Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (27 page)

“Fizzle say not smart,” the drite interjects with a yawn. He stretches out on a rock that is in the sun and lets his muscles relax. “Fizzle need sleep. Only Judge Feeders left. No see any tribe or mean ones. More Judge Feeders than before. Friends think. Let Fizzle sleep.”

Without leaving the pool, Delvin strips out of his clothes and settles into the warm water to ease his aching muscles. The warrior puts his sword and shield in the sun to help them dry, their enchanted nature protecting them from rust. He scratches at the red-edged brand on his chest and momentarily wonders if he will ever get the hook-beaked bird symbol finished now that he has been reunited with his parents. As he runs a finger along the finished tail, he senses that Sari is examining the mark out of the corner of her eye. Sinking up to his chin, he leans back to use a patch of thick moss for a pillow and stares at the active canopy. A flock of small, blue parrots are in one tree that is festooned with nuts, which the birds deftly crack open and eat. With a gentle hoot, a tan gibbon pulls itself onto the edge of the grotto’s open ceiling and sways from side to side. The animal screeches at the presence of humans in its favorite spot, but the sight of the warrior’s sword causes the monkey to leap back into the branches. Delvin watches the slow-moving pangolins and is starting to fall asleep when he hears splashing in front of him. He forces his eyes open and glances over to see Sari settling herself at the other end of the pool.

“Isn’t this too hot for you?” Delvin asks in a lazy voice. He rolls his head and groans at the pops in his neck. “The weather has been taking its toll on you, so I thought you’d want to stay in the shade. Also, I’m surprised you didn’t wait for me for to finish.”

“I’m cooling the water that touches me,” Sari replies while gently washing her dirt-streaked face. Without taking a breath, she dips underwater and comes right back up, her blue hair now shimmering clean. “I needed this so badly that I couldn’t wait. Figured we’re too tired to be discreet and shy. Not like either of us have anything the other hasn’t seen. Besides, I have no interest in you and you have none in me. So we’re safe.”

“Good point. You’re attractive, Sari, but I can’t even force myself to think of you as anything other than my friend,” the warrior says, reaching over to his bag and pulling out a small razor. Using his shaky reflection as mirror, he careful trims the messy beard that has grown on his face. “Any ideas on what we should do? It sounds like we only have one group of enemies left, but it’s the big one. They had about thirty when we ran into them after the Judges. I’m guessing they’ve at least doubled their forces by now.”

“Where did the extra numbers come from?” the gypsy asks, craning her neck to see if Fizzle is still conscious. The drite is on his back and snoring, a steady stream of rainbow mist rising from his nostrils. “Maybe we should wait until Fizzle is awake. I took a map from the poachers, so maybe he can help us make sense of it since he’s seen more of the area. We don’t really have to fight these people, do we?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s just a cultural issue that we got caught up in.”

“Possibly.”

“I mean, they were only executing prisoners and we have stuff like that at home.”

“That we do.”

Grabbing a brush out of her nearby skirts, Sari fixes her hair and watches tiny motes of dust float through the sunlight. A few bubbles pop on the surface of the pool and she squirms when something runs along her belly. Submerging her face, the gypsy finds several colorful creatures that must have gone into hiding when she and Delvin dove underwater. A bright orange newt is what walked across her stomach and she reaches out to see if she can pet the tiny animal. Scared of the movement, it swims away and warns its friends about the danger by sending vibrations through the water. All of the newts dart into small holes and behind rocks to avoid the strange intruder that they fear will eat them.

“The others will come for us if they finish in Stonehelm and haven’t heard from us,” Delvin says when Sari’s head returns to the surface. He offers her a bar of soap, which she happily floats into her hand. “It’s already been a long time since we contacted them, so they’re going to be worried. More than likely, our friends will start in Anpress and learn where we went. Then they’ll go down the river and face the Judges like we did. I’m pretty sure Nyx can handle them within a minute once she figures out what is going on.”

