Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (25 page)

“Please tell me we don’t have to get to the top of this!” Luke shouts, praying that the barbarian’s keen ears can pick up his voice. With no response, the champion goes back to climbing against the winds. “I can’t believe the witness has scaled this thing repeatedly for all these years. There has to be a secret passage or something. Maybe Lodur was never told of the safer path and he isn’t fully trusted. He said to avoid the caves, but it couldn’t hurt to stick my head in one and give a listen.”

Luke clambers onto the nearest ledge where he sees a gaping hole in the stone, the cave big enough for a barbarian to enter without crouching. A mournful whisper emanates from the opening, but the forest tracker is sure it is nothing more than the wind. Taking a few steps into the darkness, he is surprised to find that the sounds from outside are already muffled. Seeing with his ears, Luke gets a mental image of a tunnel that goes deep into the mountain. Small forms flit around in the distance and it takes him a few seconds to recognize them as harmless bats. Dripping water and chirping insects help to fill in the rest of the terrain, but he finds nothing dangerous to explain his companion’s warning.

“Wonder why we have to avoid these?” he softly asks, rubbing his stiff fingers. Something moves nearby and Luke catches the glimmer of a large beast on the ceiling. “Had to open my mouth.”

The pointy-eared creature remains motionless as Luke silently backs toward the exit. With a slow exhale, the half-elf takes a long step that nearly brings him out of the darkness. He is almost at the cliff when the beast hisses like a cat and pounces. Tracking his breath, the black-furred lynx bounds around the warrior and tries to bite him in the throat. With no time to draw his sabers, Luke keeps the knee-high predator at bay by throwing it over his head and spinning away from a swipe at his head. Desperate to escape and catch up to Lodur, he kicks the beast in the face with enough force to knock it off the cliff. Rushing to the edge, he is stunned to see the animal spread its limbs and reveal thin membranes along its sides. Riding the powerful winds, the lynx lands on the mountainside and uses its long, metallic claws to run along the uneven stone. It jumps over Luke’s head before he can react and glides back toward the warrior, the predator’s teeth aiming for his neck.

A knife strikes the flying lynx in the side, piercing the heart and killing it instantly. The limp body crashes into the half-elf, who nearly slips off the cliff and gulps at the view of how far he has to fall. His hand is grabbed by Lodur, the barbarian roughly yanking him back onto stable ground. With no other weapons on him, the old warrior retrieves his knife from the dead animal and haphazardly cleans it on his soiled shirt. With a powerful shove, he knocks Luke against the wall and corners the champion, his face a mask of brewing rage.

“I told you to stay away from the caves,” Lodur whispers, his reddish brown eyes scanning the sky. A brief sound to his right makes the barbarian sweat and he carefully listens for it to repeat. “Unlike the witness, we aren’t welcomed here. That’s why the tunnels are off-limits and we’re forced to climb up the side. If you were patient, we would have made it to the cabin just before dawn. Now we have a problem.”

“The lynx is dead and they don’t run in packs,” Luke argues, his senses picking up on several forms coming around the mountain. The whipping wind and an eerie stillness to the approaching figures makes it difficult to identify them beyond the fact that they are huge. “What exactly is going on?”

“The true masters of the Stone Asp Mountains have arrived and they don’t like trespassers.”

“Don’t be vague. Who or what are the true masters?”

“Rocs.”

“Oh . . . Is that all?”

Five enormous eagles come out of the clouds and circle the mountain, their ivory feathers making them stand out in the red-tinted night. Long legs with deadly talons are curled beneath their bodies and their yellow beaks are tipped with dried blood. A wild plume of black and red is on their heads, the largest of the beasts having a solitary purple feather curling out from the middle of the others. The rocs screech at the climbers and try to knock them off the mountain by unleashing gusts of wind from their wings. One of them swoops in close to peck at Lodur, but the barbarian quickly leaps onto a lower ledge. The beast turns toward Luke, who puts up his hands and smiles before diving away from the attack.

