Hopping off the bed, Delvin strolls over to a standing mirror and carries it to the middle of the room. He freezes when the legs scrape against the floor, several neighbors groaning about the noise. With a roll of her eyes, Sari goes to stand in front of the foggy glass while her companion does his best to clean it with his discarded shirt. It leaves streaks on the surface, so he hunts for another handkerchief to finish the job. The gypsy impatiently twirls and spins on her toes, stopping only when Delvin clears his throat. Wiping sweat from his brow, the warrior stands next to the mirror and smiles at his friend.
“This is what people see. A beautiful woman from a people who have a reputation for being seductive and cunning,” Delvin explains, moving his hand up and down the rough wooden frame. Seeing a smudge on the glass, he licks his thumb and cleans her reflection’s cheek, which makes the gypsy giggle in amusement. “It’s the same as someone looking at Timoran as a savage or me as an expendable swordsman. None of the people whispering about us know who we truly are. Maybe it’s because you and Luke are the youngest of us, but you’ll learn that the opinions of strangers don’t matter as much as those of your friends and family. Yes, I know I let what strangers were saying drive me back to Yagervan, so use me as an example of what not to do. Anyway, these people will never know that you are a loyal, smart, powerful, and loving person that Windemere is lucky to have as a champion. All of us are happy to have you by our side.”
“I did things early on that I’m not proud of,” Sari awkwardly admits, shifting in front of her own reflection. She adjusts her nightgown and runs her hands along the fabric to dry it off with her powers. “Those are the events that are hurting me now. They make me think I deserve to suffer.”
“Remind me to tell you about my sins, little sister.”
“Little sister?”
“Well if I’m going to marry Nyx then I should get used to calling you that.”
Sari grins and rushes over to give Delvin a tight hug around the neck. After a brief moment of hesitation, she plants a quick kiss on his rough cheek. She can feel tension in the young man’s arms and wonders if she has gone too far considering their current state of dress. Looking into his eyes, Sari can tell that his thoughts have wandered back to the distant channeler. Whispering a soothing spell, she puts her companion to sleep and struggles to drag him to the bed. Placing her finger on his lips, the gypsy leaves the faint illusion of Nyx’s mouth on his to go along with the dream that she knows he is enjoying.
“Some days I think all of you are too good for me,” Sari says while grabbing her stiletto and returning to her own bed. In her absence, Fizzle has stolen the pillow and stretched his long tail across the entire mattress. “Then there are times when I think we were always meant to become a family. Move over and give me back my pillow, Fizzle.”
A puff of rainbow mist hits her face when she tries to move the drite, causing Sari to fall asleep next to the bed.
*****
As the sun peeks over the horizon, the three adventurers stare at the vessel that will take them to the southern jungles. The Little Sister has plain, white sails with no identifying symbols and the masthead is a fairly common mermaid figure. A series of openings are along the side, which Delvin assumes are portholes until he sees an oar emerge and dip into the dark green water. Someone shouts from the upper deck and the long pole is pulled back inside with the faint clatter of wood. As the tide comes in, the small ship bumps against the padded dock while its crew continues loading the last of the cargo into the hold. Some of the sailors pause when Sari arches her back and waves her hand at a nearby drinking barrel. A snake of warm water slithers through the air and slips into her shirt before churning to massage her sore muscles.
“I’m so glad this worked,” the gypsy groans as she relaxes. Not wanting to overheat, she sends the water into the ocean and takes a seat on a crate. “My back is killing me. Especially the lower region.”
“Well you were sleeping on the floor,” Delvin points out with a shrug.
“Thank you for not making the obvious joke.”
“What joke?”
“The one about big . . . so where’s the captain?”
“He’s the man by the wheel.”
Sari scans the deck, her eyes going wide when she sees the bulky figure. “What is he?”
“Captain Lunk Erovayn is a half dwarf.”
“What’s the other half?”
“Ogre.”
Seeing that his new crewmembers have arrived, the short and stocky captain makes his way to the nearest gangplank. He has an obvious limp that is caused by his right calf missing a chunk of flesh, an injury that he has proudly exposed by removing part of his pant leg. The sun reflects off his bald head, which is adorned with a collection of sea-based henna tattoos that range from an octopus to a coiled leviathan. His brown beard is thick and oily, the impressive mane matching the hair that covers his bare arms. The man’s barrel-like chest is protected by a vest of leather armor that has several daggers dangling from polished rings. A massive cutlass is on his hip and the battered hilt shows that it has seen many battles. There is a cold spark in his hazel eyes as he extends a hand toward Delvin and takes in the sight of the blue-haired gypsy.
