“It is bad enough that she turned Melanie into a rocking horse, which is something I still need to fix,” the Baron states before dabbing his mouth with a napkin. He pushes his empty plates to the center of the table where they sink into the wood. “I have decided on your exact orders, Queen Trinity. Again, I remind you that failure is not an option. You are not to return until you either finish this mission or die. Of course, I don’t expect your corpse to walk back, but I will have Yola retrieve your remains.”
“If I die then your grandchild will die too,” Trinity points out while picking at her meal. A heavenly scent rises from the roasted fowl, but she is too nauseous to attempt a bite. “Chaos elves give birth fairly quickly. Give me three to four months at most, so that I don’t have to put my baby in danger.”
“Our enemies may be done with their temples by then,” the stone-faced warlord says as he leans back in his chair. As he mutters an ancient spell, a cold wind whips over the table and freezes Trinity’s uneaten meal. “I am not in the mood for arguments or challenges to my authority. My grandchild will be fine. I have ways to revive the dead that are beyond your powers and understanding. So you should only worry about claiming victory and making sure your child will know its mother.”
Trinity rubs her belly to calm the baby who is kicking and squirming. “All you want is for me to kill Nyx, but she’ll have the advantage given my current condition. You’re turning this into a suicide mission and doing a bad job of hiding that fact. So unless you have another target or a better plan, I will wait until my baby is born. You might be angry at me, but I’m not about to do something reckless in order to satisfy your grief and rage. I suggest you use your remaining pawns wisely, Arthuru. Otherwise, you might find that you’ve run out of fodder before the champions even get to you.”
“I warned you about overreacting!” Yola shouts as she releases Raksha. With a yawn, she stretches an arm that wraps around the Baron’s neck. Her hand becomes a pair of lips that repeatedly kiss him on the cheek until he severs the rubbery limb at the elbow. “That was my least favorite joint anyway. Always popping and giving me attitude. Never waved right ever since I spent a decade with the forearm turned in the wrong direction.”
“Enough!” the Baron shouts, cutting off the former goddess. A burst of raw energy fills the room, the power driving the cat under the bed. “I have no interest in debating this. Trinity, you are to amass an army of chaos elves and march on the city of Stonehelm. Your people will keep the barbarians and other champions busy while you face Nyx. I will give you a day to gather your forces and then I will open a portal that will bring you to the region’s furthest border. You do not want to be noticed until you are within striking range.”
“Most of my warriors are sick and hungry because you’ve been overworking us!”
“Then take all of your healers and hunt for food when you arrive.”
“Whatever happened to you being a benevolent ruler?”
“He is wondering if the woman he has raised like a daughter is planning to turn against him.”
With lightning dancing along her fingers, Trinity knocks over her chair and heads for the door. The locked entrance is blown across the hallway as soon as she touches the handle and releases her spell. More crashes are heard as she storms toward the castle entrance and takes her rage out on her master’s precious decorations. The last noise that the Baron hears from Trinity is when she comes across a pack of animated skeletons on the drawbridge. The undead make the mistake of hissing at the pregnant channeler and blocking her path, their simple minds mistaking her for an easy meal. A ground-shaking explosion sends charred bones flying into the castle wall, the projectiles piercing the stone and peppering the Baron’s room with shrapnel.
“I think you’re going too far,” Yola states while she pokes at a rib that is sticking out of an ancient vase. The bone twitches and shivers until it dissolves into a white powder. “She has her limits and making her feel like she is being unfairly punished could make her too angry to control. You’ve always gotten more out of Trinity by being kind and flexible. Now you’re only making her want to explode. That might be your intention, but it could cause her to act without thinking and bring about her failure.”
“I will concede that I am not happy about this path,” the Baron says as he stares out the window. He wipes some bone dust off his emerald shirt and peers down the wall to examine the extensive damage. “Thank you for keeping my intentions secret, Yola. We need our little Queen to be as enraged and desperate to win as possible when she faces her rival. As Trinity said, the pregnancy puts her at a disadvantage in the upcoming battle. So I will make her think her child and people are in danger. That should turn her into an even deadlier weapon than she was before.”
