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

by Marc Edelheit

  “Good,” Stiger said, “get to it. Quickly, man.”

  Nantus jogged off, and as he did, Stiger walked back to the wedge that Ruga had formed. The men eyed him as he approached. They looked grim, for they knew they were going to be thrown into the thick of it.

  “We’re aiming for their general and standard,” Stiger said, “just over that way. Fifth Cohort will open the way and we will charge through. We keep going ‘til we get to both. The entire legion will be watching us do this… I know I can count on you all.”

  There were grim nods all around.

  Their eyes shifted to the two Vass, who arrived with Therik, Eli, and Dog.

  “We’re all going,” Stiger said, raising his voice so they could hear him clearly. “We’re going to do something that is not only stupid, but will one day become a legend amongst the legions. It’ll be something that, when you’re old and toothless, you can all tell your grandchildren you were there, with me, when we took the enemy’s standard and killed their general.”

  “Ready, sir?” Nantus hollered back.

  Stiger looked round and gave a thumbs up.

  “Push,” Nantus roared, and his cohort shoved forward.

  The noise at the front increased dramatically as the legionaries from Fifth Cohort gave it their all. Stiger tightened the straps to his helmet. He drew his sword. The tingle came as a rush and he felt a surge of rage. He welcomed it, for he knew he would need it.

  Yet another bolt flew at the enemy. Stiger could hear the clatter and crash above the noise of the fight as it slammed into the enemy’s ranks.

  “I sure hope they stop shooting when we go forward,” Eli said.

  “You and me both,” Therik said, with a glance back at the bolt throwers. “You don’t think they will shoot at me, do you? Gnomes don’t much like orcs.”

  “You don’t say?” Stiger asked and suddenly grinned at the orc. “I never knew that.”

  Therik shot him a scowl.

  “You are rather a big target,” Eli said and then looked over at the Vass. “How do gnomes feel about you, Vass?”

  Jeskix bared his canines at Eli, in what Stiger hoped was a grin. The knight held his sword ready in a two-handed grip, blade pointed skyward.

  Fifth Cohort moved forward several steps as the enemy to their front gave ground. Then it grew from mere feet to yards. Ruga took the point position on the wedge and hefted his shield, sword held at the ready. He looked back at Stiger and received a nod.

  “Forward, boys,” Ruga said. The wedge moved forward with Stiger, Eli, Therik, Dog, Beck with the Eagle, and the two Vass in its center. They followed Fifth Cohort forward, stepping over the wounded and dead. Men jabbed downward with their swords at the enemy’s wounded as they stepped over them. Better to be sure than risk a knife or sword stabbed into the leg or back.

  “Get ready,” Ruga yelled from the point position on the wedge. “They’re opening the gap.”

  The enemy formation suddenly broke apart, like an egg cracked open at the center, and a wide gap formed as Nantus made room for them.

  “Go,” Nantus shouted back at them.

  “Forward,” Ruga roared, “forward…kill ‘em!”

  “Kill!” the legionaries in the wedge shouted. The wedge charged forward through the gap Fifth Cohort had created and into the enemy, of which there was no longer any semblance of a coherent line. The wedge hammered into them, battering them back and down with their shields. A quick jab from a sword ensured any who went down stayed down.

  “Close up ranks,” Nantus shouted behind them as he worked to reestablish the integrity of his line.

  The legionaries with the wedge bashed with their shields as they advanced deeper into the remnants of the enemy formation. The charge slowed to a quick jog, then a walk, as pressure to their front increased. Behind them, Nantus’s cohort gave a great cheer and pushed forward after them.

  Enemy resistance to the front grew stiffer as they simply ran into more soldiers. The legionaries in the wedge jabbed outward with their swords, taking man after man down. Stiger saw a thin screen of men between him and the enemy’s general, who had turned and seemed surprised by the effort to reach him. The slave soldiers fought back with renewed effort as they realized Stiger’s objective. The general’s protective guard came forward and engaged them, putting intense pressure on the wedge, which became reshaped into more of a half-circle.

