Hungry and forgotten, Luke watches the barbarians continue to argue while he gathers two plates worth of food. He puts them on one of the coach cushions before getting a bowl of chicken soup, which he greedily drinks as he returns to the rest of his food. The half-elf opens his mouth to say something, but stops when he sees that the two are pointing turkey legs at each other. The amusing scene reminds him of swordsmen preparing to duel over a petty grievance. He can barely follow the conversation, which jumps from debating Tigris’s situation to complaining about Lodur not bringing treats back for her. The tone of the argument makes Luke smile and think back to the heated conversations he used to have with his father. Within a minute of the fond memories coming to his mind, the forest tracker’s eyes go wide and he nearly chokes on the carrots in his mouth. Taking a drink of water and beating on his already aching chest, he struggles to clear his throat and breathe.
“You’re General Godric!” Luke shouts, startling his hosts. Both of the barbarians stare blankly at him and attempt to laugh as if he has told a bad joke. “Don’t even try to deny it. You two bicker like family and I mean close relations. I’m talking either blood or he raised you from childhood. There’s an undertone that no matter what you say and how angry you get, you’ll still love each other. Also I get a sense of parental condescension from Lo . . . I thought your first name was Raynar?”
“It is, but I didn’t want to use my old name considering our situation. Lodur came from randomly sticking letters together on a piece of paper,” the old barbarian answers, putting a hand on his daughter’s arm. He gently pushes her back into the chair as he grabs his pie and stands to his full height. “You’re a very insightful young man, Luke Callindor. No wonder Timoran trusts you so much. I am General Godric and I was dead, but not for very long. Barely any time to enjoy Ram’s Garden before I was brought back to my body. That doesn’t mean I’m undead, so you can take your hand off the weapon. My heart beats and I age like every other member of my tribe. Though not very gracefully as you can plainly see.”
“How?” Luke asks, leaning over to see if Tigris is surprised. Trying to feign disinterest, the young woman is calmly eating her meal and subtly eyeing one of the dessert trays. “That’s all I can think of asking. It covers a lot of ground here. Don’t get me wrong. Great that you’re both alive, but my friend is on trial for your death and thinks he’s a widower. My head is starting to hurt.”
“You should tell him what happened,” Tigris interrupts after wiping her plate clean with a piece of bread. With drink in hand, she heads to a closet and begins packing clothes and weapons for their trip. “I need to get ready. Besides, I’m only a victim in this like everyone else. You can thank my husband and father for this disaster.”
“A fact you mention every time I visit,” the General mutters as he removes the jasper circlet from his beard. Holding it before his eyes, the stone catches the torchlight and shimmers like it is made of glass. “It all started with this. You can hold it since it’s no longer active. This artifact is called the Second Life.”
Luke takes the smooth object and turns it over in his hands, the half-elf expecting it to do something. There is no sense of magic in the heavy circlet, which makes him wonder if he is being tricked. Running his thumb along the mottled stone, he feels a few random grooves that are invisible to the naked eye. Bringing it close to a nearby candle reveals pieces of runes that were once etched into the stone. Luke finds himself wishing Nyx had come with him, the channeler possibly being able to decipher some of the eroded sigils. The thought of her accidentally awakening a relic that is responsible for whatever trouble Timoran is in makes him change to being thankful that the channeler is still in Stonehelm.
