Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (7 page)

“I dare you to do your worst.”

“Very well. Carry my things to the room without the help of the crew.”

Only seeing a small bag next to Kira, Sari laughs and bends down to take the light piece of luggage. Her mood sours when a pair of orcs approach with a cart full of heavy boxes and nicely wrapped packages. One ornamental container is nearly as big as the gypsy, who cannot stop her mouth from falling open in dismay. The towering dockworkers are waved away by the heiress, who pats her temporary maidservant on the head. With nothing left to do, the orcs accept their tips and return to their post for the next delivery. Taking her small bag from Sari’s hands, Kira leaves the blue-haired champion to finish her first task.

“Try not to curse too much!” she shouts from the gangplank before disappearing below decks.

3

Sitting cross-legged at the cliff’s edge, Timoran enjoys the peaceful evening that has enveloped his homeland. The snow has melted to reveal crisp grass and rocky patches of earth, which lead to the lower mountains. Being on the southernmost cliff of the curved range, the mellow warrior can see the vast expanse of wilderness to every side, except behind him where the encampment sits among the stones. The grunt of a bear rumbles over the mountains, the large predator a faint shadow among a collection of boulders atop a distant rise. A herd of caribou are grazing to the west, the cautious beasts close enough for him to make out their antlers in the crimson moonlight. Huddled on a lower cliff is a snow leopard and her cubs, the family feasting on a recent kill that threatens to topple over the edge. The other goats have already galloped along the sheer cliffs to seek refuge within the craggy walls, only the occasional bang of butting heads revealing their presence. After watching the calming display of brutal nature for several hours, Timoran finds himself happy to be home and his worries remain shoved to the back of his mind.

“Thank you for offering to keep watch,” Cyrus says as he brings over two stools for them to use. He hands his old friend a bottle of light green alcohol that reeks of licorice and releases a trail of vapor. “I know you prefer Ifrit mead, but I only carry Leviathan ale these days. The other stuff brings back too many memories. I’m surprised you can even find your favorite brew out there. Must cost a lot of money.”

“I have always found a way and it is more popular in Ralian and the southern regions than you would think,” Timoran replies, taking a quick sip of the harsh liquor. Balancing himself on the small seat, he leans forward and watches the stars continue to appear. “I assume you are here because your men do not trust me to be alone. There is no reason to lie to me. Though I do ask again that you and the others keep my situation a secret. All three of my companions have prying eyes and ears. It would be best that they not know what I am walking into. They could make it worse with their desire to help.”

With a small nod, Cyrus glances over his shoulder and sees the silhouette of Luke on top of a nearby boulder. The half-elf is meditating with his head slightly tilted toward the pair, the angle becoming more pronounced whenever he drifts into a deeper trance. No more than a few yards away, Nyx rests on the only patch of grass to be found on the cliff. She is talking to Dariana in hushed whispers, but there is a subtle glow around her violet eyes that betrays the spell she is using. Every time she yawns or stretches, the half-elf twists her head to face the two barbarians, which she tries to hide by gazing around the area like a lost child.

“At least the silver-haired woman isn’t spying on you,” Cyrus says before taking another sip. A violent cough nearly knocks him off his stool, but he regains his balance after an awkward second of teetering and flailing. “That could have been embarrassing. You know, Dariana is a fascinating person. Tougher than I would have thought, which is why I’m surprised she is respectful of your boundaries.”

“She is a telepath, so I could not stop her even if I wanted to. I greatly appreciate that she is behaving herself,” Timoran replies as he goes back to watching the caribou. A muttered apology can be heard from Nyx and Luke shifts in an attempt to better hide his eavesdropping. “I cannot be angry at them. We have fought many battles together and have become a family. Nyx even calls me her big brother. They are as protective of me as I am of them. That is why I want to avoid unnecessary conflict. If one of my friends were to get hurt because of my actions then I would never forgive myself.”

“If you didn’t want conflict then you probably should have stayed away,” the black-haired barbarian says in an attempt to lighten the mood. A pang of guilt hits his chest when he sees the pain on the other man’s face. “Sorry about that. You know I always try to handle tension with a joke and I’m not that funny. There’s been a lot of stress here ever since you left. King Edric tries to keep things together, but he’s nothing like King Melich or General Godric. It doesn’t help that everyone, including him, knows that he wasn’t supposed to assume the throne. That makes things very uncomfortable around here.”