  Eli had his bow up. He loosed and, at close range, took a man in the face. Before the body had even fallen, Eli had another arrow nocked. He dropped a second man and then a third. A group of the enemy charged the wedge and broke the left side of it open when two men there were cut down in rapid succession. Stiger stabbed with his sword at one of the attackers. The blade flared to life and easily cut through the armor as if it were parchment. The hilt grew warm in his hand.

  Kill more… Kill them all…

  Arol roared and threw himself at the enemy. He swung his great sword from side to side, each swipe knocking an enemy bodily aside or cutting through armor, flesh, and bone. Jeskix followed after him, roaring savagely as more enemy charged them. Dog launched himself through the air like a missile and onto an enemy soldier, growling viciously as he took the man down, ripping and tearing with his teeth.

  Beck swung the butt end of the Eagle’s standard like it was a long spear. He smacked a man in the helmet hard and drove him down to his knees. The Eagle-bearer then pulled back and jabbed with the butt, which had been sharpened to a fine point. It found purchase in the man’s neck.

  Stiger saw the general close at hand. He advanced, stabbing another man in the leg. This one screamed and went to a knee. Stiger punched him in the face and then threw him roughly aside. He stabbed another man, this one in the stomach, who cried out in agony and fell away, sobbing, and curled up into a ball. A heartbeat later, he was through, and only the general and the paladin remained before him.

  The paladin drew a long, thin sword and prepared to approach. But the general held up a hand said something in a language Stiger did not understand. Instead, the paladin stopped, then took a step back and reluctantly sheathed his weapon. The general drew his sword. This close, Stiger could see the faint outlines of the protective sphere.

  “You are mine,” the general said, in heavily accented Common. He stepped toward Stiger and out of the protective sphere, which shimmered as he moved through it.

  Stiger studied his opponent. He had a hard face that had been marred by battle. The left eye had been damaged, the pupil turned a milky white. The man’s forearms were nicked and scarred from years of arms training and combat. Here before him was a fellow warrior, hardened by a life in service. Even if he was dedicated to an evil god and a regime focused on the destruction of the empire, Stiger could still respect him.

  “No.” Stiger pointed the tip of Rarokan at him. “You are mine.”

  The general threw his head back and laughed deeply, as if terribly amused. “I have heard much about you, Stiger.”

  “Oh?”

  Though the fighting continued to rage, a sort of invisible bubble seemed to have formed about them as the combatants realized that the two leaders were going to engage in personal combat and left them to it.

  “You have quite the reputation,” the general said. “The man who was reborn, or so the prophesy says, if you believe such things.”

  Stiger felt chilled by the words, but remained silent.

  “Your head should prove a nice trophy,” the general said and grinned nastily at Stiger. He was missing several teeth that had been knocked out. “I promise, after I kill you…for years to come, I will honor you. I will make your skull into a goblet for wine. Yes, you and I shall drink many toasts together. It will be a great honor for you and shall continually remind everyone who lays eyes upon it of your bravery at facing me.”

  “Were I you,” Stiger growled, “I wouldn’t get ahead of yourself.”

  Stiger waved his flaming sword before the general and then abruptly lunged. The gen
eral blocked, and as he did, his own sword burst into flames. The flames were blue, just like Rarokan.

  Each took a step back, studying the other.

  “You think you are the only one with a magic sword?” the general asked and grinned again. “Mine is called the Biiken Blade. Yours? Tell me its name, so that when I take it from your lifeless hand it shall receive the honor it deserves.”

  Stiger had grown tired of the banter. He was here to kill this man. And that was what he would do, whether the man had a magic sword or not. He launched himself at the general. They traded a flurry of blows, each one sending blue sparks flaring out into the air. Stiger felt his hand beginning to tingle from numbness caused by the repeated blows, but he kept on battling away, pressing the general for all he was worth.

  The general proved a skilled fighter, and soon, despite being soaked through from the rain that had begun to drizzle once again, Stiger felt himself beginning to perspire and breathe heavily. The general’s breath came fast and hard too. They seemed evenly matched.

