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

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “I’m pretty sure we’re already in trouble, so let’s act accordingly,” the yawning warrior suggests before getting out of the pool. Pulling a towel out of his bag, he curses under his breath to see that it is filthy. Tossing the soiled cloth away, he walks into a patch of sunlight and keeps his back to Sari while he waits to dry off. “To answer your earlier question, I have a feeling there are multiple groups of Judge Feeders in the jungle. They probably interact with tribes and take criminals off their hands for a price. We’re seeing them gather together to hunt us down since we’re dangerous fugitives and us being alive is bad for their reputation. It’s also possible that they assimilated the surviving prisoners into their ranks. That scenario is a long shot, but I find it strange that those people simply vanished. Do you think this is more of a cult than an official system of punishment?”

  “I do now,” Sari admits while climbing out of the water. With a wave of her hand, she dries her friend off and wipes the remaining droplets from her skin. “The more I think about these people, the more they don’t make any sense. They followed the criminals down the river and hunted the ones that got out of the lagoon. We saw them kill the woman who escaped with a broken leg, but they never brought her back to the Judges. They just left her body for some scavenger to find. Something about this makes me think they only care about a high body count and their pets are simply one method of reaching that goal.”

  “So we stumbled into the path of a serial killer cult,” Delvin replies as he puts on the last of his clean clothes. He turns around to see Sari haphazardly tossing all of her skirts and tops into the pool. “What are you doing?”

  “Laundry, so throw your clothes in and keep talking.”

  Curious as to how she will clean the garments, the young man takes off his shirt and hands it to the gypsy. “Then it’s settled. We get some rest and go . . . No . . . We rest and bring them to us. I hate depending on you so much in these fights, but how much damage can you do with this water at your command?”

  Sari sighs and swirls the pool without affecting the living creatures inside, the animals surrounded by pockets of calm water. She removes all of the filth that has built up since they started their adventure, the dirt becoming a murky layer that is skimmed off by a wave of her hand. Liquid tendrils rise from the surface to hang the clothes on vines that run across the open roof of the grotto. Sari chooses her favorite yellow and blue skirts and a small, azure top to get dressed, the garments drying instantly. When done with the laundry, she continues to have the water take various forms and swirl around the area. Dancing among the bubbling tendrils and other figures that appear in the display, Sari has them converge on her body. With a clap, she sends everything back into the pool and bows to her companion.

  “You could have just said a lot of damage,” Delvin says with a smirk.

  “Where’s the fun in that, Cunningham?”

  *****

  Sari’s whistling tune carries through the jungle thanks to a spell from Fizzle, who lurks in the canopy. Wearing his chainmail, Delvin lurks in a deep crevice to the right of the entrance and keeps an eye on the gypsy. Sitting on the far side of the pool, she is bathed in crimson moonlight, which gives her a ghostly appearance. She flexes her fingers and gently stirs the water in front of her, the motion causing the animals to retreat into their hiding places. With her energy revived by sleep and a decent meal of tropical fruit, Sari patiently watches for signs of their enemies. It has been an hour since she began whistling and there has been no movement in the shadowy jungle beyond a prowling ocelot.

  “Guess they need more bait,” she whispers while closing her eyes. Several gestures create four blue and yellow silhouettes that faintly resemble her body. “Run through the jungle and lead our enemies here. Don’t forget to be flashy with your movements and continue whistling. We want them to think you’re me.”

  The illusions run out of the grotto, two of them flipping and cartwheeling as they get out in the open. They head in different directions and the waiting champions hear several animals react to seeing the ghosts. It is not long before there is more noise than Sari intended to stir up, but she holds her position and waves for Delvin to relax. Another hour passes and the red moon is hanging directly over the grotto when Fizzle slaps his tail against the stone. The gypsy remains sitting as a robed figure steps into the entrance and pulls back his hood to reveal a handsome, but stern, face.

