“You knew something like this would happen?” Udelia asks in surprise. She backs away when the muscular ruler crushes the brush in his fist, the air of a wise ruler replaced by one of an edgy warrior. “I’m sorry, but this trial is very personal to me. Not knowing your concerns prevents me from doing my job to the best of my ability. I know you told me that my role in this trial would stop me from acting as sheriff while in the courthouse, so there are things you are not able to tell me. Yet this is information that should have been shared. I could have prepared for someone like her.”
“I did not know her specific abilities, so I kept my concerns to myself until I had more information,” the King replies, smiling at his former student. Putting on his cloak, the man takes the sheriff’s wrists and maintains enough pressure to prevent her from escaping. “I do know about your emotional investment in this trial. Your natural rage is being tested and I trust you to keep it under control. If you wish, I will give you access to my personal practice room to unleash your temper. Please do not make things any more difficult than they already are because you are the only one I trust to do this job.”
“Thank you, sir. I will do my best.”
“That is all I ever ask for.”
With his booted feet pounding on the floor, the guard returns with a small box made out of chestnut and bronze. The carving of a swan is on the top of the curved container, which is carefully handed to Edric. Giving a firm tap to the other man’s shoulder, the Snow Tiger King sends the guard to close the doors and remain in the hallway. Once they are alone, he presses the sides until her hears a small click and the box splits in half to reveal its contents. The pink ribbon is an inch wide and has a white opal sewn into its center, the gem shifting like it is made of living fog. Udelia is surprised when the piece of jewelry is placed in her hand and a tremor of energy tickles her wrist.
“Our tribe has collected many enchanted objects over the generations. Most of them are from fallen enemies who thought magic could defeat us,” Edric explains while politely guiding the sheriff toward Dariana. He puts his other hand on the champion’s arm and squeezes with the intention of keeping her calm. “I spent many years researching and testing these items to see if any of them could be used for our benefit. Entirely in a peaceful capacity, of course. Now this one prevents the use of all mind-based powers and spells when worn around the neck. It is attached by another agent who is the only one capable of removing it. Removal is done either willingly or when one of the two dies. The person wearing the necklace is unable to kill or attack the person who put it on them.”
“It’s called a psychic leash,” Dariana states while turning down her shirt collar. She moves her hair out of the way to make it easier for the ribbon to be put around her neck. “I’m willing to go along with this for Timoran’s sake. Though you should know that my friends won’t be happy if you refuse to remove the artifact.”
“You have our word that this is only for the length of the trial,” the Snow Tiger King replies with a small bow. Stepping away from the two women, he takes his crown off a marble bust of himself and places the jade circlet on his head. “It is a simple item to activate, Udelia. You put it around Dariana’s neck, which will cause the ribbon to fuse and tighten. I believe it was designed to be used without the target’s permission, so there is nothing else to do. The leash has already connected to your aura and will do the same to Dariana once it locks into place.”
Palms sweating and eyes barely open, the sheriff carefully puts the enchanted collar around the telepath’s neck. She feels a burst of cold on her knuckles as the ribbon merges and becomes an unbreakable circle of shimmering fabric. The opal sizzles and hisses while bonding to the potent energy of its new host, the color rapidly shifting until it stops on a metallic blue. A spark sputters from the edge, making the barbarians fear that it the artifact is about to burst. The collar stops when Dariana takes a deep breath and drops her natural defenses to complete the connection. Udelia rubs at her wrists and wiggles her fingers to undo the tickling sensation that reminds her of ants crawling on her skin.
Getting used to the faint tightness around her neck, Dariana remains motionless and struggles to discern why the world feels wrong. Her muscles are stiff and her brain is engulfed in a fog, but both steadily return to normal as she bounces on her toes. Even with full control of her body, the champion can tell that something is different and her movements are not as graceful as they should be. Dariana keeps a straight face and maintains her confidence when she realizes that all of her powers are gone. She had hoped that only her telepathy would be blocked, but every psychic trick that she has developed over the centuries has been taken away. The anxious woman slowly realizes the initial change has made her so unbalanced that she fears toppling over or launching into the sky with a single step. It dawns on her that the constant barrage of voices that has always been scratching at the edge of her senses is gone. For the first time since she was a screaming infant, Dariana is unable to touch the minds of others and she finds herself left in the grip of a choking isolation.
“Now that everything is settled, we can return to court,” Edric states while walking toward the entrance. He stops and watches Dariana tug at the ribbon, the woman practically gasping for air. “Will you be okay? We can give you some time to adapt to the leash. Udelia can do the opening statement that she refused to make yesterday.”
“I’ll be okay,” Dariana replies while rubbing her temples. Believing she no longer needs its protection, she slips the clear ring off her finger and puts it in her pocket. A shiver, as if something is creeping up her spine, makes her return the ring to its rightful place. “I must admit that this is the first time in my life that I’ve been without my powers. Yet this discomfort is worth it if I can help my friend. He would do the same for me.”
