Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (24 page)

“It never crossed my mind,” the mortal warrior admits, scratching his head.

Dariana clears her throat and steps off the remaining bed to cautiously approach the Barbarian God. “I would like to point out that none of us considered that possibility. Nyx and I have caught Timoran in various aura and mind scans, but nothing drew our attention such as it did with Delvin. The man’s aura is very mild and hard to find, which is expected in those who lack the gift for casting. What kind of power could Timoran have if it doesn’t work off magic? Not that you’re able to answer the question without breaking the law. Unless you have a vague hint that you are here to deliver.”

“I assume it is the kind that allows him to block and survive the half-hearted strike of a god,” Kerr remarks, meeting the wide-eyed gaze of the woman. He can see the confused expression on Timoran’s face and sighs as his time comes to an end. “You will learn the truth in Aintaranurh and then I will expect you to avoid these pathetic collapses. No more pointless surrenders or wallowing in useless guilt. Otherwise, I will revoke my blessing and you will forever be a barbarian without a tribe.”

Kerr fades away in a glimmer of red and leaves the splintery ruins of Dariana’s bed on the floor. Timoran is numb as he watches his friend examine the broken frame and punctured mattress. His mind is so busy trying to wrap itself around the words of the god that he never notices his eyes closing. Grunting at the exertion, Dariana catches the exhausted barbarian and drags him to his bed. Within minutes, he is snoring and the telepath is stuck sitting on the floor with her arm trapped under her heavy companion. After several fruitless tugs and shoves, she gives up trying to free herself and does her best to fall into a relaxing trance.

*****

“You haven’t answered any of my questions,” Luke says as he walks alongside the fleet-footed barbarian. All he can do is shrug at the continuing silence that he has failed to crack for the last two hours. “We’re far enough away from Stonehelm that we don’t have to worry about getting caught. All I want to know is what you have to do with the missing witness, Timoran, and King Edric.”

With a tired sigh, Lodur stops walking and takes a seat on a nearby boulder that has been broken in half by a passing mountain giant. Rolling his shoulders, the white-haired man cringes at the sensation of his neck popping. The early night sky bathes the hilly landscape in red light, which gives it an eerie atmosphere that he finds relaxing. A chorus of hooting owls break the silence before the hungry birds soar overhead, their four winged forms separating to follow individual prey. There are no other sounds, which puts Lodur on edge and he is about to suggest that his companion be quiet until dawn. He holds his tongue when he notices that the forest tracker’s hands are an inch away from his sabers. A smirk crosses the barbarian’s face at the thought of the young man being as alert and cautious as a veteran.

“You’ve seen a lot of battles in your time,” Lodur says while he takes a sip from a waterskin. The rustling of a nearby bush causes his hand to fall to the hilt of a large hunting knife, but he relaxes at the sight of a raccoon. “There isn’t much to say. I stumbled upon the witness a few years ago and learned their story. It wasn’t a pretty tale, so I’ve been helping this person by reporting on the activities of Stonehelm. The witness has shown an interest in Timoran Wrath’s return and the tribe’s reaction to him. It was only this morning that I was asked to bring one of his traveling companions who could share more information. Beyond that, I’m nothing more than a helpful drunk.”

“Did you know that you fiddle with your beard ring when you lie?” Luke asks with a wide grin. He accepts the offered waterskin and takes a long drink, his stomach roaring after not eating for most of the day. “I won’t pry anymore, but I do wonder how long this will take. My friends need help as soon as possible. If for no other reason than I don’t think Nyx should be left in charge of a rescue. She’s been pretty irritable lately.”

“King Edric is a wise and cautious man, so you don’t have to worry about him angering the Near God,” the barbarian replies, a twinge of bitterness in his voice. Rising to his feet, he continues leading the way through the wilderness. “This shouldn’t take long. We go to the witness’s home, report what is happening in Stonehelm, and travel back to put an end to all the lies. My beloved tribe has been living in ignorance for too long and now I can do something to revive their true honor.”

The half-elf scratches his head and yawns to hide his look of surprise. “A little dramatic there. Do you have a grudge against Edric? If you knew something was wrong all these years then you should have said something. I mean, you seem very invested in all of these events and you obviously want Timoran to go free. After all, you’re the one who told Nyx about the witness and now you’re helping me. Did you know General Godric?”

