Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (5 page)

“Something shiny?” the Tribe Baron hisses when the sunlight glints off Nyx’s amethyst necklace. He strides over to the young woman who has been wrapped in chains from her shoulders to her ankles. “That be my prize.”

“I wouldn’t touch that,” Luke says through gritted teeth. His wrists are tied to a thick tree branch while his legs are weighed down with rocks that are strapped to his feet. The half-elf sucks in a deep breath before concentrating on the guttural language of the giltris. “I know you can understand me, so I suggest you listen to every word. Her necklace keeps her magic in check. Remove that when she’s still alive and this swamp will be destroyed in a matter of seconds.”

“Runt of prey lie.”

“Do you really want to take that chance?”

“I not afraid.”

“Then explain all her chains.”

The Tribe Baron approaches Luke and bares his teeth in an attempt to scare the truth out of the warrior. Instead, his prisoner yawns and dislocates his ankles to slip out of his bonds. With two loud pops, Luke repairs his body and flips himself onto the branch to take the pressure off his shoulders. An axe flies through the air and shatters the tree limb, sending the forest tracker crashing to the moist ground. He is about to stand when a solid stomp from the Tribe Baron knocks the wind out of his lungs. The giltris continues crushing Luke’s chest, a few drops of drool falling into the champion’s hair. Sharp claws curl to scratch at the warrior’s clothes and draw some blood until the giltris reaches down to toss the half-elf aside.

“Too scrawny to entertain,” the scarred lizardman declares before hissing and grunting at a higher pitch. The other giltris gather on solid land, each one kneeling to their leader. “We have feast for good hunt. Eat well and honor Harmoke. Lord of River and King of Scaled Ones will bless. Our bellies will fill with fresh meat. First we fight worthy foe. No weapons. Strength versus strength. Good fight mean happy god.”

“I don’t really think Harmoke cares,” Luke mutters while getting to his feet. He tries to wipe the mud off his shirt, but only smears the muck around his leather armor patches. “I’ll be the one to fight you.”

The Tribe Baron laughs and gestures for two of his warriors to restrain the half-elf. “You no fun. Magic woman cheat. Barbarian best choice. His tribe war with us for long time. He give us true fight.”

“I guess he wants to fight me,” Timoran says as he hugs the snow tiger cubs closer to his body. He leans down to release the animals, but they dig their claws into his flesh and snarl at the surrounding giltris. “It appears my new charges refuse to let me go. I cannot fight like this. Do you have any suggestions, my friend?”

The Tribe Baron scowls at the barbarian and struggles to use Tradespeak. “Eat cubs first.”

Dariana clears her throat and snaps the ropes that are binding her hands, the telepath enhancing the sound to startle the giltris. Several spears and swords point in her direction as she massages her sore shoulders and cracks her neck. Tightening the side straps of her blue top, the silver-haired woman moves between Timoran and the Tribe Baron. Her steps are silent and graceful, which makes the scarred lizardman lick his lips in primal curiosity. Peering into her eyes, his heart mysteriously stutters as if scared by what he sees.

“Let me fight for your god and entertainment,” Dariana requests while bouncing on her toes and stretching her arms. When her enemy starts to laugh, she spits at his clawed feet and beckons for him to attack. “You fight barbarians all the time. Harmoke would find such a display boring and a sign of laziness. Try taking on an adventurer like me. I promise that he will grant you years of good hunting if you can win. Maybe he’ll even make your little swamp grow beyond these hills.”

The Tribe Baron snorts and backs towards the bowl of soup, his yellow eyes locked on the strange woman. His forked tongue snakes out to taste the broth and catch part of a squirrel that he devours in one bite. With a piercing wail, the old female dances around her leader and throws handfuls of silver powder over his head. The dust sticks to every scar on his body to create an impressive display of glistening wounds that would intimidate a less experienced opponent. Slapping his powerful tail on the earth, the Tribe Baron calmly walks toward Dariana and hunkers down to start a sprinting pounce. He leaps with his toothy mouth open and his claws stretch to tear into his pale-skinned prey.

With a quick twist of her body, Dariana steps between the giltris’s arms and delivers a quick palm strike to the bottom of his jaw. Teeth shatter as his mouth slams shut, but the Tribe Baron has no time to recover as he is flipped over his enemy’s head. Rolling onto all fours, the giltris avoids a blow to his chest and spins to knock the champion aside with his tail. Dariana flips to her feet and leaps over the diving lizardman before delivering a heel kick to his spine. The swamp echoes with a series of loud pops as several vertebrae are dislocated and broken by the single blow.

