“Marus, left flank, advance,” Stiger said. “Sound it, son.”
Marus blew his horn, and with it, Stiger’s left flank began to go forward. Stiger and his entourage moved with them. Very quickly, the line was engaged. The enemy were armored differently than those they had previously faced and were equipped identically to those he had encountered back at Vrell. They held their line well, even with the legion pushing them hard.
“I believe these soldiers we face,” Eli said, “are the slave soldiers we’ve heard much about. See the collars they wear?”
“I think the ones before must have been conscripts.” Stiger waved a hand before him. “They are more determined than the last bunch, stubborn even.”
“Slave soldiers who fight with a purpose and will. This world is already proving very interesting,” Jeskix said, and then looked at Eli, “even without dwarves and gnomes. I am glad I came.”
Stiger glanced over at the two Vass. Both were hulking individuals. Even Therik seemed small by comparison. In fact, the orc had been actively giving them space, as if the Vass unsettled him. Stiger turned his attention back to the battle. His entire line was now fully engaged.
The noise from the fight was deafening. Shouts, screams, cries, hammering of shield on shield, sword on shield…it blended into a terrific racket. Stiger’s eyes swept the fighting. His centurions, along with the auxiliary prefects, were managing their cohorts, fighting them as they saw best.
Stiger would not interfere, unless he saw something that needed doing. And right now, there was nothing for him to do, other than watch. The temptation to do something was incredibly strong. Instead, he decided to walk behind the line and settle for observation. He started on the left side, working his way to the end of the line, before turning back and returning. Wherever he went, Beck with the Eagle followed, and so too did his entourage.
“How’s it going, Kiel?” Stiger hollered at the senior centurion from Seventh Cohort. He wanted another’s opinion.
“Tolerable, sir,” Kiel responded from behind the first rank and made his way back to speak with Stiger. “This lot before us is good and determined, but my boys are holding them just fine.”
That was high praise from the centurion.
“Anything you need?” Stiger asked.
“No, sir,” Kiel said. “We’re doing just fine.”
Stiger’s eyes had never left the fighting while the two of them talked. Both sides were evenly matched. He did not see a reason to begin the push yet. If he ordered it too soon, the effort might fail and he’d exhaust his men for naught. So, he allowed the contest of wills to continue.
“Very well,” Stiger said, “carry on.”
“Yes, sir.” Kiel returned to his cohort.
The enemy formation before Seventh Cohort abruptly changed out their front rank. Stiger noted that it was well executed, and a sure sign they had drilled repeatedly in how to do it under the pressure of the line. The legions did the same. He did not find it surprising. It only served to confirm his men were facing off against professional soldiers.
Returning to his original position near the center, Stiger stopped and looked over the fighting to either side. It seemed intense, particularly on Salt’s side of the line. Stiger wasn’t sure how he could relieve it.
There was a distant rumbling to the far left. Hux was finally moving with the cavalry. The prefect had swung the cavalry wing out and around by about a half mile, well clear of the fighting, before starting back toward the road. His boys had worked up some speed and were now charging the road, aiming for one of the marching columns. Looking like toy figures, the cavalry went home, sweeping over the road like a tidal wave, driving all before it and washing away the column that had been there.
Hux had swept a good portion of the road clean. Once clear of the road, his cavalry began to swing back around for another go of it. With any luck, further reinforcements coming from the north would be forced to deploy farther up the road rather than risk receiving the same treatment. That would serve to seriously delay immediate reinforcement, meaning the enemy now had to fight out the battle with what they had on hand.
“Look there,” Eli said and pointed, drawing Stiger’s attention to the enemy’s line.
It took Stiger a moment to realize what he was looking at. Just behind the line moved a man escorted by an entourage, very similar to Stiger’s. There was even a standard-bearer. The top of the standard appeared to be a golden head, as opposed to an Eagle, but from this distance, Stiger was not so sure. He knew he was looking at the enemy’s general. The man was moving down the line, just like Stiger had just done a short while before.
The enemy general wore armor that was silver and polished to a high sheen. Even on such a dreary and miserable day, he stood out from the rest. Stiger’s opposite moved with a confidence born of being in command. He seemed calm and collected, just how a professional should be. He stopped when they were directly opposite and made a show of studying Stiger. Several of the general’s staff were pointing at Stiger and his entourage.
“Your opponent,” Therik said to Stiger. “He seems rather confident. I don’t think he’s heard of you.”
“It’s a long shot.” Stiger looked over at Eli. “Think you can hit him?”
“I do,” Eli replied and pulled his bow off his back. In a flash, he had an arrow nocked. He aimed and loosed. All the while, the general just stood there and watched Stiger. He showed no alarm. The arrow flew true, only to stop impossibly in midair before its intended target. The man did not even flinch, but eyed the suspended missile curiously.
A warrior in nondescript armor who had been standing just behind the general stepped forward. He grabbed the arrow out of the air and examined it briefly before dropping the spent missile to the ground. Then he pointed at Eli and wagged an index finger.
