Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) (20 page)

“I knew ye large folk aren’t given to talkin’
bout anythin’ worth listenin’ to for any great length of time, but
ye could start with an ‘ello there laddie.” He grunted.

“Sorry, I was lost there for a moment.”
Tristan admitted sheepishly.

The dwarf grunted in reply, taking a deep
breath and sticking his chest out. “I be Neran.” He introduced
himself.

“Tristan.” The Prince answered
uncertainly.

“What ye be doin’ wanderin’ around our lands
there boy?” Neran asked with narrowed eyes.

“Actually, I’ve been looking for your kin.”
Tristan answered.

“You tall folk never bothered much with us
before. Been many a year since I seen your kind in our mountains.
Last time wasn’t much for ye was it now laddie?” He shot.

“Last time?” Tristan asked.

“Oh aye. Last time you lot stuck yer arm into
the honey pot, ye drew back a bloody stump, didn’ ya?” He replied
hotly, spitting on the floor between them.

“When was that exactly?” Tristan said, trying
to keep the conversation light. The dwarf seemed to be hostile
towards humans to say the least. Knowing the former ruler of Terum,
Tristan could understand why.

The dwarf walked over to a large stone nearby
and sat down. He pulled out a pipe and a small leather satchel. He
opened it and pulled out a large pinch of dry moss and leaves and
stuffed it into the pipe. Satisfied with his work, he stowed the
bag and pulled out a small metal canister. He flipped the lid open
and turned a small metal wheel with his thumb, creating sparks,
eventually one of them caught on what appeared to be a leather
taper. Raising the flame to the pipe he drew in a few long breaths
until the contents began to smolder. He snapped the lid shut on the
canister and stowed it back in his pocket.

“Always like ta have me pipe when I gonna
spin a yarn.” He commented as he puffed on his pipe. “I was just a
wee lad mind ye. Must be…maybe eighty years ago or so.” He replied
finally.

“Yes well, things have changed ever so
slightly in that span of time.” Tristan answered smugly.

“Oh, aye. That they have laddie. Dragon’s on
the run now, ain’t they? War just ended, ‘nother one’s a brewing.
You tall folk sure love yer bloodshed don’t cha?” He said with a
sideways grin. “New world, same ol’ problems. Ye mark me laddie, we
dwarves keep ta ourselves fer a reason.” Neran said, pointing his
pipe in Tristan’s direction.

“You can continue to do so. I only come
seeking a tome Draconis thinks may be in dwarven hands.” He
explained.

“Ye come all this way fer a book lad?” The
dwarf asked skeptically.

“Yes.” Tristan answered hotly.

“Care ta tell me its name?” He asked.

“Why? You carry a library in your belt do
you?” The Prince shot.

What’s going on? I can feel your fuming
anger up here.
Bethia chuckled.

Dwarven hospitality.
Tristan replied
sarcastically.

Are you injured?
She asked, not
bothering to hide her concern.

I’m fine, he’s just an irritating little
man is all.
He answered with a laugh.

“I might at that, and yer smart mouth is
gonna get ye in trouble laddie.” The dwarf warned.

Tristan leaned against the wall again,
rolling his eyes and trying mightily to contain his temper.

“Now, who be ye, and how ye be knowin,’
Draconis?” He asked as he hiked a thumb into his wide belt and
exhaled a cloud of smoke.

Until now, Tristan had assumed that everyone
knew of his parentage, since it had been such a source of
contention and activity for the last few years. Here now was a
being that knew nothing of the politics at play outside of his
mountains. He wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad, as the
dwarf would likely have a negative image of half-breeds considering
how orcs came to be.

“Dwarves are known fer their patience laddie,
but mines wearin’ out.” Neran commented between puffs.

The Prince’s attention was drawn to the
entrance of the cave as a woman dressed in a red gown lowered
herself. He chuckled as she’d obviously felt more secure hovering
down the path rather than relying on her human feet to keep her
upright. Tristan marveled at her appearance, she’d tidied up her
look, affecting a robe much like his grandfather wore though he
seriously doubted his grandfather would have chosen something so
revealing.

