Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (15 page)

“Interesting that you put so many words in his mouth,” the sheriff snarls before approaching the accused. Slapping her hands on the edge of the box, she gets within a few inches of her former brother-in-law. “I don’t want to do a speech. This man is the only one who could have killed General Godric. None of our enemies who used an axe were strong enough to deliver such a blow. Keep in mind that Timoran was the man’s son-in-law. Once King Melich died, the General was the only one standing in the way of this traitor taking the throne. I clearly remember this man talking about what he would do if he was in charge of the tribe. Maybe he saw an opportunity to make that a reality since our old ways would have made him the intelligent choice for our new leader. If he had only moved away from the body or used a different weapon, Timoran Wrath would be ruling the Snow Tiger Tribe.”

Dariana grabs the blonde woman by the wrist and yanks her away, surprising everyone with her strength. “I believe that counts as a speech, but it is all guesswork. I’m sure many people speak about what they would do if they were in a position of power. Also, I read some of your history and the throne is not granted to family members of the deceased. It is earned by being chosen and defeating the challenge of Aintaranurh. How do we know somebody else didn’t kill General Godric and made it look like Timoran was the one at fault? This person may have even tried to kill both of them, but ran out of time to finish the job. There might have even been an accident or an enemy that did have the strength for such a blow. Even the battle records state that there were other warriors in the area, so how do you know that one of them did not do it? My point is that all of what you just said goes for the easiest explanation, which may not be the case.”

“Many times, the most obvious answers are the right ones,” Edric states while rising from his chair. He steps between the two women and gestures for them to return to their seats. “I will help clear up some confusion. It was Timoran Wrath who was found standing over the body and all other warriors in the area were too far away to have delivered the fatal blow. The primary witness has attested to this since they were the first to discover the scene. We have other people who remember seeing the event from different locations. All of them will be questioned as the trial progresses, but tonight we focus on hearing from the traitor.”

“Wait!” Dariana shouts, leaping from her chair and holding up her hand. Shuffling through a few pages of notes, the telepath holds one up and lets the rest fall to the floor. “The primary witness was the person who found Timoran standing over General Godric? That was you, King Edric.”

“Yes it was.”

“You’re also the Judge.”

“That is correct.”

“Isn’t that a problem since you need to remain unbiased?”

“The jury makes the decision, so I do not have what you call a conflict of interest,” Edric declares, nodding to the five barbarians on the bench. He returns to his chair and takes his time adjusting his thick cape, the tiger fur bunching around his lower back. “Each of you will ask the accused two questions by alternating. Sheriff Kalten will go first since Dariana began the opening statements. Please proceed, Udelia.”

The towering sheriff rolls up her sleeves and paces in front of the crowd, her lips silently mouthing words. Udelia lets the tension in the room fester while she thinks of the perfect question to swiftly finish off her enemy. In her mind, this case is easily won and she need only get Timoran to admit what everyone already knows. Yet she has a worm of doubt in her mind thanks to the confidence that is etched into Dariana’s face. Something about the strange foreigner makes her believe that there is more of a fight in her future than she expected when she agreed to be a part of the trial. Tying her long hair back, Udelia returns to her seat and meets Timoran’s blank gaze.

“I wish to start with something simple, yet essential,” she claims, his voice surprisingly calm and melodic. The hardened growl that is always behind her words has melted away, replaced by an almost playful purr. “Please describe your relationship with General Godric. Was there tension or did you two always get along? Remember that you swore on the power of Kerr before you walked into this courtroom. He will strike you down if you lie.”