Stiger felt a loathing as his gaze settled on the man. It was such an intense feeling, it almost made him ill. He recognized it immediately, for he’d felt the same thing when he’d held Valoor’s holy scripture weeks before. The man was some sort of a warrior priest in service to Valoor.
“A paladin,” Arol said. “We will need to watch him. He could prove dangerous.”
“Just what we need,” Stiger said as he wondered if any of the men over there with the general was Veers. Just the thought of it fed his wrath.
The general turned to an aide and said something, then gestured vaguely at the legionary line. The aide walked calmly over to a man with a horn and spoke in his ear. The horn sounded a moment later.
Almost immediately, the enemy shoved forward against the legionaries. The men of the Thirteenth pushed back hard. The intensity of the fighting increased to new levels. Despite the noise, Stiger knew that very few men were being injured or killed. It was mainly a struggle of wills at this point. Only when one side broke would the real killing begin.
“How long can your men withstand this?” Arol asked, glancing over at Stiger.
“For a good while yet,” Stiger said, not taking his eyes from the enemy general. “We have depth in the ranks. There is time yet.”
“They outnumber you,” Jeskix said.
“They do,” Stiger admitted. “We have reinforcement coming.”
“When will they get here?” Arol asked.
“We do not know,” Therik admitted, before Stiger could speak.
“Is this true?” Jeskix asked.
Stiger gave a nod and waved a hand at the enemy. “They stole a march on us. The rest of the army is marching to our aid.”
Stiger glanced at the road headed south. There was no one on it. The only ones left on the rise were the gnomes, who had parked their large bolt thrower wagons just past the crest of the hill. There was also a steady stream of walking wounded, who were working their way back to the surgeon’s tents on the other side of the rise.
“If reinforcements do not arrive soon, you may want to begin thinking about withdrawal,” Arol said, “before their superior numbers begin to tell. Yo
u have already badly mauled them. They may not be prepared to pursue you. If you can manage to successfully disengage, you may be able to preserve a part of this army until your reinforcement arrives.”
Stiger shot an unhappy look to Arol.
“You can kill the messenger,” Arol said, “but those soldiers are good quality and they outnumber you. It can only end one way, unless something unexpected happens or the dynamic is changed in some way.”
“It was a good attempt,” Jeskix said. “Another lesser army would have crumbled under the pressure you put them under. But these warriors before us have strength of will and heart. They are truly a worthy foe. There is no shame in a fighting withdrawal, especially in the face of probable defeat. But withdraw you must, and soon…otherwise it will cost more in blood should you delay.”
Stiger turned his gaze back to the fighting. He wanted to tell them they were wrong. And yet, he knew the truth. Though he had shattered part of the enemy army, they had not succeeded in breaking it all.
Worse, the enemy had become quite stubborn. Essentially, his men were holding their own. They could do so for quite some time to come, but eventually, as Arol had said, superior numbers would tell.
By deploying Hux, he’d delayed reinforcement. The cavalry’s mounts were likely close to tiring, if not already blown. Eventually fresh enemy formations would make it up to join the fight. Stiger keenly felt the frustration of his position. He did not have any good answers and saw no real solutions. After all of his efforts, he was staring at potential defeat.
If the dwarves were close, he might be able to hold until they arrived. Yet, if they were still hours away, his decision to attack would come back to bite him. The Vass were right. The enemy would eventually overwhelm and destroy the legion. Though there was still time, he began thinking of how to pull off a disengagement that allowed him to fall back to the encampment in good order, if that was even possible. If they could make it, they might be able to hold out until relief arrived. He turned to Therik.
“What do you think?”
“I—” Therik was cut off as something almost impossibly large shot by overhead.
It hammered into the enemy’s line with a crash. Stiger blinked, at first not understanding what he was seeing. A large bolt had torn through several ranks of the enemy, physically ripping men apart. The bolt had impaled itself in the dirt. The end was quivering with unspent energy.
Another bolt hammered into the last two ranks of the enemy’s line, about ten feet from the general. It threw up a spray of dirt and blood into the air, which showered the general’s party. A blue sphere flashed to life around the general and the paladin. The dirt and mud slid off the sphere to the ground. Like smoke blown away on the wind, the blue sphere vanished.
“Priestly medicine,” Therik said in disgust. “That priest of Castor, Cetrite, could do something similar.”
Stiger turned in the direction the bolts had come from. He saw the gnomes jumping up and down on one of the wagons. They were slapping each other on the back and appeared to be laughing, as if what they had done was terribly hilarious.
On the second wagon that had fired, the gnomes there worked feverishly to reload their machine. He suddenly realized what they had done. The bolt throwers only fired up into the sky, but the sick little bastards had driven the wagons over the top of the rise and down a ways on the other side, angling the bolt throwers in such a way that they could fire their deadly dragon-killing bolts directly at the enemy.
Another bolt was fired from a third wagon, parked a few dozen yards off from the others. The wagon rocked violently as the missile was released, throwing a gnome from the back of the wagon to the ground.
Stiger tracked the large missile as it flew over him. The bolt hammered into the ground, just behind the ranks of men and into the middle of the general’s entourage, killing one of his aides and injuring two others.
