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

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “Of course it is that obvious and kept in the back,” Timoran says as he battles through more of the imps. Not wanting their prize to get damaged, he snatches the wine from the dog’s mouth and stuffs it into his bag. “I guess Fortunatos expected us to awaken an imp long before we got here. Are we supposed to be learning patience or caution here? Feel free to transform into something with swords or bigger claws. Stiletto is holding his own, but we have a swarm between us and the exit. Change and we can battle our way to the ladder.”

  Stiletto races down the row while transforming back into Luke, the half-elf moving on all fours for a few feet. He rolls forward and draws his sabers to come up spinning at the mass of imps in his path. Timoran swings high to avoid hitting his friend, the barbarian focusing on the creatures that lurk on top of the racks. The warriors repeatedly slip on the greasy blood and slimy bodies that litter the ground as they fight to the ladder. Glancing back into the room, they can see that all of the bottles have been opened and there are nearly a thousand imps stampeding toward them. Unable to make the climb without getting attacked, the champions are forced to hold their position and whittle away at the hissing swarm.

  “You two realize we’re waiting, right?” Fortunatos asks as his head appears from above. A puff of air from the Jester sends the imps swirling back into their bottles. “You should have killed the first one immediately. Then again, setting off the wall trap would have put you in this position too. Anyway, come up to the bar and give me my drink. Then we can continue with your tests and the spirits can make some more bets. By the way, none of them won because everyone thought the little guy would get eaten.”

  “Everyone bet on me getting killed?” Luke asks as they climb the ladder.

  “Not everyone. The spirits lost, but somebody else made out very nicely.”

  Unlike before, it takes only a minute to reach the trapdoor and there are two mugs of wound-healing ale waiting for the warriors. They are surprised to see Nyx happily perched on the bar while counting coins and gems, the young woman making a prideful display. Dariana is nearby collecting more of the channeler’s winnings from grumbling specters who leave through the thin side door. A buxom woman stretches her neck to shriek in Luke’s face as she hands over a sapphire necklace and matching bracelet. The ghost breaks into tears while following the others, calming down after she puts on a set of ruby-studded jewelry.

  “You actually bet on our survival,” Timoran says, removing the arrow from his shoulder before finishing his drink. Bubbling froth seeps from the wound before it closes, leaving the faint smell of ale wafting off his skin. “I guess we should be happy you were on our side. Here is the wine, Fortunatos. I wish to start the next challenge immediately. Not to offend you, but I am in a small hurry.”

  “Your wife isn’t going to disappear . . . again,” the guardian swears, accepting the bottle and hopping over the bar. With a mischievous smile, he dances over to Nyx and plucks a gold coin from her hand. “Do you want to make another wager, channeler? This time the question is on if Timoran and Dariana will survive.”

  “I will always bet on my friends coming out alive and victorious,” Nyx replies, allowing Fortunatos to scoop the coins and gems into his hat. Running her hands along her sides, she turns her barmaid uniform back into her red shirt and black breeches. “Though, me betting on a fight that I’m involved in might not be fair. So I’m going to politely refuse your offer and not let gambling cloud my judgement. I will ask for that money back before I leave. We’ll need some to get to our friends and the rest can help with a certain situation.”

  “Very wise and honorable. You truly were born for this life,” the Jester states with a bow to the half-elf. The bottle spins in his hand and the cork pops off, shattering the beautiful mirror behind the bar. “Now for the next event! Time for all of you to face the Darago! Hold your breath, keep all heads inside the portal, no spitting, and definitely no mooning the monster. The thing really hates the sight of naked butts. Here we go with more fun!”

  Fortunatos hurls the bottle at the broken mirror and watches it explode into a curtain of purple liquid. It pools among the bottles, which are moved to a lower shelf by the beautiful waterfall. The jewel-like potion swirls and churns, releasing thick tentacles that snatch the champions by the waist. Several of them lance out to claim pieces of the Jester, a few of them fighting over his limbs as they retract. With the cheer of a crowd erupting from the vortex, everyone is yanked through the gateway and the splintered glass reforms behind them.

  *****

  “I cannot say this surprises me,” Timoran says while he removes his vest.

