Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) (21 page)

Neran nodded once, and then set off down the
tunnel again. Hundreds of shafts and stairways ran off to the left
and right of them as they walked deeper into the mountain. So far
they had remained in the main tunnel, which functioned much like a
boulevard in a large city. Finally the tunnel opened up into
another rather large cave, stairways ran up and down walls in all
directions. Far to the right there was a large hole with a winch
and boom crane running out into the middle of. The dwarves took it
in turns to turn the handle on the winch, which raised a thick
rope, which creaked in protest at the weight of whatever it was
they were hauling up from below.

Their dwarven guide led them off to the left
where a large painstaking carved stairway and banister led up to a
pair of impressive metal doors. It looked as though then entire
entrance was carved right into the rock face, when he mentioned
this to Neran, he was told that it had taken twenty years to carve
out the entrance to the throne room. Entire cities were built in
that time; surely the dwarf exaggerated the boast Tristan
assumed.

The doors themselves must have been at least
twenty feet tall and weighed an incredible amount, but as they
approached them, they opened easily and without a sound. Tristan
looked around the doorway as they walked past to see a single dwarf
using a chain to close the doors. He tried to see how this was
possible, but the tops of the doors were obscured in darkness.
Regardless, it was an impressive sight.

The throne room was crowded with hundreds of
dwarves; some of them wore sashes over their right shoulders with
medals affixed to them while others wore large helms with jewels
mounted in patterns. The majority of them had hammers and axes in
their belt sheaths, but scattered here and there were dwarves with
large impressive swords strapped to their backs. The majority of
them had long beards, the younger ones sported shorter facial hair,
and yet others chose to keep their chins clean-shaven. By their
appearance Tristan judged their race to be quite like humans, only
of shorter stature and wider in stance. They all had heavily
muscled shoulders and legs and moved as lightly and effortlessly as
their guard did.

The King sat on a large metal throne.
Polished metal and gems were used as accents, and expensive looking
jewels had been placed into notched out holes in a pattern Tristan
could not discern. The King wore the leather armor of an archer,
his right arm was bare and his left was covered from the shoulder
down to his wrist. The construction of his armor interested the
Prince because it looked so similar to his own, though made of
different material.

Strips of leather had been tanned, dyed and
hardened to a deep shine, then assembled in an overlapping pattern
that mimicked dragon’s scales. He wore no crown, but carried a
scepter made entirely of highly polished silver, gold and bronze.
The end of the scepter was a large green emerald that glowed and
refracted the light of the candles lit behind him.

“Who be yer friends son o’ mine?” The King
asked.

Tristan looked over at Neran in surprise as
their guard spoke up. “The bonny lass be Beth by name. She not be
havin' a proper family name bein’ as she’s a dragon an’ all.” He
pronounced.

Beth returned Tristan’s startled look with a
sardonic half-smile as their guard spoke again. “The lad be of
Draconis’ bloodlines, an’ tha new King o’ Terum.”

Neither the Prince nor Beth had revealed
themselves to Neran, so his conclusions shocked Tristan deeply. He
had known the whole while and still not revealed his own parentage.
Clearly dwarves loved their secrets, which only made Tristan’s
quest that much more challenging. Immortality be damned, he didn’t
envy trying to fight his way back out of this hornets’ nest. For
good or for ill, he was now subject to dwarven whim. This, he mused
darkly, could mean anything at this point.

Their time in the dwarven city had passed
well enough. After being introduced, the King had taken it upon
himself to give them a tour of the finer points of his city. Beth
and Tristan communicated amongst themselves while the King droned
on about this and that, having learned all that they could from the
brief description of each landmark and not needing the entire
history of it. The dragon kept Tristan from making scathing
comments, and Tristan made sure that kept her comments to herself
when the King went on at length on how the dragons had failed their
race.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, they
finally made their way to the library. It seemed to be the last
thing the dwarves where proud of. The King explained that the last
librarian died in a cave in fifty years ago, and no one had shown
aptitude enough to be granted the post. As they walked in, it was
clearly evident that no one had set foot in the room for at least a
dozen years or more.

