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

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “There is a way to discover the importance of Aintaranurh,” Cyrus says with a knowing grin. Closing the small book, the black-haired man leans forward and taps his head. “You could politely ask a barbarian. Everyone knows why the Hollowed Hill is important. Our leaders go there to prove they are worthy to be the Snow Tiger King or Queen. Ever since the tribe settled here, anyone who wishes to claim an empty throne must travel to Aintaranurh. Once there, the person walks through the front door and must defeat whatever challenge awaits them. Some never return while others come back in defeat. Those that claim a jade crown are made our new ruler. It’s as simple as that.”

  Nyx rubs her amethyst necklace as she thinks back to the information she has absorbed over the last two days. Reaching down to the pile at her feet, she chooses a thin book that has the image of a crown on the cover. Snapping her fingers, she grabs a small, fat collection of pages that have information about the local stones. Using a minor spell from her apprentice days, Nyx tries to look through both books at the same time before giving up and pushing them away. Her eyes are about to cross before she rapidly blinks them back into focusing on a single object instead of two. Feeling defeated, the channeler leans back to stare at the ceiling and tries her best to clear her head of several conflicting thoughts.

  “I was hoping to find a hint on the crowns since every ruler has had a unique design, but they’re always made of the same material,” Nyx explains while closing her eyes. With nothing distracting her, she finds that she has an easier time visualizing the information. “All I proved is that the jade came from Aintaranurh and it’s a type that isn’t found anywhere else, which I’m sure you already know. Maybe the trial your rulers go through is only on the first floor of the temple, so the real dangers are unknown. It would be strange for the Snow Tiger Kings and Queens to go through the same challenges as a champion. That would either ruin the test for us or open the lower levels to our enemies. I feel so useless here.”

  “Well you’re banned from the courthouse and you can’t do much to help Luke with his hunting. Perhaps you should take this time to relax,” Cyrus suggests while looking through the crown book. He reaches the end and scratches his head, but shrugs instead of mentioning what has given him pause. “It might not put you at ease, but I wouldn’t worry about the dangers of this temple. You told me that you’ve already defeated three of them and you had previous information for only one of those. The other two were tackled in ignorance and all of you made it out alive. Have some faith in Timoran too. He might not use it often, but his brain is much quicker than you’d think. Although it might take a few hard knocks to get it focused.”

  “I know Timoran is smart and wise,” the channeler replies, standing to stretch her legs and lower back. Hopping on her toes, the young woman fights to overcome a mild case of pins and needles in her feet. “I want to feel like I’m doing something. Dariana told me that yesterday didn’t go well. She questioned a few witnesses who had similar answers, which she was able to bring a little doubt into. Then King Edric crushed her because everyone sees him as the only true witness and he never faltered with his responses. The reenactment is today and then I don’t know what Dariana is going to do.”

  Cyrus glances over his shoulder to see if the small class is still there and is relieved to see that they have moved to another room. “I’m saying this as someone who respects the King and is loyal to Timoran. In order to win against a smart and confident opponent, you need to make them doubt themselves. Forget about convincing the jury that Edric is lying. If you make him feel unsure of his own answers or get him to be openly defensive then you’ll whittle away his influence. Dariana does understand this, but I think she’s depended on her mental powers for too long. She doesn’t realize that she needs to strike with words that everyone can hear. Am I making any sense?”

  “Sort of. We need to get Edric to stumble.”

  “Yes and it might be easier than you think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Said too much already, so I’m going to put this book back.”

  Humming his favorite battle hymn, the barbarian knocks over the thin book of crowns as he returns to the shelves. Nyx leans against the railing as she opens the book to King Edric’s page, but she does not see anything out of the ordinary. His jade circlet is similar to others with only a few cosmetic differences between each one. It takes her several minutes of browsing through the book to realize that there is something strange about his crown. She rapidly flips through the tome a few times to make sure her eyes are not playing tricks on her. By the time Cyrus wanders back to the table with a new book of poetry to memorize, Nyx is practically vibrating with excitement.

  “The crowns are the same,” she whispers, not wanting to draw any attention to them. She points at the crowns of Edric and Melich, the simple circlets sitting side by side. “I didn’t realize this because I was only focusing on clues to Aintaranurh. Every ruler of the Snow Tiger Tribe has received a piece of jade from the temple and they turned it into a personalized crown. There has never been a copy because there’s always a slight difference. In fact, I think former rulers studied this book to make sure they didn’t make a duplicate. Since there are signatures, I assume they’re the ones who draw and insert their page into the book. With these two at the end, people will see differences that aren’t there because that is what they expect. I have a very difficult question, Cyrus. Where are the former rulers buried?”

  The heavily tanned barbarian becomes a little pale at the question, surprised by the insinuation that the channeler is making. “I never considered what you’re thinking, so I’m rather uncomfortable. To think a wise man like Edric did something so dishonest is difficult. To answer your question, our fallen rulers are buried in the hills around Aintaranurh. Please tell me you aren’t implying that Edric stole Melich’s crown from his grave. I merely wanted to direct you to this and use it to rattle him on the stand.”