“They’re firing on the general,” Eli said.
“The little bastards are,” Stiger said, “and I love them for it.”
Yet another bolt hammered into the enemy’s line, directly to the front, taking out five men. One moment they were standing in their ranks, waiting for their turn to be cycled to the press of the front rank, and the next they were gone…snatched away, as if by a god’s hand. Those around them were showered in blood, gore, and body parts.
The unexpected assault had stunned the enemy directly before them. There was no defense against it. Shields would not even offer a sliver of protection.
Centurion Nantus, leading Fifth Cohort to the front, apparently sensed some weakness, for he ordered his men to push back at the enemy. Watching Fifth Cohort work, Stiger suddenly had an idea, and the more he thought on it, the more he liked it.
“Ruga,” Stiger called the centurion over.
“Sir,” Ruga said.
“Gather up your men, and those of the Eagle guard too. Form them into a wedge behind Nantus’s cohort.”
“What?” Ruga asked with alarm. “Sir, you can’t be thinking of going into action yourself.”
“See that general right over there”—Stiger pointed—“and the enemy’s standard…? We’re going for both. We will cut the head off the snake. It is the only way to end this.”
“Are you serious, sir?” Ruga appeared horrified by the concept of Stiger risking himself.
“I am,” Stiger said. “The Eagle will be going with us. That way, the entire legion will see what happens. We either sink or swim on this one, so let’s make sure we swim, eh?”
“Sir,” Ruga said, “I think that’s an uncommonly bad idea. Let me go in your stead. The men need you here and safe. There’s no need to take the risk yourself.”
“No.” Another bolt slashed into the enemy’s ranks, taking eight men with it. Stiger knew he had to go himself. There was a paladin over there, and without Father Thomas, there was no real protection against his powers. This was something he had to do, and it had to be done quickly. Besides, he felt like it was the right thing to do. That paladin had to go. “Now, form the wedge. Hurry, man, before it’s too late to act.”
“Yes, sir.” Ruga moved off, calling for his men and those of the Eagle guard.
“Messenger,” Stiger shouted. One hurried over. Stiger tapped him on the chest and pulled him close so he could be heard clearly over the fighting. He did not want any mistakes. “You go and tell the gnomes that we are going to attack the enemy’s general. Once we push forward, they are no longer to fire their bolts at him, or they might hit us. Understand?”
“What if they don’t understand, sir?” the messenger asked. “Or they don’t want to stop?”
“Take all of the messengers with you, then,” Stiger said, “and make sure they don’t bloody fire, even if you have to use your swords. Make them understand you’re serious. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.” The messenger rushed off.
Stiger turned to Eli and Therik. “I am not going to ask you to go with me.”
“We’re going,” Eli said, before Stiger could continue.
“Do you think I’d let one of those slaves kill you? I only have the right.” Therik thumped his chest armor hard. “None other but me has that honor. I thought you understood…one day, you are mine.”
Stiger felt a surge of warmth fill him at their friendship. What he was about to attempt could well prove suicidal, and they were willingly going with him.
“We will join you as well.” Jeskix drew his great sword, which was in truth the largest sword Stiger had ever seen, at least three times as long and thick as a gladius. The sword was beautifully crafted and maintained. The steel was polished to a high shine and glistened in the dull light. Jeskix flexed his powerful muscles and growled. “It has been long since I tested myself. Champion of the High Father, I thank you for this opportunity to once again prove myself on the field of battle against a worthy foe.”
“Brother,” Arol said as he too drew his sword. It was an identical blade. “Let us honor our ancestors this
day, with blood.”
“Right,” Stiger said, and jogged forward. Another bolt flew overhead and hammered into the ground, just beyond the enemy’s line. He glanced at the enemy general, who was standing there defiantly, studying the gnome bolt throwers on the rise, which, for the most part, were tucked safely behind Stiger’s line. They would not be easy to get to.
And why not stand there defiantly? Stiger thought, eyes on the general. With the paladin’s shield, he had nothing to fear. But then again, he did not know Stiger was coming for him.
“Nantus! Over here, man. Nantus.” Stiger waved when he caught the centurion’s attention.
“Sir.” Nantus made his way back through the ranks and joined Stiger. “Those bolts are doing a lot of damage to the enemy to my front. I decided to shove the enemy a little. They gave and I feel like, if we push hard enough, we can knock them back, perhaps even crack their line here.”
“We’re gonna do just that,” Stiger said. “You are going to push forward as hard as you possibly can. I want you to break the bastards. You saw their general?”
Nantus nodded. “Yes, sir, standing there as bold as can be.”
“I’m going to be right behind you with the wedge.” Stiger pointed at Ruga’s century and the Eagle guard, which were forming up behind Fifth Cohort. “Once you shove the enemy back, open a gap and we’ll move through your formation and go for their general and standard. You got that?”
“Aye, sir.” Nantus grinned at the prospect of what Stiger was about to attempt. “I do. My boys will give you what you need, sir.”
The Tiger’s Wrath (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 5) Page 42
