“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.
“Now nobody do anything foolish!” Cyrus shouts, holding his weapon above his head. With a slow stride, he steps in front of Timoran who stands with his head down. “This man does have much to answer for, but we don’t handle things like this. At least not since the old days and that was also when we chose mates by force. Needless to say, I don’t want to get punched by any of you lovely ladies in the crowd. Mostly because I’ve sparred with many here and all of you hit really, really hard. Let me take him to King Edric and Sheriff Kalten. We all know that is how this is supposed to work.” Sensing that his fellow barbarians are unwilling to budge, he points at Nyx and raises his voice. “Don’t make me unleash the Near God over there. I haven’t seen her in action, but I know that she has great power and is the exile’s battle sister.”
“You used that card rather quickly,” Timoran mutters under his breath.
“My jokes and charms were failing, so I panicked.”
All of the barbarians lower their weapons and move to the sides of the street, allowing two figures to pass through the mob. Bulky and of average height for ab arbarian, the man with a salt and pepper beard and bald head walks several steps behind his female companion. His snow tiger cloak falls off his shoulders and drags along the ground, the underside protected by flexible leather. King Edric stops at the edge of the crowd and adjusts his crown, which is a green jade circlet that grants him an air of regal humility. His steel gray eyes narrow when he sees for himself that Timoran has returned, but the fury is swiftly replaced by a deep serenity. Showing no sign of wanting to rush the arrest, he crosses his arms and casually runs his fingers through the end of his beard.
In contrast, the chainmail-wearing woman who shoves Cyrus out of her way has no tr
ouble hiding her disgust and rage. With her hand on a massive broadsword, Sheriff Udelia Kalten moves behind Timoran and yanks his great axe off his back. The tall and muscular blonde warrior carries the tiger-striped weapon on her shoulder while circling the exile. She leans forward to sniff at the black fur vest and removes it when she senses that it is magical. Sure that Timoran no longer has anything dangerous beyond his fists, Udelia returns to the King and places the confiscated gear at his feet. Her blue eyes twinkle as she pulls out a yellowed scroll and prepares to read the declaration that she has held onto for several years.
“Timoran Wrath has been accused of treason, abandonment of his post, and the battlefield murder of General Godric,” the sheriff says in a voice that is both loud and soft. She pauses as all of the barbarians deliver one beat to their chest in honor of the fallen General. “King Edric notes that the first two charges are in direct connection with the third. This means that the murder accusation is where we will focus our attention. If found guilty of the central crime, Timoran will also be found guilty of treason and abandonment. As per our ancient laws, murder is punishable by public execution at the hands of either King Edric or a hand-picked royal agent to be decided upon at a later date. Until the time of his trial, Timoran Wrath will be incarcerated in the citadel’s prison and kept in solitary confinement. That is both for his safety and our own. Does the prisoner wish to come peacefully or resist?”
“I do not understand what is going on,” Timoran admits, looking to Cyrus for an explanation. All he receives is his friend subtly holding up one finger and casting a pleading look to not ask questions. “You mention a trial, but also a public execution. Would I not die in the trial like the old laws say? Is the public execution in case I win?”
Sheriff Kalten strides over to the red-headed warrior and punches him across the face. “You were given two choices! Do not say anything that fails to answer the questions that I ask. How do you want this to end, traitor?”
“I see you are still as lovely and vicious as ever, Udelia,” the champion states, accepting the next strike to his face. He fights the temptation to hit back, even though he sees that the woman still keeps part of her right side open when she swings. “I will go peacefully, but I do not understand what you are talking about. Cyrus told me that Stonehelm has changed since I ran away. Please tell me what events lie ahead of me, so that I may not cause you any unnecessary trouble.”
“You are accepting your fate?”
“Yes, Udelia, but I would prefer to do it without ignorance.”
“Should I answer the prisoner, King Edric?”
As if stirring from a gentle nap, the ruler shudders and approaches Timoran. He waves the sheriff to the side so that he can take in the sight of his former student, who has become an infamous traitor. There is a look of disappointment and shame in the older man’s eyes, but there is not a single tear that is ready to be shed. Edric sighs heavily and takes the manacles from his companion, the heavy iron clamping around the prisoner’s wrists with echoing clangs. Unable to look at the champion any longer, the tired King turns toward his people and walks toward the citadel. The crowd slowly disperses, leaving only a handful of curious citizens to watch the end of the unexpected encounter.
“Follow me or be dragged to your cell,” Udelia says, grabbing the chain between the manacles. The tall woman stops when she sees the other champions are standing in her path, all three of them unwilling to leave. “This is not your business. Get out of my way or I’ll have you exiled from Stonehelm. That Near God business is not going to scare me, so stop with the lightning on your fingers. You would hit your friend anyway. Now move!”
“We will once you tell us what’s going to happen to Timoran,” Luke states, stepping closer to the intimidating woman. He bounces a little on his toes in preparation for a fight, but prays that he does not have to battle the sheriff. “Our business here requires that he be with us, so we can’t move on until he’s free. These supposed crimes may be internal for you, but they affect our path as well. Just give us some information and we’ll step out of your way. What kind of trial does Timoran have to go through? Is it combat or a test?”
