Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (28 page)

“I was waiting for you to ask for help,” Delvin says, his body glowing and his sword pulsing with energy. The cultists take a step away from the strange human, their acute senses telling them that he is not fae-blooded. “I know we’re supposed to be noble champions, but my compassion is really being pushed to its limit. How many of these proud murderers should we leave alive?”

“Just one because I want the rest of their kind to know what happened here,” Sari growls with a smirk. A flicker of energy lances off the warrior and binds her shoulder to gradually heal the injury. “You really need to use these powers more often, Cunningham. How do you want to do this?”

“I go right, you go left, and Fizzle starts in the back,” Delvin replies, cocking his head to the side. He senses a faint flicker of aura in the forest and grins, the brutal instincts of a seasoned mercenary rising to the surface. “The first guy is still alive, so none of these bastards are needed to send a message. A slaughter isn’t my style, but I really doubt they’re going to leave us alone if we play nice. You can see it in their eyes that it’s kill or be killed. So we’re going to have to leave a pile of bodies in our wake.”

“You’re far too good at being intimidating.”

“Came with the old job. Anybody want to surrender or retreat?”

None of the dedicated cultists lower their weapons and the sudden offer galvanizes them into action. Enhanced by his powers, Delvin shatters a man’s chest with a strike of his shield and easily slices an elf in half. The warrior blocks most of the amateur attacks, but the ones that reach his flesh never leave more than a temporary cut on his arm or face. With her powers unreliable against the cultists, Sari settles for using her daggers and leaping among the cursing crowd. For the first few minutes of the battle, she focuses on maiming with slashes to limbs and any opening that she can find. As those around her slow down, the gypsy delivers lethal strikes to the throat and chest. By the time she has reached the far side of the grotto, twelve cultists lay dead behind her.

“No hurt friends!” Fizzle shouts while darting over the middle of the crowd. He sprays them with rainbow mist that he ignites on the next pass, burning five of his enemies. “Fizzle not play games. Fizzle not ab . . . abom . . . what you say. Fizzle angry!”

It takes fifteen minutes for the champions to finish off the cultists, the last of which attempts to stab Sari in the back. The robed woman is felled by Delvin shoving his sword through her side, death coming instantly to the gurgling human. Fizzle perches on the warrior’s shoulder and growls when an injured cultist enters the grotto. Blood is dripping from the man’s mouth and his right arm is mangled from where Sari hit him with the watery battering ram. Letting his zeal get the best of him, the cultist draws a dagger and takes a step toward the blue-haired champion. He does not make it any further due to Delvin knocking him out with a hilt strike to the side of the head.

“I’m not sure if he’ll live long enough to tell anybody,” the brown-haired warrior says while easing the man to the ground. The shimmer of aura disappears from his body as he sheathes his blade and examines the carnage. “This is going to attract predators. Our messenger might get eaten before he wakes up. Any ideas?”

“Fizzle make him safe,” the drite announces with an impish flip in the air. Wrapping his tail around the man’s ankles, Fizzle carries him into the trees and uses the vines to bind him to the branches. “Now only tree cat be threat. Not sure how he get down. Maybe heal bit before leaving?”

Delvin does not hear his friend as he turns to find Sari shivering. “Are you okay?”

“First the poachers and now these people. I . . . I’ve never done anything this . . . violent before,” she admits, her adrenaline fading away. The sight of so many bodies reminds her of the attack on her clan, which brings tears to her eyes and nausea to her stomach. “I feel sick. This . . . I’m no longer sure if we had to go this far. I was angry and scared and the emotions just took over. Almost like there was another voice in my head urging me to destroy them. There wasn’t any hesitation or remorse when I was doing it. I never knew I had that in me.”

“We all have the ability to do things like this,” Delvin says, putting an arm around the gypsy and guiding her out of the grotto. The pair walk into the red-tinted jungle with Fizzle flying a few feet ahead, the drite glistening enough to guide his friends. “Let’s find a place to rest for the night. There are too many nocturnal predators in this place and that free buffet will bring them here.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Sari asks, surprised at the warrior’s coldness.

“I’m sorry, but now isn’t the time. We need to let everything sink in.”

