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

top of a nearby boulder. The half-elf is meditating with his head slightly tilted toward the pair, the angle becoming more pronounced whenever he drifts into a deeper trance. No more than a few yards away, Nyx rests on the only patch of grass to be found on the cliff. She is talking to Dariana in hushed whispers, but there is a subtle glow around her violet eyes that betrays the spell she is using. Every time she yawns or stretches, the half-elf twists her head to face the two barbarians, which she tries to hide by gazing around the area like a lost child.
    “At least the silver-haired woman isn’t spying on you,” Cyrus says before taking another sip. A violent cough nearly knocks him off his stool, but he regains his balance after an awkward second of teetering and flailing. “That could have been embarrassing. You know, Dariana is a fascinating person. Tougher than I would have thought, which is why I’m surprised she is respectful of your boundaries.”
    “She is a telepath, so I could not stop her even if I wanted to. I greatly appreciate that she is behaving herself,” Timoran replies as he goes back to watching the caribou. A muttered apology can be heard from Nyx and Luke shifts in an attempt to better hide his eavesdropping. “I cannot be angry at them. We have fought many battles together and have become a family. Nyx even calls me her big brother. They are as protective of me as I am of them. That is why I want to avoid unnecessary conflict. If one of my friends were to get hurt because of my actions then I would never forgive myself.”
    “If you didn’t want conflict then you probably should have stayed away,” the black-haired barbarian says in an attempt to lighten the mood. A pang of guilt hits his chest when he sees the pain on the other man’s face. “Sorry about that. You know I always try to handle tension with a joke and I’m not that funny. There’s been a lot of stress here ever since you left. King Edric tries to keep things together, but he’s nothing like King Melich or General Godric. It doesn’t help that everyone, including him, knows that he wasn’t supposed to assume the throne. That makes things very uncomfortable around here.”
    “Is Stonehelm in chaos?” Timoran asks, surprised to find that his former teacher is having trouble ruling. “Edric was always a wise and patient man. After all, he managed to teach the two of us how to be more than simple-minded warriors. I owe him my wisdom and the ability to see beyond my muscles.”
    “He’s just a different type of leader than we’re used to.”
    “People and systems change.”
    “And it is rarely a smooth transition.”
    “It could be if people were not so stubborn.”
    “Only a fool accepts change without challenging it first.”
    “I would not call you a fool per say.”
    Cyrus smacks his old friend on the arm, the blow echoing off the rocks. “You always have to throw an insult into our debates when you’re losing. What makes it more frustrating is that your insults make people laugh more than my jokes. By the gods, I really missed having you around. Nobody else can argue or fight like you, Timoran the Nimble-Mouthed.”
    “Thank you, Cyrus the Hammer-Tongued.”
    The barbarians bellow with laughter, which draws the attention of the other warriors who are resting by the fire. Neither of the men care that some of their companions are eyeing them suspiciously and growling with hate. The old friends return to their drinks and sit on the ground, the stools casually tossed back to the camp. After nearly an hour of silence, they sense that everyone has gone to sleep and the only one watching them is the meditating forest tracker. Luke is facing them with his eyes closed, his hands rubbing the rubies that are set into the pommels of his twin sabers.
    “Seriously, I don’t understand why you came back,” Cyrus whispers, draining the last of his drink. He straps the empty decanter to his belt and has a sip of water