“Good idea. Hope she doesn’t try to kill you when she’s done with Nyx.”
The Baron ignores the warning and continues watching the undead move about the edge of the dried out castle moat. Tapping the window ledge, he creates a scrying portal and watches as Trinity returns to her people. A pair of demonic taskmasters have been reduced to splotches of gore on a nearby boulder, the stone still steaming from the woman’s acid attacks. The chaos elves are steadily coming in from their work sites, all of them driven by the magical call of their beloved ruler. Her body is shimmering with magic as she speaks and lets her frustration be known to her people. To include those who are too far away to reach the meeting place, she creates several fleet-footed phantoms that deliver her words as she speaks. As Trinity finishes her speech, cheers erupt from every chaos elf on the continent. The sudden noise sends every flying creature into the stormy sky where they risk getting struck down by lightning. Satisfied with the results of his threat, the Baron dispels the portal and returns to the table for what he believes is a well-earned dessert.
4
With no windows or gratings to show the outside world, Timoran can only stare through the metal bars that make up the hallway-side wall of his cell. Each of the polished poles has been driven deep into the ceiling and floor, making them impossible to remove without magic or inducing a battle rage. There is no visible door to the cell, which is opened by locks that alternate between the top and bottom of every hinged bar. It would require a quarter of them being unlocked and swung out for Timoran to escape, so it is safe for Udelia and her men to slip food through a single space. During the times he took a guard shift in the prison, the red-haired barbarian always found the cells’ design impressive. Now he half-heartedly wishes his people had never made a minor trade pact with the gnomes nearly one-hundred years ago. Although he has no intention of escaping, he finds that the lack of a door makes his imprisonment feel more suffocating.
Watching him from the wide hallway, his friends nervously whisper and glance at the distant entrance. The studded metal barrier is locked from the other side and the handle has been removed to make an escape more difficult. Even with Cyrus standing guard on their side of the door, the champions get the sense that Udelia is patiently waiting outside. Only Luke shudders at the recent memory of the aggressive woman sitting in her chair beneath a wall that is covered by massive weapons. Nyx and Dariana are too focused on Timoran to think about the dangerous barbarian, their request for the truth having gone unanswered for the last five minutes.
“The situation is hard to explain,” the red-haired barbarian finally replies, moving to the bars and leaning his head against them. He is surprised by their heat until he sees that Nyx is practically steaming from her barely restrained temper. “It is probably best that this will be handled in a court instead of a battlefield. I would find it difficult to fight with all of my strength given that I may be guilty.”
“You say that, but I get the feeling that you’re not certain,” Luke says, bringing his attention back to the others. The forest tracker tucks his hands into his pockets and slides to the floor, his legs stretching out before him. “From what we can tell, you killed this General Godric on the battlefield and ran away. At least that
’s what people believe. Yet there isn’t a lot of detailed information about the incident. I plan on searching around after this, but I haven’t heard anything other than how much people dislike you. Those sentiments aren’t as bitter and hateful as I’d expect because there’s a touch of confusion, as if nobody can entirely believe you committed the crime.”
“Does it really matter?” Nyx interrupts, flexing her fingers and sending sparks onto the stone floor. She hungrily licks her lips, which change color until stopping on a blood red that shimmers in the torchlight. “Aintaranurh is calling and the Baron isn’t going to wait around for us to handle this mess. Give us the truth, so we can get you out of here.”
“Be patient,” Dariana whispers into the half-elf’s pointy ear. Stirring her telepathy, she carefully masks the more sensitive parts of their conversation from Cyrus by replacing them with more mundane topics. “We can talk freely here, but know that I can’t do anything if you cause a physical scene. Pull your magic back and relax. That is the only way for us to get answers and make a plan.”