“Have you ever done anything like this before?”

“No, which means we’re in the same boat, little sister.”

She takes some comfort from the warm smile that she can barely see in the gloom. As they walk away, the blue-haired woman takes a final look at the grotto. Even from so far away, she can see many of the bodies outlined in the crimson moonlight. Her throat goes dry and she turns away, fearing that the sight will turn into another constant nightmare. At this rate, Sari wonders if she will ever be able to sleep comfortably again.

12

Tigris stares at the food that covers her table and reaches out to make sure it is not an illusion. Her hand wraps around a turkey leg and that tears free from the cooked bird with little effort. She takes a large bite complete with the oily skin and savors the taste for a minute before swallowing. After years of eating simple meals from whatever she has found in the wilderness, the sight of so many delicacies makes her mouth water. She looks at the shelves across from her to see steaming pies, the Feast Ring having placed items wherever it found space since the square table is too small for the entire banquet. Tigris slaps Lodur’s dirt-marked hand when he tries to grab a potato and points him in the direction of the kitchen sink. He is about to argue when she raps him on the head with a metal ladle, her aim perfect even though she never stops looking at the food. She wanders around as if in a dream until sitting next to Luke, who is resting on the couch.

“If you were hoping we’d become friends then you made an amazing first impression, Mr. Callindor,” Tigris says, accepting an empty dish from Lodur. With a lick of her lips, the blonde woman heads for the table to claim her first course. “Make a plate for our guest, old man. I’ll save you the other turkey leg and the entire rhubarb pie. I’m more interested in the beef since it’s been far too long. Fresh rolls and plump tomatoes too. How many times can you use that ring before it needs to recharge, Mr. Callindor?”

“It works only once every seven days and you can call me Luke,” the forest tracker replies while getting to his feet. He rubs at the bandages around his body, his hand coming away with some of the numbing salve. “Thank you for the healing potion and bandages. I really appreciate you fixing me up.”

“You’re very kind to forget that she’s the one who injured you,” Lodur interjects with a warm smile. Seeing the other barbarian move for his precious pie, the white-haired man leaps across the room and snatches the dessert. “It may be improper to eat my meal backwards, but I won’t give you the satisfaction of punishing me. Your father would never approve of such petty actions.”

“Too bad he isn’t here to set me right,” Tigris snaps before grabbing a mug of ale and sitting on a cushioned chair. She claims a slab of beef that is dripping with sauce, enjoying the first taste that she hopes will last forever. “So it seems my husband has finally come home. This means it’s time for me to return to Stonehelm and reveal the truth. Can’t say my confidence is riding high considering the mess I have to make. I’ve been going over these events in my head so often that I can barely believe it all really happened. Why are you chuckling, old man?”

“You think too much.”

“That comes from years of being alone up here.”

“I always offered to spend more time with you.”

“Never said the isolation was a bad thing.”

“Why do you mourn for a man who isn’t dead?”

Tigris glowers at the grinning drunk while chewing on a warm, buttery roll. “I don’t want to have this discussion again. Every time we argue about this, I cry and you storm off. That doesn’t work very well when you live on a cliff, so things are awkward until one of us apologizes. That’s usually me since you’re too stubborn to admit when you’ve pushed things too far. Now we have a guest and you’re causing a scene.”

“Then I apologize and stand corrected,” Lodur mutters before settling into a creaky rocking chair. Rolling his eyes at Tigris’s purposeful sigh, he claims some dinner from the table and places the rhubarb pie on the floor next to him. “I also agree that you’ve been alone in the wilderness for too long. You’ve no idea how to treat your elders with respect. The barrow wolves gave me a warmer greeting than you.”

Hungry and forgotten, Luke watches the barbarians continue to argue while he gathers two plates worth of food. He puts them on one of the coach cushions before getting a bowl of chicken soup, which he greedily drinks as he returns to the rest of his food. The half-elf opens his mouth to say something, but stops when he sees that the two are pointing turkey legs at each other. The amusing scene reminds him of swordsmen preparing to duel over a petty grievance. He can barely follow the conversation, which jumps from debating Tigris’s situation to complaining about Lodur not bringing treats back for her. The tone of the argument makes Luke smile and think back to the heated conversations he used to have with his father. Within a minute of the fond memories coming to his mind, the forest tracker’s eyes go wide and he nearly chokes on the carrots in his mouth. Taking a drink of water and beating on his already aching chest, he struggles to clear his throat and breathe.

