“It’s all about the champion prophecy,” the forest tracker answers, seeing where the old warrior is going with his thoughts. Piecing together what has happened recently with what he knows about their enemies, Luke anxiously rubs his saber hilts and closes his eyes. “Trinity protected Nyx from Stephen Kernaghan. That has to be it. The Baron must have exiled the chaos elves from Shayd, so she’s trying to eliminate us and regain his favor. If he’s as cruel as his son then he might have kept their children and elders, which is why they’re so determined to return. This is bad. You’re fighting an enemy with nothing left to lose.”
“Imagine if such a fate happened to our tribe,” Tigris whispers, a shiver running along her spine. A whimsical thought comes to her mind and she cannot hold back a chuckle. “I don’t have to imagine it. Such has been my life for years. Always looking at Stonehelm’s gate and never being allowed to cross its threshold.”
“If that is the truth then I pity them, but they can’t be allowed to win,” her father states, returning to the edge of the ridge. Another eruption shakes the range, the rocs rushing away from a pillar of acidic flames. “Nyx may be the one who has to end this. With Queen Trinity defeated, her people will be less confident and hopefully retreat. The rest of us need only hold the wall and keep them at bay until our Near God is victorious. Hopefully that fight ends soon. Given my people’s history and prowess, it will be us who claim victory on the battlefield, but it will be at a great cost.”
Luke cracks his neck and quickly eats an apple, knowing that he will have to transform soon. “Then we should quit talking. I won’t stop you two from killing, but I’m going to try to knock out as many enemies as I can. Dariana might be willing to do the same if I can explain the situation to her. I understand you have to defend your city, but I want to minimize casualties on both sides if the chaos elves truly are victims here.”
“Now you’re just trying to make us feel bad,” Raynar says, slapping the half-elf on the back and knocking him to the ground. He helps the smaller warrior up by the scruff of his neck, noticing that there are already feathers sprouting from beneath Luke’s shirt. “I will try to find Edric and relay our thoughts to him. He may be able to think of a plan that helps both sides. Though I doubt it will be a true negotiation. Personally, I say we give those pointy-eared intruders a great fight and let them die as warriors instead of whimpering exiles.”
Tigris’s eyes widen when she picks out a familiar battle cry, her ears helping her pinpoint where in the crowd her husband is fighting. Not waiting for the others, she jumps onto the side of the mountain and races down the slope. Drawing two of her short spears, she uses them to control her descent and slow her speed enough to avoid injury. She jumps over small boulders and swerves around the larger ones, her durable boots not even scuffing from their horrible treatment. Leaping onto even ground, Tigris sprints toward the battle and disappears among the rocky hills.
Refusing to be left too far behind, Luke transforms into the griffin and hunkers down to act as a mount for the heavy barbarian. The beast grunts and growls at the uncomfortable weight until she rockets into the sky. With the force of their ascent, General Godric leans forward and holds on tight to avoid falling off. Explosions erupt to their right and they see the silhouettes of the channelers pass through a cloud that is only a few yards above their heads. Wanting to get away from the more destructive battle, the griffin goes even higher and punches a hole in the clouds with a powerful blast from her wings. She scans the ground for a few seconds before deciding on the best place to enter the melee, a battling figure drawing her attention more than the others. A roaring screech is the only warning the old warrior gets before the griffin dives toward the valley.
*****
King Edric stomps on a legless chaos elf’s head as the determined enemy tries to slice his ankle. Two more invaders pounce and are batted away by his spear, the pair landing on their backs and swiftly losing their lives to axe-wielding warriors. The formation of the barbarian forces has broken into scattered groups struggling against the crushing wave of cobalt bodies. It is a small advantage that none of the chaos elves recognize the Snow Tiger King, so they do not attempt to overrun him any more than the others. The chaos elves constantly push ahead as a solid mass, their true target the wooden wall that blocks them from the city. Backing away for a breather, Edric slams his elbow into a swordsman’s face and guts them with a tight swing of his spear. He roars at a pack of charging enemies, but they do not pause until Cyrus leaps in their way. The blood-soaked barbarian’s hammer bashes in the heads of three more chaos elves before two of his men charge in to finish off the others.