Nyx takes a deep breath, the glowing tattoo on her chest shining through her shirt. The colorful outer circles spin around the central orb of white, which pulses with every heartbeat. She pulls her black cloak tight around her body to hide the display, but she is sure it is far too late to be discreet. A faint outline of the Compass Key appears on the outside of the ebony covering, causing her to scowl at the mark. Taking a seat in a nearby chair, Nyx gestures for her friends to continue while she pokes at a tray of stale bread.
“All we want are some answers,” Luke repeats to draw the conversation back to their original purpose. “Tell us everything you remember about the incident. All of us know you’re not a man who would kill without reason. We’ve even seen you prevent fights that you felt were unnecessary, which makes this whole thing really hard to believe. Please let us know what’s going on.”
Anxiously licking his lips, Timoran meets his friend’s pleading gaze and simply asks, “Do you know about the fog of war?”
“It’s a name given to confusion on the battlefield. Though I think it’s more commonly used among soldiers than adventurers,” the forest tracker replies as he closes his eyes to focus on remembering the term. It has been many years since he last heard the phrase, which was part of one of his grandfather’s more tedious lessons. “In some cases, there’s enough dust and dirt kicked up to create a physical fog that makes it difficult to see. Most times the term refers to a mental effect where a warrior focuses only on their own survival and the area around them. They unknowingly become blind to a lot of battlefield factors. Basically, when under the fog of war, it’s easier to miss events that don’t immediately or directly affect you. At least that’s how it was described to me. I didn’t pay full attention to that lesson.”
“It can also refer to a General who works with minimal knowledge in regards to ally and enemy positions,” Dariana adds while leaning against the bars. A sharp whistle from Cyrus causes her to move back behind a white line on the floor. “Accidents can happen in such a situation. If that’s the case here then it shouldn’t be difficult to defend you.”
“Just tell us what happened!” Nyx impatiently snaps from her seat.
“I will share what I remember, but it is still a haze even after all these years,” Timoran explains, his muscular body appearing to shrink when he exhales. Refusing to look at his friends, he stares at the rough ceiling and tries his best to recall the events that led to his exile. “There are twelve official barbarian tribes throughout Windemere and those that live near each other have skirmishes from time to time. It is also fairly common for false groups to arise from a gathering of exiles and ambitious outsiders. An army of these warriors gathered in the mangrove swamps to the west and called itself the Bog Hare Tribe. They marched across the mountains claiming to want acknowledgement by the Crimto Council, who are shamans that remain neutral in case all of the tribes are needed at once. Membership is the only way for a new tribe to be seen as an equal. It was quickly discovered that the Bog Hares wanted to overthrow the council and break all of the treaties. They wished to start their conquest with the Snow Tigers because we are the most influential tribe on Ralian.” Timoran returns to the thick mattress that acts as a bed and sits with his hands folded in front of him. “Our king was assassinated two days before the battle, which left us without a leader. At least that was the Bog Hares’ intention. They did not expect us to follow General Godric so quickly.”
Luke takes a waterskin off the table and slides it through the bars to give his friend a chance to rest his straining voice. “I think I can see where this is going. At some point during the battle, General Godric was killed and you took the blame. That much I figured out beforehand, but I don’t see why you would run away if you didn’t fully believe you did it.”
“At what point have I said that I did not do it?”
The question leaves his friends stunned and forced to consider that Timoran really is a murderer. Luke sits at the table and grabs a piece of bread, which he absentmindedly tears into small chunks form a tiny pile. He looks at Dariana who returns to the bars after making Cyrus believe she is still behind the line. The telepath puts her slender arms into the cell and leans forward until her forehead is against the slick metal. Her cold, unblinking stare makes Timoran uncomfortable and he slides to the far end of the mattress.
