Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (32 page)

“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 enemies 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.”

“Good point. Those crossbowmen are no longer a threat to us, so we don’t need such a low vantage point,” the captain replies, turning to examine the upper cliffs. She squints into the sun, her vision playing tricks on her with the heat haze. “We’ll go up one by one. That way we can continue the barrage and avoid them learning of our movements. I’ll take the rear. Each of us will take an extra quiver and leave the remainders here for emergencies.”

With a salute, the first archer grabs his gear and makes a slow climb up the crumbling stone face. A minute after he moves out of sight, an arrow sails into the crowd and hits the blade of a barbarian’s sword, startling the scarred warrior. Satisfied with the results of the new position, the captain whistles for the others to follow their companion. Every time an archer reaches the top, another arrow goes sailing into the armies. A few arc their shots in an attempt to hit the enemies on the wall, but repeatedly fall several feet short.

It takes thirty minutes for the squad leader to be the only one left on the lower ledge. She takes her extra quivers and nimbly scales the cliff face, her callused fingers easily finding handholds. Glancing up, she notices that her men are no longer firing arrows or talking. Unable to draw a weapon without falling, the chaos elf shuffles to her right and tries to reach the top from the opposite side of a boulder. A low grunt is the only warning the captain gets before someone dislodges the giant rock and sends it rolling down the mountain. Directly in its path, the archer leaps out of the way and stretches for a distant ledge. Her fingers slip on the crumbling edge and she bounces down the mountain, landing with a crunch at the bottom.

“That was definitely easier than dropping on them,” Dariana says, checking the defeated archers that have been hidden from view. Most of them received fatal slashes, but a few are merely knocked out due to the telepath’s weakened state. “What do we do now? We never went over our next move.”

“We enter the battle and I find my father,” Udelia replies while approaching a narrow pass that leads to the valley. She squeezes into the tight path, her chainmail occasionally catching on the rough stone. “Whether he’s a ghost or truly alive, I need to speak with him. One of us could die out there, so I don’t have a moment to lose.”

“What do you need to talk to him about?”

“Just something.”

“I have enough power to send him a message.”

“No.”

“So it’s not that urgent?”

Stuck in the tight pass, Udelia is unable to turn around and grab the other woman by the collar like she desperately wants. Instead, she continues to push forward while leaving a trail of broken stone and snapped rings of chainmail in her wake. It is a long, silent march to the valley and the sheriff’s armor is destroyed by the time they reach the bottom. The two warriors are several yards behind the chaos elf army and remain unnoticed as Udelia removes the larger scraps of chainmail from her body. Left only with a leather jerkin and an off-white shirt, she feels both exposed and invigorated by the danger. Scanning the battle, she struggles to spot the armored form of General Godric among the other warriors. A curse slips from her lips when she fails to locate her father and is forced to guess at his location.

“Wait,” Dariana snaps, catching the barbarian by the elbow. She ducks at the swinging backhand, relieved that her reflexes are steadily improving. “I’m happy to help you, but we need to know where we’re going. Give me time to pinpoint your father. Again, it would be easier to relay a message through telepathy.”

“Thank you, but I have no message,” Udelia replies, seeing the concern in the silver-haired woman’s eyes. With a sigh, the barbarian steps out into the open and takes a big sniff of the blood-soaked battle. “I never got to say good-bye to my father or sister. Now he is here again, so I only want to talk to him. A final conversation that I can cherish is all I’ve ever wanted. Unable to get that, I was settling for justice, but now I have a chance to speak with my father again. I refuse to let this pass me by.”

“I understand and apologize for what I said,” the telepath says, closing her eyes to use her powers. She struggles against the opal’s weakening enchantment and does her best to sort through the cacophony of violent thoughts. “Everything is so primal. I don’t think I can discern one barbarian from another. The only person I can pick out of the crowd is Luke because of his spirits. Maybe we can reach him and get his help.”