  Still, they fought on, while the battle raged around them. Stiger ignored it all and focused exclusively on his opponent, for he could not allow even the tiniest lapse of attention.

  A sword strike almost connected with his arm. Stiger jumped back and dodged at the last moment. The general reversed, then stepped forward to follow up, but he stumbled over a body and almost fell.

  Stiger lunged outward, aiming what he hoped was a killing blow. Rarokan connected with the general’s chest armor. Shockingly, the sword did not penetrate but screeched loudly as it scraped across. Red magical flame erupted where the sword struck the armor. It flared brilliantly, and Stiger realized the general’s armor was enchanted.

  The general recovered quickly and brought his sword around to strike. With his free hand, Stiger hastily gripped the general’s wrist to keep him from completing the strike. The general managed to grab Stiger’s sword hand too. Locked in each other’s grip, they struggled against one another. Stiger attempted to break the hold on his wrist but found it too strong.

  “And now,” the general said, his face very close to Stiger’s, “you die.”

  The general’s blade flared with near blinding light.

  Stiger heard Rarokan cry out in his mind and felt the mad wizard struggle against the wave of power from the other sword. The blue flame on Stiger’s sword went out. He felt his connection with Rarokan break and a deathly coldness begin to steel its way down into his body from both hands.

  Stiger knew that some dark power was overwhelming him and was seeking his soul. He could feel the tug as it was being pulled from his body. It was much the same way Rarokan took life. His soul was under assault. He struggled against it but felt himself losing the battle. A terrible fear began to steal over him. Without Rarokan, he knew he did not stand a chance.

  Time abruptly seemed to stop.

  The sword was never the weapon. It was only a tool. You, my Champion, were always the weapon. Use the gift I have bestowed upon you. Do not look away from the light but embrace it.

  The voice rang like a bell in his head. Stiger blinked with surprise, the motion seeming to take forever to complete. Time began moving again.

  Desperately, and cursing himself for not thinking of it before now, Stiger reached within himself to the connection he had with the High Father. Like a man dying of thirst, seeking water, he touched the light. It exploded into brilliance within him. He felt his fear give way to a calmness and basked in the feeling for a moment. Then, Stiger shoved back with the power and immediately the darkness was pushed back from whence it came. The grip on his soul snapped back and away.

  The general’s eyes went wide in shock as his own sword’s fire went out. Stiger broke the general’s grip with ease. He brought his sword hilt back and hammered it into his opponent’s face. Stiger felt the general’s nose crunch under the blow.

  Thoroughly dazed, his opponent went down in the mud. The High Father’s power was coursing through Stiger, and he felt energized by it. Stiger reached down with his free hand and picked the general up by his neck, as if he were a mere child’s doll. He lifted the general, screaming and gagging, up into the air and sent the High Father’s power surging into the man’s body. The scream cut off as white light shot from the general’s mouth, eyes, and ears. Thunder cracked from the released energy. The general went limp and, with him, the light died. Stiger tossed the lifeless husk of a body aside.

  The power left him and suddenly he was terribly exhausted, almost beyond measure. Rarokan reignited with flame, but it was a shadow of what it had been. The sword fed him a small surge of energy and Stiger felt slightly better, but not quite recovered. He straightened and turned toward the paladin. The man had not moved. His narrowed eyes were fixed wholly upon Stiger.

  “My master will not like this,” the paladin said, with a look thrown to the general’s body. He glanced around quickly then returned to him. Stiger found the paladin’s eyes unnaturally black. They seemed to look directly into Stiger’s soul, or tried to at any rate. “You have won this day, Champion.”

  “You are Veers,” Stiger said, “aren’t you?”

  “I am Lord Veers. I see we have heard of one another. It is good to know one’s opponent… one’s enemy.”

  Stiger felt an intense surge of loathing overtake him. This was the man who had sent assassins to murder him while he slept. He was responsible for Taha’Leeth being gravely injured and threatening his unborn child’s life. He took a step forward, murder in his heart. Stiger wanted nothing more than to end this blight upon the world that was Veers, a paladin of Valoor.