Grunting and shrieking, the Tribe Baron struggles to stand and signals for his spear to be thrown to him. Catching the weapon, he uses it as a crutch while the silver powder in his scars sinks beneath his scales. The enchanted dust swirls through the lizardman’s veins and repairs the damage to his spine, the agony subsiding within seconds. Unleashing a predatory hiss, the Tribe Baron opens his mouth to proudly reveal his steadily regenerating teeth. Standing at his full thirteen foot height, the giltris can feel his pain receptors go numb and his muscles bloat from the magical enhancement.

“I’m sorry, but that still won’t be enough,” Dariana politely states as she considers making herself immune to pain. She decides to leave herself unaltered, hoping to give the giltris a small chance. “You may keep your weapon. I could use a little practice against things other than swords and axes.”

The polished tip of the spear lances toward the champion’s face only to be batted away like an irritating fly. Dariana repeatedly blocks the weapon while backing toward the bonfire, the intense heat making her sweat. She trips over a stone and barely ducks a tight swing, but the edge of the spear still cuts her forehead. The burning pain causes her to pause for an instant, which is enough for the Tribe Baron to barrel forward. His shoulder slams into her chest and the pair tumble toward the roaring flames. As the heavy weight of the giltris cracks some of her bones, Dariana braces her feet against his stomach and launches her enemy into the bonfire. Still rolling from the impact, she crashes against the ring of hot stones and immediately crawls away before they can burn her skin.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have played with him,” Dariana mutters as she stands and touches the aching cut on her face. Green ooze is mixed with her blood, which numbs her fingertips. “There was a poison on that weapon. Do you know what it might be, Timoran?”

A howl of rage erupts from the bonfire as the Tribe Baron leaps out of the deep pit. He is covered in fire that continues to burn his dark scales, but the magical powder prevents him from feeling the agony. Every movement cracks his fragile skin, revealing pink flesh that turns black from the heat wafting off his body. Tossing his smoking spear to the side, the giltris sprints at his injured prey and grins at the thought of burning her in his hands. The charge abruptly turns into an awkward stumble that ends with the Tribe Baron crashing to the ground and skidding to the feet of Dariana. All she can do is stare at the polished halberd that is sticking out of the back of her enemy’s blackening skull.

The remaining giltris screech in terror as they dive into the water, leaving only a handful of brave warriors behind. Wild-haired men and women crash through the swamp to make short work of the lizardmen who are unable to deliver a single blow. The barbarians’ shouts and roars echo throughout the area to send the survivors retreating to the top of the nearby hills. Distant hisses and snarls can be heard by the war party’s keen ears, but they only laugh at the feeble, empty threats while tending to the prisoners. A tall and slender woman with auburn hair frees Nyx, the metal chains easily snapped by the powerful warrior’s hands. Luke is helped to his feet by a stocky barbarian wearing chainmail, the bearded man sending him back to the ground with a solid slap to the shoulder.

“Are there any other prisoners besides you and your two friends, ma’am?” a black-haired barbarian asks as he approaches Dariana. There is a friendly glint in his sapphire eyes and his bare chest is marred by the old claw marks of a wyvern. The beast’s scaly hide has been turned into a pair of metal studded bracers that the barbarian has kept perfectly polished. “I’m sorry for the rudeness. My name is Cyrus Anghorn of the Snow Tiger Tribe. We were tracking these giltris for a while. They always have their Harmoke ceremony around this time. If they had succeeded then they’d attempt an assault on our city, so it’s smarter to stop them from building up their fervor. You can follow us back to-”

All of the barbarians stop when the snow tiger cubs mewl and bring everyone’s attention to Timoran. The champion remains motionless on the other side of the abandoned cauldron, none of his brethren having bothered to take notice of him until now. Nobody makes a move toward the red-haired man for several minutes that are filled with tension and blank stares. The cubs eventually squirm out of the barbarian’s arms and hurry to Luke, who bends down to pat their heads. With the animals no longer in the way, Cyrus storms over to Timoran and punches him in the shoulder. It is a powerful blow that sends the other man back a few clumsy steps, leaving him open for a tight hug.

“The fallen favored son returns,” Cyrus whispers, slapping his old friend on the back.

“It appears this day was inevitable,” Timoran replies, noticing that the other barbarians are still eyeing him suspiciously. “Your companions do not seem happy to see me. How are we going to do this?”