“Except there will be that first attack, which could kill one of them,” Sari states, knowing it is a fear that her friend wants to leave unsaid. Lifting a leg out of the water, she scrubs at the dry mud and scowls at her collection of bug bites. “So we have to make a statement to keep our friends safe. If these people barely survive facing two champions then four will be something they don’t want to cross. Not that Timoran wouldn’t be an intimidating figure by himself, but we should make it easier for the others to find us if we’re in trouble.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re already in trouble, so let’s act accordingly,” the yawning warrior suggests before getting out of the pool. Pulling a towel out of his bag, he curses under his breath to see that it is filthy. Tossing the soiled cloth away, he walks into a patch of sunlight and keeps his back to Sari while he waits to dry off. “To answer your earlier question, I have a feeling there are multiple groups of Judge Feeders in the jungle. They probably interact with tribes and take criminals off their hands for a price. We’re seeing them gather together to hunt us down since we’re dangerous fugitives and us being alive is bad for their reputation. It’s also possible that they assimilated the surviving prisoners into their ranks. That scenario is a long shot, but I find it strange that those people simply vanished. Do you think this is more of a cult than an official system of punishment?”

“I do now,” Sari admits while climbing out of the water. With a wave of her hand, she dries her friend off and wipes the remaining droplets from her skin. “The more I think about these people, the more they don’t make any sense. They followed the criminals down the river and hunted the ones that got out of the lagoon. We saw them kill the woman who escaped with a broken leg, but they never brought her back to the Judges. They just left her body for some scavenger to find. Something about this makes me think they only care about a high body count and their pets are simply one method of reaching that goal.”

“So we stumbled into the path of a serial killer cult,” Delvin replies as he puts on the last of his clean clothes. He turns around to see Sari haphazardly tossing all of her skirts and tops into the pool. “What are you doing?”

“Laundry, so throw your clothes in and keep talking.”

Curious as to how she will clean the garments, the young man takes off his shirt and hands it to the gypsy. “Then it’s settled. We get some rest and go . . . No . . . We rest and bring them to us. I hate depending on you so much in these fights, but how much damage can you do with this water at your command?”

Sari sighs and swirls the pool without affecting the living creatures inside, the animals surrounded by pockets of calm water. She removes all of the filth that has built up since they started their adventure, the dirt becoming a murky layer that is skimmed off by a wave of her hand. Liquid tendrils rise from the surface to hang the clothes on vines that run across the open roof of the grotto. Sari chooses her favorite yellow and blue skirts and a small, azure top to get dressed, the garments drying instantly. When done with the laundry, she continues to have the water take various forms and swirl around the area. Dancing among the bubbling tendrils and other figures that appear in the display, Sari has them converge on her body. With a clap, she sends everything back into the pool and bows to her companion.

“You could have just said a lot of damage,” Delvin says with a smirk.

“Where’s the fun in that, Cunningham?”

*****

Sari’s whistling tune carries through the jungle thanks to a spell from Fizzle, who lurks in the canopy. Wearing his chainmail, Delvin lurks in a deep crevice to the right of the entrance and keeps an eye on the gypsy. Sitting on the far side of the pool, she is bathed in crimson moonlight, which gives her a ghostly appearance. She flexes her fingers and gently stirs the water in front of her, the motion causing the animals to retreat into their hiding places. With her energy revived by sleep and a decent meal of tropical fruit, Sari patiently watches for signs of their enemies. It has been an hour since she began whistling and there has been no movement in the shadowy jungle beyond a prowling ocelot.

“Guess they need more bait,” she whispers while closing her eyes. Several gestures create four blue and yellow silhouettes that faintly resemble her body. “Run through the jungle and lead our enemies here. Don’t forget to be flashy with your movements and continue whistling. We want them to think you’re me.”

The illusions run out of the grotto, two of them flipping and cartwheeling as they get out in the open. They head in different directions and the waiting champions hear several animals react to seeing the ghosts. It is not long before there is more noise than Sari intended to stir up, but she holds her position and waves for Delvin to relax. Another hour passes and the red moon is hanging directly over the grotto when Fizzle slaps his tail against the stone. The gypsy remains sitting as a robed figure steps into the entrance and pulls back his hood to reveal a handsome, but stern, face.