  “What did you think he did?” Nyx asks, putting a comforting hand on the man’s wrist. She smiles at the sweating barbarian and reaches up to pat him on the cheek. “I’m sorry to do this to you. I hope I’m wrong, but this is a strong possibility. Tell me what you think happened and maybe that will ring truer.”

  “It won’t because your idea makes too much sense,” Cyrus replies as he slumps into a chair and stares into the distance. The sight of a large bird drifting into a thick gathering of clouds brings a faint smile to his face. “I thought Edric merely copied the crown after getting his piece at Aintaranurh. The obvious reason he would do that is because we were falling into disarray after the battle and he didn’t have time to design anything new. Bringing this up in public would imply that he has no original thoughts, so it could be insinuated that his testimony was copied from someone else. With the addition of doubt and his damaged reputation as a witness, one can assume that he added his own twist to it like the others.”

  “Makes sense and I hope you’re right.”

  “I’ve a feeling I’m not.”

  “This would also imply that he never went to Aintaranurh.”

  “And that he is not a true King.”

  Nyx puts her extra bottle of mead on the table and slides it to Cyrus before going in search of the librarian. She glances back at her companion to see how he is taking the revelation, a pain in her chest making her stop. The honorable barbarian is trying to help his childhood friend, but now he finds himself uncovering the dark secret of his respected leader. Nyx cannot stop herself from feeling sorry for Cyrus and considers leaving this new information in the shadows. She sees him abruptly sit up and stare over the railing, his keen ears picking up the chants of those who want Timoran to be executed immediately.

  “That man is conflicted and I cannot blame him,” the librarian says as he walks around the corner of a shelving unit. With a toothless grin, the bearded elder rubs his ears to answer Nyx’s silent question. “These work just fine, Near God. In fact, they’re better than most. Now Cyrus want
s to save his battle brother, but it pits him against his king and teacher. Timoran is in the same boat. Those two always had more honor and loyalty than brains if you ask me. I guess you want the list of those who have traveled to Aintaranurh. That way you’ll see if Edric is on there or not.”

  “I didn’t know there was a list,” Nyx replies as she cautiously watches the librarian. She relaxes when the man hands her a battered scroll tied with green ribbon. “Thanks, but I’m sure Edric is on there. Otherwise, you would have known something was wrong. Since you’re giving this to me, I can assume you’re not an agent of his.”

  “True, but that scroll mentions everyone who went there. Not just the person who goes inside to face the challenge,” the elder explains while he unties the ribbon. The fabric is warm to his touch and he can feel a tickling along his fingertips, forcing him to rubs his hands. “No idea who updates the thing, but this ribbon changes color whenever new names are added. I became the librarian when King Melich took the throne. In all these years, the ribbon has changed three times and all within the same week. Raises some strange questions.”

  Nyx opens the scroll and skips to the last three entries of the list, which are four names with only one of them repeated. There is no way to tell who actually went into Aintaranurh or what happened since it is nothing more than the names. Yet the combinations bring such a startling mystery to the situation that the half-elf is practically shaking with excitement. She considers ignoring the middle entry, but writes down the information for later. Gently rolling up the scroll, she hands it back to the librarian and hurries back to the table where Cyrus is watching the crowd below.

  “What did you find?” he asks when he sees her start writing a hasty note. The blurring speed of the channeler’s hand makes him dizzy and his nose wrinkles at the smell of smoke wafting off the pencil. “I saw the librarian hand you a scroll and you gave it back pretty quickly. Did you find something important for your adventures?”

  “No, but I think I find the information needed to get Timoran out of trouble,” Nyx replies before she finishes her message. Sloppily folding the parchment, she hands it to Cyrus and takes a long sip of her drink. “Get this to Dariana immediately. They won’t let me inside the courthouse, so I need you to do this for me. I can’t promise that Timoran and Edric will come out of this with their reputations intact, but they will survive. Much of it depends on the King’s responses and Dariana asking the right questions, so whisper that to her. Please make sure that the sheriff doesn’t overhear you too. I know I’m asking for a lot and I’m rambling, but I really need your help, Cyrus.”

  The barbarian takes the message and tussles the half-elf’s hair. “You can trust me, Near God. I would never let Timoran or any of his friends down. After all, he’s my battle brother and that makes you part of my family too.”

  Cyrus runs for the doorway and can be heard bounding down the steps, the large man’s footsteps echoing up the stairwell. Nyx goes to the railing to watch the street and sees that the crowd has grown even bigger than when last she looked. Even from so far away, she can feel the thick tension in the air, which makes her feel like they are nearing the end of the trial. With all of the fresh knowledge rattling in her mind, Nyx knows it is only a matter of time before the entire landscape of Stonehelm is thrown into chaos.

