Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (26 page)

The sleepy immortal stands and adjusts her engorged stomach, which wriggles like she has eaten a bucket of eels. Yola tiptoes across the tent and stretches her body to give her friend a hug without them touching bellies. A few tickling tears fall on Trinity’s neck and creep along her skin, the liquid gathering on her cheeks. The chaos elf shivers at the slimy sensation until the salty drops leap onto the ground. A collection of pillows sprout from them, but they have gaudy colors and one of them yawns to reveal teeth.

“I don’t want you to go away,” Yola whispers as her body retracts and pulls the chaos elf to the bed. The women sit among the pillows and a tray of grapes float between them. “You’re my only friend and I need you to help me with the baby. I tried to convince Arthuru to go easy on you, but he’s so angry and confused. He’s desperate to strike a blow against the champions and make them believe that he isn’t simply waiting for them to fight through his agents. Yet, I’m sure that’s the situation he is creating by putting you out here. He also believes you need to feel desperate to win, which I don’t agree with.”

“I’m touched by your concern, but there’s nothing I can do,” Trinity replies, grabbing a handful of fruit and tossing a piece in her mouth. She takes her time chewing the sweet orb and licks her lips to catch every drop of juice. “He’s given me no choice. My people need me to fight and win. At first, I took some comfort in the idea that these men and women could go home if I died. Now that’s not an option, so I can’t back out or lose.”

“Do they know about that rule?”

“I only told Sebave for now, but I will tell the others tomorrow.”

Yola wraps her hair around her hand and plays with the loose threads, the former goddess unsure of what she should say. Her brain has always been a maelstrom of chaos, but there is something different this time. The giddiness and joy of being able to do whatever comes to her mind has been replaced by a hole that she fails to understand. All she knows is that the only person in the world who ever treated her like a true friend and made her smile might be erased from her life. Lines of red run through Yola’s black and white body, each one bleeding liquid fire that evaporates before it can damage the tent.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” she bluntly asks. A more sinister idea comes to her mind and she grins wide enough for the corners of her mouth to touch her eyes. “I could even kill the Baron. The only thing that stops me is the prophecy and . . . well, I’m not entirely certain I can defeat him without my original powers. If you wish it then I promise to try and help you come back home.”

“Thank you, my dearest friend, but I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Trinity replies, shifting closer to give Yola a kiss on the cheek. The chaos elf ignores the sensation of phantom lips touching hers and refuses to see if the immortal has grown another mouth. “Some days I think you’ve prepared me for motherhood without realizing it. I don’t remember when I started looking out for you even on the days that you irritated me. It was easy to watch over you since you rarely left Shayd and nothing could hurt you. Now I feel like I need to protect you from yourself. Go back home, Yola, and please don’t do anything to put yourself in danger. Especially not on my behalf.”

“I can’t make that promise and you know it,” the green-haired woman declares with a sense of childish pride. A pinch on her intestine causes Yola to grab a decanter of alcohol and plug it into her bellybutton for the baby to drink from. “Would it help if I promise not to annoy you anymore? What if I hide all of you in the Chaos Void while I change the Baron’s mind? He only needs time to calm down and then he will realize that throwing you away is foolish. I mean, I know he doesn’t entirely trust you because of how you’ve acted toward Nyx, but that’s temporary. Please don’t go into this fight and die.”

“I plan on winning, so don’t worry.”

“But Nyx doesn’t have a baby in her belly to slow her down.”

Trinity runs her hands up and down her stomach, feeling the unborn child move and turn in its sleep. “My plan was to maintain a shield around my baby. That would certainly put me at a disadvantage, which you and Sebave have pointed out. I’m still determined to win, but I admit that my chances are slim. After all, I have to protect my child and lead my people. I don’t know if I can do both.”

“Not unless you put the baby somewhere else,” Yola casually suggests before demonstrating by removing her belly and juggling it. A clawed hand erupts from the ball of flesh and smacks the immortal across the face, forcing her to put it back. “The little guy gets feisty if I do that. I’ll drink a gallon of seawater to teach him not to hit mommy. Are you sure I can’t sneak you back to Shayd? Maybe I can hide you under my bed and sneak you scraps from dinner.”