“Guiding us here was foolish, tainted one,” the man says as he scans the area for Delvin. He takes a small step closer and holds up his hand to stop his companions from leaving the nearby shadows. “Our quest is to rid the world of those who unnaturally share the blood of the purest beings. I can smell the aroma of fae on you and it is sullied by your human stench. You should have let the Judges eat you and return the energy you stole to the jungle.”

“Wow. I didn’t expect that to come out of you,” Sari answers, hopping to her feet and casually brushing dirt off her skirts. She can see Delvin preparing to pounce, but he stops when she giggles and blows a kiss in his direction. “Now a lot of what we’ve seen makes sense. Those weren’t really prisoners and I’m betting there was never a forgiver in Anpress. We would have been sent to the Judges no matter who we spoke to. Not sure how you found me out, but that really doesn’t matter. All I care about now is that this is personal.”

“Purity must be preserved in these days of-”

The man’s voice is cut off by a clamp of ice that Sari throws over his mouth. The gypsy walks across the pond, creating little geysers under her feet to make it appear as if she is bouncing. When she is within reach of the man, she removes the freezing restraint and tosses it over her shoulder. Patting him on the cheek, she delivers a paralysis spell that forces his body to become tense and rigid. She does a playful spin to signal for Delvin to remain in hiding and wait for the main attack.

“You and your friends are nothing more than bigoted psychos,” Sari whispers as she circles the robed man. Surprised that nobody has stepped out of the shadows, she draws her stiletto and waves it at where she thinks the others are waiting. “Everyone you killed were descendants of fae who decided to breed with other species. I guess some of them could have been criminals. Though I doubt being fed to the Judges was the proper punishment. Interesting how you have so many of my kind here, but I’ll wait until I find a trustworthy source before I look into that. By the gods, I suddenly want to toy with you until your friends come into the open. Too bad they’re refusing to come to your aide because that would end this quickly.”

“We are disciplined and refuse to fall for your tricks,” the man replies in a strained voice. He forces his arm to rise against the paralysis spell and enjoys the fear on the gypsy’s face. “I have been blessed to resist your magic. A lifetime of training and special potions has made my family the natural enemies of the tainted ones.”

“Why did you include my friends in this?”

“Because drites are an abomination and the man is an acceptable casualty.”

“I think I’ve heard enough.”

With a flick of her wrist, Sari summons a battering ram of water that knocks the man back into the jungle. The twisting creation wraps around her as the rest of the cult rushes out of the shadows, none of them making a sound. She leaps backwards and creates a slide that carries her to the far side of the grotto, allowing her enemies to rush through the entrance. When all of them are inside and draw their weapons, Sari extends her arms and has the pool explode with scalding water. Many of the cultists are burned, but their fervor helps them shrug off the pain and surge forward. An icy pillar rises under the gypsy while giant arms stretch from the depths of the underground hot spring, each limb adorned with razor-like fingers. They swing and slice at the robed figures, who try to reach their enemy by using their blades to climb her pedestal. Only a few are killed by the attack while others are only maimed thanks to their resistance to her powers, the watery arms dispelling before cutting too deep.

“Guess your friend warned me,” Sari mutters before diving into the churning pool. She returns wearing icy armor that is covered in spikes, the gauntlets three times the size of her actual fists. “Thank the gods I finally figured out how to make this thing lighter. I won’t run out of tricks, bastards, so feel free to retreat.”

The gypsy leaps and dances among the cultists, injuring several as she lets the long spikes do their job and focuses more on dodging. She uses her bulky hands for blocking instead of bashing her enemies, every blow leaving deep gouges in the ice. Needing more space, Sari tries to make her way out of the grotto in the hopes of using the jungle to attack from the trees. She is almost at the entrance when a dwarf hits her with a wooden hammer that shatters the armor. The impact sends her against the wall near Delvin and she holds her dislocated shoulder. Refusing to give up, the gypsy feigns a more severe injury and stabs a black-haired woman in the face when she gets within reach. Tossing the screaming cultist aside, Sari turns to see that the crowd is surging towards her. The hammer-wielding dwarf is nearly on the champion when his head tumbles from his shoulders.