Cyrus puts a thick arm around his old friend’s shoulders and confidently guides him toward the gathered warriors. “I’m in charge, battle brother, so they won’t do anything. They trust and respect me, which is still something I’m getting used to. I say we travel back to Stonehelm like nothing is wrong. I assume your new friends are in the dark about what is waiting for you at home.”

“They are unaware, but suspicious.”

“In that case, I shall regale them with stories of your youth.”

“I will inflict the same embarrassment on you.”

Cyrus grins wide enough to reveal he is missing an upper incisor, a reminder of a bar fight that he firmly believes he won. “You really should have stayed away, Wrath. Stonehelm and King Edric aren’t ready for you. Then again, it’d be worse if they were.”

With a forced smile, Timoran squeezes his friend’s arm and rejoins the champions. He is aware that the other members of his tribe are watching his every step and many of them are ready to draw their weapons at a moment’s notice. The only thing that is keeping the barbarians at bay is a stern glare from Cyrus, who has reclaimed his halberd from the dead Tribe Baron. Timoran remains with his companions as the group marches toward Stonehelm and his childhood friend entertains everyone with exaggerated tales of their youth. Many times, the red-haired warrior politely interjects a forgotten fact that causes both of the men to blush at the foolishness of their past. As the travelers laugh, the nervous champion gains a flicker of hope that his homecoming will not be as disastrous as he fears.

2

“Still no luck?” Sari asks after Delvin drops into the chair across from her. She waves at a nearby waitress before going back to stroking Fizzle’s belly, the drite lazily sprawled on the wooden table. “I always thought Freedom was a busy port, so I didn’t think we would have this much trouble. Although it’s really odd that we can’t find a ride to the southern jungles at this time of year. I heard the locals do flora and fauna tours because summer is the active period for a lot of them.”

Delvin yawns and rubs at his eyes, his fingers lingering on the dark circles that have appeared after several days of exhausting travel. Glancing out the tavern window, he watches waves of heat rise off the river that cuts through the coastal city. He notices a small boat in The Scar and smiles as the tiny ship is directed by a young elf’s wand. The brown-haired warrior’s attention is stolen by the clatter of a plate and he turns to see that a sandwich has been placed in front of him. With a well-practiced flourish, the waitress adds a bowl of soup and a mug of ice water to his meal while Sari indulges in another glass of chilled cider. Delvin notices that his companion’s blue hair is matted and her natural glow has been diminished by the heat. Not for the first time, he considers suggesting that she return to their friends in the north and let him travel alone. The only reason he keeps his mouth shut is because Sari has stolen the Compass Key and he has spent the last two days trying to figure out where she has hidden the relic. Even Fizzle has been unable to see through whatever illusions the gypsy has constructed, which gives the warrior some comfort. Having two powerful casters on his side means he can finish his business in the jungles quickly and return to Nyx before she is done in Stonehelm.

“Are you daydreaming about Nyxie again?” Sari interrupts with a playful twinkle in her emerald eyes. She casually fingers a red flower that is tucked behind her ear and leaves a trail of dew on the delicate petals. “I see that goofy smile starting to form in the right corner of your mouth. Anyway, we promised not to talk about the things that make us sad. So what’s going on with the ship, Cunningham?”

“It’s not going to be easy to find someone willing to take us to the jungles,” Delvin replies, his mouth full of food. Taking a few sips of water, he swallows the bite and pounds his chest to avoid choking. “Sorry about the display. I was hungrier than I realized. Where did you get that flower?”

“I found it on a bridge. Poor thing would have been trampled if I didn’t save it.”

“That’s a memory iris. The locals place them at the site of murdered loved ones.”

Sari gently places the flower on the table, unsure if she should hurry to return it to the bridge. “City people have strange customs.”

“Fizzle go put plant back,” the purple drite declares, grabbing the stem in his mouth. His red dragonfly wings flutter and he darts out the window, creating a breeze that gives some momentary relief to his overheated friends.

“It looks like we arrived at a bad time,” Delvin explains as he takes the metal shield off his back and props it against the wall. Made from crushed jewels, the winged stag emblazoned on the front sends a cascade of rainbow light across the floor. “There was a big pirate attack two days ago and the city had enough of a warning to send most of the civilian ships out to sea. I’ve been told that they decided to leave on various jobs and won’t be back for a while. Those that did stay were either damaged or are more suited for river travel than the open ocean. I asked about Captain Higgs, but he’s with Aedyn and Kellia in Gaia. Our choices so far are an Orcish garbage scow and a vessel that I’m pretty sure is run by a slave trader. The only reason I think that is because the captain was far too interested in talking about you. Guess sexy gypsies are a rare and valuable commodity in his business.”

