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

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “Fizzle’s been gone a long time,” Sari whispers from her side of the tree. A knife is balanced on her fingertip and she flips it into the air to catch it by the hilt. “One of those robed guys had magic, so maybe they caught him. Do you think we should start a search?”

  “If they catch Fizzle then that’s their mistake, so I wouldn’t worry,” Delvin replies while plucking a piece of fruit from a branch. He shudders at the sour taste, but the burst of energy is welcomed by his muscles. “I think I saw a grotto about half a mile to the east, but we have to be patient. Fizzle is supposed to return to this tree with a report. If we leave and he can’t figure out where we went then our problems get worse. My hope is that we can make a run for the grotto and rest. Worst case scenario is that we have to fight to it and make a last stand. How many groups are after us again?”

  Sari smacks at her arm where a mosquito is getting a meal, the bug splattering against her palm. “These things are huge and disgusting. Wish I knew why they keep coming after me and none of them have touched you. What was the question? Oh, I counted four groups. The robed people who sent us down the river, a pack of prisoners who are angry at us for some reason, a team of poachers who want Fizzle, and a tribe who think we’re with the third group. Amazing since we’ve only gone out of our way to annoy the robe-wearing psychos.”

  “You forgot the other tribe that’s angry at you for bathing in their holy pond.”

  “There wasn’t a sign to warn me.”

  “They gave you a way out of trouble.”

  “How about you marry the toothless elder and become his thirteenth wife?”

  Delvin laughs and reaches over to pat his friend on the shoulder, the warrior glad to have broken the tension. He stops as soon as he notices a figure pushing through the bushes, the glint of a drawn weapon telling him it is not an animal. Waiting patiently, he sees a man in leather armor briefly step into a gap between two trees. A curved blade is at his hip and a long spear is in his hands, the latter covered with dried blood. On the poacher’s back is a wicker basket with feathers and three-toed feet sticking out of the slits. Delvin is sure the colorful plumage is connected to birds that the man and his friends simply stuffed into the sealed container with no care if they live or die.

  “We can remove an enemy right now if we want,” Sari hisses when she notices her friend gripping his sword. The gypsy licks her lips and crouches like she is a jungle cat ready to pounce on fresh prey. “The penalty is death for them anyway. I say we drop down, take out the poachers quickly, and race back into the trees. There’s only twelve of them and we have the element of surprise. Not to mention all our other tricks.”

  “They had dogs too,” Delvin reminds her, his hand rubbing a heavily bandaged wound on his side. The bite mark is no longer bleeding, but the flesh has become itchy and tender as it heals. “I think we should wait for Fizzle before we take action. As long as it isn’t one of the tribes, we can fight whoever stands between us and the grotto. The robed people, the prisoners, and the poachers are fair game since they don’t have good reasons for hunting us.”

  “Fizzle done,” the drite says as he lands on a branch and materializes. The tiny dragon is shaking with excitement at his news and barely steadies himself by vibrating his wings. “Judge Feeders furthest away. Fighting mean ones. Not be problem. Tribe after Sari go home and other still hunt for animal killers. They too far in sun direction.”

  “Guess we got lucky,” the gypsy replies before handing Fizzle an apple from her pouch. She steps around the tree to stand next to Delvin, her legs straddling open air. “Do you have any plans? You’re stroking your chin, which means an idea is forming.”

  The warrior watches the poachers stalk through the jungle, each one carrying a dead or dying animal. Looking in the direction of the grotto, he sees that they can go around their enemies and easily avoid a confrontation. With the heat getting worse, Delvin knows he has to continue fighting without his chainmail and Sari’s naiad powers will be limited due to her fatigue. Going around the twelve men and women makes the most amount of sense to him, but he also knows that the poachers may corner them in the grotto. He doubts the spot is unknown to the small group who seems to know the jungle as well as the tribes. A more terrifying thought comes to mind when he considers that all of their pursuers might try to use the natural dead end for a camp. The idea of fending off four different threats in an enclosed space does not appeal to him, which is obvious to his friend due to his exaggerated exhale.