“It is a court trial in front of the judge and a panel of peers,” the blonde barbarian answers, which earns a confused look from the champions. She glances over her shoulder when Timoran raises his hands to scratch his head in thought. “You will not remember these rules, Wrath, because King Edric put them into place after you ran away. The days of trial by deadly combat are over. Now you are tested in a court and punished if found guilty. The system has actually reduced Stonehelm’s violent incidents to almost zero since it’s much easier to win a fight than a trial. Nobody wants to take the chance of losing a battle of words, so only the foolish risk their necks.”
Dariana eases Luke back and bows her head to Udelia, who smiles at the curious outsider’s manners. “I apologize for us getting in your way. Thank you for answering our questions. Can we be allowed to visit our friend? He never mentioned this part of his past to us and we would like him to give us an explanation in his own words. Cyrus may stand guard to make sure we don’t try anything underhanded.”
“Give me a few hours to lock him in,” the sheriff requests before snapping her fingers at Cyrus. He yawns and gradually stands at attention, smirking at the impatience on the woman’s face. “I guess you’re my deputy this time, Anghorn. Keep in mind that you will take Wrath’s place if anything goes wrong.”
Not waiting for a response, Udelia yanks on the manacle chain and drags Timoran along the main road. The prisoner tries his best to keep up with the sheriff, but she routinely tries to knock him off-balance, which would create another reason to punch. Cyrus walks a few steps behind them, waving to everyone that bothers to look in his direction. Unsure of where they can find rooms for their stay, the champions stand in the street and watch their friend disappear into the distance.
“Do we break him out and make a run for Aintaranurh?” Luke asks, bending down to pat the snow tiger cubs. A sharp whistle from a nearby building causes the animals to rush into the open door, which closes behind them. Through an open window, he can see the tiny animals being carried by three children whose mother is preparing bowls of milk. “This place is so strange, but I kind of like it. At least I would if we didn’t already have a mess on our hands. Why can’t we ever arrive at a city and have a few days of peace?”
“We wouldn’t get very far if we freed him. An army of barbarians would be waiting outside the temple, so we’d end up back in this spot,” Nyx replies while rubbing her chest. She looks down her shirt to see if the Compass Key tattoo is still there, the edges of the symbol having turned red. “Really wish Gabriel didn’t put this thing on me. It’s starting to itch. The skin around it is looking pretty raw too. I might have to find a low cut shirt or something to let it breathe, which is not something I’m looking forward to. Showing that much skin makes me feel exposed.”
Dariana massages her temples and turns in a circle, her mind drifting among the citizens in search of information. “There’s an inn a few streets over, which has two vacant rooms. Nobody here is angry or suspicious of us, but they are curious. They call Nyx a Near God and some of them recognize Luke. It would appear that the twin sabers, open courage, and being a half-elf make it easy to identify him. As for me, they like my hair and believe I have the poise of a warrior. All of that is good news for what we have to do.”
“And what is that?” Luke asks as Dariana walks away.
“First we have to get the truth out of Timoran and then we have to win a trial,” she casually replies without turning around. She abruptly slows down and sighs, her deep blue eyes gazing at the cloudless sky. “Unfortunately, this is something more suited for Delvin or Sari. I’m not very good at social interactions, Nyx is far too blunt, and Luke . . . I’m not sure how to explain why you’re a bad choice for diplomacy. I’m sorry, but your feelings may get hurt if I use the wrong words and come off as rude.”
> “It’s because I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut,” he admits with a half-hearted smirk. Seeing a building with the sign of an inn, the forest tracker takes the lead and checks his money pouch to see how much he has. “The sooner we get the rooms, the sooner we can get to Timoran. We can’t make any detailed plans until we talk to him and meet with King Edric. All we have to do is be smart, calm, and patient.”
Nyx gives her best friend a big hug before awkwardly rubbing against him when her tattoo itches. “Sorry about that. I need to get this problem checked soon. Anyway, you’re right, little brother. We know where the temple is and Timoran already has prior knowledge of what could be inside. This will be the easiest one yet and there’s no rush. After losing Stephen and Trinity being indisposed, I’m sure the Baron is struggling to find a new agent.”
“You really don’t give my father enough credit,” Dariana whispers under her breath while watching her friends enter the building. She pretends to adjust the ties on her shirt while doing another scan of the entire city. “You’re definitely up to something, which is why I don’t want to leave until I know you aren’t behind this. The situation with Timoran is exactly what you would enjoy watching, father, so I’ll be ready for whatever you send our way.”
*****
“You summoned me, master?” Trinity drones as she takes a seat at the circular table.
The Baron gestures for her to enjoy the pheasant and cooked greens that are steaming on a plate in front of her chair. Candles float around the small bedroom, most of them staying away from Yola who has taken over the left hand wall. The slumbering immortal has crafted a canoe-shaped bed out of a long dresser and is using Raksha as a terrified pillow. The sharp furred cat pleadingly stares at her master and whips at the chocolate-colored window curtains with three razor-edged tails. Unable to get help from the warlord, the orange and black feline tries to wriggle free only to be fluffed into a bloated balloon. The creature’s bulging eyes continue to look around the room, fear making the pupils widen.
Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) Page 7
