Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) (19 page)

“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 togethe
r, 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, looking 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.