“You’re General Godric!” Luke shouts, startling his hosts. Both of the barbarians stare blankly at him and attempt to laugh as if he has told a bad joke. “Don’t even try to deny it. You two bicker like family and I mean close relations. I’m talking either blood or he raised you from childhood. There’s an undertone that no matter what you say and how angry you get, you’ll still love each other. Also I get a sense of parental condescension from Lo . . . I thought your first name was Raynar?”

“It is, but I didn’t want to use my old name considering our situation. Lodur came from randomly sticking letters together on a piece of paper,” the old barbarian answers, putting a hand on his daughter’s arm. He gently pushes her back into the chair as he grabs his pie and stands to his full height. “You’re a very insightful young man, Luke Callindor. No wonder Timoran trusts you so much. I am General Godric and I was dead, but not for very long. Barely any time to enjoy Ram’s Garden before I was brought back to my body. That doesn’t mean I’m undead, so you can take your hand off the weapon. My heart beats and I age like every other member of my tribe. Though not very gracefully as you can plainly see.”

“How?” Luke asks, leaning over to see if Tigris is surprised. Trying to feign disinterest, the young woman is calmly eating her meal and subtly eyeing one of the dessert trays. “That’s all I can think of asking. It covers a lot of ground here. Don’t get me wrong. Great that you’re both alive, but my friend is on trial for your death and thinks he’s a widower. My head is starting to hurt.”

“You should tell him what happened,” Tigris interrupts after wiping her plate clean with a piece of bread. With drink in hand, she heads to a closet and begins packing clothes and weapons for their trip. “I need to get ready. Besides, I’m only a victim in this like everyone else. You can thank my husband and father for this disaster.”

“A fact you mention every time I visit,” the General mutters as he removes the jasper circlet from his beard. Holding it before his eyes, the stone catches the torchlight and shimmers like it is made of glass. “It all started with this. You can hold it since it’s no longer active. This artifact is called the Second Life.”

Luke takes the smooth object and turns it over in his hands, the half-elf expecting it to do something. There is no sense of magic in the heavy circlet, which makes him wonder if he is being tricked. Running his thumb along the mottled stone, he feels a few random grooves that are invisible to the naked eye. Bringing it close to a nearby candle reveals pieces of runes that were once etched into the stone. Luke finds himself wishing Nyx had come with him, the channeler possibly being able to decipher some of the eroded sigils. The thought of her accidentally awakening a relic that is responsible for whatever trouble Timoran is in makes him change to being thankful that the channeler is still in Stonehelm.

“It takes twenty years for it to recharge,” the old barbarian explains, taking the circlet back and putting it on his beard. Returning to his chair, Raynar drags the seat across the floor to sit across from Luke and finish his meal. “The simple answer is, sadly, not that simple. I was killed in battle by Edric, but I would not call my friend an evil man. Rumors of the Bog Hare Tribe had reached Stonehelm weeks before we met them and he wanted to negotiate for peace. Not out of cowardice, but because he wished to save as many lives as he could. The death of King Melich was a devastating blow to his argument and I, as the military commander, rejected his pleas without a second thought. In his mind, I was blindly leading our people into an unnecessary war and would do worse if I took the throne. Poor Edric gave me every opportunity to try his path and I was too stubborn to give him even a single chance. To his credit, my old friend was one of the first to enter the battle. In the end, he stabbed me in the back as the fight died down. He told me that he was sorry and that my death was for the good of the tribe. Everything he has always done has been for the good of the tribe. I can’t hate him because I would have killed him if I thought he was a threat to Stonehelm’s future. Although I would have made a challenge instead of being underhanded. Guess he knew he could never defeat me in honorable combat. As you can imagine, I’ve yet to talk to him about the encounter.”