“These look and act different than the ones I ran into before,” the half-elf admits, dropping closer to where Lodur is hiding under the cliff. The sound of talons tearing at the stone above causes Luke to jump for the natural crevice. He catches a deep handhold on the underside of the cliff and dangles over the open air before swinging onto the ledge. “The ones I met were brown and didn’t have those plumes. They weren’t as aggressive too. Although, the ones I remember lived in my temple and might have been tamed.”

“Golden rocs are more passive than the Sylvan variety,” the barbarian answers while watching one of the birds fly at them from below. Pressing himself to the mountainside, he feels feathers touch his face as the roc smashes through the cliff. “These are very territorial and attack anything that tries to enter their home. You see, they nest in a hollow mountain’s core instead of on the cliffs and peaks. So stepping into the cave and fighting the lynx caught their attention. I don’t know how to handle them, especially up here.”

Luke unleashes a roaring screech at the five birds, which causes them to stop their next attack. “Had a feeling that would give them pause. Seems a half-elf sounding like a griffin confuses everything. How much further until the cabin?”

“Maybe ten miles.”

“I should have done this from the beginning.”

Closing his eyes and listening for the rocs, Luke waits for them to begin wheeling around the mountain. When they are on the opposite side from him, the warrior jumps off the ledge and plummets toward the ground. Invigorated by the rush of air, he rides the wind for a second and lets the griffin spirit gradually take over. Fur and feathers sprout from his twisting body and a pair of beautiful wings erupt from his back. Turning into a spiral, the elegant beast spins around and rockets back toward the barbarian. The griffin catches Lodur’s shirt in her beak and yanks him into the sky where she releases her hold. Cursing and flailing, the heavy warrior watches as one of the rocs soars towards him. In the blink of an eye, the griffin snatches him from the bird’s glistening talons and flips the man onto her back.

Due to the added weight of Lodur, the griffin is not as fast as she could be, so she makes up for the loss by flying erratically. Maneuvering around the larger animals, Lucy scratches and pecks at any openings she finds. She refuses to kill or severely injure the territorial beasts, which forces her to be more cautious and defensive than she is used to. Luke’s voice rings in her ears when he has an idea that she only agrees to because she is outnumbered. Catching a roc’s beak with her hind legs, the griffin spins and flips the massive bird into one of its friends. It is enough to stun the animals, but the maneuver causes her to hover for a second to recover her senses. As her enemies attempt to close in, she escapes and soars around the mountain with all of the ivory birds in pursuit.

“Leave their territory and wait for them to fly back into the gorge over there!” Lodur shouts as he hangs on for dear life. The griffin spirals away from two of the rocs and dives low enough to skim the ground when she pulls back up. “The gorge is the entrance to their nesting area. All we need to do is make them believe we’re no longer a threat.”

“Those birds will never let me hear the end of it if I retreat,”
thinks the griffin, refusing to let go of her pride. A twinge of laughter from Luke causes her to attempt a smirk, the expression not working due to her solid beak.
“Yes, I have been with you for too long. Still, perhaps there is another way that will not risk us wasting time and reverting back to you at a poor moment. I can already sense that your energy is failing.”

The griffin heads for the sky and disappears within a bank of clouds, which the rocs are more than willing to enter at first. Naturally afraid of lightning, a rumble of thunder gives them reason to stay back and gather in a small group that hovers over the mountain. Their powerful wings flap in unison to send a wind that tears the hiding spot apart, but their enemy is nowhere to be seen. Searching the area for several minutes, they fail to locate the smaller beast and eventually return to the gorge. None of them notice the leonine form clinging to the bottom of a cliff after having escaped out the back of the mild storm and making a large circle back to the mountain. Pressed between her stomach and the rough stone is Lodur, who is still sucking in gasping breaths.

“How was that not retreating?”
Luke asks when the griffin drops from its hiding place. She flips to put her rider on her back and waits for him to get settled.
“I think running away and hiding is a form of retreating.”

“Yes, but I outwitted them. Proves I’m smarter.”

