Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (4 page)

“I’m going to strangle you, little brother!” she shouts while barreling out of the snow.

Her body is shivering even though her crimson shirt is covered in a rolling fire that dries her off in a second. Nyx tries her best to catch the nimble warrior, but Luke manages to always remain a hair out of reach. He rolls his eyes as she dives and misses, the channeler landing face first in the warm mud. The muck bubbles at her blossoming rage and the patches on her skin harden before flaking off. Nyx is about to attempt another charge when she sees all of her friends yawn and rub at their bloodshot eyes. Remembering that she is the only one who got enough rest last night, she calms down and cancels her spells. The channeler calmly walks over to Luke and gives him a half-hearted smack to the side of his head.

“I said I was sorry,” Nyx says, crossing her arms and frowning. Biting her lower lip, the half-elf fiddles with her shoulder-length hair. “You guys should have woken me up if I was casting in my sleep. If you want, can create energizer spells to help with your fatigue. I think I can cast a version that doesn’t result in a crash. There might be a little danger since I keep having surges, but they shouldn’t be a threat if I concentrate.”

“Just focus on melting the snow. None of us can afford to be incapacitated,” Luke replies while returning to his crouching position. The blonde warrior runs his fingers along some indents, but the tracks have been trampled by their small scuffle. “We don’t really need to follow a path since Timoran knows where we’re going. Still, I want to keep an eye out for signs of predators. I’ve seen tracks left by wolves, bears, wyverns, trolls, and others that I can’t identify without a clearer print. This one really has me curious.”

“Do you think we really have to worry about trolls?” Dariana asks while taking a drink from her waterskin. She rubs at the clear ring on her finger when she notices that the others are staring at her. “I only mean that I’ve sensed them and they’re staying away. It would appear that Nyx’s presence has made them uninterested in us. Trolls are not nearly as stupid as people think. It doesn’t happen often, but they won’t attack something more that’s dangerous than themselves unless they are starving. Although, the trolls are staying nearby, so maybe they’re hungry enough to consider the risk.”

Nyx unleashes a blast of fire into the air and has it make a tight circle before exploding into a display of lights. With a crackling hiss, the spell drifts toward the ground and leaves sizzling holes in the snow. The faint sound of stampeding feet to the west brings a prideful smile to the channeler’s face. She runs her hand over her face to remove the expression, but the corners of her mouth continue to dimple.

“What has gotten into you?” Luke asks, approaching Nyx and putting his hands on her shoulders. He winces when her skin heats up to the point where he feels a shock of pain. “I know you’re excited to have your magic back. We’re all happy for that. It doesn’t explain why you are acting so strange and uninhibited.”

“Because Stephen is dead and the last strike he made against me is gone,” she replies, slipping out of her best friend’s grasp. She plucks a few berries off a nearby bush and pops them into her mouth, the sourness catching her by surprise. “I spent so long being scared of that bastard and angry that I couldn’t stop him. Now he’s nothing but a bitter memory. I no longer have nightmares of him doing stuff to me. Shadows aren’t hiding him anymore. I’m free of that monster.”

Ignoring Dariana’s gestures of warning, Luke mentions, “All of that is true, but I think it’s more than that. He stopped you from confessing to Delvin, which might be the real source of your outbursts. That’s entirely understandable. I’m still concerned that you’re masking your pain by being overly playful and reckless.”

“Do you really not think before you speak, my friend?” Timoran mutters as he steps between the half-elves. The shock and anger on Nyx’s face causes the large man to crouch and look into her eyes, his hand stretching back to cover the forest tracker’s mouth. “You know Luke is not always the most tactful and he did not mean to upset you. A trait I believe he learned from you, fire sprite. Please understand that he cares and is worried about your mental state. All of us are because we know what you went through to give Delvin your family’s heirloom ring and confess your feelings for him. The opportunity was taken away, which has to be frustrating and painful.”

