Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) (16 page)

“I blame myself.” Kevin said quietly. “We
named her Nathan’s matron and she took ownership of the entire
keep.” He continued out of the corner of his mouth to his
father.

The King chuckled. “She definitely has the
baring to be a Vallious.” He added quietly.

The air in the room seemed to sizzle, the
heat of the afternoon disappearing as angry purple clouds rolled
in. Annadora stood up from her chair at Tristan’s side, looking out
as the clouds as lightning began to leap between the folds. Thunder
shook the castle and everyone backed away from the window. The
elder dragons looked over in shock at the growing display outside.
Euri’s eyes shot open from her dozing and she leaped from the bed.
She reached forward and dragged Maggie back, shoving her
protectively behind her.

A bolt of lightning arced in through the open
window, snaked around the bedposts and struck her son where he lay.
Annadora wasn’t the only one to scream his name, but she was the
first. Dion yanked her back roughly and held fast to her. Beneath
the nearly blinding light she could see her son’s face twisted in
agony as the bolt traveled all over his body, making a hissing
sound as it contacted his wounds.

Her fear was replaced with amazement as the
bolt arced across the room once again and struck his armor, which
had been cleaned and hung in the wardrobe. The doors shot open as
pieces began flying across the room. Laces fell out as the armor
sealed itself around his body; all traces of seams and grommets
disappeared leaving his skin showing only through the small spaces.
Everyone watched in detached shock as everything around him took on
a glowing hue. Euri was comforting the sobbing Maggie while the
elder dragons were looking on in utter disbelief. Dion and Kevin
tried their best to hide their fear but Annadora could clearly
sense their concern.

What’s happening?
Euri shot into her
mother’s mind.

I don’t know Mykl.
She admitted.

Even as she sent the thought her son stopped
thrashing about in pain, he seemed to straighten out as though
sleeping. His lips moved, though no words came forth. His fists
clenched and released as the last of his wounds healed with audible
popping sounds. As quickly as it started the lightning bolt ceased,
though his body remained suspended until the glow subsided, then he
fell to the mattress making the bed creak in protest. His eyes were
wide open and his breathing was deep, as though he had just run a
hundred yards at full speed.

“A…Tristan?” Maggie sobbed.

Euri could no longer hold her back; the young
matron’s fear was such that she squirmed her way free and ran
towards his bed. Annadora watched in shock as a tear ran its way
down her smooth cheek. Her son mumbled something incoherent,
causing everyone to move closer to better hear him.

“I can’t hear you Tristan.” Maggie said
quietly.

“Marry me.” He choked.

Prince Tristan Vallious stood at the top of
the western tower, his fine clothing whipping in the wind and his
cloak billowing behind him. Since returning from Kenting and
assuming command of the fortress in Kumia, he had been very busy
indeed. His memories of his fevered dreams and his pledge to be the
defender of this world were clearer in his mind than ever.

Already thoughts were coming to him unbidden.
Tristan knew that somewhere a gateway was being forged between two
worlds. He also was keenly aware that those who attempted to gain
entry to this world were from the dragons’ home world, and he
needed further information before decided how best to proceed.
Today though, was not for brooding over tasks to accomplish or
oaths to fulfill. This day was about he and Maggie and no
other.

A priest had arrived this morning. The first
of many more as he had temples rebuilt for his people. Already
construction had begun converting the blacksmiths and tanneries
back into homes as well as repairing years worth of neglect and
damage to the streets and byways.

The Terum army had been disbanded, the
citizens freed and given back their lands. The remaining loyalist
soldiers had been marched at spear point north to be tossed into
the Expanse. Tristan gave over governorship of Terious town to
Colonel Yeris, elevating him to Baron. He had tried to do something
similar with Frose, but the old war dog refused and threatened to
box the Princes ears if he even tried. So instead he made Frose the
General of the new Terum Army, and was greeted by a chorus of
swears and futile death threats.

