“Fight hard, Edric,” Cyrus says, slapping the ruler on the back. He hands the man his spear and steps away to get a final look at his former teacher. “Funny thing about Udelia. She said this mess was all her fault. According to her, the truth and her father would have been exposed earlier if she had investigated you. Neither of you accept that there’s no changing of the past. It seems you and the General were always destined to fight in this valley.”
“Perhaps the gods are simply making the world right again.”
Standing across the valley from his old friend, Raynar puts on his armor, which has been polished to a perfect shine. By the haggard General’s request, Dariana is tending to him and making sure his gear is ready for the trial. Unsure of what she is doing, the telepath scans the crowd for information on weapon sharpening and to figure out if his axe needs repairs. While tightening the warrior’s bracers, the telepath senses that Tigris is annoyed that she was not chosen for the honor. Even though the General took his timing saying farewell to his remaining family, his daughter repeatedly glares at Dariana until she is needed to handle another fight in the crowd.
“You haven’t asked why I chose you as my attendant,” Raynar says while the silver-haired woman sharpens his axe. He chuckles when he sees her try to feign disinterest, but there is a hint of curiosity in her ivory eyes. “I never got to say good-bye to my other daughter. You were with her when she died. Cyrus told me of her final battle, but I want to know if there is anything she said to you. What were her last words?”
“She wished to speak with you again,” Dariana replies, handing the weapon back. To prevent the fight from starting, she pretends to fix one of his bracers. “Kerr took her to his castle immediately and asked that I honor her. So I have many of her memories in my head. If you wish, I can share them with you later.”
“I nearly forgot you were a telepath,” the barbarian whispers while stroking his beard. His hand lingers on the dormant Second Life and he considers removing it, but thinks it best that the dangerous artifact be buried with him. “There might not be a later for me, so I would like you to share them now. Before you disagree, they won’t distract me from what I must do. In fact, I think knowing how my fallen daughter lived her life will clear my mind. I worry that she will be a stranger when we meet again. Please give me this final gift because both of us would regret losing this chance. Will it hurt?”
“No, but it may make you sad.”
Dariana takes General Godric’s hand and closes her eyes, muttering gibberish in an ancient tongue to make it appear as if she is praying. Gently connecting their minds, she transfers the memoires of Udelia to her father. Without warning, a wave of misery and isolation threatens to drive the warrior to his knees. A dull ache is in his heart as he senses the pain his beloved child fought every day since his passing. Raynar is about to request that the connection be broken when a spark of light cuts through the darkness. Images of Udelia’s childhood and her training days flood his mind, reminding him that most of his daughter’s life was joyous and spent smiling. Even when her husband died, the strong woman decided to be happy that she had him in her life in the first place. Pangs of guilt eat at his resolve when he realizes that the only thing Udelia could not overcome was the loss of her entire family in one fell swoop.
“Thank you for that,” Raynar says when the transfer ends. He hugs Dariana and gives her a kiss on the forehead like he used to do with his daughters. “Udelia barely knew you, but you became her final friend. I have a request. Are you willing to do for me what you did for her? If you can, please give my memories to Timoran and Tigris.”
“I promise to honor your request,” the champion replies with a bow. Noticing that the crowd has become silent, she turns to see that Timoran is holding his great axe above his head. “Be strong and stay brave, General Godric. If this is truly your final battle then I hope it is the greatest one of your life.”
Dariana scales the cliff while the two barbarians walk toward the middle of the valley. Both warriors turn to face the judge, standing only a few steps from one another. Not having anything to say, they hit their bracers together and take a deep, cleansing breath. Under the watchful eyes of their tribe, all of the animosity and hatred each man ever held for the other is nothing more than a shameful memory. They grew up and trained together, Raynar transforming into a great warrior and Edric becoming a wise scholar. They had been the best man at each other’s wedding and were drinking buddies ever since they were old enough to finish a mug of ale. It never occurred to their younger selves that such a solid friendship could possibly end with betrayal, pain, and death.
“What is there to say?” Timoran declares, his voice booming throughout the valley. Putting his weapon on his back, he waits for Tigris to join him and takes her hand. “This trial is to decide the fate of King Edric and General Godric. Both men claim they are in need of redemption and have chosen to follow one of our oldest traditions. Each of us has our own opinion on the events that brought our people to this point. Forget them and realize that this is not about us. It is not about the Snow Tiger Tribe or Stonehelm. This battle is entirely about friendship, honor, loyalty, and respect. As such, I expect everyone present to act with dignity. The trial can start whenever the combatants are ready and it will not end until one is dead.”
“First drink is on you, old friend,” the General whispers while stepping away. He grips his axe with both hands, the blade held behind his back.
“See you in Ram’s Garden, Raynar,” Edric replies, spinning his spear and circling to his right. “Do you think both of us will find peace?”
“Only if we work for it.”
