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

inflict upon me, so don’t push your luck.”
    The heiress casually lifts the edge of her skirt to reveal the chain and sickle weapon that is strapped to the fabric. “As you can see by my dress and the terrible location of my weapon, I have to act like a proper noblewoman for now. After all, I’m the head of a powerful merchant house and very few of my fellow elite have accepted the idea of me being armed. Truthfully, some of my older peers are rather archaic in their thoughts toward women and weapons. It would also be embarrassing for me to be petty, so you can remove the spell from your lips. The tip of your tongue always sticks out of your mouth before a casting, which one wouldn’t see in the heat of battle or with your kissing tactics. Now, we will be sharing a room to make sure you are at my beck and call every second of the day. Be prepared to work, Sari.”
    “I dare you to do your worst.”
    “Very well. Carry my things to the room without the help of the crew.”
    Only seeing a small bag next to Kira, Sari laughs and bends down to take the light piece of luggage. Her mood sours when a pair of orcs approach with a cart full of heavy boxes and nicely wrapped packages. One ornamental container is nearly as big as the gypsy, who cannot stop her mouth from falling open in dismay. The towering dockworkers are waved away by the heiress, who pats her temporary maidservant on the head. With nothing left to do, the orcs accept their tips and return to their post for the next delivery. Taking her small bag from Sari’s hands, Kira leaves the blue-haired champion to finish her first task.
    “Try not to curse too much!” she shouts from the gangplank before disappearing below decks.

 
    3
    Sitting cross-legged at the cliff’s edge, Timoran enjoys the peaceful evening that has enveloped his homeland. The snow has melted to reveal crisp grass and rocky patches of earth, which lead to the lower mountains. Being on the southernmost cliff of the curved range, the mellow warrior can see the vast expanse of wilderness to every side, except behind him where the encampment sits among the stones. The grunt of a bear rumbles over the mountains, the large predator a faint shadow among a collection of boulders atop a distant rise. A herd of caribou are grazing to the west, the cautious beasts close enough for him to make out their antlers in the crimson moonlight. Huddled on a lower cliff is a snow leopard and her cubs, the family feasting on a recent kill that threatens to topple over the edge. The other goats have already galloped along the sheer cliffs to seek refuge within the craggy walls, only the occasional bang of butting heads revealing their presence. After watching the calming display of brutal nature for several hours, Timoran finds himself happy to be home and his worries remain shoved to the back of his mind.
    “Thank you for offering to keep watch,” Cyrus says as he brings over two stools for them to use. He hands his old friend a bottle of light green alcohol that reeks of licorice and releases a trail of vapor. “I know you prefer Ifrit mead, but I only carry Leviathan ale these days. The other stuff brings back too many memories. I’m surprised you can even find your favorite brew out there. Must cost a lot of money.”
    “I have always found a way and it is more popular in Ralian and the southern regions than you would think,” Timoran replies, taking a quick sip of the harsh liquor. Balancing himself on the small seat, he leans forward and watches the stars continue to appear. “I assume you are here because your men do not trust me to be alone. There is no reason to lie to me. Though I do ask again that you and the others keep my situation a secret. All three of my companions have prying eyes and ears. It would be best that they not know what I am walking into. They could make it worse with their desire to help.”
    With a small nod, Cyrus glances over his shoulder and sees the silhouette of Luke on