  “Guiding us here was foolish, tainted one,” the man says as he scans the area for Delvin. He takes a small step closer and holds up his hand to stop his companions from leaving the nearby shadows. “Our quest is to rid the world of those who unnaturally share the blood of the purest beings. I can smell the aroma of fae on you and it is sullied by your human stench. You should have let the Judges eat you and return the energy you stole to the jungle.”

  “Wow. I didn’t expect that to come out of you,” Sari answers, hopping to her feet and casually brushing dirt off her skirts. She can see Delvin preparing to pounce, but he stops when she giggles and blows a kiss in his direction. “Now a lot of what we’ve seen makes sense. Those weren’t really prisoners and I’m betting there was never a forgiver in Anpress. We would have been sent to the Judges no matter who we spoke to. Not sure how you found me out, but that really doesn’t matter. All I care about now is that this is personal.”

  “Purity must be preserved in these days of-”

  The man’s voice is cut off by a clamp of ice that Sari throws over his mouth. The gypsy walks across the pond, creating little geysers under her feet to make it appear as if she is bouncing. When she is within reach of the man, she removes the freezing restraint and tosses it over her shoulder. Patting him on the cheek, she delivers a paralysis spell that forces his body to become tense and rigid. She does a playful spin to signal for Delvin to remain in hiding and wait for the main attack.

  “You and your friends are nothing more than bigoted psychos,” Sari whispers as she circles the robed man. Surprised that nobody has stepped out of the shadows, she draws her stiletto and waves it at where she thinks the others are waiting. “Everyone you killed were descendants of fae who decided to breed with other species. I guess some of them could have been criminals. Though I doubt being fed to the Judges was the proper punishment. Interesting how you have so many of my kind here, but I’ll wait until I find a trustworthy source before I look into that. By the gods, I suddenly want to toy with you until your friends come into the open. Too bad they’re refusing to come to your aide because that would end this quickly.”

  “We are disciplined and refuse to fall for your tricks,” the man replies in a strained voice. He forces his arm to rise against the paralysis spell and enjoys the fear on the gypsy’s face. “I have been blessed to resist your magic. A lifetime of training and special potions has made my family the natural enemies of the tainted ones.”

  “Why did you include my friends in this?”

  “Because drites are an abomination and the man is an acceptable casualty.”

  “I think I’ve heard enough.”

  With a flick of her wrist, Sari summons a battering ram of water that knocks the man back into the jungle. The twisting creation wraps around her as the rest of the cult rushes out of the shadows, none of them making a sound. She leaps backwards and creates a slide that carries her to the far side of the grotto, allowing her enemies to rush through the entrance. When all of them are inside and draw their weapons, Sari extends her arms and has the pool explode with scalding water. Many of the cultists are burned, but their fervor helps them shrug off the pain and surge forward. An icy pillar rises under the gypsy while giant arms stretch from the depths of the underground hot spring, each limb adorned with razor-like fingers. They swing and slice at the robed figures, who try to reach their enemy by using their blades to climb her pedestal. Only a few are killed by the attack while others are only maimed thanks to their resistance to her powers, the watery arms dispelling before cutting too deep.

  “Guess
your friend warned me,” Sari mutters before diving into the churning pool. She returns wearing icy armor that is covered in spikes, the gauntlets three times the size of her actual fists. “Thank the gods I finally figured out how to make this thing lighter. I won’t run out of tricks, bastards, so feel free to retreat.”

  The gypsy leaps and dances among the cultists, injuring several as she lets the long spikes do their job and focuses more on dodging. She uses her bulky hands for blocking instead of bashing her enemies, every blow leaving deep gouges in the ice. Needing more space, Sari tries to make her way out of the grotto in the hopes of using the jungle to attack from the trees. She is almost at the entrance when a dwarf hits her with a wooden hammer that shatters the armor. The impact sends her against the wall near Delvin and she holds her dislocated shoulder. Refusing to give up, the gypsy feigns a more severe injury and stabs a black-haired woman in the face when she gets within reach. Tossing the screaming cultist aside, Sari turns to see that the crowd is surging towards her. The hammer-wielding dwarf is nearly on the champion when his head tumbles from his shoulders.

