Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (11 page)

“The Near God could do it and we’d never be able to stop her,” the grinning butcher says while looming over the smaller man. Out of habit, he pats the small club on his belt and narrows his eyes in preparation for a fight. “You would have been the one protecting her while Timoran fought in the pit. Yeah, I’m betting all of you are being used. He’ll turn on you as soon as his mess has been cleaned up. Maybe even convince you to kill King Edric or have that monster sister of yours wipe out Stonehelm to cleanse the world of his sins.”

Knowing he is outnumbered and can easily be overpowered, Luke still delivers a kick to the barbarian’s knee. The unexpected blow knocks the larger man off-balance enough for the half-elf to tackle him, both warriors hitting the ground hard. It is a brief tussle as one of the others grabs the forest tracker by the leg and hoists him into the air. A quick punch to the man’s large nose helps Luke get free and drop to the ground. Remaining upside down, he bends his arms and launches himself feet first into his stunned opponent’s muscular gut. Rolling under two grasping hands, the forest tracker tries to sprint for a nearby fence. He gets a few steps before the female barbarian catches him by the face and pins him against the wall of the tavern. She lets go when she feels a sharp pain in her fleshy palm and examines her hand to find a small puncture wound in the center. For a brief moment, she swears Luke has a beak that steadily shrinks back into his face.

“Do you five really want to hurt this young man?” asks a slurred voice from the tavern’s entrance. The man is nothing more than a silhouette in the open door, the lantern in his hand making it difficult for anyone to see details of his appearance. “I’m sure he’s fought and killed many things tougher than you. After all, he is the famous Luke Callindor and we’ve all heard the stories. Perhaps the only reason any of you are still standing is because he is holding back. That means he’s a good man who refuses to hurt the foolish.”

The swaying figure puts the lantern down and steps into the crimson moonlight, which bounces off the metal clips that keep his ragged clothes together. His white hair is knotted and there are several twigs sticking out of the unkempt mess. By contrast, his thick beard is immaculate and runs down to the middle of his chest where it is adorned with a mottled ring of jasper. The man walks with a limp, which forces him to lean heavily on the massive staff in his hand. Everyone winces when a stiff breeze carries the stench of cheap alcohol and body odor to them. Luke notices the hilt of a shortsword sticking out of the man’s rotting belt, but the weapon is covered in rust and tarnish. Even with the disheveled appearances, there is a glint of cunning in the barbarian’s reddish brown eyes that makes the half-elf think this is not someone to underestimate. It is a thought that is wiped away when the man stumbles and falls into the mud where he remains lying face down for a minute.

“Dammit, Lodur!” shouts the heavily scarred barbarian. He goes to help the older tribe member up and props him against the wall. “You know to stay inside if you’ve had too much to drink. Nobody wants to fish you out of another animal pen or scale a mountain to rescue you from a cliff. We’ll do it if we have to, but we’d prefer you stay out of trouble. Just stay inside where you’re safe.”

“I couldn’t stay there when I realized all of you were in danger,” Lodur proudly declares, pointing a finger at the forest tracker. The man drops his staff and takes a shaky step, his limp switching to his other leg. “He has slain Weapon Dragons and demons single-handedly. All he needs to do is draw his blades and we’d be picking pieces of you off the street well into the morning.”

“I really wouldn’t do that,” Luke interjects without realizing his hands are on his saber hilts again. He raises his arms and smiles in an attempt to calm everyone down. “All I wanted to do tonight was wander the streets and gather information on General Godric. Nobody is saying anything that I don’t already know, so I’d like to go back to my bed now.”

“Please take this one home, which is on the way to the inn,” the female barbarian requests, gently guiding Lodur to the foreigner. The drunk opens his mouth to speak, but two of the younger men reach out to pinch his lips closed. “No arguing. You know everyone is worried about you ever since the attack. Promise us that you will stay in Stonehelm and not wander into the wilderness again.”

Lodur feigns being hurt and leans on Luke, nearly smothering the short warrior in his armpit. “I will remain within this fine city’s walls. My new friend and I will spend the night regaling each other with tales of valor. There’s a case of Ifrit mead and wild rum at my place that I’m glad to share with a famous hero.”

“Great,” the half-elf says, his mouth going dry from fear of the potent drinks.

No longer angry, the five barbarians return to the tavern while Luke does his best to help his new friend along the street. It is difficult because the man is so much larger and there is a horrid smell wafting off his skin. The forest tracker is about to collapse when Lodur abruptly moves away and casually walks alongside him. Staring at the grinning barbarian, Luke can see that he no longer has the limp in either leg and is probably not as drunk as he let on. Though the faint stench of ale leads him to believe that his new companion does spend an inordinate amount of time in the taverns.

