The Tiger’s Wrath (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 5)

by Marc Edelheit

“How many regulars would you think those tents amount to?” Stiger asked.

  Taha’Leeth was silent as she studied the tent line. “I count enough tents for six such companies. Perhaps twelve hundred regulars, maybe more, maybe less. They might also be Cyphan conscripts. Whether slave soldier or conscript, they will be disciplined, well-trained, and motivated. You can expect them to be the biggest threat on a field of battle.”

  Stiger blew out a slow breath. He reached down and scooped up a handful of snow. With both hands, he formed it into a ball. As he did it, he had a brief recollection of having a snowball fight on the palace grounds when he was a mere child.

  The memory brought up unwelcome feelings, for his best friend at the time and childhood playmate, Tioclesion, had ultimately gone on to become the current emperor. With the fires of a failed rebellion, that friendship had long since cooled and, for all intents and purposes, ended. The rebellion and his father’s support of it had seen to that.

  Feeling sour, he dropped the snowball back to the ground. Patting his hands clean, he returned his gaze to the enemy’s camp, thoughts racing. Here before him was an opportunity. He was certain of it. By not fortifying their camp, Stiger’s enemy had made a fatal mistake.

  The question now became…should he alter the plan to take advantage of that mistake or stick with it and see his plan through? His eyes returned to the enemy’s supply depot, wagons, and transport. Despite having plenty of supply, Stiger did not know how long the campaign would last. Seizing what the enemy had only made sense. More important was their transport. He knew he could not risk having it intentionally destroyed. In the coming days, it might prove invaluable to keeping the army fed.

  “Seems like a wonderful opportunity, sir,” Ruga said, as if he’d read Stiger’s thoughts. “It would be a shame to pass it up, especially with the enemy being so obliging. It’s almost as if they’re inviting us over for dinner, sir.”

  Stiger rubbed his jaw as he considered the centurion’s words. He was leaning toward striking, for he felt that to be the correct option. But…what if it wasn’t?

  “You are thinking of attacking, yes?” Eli asked plainly. It was more of a statement than question.

  “I am,” Stiger said, after a prolonged moment.

  Eli shot a full-on grin, teeth and all, at Taha’Leeth. He seemed suddenly triumphant. “I win. I told you I’d win. The moment he saw their camp and its lack of defenses, didn’t I tell you he’d change his mind?” He pointed a finger at Stiger. “I know you so well.”

  “There was no bet,” Taha’Leeth said frostily. “It takes two to make a wager, or have you forgotten?”

  “I still win,” Eli said.

  Stiger glanced at his friend and then over to the woman who had become his lover. She gave a shrug of her shoulders and rolled her eyes at the other elf.

  “This,” Stiger said, deciding to ignore them, “I think is too good an opportunity to waste. Without having put out any patrols, they are completely ignorant of our presence.” Stiger pointed toward the enemy’s camp. “More important, there are no defenses between them and us, only forest. Our enemy seems unprepared…quite unprepared.” Stiger sucked in a breath, eyes going to one of the larger fires with men gathered around. “Yes, I am thinking that we strike them hard and as soon as possible, before they learn of the legion’s presence.”

  As he said it, Stiger became more resolved. He felt his anger once again stir deep within his breast. It was directed toward his enemy and all who stood in his way. Though, at the same time, he wondered if such a move was a mistake. After all, he’d be giving up a perfectly good defensive position in favor of taking a risk against a numerically superior foe.

  Stiger glanced up at the sky. It was late afternoon. In his head, he began estimating the time it would take to organize and then move the legion forward to a jump-off position for assault. That would require some serious planning and hasty work.

  Could they do it before the sun set? He didn’t think so and was unwilling to conduct a night assault with the entire legion. It was just too large a force to coordinate and maneuver through a forest by moonlight. There was also the serious potential and likelihood for everything to go balls up, with cohorts getting turned around, or worse, lost.

  No. Any such attack must begin at dawn or just before it.