  “I was waiting for you to ask for help,” Delvin says, his body glowing and his sword pulsing with energy. The cultists take a step away from the strange human, their acute senses telling them that he is not fae-blooded. “I know we’re supposed to be noble champions, but my compassion is really being pushed to its limit. How many of these proud murderers should we leave alive?”

  “Just one because I want the rest of their kind to know what happened here,” Sari growls with a smirk. A flicker of energy lances off the warrior and binds her shoulder to gradually heal the injury. “You really need to use these powers more often, Cunningham. How do you want to do this?”

  “I go right, you go left, and Fizzle starts in the back,” Delvin replies, cocking his head to the side. He senses a faint flicker of aura in the forest and grins, the brutal instincts of a seasoned mercenary rising to the surface. “The first guy is still alive, so none of these bastards are needed to send a message. A slaughter isn’t my style, but I really doubt they’re going to leave us alone if we play nice. You can see it in their eyes that it’s kill or be killed. So we’re going to have to leave a pile of bodies in our wake.”

  “You’re far too good at being intimidating.”

  “Came with the old job. Anybody want to surrender or retreat?”

  None of the dedicated cultists lower their weapons and the sudden offer galvanizes them into action. Enhanced by his powers, Delvin shatters a man’s chest with a strike of his shield and easily slices an elf in half. The warrior blocks most of the amateur attacks, but the ones that reach his flesh never leave more than a temporary cut on his arm or face. With her powers unreliable against the cultists, Sari settles for using her daggers and leaping among the cursing crowd. For the first few minutes of the battle, she focuses on maiming with slashes to limbs and any opening that she can find. As those around her slow down, the gypsy delivers lethal strikes to the throat and chest. By the time she has reached the far side of the grotto, twelve cultists lay dead behind her.

  “No hurt friends!” Fizzle shouts while darting over the middle of the crowd. He sprays them with rainbow mist that he ignites on the next pass, burning five of his enemies. “Fizzle not play games. Fizzle not ab . . . abom . . . what you say. Fizzle angry!”

  It takes fifteen minutes for the champions to finish off the cultists, the last of which attempts to stab Sari in the back. The robed woman is felled by Delvin shoving his sword through her side, death coming instantly to the gurgling human. Fizzle perches on the warrior’s shoulder and growls when an injured cultist enters the grotto. Blood is dripping from the man’s mouth and his right arm is mangled from where Sari hit him with the watery battering ram. Letting his zeal get the best of him, the cultist draws a dagger and takes a step toward the blue-haired champion. He does not make it any further due to Delvin knocking him out with a hilt strike to the side of the head.

  “I’m not sure if he’ll live long enough to tell anybody,” the brown-haired warrior says while easing the man to the ground. The shimmer of aura disappears from his body as he sheathes his blade and examines the carnage. “This is going to attract predators. Our messenger might get eaten before he wakes up. Any ideas?”

  “Fizzle make him safe,” the drite announces with an impish flip in the air. Wrapping his tail around the man’s ankles, Fizzle carries him into the trees and uses the vines to bind him to the branches. “Now only tree cat be threat. Not sure how he get down. Maybe heal bit before leaving?”

  Delvin does not hear his friend as he turns to find Sari shivering. “Are you okay?”

  “First the poachers and now these people. I . . . I’ve never done anything this . . . violent before,” she admits, her adrenaline fading away. The sight of so many bodies reminds her of the attack on her clan, which brings tears to her eyes and nausea to her stomach. “I feel sick. This . . . I’m no longer sure if we had to go this far. I was angry and scared and the emotions just took over. Almost like there was another voice in my head urging me to destroy them. There wasn’t any hesitation or remorse when I was doing it. I never knew I had that in me.”

  “We all have the ability to do things like this,” Delvin says, putting an arm around the gypsy and guiding her out of the grotto. The pair walk into the red-tinted jungle with Fizzle flying a few feet ahead, the drite glistening enough to guide his friends. “Let’s find a place to rest for the night. There are too many nocturnal predators in this place and that free buffet will bring them here.”