“I’m not a pet, so it wouldn’t work,” the chaos elf states, chuckling at her friend’s persistence. Rising to her feet, Trinity puts a hand on Yola’s shoulder and takes a shuddering breath. “I do have a request. If I fall, please use your powers to protect my people from the Baron. Tell him that was my final wish and I asked you to see it through since you are my best friend. Be firm and unyielding if he tries to refuse. Will you do this for me?”

“I swear on my own child that I will protect your people,” the immortal swears as she strokes Trinity’s cheek. Her body gradually turns into steam and only her head remains solid as she wraps around the chaos elf. “I love you, my friend. Please do whatever you can to stay alive and we’ll meet again.”

“I promise we will.”

Yola dissipates while Trinity examines herself in a mirror, the glass a little foggy around the edges. She has the image focus on her belly and she closes her eyes while concentrating on her child’s aura. The energy is very strong and potent, which she fears will be too tempting to access when fighting Nyx. For the first time, Trinity considers leading her people into hiding and waiting for her child to be born before facing her rival. She forgets the idea within seconds, knowing that those left behind would be made to suffer. Even with Yola on her side, she needs to engage in battle and at least try to kill Nyx. Otherwise, the Baron will never be satisfied and ignore the former goddess’s demands.

“Only one thing to do, little one,” Trinity whispers as she sits on the bed. She eats a few more grapes and takes some soothing breaths to calm her nerves. “Can you come in here, Sebave? I have something to discuss with you.”

The priestess swiftly enters and goes to her Queen’s side, kneeling next to the pillows instead of sitting. “What do you wish to talk about? I heard you mention Yola before I could leave, so I stayed outside. Are you angry at my eavesdropping? I promise that I didn’t hear anything important.”

“I have a favor to ask, but it will remove you from the battle,” Trinity replies, sliding to the floor to look the other woman in the eye. Seeing confusion in her midwife’s eyes, she takes the purple-haired chaos elf by the shoulders and smiles warmly. “It isn’t as bad as you think. This will ensure the future of our people and give me a better chance at claiming victory. My baby is strong and I feel that I have the power to transfer it to you. This may require that I access some of your holy aura as well, which is another reason I want your permission. If we do this then you must stay in hiding and not be by my side.”

“I would be honored, Queen Trinity, but what if you fall?” Sebave asks while gripping her leader’s arms. A wave of pride, joy, and fear sends flutters through her heart, which she knows is evident on her face. “I don’t believe I have the wisdom and strength to raise a child with such power. For that matter, where would I go?”

“Trust in Ambrosine and yourself like I do,” the violet-eyed ruler says as she settles on this course of action. Part of her refuses to let go of the baby, but she knows it is the best thing to do for her child. “If I die then wait for the dust to settle and find Nyx. As strange as it sounds, I believe she would help you even if she’s the one who killed me. Maybe you’ll end up in Rainbow Tower or Darkmill after that. I can’t say for certain, but I do know it would be a place where you and my baby will be protected.”

“I will do as you wish.”

“Thank you, Sebave. Now relax and I apologize for any pain.”

The spell starts with a crackling of energy along their arms and a rumbling from Trinity’s stomach. A tunnel of magic twists from her bellybutton and connects to Sebave’s midsection, the priestess shuddering at the sensation of her organs being rearranged. Minutes of silence pass with both women feeling pressure on their bodies, the tent becoming hot enough to make them sweat profusely. Trinity gasps when her stomach starts to shrink, the presence of the baby gradually diminishing until she feels nothing at all. Across from her, Sebave grunts and coughs while her body changes to accommodate the active child. Her eyes clench shut and her jaw locks at the bizarre sensation that switches from bursts of pain to waves of ticklishness. By the time the spell is over, the two chaos elves are slumped against the bed and crying.

“I’m sorry for doing this, little one,” Trinity says, leaning forward to kiss the priestess’s belly. Already missing the baby, she nearly breaks down when she feels a foot press against her lips. “Please forgive me for putting you through this. I promise that I will take you back as soon as I can. Would you stay in my tent tonight, Sebave? Just so I feel like I’m still with her. You can go into hiding in the morning.”

The priestess struggles to stand and is forced to accept the Queen’s help. “I refuse to leave your side until the battle. Even then, I will not be far from the army. Your daughter and I will be watching.”