  The men were ready for a fight. There was no doubt about that. After the march and work they were now toiling away at, they’d be tired. There would be precious little sleep tonight. But he knew that would not pose much of a problem. The men had endured worse and could endure much more. They were legionaries.

  Stiger gave it a little more thought. He would order a cessation of work on the fortified line and instead focus on temporary shelters and fires to warm the men up. They carried seven days of precooked rations with them, so food would not be a problem. Yes…this could work.

  Stiger had the element of surprise. Striking at dawn would require a night movement to jump-off positions. It would be tricky, but the legion’s scouts and the elves could help guide the cohorts into position. Stiger sucked in a breath and then let it out slowly.

  The decision was made.

  He would not sit behind a defensive line and wait for the enemy to come to him. Stiger made a fist with his hand. He would instead strike and crush this army completely. He would take what they had and then march away, leaving ruin and destruction in his wake.

  “I am resolved.” He smacked the fist into his open palm. “We will attack.”

  Stiger turned and, keeping himself crouched, patted Ruga on the shoulder as he stepped by the centurion. It was time to return to headquarters. He had a lot to do in the coming hours and not much time.

  NINE

  The sky was just beginning to brighten. The first hint of color had appeared, a slight shade of purple. Stiger stood atop the same hill he had been on just a few hours ago, when Eli and Taha’Leeth had led him forward. As earlier, he gazed down upon the enemy’s camp.

  The hill was a natural vantage point for the battle to come. It wasn’t perfect, as he could not see everything, but after consulting Eli and Taha’Leeth, he’d become convinced it was the best spot on what would shortly become a field of battle. So, he’d chosen it for his command post.

  The forest behind, like the enemy’s camp, was dark and heavily shadowed. A slight, wispy fog hugged the ground. Downhill, the fog seemed to thicken a tad and had partially obscured the enemy’s camp. That served his purposes just fine, as it would help to conceal the legion as it moved into jump-off positions for the assault.

  Besides it being bitterly cold, he thought there was an ominous feel to the air. It was as if something was not quite right, a wrongness. Stiger scanned the encampment, searching for any hint that there was a problem or that the enemy knew they were coming. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  He chided himself and chalked it up to nerves. He always got anxious before a battle, running through the what-ifs. This time was no different. His scouts had been observing the enemy all night. If there had been any activity, they would have reported it to him. Still, the feeling would not go away, and that troubled him a little.

  The risk that came with his attack upon the enemy was greater than what he’d initially planned with Salt. In the coming fight, there were no fortifications for the legion to fight behind. He was throwing the dice, gambling that surprise and sheer audacity would win the day against a numerically superior foe. Well, that and the legion’s iron discipline, training, and organization. It was a gamble to be sure, and one Stiger hoped would pay off.

  In the darkness around him, the cohorts were moving into the position, readying themselves as quietly as they could. Despite taking efforts to minimize noise, with so many men being deployed, Stiger could hear the faint jingle and chink of armor. He understood that some sound would carry. There was simply no helping it, and he hoped the noise did not carry to the enemy. Even if the enemy discovered the legion and sounded the alarm, Stiger was committed.
The die had already been cast. What happened now was in Fortuna’s hands.

  Like unsuspecting prey being closed in upon by a pack of hungry wolves, the enemy slept, unaware of what was about to descend upon them. In truth, Stiger was amazed he’d been able to move the legion up so close without detection, nearly to the edge of the encampment itself. It was hard to fathom the enemy commander’s incompetence.

  “Never become complacent,” Stiger said, barely above a whisper, thinking that here before him was a powerful lesson to take to heart. It was a prime example of what not to do.

  “That’s good advice, sir.” Salt stood at his side, observing the enemy’s camp. “Very good advice, sir. It’s a good thing the enemy did not think of it first.”

  Stiger glanced over at his camp prefect. Despite the ironic tone, Salt was grim, for he, like Stiger, knew what was at hand. Both of them were worried about how the next few hours were going to play out. Stiger could read it plainly in the other’s eyes, just as Salt likely could in his too. But to others, both senior officers would appear calm and collected, as if they were merely prepared to watch a regular training.