“Thought you’d want an easy way out of that fight, youngster,” Lodur whispers, tussling the champion’s blonde hair. “I get away with a lot here ever since I lost my family to trolls. They think I’m a drunkard and not right in the head.”

“Are they right?”

The barbarian eyes Luke for a bit before laughing and clapping his hands. “Not at all. I like you, shaman boy. Yeah, we all know what you are. The same ethereal aroma that our shamans give off is pouring off you. Not a bad thing, but it means people are going to be curious. The rumors are already swirling around with the return of Timoran Wrath. An infamous traitor willingly comes home alongside a famous shaman warrior, a Near God, and a beautiful woman with shiny hair? I’m surprised any of you made it through the day without being accosted or challenged.”

“Technically, I didn’t make it,” Luke points out, receiving a hearty slap on his shoulder. He crashes to the ground and groans as the barbarian lifts him by the collar. “Let me get you home and then I’ll be on my way. I don’t want my friends to worry and, like I told the others, I’m meeting with King Edric in the morning.”

“You sure you don’t want a drink?”

“Barbarian brews and I don’t really get along.”

“Then you talk while I drink.”

Luke sighs and is about to make another refusal when he sees the hopeful smile on Lodur’s face. He silently gestures for the old warrior to lead the way, which earns him another energetic slap on the back. Not wanting to waste any time, Lodur flips the whimpering half-elf over his shoulder and happily jogs home.

5

Delvin spins the knife in his hand before rapidly cutting the carrots into discs and scooping them into a bubbling soup. Putting another log on the fire, he kneels in front of the oven to adjust the flame slits then opens the front to check two turkeys. Blindly groping around the opposite counter, he finds a wide spoon and repeatedly pours the hot juices over the birds. Satisfied with how they look, he closes the oven and goes back to chopping vegetables. Whistling an upbeat tune, the other cook continues to salt large pieces of meat before placing them in an enchanted icebox. Trusting Delvin’s reflexes, the pot-bellied elf rolls two purple onions toward his busy partner. With a little less enthusiasm, the warrior puts down his knife and uses his foot to bring a garbage bin closer. The pungent vegetables fill the kitchen with their scent as soon as he begins peeling them, the warrior being the only one close enough to suffer.

“I hate working with onions,” Delvin admits while rubbing his eyes with a clean part of his sleeve. He nearly touches his face with a finger that is coated in juice, but stops himself just in time. “So what brings you to the kitchen, Lady Grasdon? We don’t give out free samples even to our special guests. At least that’s what I’ve been told by Mr. Fulgutt.”

Quietly sitting in a corner, Kira is on a chair that has had its legs reattached multiple times, one of them now backwards and on the verge of cracking again. She tries to balance on the wobbly piece of furniture before giving up and standing where she hopes to be out of the cooks’ way. The heiress massages her toned arms, her fingers stopping at the tattered remains of her sleeves. Icicles are still attached to some of her hair and she leaves wet footprints on the floor whenever she moves. Grabbing a nearby washcloth, Kira attempts to dry her feet only to find that the rag leaves a layer of oil on her skin.

“Sari dropped freezing water on me after hanging all my shoes from the riggings. My favorite dress is still flying from the crow’s nest,” the heiress says as she returns to the uncomfortable chair. She braces her back against the wall to avoid falling over, but remains ready to leap off the damaged seat at the slightest creak. “I warned her to behave. She even promised not to cause trouble. Now she’s sitting in the brig and the crew is acting like I’m the bad guy. Could you convince Sari to stop playing pranks?”

“Well, you are the bad guy here,” Delvin replies while stirring the soup. He takes a taste and drops a pinch of herbs into the broth. “This whole mess started because you were being mean and kept giving her tough, tedious chores. There was getting your heavy luggage on board and organizing your clothes multiple times, which she didn’t complain about. You began pranking her at the ports too. Sending her out for a special errand right before we left, so she had to use her powers to get back to the boat. You used her to turn your bath into a relaxing whirlpool. You can’t deny that was a humiliating experience. I’m surprised she didn’t freeze your naked butt to the prow days ago.”

“The port incident was an honest mistake and the rest were in private,” Kira half-heartedly argues. She can already think of several times she has embarrassed the gypsy, each one making her feel a pang of guilt. “There was calling her out to the top deck when I knew she was changing clothes. It was only to get me a fresh drink, so she could have ignored me while she got dressed. I guess having her help the sailors remove barnacles when we stopped in Hero’s Gate was mean too.”