“We were friends and battle brothers,” Lodur replies, wiping a tear from his cheek. He anxiously pulls his knife in and out of its scabbard, the sound reminding him of his youthful days of training. “I wouldn’t say I have a grudge against Edric because he is a good man. He has merely been misguided in his actions, which is a curse for someone who has the passion and fire that he keeps locked away. That man would try to conquer the world if he thought it was both possible and a benefit for all. Not only for our tribe, but for every person on Windemere. So my anger comes from him sullying his own legacy, which is truly painful to witness firsthand. I always thought him better than this. Now is there anything else you wanted to ask or can we try to run?”

“Think we can stop for something to eat?”

“No, but I have some food in my bag.”

“Thanks. I would use my Feast Ring, but that would be over the top.”

“Best to save it for later. All of us would appreciate it more at that point.”

“Why is that?”

Lodur grins and hands the forest tracker a loaf of dark bread that is hard on the outside and soft on the inside. He is surprised at how quickly Luke devours the snack and wonders if they have enough food to complete the short trip. Howls weave through the night, causing the travelers to stop for a second and look around for signs of the wolves. Not hearing any movement, they break into a run and pray they are not sprinting toward the predators. It is not long before the sound of paws on the ground emanates from both sides, the cunning pack swiftly surrounding the warriors. The wolves remain hidden among the rising hills and fallen boulders as they try to herd their prey toward the open plain.

“This is going to be messy,” Lodur says, drawing his knife. Coming to a stop, he spins around to face the predators that are nothing more than yellow eyes in the shadows. “These are barrow wolves, which you don’t have down south. Bigger, meaner, and smarter than your average wolf. Strike to kill or you’ll end up with your throat ripped out.”

“Can’t we run for the witness?” Luke asks while spinning his sabers. Unleashing a primal growl, he causes the beasts to stop their approach. “I don’t like killing an animal that’s only hungry. Timoran can roar and scare them away, so I assume you can do the same thing. Unless we’re close enough to reach the witness before they catch us.”

“We have a little ways to go and I wouldn’t want to bring our problems to our host’s doorstep. It isn’t like the witness knows when we’re going to arrive,” the barbarian replies before unleashing a bellowing battle cry. He ends with a staggering cough that ruins the effect and draws the pack closer, the animals thinking he is sick and weak. “It’s been a long time since I had to do that twice in one day, so I’m out of shape. It probably wouldn’t work anyway. Barrow wolves are very visual, so seeing an old man and a scrawny youth won’t scare them. Though your growl gave them pause.”

“I have a few friends that speak their language,” the forest tracker claims as he backs up a few steps. Reflecting the moonlight off his sabers, he gets a quick count of the beasts. “I count ten of them with more hiding among the boulders. Might not have the power to become Lucy and Stiletto wouldn’t be enough since he’s only a dog. No offense, old friend, but you against ten wolves is too dangerous. Not enough energy for a chimera form. Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“It sounds like you plan on fighting them alone.”

“Thankfully, I’m never alone. Stay back and jump in if I’m in trouble.”

His voice fading into a serpentine hiss, fangs grow out of Luke’s mouth as his skin turns into amber and black scales. Poisonous spines rise along his back and his body stretches into the coiled body of a snake. The half-elf’s hair tumbles from his head while his eyes turn yellow and a forked tongue flickers out of his mouth. A long, black stinger emerges from his tail and he lashes at the earth in an attempt to intimidate the wolves. His arms extend into gangly limbs that retain their humanoid fingers and press against the earth to keep the creature’s upper body vertical.

Unafraid of the snake fiend, the pack moves into the moonlight and snarls at the strange, solitary creature. The beasts bristle their fur as they spread out and warm drool drips from their slavering mouths. Much larger than southern wolves, these predators reveal two rows of barbed teeth and sniff the air with elongated snouts. Stone-like plates are on their chests and stomachs, giving them protection if they are knocked onto their backs. With Luke’s spirit still conscious, he internally shouts to the snake fiend about the barrow wolves’ tails that he sees are made of razor sharp hairs. They leave thin gouges in the dirt and stone whenever they drag, which makes the reptilian beast a little nervous.