“It wasn’t taken away!” Nyx snaps, her voice cracking. With a long exhale that fills the air with the scent of chocolate, she clears her head and tries her best to explain herself. “I know it didn’t happen. I dream of telling Delvin the truth, but I can’t dwell on it like I did before. That wastes energy and time. We’ll be together again and I’ll get another chance. Until then, I will be happy that I am alive, undamaged, and with friends who care about me. Though that doesn’t mean I won’t knock one of you out for making me mad.”

“You could just threaten Luke directly. We all know he’s the one you mean,” Dariana says with a small yawn. She wavers on her feet and stretches in an attempt to stay awake, her eyes fluttering rapidly. “How much longer do we have to travel? I’m very curious to see Stonehelm and Aintaranurh.”

“A few more days,” Timoran replies before a faint sound catches his attention. He hunkers down to check the tracks that Luke pointed out, the noise helping him recognize the beast that left the trampled prints. “This is unexpected. I did not know snow tigers came so far south during the summer. Perhaps the wild game has been more plentiful here than in previous years, but this is still strange. We should investigate.”

The barbarian begins digging through the snow until Nyx puts a hand on his arm and moves him back. She carefully melts the drift by creating a tight circle of heat around her body, the top layer of magic designed to warn her of hidden obstacles. Over the course of two hours, the champions veer to the west where they eventually reach an open plain of leveled snow. Straining his ears and sniffing at the gentle wind, Timoran tries to pinpoint the faint mewls that only he can hear. He gestures for the others to stay back as he scans the area for signs of his tribe’s spirit beast. Without realizing it, the barbarian reaches up to scratch his shoulder where a snow tiger’s claw mark remains emblazoned on his flesh.

Luke is about to transform into the griffin to get an aerial view, but stops when all of the spirits in his body growl. Stiletto is the loudest, the dog picking up a scent that puts his nerves on edge. The griffin is less cautious, but the stench of feline blood makes her think it is best to stay out of sight. Nearly drowned out by the more aggressive creatures, the primal snake fiend can only hiss and snarl. It is only because of Luke’s ability to understand every spoken language that he deciphers the beast’s noise as a request for food. In fact, he gets the distinct impression that the snake fiend has caught a whiff of some nearby carrion.

“My companions are acting crazy,” Luke whispers, knowing Timoran will still hear him from far away. His friend partially turns in order to pay attention while maintaining a watch on the open plain. “Lucy and Stiletto are cautious, but that might be because neither want to mess with a snow tiger. What’s more interesting is that the snake fiend senses food. Something is dead out there.”

“I hear nearby thoughts too, but they are muffled,” Dariana adds while straining her telepathy. A twinge of pain in her head forces her to break contact and rub her temples until the throbbing stops. “It’s like the creatures are hibernating or dying. If I push myself then I can go deeper, but it might reveal our presence to whatever is in trouble. An injured animal might panic and hurt itself trying to escape. We need to search with our physical senses.”

“The snow is too bright and flat for me to see anything clearly,” the barbarian growls. The sound of shuffling and mild cursing draws his attention to Nyx who has sunk up to her nose in a nearby drift. “What are you doing, fire sprite?”

Nyx shivers while squinting into the distance, her eyes coated in bronze energy. “The reason you can’t see anything might be because you’re too tall. I’m trying to see if there’s anything that breaks the level ground. This is a trick the apprentices and I used when playing magical hide and seek. My eyes are enhanced right now, but I don’t . . . wait a second . . . I think there’s something buried out there. A beast of some kind? It’s a very subtle up and down motion that reminds me of something breathing. It just stopped moving, but I don’t know what that means. I’ll lead the way.”

Not waiting for a response, Nyx pushes through the thick snow and uses wind magic to shift the powder out of her path. She does her best to move quietly and avoid disturbing whatever they are approaching, but the crunch of frozen grass beneath her boots makes the half-elf cringe with every step. A violent sneeze threatens to erupt from her nose, stifled quickly by a silence spell around her nostrils. Rubbing at her cold legs, Nyx is thankful when Timoran gives her a vest made of black fur that runs down to her knees. The Ifrit hair warms her body and drives away the looming cold that has been brewing in her chest for the last few minutes. With renewed energy, the channeler walks a little faster and adds a simple heat spell to the wind that is steadily clearing a path.

