Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (44 page)

“Thank you. So what do we do now?”

The Snow Tiger King grins and eases his guest into the arms of Fortunatos who creates a relaxing chair for her. “It is a custom in Stonehelm to celebrate a peace treaty, a coronation, and a battle victory with a celebration. Now we have all three events at once, so we shall relax and have fun tonight. Business can come tomorrow.”

“Just a warning, Trinity,” Nyx says while she watches the mob disperse to prepare for the festivities. The channeler waves Timoran away, the gesture including a few teasing sparks that cause him to chuckle. “Everything a barbarian does seems to be a call for celebration. Hope you’re ready for a really long night. Even without drinking, I don’t think you’re going to bed any time soon.”

Watching her people mingle with the barbarians, Trinity smiles and curls some of her hair around her finger. She can see the faint image of shining eyes in the sky and gets the sense that Ambrosine is applauding her. For the first time since leaving Shayd, the Chaos Elf Queen truly feels the sun on her skin. It is a warm and soothing sensation that she never wants to live without. A small pain in her heart appears as she remembers all of her people who are still prisoners in her homeland. The thought of them suffering without her protection makes Trinity angry and she nearly melts the chair with a spell. Only Nyx notices the surge of energy and places a comforting hand on the other woman’s arm.

“I promise to save the rest of your people and return you to Shayd,” the champion swears as Sebave timidly joins them on the dais. The priestess is carrying a small plate of fruit, all of which she is curiously examining. “Just keep the others safe and gather your strength. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Baron and Gabriel aren’t done with you.”

“That’s just perfect,” Trinity replies with a wry smile. “I’m not even close to being done with them.”

*****

“I remember long ago when only the rich buried their dead,” Zaria says as she appears next to Dariana. The two women stand over Udelia’s grave, a shimmering pool of jade only a few feet behind their translucent forms. “It was not really because of the wealth. Any farmer had a shovel and could make a simple marker. Those who lived outside of the cities did not want their loved ones to return as zombies. Necrocasters were not common, but they were not rare either. Back then, it was expensive to hire a priestess or a paladin because the gods were big on accepting sacrifices. Those days had a lot of cremations.”

“I like this better because graves can be visited,” Dariana claims, bending down to touch a wreath of flowers. Since it is only her astral projection, her hand passes through the decoration and makes it shake. “I’m glad you came when I called, mother. The events with Timoran’s tribe have raised some questions that I can’t share with my friends. Most importantly, is the prophecy really this fragile?”

Zaria sighs and turns to the liquid jade, the red-haired Goddess of Purity seeing through to the decaying temple. She sees ghosts frozen in time as their home is absorbed by the surrounding stone. It will not be long before all traces of Aintaranurh have been devoured by the mountains and only the bones of the monsters inside will remain. Pitying the phantoms who were invited by Fortunatos, she frees them from their shrinking prison and watches as they swarm out of the ground. Many return to their graves where a portal to the afterlife awaits while some wander off, their resting place no longer remembered.

“The prophecy has always been on the verge of collapse,” Zaria says, a few tears falling onto her ivory dress. Having gained permission to repair the damage, she touches the jade pool to turn it into solid rock and covers the area in a layer of dirt that can never be removed. “We never knew why the previous God of Destiny made this path so brittle. Remember that Gabriel damaged it when he ascended and allowed your father to live. Around the smoldering remains of the original prophecy, he built what you see now. Yet a new house on a weak foundation can still be toppled with very little effort. Cessia has tried to help by giving us and our agents as much luck as she can, but it did not work for Aintaranurh and the barbarians. Two more generations of champions and this place would have been useless for both sides.”

“Then none of you should have let things get this far,” the telepath claims, slipping away from her mother’s attempt at a hug. She freezes as her physical body reacts to someone bumping into her at the celebration in Stonehelm. “I know there’s the Law of Influence, but letting this happen is reckless. What is the purpose of any of you besides giving magic to priests and priestesses? Do you even care if my father returns? I doubt he’ll let the gods and goddesses remain on Ambervale. With that damnable law, would any of you fight back?”