“It takes twenty years for it to recharge,” the old barbarian explains, taking the circlet back and putting it on his beard. Returning to his chair, Raynar drags the seat across the floor to sit across from Luke and finish his meal. “The simple answer is, sadly, not that simple. I was killed in battle by Edric, but I would not call my friend an evil man. Rumors of the Bog Hare Tribe had reached Stonehelm weeks before we met them and he wanted to negotiate for peace. Not out of cowardice, but because he wished to save as many lives as he could. The death of King Melich was a devastating blow to his argument and I, as the military commander, rejected his pleas without a second thought. In his mind, I was blindly leading our people into an unnecessary war and would do worse if I took the throne. Poor Edric gave me every opportunity to try his path and I was too stubborn to give him even a single chance. To his credit, my old friend was one of the first to enter the battle. In the end, he stabbed me in the back as the fight died down. He told me that he was sorry and that my death was for the good of the tribe. Everything he has always done has been for the good of the tribe. I can’t hate him because I would have killed him if I thought he was a threat to Stonehelm’s future. Although I would have made a challenge instead of being underhanded. Guess he knew he could never defeat me in honorable combat. As you can imagine, I’ve yet to talk to him about the encounter.”
“So where does Timoran and Tigris come into this?” Luke asks while undoing his bandages and putting his shirt back on. He returns to his meal, wincing at the dull ache that is steadily vanishing from his ribs. “Everybody thinks your daughter is dead and that your son-in-law killed you. Edric doesn’t seem to remember anything. Either that or he’s a really good actor. If he is a kind person like you said then I don’t see why he would let Udelia suffer in ignorance for so long. None of this makes any sense.”
The General places his empty plate on a cushioned stool and rocks steadily while staring out the window. “The Second Life can bring a person back, but it requires a sacrifice from three people who were close to the deceased. Edric was my good friend and entered the pact in an attempt to alleviate his guilt. This cost him the memories of his sins along with his honor, which is why he stole King Melich’s crown and faked his success at Aintaranurh. Now he commits and rationalizes actions that he would never have done if the curse was not on his head. Timoran was my son-in-law and my most loyal student, which is why I wish he didn’t get involved. Yes, he was standing next to me when I fell and he ran away. He did so to get the Second Life, which I had told him about several years earlier.”
“But Timoran is terrified of magic,” Luke interrupts with a mouth full of yams.
“A side-effect of his inclusion in the ritual. He was always suspicious of casters, which was merely enhanced into fear,” Raynar replies, his voice filled with sorrow. Turning his head, the General can see the shadow of his daughter standing in the other room. “As the one who activated the Second Life, Timoran became the one accused of my murder. You see, the artifact doesn’t erase the death from history. It simply gives the target another chance to live. Normally, this type of memory twisting doesn’t happen, but you could say we did the ritual wrong. After all, why would one expect the murderer to be part of the resurrection unless they were forced into the pact? Yet, Edric was a willing participant and had his memories changed because of his grief. So the Second Life backfired on Timoran and forced him to run from his homeland and wife.”
General Godric smiles when Tigris enters the room and gestures for her to take a seat next to him. She grabs a tray of sugar-covered cookies before joining her guests and leaning against the table. She bumps the stool with Raynar’s plate on it, causing the dish to fall to the floor and crack. Before the cursing woman can start another argument with her father, he reaches over and takes her hand. The tears in his eyes make Tigris hold her tongue and realize that he is struggling to get through his explanation. It dawns on her that describing their curse to an outsider must be infinitely more difficult than debating the past with her. Ignoring the mess and not wanting to hurt her father any more, she sets on the floor and pats him on the leg.
“One of the three makes a greater sacrifice than the others. They lose their life, but not to death. People believe they’re gone, so they are forced into solitude,�
�� the white-haired barbarian says, squeezing his daughter’s fingers. It takes him several seconds to recover his voice, which cracks as he speaks. “Tigris disappeared and the citizens of Stonehelm believed she died in the battle. I essentially stole my own daughter’s life. Part of the spell makes it so that nobody recognizes me as long as I don’t touch the one item that would reveal myself to others. For me, it is a special symbol of my previous position, which now holds a spark of my aura. Beyond that, people believe they have known me for years while I live this new life. Meanwhile, anyone who stumbles upon Tigris will see nothing more than a shimmering phantom. It only works for those who knew her in life or were in the scope of the spell, which was all of Stonehelm. That is why you see her almost perfectly.”