The shelves were lined with decades of dust,
many scrolls had decayed to dust upon their tables and a great many
tomes lay open and torn to pieces by rats seeking to make their
nests with the pages. To call this room a library, would be like
calling his dagger a sword, though to the dwarven folk it might as
well be, Tristan mused with ill humor.

A large shelf was carved into the wall of the
room, and it was crowded with all manner of books, scrolls and
tomes. The other shelves in the room had been improperly
constructed using what must have been scraps from a hundred other
projects. One of the shelves had collapsed, scattering the books it
held in all directions. Another leaned perilously against the far
wall. Being held up by the Gods only knew what. Only one shelf
still stood, though it had precious few books on it, and a few of
the planks had collapsed onto the one below it.

In the middle of the room was a large plush
chair, and it too was caked in decades worth of dust. In front of
the chair sat a table, constructed much in the same fashion as the
shelves around it. Various scrolls and tomes littered its surface
and it seemed to almost sway as the fresh air from the cavern
filtered into the room. Dwarves might be no one’s fool, but the
disregard they showed for their written history was surprising. The
King had chuckled and waved them in when Tristan asked if they
could enter and search for the tome they required, and thusly they
had been left in peace for two days.

A loud knock came at the door again as
Tristan sighed and lifted himself off the floor. He quickly crossed
the room and opened the door to find their usual caterer standing
there smiling as he presented a tray of food for the pair of them.
He accepted the food and again passed a deep thank you to the King
for his continued hospitality. The door was closed by the dwarf,
whose hands were now free to do so. Tristan turned and walked back
into the room placed the tray in the middle of the floor where he
and Beth had been hunting through the tomes looking for
Morte
Vaciu.

The tray, as always, was separated into two
distinct sections. On one side were some steaming vegetables and
mushrooms, and a joint of cooked meat. On the other side was a raw,
still bloody, hunk of meat. While Beth didn’t require as much food
as she did when she was in dragon form, she couldn’t properly
digest cooked meat. Tristan turned his gaze away as she ripped into
what appeared to be the hind leg of a mountain goat.

Slowly the pair of them had swept through the
room, finding nothing remotely like the tome Henjis told him about.
After discovering no hint of the book, they had begun to skim
through the books and scrolls hoping to find some sort of cure.
Beth had been in contact with Henjis thought, and at least now knew
the ingredients of the poison that was slowly killing Maggie.

Geras Root, Hornbush, and Yew pulp.
Beth had informed him.

“Here’s a cure for Yew pulp.” Tristan
commented. “Oh, never mind.” He said, turning the tome so that Beth
could see the cure; an oak spear through the chest.

Oh that’s helpful.
She sent with heavy
sarcasm.
Here’s a cure for Hornbush though.
She replied
eagerly handing over the scroll she was reading.

“Hmm, orchid stem.” Tristan read aloud. “The
stem of any orchid will cure Hornbush poisoning.”

That’s something at least.
She
commented hopefully.

Tristan nodded; grunting theatrically as he
gingerly set the scroll aside and took up another with renewed
hope. For six more hours they poured through more books, making a
neat pile in the corner nearest the door of the ones they’d
finished skimming. The Prince intended to ask the King if he could
take the books and keep them properly in his own keep so that the
knowledge they contained wouldn’t be further abused through
neglect. With the ire the King showed this room, Tristan doubted he
would be refused.

The Prince looked up a short time later to
see Beth leaning against the wall, the tome she was skimming
through laying beside her strewn on the floor. She quietly snored,
issuing the odd spark, which caused Tristan to chuckle to himself.
His own eyes were getting heavy, so he leaned over on the saddle
one of the dwarves had been kind enough to bring in from the valley
where Beth had discarded it in her rush down the trail.