“Two tall folk in one day?” Neran said in
shock.

“Neran, this is Beth.” The Prince
introduced.

~

Mina sat in her apartment as the sun set,
Jonathan was asleep in his own room beside hers. The door was open
and she could hear his soft breathing as he dreamed his youthful
fantasies. She stood up from her bed, the same one he’d been
conceived in, and walked over to the archway looking out over her
favorite pond and fountain. The inter-spaced streams of water
issued from the dozen large ornately carved fish that ran along the
outside of the circular pond. The water from their mouths flew in a
high arc into a raised circular pond; the water flowed over the
smoothly carved lip creating a lovely sounding waterfall that
echoed into her room at all hours.

The effect on her troubled mood was
instantaneous, but even its calming effect could do little to ease
her mind. For the last month or more she had been wrestling with a
conversation she’d had with Drake and Euri. It had been most
troubling to learn that their new magical councilor was under
suspicion. The situation was made direr as it was her son’s father
that had been the one to identify the robe of the Deus sorcerer as
the same robe he remembered his attacker wearing.

The attack happened long before she had first
met Tristan, but its effects still haunted him. She could recall
hundreds of talks with him over the months they’d been together
about his experiences under the heel of this
Nightmare
Spell
. While the witchcraft that had created their lust for one
another had been dreadful, once she’d had the time to clearly think
over the events that had come to pass, she had to admit that she
found his company enjoyable. No longer was their time together
thought of as a painful memory, but a time when she had been free
to talk about everything on her mind without fear that someone
would use the knowledge to their advantage. She could see the
shadow of Tristan’s features in her son and that small boon kept
her happy when times were hardest.

She could recall with startling clarity the
conversation with Eurydice, the sister of her heart, and Drake, who
reminded her of a kindly uncle figure, about Tristan’s fears. The
father of her child worried that the prophecy would put a target on
their son that neither of them wanted. The child was exceptional,
but he needed time to grow and learn before he would be able to
defend himself. Until then, according to what she was told, the
very hope of the people of their world depended on her strength and
protection.

Now, as she felt during that conversation,
she was uncertain her own ability to protect her boy. Mina was
visited by wicked nightmares that drove her to insomnia, and as she
did tonight she often lost herself staring off into the night
looking for peace of mind. She knew she wasn’t alone; her
grandmother, Lesa, spent days with them at a time-sharing the
burden. Mina expected that her son could communicate through some
other means since the pair of them, Lesa and Jonathan, would sit
and stare at one another for hours on end.

“How are you?” Lesa’s voice called quietly
from behind her.

Mina spun around in surprise.
“Grandmother?”

Lesa took Mina’s arm and guided her down into
the courtyard. They slowly strolled around the pond as the water
from the stonefish lightly sprayed them with a cooling mist.
Together the pair of them walked down a side path into a maze of
lavender and rose bushes. Finally they sat upon a finely carved
stone bench. Lesa was silent for a time, making Mina slightly
uncomfortable as she never really knew what she should or could
discuss with her draconic grandmother.

“What’s bothering you child?” Lesa asked
sympathetically.

Mina was ready to answer that
nothing
was bothering her, but before she knew it she was spilling forth
with her greatest fears. She felt her protection was insufficient,
she worried that Tristan resented her, that his new bride would
contrive to keep him from visiting their son, and that his parents
thought poorly of her. Mina went on at length, rattling off her
shortcomings and fears until she was spent. Tears flowed down her
cheeks as she looked down, pulling the ever-present scrap of fabric
from her sleeve and dapping away the tears as she tried to regain
her composure.

When she had finished, she looked up to find
Lesa smiling warmly at her. Her grandmother drew Mina into a
comforting embrace, stroking the back of her granddaughter’s hair.
Tears again came to Mina’s eyes as she let the last of her stubborn
defenses crumble and she sobbed into her grandmothers’ shoulder for
a time.

“You are not alone sweetheart.” Lesa soothed.
“Tristan also shares your fears, but thankfully he is always off on
some mission or quest of his own and has little time to brood on
such things. Your only charge is your son, so you are free to fret
and worry about him, as all mothers worry for their children.”