Luke gets off the couch and paces around the cabin, grabbing random pieces of food as he thinks. The barbarians watch him carefully, hoping that he believes them and is still willing to help. Not having heard of Timoran’s battles as a champion, Tigris considers the half-elf’s loyalty no greater than those of a fame-seeking adventurer. She is prepared to argue with the young warrior until her keen ears catch him whispering about how to save her husband and end the curse. The General pats his daughter on the arm and rocks gently, closing his eyes to indulge in a few moments of silence. He is drifting into a light slumber when Luke claps his hands and returns to the couch with a serious expression.
“If they can’t see her as anything other than a phantom then how can she help?” the forest tracker asks before the old barbarian can fully awaken. His hosts seem unsure of an answer, so he sighs and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I want to help you save Timoran, but I feel like I’m still missing some facts. It’s nearly dawn too, so we have maybe two hours to get sleep and then we have to leave. Tell me what the plan is and I’ll get both of you down the mountain as quickly as possible. Otherwise, I’ll go on ahead right now and give you time to figure this out. Not sure how long I can stall Edric, but I’ll give it a shot.”
“The curses on those who sacrificed to the Second Life can be broken when all four are brought together,” Tigris answers, her voice quivering in uncertainty. She adjusts her polished bracers and tightens one of them that has come loose. “I don’t know exactly how it works. The Second Life planted the answer in my head, but it is like a dream that remains on the edge of my consciousness. If the resurrection turns out to be a mistake and any of the loved ones are in danger because of the ritual then the curses can be lifted. Edric and Timoran will regain their memories. I will be seen and remembered again. Everything will be undone, but it can only happen if I appear at the right moment. Any earlier or later and the curses may become permanent.”
“Which is why you’ve been living in the mountains all these years,” Luke states with a grim nod of his head. Gazing out the nearest window, he frowns at how Vir the crimson moon is already halfway below the horizon. “The right moment sounds like a point where emotions are running high. My guess is that the best time is when Edric has sentenced Timoran and the execution is about to be performed. Now you said everything will be undone. Does that mean your father will die again?”
General Godric coughs before his daughter can answer and rises from his rocking chair. The old warrior leans out the front door and takes a big sniff of the crisp air. A scent on the wind makes his blood boil and a long-sleeping roar echoes in his mind, the effect making his ears twitch. From the sounds and smells of the landscape, he knows that there are enemies marching on Stonehelm. A fiery glint erupts in his eyes at the thought of stepping onto a battlefield and fighting for his people one more time.
“If it does then it does. I’m not supposed to be breathing anyway,” Raynar declares as he crushes part of the frame in his iron-like grip. Walking to a closet, he opens the doors to reveal a suit of a platemail. A roaring tiger’s head is emblazoned on the breastplate and Luke can see the blade of a great axe in the shadows. “All of the gods know I’m supposed to be arm-wrestling Kerr in Eporwil’s tavern while my idiot of a son-in-law and my fool of a daughter raise my grandkids. I didn’t ask to be brought back no matter how much you blame me. So let’s stop talking and get some sleep. I smell a battle on the horizon.”
“A battle?” Tigris asks, surprised at her father’s statement. “I don’t think Edric will be that difficult.”
“If only it were him that we had to fear. Get some sleep.”
Without another word, the General carries his gear into a small bedroom and slams the door closed. Tigris is about to follow when she decides it is better to finish packing and clean the cabin, her anxiety making it impossible to sleep. A wave of melancholy strikes her heart when she realizes that this might be her last night in the small building, which has protected her for many years. Turning to speak to Luke, she sees that he has already fallen into a sleep-like trance that she does not want to snap him out of.
“Thank you for bringing my husband home,” Tigris whispers, giving the half-elf a gentle kiss on the top of his head. Picking up the faint scent of Timoran on the young man’s clothes, she lingers nearby and lets a smile play across her face. “I look forward to meeting your friends and fighting by their side. If they are anything like you then I’m sure Timoran has been in good hands all these years.”