“We should fall back to the wall,” Cyrus announces while protecting the King. He whistles as loud as he can to call for everyone to pull back. “Not a full retreat, but we really need to regroup. We’ve lost three War Chieftains, so their men are working without a leader. This isn’t the type of battle for us to be sloppy. Our only victory is that the enemy archers on the left have been disposed of. I guess Udelia and Dariana are working their way to the right side of the valley.”
“With the wall at our rear, we can prevent them from flanking us,” Edric states, stabbing under his General’s arm to hit a chaos elf in the chest. He twists his spear to toss the enemy aside, making sure the dying warrior cannot finish the sneak attack. “Drawing them closer will allow our shot putters to get into the action. Do we have any crossbowmen left?”
“The survivors came down to join the melee fighting, but I can order the badly injured to join those on the wall,” Cyrus says, relaxing as more of their men gather around them and create a thick circle. The flood of chaos elves crashes against the formation, but the defenders hold the line. “Every time one of our warriors falls, it means there’s more of these bastards for the rest of us to fend off. I never would have guessed that chaos elves could be the most dangerous army we’ve ever faced. Why are we having so much trouble?”
“Besides their superior numbers and catching us by surprise, we are not fighting at our full strength.”
“Why not?”
“There is still distrust towards me.”
“Don’t the others know this isn’t the time?”
“A barbarian’s honor is easily wounded, but not so easily healed.”
Cyrus growls in frustration and vaults over his own men, landing amid the chaos elves with a wild roar. His hammer slams into bodies and he charges forward in the hopes of igniting the battle lust of his people. A few follow his example, but all of them are on the verge of being overrun before a burly figure crashes through the cobalt-skinned crowd. Cyrus calls for his men to return to the main formation while he runs behind Timoran. Knowing not to get too close to an enraged barbarian, the black-haired warrior handles the enemies that his friend fails to kill. A fireball arches toward the bellowing champion, its caster hidden somewhere within the mass of bodies. Crushing a chaos elf’s head in his fist, Timoran backhands the spell with his great axe and sends it hurtling toward the back of the invading army.
“We need to rejoin the others,” Cyrus says while defending his friend’s flank. He blocks a crude spear with his bracers, twisting his arm to catch the tip and snap the weapon. “I know you’re releasing some pent up anger, but we’ve been cut off. So let’s start hacking our way in the opposite direction.”
“Why are you pulling back?” Timoran asks, his voice guttural and savage. A sword cuts across his arm and he cleaves the attacker in half, the injury having no effect on the champion’s speed and strength. “We only have to hold out for Nyx to defeat their leader. More importantly, Luke has yet to enter the fight and he will be a deciding factor. Order the others to march forward.”
“We’re outnumbered and our morale is still damaged from your trial,” the General replies, lunging forward to knock three warriors away. Seeing an injured chaos elf crawling toward Timoran, he yanks his friend away and kicks the threat into the crowd. “As your battlefield commander, I order you to return
to the rest of the army. Do not make me carry you back, Wrath, because I will do it! Fight your rage and think clearly.”
The red-haired champion takes a deep breath as he slices through more enemies, risking a glance over his shoulder at his fellow tribesmen. They are holding their own against the chaos elves, but he can see that they are no longer a cohesive unit. Suffering from distracting thoughts, weapons of allies clang together by accident and the famous prowess of the barbarians fades before Timoran’s eyes. With a heaviness in his heart, he considers that his people’s spirits are still wounded from the Bog Hare Tribe battle to win a confrontation of this scale. Like him, they remember that the last war cost them dearly and left them confused. The difference this time is that Timoran is using the memory to fuel his rage while the others are letting it erode their courage.