  “Oh, I think not,” Veers said, taking a step backward and away from Stiger. “This is not our time, Champion. The day will come when we meet in battle... a final battle. Today is not that day. Savor your victory. You have earned it. Savor it while it lasts, for all things are fleeting…. all things come to an end.”

  With that, Veers took another step back and smoke seemed to envelop him. Before Stiger’s eyes, the smoke evaporated in a heartbeat. Veers was gone, vanished as if he’d never been. The rage surged. Stiger cried out his wrath to the world. His enemy had escaped.

  The exhaustion returned abruptly, and with it, Stiger found it hard to maintain the rage. He blinked. The world around him swam. He staggered, almost falling. Gods, he was tired, so terribly tired. The sword fed him a little more energy and Stiger sucked in a grateful breath of relief as he was able to stand.

  I am very weak, Rarokan said in his mind. I cannot spare much more energy or sleep will once again take me. Be on guard, for you are still on a battlefield.

  Stiger glanced around, looking for a new threat. Instead, he saw the enemy standard being seized by Ruga and two other legionaries. They fought like madmen against the enemy’s standard guard. Around them, the rest of the enemy soldiers had seen what happened between Stiger and their general or were just now learning of it. Apparently, they’d lost the will to fight and were running or turning to flee. It seemed infectious, for it began spreading to the nearest units.

  Dog jumped on the back of a man who was in mid-run and took him violently to the ground. Eli, less than ten paces away, dispatched another with his daggers. The work was swift, efficient, and blindingly fast. Therik was engaged in personal battle with what looked to be a high-ranking officer. They traded several blows and then the orc kicked out with his hobnailed boot into his opponent’s right knee. The officer cried out and went down in the mud. Therik drove his sword down into the man’s exposed stomach, blade punching powerfully through the armor. He screamed horribly as the orc gave a savage and violent twist to the blade.

  Jeskix and Arol had charged into a line of men that were still struggling against Nantus’s cohort as it shoved its way forward. Between the two of them, they killed several of the enemy in rapid succession, wielding their two-handed swords as if they weighed nothing.

  Stiger looked beyond the fight immediately around him and saw that elsewhere on the bat
tlefield the legionary cohorts had pushed forward. It seemed that men all across the line had seen the Eagle go forward and, with it, Stiger. They must have been inspired, for the legion was driving the enemy back. They were essentially manhandling the enemy’s line, and the sight of it filled Stiger with great pride.

  There was a deep roar. Stiger looked up to see a red dragon diving down onto the battle. It was one of the ones that had come with the Vass. It flew over the enemy’s line and breathed a stream of fire down upon them, burning men by the hundreds. Another dragon was right behind it, one of the noctalum. Which one it was, Stiger had no idea.

  Roaring loudly, the noctalum landed in the middle of a mass of the enemy. The ground shook violently from the impact. Stiger almost lost his footing. Dozens, if not hundreds, of men were instantly crushed. The great dragon snapped its long tail around, hurling men into the air. It breathed fire, a long stream of it, burning all it touched. The violence of the attack was incredible, awesome to behold.

  Where a short while before Stiger had seen defeat, now he saw victory. What had started with the death of their general and the fleeing of Veers was completed by the return of the dragons. The enemy army came apart and ran. Wrath sated, Stiger felt an intense relief fill him. He would win, and with it, the empire would be the one giving the battlefield a name, not the confederacy.

  Incredibly, he had won.

  EPILOGUE

  Stiger climbed down off the dragon’s back. He’d never been so cold, wet, and miserable in his life. The sun was just coming up, poking through the scattered clouds on the horizon. Though it was drizzling, the coming day promised a break in the rain.

  Eli followed him down, jumping the last two feet to the ground. Two other dragons had landed with them, and off the backs of those creatures climbed Ruga with ten men, Stiger’s protection detail for the day.

  They were in a field, overlooking Lorium a few hundred yards away. The enemy’s abandoned camp and siege line lay all about them. Legionaries from the city had been out in the camp, scavenging around. At the sight of the dragons, they had dropped what they were doing and run for the city.