“Daughter?”

“I peeked, your highness.”

Trinity grins wide and hugs the other woman while laughing and crying at the same time. To the wandering soldiers who pass the tent, they cannot tell if their leader is happy or sad. All they know is that it is safer to stay outside and continue praying for Ambrosine to protect their beloved Queen.

11

Perched in a tree, Delvin calmly watches the thick underbrush for signs of movement. The bare-chested warrior’s sword is strapped to his back, every patch of exposed skin covered in dirt and small cuts. He leans around the trunk to make sure Sari is still there, the quiet gypsy keeping an eye on the other side of their hiding place. She wipes sweat from her brow and adjusts her shirt, the fabric having been crudely cut to reveal her arms and belly. The gypsy is still wearing her layered skirts, which she has hoisted up to her knees and tied off to cool her legs. The tired champions know that the rising jungle heat will eventually drive them to the ground in search of shade, but their enemies are still on the hunt. After days of skirmishes and narrow escapes, time has swirled into one big battle and they are happy to get even a few minutes of peace. The joy is limited since the champions have noticed that their wild path has placed them back within sight of the Judges’ lagoon.

“Fizzle’s been gone a long time,” Sari whispers from her side of the tree. A knife is balanced on her fingertip and she flips it into the air to catch it by the hilt. “One of those robed guys had magic, so maybe they caught him. Do you think we should start a search?”

“If they catch Fizzle then that’s their mistake, so I wouldn’t worry,” Delvin replies while plucking a piece of fruit from a branch. He shudders at the sour taste, but the burst of energy is welcomed by his muscles. “I think I saw a grotto about half a mile to the east, but we have to be patient. Fizzle is supposed to return to this tree with a report. If we leave and he can’t figure out where we went then our problems get worse. My hope is that we can make a run for the grotto and rest. Worst case scenario is that we have to fight to it and make a last stand. How many groups are after us again?”

Sari smacks at her arm where a mosquito is getting a meal, the bug splattering against her palm. “These things are huge and disgusting. Wish I knew why they keep coming after me and none of them have touched you. What was the question? Oh, I counted four groups. The robed people who sent us down the river, a pack of prisoners who are angry at us for some reason, a team of poachers who want Fizzle, and a tribe who think we’re with the third group. Amazing since we’ve only gone out of our way to annoy the robe-wearing psychos.”

“You forgot the other tribe that’s angry at you for bathing in their holy pond.”

“There wasn’t a sign to warn me.”

“They gave you a way out of trouble.”

“How about you marry the toothless elder and become his thirteenth wife?”

Delvin laughs and reaches over to pat his friend on the shoulder, the warrior glad to have broken the tension. He stops as soon as he notices a figure pushing through the bushes, the glint of a drawn weapon telling him it is not an animal. Waiting patiently, he sees a man in leather armor briefly step into a gap between two trees. A curved blade is at his hip and a long spear is in his hands, the latter covered with dried blood. On the poacher’s back is a wicker basket with feathers and three-toed feet sticking out of the slits. Delvin is sure the colorful plumage is connected to birds that the man and his friends simply stuffed into the sealed container with no care if they live or die.

“We can remove an enemy right now if we want,” Sari hisses when she notices her friend gripping his sword. The gypsy licks her lips and crouches like she is a jungle cat ready to pounce on fresh prey. “The penalty is death for them anyway. I say we drop down, take out the poachers quickly, and race back into the trees. There’s only twelve of them and we have the element of surprise. Not to mention all our other tricks.”

“They had dogs too,” Delvin reminds her, his hand rubbing a heavily bandaged wound on his side. The bite mark is no longer bleeding, but the flesh has become itchy and tender as it heals. “I think we should wait for Fizzle before we take action. As long as it isn’t one of the tribes, we can fight whoever stands between us and the grotto. The robed people, the prisoners, and the poachers are fair game since they don’t have good reasons for hunting us.”

“Fizzle done,” the drite says as he lands on a branch and materializes. The tiny dragon is shaking with excitement at his news and barely steadies himself by vibrating his wings. “Judge Feeders furthest away. Fighting mean ones. Not be problem. Tribe after Sari go home and other still hunt for animal killers. They too far in sun direction.”