  With vague memories of the portal journey fading quickly, the champions find themselves in the middle of an underground arena. The soft sand makes it difficult to move and the darker areas reek of blood that has been kept moist by the humidity. Ghosts fill the red-cushioned stands while spectral vendors wander through the crowds and shout about their wares. Above the excited audience, Fortunatos relaxes on a couch in a viewing box that is fringed with hanging vines. Wearing only a loincloth and his three-pronged hat, the Jester enjoys being fed grapes and cookies by jade handmaidens. Each of the female golems is modestly dressed and wears a jewel-encrusted crown, which makes them resemble a princess more than a servant. Off to the side is a motionless butler holding a pitcher of water that one of the ladies occasionally takes to refill their master’s twisty horn goblet. Below the guardian and his golems is a metal gate that trembles whenever a large beast rams it from the other side.

  “I’ve a thought that I don’t know if I should share,” Luke claims as he watches the ghosts make bets on the looming battle. Distracted by the gambling, he is snapped out of his trance by Nyx clearing her throat. “I was thinking about how this is a champion temple and where the new rulers of Stonehelm get tested. That’s two different purposes that we’re here for. It makes me wonder if we’re doing the challenges for the crown or the ones for our destiny.”

  “These have to be the champion tests since we’re helping Timoran,” Nyx states, though the rubbing of her amethyst necklace betrays her doubt. A thunderous clap silences the crowd, drawing all their attention to Fortunatos. “Guess we’re about to find out. Anybody know what a Darago is? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It sounds familiar,” Dariana replies before her voice is turned off by the Jester. She bows in apology and feels her throat pinch as the theft is reversed.

  Stepping onto the marble railing, Fortunatos grabs two rings above his head and pulls himself up to sit cross-legged in the air. “Ladies, gentlemen, golems, and anyone who snuck in through the backdoor! We have a special treat for this crown fight. Timoran Wrath wants to rule our local source of entertainment, but he’s also the champion I’ve been waiting for. The man who will claim the true power of Aintaranurh and stand against the long-forgotten Baron Arthuru Kernaghan. Yes, betting will be allowed for that fight when it happens, but we probably won’t have front row seating available. Back to the current match, you will see that our potential landlord has brought some friends along. I give you Dariana the true Near God, Luke Callindor the man with no title, and Nyx the channeler. Due to us having more than one person in the ring, I’ve decided to give some additions to our beloved Darago. After all, we need to keep things fair and fun. As usual, this fight is to the death, all sales are final, all wagers are made, and there will be a raffle at the end for whatever is left of our combatants. Open the door! I said open the door! Oh, that’s my job too. I’ll only be a few seconds.”

  Flipping off the rings and onto the railing, the Jester walks down the wall toward the metal gate. He undoes a latch at the top and pushes the two sides of the doorway apart, his body stretching like an elastic cat. When the doors slam against the sides of the arena, several sets of yellow eyes appear in the darkness. A massive reptilian foot emerges and shakes the ground, followed by another that is covered in thick, greasy hair. Long necks unfurl from the shadows and weave high above the champions as
the Darago finishes its entrance. The green-skinned beast has multiple heads, each one the enlarged version of a different beast. A tiger and a wolf growl while a long-snouted dragon blasts fire against the ceiling. Lowering itself, the horned head of a bull prepares to charge while the champions cautiously back away.

  “How could you forget something like this?” Nyx asks, her eyes following a neck that ends at the fanged maw of a cobra.

  “My older sister mentioned it in passing, but only that she found it disgusting,” Dariana replies while trying to scramble the beast’s minds. She catches glimpses of its creation, but there are too many thoughts for her to shut the entire monster down. “It used to be a hydra, but Fortunatos got bored one day. He’s been repeatedly reviving and altering it to challenge the rulers of Stonehelm. Seems he has a lot of faith in us because he’s never gone this far with the changes. By the way, Timoran has to get the fatal blow to earn the crown. The rest of us are here as shields.”

  “Then protect my flank because nobody is going to stand in front of me,” the barbarian growls as his rage oozes to the surface of his psyche. “This is not the final challenge of my temple, so I will not waste more time and energy than is necessary. I suggest you do the same, my friends.”