Tristan smiled at the memory as a small
volcano erupted in the distance. Bethia’s training had been going
well, the ever-present dark clouds had begun to break apart as
fewer and fewer volcanoes erupted. Already some of the more
ambitious farmers had fields sewn and they were already showing
promising sprouts. Others braved the trek into Vallius and Sutten
for cattle to bring back, while others began preparing the
foundation for what Tristan hoped would become a thriving
economy.

It was with a certain amount of pride that
Tristan had secured three very talented tailors to see to Maggie’s
gown and his dress clothes. Already they had a thriving shop
business setup in one of the first areas cleared of destroyed
buildings. The sewers had been a mess, but after a few minor
explosions and some very clever miners, they’d managed to clear the
rubble and had them working properly. Already he had troughs and
barrels setup as they were in Metao, to carry and use rain water to
flush away the refuse. Although they had no body of water nearby,
the miners had found an underground lake that rushed off towards
the ocean. Engineers informed him that the underground lake emptied
off into a waterfall that dumped into the ocean far away from the
Great River mouth to the far south.

“Ahem.”

Tristan turned and attempted to hide his
smile, though he failed terribly.

“One word and I’ll toss you over the
parapet.” General Frose threatened.

The general wore the high collared dress
uniform of the Vallius Army. Tristan made a mental note to change
the design of the dress uniform slightly, if for nothing else than
to stop the endless black looks from his veterans on occasions such
as these. The Prince simply nodded to the old man, continuing to
smile.

“Ready?” Frose asked.

“I think so.” Tristan admitted.

“Having second thoughts?” He asked with a
grin.

“Not really. I’m just not sure if I want to
expose someone else to the dangers that seem to find me.” The
Prince replied.

“Bah, she’ll be exposed whether you marry the
lass or not!” Frose laughed.

Tristan smiled a little uneasily and the
General laughed even harder, slapping the younger man on the back
as he directed him towards the main chamber. They walked through
the fortress, descending the red stone stairs, polished by hundreds
of years of use, into the main courtyard. The main chamber rose
like a cathedral among the hallways and houses seemingly carved out
of the red rock mountain.

The chamber was a dark wood framed structure
with large bricks of the red rock painstakingly chiseled and fitted
together. Large archways were filled with stained glass, each
depicting various red dragons with erupting volcanoes, lush fields
and always the fortress somewhere in the backdrop. They entered the
hall to find hundreds of people waiting inside on either side of a
long red carpet that lead from the doorway to the dais.

Upon the dais stood the priest, he was
clothed in white fabric trimmed in purple. Before Tristan’s oath he
would have been hard pressed to know which deity he represented.
Now though the name came effortlessly to his mind. Astilia, the
Good Goddess
of purity and chastity. Typically her priests
were present for blessing marriages and babies, a time when love
and life was pure, innocent and simple.

The pair of them strode forward and Tristan
took his appointed place on the dais in front of the priest. Kevin
walked up and stood to his left as the old priest smiled warmly at
Tristan. His acolyte rushed forward and motioned for Tristan to
hold out his hand, face up. Gently, he wrapped the purple silk sash
over Tristan’s outstretched arm and tied one end to his thumb.

Excited murmuring swept through the crowd as
Tristan turned his head to look back at the entrance to the main
chamber. Maggie stood at the entrance with Euri behind her, holding
the hem of her dress up to keep it from getting dirty. His wife to
be stepped forward a few paces and Euri let the hem of her gown
down to sweep behind her. Euri stuck her tongue out over Maggie’s
shoulder forcing Tristan and Kevin to laugh as they watched their
playful sister.

Maggie’s gown was all white, except for the
chevron of blue laced with beads on her chest. Her hair was done up
in a complex pattern that looked more painful than Tristan supposed
it should on their wedding day. She slowly walked down the red
carpet to join Tristan at the front.

“She’s a treasure young man.” The priest
quietly whispered.

Tristan agreed, she cut a most impressive
figure, walking with an air of confidence he was sure was entirely
an act. The Prince’s family was the only family Maggie knew, being
an orphan that Annadora had taken a liking to and found a post
within Kenting for, so Tristan was unsurprised when he looked over
and saw his mother in tears for the both of them.