“Guess we got lucky,” the gypsy replies before handing Fizzle an apple from her pouch. She steps around the tree to stand next to Delvin, her legs straddling open air. “Do you have any plans? You’re stroking your chin, which means an idea is forming.”

The warrior watches the poachers stalk through the jungle, each one carrying a dead or dying animal. Looking in the direction of the grotto, he sees that they can go around their enemies and easily avoid a confrontation. With the heat getting worse, Delvin knows he has to continue fighting without his chainmail and Sari’s naiad powers will be limited due to her fatigue. Going around the twelve men and women makes the most amount of sense to him, but he also knows that the poachers may corner them in the grotto. He doubts the spot is unknown to the small group who seems to know the jungle as well as the tribes. A more terrifying thought comes to mind when he considers that all of their pursuers might try to use the natural dead end for a camp. The idea of fending off four different threats in an enclosed space does not appeal to him, which is obvious to his friend due to his exaggerated exhale.

“Best to take out one enemy before they join forces with another,” Delvin states, surprising his companions with his plan to attack. He moves his bastard sword to his hip, making it easier to draw in an instant. “Fizzle needs to hold back because they have gear that can see him when he’s invisible. Although if you see an opening then you should take it. Try to free any of the living animals too. I can be the initial threat that draws their attention. Sari will be the real danger as she strikes from wherever she wants and does what she does best. Now we only need to get rid of the dogs before we leave the tree.”

“Fizzle do already,” the drite proudly declares while he finishes his snack. He hovers in front of his friends and uses a branch to shield him from the poachers’ view. “Dart in when not seen. Give dogs mist. They go silly and run away. Bad people not chase.”

The warrior reaches out to pat the dragon on the head. “We’d be dead without you, Fizzle. I guess it’s time for me to start the fun.”

Delvin waits for all of the poachers to pass the tree before climbing down and dropping the last few feet. He lands with a loud grunt to get the attention of the nearest man, who spins around with two knives drawn. The others are hurrying to join their companion as he drops his sack of squirming rodents and charges the champion. With a stifled yawn, Delvin unsheathes his sword and deflects his enemy’s weapons with his shield. A downward stab pierces the man’s shin, the flawless blade slicing through flesh and bone like they are paper. The poacher drops his knives when the sword is turned and bolts of agony rush up his body.

“I feel obligated to give all of you a chance to release your catches and retreat,” Delvin announces while wiggling the stuck blade. None of the poachers obey his request, which makes the former mercenary grin wickedly. “Well, my conscience is now clean.”

Not waiting for Delvin to free his weapon, an Elven swordsman rushes forward. The champion ducks the clumsy swing that connects with his first opponent’s neck. As the decapitated body crumples, Delvin hits the elf in the stomach with his shield and yanks his blade out of the corpse. Raising his shield, the warrior blocks the next attack and plunges his sword into his enemy’s side. He does a quick twist to snap several ribs and do more damage to the internal organs, making sure the swordsman is no longer a threat.

A hissing panther leaps out of the trees and pounces on one of the other poachers, who screams and flails. The illusionary cat fades away as several daggers passes through it and sink into the terrified man’s chest. When a roar erupts from their right, everyone turns and fails to see a female archer get yanked into a bush on their left. A minute later, the woman reappears and rapidly fires at the others, the glaze of a charm spell over her eyes. She kills two of her companions and injures three more before a dwarf impales her with his spear. Before he can yank his weapon out of her chest, a slender arm lances out from a tree and slits the poacher’s throat with a stiletto. Sari drops her camouflage and steps into the open while twirling her blood-dripping weapon.

Feeling trapped between the grinning gypsy and the stone-faced warrior, the five remaining enemies back away. Pausing their retreat, they jump when a purple blur slams into a young man with an axe and splinters his ribcage. Fizzle turns back around to strike him again, but is snared by an orc’s large net. Casting a strength spell, the drite rockets into the sky with the poacher trailing behind thanks to the rope tied to his waist. High above the jungle, the thick mesh snaps and Fizzle circles back into the trees. Unable to fly, the screaming orc plummets and is battered by the thick branches until he smashes into the ground.