A whimsical smile on his face, the broad-shouldered ruler enters the hallway and nods to the two guards who start to walk ahead of him. It is not long before Dariana trails at the back of the small group, her powers no longer maintaining her peak physical condition. She is amazed at how her legs quiver if she tries to move too quickly, the barbarians having longer strides than the telepath. Feeling sorry for the weakened champion, Udelia slows down and pretends they are taking their time. She waves to Edric when he looks over his shoulder and sees how far behind they have fallen.
“I have to admit that your actions impress me,” Udelia whispers, handing a flask of water to Dariana. Putting her hands in her pockets, the sheriff refuses to take the container back. “Keep drinking to prevent your muscles from locking up. Seems you never had to worry about physical conditioning, which I find strange. Don’t panic or you’ll hyperventilate. It won’t do Wrath any good if you pass out or have to be brought to the healers.”
“Thank you for your concern.”
“You’re welcome, but I only want to make sure there are no more delays. Justice can’t be found without you.”
Dariana chuckles and tries to read the other woman’s mind out of habit. Without her powers, she is unsure if Udelia is being genuine or resents her for being so integral to the trial. Unable to know the difference makes the telepath fear that she is no longer fit to defend Timoran. With no other ideas in her panicking brain, she prays to every god for clarity of mind and the strength to see this challenge through to the end. The only response she gets is a chorus of laughter and muttered insults, which she is sure will continue as her distant family watches her stumble and flail like an average mortal.
8
“We would like to hire a boat and guide to go here please,” Delvin tells the tattooed dock master of Anpress. He runs his finger along a crude map that he made by using various charts and the Compass Key that is safely hidden beneath his sweat-stained shirt. “I think there’s a flattop mountain at the end of this river. Though I’m not sure the river goes that far. This is my first time in the jungles. Do you know Tradespeak?”
The slender local’s eyes slightly dilate and he walks away from
the warrior to disappear into a small shack at the far end of the pier. Feeling he insulted the man, Delvin sits on a crate and watches the Little Sister continue heading into the distance. The lightning tinged clouds of a storm can be seen even further away, but he can tell that the bad weather is already following a path that will narrowly miss the ship. Fizzle lands on his shoulder and yawns, the humidity making his moistened wings move sluggishly in the thick air. The drite sees a basket of blue apples, but refuses to dart into it and satisfy his growing hunger. As much as he wants the tasty fruit, there is a tension in the atmosphere that makes him believe earning attention would cause trouble.
Sari is less cautious as she moves up and down the dock in search of someone willing to sell her supplies. Many times the gypsy blatantly flirts with the local vendors and captains, but most of them only give her compliments or threats. After an hour of haggling, the gypsy has only managed to buy four days’ worth of dried food, two empty waterskins, and a lantern that she now realizes has no fuel. Feeling defeated, Sari joins Delvin and balances herself on a rough-edged pylon. A large seabird, that neither of them recognize, lands on the pier in front of her and squawks as if she has taken its favorite sunning spot. Not wanting to look like a crazy fool by fighting a bird, the gypsy surrenders her seat and lets the blue-feathered animal settle on the perch. When Sari turns, she feels a violent tug on her hair and whirls around to yank her tresses out of the ill-tempered beast’s beak.
Unsure of what they should do, the adventurers take in the small village with its wooden huts, simple fountains, and barely clothed populace. Fringed by the thick jungle, many of the structures are colored to blend into the trees, which makes them impossible to see from sea until one gets within a mile. Delvin wonders how many of the huts are empty since Captain Erovayn told him that the sedentary population of Anpress is rather small. Most of the people who call the southern jungles home prefer to live inland where there is more protection from invaders and the coastal storms. With hundreds of rivers that run to the ocean, there is a bustling fishing business and the champions can already see a fleet of tiny crafts slipping out of the jungle for a day of work. They assume that the village is a useful port for trade, but the longer the adventurers look at their surroundings, the more they realize it has very little for outsiders.
A dull droning catches their attention, the noise standing out from the biting insects that Sari swears are really tiny vampires. Stripped to their loin clothes, a parade of dirt-covered people walk through the main street. A cloaked figure stands at the front of the line and another at the back, the two muttering prayers to several primal gods. The locals line the street in order to lick their fingers and smear the saliva on the faces of those passing by. The marching people continue to stare forward with no expression or reaction to their treatment. A blonde calico woman is nearly pulled out of the formation by an excited man, but she is immediately yanked back by one of her companions. Her emotionless mask shattered, she hisses at the cursing stranger and is about to attack when the line leader hits her with a dart. The calico steps back in line, her eyes glassy and her arms hanging at her sides.
“I think those are slave traders” Sari says, her anger flaring up. She is about to head for the crowd when Delvin catches her arm. “You can’t let them do that. At the very least we need to figure out what’s going on.”
“They’re not coming near the dock, so they probably aren’t slave traders,” the warrior softly explains while blocking the gypsy. The screech of a monkey causes him to glance at the canopy where black shadows leap among the branches. “We have to be very careful here, Sari. The cultures are very different from our own and we have no information about any of them. This isn’t like any of the other places we’ve visited. Getting involved in something that we don’t understand can get us killed without a chance to explain ourselves. Not to mention the beasts and other natural dangers of the jungle. For all we know this is a local custom and these people volunteered, which explains the crowd’s cheering and why they want to touch them. Although I admit that I wish Luke was here to translate what they’re saying. Anyway, the three of us need to stay alert even in a small village like this. Punishment around here is a pretty severe thing from the look of it.”