“You’re the one who wanted to fight and earn a name,”
Luke whispers inside the creature’s head. He worries about the fear that the stealthy predator is struggling against, its instinct telling it to retreat from the other animals.
“Just listen to me. You’re too weak to do a frontal attack, but you’re not stupid. Treat this like any other hunt or fight. Remember how you injured me when we met? Use tactics like that.”

The barrow wolves charge and the snake fiend briefly coils its body before springing ten feet into the air. Arms frantically moving before it lands, the scaly creature sends a spray of dirt in every direction while burrowing into the rocky ground. Blindly lashing out, its tail stabs one of the predators in the flank before vanishing into the hastily made tunnel. The paralyzed wolf topples over with foam seeping from its mouth, which startles the rest of the pack and causes them to move closer together. Swimming through the earth like a shark in the ocean, the snake fiend’s poisonous barbs occasionally push through the dirt. Hidden by the shadowy night, the reptile moves beneath the huddling wolves and pokes several in their soft paws. By the time, the snake fiend erupts from the ground behind them, four more of the beasts have been incapacitated by the venom. Their shuddering and vomiting terrifies the five healthy predators, but hunger drives the pack to continue attacking.

Weaving through the ravenous wolves, the snake fiend bats one of them away with both of its hands. Twisting around a pouncing enemy, its coils bind the creature long enough for it to deliver a paralyzing bite to the neck. Hurling the injured wolf at the nearest target, the reptile leaves itself open and receives an agonizing chomp to its body. A burning pain ripples through its muscles as it is infected with a poison that eats away at the flesh around the wound. Enraged and terrified, the snake fiend stabs the snarling beast in the head and violently thrashes. Its powerful tail and thick coils slam against the ground, catching two of the surprised barrow wolves in the panicky tantrum. One of them yelps as its leg is pierced by the stinger, but the other is killed instantly by a blow that snaps its neck. Terrified of the strange creature, the surviving pack members race back into the shadows in search of easier prey.

“That was impressive,” Lodur says while Luke returns his true form. He catches the half-elf and sees that there is blood seeping from his side. “I never knew a snake fiend could be so powerful on its own. I’m guessing your mind can control the body to some extent. Don’t worry about the pain. Barrow wolf poison doesn’t last long and I have a first aid kit to tend to the wound. Are you going to be okay?”

“I think I’m going to name him Pike,” Luke mutters, his body shivering as it tries to throw off the poison. He gets the sense that the snake fiend is unsure of the name and wants him to try again later. “Like the polearm since you stab with your tail. I’ll ask Delvin if he likes it when we see him again, so stop complaining. You did great for your first time out. Was hoping you wouldn’t kill any of them, but it makes more sense for you to fight like that than me. At least it feels more natural.”

“It seems you talk to them a lot.”

“They need attention like everyone else. How far until we reach the witness?”

When the clouds blocking half of the moon disappear, Lodur points at a jagged mountain that Luke remembers seeing from Stonehelm. Part of the outer ridge of Stone Asp Mountain Range, the impressive formation’s sides are covered in cliffs and caverns. The barbarian’s arm rises higher and higher, signifying that they have a long and difficult climb ahead of them. All Luke can do is groan and raise his shirt for his companion to patch up the seeping wound. Once bandaged and resigned to an exhausting night, the forest tracker stretches his legs and takes another long look at the mountain.

“How hard can it be?” he asks, knowing those are words one should never utter when the gods could be listening. “After all, this wouldn’t be fun if it was easy.”

*****

There are plenty of handholds and the moonlight makes the first leg of the climb easier than Luke had feared. It is only after three hours of rapid ascent that their journey slows to an agonizing crawl. Powerful winds whip at the tired pair and threaten to launch them off the mountain. Many times a gust strikes the climbers from the back to beat them against the stone like an angry child pounding on a toy. Heavier and more experienced, Lodur swiftly adapts to the changes and continues to push forward without losing much of his momentum. The lighter forest tracker is not as lucky as he struggles to grip the stone, which has become more fragile thanks to years of battering winds. Several times, Luke’s hands slip and he nearly falls off the mountain, his quick reflexes the only things that save him from a painful demise. Catching his breath after one of these near disasters, the half-elf watches his guide scale the cliffs with a speed that he cannot hope to match.