“Did you kill General Godric?” Dariana bluntly asks, her eyes becoming as white as her skin. There is an eerie swirling to the ivory orbs, giving them the illusion of being made from thick smoke. “I’m sorry about the flaw in my question. You haven’t denied killing this man, but you haven’t admitted it with confidence either. There’s confusion and doubt in your mind. So let me ask you a different question. Do you remember killing General Godric?”
“No,” the barbarian says in defeat. Rising from the bed, he hands the waterskin to the silver-haired woman and stands with his back to the bars. “It was a terrible battle because our enemies brought ogres and giltris with them. There was even a wyvern rider and a herd of dread boars that they managed to enslave. The snow tigers came to our aid, but it was still the most chaotic encounter I have ever been a part of. When the dust settled, my tribe was victorious. Yet there I stood with General Godric dead at my feet. The wound on his chest was from a great axe and there was blood on my weapon. I do not remember attacking him or that he was even near me during the battle. As far as I knew, I was contending with the wyvern and two of the ogres. Edric saw me with the body and called for the other warriors, so I ran into the mountains before they could capture me. Nobody would have believed my innocence so soon after losing our king. I am sure you have heard rumors that I was an agent of the Bog Hare Tribe and wished to take the throne of Stonehelm.”
“I didn’t hear that one, but I did hear one of you getting angry at Godric and killing him while enraged,” Luke admits while he grabs two pieces of bread and moves to the cell. Handing them to his friend, the half-elf ignores Cyrus lazily gesturing for him to keep his distance. “This doesn’t sound as bad as we thought. There’s no proof that you killed him. The abandoning your post part is true, which can be seen as treason. Yet you were scared and confused, so that punishment shouldn’t be too severe. I think we can fight this pretty easily.”
Timoran chuckles while looking from one friend to the other, his amusement stopping when he sees how serious they are. “You three are going to convince King Edric that you should be my defense in a court that we know nothing about? I do not understand how this system works, so I do not believe you can help as much as you believe.”
“We stand there making speeches and try to make the witnesses speak in your favor or come off as unreliable,” the forest tracker replies with a shrug. His charming smirk gives the barbarian a spark of hope since such an expression always comes before Luke makes good on a crazy, but highly effective, idea. “We’ll talk to King Edric tomorrow. If he’s trying to create a system of justice through
courts instead of combat then he should be willing to let us help. After all, we know what you’ve done outside of Stonehelm. That speaks to your character, which my grandfather always said is important when trying to convince a person you’re innocent of something. Though he tended to say that to my parents whenever I got in trouble. It never worked for me, but you’re much more mature, Timoran.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Nyx growls as she kicks her chair away. The channeler coats her fist in condensed wind while approaching the bars, the glowing Compass Key tattoo burning a hole in her shirt and cloak. “The temple is waiting and our friends are on the other side of the continent. This mess shouldn’t get in our way. I’m breaking Timoran out of here and we’re leaving for Aintaranurh. Even if I have to raze Stonehelm to the ground and blast this tribe out of my way, I’m getting us out of here.”
“What is wrong with you, fire sprite?” Timoran asks as he gets closer to the bars. Moving directly in front of the channeler, he hopes that his friend will stop with him so close to her target. “You are talking about attacking my homeland and tribe. Exile though I may be, I am still loyal to these people and do not wish for harm to come to them.”
“Then hate me for what I’m about to do, but I’m not in the mood for dealing with your past.”
Nyx rears back to shatter the bars, which causes Cyrus to rush from his post and Luke to dive for her arm. A powerful gale knocks both warriors down the hallway, the barbarian crashing through the locked door. With a look of madness in her eyes, the channeler screams and throws her devastating punch. The spell abruptly flickers out of existence as her mind is engulfed in a distracting shriek and a knee hits her in the stomach. Faking a savage punch to Nyx’s head, Dariana pushes the half-elf to the floor and coaxes her into a restless slumber. Bursts of magic continue to erupt from the shuddering channeler as Udelia storms down the hallway.
Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) Page 8
