
and more susceptible to my will than the base inbred ones I sent to
Cyrisa the last time I reinforced her. They’re position was doomed
and while the Vallius forces decimated what remained of the Terum
Army, I was conquering the Expanse.” He explained.

“Is the Expanse entirely in your control
then?” Petrus asked.

“Not yet my Lord.” Binos answered
honestly.

“Then that fool boy could ride north.” Petrus
accused. “You’ll end up being cinched between what remains of the
Expanse tribes and the Vallius Army!” He shot.

Binos smiled, he truly enjoyed being
underestimated. It made surprise and tactically sound decisions
seem like brilliance. “He won’t my Lord.” He said finally.

Petrus’ eyes shot open. “Oh? And why not?” He
asked.

“Because I’ve had him and his bride
poisoned.” Binos explained.

“So? He’s dragon spawn; he could heal most
poisons through readily available means. You create more problems
my student.” He accused.

“The poison I employed has only one cure.”
Binos said with a grim smile.

The younger sorcerer loved the weaving of a
good mystery. He often stretched out details into long discussions
just to bask in the ignorance of those he was speaking to. The orcs
had no patience to speak of, so Binos relished the opportunity to
weave his intricate plan slowly, taking pleasure in his master’s
discovery of his brilliance.

“And the cure is?” Petrus asked with a wry
grin.

“Dactylorhiza Sambucina.” Binos answered
smoothly.

“The Cliff Orchid?” He asked uncertainly.

Binos merely nodded with a sadistic grin as
Petrus chuckled.

~

Tristan sat with his head in his hands; he
ground the palms of his hands into his eye sockets as he fought
with his memory for an answer to this deadly puzzle. Drake and Lesa
had worked their arts on Maggie for hours, they healed the damage
and isolated the poison, but they couldn’t remove it from her
stomach.

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.