Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) by Charles E. Yallowitz Read Free Book Online Page B

barbarian has kept perfectly polished. “I’m sorry for the rudeness. My name is Cyrus Anghorn of the Snow Tiger Tribe. We were tracking these giltris for a while. They always have their Harmoke ceremony around this time. If they had succeeded then they’d attempt an assault on our city, so it’s smarter to stop them from building up their fervor. You can follow us back to-”
    All of the barbarians stop when the snow tiger cubs mewl and bring everyone’s attention to Timoran. The champion remains motionless on the other side of the abandoned cauldron, none of his brethren having bothered to take notice of him until now. Nobody makes a move toward the red-haired man for several minutes that are filled with tension and blank stares. The cubs eventually squirm out of the barbarian’s arms and hurry to Luke, who bends down to pat their heads. With the animals no longer in the way, Cyrus storms over to Timoran and punches him in the shoulder. It is a powerful blow that sends the other man back a few clumsy steps, leaving him open for a tight hug.
    “The fallen favored son returns,” Cyrus whispers, slapping his old friend on the back.
    “It appears this day was inevitable,” Timoran replies, noticing that the other barbarians are still eyeing him suspiciously. “Your companions do not seem happy to see me. How are we going to do this?”
    Cyrus puts a thick arm around his old friend’s shoulders and confidently guides him toward the gathered warriors. “I’m in charge, battle brother, so they won’t do anything. They trust and respect me, which is still something I’m getting used to. I say we travel back to Stonehelm like nothing is wrong. I assume your new friends are in the dark about what is waiting for you at home.”
    “They are unaware, but suspicious.”
    “In that case, I shall regale them with stories of your youth.”
    “I will inflict the same embarrassment on you.”
    Cyrus grins wide enough to reveal he is missing an upper incisor, a reminder of a bar fight that he firmly believes he won. “You really should have stayed away, Wrath. Stonehelm and King Edric aren’t ready for you. Then again, it’d be worse if they were.”
    With a forced smile, Timoran squeezes his friend’s arm and rejoins the champions. He is aware that the other members of his tribe are watching his every step and many of them are ready to draw their weapons at a moment’s notice. The only thing that is keeping the barbarians at bay is a stern glare from Cyrus, who has reclaimed his halberd from the dead Tribe Baron. Timoran remains with his companions as the group marches toward Stonehelm and his childhood friend entertains everyone with exaggerated tales of their youth. Many times, the red-haired warrior politely interjects a forgotten fact that causes both of the men to blush at the foolishness of their past. As the travelers laugh, the nervous champion gains a flicker of hope that his homecoming will not be as disastrous as he fears.

 
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    “Still no luck?” Sari asks after Delvin drops into the chair across from her. She waves at a nearby waitress before going back to stroking Fizzle’s belly, the drite lazily sprawled on the wooden table. “I always thought Freedom was a busy port, so I didn’t think we would have this much trouble. Although it’s really odd that we can’t find a ride to the southern jungles at this time of year. I heard the locals do flora and fauna tours because summer is the active period for a lot of them.”
    Delvin yawns and rubs at his eyes, his fingers lingering on the dark circles that have appeared after several days of exhausting travel. Glancing out the tavern window, he watches waves of heat rise off the river that cuts through the coastal city. He notices a small boat in The Scar and smiles as the tiny ship is directed by a young elf’s wand. The brown-haired warrior’s attention is stolen by the clatter of a plate and he turns to see that a sandwich has been placed in front