  “Best to take out one enemy before they join forces with another,” Delvin states, surprising his companions with his plan to attack. He moves his bastard sword to his hip, making it easier to draw in an instant. “Fizzle needs to hold back because they have gear that can see him when he’s invisible. Although if you see an opening then you should take it. Try to free any of the living animals too. I can be the initial threat that draws their attention. Sari will be the real danger as she strikes from wherever she wants and does what she does best. Now we only need to get rid of the dogs before we leave the tree.”

  “Fizzle do already,” the drite proudly declares while he finishes his snack. He hovers in front of his friends and uses a branch to shield him from the poachers’ view. “Dart in when not seen. Give dogs mist. They go silly and run away. Bad people not chase.”

  The warrior reaches out to pat the dragon on the head. “We’d be dead without you, Fizzle. I guess it’s time for me to start the fun.”

  Delvin waits for all of the poachers to pass the tree before climbing down and dropping the last few feet. He lands with a loud grunt to get the attention of the nearest man, who spins around with two knives drawn. The others are hurrying to join their companion as he drops his sack of squirming rodents and charges the champion. With a stifled yawn, Delvin unsheathes his sword and deflects his enemy’s weapons with his shield. A downward stab pierces the man’s shin, the flawless blade slicing through flesh and bone like they are paper. The poacher drops his knives when the sword is turned and bolts of agony rush up his body.

  “I feel obligated to give all of you a chance to release your catches and retreat,” Delvin announces while wiggling the stuck blade. None of the poachers obey his request, which makes the former mercenary grin wickedly. “Well, my conscience is now clean.”

  Not waiting for Delvin to free his weapon, an Elven swordsman rushes forward. The champion ducks the clumsy swing that connects with his first opponent’s neck. As the decapitated body crumples, Delvin hits the elf in the stomach with his shield and yanks his blade out of the corpse. Raising his shield, the warrior blocks the next attack and plunges his sword into his enemy’s side. He does a quick twist to snap several ribs and do more damage to the internal organs, making sure the swordsman is no longer a threat.

  A hissing panther leaps out of the trees and pounces on one of the other poachers, who screams and flails. The illusionary cat fades away as several daggers passes through it and sink into the terrified man’s chest. When a roar erupts from their right, everyone turns and fails to see a female archer get yanked into a bush on their left. A minute later, the woman reappears and rapidly fires at the others, the glaze of a charm spell over her eyes. She kills two of her companions and injures three more before a dwarf impales her with his spear. Before he can yank his weapon out of her chest, a slender arm lances out from a tree and slits the poacher’s throat with a stiletto. Sari drops her camouflage and steps into the open while twirling her blood-dripping weapon.

  Feeling trapped between the grinning gypsy and the stone-faced warrior, the five remaining enemies back away. Pausing their retreat, they jump when a purple blur slams into a young man with an axe and splinters his ribcage. Fizzle turns back around to strike him again, but is snared by an orc’s large net. Casting a strength spell, the drite rockets into the sky with the poacher trailing behind thanks to the rope tied to his waist. High above the jungle, the thick mesh snaps and Fizzle circles back into the trees. Unable to fly, the screaming orc
plummets and is battered by the thick branches until he smashes into the ground.

  “That’s going to earn us some attention,” Delvin says while Fizzle darts around to free the animals. The surviving poachers keep their weapons raised and one takes a feeble swing at the drite, earning a dagger to the side of her head. “These idiots will not give up. They’re all yours, Sari, while I go back into the tree and take a look around.”

  As Delvin sheathes his blade and climbs back into their former perch, the gypsy spins her stiletto and a recently stolen dirk. She fakes a rush to see if the poachers will back away, but they refuse to budge. When one of them takes a step forward, Sari sighs and undoes the tie on her skirts to let them fall free. As if dancing, she spins away from a thrusting spear, leans backwards to avoid a swinging sword, and flips over a mace. One of her booted feet bashes in the nose of a poacher before she lands and slicing the man in the stomach. Tripping him into the incoming spear, she blocks the third warrior and slashes him across the eyes. Sari rolls behind them and stabs both of her enemies in the back of the neck, dropping them at the same time.

