B3 – Chapter 48: The last days

Felicity came back to the room, closing the door with a loud bang that roused Tristan from his dozing. He pushed himself up so his back was against the headrest, and watched as Felicity walked over to the bed in her Elfanoid form, stood at the edge, and then flopped forward on her face with a groan. “Math is hard!”

Tristan frowned, “You have to do math?”

She groaned into the sheets, and her muffled voice replied, “I have to do stupid calculations for mass when transmuting objects to bigger or smaller sizes. Something about “mass cancellation” or risking implosion.” She looked up at him with a big pouty face, “Why can’t it be like my innate shapeshifting? I just get to do it without any thinking!”

Tristan patted the bed next to him, and Felicity crawled up the sheets to sit alongside him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “It’ll be fine. You’re smart.”

She sighed and nodded, “I know I am…what have you been up to?”

“Lots of spells,” Tristan replied. “Just memorizing and getting them ready. I need to do a bit of artificing still, but I’m prepared as can be.” He sighed as he rubbed her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her skin under his palm. “I’ll be in the Fey Realm most of the coming days, I think. Just in my inner world and training with Zeltana.”

Felicity snuggled into the crook of his arm, “Come back each night.”

“Of course,” Tristan replied.

She turned to her side, her storage dimension opening as she snagged a few clearcool elixirs and handed one to Tristan. “Hungry?”

Tristan took the offered liquid and sipped it down, feeling the refreshing, slightly sweet and minty beverage work its way down to his gullet and sate his need for food or drink. Felicity sipped down her own, and then took both vials and put them back before closing the storage space.

“You know,” Felicity said as she moved over to straddle Tristan, her hands on his chest as her breath quickened. “We have a lot of nights before we go to the Demon Realm.” She scratched her fingers along his chest just enough to leave a tingling that almost made Tristan gasp at the sudden sensation. She smiled a lascivious grin.

Tristan picked up her intent immediately and pulled her down for a passionate kiss as they both surrendered to their urges.

Felicity headed off to her classes the next morning, and Tristan transported back to the Fey Realm. Heading to Dorni, he re-acquired his gear from the Gnome and put it into his now-quite-full storage dimension. Eloise’s requested equipment and gear would be done later in the day, and he planned to get the items to her before their departure.

Following that, he spent significant time brewing potions and making elixirs. By the time the end of the Season arrives, and we head out, he thought, I should have ten of each type of supreme in total. I can keep three of each on my bandolier, along with five clearcool elixirs. The rest can be in my Pocket Dimension.

That took almost all day, and his grandfather came by at one point to talk with him. “So, son, I heard about your little venture you have planned.”

Tristan looked up from the bubbling pots, “Yes,” he said with confidence. “I’m going to avenge mother. And Gertrude. And all of the servants at both the estate and the townhouse. And every Winterbloom they killed.”

Hurvun nodded somberly, “I understand. I wish I could go with you on this venture, but,” he raised his arm, and Tristan could see how tight the skin was stretched across muscle – ashen and pale. “I think I’m being forced to retire. Being asleep for so long…my body cannot recover from that given my age. Despite my training with those weights in the training field.”

Tristan grabbed his grandfather’s shoulder, “You’re welcome to spend your retirement here.”

“I planned on it,” Hurvun said with a cackle. “I love this place. I wouldn’t mind visiting Gisele and the great grandkids, but that’s a long ways off, and I don’t expect you to get me back to Bhant given how you are now.” He chuckled and then spoke sincerely and with warmth, “Thank you, Tristan. I’ve still got some years left in me yet. I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.” He ruffled Tristan’s hair then looked down at the bubbling pots, “Potions, eh? My lessons coming in handy?”

Tristan nodded, “Yeah. Supreme quality. It takes a while, but it’s necessary.”

“Precautions you should be taking,” the man replied. “Need help?”

“They’re just boiling off,” Tristan replied. “More oil, and then I’ll infuse them.”

“Training? Anything I can help with?”

Tristan smiled, “Thanks, but I’ll be in my inner world and practicing where I can’t hurt anyone on accident.”

“That’s fair enough,” Hurvun replied with a mischievous smile. “I saw your display last time. I wouldn’t want to be on the opposite end of that.”

“How are Rory and Bertram holding up?” Tristan asked.

Hurvun crossed his arms and sat on the nearby bench. “Well…they are good together. But they need to stop just sleeping around with nymphs and getting drunk with fairy dragons. They lack a work ethic while they’re here.”

Tristan chuckled, “So you’re saying I should get them out of here?”

“Damn right,” Hurvun said as he chuckled. “I instilled work ethic in you and him both. I see you’re following through, but he’s resting on his laurels.”

“Aren’t you as well with this whole retirement angle?”

Hurvun scoffed, “Pah, please. I am old, and helped stop the Dragonstorm that afflicted Bhant.”