“How Delvin know that?” Fizzle asks, his narrowed eyes watching the monkeys. A growl rolls from his throat when one of the animals screeches and chaotically bounds among the branches. “Jumping shouters angry. Fizzle not like. Trees angry too. All of nature angry to survive. Not nice place. People not nice too?”
“More that they are brutal if you cross them,” Delvin answers before pointing at some ivy-covered scaffolding. It takes the others a few seconds to realize that a bleached skeleton is hanging by its ankles and has become enveloped by the fast-growing vines. “The cracks in the skull were made by a predator. Something tells me they left that person hanging alive and covered in bait for animals. Out in the open like that means public execution. Wish I could figure out what the person did, so I don’t repeat their mistake.”
“The man was a poacher,” the dock master slowly says as he approaches. He hands Delvin a slip of paper and a folded map, the latter drawn on a leathery piece of parchment. “We do not take kindly to people killing our holy animals, especially outsiders. The punishment is to be fed to the same type of creature you killed or one that feeds on that one. Keep the map and take this note to the cloaked woman at the back of that line. Not the one at the front.”
“Can you tell us what that procession is about?”
“Move quickly or you may meet the executioner instead of the forgiver.”
Sensing the urgency in the man’s voice, Delvin hands the note to Sari and they leave the docks in search of the cloaked figures. They see the parade going around a hut, which forces them to push through the dispersing crowd. A few of the locals practically dive out of the way, their fearful eyes locked on Sari and Fizzle. These strange reactions become more common as people, in their native tongue, whisper about the foreigners’ presence. Delvin can tell that they are scared of his companions, so he keeps his hand within reach of his sword’s hilt. Realizing that there must be around fifty people in town, he is thankful that the citizens of Anpress are more inclined to run away than fight. As word of the foreigners spreads, the crowd makes a wide path so that the adventurers can sprint after the procession.
Upon turning the corner, a trio of guards aim their spears at the champions and step back at the sight of Delvin’s drawn blade. The marching people have gathered into a small mob and stand quietly at the edge of a wide river. Boats are being placed in the water, each one with large bells on the prow that ring with every movement. More of the cloaked figures are planting stakes and tying lines to prevent the simple vessels from prematurely floating away. A few of the barely clothed people are weeping and holding hands, which drives Sari to cast a paralysis spell on the guards. The three men tense up and stare at the gypsy in pure terror while she tries to run ahead of Delvin.
“Stop it, Sari,” the warrior whispers as he catches her by the wrist. She easily slips from his grasp and continues toward the crowd with her friend on her heels. “This looks like some kind of ritual. You wouldn’t like it if somebody disrupted an important rite of your people. I know you’re angry, but let’s find out what’s going on before we make enemies. After all, this is our only way to get a guide. How did you do with the supplies?”
“The people here are better hagglers than I expected and I didn’t use magic, but we have enough to make it a few days,” the blue-haired woman answers, slowing down as she gets closer to the crowd. She notices that some of the ones who are not crying are laughing and one heavily scarred man is grinning with pride. “I learned that there are plenty of rivers for fish, which I can get. Fizzle can find us fruits and you can hunt for meat if you think you can do it without being called a poacher. Something is really strange here. I don’t think this is a ritual, but it doesn’t look like it involves the slave trade either.”
“May I help you?” a cloaked woman asks, her voice the only way to tell her gender. She bows to the foreigners while keeping her hands hidden within her billowing sleeves. “We are in the middle of sending these prisoners to the Judges. This is no place for outsiders.”
Delvin gives her the dock master’s note, which she politely takes with a smooth-skinned hand. “We’re looking for guides to help us get through the jungle. Our destination is a mountain with a flat top. The dock master said we could find help here as long as we asked the forgiver. Is that you?”
“Yes it is,” the woman replies while reading the message. A dainty laugh drifts from her shadowy cowl and she lets the parchment fall to the ground. “I gladly welcome you into our traveling party, but you may find the company distasteful. As I previously stated, these are prisoners heading for judgment. Murderers, rapists, thieves, and others who have wasted all of their chances. You may not want to be mistaken for one of them.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Sari interjects with a friendly smile. Leaning to her side, she looks around the woman to see that people are starting to board the boats. “For one thing, we plan on keeping our clothes on. If you let us borrow a boat, we’ll stay in the back. I assume these Judges can show us the rest of the path.”
“I’m sure they will, but I couldn’t say for certain.”
“Why not?”
“My job is to escort the prisoners to the start of their journey. I have never met the Judges.”
“So is it okay if we tag along?” Delvin asks while he watches the first of the boats get cut loose and float away. The hair on the back of his neck stands up as the vessel and its three cloaked passengers are engulfed by the shadowy jungle. “We promise to stay out of your way and take care of ourselves. If you’re unwilling to help then I’d appreciate it if someone could point us in the right direction. My friends and I are on a very important journey that will reunite us with our loved ones.”
Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) Page 16