“Wow. Such a beautiful creature,” she whispers when she steps into a circular clearing that surrounds the dead animal.

The enormous snow tiger’s blue and black fur is thick, the hairs sparkling when touched by direct sunlight. The predator has long incisors of glistening white that jut out of its mouth due to their length and thickness. A slender tail lies limp in the exposed grass, but still jerks around as the muscles lose their tension. Powerful legs and massive paws are splayed on the ground, giving the body the appearance of having peacefully died in its sleep. The gaping wound in the gorgeous snow tiger’s side is the only sign of an attack, the surrounding fur matted with aromatic blood.

Timoran’s rage boils when he spots three cubs that are mewling and pushing against their dead mother. Judging from their size and faint, black stripes, he knows they are no older than two months. Rusty manacles are attached to their back legs, the chains running to a stake that has been driven into the muddy earth. Restraining most of his anger, the barbarian moves within reach of the animals and gently breaks the metal bindings that are cutting into their delicate ankles. Scared and confused, the cubs cower against the warm corpse and hiss whenever one of the adventurers comes close. One of the snow tigers bravely charges at Timoran and bites his boot, proudly returning to the others when the towering warrior moves away.

“I say we go hunting,” Luke states, his brown and gold eyes never straying from the terrified animals. Knowing that the cubs will die without help, he calms down and gets on all fours. “We should find a safe place for them first. Maybe they’ll listen to another cat.”

Feathers sprout from the forest tracker’s neck and his nose grows into a beak, but he does not get any further into his transformation before the champions are ambushed. A pack of scaly figures burst from the surrounding snow to hurl blunt weapons and crude snares. Luke is caught by a rope around his neck and yanked into the arms of a burly giltris, the lizardman easily restraining the struggling half-elf. A solid punch to the head reverts the young warrior into his true form and frees the rest of the tribe to focus on the remaining adventurers.

Her head bleeding from being struck by a flying hammer, Nyx is about to unleash her magic when she hears the snow tiger cubs hissing. The dizziness caused by the blow makes her pause and briefly doubt that she can control her power enough to avoid injuring the animals. Taking advantage of the opening, a female giltris pounces on the channeler and shoves her into a thick sack that erupts in flames. Terrified by the display, the primitive hunter repeatedly stomps on Nyx to put out the fire and only stops attacking when a crude javelin strikes her in the throat. A heavily scarred giltris bats his dying comrade away and hunkers down to make sure the trampled half-elf is still alive. She lets out a shuddering breath, but he gives her a few drops of a healing potion to repair her internal injuries.

“They want us alive, so we should go quietly,” Timoran says as the snorting creatures get closer. He growls when one of them lifts a rusty sword to kill the cubs, his great axe pulled back for a throw. “Touch them and I will dismember your entire tribe. For now, only your leaders are at risk. You live close enough to Stonehelm to know what type of enemy I am.”

The scarred giltris chuckles as he walks toward the barbarian, stopping when his snout touches the man’s nose. Only Luke can decipher the lizardman’s hisses and grunts, but he is too groggy to translate for his friends. “More food better. Entertainment be good too. All you provide both for feast. Now move, wild foe.”

*****

Nestled within a tight circle of hills, the five miles of humid swampland remains untouched by the surrounding snow. Having been working since dawn, Giltris can be seen resting in the murky water with only their reptilian heads above the surface. Other tribe members are busy preparing a large bonfire on the central plot of land that has been covered in a soft layer of lemongrass. The females collect small animals from around the swamp and return to place the flayed bodies in a massive, stone bowl of soup. Not wanting the discarded parts to go to waste, they chew the skin into a mush that is given to the infants clinging to their backs. Wrinkled and adorned with vulture feathers, the oldest female dances around the bubbling soup, every movement plodding and slow. Her chanting causes the stones she is holding to heat up before she throws them into the broth and retrieves more from a nearby pile. A crude shack has been erected for the Tribe Baron, who proudly stands with a metal spear in his hands. The scarred giltris grins at his prisoners and licks his lips at the thought of getting a bite of each one. His eyes linger on Timoran and he decides to claim the barbarian’s great axe for a trophy.