  Timoran charges forward as the bull’s head attacks, the two crashing into each other with a shockwave of force. The Darago bellows as the great axe is driven into its forehead and used to toss the horned threat aside. Nyx hurls lightning javelins at the gurgling dragon, which spews fire that she gathers in her hands. Seeing a giant rabbit’s head coming at Luke, she throws the orb of flames at its twitching nose. White fur burns and the creature screeches before the head is lopped off at the neck by the forest tracker’s sabers. A fresh rabbit skull sprouts from the stump, but this version has metal teeth and slaps at Luke with barbed, prehensile ears. Dariana struggles against the cobra as she grips its fangs and kicks at the snarling wolf. Snapping off the venomous teeth, she jams them into the eyes of the approaching tiger. The head melts immediately and regrows to spit jets of acid at the nimble champion. Caught in mid-flip, Dariana is unable to entirely avoid a hummingbird and is impaled through the arm. Luke leaps in to free her from the creature, his sabers shattering the thin beak before it can open and sever the limb.

  “This is going to get steadily worse,” the forest tracker says as he watches the crippled head sprout a new nose. Spinning like a drill, the beak drives down at him and he barely gets away as the neck curves to follow his movements. “Can you bind the Darago’s necks to give us an opening, Nyx? The rest of us are doing the best we can, but we really need you to clear the field.”

  “Always depending on the channeler!” Fortunatos shouts with a mocking laugh. His hands become puppets of Nyx and Luke, complete with life-like eyes. “Save me, little brother. Protect me, big sister. I’m too weak. I’m too angry. It’s the same thing ever since you two met. I understand depending on your friends, but do either of you really try before you call on the other’s power? It would be so much easier if you two were one person.”

  Mashing the puppets together sends Luke and Nyx careening into each other, their bodies transforming into clay. When the swirling blob takes human form, it is a bizarre mixture of the two champions. Long, black hair in a ponytail runs down to its waist while the confused creature’s brown and violet eyes stare at its hands. A red shirt with leather armor patches covers the lean body and flares at the hips, revealing black breeches that are laden with several pouches and pockets. Luke’s sabers are flickering with Nyx’s fire, but their separate minds do not know who is controlling what. With an awkward step, the hybrid attempts to move away from the chuckling Darago. A quick movement from the left causes Luke to lash out with a saber, but he ends up moving the wrong arm. Unable to control their shared body, they are about to be swallowed by the tiger’s head until Dariana tackles them out of the way.

  “I think we’re figuring this out,” the hybrid says, its voice switching from Luke to Nyx and back again at every word. It attempts to flip off the ground, but rolls backwards to land on its face. “The parts keep switching. We can’t even get up now. Maybe we can use magic to do something.”

  A burst of lightning erupts from their back and nearly hits Dariana, the blast arching over the telepath’s head. It misses the Darago entirely and punches a hole in the arena before racing around the walls. The spell comes back around and strikes the defenseless hybrid, who grows wings and a dog’s tail. When they try to use the new body parts, a scream of arguing noises erupts in their head and blood trickles out of their ears. Attempting another spell, the construct violently ejects the wings and tail along with the connected clothing. The projectiles explode as they crash into the stands and the dust drifts to the groaning, barely clothed body. As the cloud settles over the combined half-elves, the motes turn into a suit of crimson platemail that pins them to the blood-soaked floor.

  “Hurry up, Timoran!” Dariana shouts while standing over her helpless friends. She punches and kicks the heads away, her telepathy focused on confusing the dragon that repeatedly comes close to incinerating them. “I’m sorry, but I can’t hold my ground for much longer! You need to do something, Timoran! Hello? Where are you?”

  The Darago’s heads scream in unison and all of the necks spasm before they abruptly go slack. Dariana scoops up her friends and runs away from the plummeting skulls that shake the ground with their thudding impact. Luke and Nyx divide while in her arms, their weight causing all three champions to tumble into a heap. The crowd cheers when Timoran climbs his way out of the mess of lifeless necks, his body covered in rainbow-colored blood. His axe is stuck in a large, beating heart that he drags to the middle of the arena. Freeing his weapon, the barbarian prepares to stomp on the enlarged organ and bellows loud enough to make the ceiling rain pebbles onto the crowd. When his foot comes down, the heart pops like a balloon and sends waves of blood lapping against the arena walls. As his friends get to their feet, Timoran smiles at Fortunatos who is back in his Jester clothes and gleefully applauding.