  Next to Salt stood Arnold. The man was wearing his legionary armor. Stiger sensed that Arnold felt uncomfortable in their presence, almost as if he did not belong amongst the senior officers of the legion. Stiger did not care. The man would get used to it soon enough, for Stiger did not intend to let the budding paladin far from his sight, unless, of course, he was called away by the High Father.

  “In all my years, sir,” Arnold said, in a hushed tone that was full of awe, “I’ve never seen an entire legion sidle up to an enemy army without being found out. The High Father surely has blessed us this day.”

  “The High Father loves his legionaries,” Salt said and held out both hands, gesturing about them out into the darkness. “Our god watches over us. This is but one more example of that truth.”

  There was a muffled curse from behind, followed by a solid-sounding thud as something was dropped. Stiger looked back. He could not see what had happened or who had made the noise.

  Under the supervision of Tribune Severus, his clerks were busy setting up his command post. Several tables had already been assembled and the snow was being shoveled aside. The canvas of the headquarters tent had been unpacked and laid out, along with the poles. Once the attack went forward, the tent would be raised.

  A handful of Ruga’s men were assisting the clerks with setting up the command post. Legionary Beck, holding the Eagle, stood off and out of the way. The Eagle had been wrapped in a black cloth to keep it from being seen by the enemy. In the darkness, the standard was only a dark, indistinct shape.

  The Eagle guard, an entire century, stood around Beck and the empire’s honor. They would guard it with their lives, for to lose the Eagle was to lose their honor.

  Javelins and shields in hand, the rest of Stiger’s guard, Ruga’s men all, had been deployed protectively around the hill. An auxiliary with a bow and horn stood just a few feet away. He waited upon Stiger’s command. A small shielded fire smoked at his feet.

  Several runners and messengers were huddled a few yards back, talking quietly amongst themselves. Beyond them and on the back side of the hill was a team of mules. The mules had brought forward the essential baggage that headquarters would require. Men were moving back and forth from the train, carrying stools, tables, and small crates.

  “It appears we caught them without their sandals on,” Salt said in a hard but low tone.

  “What?” Stiger asked. “No more toga jokes?”

  “I thought you said I wore that one thin, sir?” Salt asked. “Thought I’d try another approach.”

  Stiger chuckled and felt a slight lightening of his mood. “You did wear that fairly thin.”

  “They’re about to learn a very painful lesson,” Salt said, growing serious once again.

  “Agreed,” Stiger said, his gaze returning to the enemy, who were sleeping blissfully away. With each passing heartbeat, the sky lightened. Stiger felt it was light enough to send his men forward without too much of a problem. “We’re about to give them an education.”

  “That we will, sir,” Salt said.

  A messenger jogged in. He was red-faced and out of breath from his exertions through the snow. Stiger turned to watch briefly as the messenger saluted and then reported his news to the tribune. Severus replied. The messenger gave another salute and then started back the way he’d come, at a slower pace.

  Somewhere out in the darkness, a dog began barking, drawing Stiger’s attention back to the enemy’s camp. He sucked in an unhappy breath, for the dog surely sensed something was out in the forest. A shout followed and the dog ceased its barking.

  It did not surprise Stiger that the enemy had a dog. There were also likely camp followers down there too. That would include women, children, whores, and more. It saddened him slightly, for in a short while there would be terror below, along with a great effusion of blood. Lives would be forever altered by his command.

  But there was no helping that. He could not worry about the enemy, and that included the innocent, the children. He had a job to do and fully intended to do it, as ruthlessly as possible. For in war, a commander who was not ruthless ran the risk of defeat and failure. Compassion was something he simply could not afford.

  Boots crunching the snow, Tribune Severus came up behind him. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir.”

  Stiger looked over as Severus stepped up to his side. When Stiger had first met him, the tribune had been a mere boy, barely into his teens. Since that time, five long years had passed. Severus had turned into a young man, growing taller and fit. He was becoming more capable by the day and was developing into a fine officer, one Stiger was proud to lead.