  “You don’t want to talk about it?” Sari asks, surprised at the warrior’s coldness.

  “I’m sorry, but now isn’t the time. We need to let everything sink in.”

  “Have you ever done anything like this before?”

  “No, which means we’re in the same boat, little sister.”

  She takes some comfort from the warm smile that she can barely see in the gloom. As they walk away, the blue-haired woman takes a final look at the grotto. Even from so far away, she can see many of the bodies outlined in the crimson moonlight. Her throat goes dry and she turns away, fearing that the sight will turn into another constant nightmare. At this rate, Sari wonders if she will ever be able to sleep comfortably again.

  12

  Tigris stares at the food that covers her table and reaches out to make sure it is not an illusion. Her hand wraps around a turkey leg and that tears free from the cooked bird with little effort. She takes a large bite complete with the oily skin and savors the taste for a minute before swallowing. After years of eating simple meals from whatever she has found in the wilderness, the sight of so many delicacies makes her mouth water. She looks at the shelves across from her to see steaming pies, the Feast Ring having placed items wherever it found space since the square table is too small for the entire banquet. Tigris slaps Lodur’s dirt-marked hand when he tries to grab a potato and points him in the direction of the kitchen sink. He is about to argue when she raps him on the head with a metal ladle, her aim perfect even though she never stops looking at the food. She wanders around as if in a dream until sitting next to Luke, who is resting on the couch.

  “If you were hoping we’d become friends then you made an amazing first impression, Mr. Callindor,” Tigris says, accepting an empty dish from Lodur. With a lick of her lips, the blonde woman heads for the table to claim her first course. “Make a plate for our guest, old man. I’ll save you the other turkey leg and the entire rhubarb pie. I’m more interested in the beef since it’s been far too long. Fresh rolls and plump tomatoes too. How many times can you use that ring before it needs to recharge, Mr. Callindor?”

  “It works only once every seven days and you can call me Luke,” the forest tracker replies while getting to his feet. He rubs at the bandages around his body, his hand coming away with some of the numbing salve. “Thank you for the healing potion and bandages. I really appreciate you fixing me up.”

  “You’re very
kind to forget that she’s the one who injured you,” Lodur interjects with a warm smile. Seeing the other barbarian move for his precious pie, the white-haired man leaps across the room and snatches the dessert. “It may be improper to eat my meal backwards, but I won’t give you the satisfaction of punishing me. Your father would never approve of such petty actions.”

  “Too bad he isn’t here to set me right,” Tigris snaps before grabbing a mug of ale and sitting on a cushioned chair. She claims a slab of beef that is dripping with sauce, enjoying the first taste that she hopes will last forever. “So it seems my husband has finally come home. This means it’s time for me to return to Stonehelm and reveal the truth. Can’t say my confidence is riding high considering the mess I have to make. I’ve been going over these events in my head so often that I can barely believe it all really happened. Why are you chuckling, old man?”

  “You think too much.”

  “That comes from years of being alone up here.”

  “I always offered to spend more time with you.”

  “Never said the isolation was a bad thing.”

  “Why do you mourn for a man who isn’t dead?”

  Tigris glowers at the grinning drunk while chewing on a warm, buttery roll. “I don’t want to have this discussion again. Every time we argue about this, I cry and you storm off. That doesn’t work very well when you live on a cliff, so things are awkward until one of us apologizes. That’s usually me since you’re too stubborn to admit when you’ve pushed things too far. Now we have a guest and you’re causing a scene.”

  “Then I apologize and stand corrected,” Lodur mutters before settling into a creaky rocking chair. Rolling his eyes at Tigris’s purposeful sigh, he claims some dinner from the table and places the rhubarb pie on the floor next to him. “I also agree that you’ve been alone in the wilderness for too long. You’ve no idea how to treat your elders with respect. The barrow wolves gave me a warmer greeting than you.”