  “It wasn’t the longest fight I’ve seen, but it was the most amount of fun,” the guardian claims, leaping down to the arena floor. Using one hand, he shoves the Darago’s remains back through the open gate and seals it with a flick of his wrist. “That concludes your test for the throne, so let’s move on to the champion stuff. It’s been awhile and I need to check all the lower levels. For all I know, those monsters have starved to death or left for better employment. All of you can wait here and I’ll open the doors once I’m ready. Oh, here’s another prize for you, King Timoran. It’s never had a name since you’re the first to officially wear it. Try not to call it anything that will make my eyes roll out of their sockets.”

  Fortunatos hands the champion a wide ring of marble that molds to the warrior’s thick finger. Timoran can see animals appear within the stone’s mottled coloration, each figure representing the totem of a barbarian tribe. A sense of stability and warmth flows through the champion and he watches the artifact become a gentle blue. Before he can ask any questions, the Jester disappears by folding himself into a tiny ball and falling through a fist-sized hole in the floor. The ghosts fade away, many grumbling about losing more money and claiming they would stop coming to Aintaranurh if they had anywhere else to go.

  “It seems we get a reprieve,” Timoran says while sitting on the sand. The others join him to rummage through their bags for food and drink. “Actually, there is something I wish to take care of at home. Can you be a bridge for me, Dariana?”

  Sensing his thoughts, the telepath flashes him a beaming smile. “It would be my honor, your majesty.”

  18

  Trinity knows she is dreaming since the meal laid out before her fills the entire cell from floor to ceiling. Having recently recovered enough strength to safely take her baby back, the captured Queen has done nothing more than sleep and eat. To her silent frustration, the food has been a tasteless, high nutrition stew that Sebave and the
shamans insist she ingest to undo any issues caused by transferring the child. So the presence of moist cakes, steaming rolls, golden roasted chickens, and everything else she has ever wanted to taste is a clear sign that she is really passed out on her bed. For a moment, she considers lying back down and forcing herself awake, but the intoxicating aromas draw her to the center of the room. No longer wanting to leave the blissful dream, Trinity lets the happiness wash over her and indulges in everything that is within reach.

  “I should point out that your body thinks it is eating, so you are going to make yourself sick if you continue like this,” Ambrosine says as she appears in an empty chair. The Chaos Elf Goddess smiles at her favorite devoted, who is sheepishly chewing on a butter-dripping asparagus stalk. “So when do you plan on breaking out of here? The champions are gone and you have an army that none of the barbarians are expecting an attack from. Even in your current state, you should be able to handle the strongest of Stonehelm.”

  “Our people are beaten. I’m a prisoner. The fight is over,” Trinity replies, her appetite disappearing. She turns away from the beautiful goddess and closes her eyes, but finds she cannot leave the vision. “We had one chance to win and we . . . I failed. The Baron will destroy many of us and the survivors will be forced further into his shadow. Those of us on the outside are now exiles, so I’ll tell them to find havens after judgement is passed on me.”

  The black-haired deity puts her hands on the mortal’s shoulders, the fingers creeping up to her neck. “Surrender is not our people’s way. You were born with power and I expect you to use it. The chaos elves must survive.”

  “Then maybe you should have done something to keep us away from the Baron!” the channeler shouts with enough force to warp the room. She unleashes a blast of acid that melts the bars and hallway, exposing a churning void that surrounds the vivid dream. “I did everything I could to not only keep us alive, but reignite our hope and pride. The chaos elves have thrived under my rule. Children dream of touching the sunlight and the elderly are happy that the worst times are memories. I suffered and bled for my people while you did nothing to aide us. Even your priests and priestesses have had trouble gaining your favor. Now I’m out of tricks to keep us going. The Baron has our children and my people have no home. All of my options are dead, which is the state I’ll be in once the barbarians are done with me. There’s no silver lining to my misery, so stop acting like you care.”