“So where does Timoran and Tigris come into this?” Luke asks while undoing his bandages and putting his shirt back on. He returns to his meal, wincing at the dull ache that is steadily vanishing from his ribs. “Everybody thinks your daughter is dead and that your son-in-law killed you. Edric doesn’t seem to remember anything. Either that or he’s a really good actor. If he is a kind person like you said then I don’t see why he would let Udelia suffer in ignorance for so long. None of this makes any sense.”

The General places his empty plate on a cushioned stool and rocks steadily while staring out the window. “The Second Life can bring a person back, but it requires a sacrifice from three people who were close to the deceased. Edric was my good friend and entered the pact in an attempt to alleviate his guilt. This cost him the memories of his sins along with his honor, which is why he stole King Melich’s crown and faked his success at Aintaranurh. Now he commits and rationalizes actions that he would never have done if the curse was not on his head. Timoran was my son-in-law and my most loyal student, which is why I wish he didn’t get involved. Yes, he was standing next to me when I fell and he ran away. He did so to get the Second Life, which I had told him about several years earlier.”

“But Timoran is terrified of magic,” Luke interrupts with a mouth full of yams.

“A side-effect of his inclusion in the ritual. He was always suspicious of casters, which was merely enhanced into fear,” Raynar replies, his voice filled with sorrow. Turning his head, the General can see the shadow of his daughter standing in the other room. “As the one who activated the Second Life, Timoran became the one accused of my murder. You see, the artifact doesn’t erase the death from history. It simply gives the target another chance to live. Normally, this type of memory twisting doesn’t happen, but you could say we did the ritual wrong. After all, why would one expect the murderer to be part of the resurrection unless they were forced into the pact? Yet, Edric was a willing participant and had his memories changed because of his grief. So the Second Life backfired on Timoran and forced him to run from his homeland and wife.”

General Godric smiles when Tigris enters the room and gestures for her to take a seat next to him. She grabs a tray of sugar-covered cookies before joining her guests and leaning against the table. She bumps the stool with Raynar’s plate on it, causing the dish to fall to the floor and crack. Before the cursing woman can start another argument with her father, he reaches over and takes her hand. The tears in his eyes make Tigris hold her tongue and realize that he is struggling to get through his explanation. It dawns on her that describing their curse to an outsider must be infinitely more difficult than debating the past with her. Ignoring the mess and not wanting to hurt her father any more, she sets on the floor and pats him on the leg.

“One of the three makes a greater sacrifice than the others. They lose their life, but not to death. People believe they’re gone, so they are forced into solitude,” the white-haired barbarian says, squeezing his daughter’s fingers. It takes him several seconds to recover his voice, which cracks as he speaks. “Tigris disappeared and the citizens of Stonehelm believed she died in the battle. I essentially stole my own daughter’s life. Part of the spell makes it so that nobody recognizes me as long as I don’t touch the one item that would reveal myself to others. For me, it is a special symbol of my previous position, which now holds a spark of my aura. Beyond that, people believe they have known me for years while I live this new life. Meanwhile, anyone who stumbles upon Tigris will see nothing more than a shimmering phantom. It only works for those who knew her in life or were in the scope of the spell, which was all of Stonehelm. That is why you see her almost perfectly.”

Luke gets off the couch and paces around the cabin, grabbing random pieces of food as he thinks. The barbarians watch him carefully, hoping that he believes them and is still willing to help. Not having heard of Timoran’s battles as a champion, Tigris considers the half-elf’s loyalty no greater than those of a fame-seeking adventurer. She is prepared to argue with the young warrior until her keen ears catch him whispering about how to save her husband and end the curse. The General pats his daughter on the arm and rocks gently, closing his eyes to indulge in a few moments of silence. He is drifting into a light slumber when Luke claps his hands and returns to the couch with a serious expression.

“If they can’t see her as anything other than a phantom then how can she help?” the forest tracker asks before the old barbarian can fully awaken. His hosts seem unsure of an answer, so he sighs and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I want to help you save Timoran, but I feel like I’m still missing some facts. It’s nearly dawn too, so we have maybe two hours to get sleep and then we have to leave. Tell me what the plan is and I’ll get both of you down the mountain as quickly as possible. Otherwise, I’ll go on ahead right now and give you time to figure this out. Not sure how long I can stall Edric, but I’ll give it a shot.”