“She doesn’t look like much, but the boss said you’re a package deal,” Captain Erovayn says in a gravelly voice. He leans forward to examine Fizzle, the drite politely waving with his tail. “I won’t put the dragon to work since I’m not stupid enough to bark orders at one of his kind. You two are a different story. Mr. Cunningham, I want you to put your belongings in the crew quarters and help out with the morning’s heavy labor. I’m sure a warrior like yourself won’t have any problems with a little sweat. Though I’ve also been told you’re a decent cook, so maybe I’ll put in the kitchen for our first day out and see what you can do. I lost my last cook to another captain who had the gall to propose to her. I’d have clocked him in the jaw if he wasn’t my new son-in-law.”
“I’ll help wherever you need me,” Delvin promises, raising his hand for a salute. The old sailor chuckles and forces the other man’s arm down. “Sorry about that, sir. Force of habit when I’m taking orders. My friend here is part naiad, so she can help with the tides and anything else that can make us move swiftly.”
Sari clears her throat and bows with her arms across her chest, a gesture she hopes is accepted as respectful. “I can see that the captain already has two Waverunner halflings on board, so he doesn’t need me for those jobs. His real worry is that an attractive gypsy will be a source of distraction or trouble. I swear on Cessia the Luck Goddess that I will be on my best behavior. This journey is much too important for me to jeopardize it by having fun with your crew.”
“That’s a concern, but I’ve been assured that you will be kept occupied,” the hairy man states, nodding to someone who is approaching from the city. “We’re escorting the Little Sister’s new owner back home and dropping you off along the way. You’ve been assigned to cater to this noble’s needs and wants. Basically, you’re a servant for the duration of your voyage. She promises to keep you busy and out of trouble. Though the young lady was grinning and laughing when she said it.”
“She?” Sari asks as the gypsy turns to face the source of the slender shadow that has appeared between her and Delvin. The young woman’s heart sinks for a second before she angrily glares at the familiar figure. “Damn you, Gabriel! Find another mortal to mess with and leave me alone.”
Clothed in a billowing dress of amber fabric that hangs heavy around the skirt, Kira Grasdon gives the shocked gypsy a hug. Her black hair falls down to her waist, a blazing streak of red running down the center and continuing along her exposed back. The bronze-skinned woman releases Sari and gives Delvin a friendly kiss on the cheek before extending an arm so that Fizzle can perch on her wrist. The drite delicately climbs to her shoulder, not wanting to damage the heiress’s gold and diamond bracelet. Kira nods to Captain Erovayn, who goes back to the ship and barks a steady stream of
orders to his crew. With a wide smile, she enjoys the open-mouthed expression on Sari’s face and the way her the gypsy’s hands move as if to draw the daggers hidden in her sleeves.
“Nyx asked me if any of my ships were close enough to give you a ride,” Kira says, drawing an apple from her ivory-colored purse and handing it to Fizzle. His first bite sends a glob of juice onto her cheek, which she delicately wipes away with an embroidered handkerchief. “I was in Hero’s Gate, but it was easy to travel back here and lend a hand. Glad to see you kept your promise, Delvin, and didn’t warn her about the surprise. I do enjoy making my old rival uncomfortable.”
“I’m not your rival any more, Grasdon,” Sari states, flicking a small ball of ice at her fellow champion’s head. Delvin leans away from the tiny projectile and hurries toward the Little Sister, but he is knocked off the gangplank when an unexpected surge rocks the ship. “Since we need the ride, I’ll be nice and act like a proper servant. Though I will get revenge for any humiliation you inflict upon me, so don’t push your luck.”
The heiress casually lifts the edge of her skirt to reveal the chain and sickle weapon that is strapped to the fabric. “As you can see by my dress and the terrible location of my weapon, I have to act like a proper noblewoman for now. After all, I’m the head of a powerful merchant house and very few of my fellow elite have accepted the idea of me being armed. Truthfully, some of my older peers are rather archaic in their thoughts toward women and weapons. It would also be embarrassing for me to be petty, so you can remove the spell from your lips. The tip of your tongue always sticks out of your mouth before a casting, which one wouldn’t see in the heat of battle or with your kissing tactics. Now, we will be sharing a room to make sure you are at my beck and call every second of the day. Be prepared to work, Sari.”
“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 friend
s 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.”
Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) Page 6