“I’m flattered, but sexy might be pushing it these days,” Sari replies, her hand going to her hip. She can feel the faint scar through her red and yellow skirts, a reminder of her last encounter with Stephen. “I ran out of healing cream before I could get rid of it completely, so people might see me as damaged goods. Nothing an illusion won’t fix in a pinch. I considered getting a tattoo over the scar, but I’ve no idea what to put there. Do they make ones that the owner can alter whenever they want?”

“Those are expensive and the quality decreases with every change.”

A violent outburst causes everyone to look at the bar where a beardless dwarf is shouting at the calico barmaid. Frothy ale and the remains of a broken mug are at their feet, the liquid flowing along the creases in the stone floor. Knowing that only one of them is needed, Sari and Delvin put out their hands for a game of rock, paper, and scissors. They stop when a purple streak races through the window and Fizzle lands on the waitress’s head. A cry of surprise is caught in the dwarf’s throat as the tiny dragon hits him in the face with a jet of rainbow mist. Patting the grinning drunk on the head with his tail, the drite flips into the air and quietly returns to his friends. The audience, including the dwarf, applauds the tiny dragon and a large apple pie is delivered to him a minute later. Before the champions can ask for a piece, Fizzle plunges his head into the warm dessert and goes about devouring it from the inside.

“Ever notice that strangers seem to know what we like and don’t like?” Delvin asks as he tries to steal a forkful of pie. A reptilian tongue lances out of the crust to steal his bite, leaving the utensil sparkling clean. “Seems people are still collecting those figurines. I was asked for a few autographs while I was out too, which I’ll never get used to. This is without people knowing about the Baron, so I wonder what will happen after that battle is over.”

“All of us will be famous and at least one of us won’t be around to enjoy the spoils of victory,” Sari states with a bitter smile. The worried scowl of her friend causes the gypsy to stretch her leg and rub his shin with a booted foot. “We all know what Gabriel said when you were fighting for the Compass Key, so I’m only being realistic. Not that I’m expecting it to be me or even hoping it is. That didn’t come out right. Look, Cunningham, there’s no point in worrying about the future. Live in the now and enjoy every minute with the people you love and who love you back.”

“I’m here with you, Sari.”

The blue-haired woman flicks some water at the warrior, creating an icicle on the tip of his nose. “And I love you like an irritating older brother. I hope you feel the same about me. Not that specific role because that would be insulting and creepy.”

“Sorry. I do love you like a little sister and trusted friend,” Delvin replies while wiping his face clean. He takes off his chainmail and tucks it into his bottomless pouch, the sensation of not wearing armor making him groan in pleasure. “The two of us always seem to get into these conversations. Guess we’ve always been the lovesick type.”

“It’s the whole unrequited thing that we’re struggling with,” Sari says before a pang of anguish hits her heart. With a muttered curse, she kicks her friend in the knee and points a stern finger at him. “Stop making me almost talk about the stuff I don’t want to talk about. We’ve been good since we left Darkmill. This journey is to find your temple, get as far as we can without the others, and give our hearts time to heal. I told Luke I was fine and I’m not going to risk him finding out that I may have twisted the truth for his benefit. Now eat your meal and find us a boat because I’m not swimming across the ocean with you on my back.”

“Fizzle could do that,” the drite announces from inside the pie. He pokes his nose out of the crust and runs his tongue around the edge. “Turn into fat fish that spits from head. Fizzle see one near desert city. It big and strong and nice. No teeth, so Fizzle no know what it eat. It eat ocean trees from bottom?”

“I’ve no idea what a whale eats,” Sari admits, scratching her head.

“I’m guessing they suck smaller fish into their stomachs,” Delvin says before he covers his mouth to yawn. His jaw pops and nearly locks, so he massages the aching joints. “We should get some rest in a real bed and continue searching for a ship tomorrow. I hope we can get two rooms here. It looks pretty busy and I don’t want to wander around Freedom.”

The gypsy pulls out her money pouch and drops a few gold coins on the table. “We only need one room with two beds. No sense in wasting money or making me feel like a plague carrier. Your unintentional rudeness aside, I’ve grown accustomed to being in your presence. It’s nice knowing that I have a friend nearby. The knowledge helps keep the nightmares at bay even if I’m alone in the bed.”