  Stiger gave a nod for Severus to speak.

  “We have confirmation that all legionary cohorts are in position, sir,” Severus reported and then hesitated a heartbeat. “All except the Sixth, sir. Both auxiliary cohorts are also in position and ready, sir. Their archers and slingers are also deployed and ready, sir.”

  Stiger wondered what had happened to Katurus’s cohort. That they were not in position was troubling and irritating.

  “What’s happened to the Sixth, son?” Salt asked. “What’s keeping them?”

  “No idea, sir,” Severus said. “We’ve had no word from them. I’ve sent a runner to locate the Sixth, but he’s not reported back yet.”

  “They may have gotten lost in the darkness, sir,” Salt said, turning to Stiger. “I expect they will turn up soon. At least, I hope they do, sir.”

  Stiger felt a stab of intense frustration. The Sixth was responsible for covering his extreme left flank. Guides had been provided to each and every cohort. Taha’Leeth, Eli, and Aver’Mons were also out there somewhere in the trees, helping to lead the legion forward. Had he more elven rangers, he doubted this would have happened.

  In a perfect world, there would have been no problems, no issues. However, Stiger was a realist, or perhaps it was just that he was the ultimate pessimist, for he expected things to go wrong. In his experience, when it came to battle, something or someone always managed to cock up the best of plans. Nothing ever went completely right, and if it did, you needed to worry…for something was about to go terribly wrong.

  Stiger rubbed his hands together for warmth as he considered the situation. Even with his gloves on, his fingers were cold and ached. He glanced up at the sky again. The color had increased, and the sky had lightened considerably. Within an hour, the sun would be up and daylight would be upon them.

  With most of the legion in position to jump off into the attack, it was bound to be only a matter of time before a bright-eyed sentry spotted them. That was, if they weren’t all asleep. The enemy seemed lax when it came to basic precautions for their security.

  His thoughts returning to the Sixth, Stiger sucked in a breath of the cool air and expelled it. He shook his head, feeling the frustration keenly. In the coming fig
ht he needed every single sword and shield.

  “Send a team to find them,” Stiger said. “I want the Sixth in position, as rapidly as possible.”

  “Yes, sir.” Severus saluted and stepped away.

  “It was bound to happen, sir,” Salt said, once Severus was out of earshot.

  “I know,” Stiger replied. “We’re lucky it’s just one cohort that’s gone missing and not more. I would hate to have to delay the attack. Such a thing would give the bastards down there a chance to become organized. And we can’t have that, now, can we?”

  “I don’t think we can afford to wait on Sixth Cohort,” Salt said. “Everyone else is in position and ready. We have the element of surprise on our side. If we lose it…well, that will translate into greater casualties for us. We can’t have that either, sir.”

  “No we can’t.” Stiger turned his gaze back to the sleeping encampment below. He rubbed his jaw. Upon his command waited the entire legion, thousands of men poised and ready to be released upon the enemy. He had no reserves. He’d considered designating one of the auxiliary cohorts as a fire brigade, a unit to be thrown at a problem point. But after some reflection, he had, in the end, rejected the idea.

  The enemy camp was very large. Stiger figured the legion’s assault force, without Sixth Cohort, was outnumbered by a factor of more than three to one. For the attack to succeed, he needed to stretch out his entire line and bring as much of the encampment on his side under assault as possible. The legion had to be seen as an oncoming armored wall that was rolling over the entire camp.

  By doing that, the bastards would not know the size disparity between the two forces. At least, he hoped so. Stiger was counting on that and the resulting confusion that an attack without warning would cause. The more men he panicked, the fewer that would stand against the legion, and the easier it would be to break the enemy. That was how he saw it. He hoped he was correct.

  Stiger sucked in another breath and let it out slowly. Somewhere out in the fog, Death patiently waited. By day’s end, there would be a line waiting for the ferryman’s services, for thousands would surely perish before the sun, which had yet to rise, would set.