“Just killing a whole bunch of dragons,” Tristan replied with a smile and shake of his head. “That’s what you did. You didn’t seal off the incursions and rifts.”

Hurvun frowned, “Hey! I killed dozens of dragons on my own! No fancy essence-weaving except the basic dragonbane spells. Just me, my sword, my armor, and gumption.”

“And,” Tristan added, “An army helping to harry the beasts when they took flight and pierce their wings so they couldn’t fly.”

Hurvun grumbled, “I still did the heavy lifting.”

“No wonder Felicity gets along with you,” Tristan replied. “You’re like two peas in a pod.”

“I still owe that little witch for scaring the shit out of me. Thank the gods I was on the latrine already.” Hurvun’s scowl could have cut a line through rock.

Tristan turned back to the stove and kept stirring as he squeezed a few more of the oil-berries into the mixtures to keep them the right consistency. “How many dragons did you kill over your lifetime?”

“Eighty-seven,” Hurvun replied. “I think Bertram and Rory are at thirty-eight. How many are you at, now?”

“Let’s see…the fire dragon, the demon dragon, then in the Wild Realm the mind dragon and water dragon…so five? I think.”

Hurvun smirked, “You’ll get there. You’ve got more potential than Bertram – but don’t tell him I said that. Stays between you and me.”

Tristan looked back to catch the slight wink from his grandfather, and replied. “Well, I’m also the only one of us who has killed a Demon Lord. Plus, I killed some…thing brought from what I think was the Dead Realm.”

“Impressive, I suppose,” Hurvun replied as he stood up with a groan. He walked past Tristan, giving him a light clap on the shoulder. “When you’re done, you should head over to the Summerbalm Springs. There’s some lovely hot pools that are quite soothing – especially on these old bones.”

“Sure,” Tristan replied. “I can afford a little bit of downtime between training and preparing.”

“Bring starberry wine,” his grandfather replied with a smile. “Oh, and you can chill it thanks to the whole ice elementalism. Excellent.” He let out a chuckle and walked away.

Tristan returned his focus to the potions in front of him, and testing the consistency, ensured they were ready for imbuement. Every five days or so, I can make a batch, and work my way toward my goal amount. Dipping his index finger down into the first of the three mixtures, he swirled the solution in tight circles, spinning his crucible and muttering. “Lisää tämän liuoksen luontaisia ominaisuuksia. Anna tälle aineelle minun voimani. Tuo esiin näiden ainesosien todellinen luonne.” (Increase the inherent qualities of this solution. Imbue this substance with my power. Bring out the true nature of these ingredients).

The essence spiraled out from his finger through the liquid, the whole concoction glowing a bright, silver glow before it faded. Repeating the feat on the other two pots, he called over a few fairy dragons. At his command, they grabbed some metal phials with cork stoppers – much more durable than the small, earthenware pots with leaves tied on the top. Courtesy of the Gnomes and their prowess.

After getting the various elixirs into their vessels and putting them into his storage dimension, Tristan went to the starberry wine production area. A full-scale winery operation, with several racks of starberry wine in glass bottles, inscribed with a logo. Tristan grabbed one and saw that the logo was a single, large tree that looked like the Queen’s Wood, with a small Winterbloom flower at the center.

Grabbing another two, he put them into his storage dimension and headed to the Summerbalm Springs via Unicorn-ride. Arriving at the edge of the region proper, a few Nymphs conveyed him to the hot springs where his relatives were located.

Bertram, Rory, and Hurvun were already there, talking and laughing. Not a raucous laughter, but that laughter of someone who is happy drunk. Bertram spotted Tristan standing on the mossy lip of the spring, and waved him over. “Come on in! Water’s great.”

Rory let out a giggle, and Tristan knew she was thoroughly drunk. “I think you might have had too much to drink,” Tristan said as he stripped to his skivvies and slipped into the warm water, finding a nice rock to perch on that kept his head above the steaming liquid. It was lukewarm, and he presumed that was due to his consumption of fire dragon blood.

Hurvun grinned, “Of course. It’s a time of celebration! Why not drink?”

“What are we celebrating?” Tristan asked as he spun his crucible, opened the storage dimension, and pulled the three bottles of wine out. He handed one to his grandfather, one to Bertram, and kept one for himself.

Bertram grinned as he removed the cork with his teeth and spit it out to bob on the hot water. “I’m going to be a dad!”

Tristan was midway through removing his own cork and stopped in his tracks, his mind shorting out for a moment before his wits returned to him. “Congratulations!” he said with genuine happiness for them. “But…if she’s pregnant…should she be drinking this much?”

Bertram shrugged, “No clue. Gramps?”

Hurvun shrugged as well, “No clue. Didn’t stop your grandmother from drinking socially when she was carrying your father.”