  “Some days I scare myself. I mean, I don’t enjoy this, but . . . I really wish some of you had run away,” she mutters while searching for any gear that they can use. A blood-stained map catches her eye and she slips it into one of her skirt pockets before jogging to the tree. “I’m done down here. See anything from up there, Cunningham? Grottos have water, right? I’ll let you take the first bath in case we have to escape quickly. I can always clean myself with a puddle or a hollowed stump full of rainwater. Hello? You run into something up there? I’m starting to get worried, Delvin.”

  The warrior drops to the ground and grabs Sari by the wrist, pulling her along as he hurries through the jungle. He whistles for Fizzle to follow, the drite freeing the last of the captured animals and soaring after his friends. The tiny dragon is sad to see how many creatures are too injured to survive without help, but knows that he has to hurry to catch up. Pushing his tired wings, he comes alongside Delvin, who refuses to let go of Sari. The gypsy eventually escapes his grasp and regains her balance, but her shorter legs cause her to remain a few steps behind her friends.

  “What you see?” Fizzle asks, the trio crashing through the underbrush.

  “A lot of trouble,” Delvin answers while gasping and wheezing. He can feel the bite mark on his side starting to bleed again and the heat is making his muscles ache. “Just keep running and I’ll explain at the grotto. At least if we get there alive.”

  *****

  Cloaked figures wander through the roofless grotto, the towering walls of silver-streaked stone having many crevices to be searched. Some of the robed men and women stare into the murky pool that steams and bubbles from the underground hot spring feeding it. Glowing fish swim through the water, but none of them move as if avoiding large creatures. Broad-leafed plants are roughly shoved aside to see if anyone is hiding, but the hunters only find swarms of bugs and the occasional rodent that scurries away. Unable to locate their elusive prey, the Judge Feeders return to the jungle and mark the grotto on their map. None of them bother to look at the canopy where Fizzle is hanging by his tail among a family of scaly pangolins. The anteater-like animals keep the friendly drite hidden until he whispers his thanks and gently pats the biggest one on the side.

  Dropping from the trees, Fizzle casts an illusion over the grotto entrance to shield those inside from view. Anyone who looks without entering will see an empty dead end while the dragon and his friends rest for a few hours. Landing next to the deep pool, he pokes his head in to see Sari and Delvin camouflaged along the bottom. With no time to put on his enchanted chainmail, the warrior has been breathing by maintaining a kiss with his friend. Once they see Fizzle, the gypsy unlocks her body and the champions swim to the surface. Gasping and hacking, the pair settle on opposite sides of the pool, which is becoming clear and pristine again. The fish that once glowed return to their original coloration, Sari’s illusions disappearing without their notice.

  “No offense, but that was disgusting,” Delvin says, using a ring to pour warm coffee directly into his mouth. He gargles and swallows the sweet drink to get rid of the lingering taste of Sari’s lips. “The two of us have been on the road and eating whatever we find for too long. I’m sure it wasn’t enjoyable for you either.”

  “It was fine until you exhaled,” Sari replies after doing her own gargling. She hoists herself out of the water and dries her clothes off by running her hands along her body. “You need to do something about your cracked lips too. By the gods, I don’t want to even know what it would have been like if our tongues got involved. If yours is anything like mine then there’s probably a sticky film that you just can’t get rid of. It was the sour fruit we were eating from that last tree, wasn’t it?”

  “Fizzle say not smart,” the drite interjects with a yawn. He stretches out on a rock that is in the sun and lets his muscles relax. “Fizzle need sleep. Only Judge Feeders left. No see any tribe or mean ones. More Judge Feeders than before. Friends think. Let Fizzle sleep.”