Delvin stops cooking and hands the spoon to Mr. Fulgutt before joining the young woman in the corner. “You dared her to do that without her powers, but she didn’t cheat like I’m sure you expected. Look, Lady Grasdon, I’ll admit Sari has gone too far with her pranks, but you brought it on yourself. There’s nothing I can do and I really don’t want to get involved in this childish feud. Honestly, I thought you two settled your differences in Nevra Coil, so I really have the patience for this. Now, Captain Erovayn wants the food ready soon and we still have to preserve more of the meat for future meals. We’re heading away from the coast to cut through the open ocean, which means we need to get this done before it’s too late to turn back for more supplies. I simply don’t have the time to help with your problems.”

With a groan, Kira puts her head in her hands and nearly crashes to the floor as the chair leg snaps. Delvin moves to catch her, but the heiress gracefully rolls forward and hops back to her feet. She flexes her fingers and cracks her knuckles, a surge of anxious energy making her want to keep her hands busy. She grabs a nearby cleaver, which is immediately taken away by the Elven cook and put on the other side of the table. Tucking her hands into her pockets, Kira curses when the fragile material tears and her nails scratch against her cold legs.

“I don’t want to hate her, but I can’t help it,” she claims, glaring at the two men who roll their eyes and try to go back to work. She hovers around Delvin as he examines the broken chair that will be turned into kindling for the ovens. “Sari told me that she would leave Luke alone and then she said she was lying. I don’t know if she’s done anything with him since we parted ways in Nevra Coil. Whenever I ask, she changes the topic or teases me. Even if you don’t want to talk with Sari, please try to explain what’s going on with her.”

“She’s confused and hurting because she let go of the man she loves,” Delvin replies, noting the pained expression on Kira’s face. Wiping his hands on his apron, the warrior takes her by the wrists and guides the heiress out of the other cook’s way. “Whatever she says and does, Sari still loves Luke. That’s all I’m going to reveal in regards to what I know. You’ve already talked to her about this and she admitted that she doesn’t want to hurt you. Remember that and realize how conflicted she’s become. Consider the fact that she decided to travel with me instead of Luke and the others. When Sari is let out of the brig, you might want to sit down and be honest with her. I promise that she will do the same.”

“I thought she’s always been honest with me.”

“Whenever you asked a question, she told the truth.”

“But she hasn’t given me any information that I haven’t asked for,” the black-haired woman says with a crooked smirk. Another wave of guilt rushes over her, the source of this emotion evading her exhausted mind. “Part of me still wishes she’d never entered my life. Yet I can’t really be too angry at Sari for falling for Luke. He’s very special and I gave her the chance to bond with him. I have to accept that her pain is my fault and responsibility. I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Please have a breakfast for two brought to my room in the morning. I had an emergency stash of food placed in the locked cabinet over there.”

Delvin pats Kira on the shoulder and goes to wash his hands before returning to his nearly finished soup. She spends a little time watching the cooks bustle around the kitchen that is getting louder and hotter by the minute. Realizing that she is underfoot, the heiress sneaks into the hallway and walks down a nearby flight of stairs. She makes her way to an iron door that is guarded by a one-eyed dwarf and his pet lizard. The pair look up as Kira nears them and the sailor protectively slips his jangling keyring into his wide shirt pocket.

“I don’t plan on going inside or trying to break her out,” she says while showing him a pen and piece of paper. Quickly scrawling a message, she hands her note to the dwarf who snorts and places it on a nearby ledge. “Both of us need some time to think, so Sari will be staying here until the morning. When you let her out, please tell her that I’ll be waiting in my room. Breakfast will be there too.”

Against her better judgment, Kira takes a peek through the narrow slit that is high on the door. The only thing she can see is a corner of the nearest cell, which is kept closed by a rusty lock that she knows the gypsy could pick in a second. With the shifting of a blanket, the sleeping prisoner’s hand flops into view and dangles over the damp floor. Tiny figures rise from the puddles and dance to a song that can only be heard in Sari’s dreams. Fighting the temptation to call out to the other woman, Kira turns away and heads back to her room where she still has a puddle of melted ice to clean up.

*****

Hair in knots and dress smelling like low tide, Sari slowly makes her way back to the room she shares with Kira. She grips the note in her hand, the edges starting to frost over due to her frustration. The first sailor that mentions her disheveled appearance is frozen to the wall and the warning to avoid interacting with the gypsy quickly spreads throughout the ship. Nobody looks at her as she goes to the top deck and takes a several greedy gulps of the sea air. There is no sign of land in any direction, but her attention moves to a pod of whales passing in front of the Little Sister. Sari’s hands run to the collar of her dress as she finds that she is sorely tempted to strip naked and dive into the ocean. The smell of salt and the sensation of life beneath the waves is seductively calling to the gypsy’s naiad nature. A sharp bark from Captain Erovayn to his first mate snaps her out of the soothing trance and she immediately goes below to see what new demands her mistress has created.