And look how he turned out, Tristan thought and wanted to say. But he kept his tongue in check. Instead, he uncorked his bottle and took a nice, long gulp of the liquid, feeling the warmth flush through him. “Did you tell them what you told me?” Tristan asked his grandfather.

“Oh…not yet,” Hurvun replied. “I just heard the news about my being a great, great grandfather. And to another half-breed, to boot! A half-breed Dragonkin dragonslayer. That’s a mouthful!” He laughed with delight as his own bit of alliteration.

Tristan frowned but nodded, I’m not going to kick an expecting mother and her husband out of the Fey Realm. They can stay…but I agree with grandfather’s earlier remarks. Bertram should be out there, hunting dragons. Doing something and not just…living in paradise. It felt wrong, to Tristan, to just sit back and enjoy life without some motivation for improvement. His whole life, he had been pushing toward improving himself.

First in Bhant, in the eyes of others as a half-breed; trying to overcome that general disgust toward him by becoming a dragonslayer in more than just name. Then with his essence-weaving improvement. And now his going to avenge his mother and all those the assassins had killed that he cared about.

This sitting about and just enjoying life, it was somewhat foreign to him. “Bertram,” Tristan said calmly as he looked his brother in the eyes. “I want you to know that you are welcome in the Fey Realm, and I am more than fine with you and Rory being here for the duration of the pregnancy and the child’s early days. You can even leave the kid here if you need to…but you have a job to do.”

Bertram frowned, “What job is that?” he asked.

“Killing dragons,” Tristan replied. “It’s what grandfather trained us to do. It’s what we were born to do.”

Bertram nodded and his face softened, but Rory interrupted and sat up. “My child is going to be of my clan, who are dedicated to the hunt. And will have the potential of the dragonslayer bloodline from Bertram. Make no mistake, Tristan, we are not going to sit here in luxury. Once the child is old enough to be left with Hurvun here to train – we will return to our duty.” She smiled warmly and snagged the bottle from Bertram, lifting it up, “And of course, coming back to be parents. My child! Soon to be the best dragonslayer of all time!”

Hurvun frowned at that but raised his bottle in agreement, letting out a “here here!”

Tristan raised his bottle as well, and was somewhat relieved at hearing that Bertram wouldn’t just be sitting back and luxuriating in paradise.

A few hours passed before Tristan excused himself and headed back to the Queen’s Wood. Once he arrived, he headed to the base of the tree. Okay, time to test these spells out. He spun his crucible and felt the power course through his body. Directing it to his legs, he squatted down and jumped up with all his might, “I will glide on these mighty wings!” The phantasmal wings sprouted from his shoulders, and at the height of his jump, he re-curled his legs under him, tilting the toes so that they were straight down, and made the motion to jump again. “The skies unfold before me!”

He felt something tense and hard under his feet, and as he pushed off, the wind tore at him as he went shooting high, high up into the sky. Past the top boughs and up to where he could touch the clouds – easily another thousand feet above the Queen’s Wood proper. He let out a whoop of delight at the sudden ascent, and then felt queasy as the rapid movement caught up with him and he held back his bile to prevent splattering some unfortunate person below.

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This is incredible! He thought as he gently glided back down. I wonder if I can repeat it. Curling his legs under him again, he pointed his toes behind him. Spinning his crucible, he felt it at about half capacity. I can do perhaps two of these Dragon Leaps before I’d need to reserve essence. He shouted, “The skies unfold before me!” and went rocketing forward – blasting out over the Springthaw Meadows as his momentum carried him in a very rapid glide.

Turning his shoulders, he banked to his left to head back toward the Queen’s Wood, and landed on the top boughs by expertly controlling his shoulders’ rotation. Landing on the top, he let out a laugh of excitement and thrill.

The Matriarch had seemingly been watching him, and she looked both excited and worried. “Did you enjoy your flight?” she asked anxiously.

Tristan nodded and couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. “More like a controlled fall. That was incredible!”

“Just make sure you don’t fall,” The Matriarch replied.

Tristan nodded, “That was just a test. I need more testing, but I’m sure I can reduce how high I go.” Reverse spinning his crucible, he refilled it and repeated the pair of spells – an initial hop to activate Wing Glide, and then a second mid-air hop to activate Dragon Leap. But, he did not push up with as much force, and after some testing, found that the more deep the leg bend, the higher or farther the resulting launch would be.

Landing back on the platform, The Matriarch gave him an approving nod. “What is the plan?” she asked.

Tristan ran a hand through his hair, “I’m going to be here, meditating to practice with Zeltana. Weapon and spellweaving training. I’ll head back to The Mortal Realm each night to spend it with Felicity.”

The Matriarch blinked in surprise, “She’s choosing to remain there?”

“Learning more transmutation,” Tristan replied. “Apparently it involves math.”

The Matriarch’s face screwed up in disgust, “I completely understand. Such numbers and…what do you call them? Starts with the letter F?”