“Is Stonehelm in chaos?” Timoran asks, surprised to find that his former teacher is having trouble ruling. “Edric was always a wise and patient man. After all, he managed to teach the two of us how to be more than simple-minded warriors. I owe him my wisdom and the ability to see beyond my muscles.”

“He’s just a different type of leader than we’re used to.”

“People and systems change.”

“And it is rarely a smooth transition.”

“It could be if people were not so stubborn.”

“Only a fool accepts change without challenging it first.”

“I would not call you a fool per say.”

Cyrus smacks his old friend on the arm, the blow echoing off the rocks. “You always have to throw an insult into our debates when you’re losing. What makes it more frustrating is that your insults make people laugh more than my jokes. By the gods, I really missed having you around. Nobody else can argue or fight like you, Timoran the Nimble-Mouthed.”

“Thank you, Cyrus the Hammer-Tongued.”

The barbarians bellow with laughter, which draws the attention of the other warriors who are resting by the fire. Neither of the men care that some of their companions are eyeing them suspiciously and growling with hate. The old friends return to their drinks and sit on the ground, the stools casually tossed back to the camp. After nearly an hour of silence, they sense that everyone has gone to sleep and the only one watching them is the meditating forest tracker. Luke is facing them with his eyes closed, his hands rubbing the rubies that are set into the pommels of his twin sabers.

“Seriously, I don’t understand why you came back,” Cyrus whispers, draining the last of his drink. He straps the empty decanter to his belt and has a sip of water from the bag that is slung over his shoulder. “Nobody was hunting you even with the small bounty on your head. Just so you know, that was symbolic because people were demanding your return. King Edric never expected anyone to try and collect, so if that’s the reason you’re here then don’t worry. Knock me out and take your friends away if you need to. My men will believe that I lowered my guard and you took advantage of the situation.”

“Many months ago, Alanik and his friends found me in Bor’daruk. They tried to collect the bounty and I was forced to kill them,” Timoran softly explains. He holds up his hand when his friend is about to speak, both of them aware of his oath to not hurt members of the tribe. “They had forsaken our people and threatened to return here as enemies, which means they were no longer our kin. Still, it was a sign that my path would eventually lead me back here. If not for the tribe then because I am a champion and my temple is Aintaranurh. Gabriel has always meant for me to return and face my past.”

“I heard rumors about you being one of these champions, but most people thought it was nothing more than an exaggeration,” Cyrus says while grabbing a handful of white, smooth stones. Placing one in his meaty palm, he flicks it into the distance and tries his best to track it in the dark. “If that is the case then I promise to stand by you. Things will be messy, so I don’t think I can do much without getting myself in trouble. At best I can keep the mobs at bay and try to rally some underground support to help you through this.”

“Underground support for what?” the red-haired barbarian asks, realizing that information is being hidden from him. With a narrow stare, he tries to decide if he is being set up for a trap, but all he can see is anxiety and worry on his companion’s face. “I understand if you are torn between two loyalties, my friend. Yet, I am now worried about the information that I am obviously missing. Can you give me a hint, so I do not bring about my demise any quicker than it is already approaching?”

Scratching the wide scars on his chest, Cyrus avoids eye contact and lets out a licorice-smelling breath. “No need to be so dramatic, Wrath. It’s only that Stonehelm is not the same place you left a few years ago. The system is different and I’m not really sure how to properly explain it. Just be strong and depend on the few friends you have to get you out of this mess. The two women may prove to be invaluable with their magic and telepathy. If anything, the . . . you called her a channeler? Can’t believe you forgot that we have legends about those. Then again, you only read philosophy and the more modern tomes. Anyway, having a Near God as a companion could be the thing that keeps you alive.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“I’m trying to give you hope.”

“I believe I am beyond that.”

“Only if you give up and I know such a thing is beyond your abilities.”

“Because of my strength and intelligence?”