“You see it too, right?” Cyrus asks, noticing his companion’s muscles relax. He starts clearing a path to the wall, moving slow enough for Timoran to walk backwards and guard their rear. “This is the first real fight we’ve had since that day. King Edric did whatever he could to avoid such confrontations. Many of us have softened, but I never realized how bad it was until now. This battle requires that we act smart, so drawing the enemy into shot put and crossbow range is our first goal. Unless you know of a way to ignite our brethren’s fire. After all, I can hear you chuckling for some reason. Then again, it’s possible that you’ve finally gone mad at the worst possible moment.”
“I hear approaching wings.”
The griffin’s call startles the chaos elves, their entire army pulling back as she lands between them and the barbarians. An armored figure climbs off the beast’s back and allows her to return to Luke’s form, his sabers already drawn. Only those on the wall watch the half-elf as he steps toward the invaders and causes them to back away with a stomp of his foot. Those on the ground are more interested in the man whose platemail is unmistakable with its tiger head symbol and dull color. Only Timoran and Edric recognize the face of General Godric even with so many changes such as wrinkles and white hair. Neither man can understand how they know this is their friend returned from the grave and thinking about the mystery causes an irritating tickle in their brains. The other barbarians simply wonder why Lodur is wearing the armor of a fallen hero, a few even growling at the thought of the drunk pilfering the royal graveyard.
“Why aren’t the chaos elves attacking?” Cyrus asks, following their gaze to Luke. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, he rushes to join his allies and keeps a tight grip on his weapon. “Also, is that Lodur wearing General Godric’s armor? For some reason, I keep thinking that’s really the old man, but it can’t be. What’s going on here, Timoran?”
“I do not know. If it is him then the tide of this battle is about to turn,” the red-haired barbarian answers, nodding to the forest tracker as he passes. He shares a wild smirk with his fellow champion, the pair excited about sharing a battlefield once again. “As far as the pause in the battle, I think the chaos elves are curious and scared. A new enemy has appeared on the back of a warrior that they are not sure if they should attack. Luke is considered Nyx’s little brother and she holds the same power as their leader. Focus and you can hear their whispers running to the back. They are wondering if it is wise to attack him and risk his big sister’s fury. Our pause is also allowing them to rest and regroup, which they need more than us. Our forces are small and wounded, but our enemies lack the endurance to handle a battle of this size. I assume this break will end in a few minutes, so we should get ourselves in position.”
As they get within reach of General Godric, both of the young barbarians are stopped by a solid, familiar grip on their shoulders. When the old man’s thumb grazes the chain around Cyrus’s neck, the legendary warrior abruptly becomes clear to the entire tribe. The stern-faced warrior gestures for his successor to ready their people, making sure to tap the medallion on his former student’s neck. The object shimmers in recognition of its previous owner, the residual energy of Raynar returning to his body to maintain its effect. With a smile and a salute, the younger General hurries to spread the order to advance while sending the more injured barbarians to the wall. He glances at the distant cliffs to see that Udelia and Dariana are patiently waiting above the final group of archers. Cyrus can only imagine how badly the sheriff wants to leap from the mountain and charge through the chaos elves. He makes a silent prayer to Kerr that she gets to speak with her father again, but fears that this battle will not be any kinder to her bloodline than the last one.
Timoran obediently follows his father-in-law through the parting barbarians, the pair stopping in front of King Edric. The confused leader stares into his old friend’s face and battles a combination of joy and hate in his heart. As happy as he is to see Raynar again, the thought that this man has been alive all this time enrages him. Noticing that the chaos elves are beginning to reorganize, he pushes the conflicting emotions away and focuses on giving his people the burst of morale they need. Edric embraces his old friend to prove his is not a ghost and lets a few tears slip down his cheek.
“I remember seeing your body. What happened?” the King asks, his shock still controlling his thoughts. He clears his throat and looks out at the invaders, determined stares returning to their faces. “I’m sorry. This is neither the time nor place to have this discussion. Are you here to lead us?”