The cracking of stone and a low growl rises from the ground, which causes the two warriors’ blood to freeze. A swirling hole is forming near the entrance to the valley, the distortion noticed only by the barbarians on the wall. Udelia can hear several voices chanting from the other side of the battlefield as the muddy vortex gets larger and moves closer. The incessant growl becomes a roar when a pair of white stone arms burst from the earth and lift a bulky rock creature to the surface. Standing on gold-veined legs, the strange beast is at least eight feet tall and built like a bear with a tortoise shell. Its entire body is made out of rock, which crumbles and regenerates as the monster takes a step toward the battle.

The creature stops after a minute of slowly advancing, another roar shaking several stones loose from the cliffs. Plunging its hands into its chest, the monster yanks a boulder from its core and hurls the projectile. The jagged rock slams into the wooden wall, leaving a dent before falling to the ground and crushing a surprised barbarian. With an ear-wrenching bellow, the creature’s eyes telescope out of its head and rotate to improve its vision. After a minute of careful aiming, another chunk of stone is hurled at the same spot and smashes through the defensive barrier. Screams and shouts can be heard from the people inside Stonehelm as another boulder crashes on top of the wall.

“The remaining casters have pooled their auras to summon a Feldspar demon,” Dariana says, reaching out with her telepathy. Unable to defend herself, a backlash drives her to her knees the moment she touches the creature’s mind. “It’s so animalistic that I can’t do much in my weakened state. Not without risking my own sanity. We need to find the casters and defeat them in order to cancel the summons.”

“I heard chanting coming from over there,” Udelia claims before tackling her companion out of a boulder’s path. She turns to see another projectile heading towards them and rolls with Dariana to get out of the way. “How many of those things can it throw?”

“The Feldspar’s core is always regenerating, so it won’t run out of ammunition,” the champion answers, lashing out with a disruptive bolt. A surge of pain hits her body, but she sees the demon stumble and briefly beat on its head. “It’s stunned, so let’s move quickly. Don’t slow down for me because I’ll be keeping it dazed as we run.”

Udelia nods and sprints toward the far side of the valley, Dariana only a few steps behind her. The sheriff can hear boulders coming towards them, but the deadly projectiles repeatedly fall a few inches short of the sprinting women. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees that blood is dripping from Dariana’s ears and the Feldspar has returned to attacking the wall. No longer the objects of its attention, Udelia stops to hoist the telepath onto her back and hurries to where she believes the casters are hiding. Drawing her sword in one hand, she leaps into a shallow cave that is hidden from view of the city by a jutting wall of stone.

“What happened here?” the barbarian asks, seeing seven naked chaos elves unconscious on the floor. Their enhancer gems are sparking and humming, creating enough light to reveal that their owners are barely alive. “Do we wake them to disrupt the summons? Some of them are in very unnatural positions.”

“Their limbs are touching to create the demon summoning circle and they used their clothes to make a central fire. You can see a few buttons in the ashes,” Dariana explains, kneeling next to one of the casters. Touching the man’s forehead, she shudders at the emptiness inside his mind and body. “They didn’t just combine auras to do the summons. These casters put all of themselves into that demon. Killing them would be like burning snake skin that has already been shed. All of this to regain their homeland.”

The sheriff walks outside of the cave and watches the Feldspar continue its destructive barrage on the wall. None of her people are able to break through the chaos elves to confront the demon, but she can see several are trying. The attempts have left many of them isolated and desperately fending off the flood of invaders. She dives back inside when the creature roars and throws a boulder at her, the stone shattering against the mountain.

“I would go to such lengths for Stonehelm,” Udelia whispers as Dariana joins her at the entrance. She puts her broadsword on her shoulder and takes another look at the unconscious casters. “They’re willing to sacrifice themselves for their people. To defeat such an act would require a similar one. What happens to them if I kill the Feldspar?”