“Raynar Godric was my father-in-law, mentor, and commander,” Timoran answers with pride in his voice. The angry murmur from the crowd causes him to clear his throat and make his voice less emotional. “He taught me how to fight and took me under his wing soon after my parents died. There were some days when we argued because we did not always agree on Stonehelm’s future. Raynar was very traditional and used his intelligence purely for combat and strategy. I was of the same mind most times, but I would occasionally consider the scholarly path and suggest its use in specific situations. These arguments always became very heated, especially when one of his precious daughters joined in. Many times one of them did so to stir enough trouble that her boredom would be alieved.” A few in the crowed chuckle as he smiles at the sheriff, the woman grinding her teeth. “If you were hoping to uncover a secret hatred then you will not find any. I loved him like he was my second father. You know this more than anyone else in Stonehelm, Udelia.”

A burst of rage overtakes the sheriff and she jumps to her feet to shout, “Then why did you kill my father!? I’m sorry, Edric. I don’t know what came over me”

“I believe that’s her second question,” Dariana points out, barely able to hide her smirk. She eases the pressure she has been placing on her opponent’s emotions, allowing the woman to relax again. “I would like to add my first question to her final one. What does the accused remember about killing the General?”

“I do not remember killing him,” Timoran calmly answers. The crowd shouts and stomps their feet until Udelia unleashes an echoing roar that shakes the solid building. “I know this upsets all of you because it is easier to think of me as a remorseless murderer. Yet the truth is that I barely remember the battle. There are fragments of the fight in my mind, but none of them involve the General. Is it possible that I killed him by accident? Yes. That has happened before when one of our people has fallen into a deep rage. My memory gaps do make me think I was in such a state, but I have never lost control to the point where I would kill a loved one. Even if that did happen, Raynar was a better warrior than I and would have restrained me.”

“That is true,” Udelia mutters with a sour expression. Accepting that she has used her second question, the sheriff stands and heads for one of the side doors. “I ask permission to leave because my heart can’t take any more of his words. I promise on my honor to be of a calmer mind tomorrow. Dariana can tell me her final question and the response later. I will trust her to be honest.”

King Edric nods and everyone is quiet as the exhausted sheriff leaves, the door closing with a surprisingly loud click. Many in the audience get up to leave the courtroom, forcing Dariana to wait for the parade of footsteps to cease. She half expects some of the jury to exit the courthouse since all of them stare at their departing brethren with looks of jealousy. After several minutes, only Luke, King Edric, the jury, and three other barbarians remain. With a sigh of frustration, Dariana approaches her friend and leans on the side of the box.

“Just a simple question, Timoran,” she says, massaging her temples to ward off a looming headache. A lilting voice of mockery slips into her mind, but she turns her ring to make it go away. “Is there anyone within the tribe who would have wanted General Godric dead? This is under the assumption that someone used the battle to hide their act and let you take the blame. I will point out that this brings up the question of there being a real traitor who has been at large since that day. That would raise further questions and be difficult to prove, but it is still a possibility.”

Rubbing his bloodshot eyes, Timoran strains as if something is preventing him from answering. “I cannot think of anyone who hated him. The only enemies that General Godric had were outside of the tribe.”

“I guess that is everything for tonight,” King Edric softly replies. He rises from his seat with a wave of his arm that reveals a door behind the curtain. “I commend your dedication and loyalty, Dariana. This will be an interesting trial. Thank you for convincing me to allow your participation. See everyone in the morning.”

With a ringing silence descending upon the courthouse, Dariana watches the ruler leave while the jury swiftly heads for the exit. Cyrus steps out of a nearby doorway to escort Timoran back to his cell, the thick manacles locking into place with echoing snaps. Left alone in the courtroom, Luke and Dariana take a seat on the jury bench and let their tension seep out of their muscles.

“That last question didn’t work,” the telepath whispers after several minutes.

“How so?” Luke asks, putting a comforting arm around his friend’s shoulders. “He said the man had no enemies, which makes it clear that something is off.”

“I didn’t care about Timoran’s answer because I was watching King Edric.”

“You think he’s the real murderer?”

“I did, but there wasn’t even a flicker of worry in his mind. The man loved the General as much as everyone else.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I have to work harder than I imagined or Timoran will die.”

