Read Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) for Free Online Page B

around his neck and yanked into the arms of a burly giltris, the lizardman easily restraining the struggling half-elf. A solid punch to the head reverts the young warrior into his true form and frees the rest of the tribe to focus on the remaining adventurers.
    Her head bleeding from being struck by a flying hammer, Nyx is about to unleash her magic when she hears the snow tiger cubs hissing. The dizziness caused by the blow makes her pause and briefly doubt that she can control her power enough to avoid injuring the animals. Taking advantage of the opening, a female giltris pounces on the channeler and shoves her into a thick sack that erupts in flames. Terrified by the display, the primitive hunter repeatedly stomps on Nyx to put out the fire and only stops attacking when a crude javelin strikes her in the throat. A heavily scarred giltris bats his dying comrade away and hunkers down to make sure the trampled half-elf is still alive. She lets out a shuddering breath, but he gives her a few drops of a healing potion to repair her internal injuries.
    “They want us alive, so we should go quietly,” Timoran says as the snorting creatures get closer. He growls when one of them lifts a rusty sword to kill the cubs, his great axe pulled back for a throw. “Touch them and I will dismember your entire tribe. For now, only your leaders are at risk. You live close enough to Stonehelm to know what type of enemy I am.”
    The scarred giltris chuckles as he walks toward the barbarian, stopping when his snout touches the man’s nose. Only Luke can decipher the lizardman’s hisses and grunts, but he is too groggy to translate for his friends. “More food better. Entertainment be good too. All you provide both for feast. Now move, wild foe.”
    *****
    Nestled within a tight circle of hills, the five miles of humid swampland remains untouched by the surrounding snow. Having been working since dawn, Giltris can be seen resting in the murky water with only their reptilian heads above the surface. Other tribe members are busy preparing a large bonfire on the central plot of land that has been covered in a soft layer of lemongrass. The females collect small animals from around the swamp and return to place the flayed bodies in a massive, stone bowl of soup. Not wanting the discarded parts to go to waste, they chew the skin into a mush that is given to the infants clinging to their backs. Wrinkled and adorned with vulture feathers, the oldest female dances around the bubbling soup, every movement plodding and slow. Her chanting causes the stones she is holding to heat up before she throws them into the broth and retrieves more from a nearby pile. A crude shack has been erected for the Tribe Baron, who proudly stands with a metal spear in his hands. The scarred giltris grins at his prisoners and licks his lips at the thought of getting a bite of each one. His eyes linger on Timoran and he decides to claim the barbarian’s great axe for a trophy.
    “Something shiny?” the Tribe Baron hisses when the sunlight glints off Nyx’s amethyst necklace. He strides over to the young woman who has been wrapped in chains from her shoulders to her ankles. “That be my prize.”
    “I wouldn’t touch that,” Luke says through gritted teeth. His wrists are tied to a thick tree branch while his legs are weighed down with rocks that are strapped to his feet. The half-elf sucks in a deep breath before concentrating on the guttural language of the giltris. “I know you can understand me, so I suggest you listen to every word. Her necklace keeps her magic in check. Remove that when she’s still alive and this swamp will be destroyed in a matter of seconds.”
    “Runt of prey lie.”
    “Do you really want to take that chance?”
    “I not afraid.”
    “Then explain all her chains.”
    The Tribe Baron approaches Luke and bares his teeth in an attempt to scare the truth out of the warrior. Instead, his prisoner yawns and dislocates his ankles to slip