Ignoring his weakening body, Raynar moves forward and turns to swing his axe at his opponent’s side. For a fleeting instant, he wonders if the guilt-ridden King will simply let the fatal blow hit. Instead, the bald barbarian blocks it with the butt of his spear and jabs. The point cuts the sliver of exposed flesh at the General’s neck, earning a surprising cheer for the first successful strike. Touching the minor injury, Raynar notices that his blood has spots of black and is flaking away like ash. Fearing that he has very little time left, he musters enough strength to drives his enemy back with rapid swings of his weapon. The heavier axe repeatedly knocks the winged spear away, but Edric expertly keeps his unprotected body out of reach. Planting his leg and stabbing with one hand, the King seeks to hit the armored warrior under the arm. Stretching for the crippling blow, he is unable to entirely avoid a quick strike and roars while two of his fingers fall to the ground. Tossing the spear to his healthy hand, Edric jumps to the side and smacks Raynar upside the head with the flat side of his weapon. The two men back away to regain their senses, but neither attempt to tend to their wounds.
The spectators remain silent and tense, waiting with bated breath for the blow that will end the fight. Holding his spear with both hands, Edric charges and pushes Raynar back with a flurry of jabs that get clumsier as his blood covers the wooden shaft. The King’s grip slips and he fumbles with the weapon, giving the General an opening at his flank. The axe head drives into the barbarian’s ribs, but is stopped when he performs a skillful block and steps away. It is still a deep wound that pours blood down Edric’s body and soaks the earth. With his weapon aimed at the ground, he makes the perfect target for Raynar, who hesitates out of caution.
“Do not even think of asking me to surrender,” the King gasps, raising his spear. Due to his violent shaking, the point quivers while he attempts to aim the weapon. “We both wanted this fight. Now put an end to it, General Godric.”
“As you wish, your highness.”
With the last of his strength, Raynar delivers a massive overhead chop that comes down at Edric’s head. At the last second, the gasping ruler raises his spear and lets the axe cleave through the wooden shaft. It is enough to deflect the blade and send it into his shoulder, the keen edge splintering bone and slitting flesh. As he collapses, Edric stabs up with the front half of his broken weapon and dr
ives the head into his old friend’s underarm. Releasing the spear, the former King falls at his opponent’s feet and lies still as his blood pools around his head. The General goes down to his knees and tries to lower his arm, but the motion only shifts the weapon that is scratching at his heart.
“King Edric is dead and has been redeemed!” Raynar shouts while he watches three figures rushing towards him. His vision focuses on Dariana, the telepath touching his face to collect his memories as she promised. “Thank you. Please let my daughter and son-in-law get closer. I don’t have much time.”
“We’re here, father,” Tigris says, taking the dying man’s hand. She is surprised to find that ashes are dropping out of his armor and part of his face is crumbling. “Without the Second Life’s power, you’re falling apart. We can’t let people see you like this.”
“It doesn’t matter, but thank you,” the General whispers, his teeth crumbling into dust as he speaks. Dropping his axe, he takes Timoran’s hand and stares into the eyes of his surviving family. “Edric and I discussed who should take the throne. In fact, we decided on it long before his betrayal. Both of you are wise, strong, and honorable. Our people respect you even after everything that has happened. Stonehelm and the Snow Tiger Tribe could ask for no better leaders to carry it into an age of peace it rightly deserves. On a personal note, know that I love both of you and trust that you will make me proud.”
Dariana moves behind Raynar and puts her hands on his throat, sending a flood of warmth through his body. “Make the announcement and everyone will hear you. It will use the last of your strength, but it means nobody can deny your edict. I’m sorry that I could not do more for you.”
“I understand. Now, as my old friend said, it is time to put an end to this mess and bring balance to our tribe,” the white-haired warrior says while squeezing the younger barbarians’ hands together. Sucking in a wheezing breath, he forces himself to stand and raises their arms into the air. “People of Stonehelm! I have little time and strength. My only act as your leader is to present your true rulers. Please cheer for King Timoran and Queen Tigris Wrath!”
The battle cry of the Snow Tiger Tribe echoes throughout the mountains, joined by the roars of their primal namesakes. Even the chaos elves add their voices to the echoing symphony, the prisoners caught up in the flood of excitement and joy. Timoran and Tigris are oblivious to the noise as they watch the body of General Godric turn to ash and get blown into the sky by a twisting wind. It is not until his platemail crashes to the ground that the crowd realizes the great warrior is no more and all of Stonehelm falls into a quiet state of mourning.
17
“Your wife is pretty stubborn,” Nyx says as the travelers make their way through the lower mountains. Taking the lead, the channeler keeps her eyes on the colorful beams of light that are coming out of her chest. “For a minute, I thought she wouldn’t let us go without her. Good thing you explained the champion stuff and Cyrus was there to . . . well, he did the smart thing and stayed out of it.”
“Tigris is scared of losing me again and I cannot say I blame her,” Timoran explains, trudging a few steps behind his companion. Having been away from his homeland for so long, every smell brings back a pleasant memory that keeps him in a state of relaxing serenity. “That is why I told her to stay behind. I will be facing more challenges than any of the previous Snow Tiger Kings and Queens. They merely had to earn a crown while I must conquer levels meant only for me. It is possible I will die, so Stonehelm needs one of its rulers to remain safe. The smart choice was to have my wife stay behind and handle the tribe’s affairs while I settle my destiny.”