*****

The other patrons give Nyx a wide berth as the slender channeler slugs down another shot of potato wine. She growls when a wrinkled hand comes into view and tries to take her almost empty mug of ale. Even with the herbal powder, the half-elf can feel her head swimming and a constant throbbing on the surface of her chest. Nyx scratches at the tattoo, her nails nearly tearing a hole in the thinning fabric of her shirt. Frustrated by the irritation, the channeler recklessly casts an ice spell on herself and crashes to the floor. She shivers from the intense cold that does nothing to ease her suffering. A cocoon of fire envelopes her and scares several of the drunker patrons out of the building. Recovering her senses and warmth, Nyx returns to the barstool and slaps a diamond sphere on the counter.

“I apologize for my outburst,” she drones while pointing at a bottle of Ifrit mead. She frowns when she is only given a glass of the alcohol and the rest is put back on the shelf. “Guess I should be happy with what I get. People don’t seem to like me around here. They’re either scared I’m going to blow up the city or do something to break Timoran out of jail. Well I’m not able to be there to help my friend, so I hope everyone is happy.”

“I’m not the type of bartender who talks to customers about their problems,” the man behind the counter says before going to the kitchen.

Nyx curses under her breath and nurses her drink, the harsh liquid making her feel warm and sleepy. She grabs a handful of almonds from a bowl and stuffs as many as she can into her mouth. Turning on her barstool, she calmly looks around the room and takes note of anyone who is paying attention to her. Nyx juggles a coin-sized fireball along her knuckles while she takes another sip of the burning mead. The glowing orb sticks to her finger when she points at a white-haired barbarian who will not stop staring at her. She smirks at his refusal to turn away even when the dangerous spell flares into the form of a fanged serpent. With a roll of her wrist, Nyx snuffs out the flames and hops off the barstool.

“You seem to be more interested in me than the others,” the channeler says as she joins the grinning patron. She is mildly surprised by the stench of alcohol that wafts off the barbarian, but is pretty sure she does not smell any better. “Are you entertained by my banishment from the courtroom or is the sight of a real Near God awe-inspiring?”

“Actually, I was amazed by your ability to drink,” the man replies with a laugh. He pushes a frothy mug of ale to the half-elf and signals the returning bartender for some fresh drinks. “The name is Lodur and I’m the one responsible for your boyfriend’s condition this morning. You have my apologies, but I rarely get to drink with foreigners. Especially those of a legendary race that we all thought dead until recently. Until you appeared, we really only used the term for powerful casters that came through and even then it was as a joke.”

“Thank you for the drink, but Luke isn’t my boyfriend,” Nyx states before putting some of the powdered root into the ale. She listens to the liquid hiss and decides that she will make this her last drink of the night. “He’s my little brother even though we’re not related by blood. Just a lot of adventures and shared suffering, which has created a bond that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. The potential boyfriend had to go in another direction because we made too many mistakes and the gods are punishing us.”

“I’d heard about Timoran being one of these champions,” Lodur says, accepting both drinks that the waiter brings him. The worried expression on Nyx’s reddening face stops him from taking a sip. “There is no reason to fear me. I travel south from time to time and run into merchant caravans. Many people have told me about you and your friends, which is news I’ve shared with the tribe. Sadly, not many listen because of Timoran’s involvement. A few believe that the champions are frauds and want nothing more than to become famous. Again, it’s because of your association with an assumed traitor.”

“What’s your opinion on that?”

Lodur attends to his drink before leaning back far enough to stick his head out the open window. The night sky is cloudy, so the only source of light are the elevated torches that are so far apart that most of the city remains in total darkness. A chorus of howls can be heard in the distance, but they are silenced by a snow tiger’s roar. With a cleansing exhale, the barbarian rocks forward and finishes both of his cool drinks in less than a minute. He notices that the summer heat is making all of the patrons drowsy and one of the waiters is on a ladder trying to open a heavy skylight, which creaks on rusty hinges.