“One of us is always at hand, so you will
never truly be alone, but I will instruct the others to stop in and
visit more often. Would that make things easier?” Lesa asked
kindly.

Mina could only nod in agreement, which
caused Lesa to chuckle warmly. She rose, helping Mina back to her
room and laying her down on her bed. It had never felt so soft and
comfortable and she could have sworn she could hear her grandmother
mutter a few strange words, placing her hand on Mina’s forehead.
Then, she fell into a blissful, dreamless slumber.

When she awoke the next morning she could
hear Jonathan giggling from outside. She shot up and rushed to the
window to see Otis juggling playing blocks back and forth with her
son. Their arms were behind their backs and each of them had an
intense look on their faces, until one of them missed one of the
blocks as Otis kept adding them from their pile beside him, then
they would laugh and begin again with six of the colorful
cubes.

Mina allowed herself to smile and laugh at
their little game before heading back into her room. She closed the
door to her bathing room, removed her dress and sat down in the
porcelain tub, moving the pumps to begin the flow of hot and cool
water. Mina added some soap to the water and before too long the
tub was filled with steaming, bubbly water. She sighed theatrically
as she leaned back and took joy in the warmth and comfort of a hot
bath.

The water had begun to turn cold when she
finally rose out of the water and wrapped a towel around her body
and then her hair. She opened the small chest she kept in the room,
which contained all of her makeup, a habit she hadn’t employed
since Jonathan’s birth. As she labored to apply a thin layer of
makeup to her face, cheeks, eyes and lips she hummed happily to
herself. When she was satisfied, she let the towel down and pinned
her hair back with a comb that had been painstakingly carved to
resemble a large orchid. She went to the wardrobe in her main room
and pulled out a simple dress of light blue silk. She slipped into
it.

She walked slowly out into the courtyard
where Otis and Jonathan were still playing their juggling game. Her
mother, Peria, watched on in open awe as her grandson juggled the
cubes without touching them. Mina smiled warmly towards her mother
as she came and sat next to her.

“Mama!” Jonathan called.

His distraction caused one of the blocks to
hit him painfully in the head. Mina was out of her spot and rushing
towards him when Otis motioned her back sharply.

“Wait!” He ordered.

Jonathan’s face contorted in shock as his
eyes welled up with tears, he held back from crying though instead
he closed his eyes briefly and healed the small cut where the sharp
point of the block hit him. He lifted the block with his mind and
spun it, looking at it from all angles before letting it drop.
Jonathan then lifted six blocks and fired them at Otis who chuckled
as he juggled them in front of his face and then fired them back
one after the other. The game was afoot again as though nothing had
happened. Sighing in relief, she returned to her seat next to her
mother.

“Your son is quite remarkable my child.” Her
mother complimented.

“As is his father.” She returned with a wry
grin.

Peria turned to look at her daughter,
smiling, as she put her arm around her as the two of them enjoyed
the joyous game between Jonathan and Otis.

“Duck!” Tristan warned Beth over his
shoulder.

He rubbed his head where it had made contact
with a low spot in the tunnel. It had taken some convincing to get
the dwarf guard to take them into the mountain to meet the king. In
the end, Beth had fluttered her eyes and kissed the little man on
the cheek before he consented to take them before the dwarven
King.

The Prince muttered to himself, continuing to
message the spot on his forehead he’d been foolish enough to drive
it into the ceiling of the tunnel. Beth chuckled as she placed her
hand on his forehead and mumbled a few indistinct words. Her hand
was quite soft, almost silk-like in its texture, and as were her
scales when she was in draconic form, her skin was quite warm to
the touch.

The dwarf grunted; his shoulders shaking
slightly as he stood watching Tristan. The Prince assumed this is
what passed for dwarven laughter. His eyes narrowed as the pain
subsided and Beth moved away from him, winking as she went. He was
forced to chuckle to himself as he tried to picture how he looked,
stooped over and rubbing his forehead, because he’d straightened up
at the wrong moment.