There is a familiar seeping through the door as Sari reaches the stateroom and it makes her stomach rumble. She tries to read the note again, but her powers have made it so fragile that it falls apart in her hands. After not having dinner, the idea of breakfast is too enticing to ignore and she softly enters the room. Sari is surprised to see a table set for two and Kira trying her best to fold the napkins into fan designs. The heiress has her back to the stealthy gypsy, which gives the blue-haired woman a chance to ease the door closed. She is immediately betrayed by her stomach roaring at the sight of pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs. It takes her a second to realize that there is only one chair at the table, which plunges her mood into despair. The other setting is now more of a mockery than an invitation, but she is too hungry to retaliate.

“Am I supposed to feed you while you sit at the table?” Sari asks as she takes off her velvet and leather boots. With filthy hands, she goes to touch the food and is immediately fended off by a rolled up napkin repeatedly hitting her in the face. “Stop that! I’m going to jam your breakfast into your mouth and then I’m going to eat my own meal. I had a terrible time trying to sleep in the cell. You didn’t let Fizzle join me, so I had my nightmares. They aren’t as bad as they used to be, but it was enough to make it a rough night. That wooden board of a bed and a snoring guard didn’t help.”

“Stop complaining and help me move this over here,” Kira demands as she walks to a bronze tub. Noticing that Sari is refusing to help, the heiress puts her shoulder to the empty basin and gradually shoves it toward the table. “Once you and your naiad powers are gone, I won’t be able to take a bath until we reach Bor’daruk. The port stops are only for supplies and I won’t be straying further than the docks. Please get some water from the ocean, get rid of the impurities, and make it warm. I’ll prepare my collection of soaps and perfumes. Hurry before the food gets cold. Delvin worked hard on it.”

“This already feels humiliating and insulting,” the gypsy mutters while drawing water through the open porthole. She lets the salt and impurities flow back into the ocean before heating the water and filling the tub. “I’m supposed to sit here smelling like a beached dolphin while I bathe and feed you? If you were trying to make a point about being Luke’s fiancée and winning our competition then it isn’t coming across. All I’m getting from your ego trip is that you’re a cruel, vengeful woman who doesn’t deserve him.”

“Just shut up and get in the tub, Sari,” the heiress states as she moves a wheeled table next to the basin and covers the surface in colorful bottles. She sees the confusion on the other woman’s face, so she stands with her arms crossed and a stern expression. “You are going to strip naked and get in this water to allow me to clean you. If you want, I’ll even feed you while we talk. The fighting and pranks are over, Sari. Today, the two of us are going to put an end to our rivalry because both of us are acting like idiots. It starts with me acting like your servant for a little bit of time.”

Still thinking this is a trick, the gypsy strips out of her soiled clothes and grimaces at the patches of dirt on her body. Feeling grungy and gross, she half expects to find a barnacle fused to her skin. Her hand immediately goes to the pink scar on her hip, but Kira gently takes the gypsy by the wrist and guides her into the basin. Sinking down to her neck, Sari’s hair floats on the surface of the water. The thick mass makes it difficult for scented perfume to be added, the drops of liquid getting absorbed by the tresses before they can disperse. Ignoring the yelp, Kira shoves the dropper under the water and makes the bath smell of vanilla.

“I wanted to have two tubs that flanked the table, but the only other one onboard is being used for laundry,” the heiress explains while offering a forkful of eggs. She waits for Sari to take the utensil and reaches over to grab a bottle of shampoo. “This is a water lily scented mixture that I picked up in Everthorne on my way home from Nevra Coil. It smells nice, but I haven’t tried it out yet. You can have the whole thing if you like it since I’m not sure water lilies would work with me. Though maybe I’m only assuming you being part naiad makes this a better match than the others.”

“I feel strange with you pampering me,” Sari admits as the thick gel is massaged onto her head. The enchanted foam ripples along her hair, releasing a heavenly smell that mixes with the sensation of masterful fingers on her scalp. “Then again, I think I deserve this and you are far too good at doing that. By the gods, I want you to teach me how to give a massage like this. I can only do shoulders, feet, and the neck. I never knew a scalp massage could feel this good. Forget Luke and marry me.”