*****
The midday sun glints off the axes and spears of those standing atop Stonehelm’s defensive wall. All of the warriors are at attention while keeping an eye on the army that has stopped at the far end of the valley. There are no tents or fires, telling the barbarians that the battle will be starting within a few hours. Nobody knows who the enemy is until several scouts return from their posts on the cliffs. Within minutes, nearly everyone in Stonehelm knows that the chaos elves have arrived with Queen Trinity at the head of their army. All attempts to contact King Edric have failed as the ruler remains locked in the courthouse with only his trusted advisors to help pass a verdict on Dariana and Timoran. Without any of the War Chieftains to give orders, the guards remain tense and alert in preparation of a chaotic melee. Many consider leaping off the wall and charging ahead to deliver the first attack, but the size of the chaos elf force is enough to keep them at bay.
“Lock the front doors and arm every able-bodied person,” Nyx orders as she steps onto the wall. The half-elf cracks her knuckles and stretches, her violet eyes searching the valley for her rival. “Send all children, elderly, and sick to the library along with two healers. If you have a more secure location then use that. The courthouse doors are locked from the inside and the windows are closed, so we’re on our own until the King finishes his business.”
“You mean Edric the Deceiver,” grumbles one of the soldiers behind Nyx. His head snaps forward and he whirls around to punch whoever slapped him, but pauses when he sees Cyrus. “I only speak the truth. You should hate him too for what he did.”
“I do, but this isn’t the time for pettiness,” the black-haired barbarian replies. He makes a small show of adjusting his wyvern scale bracers and drawing a long-handled hammer off his back. “We don’t know that for a fact that King Edric lied to us. Something is still missing from the puzzle and there are more pressing problems than searching for the piece. We have an army with the audacity to face us head on. These outsiders have given us no warning, no reason for their attack, and hence have shown us no respect. King Edric is the only one we have to lead us and that is what we will let him do. For all his faults and mistakes, we know him to be a wise and brave man. If Kerr bears any ill will toward him then the Barbarian God will judge the Snow Tiger King on the battlefield. Until that time, our job is to make sure our tribe survives and we will not do that by harboring grudges.”
“Well I’m pretty sure a grudge is part of this battle,” Nyx points out, her fingers crackling with lightning. A battle lust is growing in her heart, which ebbs from the tattoo that is throbbing beneath her crimson shirt. “Trinity and I have fought before. She’s another Near God, so leave her to me. I would like to reason with her,
but I doubt it will work. By the looks of things, she was sent here to destroy Stonehelm. She won’t stop until the job is done or she loses so many soldiers that she’s forced to retreat. Not unless I’m missing something.”
“Can’t she destroy the city on her own?” Cyrus asks, standing alongside the champion. He peers into the distance to see a solitary figure separating from the stationary army. “She has the same amount of power as you. Why does she need soldiers to attack us?”
“Because she’ll be too busy with me,” the half-elf replies, pulling a flask off her belt. She is about to take a drink, but stops and melts the container instead. “I can’t be drinking before this. I need all of my faculties, especially if I try to talk her out of this. Trinity and I have an odd relationship. Sometimes she’s trying to kill me and other times she’s working to keep me alive. I hope this is the latter.”
“It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
“I am because, like I said, I’ve a bad feeling that she’s not going to back down this time.”
“Perhaps there is a way to appeal to her benevolence?”
Nyx rubs her amethyst necklace and bites her lower lip when she sees that it is Trinity walking toward the city. “Amass your forces behind the wall while I meet her in the field. Don’t come out until her army marches. Even if she and I start fighting, do not attempt to make the first move. Chaos elves are tricky and vicious, so it’s best to let them initiate the battle. That way you don’t run into any illusions or traps. By the way, they probably have casters in their ranks. Keep your eyes and ears peeled for anyone chanting, doing odd gestures, or acting like they’re about to unleash a spell.”
Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) Page 26