  *****

  Dariana remains in her seat while Udelia and the rest of the audience jump to their feet to applaud the reenactment. The telepath wonders if the barbarians know such a thing is not the same as theater, but she is starting to believe that the entire trial can be seen as a show. She no longer feels hampered by the binding of her powers since many of the witnesses have been easily undone with a few simple questions. Most of them claim to have seen Timoran and General Godric fighting near each other, but nobody has confidently admitted to seeing them battle each other much less the deathblow. All witnesses who make the attempt have been unable to keep their facts straight and routinely mix up injuries. So far, her personal favorite is the swordsman who swore Timoran beheaded the General, which Udelia ended up angrily denying before Dariana could speak. The only witness that has made a clear and powerful statement has been King Edric, who went after the others and handled every question without a hint of confusion. Of course, Udelia only asked him to tell everyone what he saw before giving the floor, and no useful information, to Dariana.

  The longer this trial goes on, the more the telepath notices the toll that it is taking on her exhausted opponent. Bags are under the sheriff’s eyes from barely sleeping and, the champion assumes, a few bouts of crying. Udelia’s hair is knotted and her clothes are the same ones she wore yesterday, though they seem to have been casually washed. It is as if there is nothing else that matters to the determined woman besides winning this trial even though the verdict was probably decided years ago. Fiddling with the opal on her enchanted collar, Dariana wonders how many bitter memories are swirling in her opponent’s mind. While the people of Stonehelm want to avenge a beloved leader, Udelia is reliving the sense of loss caused by the death of her father and sister. Several times, the telepath has caught the sheriff glaring at Timoran, who has been quietly staring at his knees throughout the entire trial. It is surprising that the woman has not attempted to attack her former brother-in-law whenever the details of his supposed crimes have been discussed.

  “I wonder if this entire thing was for your benefit,” Dariana mutters while the actors gather their props. Turning to the jury, she can see that they are still paying little attention to the on-goings. “There’s no way to win this. If Timoran is found guilty then we lose a valued friend and the gods lose a champion. There has to be something I can do to get him out of here even if it doesn’t clear his name.”

  “That sounds illegal,” Udelia says as she approaches the shorter woman. The sheriff leans against the small barrier that separates them from the crowd. “You keep treating this trial like it’s fake and the verdict was predetermined, which is not entirely true. There was always a chance that you could win. Yes, I believe Timoran is guilty like many in the tribe. Still, there is nobody who claims to have seen the actual crime. The closest we have to a pure witness is Edric and he only saw the aftermath.”

  “You know all this and you continue pushing for his execution?” Dariana asks, keeping her voice calm and low. Two young guards arrive to clean the mess, the reenactors having gone too far with the fake blood. “I don’t understand what is going on here. You obviously hate Timoran and blame him for the death of your father. Maybe even the death of your sister. Yet you obviously know this whole thing is one-sided. How can you be happy with the way things are progressing?”

  “Nobody said I was happy about this, but I’ll take whatever comfort I can get,” the sheriff explains with a half-hearted chuckle. Crossing her arms, she crouches next to the champion and balances on her toes. “I do think Timoran is guilty, but more of running away than murdering my father. Do I think the latter is possible? Of course because tragedies like that happen when one of my people recklessly unleashes their rage. My heart tells me to hate him and believe he’s a murderer, but my brain remembers that the evidence isn’t clear. Edric taught all of us how to think beyond our emotions, which is what I’m trying very hard to do. I wasn’t his best student, so I still want blood. In my opinion, Timoran could have stayed, defended himself, and honored the bond he had with my family. Instead, he ran away to leave me to grieve alone and wonder if he truly betrayed me.”

  “Do you wish for him to die for that?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “But the penalty is death.”

  “I will petition to have it be an exile if you and your friends speak about his more recent deeds.”

  Dariana stares at Udelia, the telepath surprised by the barbarian’s words. She searches for signs of deception only to find it is difficult without her powers. Not wanting anyone to think she still has her telepathy, she averts her eyes and pulls at the enchanted collar. The sheriff’s
voice and body language appear to be genuine, but her aggressiveness up until now makes Dariana think she is being tricked. With her guard down, it would be easy for her to miss any evidence that appears in the final hours of the trial.

  “Thank you, but I’m still trying to win,” the champion whispers, patting Udelia on the shoulder. “Be happy that you’re fighting for your family’s honor. Please know that if you win, I’ll hold you to your promise.”

  The sheriff looks stunned for a few seconds before sighing and going back to her stool. Two people in the crowd reach out to stop Udelia and congratulate her on winning even though the trial is not over. They back away from the barrier when she growls at them and roughly frees her arm from their hands. The sheriff sits and patiently waits for the trial to resume, her attention back on Timoran.

  Something hits the back of Dariana’s head and she turns to see Cyrus trying to force his way through the front line of the crowd. He subtly points at the floor and mouths Nyx’s name before he is shoved back and blocked from view. Glancing at her feet, Dariana sees a crumpled piece of parchment with a few visible ink markings. She carefully opens the message while King Edric makes himself comfortable and takes a drink of water from an iron mug. With time running out, the telepath reads quickly and a broad smile crosses her face. Tearing off a separate note on the top of the page, she tucks the message into her pocket and slips the other part into her shoe while the crowd quiets down.