“Just find the cabin, Lucy.”

The griffin makes a slow circle around the mountain in search of the hidden building. She sees it tucked within a wide, exposed cavern that has been made bigger by the winds and years of destructive lightning strikes. Lights are on in the windows and a trail of smoke is flowing from the chimney, proving that someone is home. Approaching the cabin, the griffin notices the glint of metal too late to get entirely out of the projectile’s path. The heavy spear strikes her wing and she lurches to the side, nearly throwing Lodur off her back. With the last of her strength, the injured animal reaches the cliff and transforms back into Luke as soon as she crashes into the solid ground.

“What was that?” the half-elf asks, his eyes locked on the large spear in his side. He grimaces at the sensation of the metal head that is gently touching his ribs and threatening to puncture a lung. “I can’t move with this thing in me. So weird that it doesn’t hurt as much as it should, but it still feels like I’ve been stabbed. Please tell me that this witness has something to help with this.”

“She does, but that doesn’t mean she will,” a woman says while she steps out of the shadows and removes her dark mask. Blonde hair falls down to the barbarian’s waist and her blue eyes are filled with suspicion. For a brief moment, she appears to flicker out of existence, but Luke assumes the effect is because he is losing consciousness. “Who are you and why should I save you? Let him speak for himself, old man.”

“My name is Luke Callindor and I’m here to ask for your help in clearing the name of Timoran Wrath,” the champion answers, grunting at the blossoming pain. With a quivering hand, he reaches up to touch the blood that is dripping out of his wound. “He’s my friend and I know he’s innocent. King Edric and Sheriff Kalten are going to execute him as early as tomorrow if I can’t save him. There’s more, but I’d rather speak over food and without the threat of dying from my injuries. Do you have a name, missing witness?”

The woman plucks the spear from Luke’s side and presses her cloth mask against the wound while picking him up with one arm. “Come inside and I’ll give you one of the healing potions Lodur gave me for emergencies. My name is Tigris Wrath. If you’re a friend of my husband’s then you’re a friend of mine.”

*****

The smell of cooked caribou drifts through the large encampment and draws all of the soldiers to the multiple bonfires. Snow tigers prowl a mile away from the intruders and roar to make sure they are recognized as the rulers of the wilderness. Many of the chaos elves give the beasts little attention, but a few curious individuals watch the large cats and revel in being away from home for the first time. Patch-covered tents have been set up, most of them being used to protect the army’s supplies and gear from the elements. The soldiers keep their bedrolls in groups of ten or twenty, the ground feeling softer and more even than the one on Shayd. None of them know how far it is to Stonehelm, so they do their best to speak quietly and make sure to avoid drinking anything other than water.

Wandering among her people, Trinity repeatedly ignores Sebave’s requests to get some sleep and conserve her strength. She is too busy talking to anyone who is crying and assuring them that their loved ones are safe. Chewing on a skewer of caribou, she stops at a group of casters who are studying their battered spellbooks. Awkwardly kneeling in front of them, Trinity answers their questions and gives them advice since several of them have never set foot on a battlefield. It is when she tries to stand that the baby gives her a solid kick to the stomach and she doubles over. More hands than she can count reach for her, but it is Sebave who eases her Queen away from the crowd.

“Please take some time to rest,” the priestess says while guiding Trinity toward a dark purple tent. She rubs the other woman’s belly to deliver a calming spell, ignoring the defiant squirming of the baby. “I will attend to the soldiers and report any emergencies that require your attention. We are supposed to march tomorrow and you told me we are a day’s journey away from Stonehelm. That will take a toll on your body since the baby is becoming more restless by the day. I believe the child is reacting to your stress, but I cannot be certain. The father’s blood brings a level of mystery to this.”

“My child better behave until this is over. Thank you, Sebave, and I promise to get a good night’s rest,” Trinity replies with a forced smirk. Groping for the tent flap, she ducks inside and stops when she sees a familiar figure on her bed. “What are you doing here, Yola? If you’re here to cause trouble then leave. I’m not in the mood.”