“Because you’re as stubborn and stupid as an injured dread boar,” Cyrus retorts, his stomach growling at the mention of his favorite meat. “I could really go for some of that.”

Timoran chuckles and mockingly pats his great axe. “Try to take a bite out of me and I will feed you your own foot.”

“Eh, I have two of those. Besides, I’m sure you would taste like overcooked skunk.”

“It truly is good to be home even given the circumstances.”

The two men lay down and stare at the stars, recognizing several of the constellations with stories connected to their tribe. A few mild arguments ensue as Timoran and Cyrus debate the morals behind each tale, neither one willing to give up the debate without voicing every point that comes to mind. They eventually give up on the sky and share adventures covering the years that they have missed. For the next few hours, the childhood friends trade stories and ignore the fact that Stonehelm is only two days away.

*****

Home to the Snow Tiger Tribe, the city of Stonehelm extends from the base of a sheer mountain face. Thriving in the crook of the Stone Asp Mountain Range’s curved arm, the barbarians enjoy having three natural barriers to protect them. A gated wall of logs and stone has been built to the west where a long, wide expanse leads to the open plains. Canopied guard towers dot the outer fields and are hidden on the cliff faces, but many of them are manned only at night when the citizens are asleep. The barbarians live in simple houses of smoothed stone and thatched roofs that are strapped to a layer of flame-resistant slate to avoid accidental fires during the cold months. Every home has pens with either livestock or vegetable gardens, the latter of which are bursting with plants that absorb the summer heat. With the average citizen unconcerned about architecture, only a few buildings within the main city differ from the basic, single-floor design. The landscape changes once one comes to the mountain cliff that rises high above the rest of Stonehelm.

A turreted citadel has been carved into the stone and acts as a stronghold in case the outer defenses are breached. Over the years, some of the more ambitious and influential members of the tribe have built tower-like manors into the mountain. These structures flank the ancient fortress and rise nearly ten stories up before ending at bunkers that the associated family is forever sworn to stock with emergency supplies. Banners fly from all of the towers and a ledge above the castle doors, their polished hooks and poles glinting in the sunlight. All of them have the same symbol, which is a pair of snow tigers facing each other and rearing up against a red background. A long balcony can be seen even further up the mountain and a stone canopy protects the area from falling stones and bad weather. During the day, one or two figures can always be seen reading by the railing while children listen to their daily lessons. Today, everyone has stopped what they are doing to gather at the windows and listen to the disturbance at Stonehelm’s gates.

“Why do we have guards pointing weapons at us?” Nyx asks as she scans the thick crowd of armed barbarians. The channeler takes a cautious step forward and is surprised to find that the movement goes unchallenged. “I don’t know what this is about, but we’re not here to cause trouble. Our business is very important and can be settled quickly. Just let us talk to King Edric and we’ll go to Aintaranurh without anyone getting hurt.”

“I don’t think they’ll let us near their holy site,” Luke whispers through the corner of his mouth. The snow tiger cubs stand in front of him, hissing and growling until a nearby warrior startles them with a bellowing roar. “Touch them and I’ll break all your fingers. Somehow. All of you have pretty big hands. I think I’d actually rather be fighting a horde of Hellfire Elves than a city of barbarians.”

“That’s because you have a sense of self-preservation,” Cyrus mentions from where he is leaning against the city wall. He yawns and juggles his halberd, winking at a few of the female warriors that smile in his direction. “Looks like I’m a big hero for bringing you in. Good thing I’m not the type of man to cast aside a friend and use the situation for personal gain. Would you three please step away from Timoran and let me handle this?”

“You-” Nyx starts before Dariana takes her by the arm.

With the snow tiger cubs in tow, the telepath grabs Luke’s hand and leads her friends to the edge of the crowd, which shifts to give them space. Trickles of fire run along Nyx’s shoulder-length hair and cascade down her arms, ending at her fingers where they gather in case she needs to attack. Many of the nearby barbarians move away from the half-elf and lower their weapons an inch, all of them noting that she is casting without words and gestures. Patting the channeler on the head and whispering an apology, Dariana makes her dispel the churning flames. While the gesture has prevented the situation from escalating, the locals remain nervous because all they know is that the two women are much more powerful than they appear.