“That’s going to earn us some attention,” Delvin says while Fizzle darts around to free the animals. The surviving poachers keep their weapons raised and one takes a feeble swing at the drite, earning a dagger to the side of her head. “These idiots will not give up. They’re all yours, Sari, while I go back into the tree and take a look around.”

As Delvin sheathes his blade and climbs back into their former perch, the gypsy spins her stiletto and a recently stolen dirk. She fakes a rush to see if the poachers will back away, but they refuse to budge. When one of them takes a step forward, Sari sighs and undoes the tie on her skirts to let them fall free. As if dancing, she spins away from a thrusting spear, leans backwards to avoid a swinging sword, and flips over a mace. One of her booted feet bashes in the nose of a poacher before she lands and slicing the man in the stomach. Tripping him into the incoming spear, she blocks the third warrior and slashes him across the eyes. Sari rolls behind them and stabs both of her enemies in the back of the neck, dropping them at the same time.

“Some days I scare myself. I mean, I don’t enjoy this, but . . . I really wish some of you had run away,” she mutters while searching for any gear that they can use. A blood-stained map catches her eye and she slips it into one of her skirt pockets before jogging to the tree. “I’m done down here. See anything from up there, Cunningham? Grottos have water, right? I’ll let you take the first bath in case we have to escape quickly. I can always clean myself with a puddle or a hollowed stump full of rainwater. Hello? You run into something up there? I’m starting to get worried, Delvin.”

The warrior drops to the ground and grabs Sari by the wrist, pulling her along as he hurries through the jungle. He whistles for Fizzle to follow, the drite freeing the last of the captured animals and soaring after his friends. The tiny dragon is sad to see how many creatures are too injured to survive without help, but knows that he has to hurry to catch up. Pushing his tired wings, he comes alongside Delvin, who refuses to let go of Sari. The gypsy eventually escapes his grasp and regains her balance, but her shorter legs cause her to remain a few steps behind her friends.

“What you see?” Fizzle asks, the trio crashing through the underbrush.

“A lot of trouble,” Delvin answers while gasping and wheezing. He can feel the bite mark on his side starting to bleed again and the heat is making his muscles ache. “Just keep running and I’ll explain at the grotto. At least if we get there alive.”

*****

Cloaked figures wander through the roofless grotto, the towering walls of silver-streaked stone having many crevices to be searched. Some of the robed men and women stare into the murky pool that steams and bubbles from the underground hot spring feeding it. Glowing fish swim through the water, but none of them move as if avoiding large creatures. Broad-leafed plants are roughly shoved aside to see if anyone is hiding, but the hunters only find swarms of bugs and the occasional rodent that scurries away. Unable to locate their elusive prey, the Judge Feeders return to the jungle and mark the grotto on their map. None of them bother to look at the canopy where Fizzle is hanging by his tail among a family of scaly pangolins. The anteater-like animals keep the friendly drite hidden until he whispers his thanks and gently pats the biggest one on the side.

Dropping from the trees, Fizzle casts an illusion over the grotto entrance to shield those inside from view. Anyone who looks without entering will see an empty dead end while the dragon and his friends rest for a few hours. Landing next to the deep pool, he pokes his head in to see Sari and Delvin camouflaged along the bottom. With no time to put on his enchanted chainmail, the warrior has been breathing by maintaining a kiss with his friend. Once they see Fizzle, the gypsy unlocks her body and the champions swim to the surface. Gasping and hacking, the pair settle on opposite sides of the pool, which is becoming clear and pristine again. The fish that once glowed return to their original coloration, Sari’s illusions disappearing without their notice.

“No offense, but that was disgusting,” Delvin says, using a ring to pour warm coffee directly into his mouth. He gargles and swallows the sweet drink to get rid of the lingering taste of Sari’s lips. “The two of us have been on the road and eating whatever we find for too long. I’m sure it wasn’t enjoyable for you either.”

“It was fine until you exhaled,” Sari replies after doing her own gargling. She hoists herself out of the water and dries her clothes off by running her hands along her body. “You need to do something about your cracked lips too. By the gods, I don’t want to even know what it would have been like if our tongues got involved. If yours is anything like mine then there’s probably a sticky film that you just can’t get rid of. It was the sour fruit we were eating from that last tree, wasn’t it?”