Alison, Kevin’s wife, was also in tears. She
and Maggie were close friends after all, though that didn’t stop
Dion, Kevin and Tristan from fighting the urge to roll their eyes
at the emotional display the women were making. Maggie made her way
up the dais and the acolyte wrapped the sash around her arm and
tied it loosely to her thumb.

She was shaking slightly so Tristan gave her
a reassuring squeeze. Maggie gripped his hand with surprising
strength, her nails ground into the back of his hand and he had to
force himself not to cry out. The priest cleared his throat
dramatically and the whispered conversations ceased.

“Today we gather to celebrate the union of
these two children in the eyes of the Good Goddess. Astilia bless
you.” He intoned.

“Astilia bless you.” The guests murmured in
reply.

As the priest went on a great length about
the sanctity of their union and its profound meaning, Tristan was
completely focused on his bride. Her dress was trimmed in an upside
down V-shape in the same blue as the top was adorned. The beadwork
extended down beyond the bodice, and laced its way all around her
dress, giving her an almost glowing quality as the setting sun
reflected off of them. Her hair was likewise beaded and pinned up
in some strange fashion that Tristan found completely baffling.

“Do you vow, Tristan Vallious and Maggie of
Metao, to be bound together as husband and wife? To love and
cherish each other, in good times and ill, until death should chose
to separate you?” The priest asked.

“I so vow.” Tristan and Maggie replied in
unison, as was the tradition.

“I offer this loaf as a symbol of your
union.” The priest intoned, holding the flat loaf of bread aloft
and tearing it down the middle. It was less than a mouthful, but
Tristan’s throat was dry and he was nervous to chew and swallow it
without choking on it.

“Take this each of you and eat. This is the
first of many things you will share.” He said loudly.

He fed Tristan and then Maggie their pieces
of the loaf and the Prince was glad that it was laced with honey,
which helped ease the dryness. He chewed twice and swallowed as
Maggie did the same.

“The Goddess is pleased.” He announced. “I
now pronounce you man and wife! Come forth and congratulate the new
couple!” He shouted for the guests.

Tristan’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch
and he briefly thought he was going to vomit. The feeling quickly
passed though and he dismissed it as nerves. The newlyweds
descended the steps from the dais and stepped forward to be
embraced by their loved ones. Tristan turned to Maggie and kissed
her cheek, she smiled, blushing slightly.

Then the color drained from her face and she
pitched forward. It was only due to Tristan’s reflexes that she
didn’t collide painfully with the hard stone floor. He rolled her
over and felt her forehead, assuming she just passed out from the
stress. Her eyelids were wide open though and her eyes rolled about
in her head. The Prince shouted out for help.

Lesa was the first to break through the crowd
and skid to a halt in front of them. She closed her eyes, put her
hand to Maggie’s forehead and began to mumble words in draconic.
Tristan felt her neck for a pulse, and though it was very weak
there was a heartbeat. Lesa opened her eyes and locked gazes with
Tristan.

“She’s been poisoned.” She said, her voice
barely above that of a whisper.

~

“Turn me back.” He ordered.

“Report first.” The robed one replied.

“I soaked the loaf with the liquid in the
vial.” The acolyte admitted.

“So the dragon spawn is dead?” The sorcerer
asked.

“They both fell and I ran.” He replied.

“Very well.” The sorcerer agreed.

Waving his arms in a small arc he cast a
small blue orb into the chest of the acolyte. Slowly the human
flesh ripped off, it tore as though seems were being frayed. A dim
flash of light illuminated the tent briefly, and then the orc was
brushing off the last of the human flesh, pulling himself up to his
usual height and sighing in relief.

“Go.” The sorcerer ordered.

The mage sat in a large tent in the middle of
the orc encampment. A large conjured fireplace lit and warmed the
tent as he lifted the tome back up that he had been reading. The
tome was covered in decades old human blood. It really was more of
a historical text, despite the arguments he’d heard to the contrary
from his own brethren. However, they were locked up in their stuffy
school and he was leading an army of magically manipulated orcs on
a conquest of the Great Expanse.