“It’s really strange hearing you talk about your wife,” Nyx admits while turning to walk backwards. The tattoo pulses and violently jerks her back into position, causing her to mutter a few curses in Elvish. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you’re with her again. You deserve every bit of happiness you can get. It’s only that you never mentioned her, so I need some time to get used to the whole thing. When we get back, I hope to become good friends with Tigris.”
“She does not really like you, fire sprite.”
“What? But I’m . . . I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You remind her of herself and possess many of the attributes that drew me to her.”
“So she thinks we did something together?”
“No, but she considers you a threat. A side-effect of her being isolated for so long.”
“Did you tell her about Delvin?”
“I thought it best that you explain that situation.”
Laughter from the three guards stops the conversation, the barbarians stopping when their leader cracks his knuckles. Taking up the rear of the small group, Dariana and Luke maintain a careful watch on their surroundings. Both of them have noticed that Timoran and Nyx are distracted, so they strive to remain alert and on edge. For the past few hours, they have noticed several predators lurking on ledges or in patches of bushes, the animals curious about the source of constant talking. As soon as the beasts see that the noise is coming from a woman who is emitting light from her chest, they listen to their instincts and search for easier prey. Though as they get further into the wilderness, not all of the creatures act with caution. Luke is about to point out a bear lumbering into their path when a blast of fire from the front scares the animal back into the mountains. Its mournful howls echo throughout the cliffs, which causes smaller creatures to retreat from the area.
“What are you doing!?” Timoran roars at Nyx. His hand is white-knuckled as it grips his great axe, the weapon still on his back. “You do not abruptly cast a spell a few inches in front of someone’s face. That could have hurt me. What were you thinking?”
“I only meant for there to be a small flame on my thumb, but something went wrong. To be fair, I did say I wanted to run a test on you at some point,” Nyx argues while struggling to turn around against the tattoo. With no medicine left, the half-elf snarls and punches herself in the chest with enough force to make her double-over in pain. “This damn thing is messing with my aura and brain! You said it would behave itself as long as we were heading for Aintaranurh, Dariana. Instead it keeps wanting me to rush ahead and attack things.”
“I’m sorry, but God-granted tattoos of powerful relics are new to me. I made an optimistic prediction,” the telepath claims as she jogs to catch up to the others. She attempts to put her hand on the marking, but is immediately flung over Nyx’s shoulder by an invisible force and caught by Timoran. “Impatience? Pent up aggression? It could be a reaction to being under the medicine’s influence for so long. Without knowing Gabriel’s entire reasoning behind the tattoo, I can only guess at its intentions and nature. Though it does seem to have a mind of its own. Use your magic sparingly until you have an enemy in front of you.”
“And give us a warning before you do anything,” Luke chimes in from the back. He feels the burst of wind coming and leaps to the side as the spell punches a dent in a boulder. “I’m going to assume you meant to flick my forehead and not cave in my skull. This is getting ridiculous, big sister.”
Nyx is on the verge of tears as she realizes that her presence is putting her friends and their quest in danger. “I didn’t even cast anything. This thing is turning me more into a weapon than I already am and I don’t know why. My small fire spell was only to see if Timoran would get scared. You said your fear was caused by the Second Life, so I was curious and warning you would have caused a false reaction. Soon after we met, you told me that you thought my type of magic was invasive to nature. Do you really believe that?”
“First of all, my friend, I have always had a distrust of magic and that was enhanced by the Second Life,” Timoran explains, gingerly reaching out to tussle the channeler’s hair. A few sparks lick at his fingers, but he sees the young woman battle to hold her energy back. “I have come to realize that my opinion should be about the person who uses magic instead of the power within them. You have always honored my request to ask
before casting on me even in times of danger. There has never been a time that I have seen you truly abuse your power. A few tricks and kneejerk reactions, but nobody is perfect and there was never any maliciousness. Do I still think it is intrusive for a person to alter and utilize the aura of another? Yes, but that is simply my way. One could have a similar issue with a warrior killing on the battlefield even if they fight for noble purposes.”
“It also helps that she’s a channeler, which makes her a natural conduit for magic,” Dariana points out while they make a turn and enter a tunnel. Dripping water and the movement of hidden animals rattles the telepath’s nerves, none of the sources visible in the faint beams that guide them. “I’ve a feeling that we are nearing Aintaranurh. Timoran and Nyx need to take the lead with the rest of us remaining a few steps behind. We don’t want to become an easy target for traps and monsters. Sorry, Nyx, but you are technically the key to the front door instead of a simple champion.”
“I understand,” the half-elf replies, feeling a strong tug on her chest. For a terrifying moment, she fears that her skin will be torn by the pressure. “I promise to always ask your permission before casting, big brother. Though I still maintain that in times of true danger, I’ll risk your anger and save you from your own stubbornness.”
The barbarian’s chuckle echoes throughout the tunnel, startling a swarm of skull-patterned butterflies. “Thank you. I shall do the same for you, which is easier since all I need to do is put you over my shoulder and run.”
Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) Page 35