The slap across Dariana’s face causes her astral form to tear at the waist, the top half hovering a few feet to the left of her legs. Releasing gasps of pain, the champion concentrates on repairing the damage while her mother patiently fumes nearby. She can sense that her body has collapsed and is being helped to a chair by Cyrus, the General telling everyone that she has had too much to drink. The two women remain silent and still for so long that several small animals wander out of their burrows. A rabbit hops over to Dariana, sniffing at the telepath’s ghost-like foot and scampering away when her toe twitches.

“We all know what will happen when your father awakens,” Zaria says while bending down to pet a squirrel. Her touch makes its fur shine and the tiny creature nuzzles her palm. “He has sworn to make us pay for creating the Law of Influence. It is believed that he will conquer the world and cut us off from our followers. Nobody knows what that will do to Windemere and we do not want to find out.”

“Then shouldn’t you do whatever it takes to make sure this prophecy continues pushing forward?” Dariana asks, refusing to soften her tone. A rumble of thunder draws the champion’s attention to the west where she sees a black cloud shaped like a unicorn. “I can see Gabriel is eavesdropping, but my question still stands. Could you have done anything to prevent Wodan from weakening Aintaranurh?”

“Something was done before he went too far,” the Purity Goddess argues, her eyes closing as she converses with the other gods. Her scrunched face and clenched fists reveal that she is arguing and getting frustrated. “I am relaying this from Gabriel. If the Snow Tiger King was stopped from entering Aintaranurh then he would never have created his tribe. Timoran Wrath might never have been forged and all events would have gone in a different direction. While we did not plan for such things, we worked with them and will continue to do so. Free will cannot be stifled for the sake of the safest path. All times that we have attempted to do so has caused great change within Windemere and our ranks. Trust that things will work in your favor, but not so much that you remain idle.”

Dariana rubs her temples and yawns, her energy starting to wane. “I understand. Thank you for coming to answer my question.”

“There is more to this visit,” Zaria admits while caressing her daughter’s cheek. She looks to the distance and sees the storm over Shayd flash with crimson lightning. “You have a new half-brother coming into the world. The child of Arthuru and Yola Biggs is sure to be a danger. We do not know what will happen, so we need you to remain on your guard.”

“Should I warn the others?”

“Yes, but try not to make them worry. All of you have enough problems right now.”

From the other side of Dariana’s transmission, a blood-curdling scream shreds her astral form. She is rocketed back into her body to find that the chaos elves and barbarians have stopped celebrating. Everyone is gathered around the dais, so she pushes her way through the crowd that gradually parts to let her through. Leaping onto the stage, the champion first sees Sebave crouched on the ground, the priestess’s robes covered in blood. Trinity is trying to console the wide-eyed woman while Nyx and Luke tend to a tiny, limp form.

Sensing that Sebave is merely startled, Dariana gets closer to her friends and sees that they are holding Fizzle. The drite is covered in wounds and barely breathing, each puff of his chest a series of stutters. His tail is broken in three places and his crimson wings have several tears in them. Wisps of rainbow mist drift from between his cracked lips and get sucked into his nostrils to dull his agony. Dariana takes Fizzle in her arms to scan his mind and witnesses his struggle to escape the jungle. Gently going back in the dragon’s memories, she sees the attack on Sari and Delvin, but she cannot see how the fight ended. The telepath prays that their friends are still alive and tries to forget how fragile the prophecy is. Part of her swears that Gabriel and her mother would never let events spiral so far into disaster without them having a chance to rescue the others.

“We have to get to the southern jungles,” Dariana says, cradling Fizzle’s head in the crook of her arm. “Immediately.”

*****

Crimson lightning pounds the continent of Shayd and a chorus of screams sends boulders crashing into the ocean. The remaining chaos elves huddle in their caves, which are bathed in protective shells of green energy. Even with Yola’s shields, the terrified people still feel every shudder and spasm of their world. Undead randomly explode as shockwaves of magic burst from the castle, which has already lost one of its corner towers. All of the demons have retreated to the Chaos Void, leaving swirling vortexes that they peek through to see if it is safe to return to their jobs. With a final shriek of pain that ends with gleeful laughter, a new threat to the champions is born.

The adventure continues in

Charms of the Feykin