In his dreams Tristan found himself in a
strange room. A solitary light fell down on him from far above, and
all around him was absolute darkness. The comfort of the light
offset the oppressing shroud of darkness around him. The silence
was eerie, as though someone held their hands over his ears and all
he could hear was his own troubled thoughts.

Quietly a footfall echoed around him. Tristan
turned his head in surprise, but could see nothing outside the
circle of light that surrounded him. Another footfall sounded,
causing him to turn around again, looking for the author of the
noise. Yet again, an echo of a footfall caused Tristan to spin
around reaching for his sword. Yet there was nothing to find on his
hip, he stood with only a pair of light tan colored trousers. He
felt very exposed and his heart began to race as another footfall
echoed around the room.

Slowly, almost painfully, a silhouette became
outlined in the distance. With the light it was hard to tell how
large or small the person was, though Tristan felt as though he
knew who it was. For reasons he could not explain, he felt safe.
The person moved closer and it became clear that it was female. The
woman came closer and Tristan could tell she was shorter than he
was, perhaps coming up to just under his chin in height. Her hair
was pulled back and her eyes caught the light Tristan was basked
in, she was lithe, not overly slim but at a healthy weight. She
stepped forward into the light and Tristan’s breath caught in his
throat.

“Maggie?” He stammered.

“Hello my husband.” She replied lightly, she
leaned forward and briefly kissed his lips. Her touch was warm and
electric, though it left him feeling a bittersweet pang of
guilt.

“We’re searching Maggie.” He said in a rush.
“I’ve been pouring through books, reading all I can…” She placed
her hand gently on his mouth.

“I know, my love. I know.” She said
quietly.

“I will save you.” He vowed.

Maggie smiled warmly at him and pulled him
into an embrace. “Your quest will be long, beloved. It’s in the
Gods hands now if you will succeed or fail.” She said in barely
more than a whisper.

“I will not fail.” He said with
certainty.

She pulled away, looking up into his eyes.
“You may. The road is long and difficult, and the way is
unclear.”

“
I will not fail.
” He insisted.

Her eyes filled with tears as she regarded
him. “You mustn’t blame yourself.” She choked.

“I will avenge you.” Tristan whispered.

She smiled, kissed him lightly on the lips
and walked away without another word. Tristan began to shout her
name as she walked out of sight, and shouted louder for her when
the footfalls faded away. He tried to run after her, but found
himself rooted to the spot. All he could do was yell for her to
come back to him.

~

“I want all of them rounded up and tossed off
the cliffs.” Binos ordered.

“What about the mercenary companies?” The
Legate asked.

The sorcerer sighed. He hated his orders
being questioned, he wanted blind obedience. Binos made a mental
note that the next batch of hatchlings would serve better if he
could find the proper spell to make them obey orders without
question and still keep their intelligence. Perhaps one of the
forbidden tomes would have such a spell, he mused. Shaking off his
distracted thoughts he turned to the orc legate and narrowed his
eyes.

“Ubani, if any of these humans are alive when
the sun sets I’ll have
you
tossed off the cliffs as well.”
He warned in a menacing tone.

The legate bowed and left the room, slamming
the door with a growl. Binos smiled, while he hated their
independence, he definitely enjoyed their aggressiveness. Perhaps
it would be unwise to try and breed out the defiance; it could cost
him thousands of soldiers if they blindly obeyed every command.

Binos sat down in the plush chair in front of
the fireplace. The annexation of the Great Expanse had gone quite
well, the east fell quickly enough and the west had only cost him a
few thousand of his orcs. Of course the argument could be made that
they really hadn’t met resistance until they had tried to reclaim
the rubble that had once served as the fortress home to
Draconis’ Bane.

One of the more ambitious commanders had
assumed command of what remained of
The Bane
and organized
them into a small empire for himself. They had rebuilt the
collapsed parts of the wall and then they had cleared the destroyed
palace and rebuilt it. He set himself up as the patron of these
lands and quickly had thriving farms and guarded trade with the
neighboring kingdoms to the south.