Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) (23 page)

“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 the 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.

“…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 across 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.