  Without leaving the pool, Delvin strips out of his clothes and settles into the warm water to ease his aching muscles. The warrior puts his sword and shield in the sun to help them dry, their enchanted nature protecting them from rust. He scratches at the red-edged brand on his chest and momentarily wonders if he will ever get the hook-beaked bird symbol finished now that he has been reunited with his parents. As he runs a finger along the finished tail, he senses that Sari is examining the mark out of the corner of her eye. Sinking up to his chin, he leans back to use a patch of thick moss for a pillow and stares at the active canopy. A flock of small, blue parrots are in one tree that is festooned with nuts, which the birds deftly crack open and eat. With a gentle hoot, a tan gibbon pulls itself onto the edge of the grotto’s open ceiling and sways from side to side. The animal screeches at the presence of humans in its favorite spot, but the sight of the warrior’s sword causes the monkey to leap back into the branches. Delvin watches the slow-moving pangolins and is starting to fall asleep when he hears splashing in front of him. He forces his eyes open and glances over to see Sari settling herself at the other end of the pool.

  “Isn’t this too hot for you?” Delvin asks in a lazy voice. He rolls his head and groans at the pops in his neck. “The weather has been taking its toll on you, so I thought you’d want to stay in the shade. Also, I’m surprised you didn’t wait for me for to finish.”

  “I’m cooling the water that touches me,” Sari replies while gently washing her dirt-streaked face. Without taking a breath, she dips underwater and comes right back up, her blue hair now shimmering clean. “I needed this so badly that I couldn’t wait. Figured we’re too tired to be discreet and shy. Not like either of us have anything the other hasn’t seen. Besides, I have no interest in you and you have none in me. So we’re safe.”

  “Good point. You’re attractive, Sari, but I can’t even force myself to think of you as anything other than my friend,” the warrior says, reaching over to his bag and pulling out a small razor. Using his shaky reflection as mirror, he careful trims the messy beard that has grown on his face. “Any ideas on what we should do? It sounds like we only have one group of enemies left, but it’s the big one. They had about thirty when we ran into them after the Judges. I’m guessing they’ve at least doubled their forces by now.”

  “Where did the extra numbers come from?” the gypsy asks, craning her neck to see if Fizzle is still conscious. The drite is on his back and snoring, a steady stream of rainbow mist rising from his nostrils. “Maybe we should wait until Fizzle is awake. I took a map from the poachers, so maybe he can help us make sense of it since he’s seen more of the area. We don’t really have to fight these people, do we?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s just a cultural issue that we got caught up in.”

  “Possibly.”

  “I mean, they were only executing prisoners and we have stuff l
ike that at home.”

  “That we do.”

  Grabbing a brush out of her nearby skirts, Sari fixes her hair and watches tiny motes of dust float through the sunlight. A few bubbles pop on the surface of the pool and she squirms when something runs along her belly. Submerging her face, the gypsy finds several colorful creatures that must have gone into hiding when she and Delvin dove underwater. A bright orange newt is what walked across her stomach and she reaches out to see if she can pet the tiny animal. Scared of the movement, it swims away and warns its friends about the danger by sending vibrations through the water. All of the newts dart into small holes and behind rocks to avoid the strange intruder that they fear will eat them.

  “The others will come for us if they finish in Stonehelm and haven’t heard from us,” Delvin says when Sari’s head returns to the surface. He offers her a bar of soap, which she happily floats into her hand. “It’s already been a long time since we contacted them, so they’re going to be worried. More than likely, our friends will start in Anpress and learn where we went. Then they’ll go down the river and face the Judges like we did. I’m pretty sure Nyx can handle them within a minute once she figures out what is going on.”

  “Except there will be that first attack, which could kill one of them,” Sari states, knowing it is a fear that her friend wants to leave unsaid. Lifting a leg out of the water, she scrubs at the dry mud and scowls at her collection of bug bites. “So we have to make a statement to keep our friends safe. If these people barely survive facing two champions then four will be something they don’t want to cross. Not that Timoran wouldn’t be an intimidating figure by himself, but we should make it easier for the others to find us if we’re in trouble.”