Sari stops when the doors of the inn open and a gasping man stares directly at her. His tangled hair and salt-encrusted clothes make her think he is a wandering bum from the docks, so she snatches the gold coins off the table. When nobody else gives the stranger a second glance, she assumes he is local and these sudden entrances are fairly common. Weaving through the crowd, the man says some quick hellos and smiles at anyone who greets him. Though he appears to be determined to reach the champions, he stops to accept a free mug of cold ale from a friendly barmaid. Giving the girl a wet kiss on the hand, the grinning stranger returns the empty mug and continues on his way. As he gets within reach of the table, he pulls a colorful envelope out of his vest pocket. A golden signet ring with the symbol of a gull identifies him as a city courier, which erases the champions’ final specks of caution.

“My name is Cherb and I have to deliver this to a Delvin Cunningham,” he explains in an energetic voice. When Sari tries to take the envelope, the man swiftly tucks it back into his vest pocket. “My apologies, milady, but if anyone besides a courier and the intended touch this envelope then it disappears. Those are the rules when a client pays for a secure delivery. I don’t want to have to run back to the office and grab it again. We’ve been sitting on this one for a few days, so I’m happy to get it out of circulation. The guards notified us that Mr. Cunningham had been seen near the docks and heading for this building. This man is supposed to be traveling with a drite and a-” Cherb pulls a scrap of paper out of his boot and studies the hastily scrawled words. “A bouncy, pretty gypsy girl that has probably already flirted her way to several free drinks and meals. She is also known as a benevolent tipper, so I should not let her tell me otherwise.”

“I’ve been behaving this time,” Sari argues before sitting with a pout. Slipping her hand into her skirt pockets, she palms a diamond sphere for later. “This has to be Nyx’s doing. The others wouldn’t be so mean.”

“I’m Delvin,” the warrior says, extending his hand for the colorful envelope. He nods to Cherb, the courier leaving with a bow as soon as Sari hands him the smooth orb. “I’m hoping this is good news and not a call for help. Though the latter would have caused them to send a more urgent message. At the very least, Dariana would have made contact.”

Reading the neatly written message, Delvin finishes his meal and repeatedly gestures for Sari to stay seated. Knowing that the curious gypsy will keep trying to steal a glance, he orders two drinks to keep her occupied for a few minutes. Hoping to memorize the information, the warrior goes over the message several times and chuckles whenever he reaches the end of the page. Satisfied that he knows all of the details, Delvin tucks the colorful paper into his sleeve. He cringes when the message heats up and the ink melts off the parchment, the sticky liquid seeping through his shirt. The blue-eyed warrior curses under his breath at the mess on his arm and accepts a wet rag from a passing waiter to clean it off. All he accomplishes is smearing the ink along his forearm and further up his shirt.

“It looks like Queen Ionia called in a favor to get us a ship,” Delvin says as he picks up his shield. Seeing a scrap of pie left, he spears it with his fork and eats it before the groggy drite can stop him. “The captain wants me to see him immediately and discuss a morning departure. So you get the room and I’ll take care of this. Think you can get a bath thrown in because I want to get this magic ink off me.”

“I’ll do my best, but I think they work with a communal place down the street,” Sari replies while gathering Fizzle into her arms. She places the purple drite on her shoulder and he curls his long tail around her arm. “Have you heard of the person we’re going to be sailing with? I don’t want to walk into a trap.”

“All I know is that his name is Captain Lunk Erovayn and his ship is the Little Sister,” the warrior replies with a smirk. Leaving some coins on the table, he scratches his scruffy chin and unknowingly smears some ink across his jawline. “I thought the ship’s name was funny considering what Nyx calls you. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was done on purpose. Anyway, I’ll be back soon. Try not to give my bed away if I’m out late.”

“Hey, if someone makes a good offer then you’re on your own.”

“I’ll give you ten diamond spheres to keep that bed unoccupied.”

The gypsy hops onto her chair and gives Delvin a quick kiss on the cheek. “When will you people realize that the only reason you have money in your pockets is because I don’t want to carry it all. Good luck, Cunningham.”

*****

Sari tosses and turns in a restless sleep due to the heat that even the coastal breeze is powerless to dispel. Taking the bed nearest to the open window, the naiad-blooded woman does her best to stay cool without stripping naked. A thin shift of green silk keeps her covered, but the fabric sticks to her damp skin. Rolling to face the sky, she twists her body to avoid trapping Fizzle between her feet. The movement wakes her up enough to hear a creaky footstep on the other side of a white curtain that divides the room in half. Drawing a stiletto from the skirts that are piled on the floor, Sari slips out of bed and creeps toward the sound of someone rustling through a bag. She stops when the red moon casts enough light to reveal the silhouette of a man undressing.