“It depends on how strong they are, but you can’t beat that thing alone,” the champion politely replies. Refusing to cow before the angry glare she receives, Dariana puts a hand on the other woman’s stomach. “Hardened leather and woven cloth won’t protect you. Your sword seems to have a durability enchantment, but you would need more strength than your body has to break the Feldspar’s outer shell. Let me try to take it apart from the inside. It’s a risk, but it’s all I can think of doing.”

“Your powers barely work on it and I do have the strength to kill it,” the sheriff confidently states, examining her weapon. A single link of chainmail that is stuck to her shirt catches the barbarian’s attention and makes her smirk. “Kerr is on my side. All I need is for you to unlock me. Go into my mind, Dariana, and awaken my rage. You have heard of the legendary fury of my people that has scared many outside of the tribes. Many think it is the modern rage that we can unleash with ease, but it is really a more terrifying gift that lurks within all of us. We keep it restrained these days because there is rarely a reason to become a true berserker. This is a time where such a warrior is needed.”

“Will you survive?”

“Only if Kerr wishes it.”

“I don’t-”

“Either you do it or I go into the fight as I am now.”

The resolve in the sheriff’s eyes tells Dariana that she cannot talk her companion out of such a dangerous plan. Hearing the screams of people getting hit by the boulders, the telepath reaches out to delve into Udelia’s mind. With the other woman giving permission, she finds it easy to move through the first barrier and push into the depths. Waves of guilt, loneliness, and anger attempt to drag the telepath into an abyss of self-loathing, which spouts greasy arms that fail to catch a solid hold on the intruder. A choking darkness consumes the psychic landscape, a mixture of cackling laughter and mournful cries attempting to drive the champion away. In responses, visions of the sheriff’s family and friends rise from the ethereal shadows to give Dariana enough light to find her way. It is a short, straight path due to the clarity that has overtaken the barbarian, so the telepath risks breaking into a sprint. Sensing every obstacle, the gracefully vaults over a few holes in the road that lead to the darkest recesses of the sheriff’s psyche. After what feels like hours of constant running, but has only been seconds in the real world, the muscular form of Kerr appears in the distance. A crimson orb is in his hand, which he lowers to the path when Dariana gets within reach.

“I trust you to honor her, Godling,” the Barbarian God booms from every direction. His face appears in every shadow, the eyes flickering like hungry flames. “This is not an easy decision and she will not survive. Tell her that I will be the first thing she sees on the other side. Udelia Godric-Kalten will not have to wait for me to claim her from Ram’s Garden.”

The orb erupts at Dariana’s touch and bathes the entire mindscape in a blood-like pallor. A shockwave sends the telepath back to her own mind in time to hear the echoing battle cry of her companion. The barbarian looks no different than before aside from a maddening glint in her eyes and a throbbing throughout her muscular frame. Desiring nothing more than battle, Udelia charges the Feldspar and smacks a boulder out of the way with her sword. Leaping over another chunk of stone, the sheriff comes down with a powerful swing that drives her weapon into the demon’s shoulder. A stony fist strikes her in the side with enough force to splinter ribs and dislodge the sword. Immune to pain and driven by the purest rage, Udelia punches the Feldspar in the jaw and shatters half of its face. She is unaware of her broken fingers as she slams her shoulder into the monster’s stomach and begins pushing it away from Stonehelm, its clawed feet leaving deep furrows in the earth. Not wanting to lose ground, the demon delivers a crushing blow to the warrior’s back that seems to only make her angrier. Jamming her broadsword into the Feldspar’s solid gut, the bloodied barbarian grabs it by the neck with her other hand and lifts it into the air. Deadly punches rain down on her head and chest as she twists her weapon and stretches her muscular arms wide. The loud cracking of stone mixes with cheers from the distant wall while Udelia tears the roaring demon in half. Dropping the body to the dirt, she stomps on the Feldspar’s head to turn the creature into powder.