“Right on both accounts, old friend,” Raynar replies, smirking at how the man who killed him has no memory of the crime. Gently pushing Edric away, he turns to get a better view of the enemy. “All of us have much to discuss, but first we must protect Stonehelm. Don’t dwell on my presence. Know only that I could not reveal my true identity until now. The magic involved has kept me masked from your senses for all these years. I believe I’ve already said too much when I have another battle to win. Care to rally the troops, your highness?”
“Just like that?” Timoran asks, refusing to shy away from the elders’ matching glares. “I am sorry, but you show up out of nowhere and expect us to fight alongside you? This seems like a trick or-”
“Keep talking, son, and I’ll use your head as a battering ram.”
“That is what my father-in-law used to say during my training.”
“He also said that he’d rather his daughter marry a dread boar than you.”
“I do not remember that.”
King Edric clears his throat and admits, “He said it to me the night you and Tigris became engaged. There was a lot of alcohol involved. At least two kegs of ale and four decanters of rum . . . for each of us. Now, are we sure that we are who we believe we are? The scrawny, blue-skinned whelps look ready to fight again. Nice that they are giving us time to get reacquainted, but my old body is getting stiff.”
“They are fighting to regain their master’s favor and return to Shayd,” Raynar says while they walk to the front of the small army. He draws his axe and has the sun glint off its polished head, the light dancing at their enemies’ feet. “These men and women are desperate, which makes them incredibly dangerous. None of them will fall easily because all of them are homeless exiles now.”
“That explains why they are here without provocation,” Edric states before he turns to his warriors. Timoran and General Godric flank him, the pair joined by Luke and Cyrus, who are cautiously watching the chaos elves. “We are outnumbered and our enemies are more determined than we ever imagined. They fight to regain their homeland just as we fight to preserve ours. Neither of us wish to die, but only one may see victory this day. I apologize to our enemies, but that shall be the Snow Tiger Tribe. Stand with me to drive these invaders back into the plains and cast the survivors into the wilderness. Give those who fight a warrior’s death so that they may know true peace. Attack!”
Two deafening roars erupt as the armies charge and crash into each other. Crossbow bolts and arrows fly into the crowds along with the occasional metal orb now that the chaos elves have moved closer to the wall. Barbarians barrel through en
emies with wild swings and stabs, the bulky warriors moving in pairs. Luke dives and flips through the mass of bodies, his saber hilts striking faces and the dull side of his blades cracking bones. When he is nearly tackled by several chaos elves, the forest tracker transforms and erupts into the sky as the griffin. She repeatedly dives at the army to send flailing bodies tumbling to the ground where many of them remain unconscious and groaning. The bedlam is so thick that the leaders of the barbarian forces soon find themselves divided and blindly battling through a mass of cobalt-skinned killers.
14
The squad of twenty archers fire into the crowd, their arrows finding most of their marks due to the barbarians being much larger than their fellow chaos elves. Two of the bowmen remain with their backs to the battle and their weapons trained on the higher cliffs. After seeing their allies disappear on the far side of the valley, they know it is only a matter of time before the enemy assaults their position. With her heart pounding in her ears, the squad captain tries to figure out where the inevitable attack will come from. Even if they are ready for the assassins to strike from above, there are too many boulders and ledges that can be used as cover. Taking a moment to fire at an injured enemy, the cunning chaos elf signals for one of her men to hide in a crevice. The slender bowman wiggles into the tight spot, making sure not to knock over any of the arrow-filled quivers that have been stashed inside.
“Wouldn’t they have to cut across the battlefield or run back along the wall?” one of the archers mentions while aiming at a barbarian. The shot hits the flail-wielding woman’s arm, the pain appearing to make her stronger. “Captain, I think it might be wiser to take a position at the top of the ridge. The footing might be less stable up there, but it would reduce the chances of an ambush.”
Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) Page 29