The Tiger's Fate (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 3)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  There were now more than eighteen thousand on hand to hold the walls against an enemy army of similar size. Stiger understood that any type of action was unlikely, and the enemy did not appear to have any intention of making a move until the weather improved. From what could be observed, the enemy had gone into winter quarters.

  Stiger intended to send some scouts over the mountains soon. Eli was training a new set of scouts and evaluating those from the cohorts of the Thirteenth. One of the elves who had come with Taha’Leeth would be remaining behind to oversee their training while Eli was away.

  “Should the enemy do anything, send a messenger without delay,” Stiger said.

  “They will not catch us napping,” Ikely assured him, hand resting comfortably upon his sword hilt. “Of that be you can be sure.”

  “We should have a constant presence on this side of the valley, both mounted and foot patrols. Impress upon the men that they are to venture up and into the trees along the slopes, looking for any sign of the enemy making an attempt to sneak men over the mountains. Though, to be honest, in this miserable weather I rather doubt they would even attempt such an enterprise.”

  “If we find any evidence of the enemy,” Ikely said, “I will dispatch a sufficient number of men to hunt them down and alert you.”

  “Good,” Stiger replied, trying to think of anything else he might have forgotten. He had already gone over this and more with Ikely and Sabinus last evening. He was confident both men would do their jobs. But despite his confidence in them, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling he had about leaving.

  He glanced up at the steel gray clouds, moving leisurely above the castle walls. It did not seem like a good day for a ride.

  “Looks like more snow,” Stiger said. If it had not been for Braddock’s insistence and Delvaris’s scroll, he would not be making this trip into the valley. Stiger’s hand involuntarily went to the pocket of his cloak, where the scroll was tucked safely away. To say the contents had disturbed him was an understatement.

  “It does, sir,” Ikely agreed, glancing upward. “It is a shame Braddock would not consent to a delay of a day or two.”

  “Better to get it over with in bad weather I suppose,” Stiger said. “That way the enemy is unlikely to try anything.”

  “About Sabinus,” Ikely began, clearing his throat. “He technically outranks me.”

  “You are in command of the castle,” Stiger affirmed, looking down on his lieutenant from his horse. Sabinus was the centurion who had arrived leading the First Cohort of the Thirteenth Legion. “He commands the three cohorts from the Thirteenth. You have the garrison and the 85th. You also have Lieutenant Brent to assist you. I expect you and Sabinus to work together. Should the enemy make any kind of move, you have over-all command.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ikely said, straightening up. Stiger could still read the concern and uncertainty in the young officer’s eyes. He knew Ikely would eventually outgrow such feelings and develop more confidence when dealing with other officers of equal rank. He had already developed confidence on the battlefield, so now it was only a matter of time and seasoning. This would be a good experience for him.

  “I have seen you handle men in a fight,” Stiger said, softening and lowering his tone so that only the lieutenant could hear him. “Unfortunately, I have not seen Sabinus in action. You have my trust and my friendship.”

  Stiger reached down and offered a hand to his lieutenant. Ikely took the firm grip and shook.

  “I will see you in four days’ time, sir,” the lieutenant said, stepping back. “Good travels.”

  Stiger was the legate now, at least according to Emperor Atticus’s letter. All three cohorts from the Thirteenth believed it and Stiger felt compelled to act the part. He straightened up in his saddle and cast one more look down upon his executive officer before he nudged Nomad forward toward Eli. His friend pulled himself up onto Wind Runner’s back. Eli’s horse was a rare forest breed that was highly prized amongst horse traders for intelligence and sure-footedness, qualities that were a must in the forest.

  Eli greeted Stiger with a measured, sidelong glance. Taha’Leeth, her red hair and beauty contrasting starkly against the drab morning, offered Stiger a small, tight smile before returning to a conversation she was having with her companion, one of the two other elves who had recently joined them. It took Stiger a moment to recall his name, Aver’Mons. The elf had arrived with Taha’Leeth and been present when she had tried to influence him with a glamour, a power that all elven females possessed. When he had lived amongst the elves, a few had used their power to twist his heart cruelly until Eli had put a stop to such nonsense.

  “I sense you remain conflicted,” Eli stated in a low tone, leaning toward his friend. “You must go. We both know that.”

  “Yes,” Stiger replied evenly, with a glance over at the barred gate that led to the Sentinel Forest, where the enemy was camped. He had shared the contents of Delvaris’s scroll with Eli and no one else, for Stiger had feared the reaction of others. In fact, Delvaris had warned him not to share it with anyone other than his closest companion. An elven ranger we both know and love.

  How Delvaris had known his closest friend would be an elf troubled Stiger immensely, and Eli ardently insisted that he had never met Delvaris. It was one of the reasons Stiger was bringing the scroll with him. He did not want anyone to discover it in his absence, as it might raise some very uncomfortable questions.

  “You cannot stay,” Eli said with conviction. “The scroll makes that much clear. Besides, our new allies would take offense. We cannot afford that.”

  “All to look at this holy relic called a ‘Gate,’” Stiger said quietly, so only Eli could hear. He did not want to offend his allies, who were mere feet away. After Braddock had arrived at the castle, the thane had told him about the World Gate, a doorway to another world. The damn thing apparently did not even work, which was one of the reasons why Stiger had not wanted to go. Only Braddock’s determined insistence and Delvaris’s letter, along with Eli’s prodding, had convinced him to make the trip to Thane’s Mountain.

  “The dwarves take this very seriously,” Eli responded with a reproachful look. “Perhaps it might have been wiser to learn more of the Compact before you tied us to it.”

  Stiger took note of the tone of disapproval and the gentle rebuke. He could not disagree, but at the time it had seemed necessary. A thought occurred to him.

  “This World Gate Braddock keeps speaking of, you have heard of it before now,” Stiger demanded, looking at his friend intently. “Haven’t you?”

  Eli was silent a moment, his eyes deep and unfathomable. Stiger refused to be put off. He returned Eli’s timeless gaze in a way that was intended to tell his friend to stop beating around the bush and answer the question.

  “Though we thought it lost or perhaps even destroyed,” Eli said in a hushed tone, “my people are well aware of its existence.”

  “It is important then?” Stiger asked.

  Eli nodded curtly.

  “Then why did you say nothing?”

  “I had hoped it was destroyed,” Eli said with a shrug. His friend glanced down at the reins he held lightly in his left hand and was silent a moment before looking back up at Stiger. “Though it is difficult to be sure what now lies on the other side . . . ” Eli hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something more but had reconsidered. “This Gate, as you have been told by Braddock, leads to other worlds. It is now sealed and cannot be opened. Should it ever be opened, it could lead to much that is evil.” Eli paused once again and looked away. When he turned back to Stiger, the look in his eyes was intense. “Then again, it could lead to much that is good.”

  “Legate,” a voice boomed across the courtyard, cutting into their conversation. It was Braddock, who had mounted up. “Would you ride at my side and honor me with your company?”

  “Of cou
rse,” Stiger replied and nudged his horse forward, regretfully leaving Eli behind. He shot his friend a look that said they would resume this conversation later. Eli shrugged in reply.

  “Good morning, Thane Braddock.”

  “Though I be Thane of the Dvergr, Braddock will do,” he replied to Stiger. “We stand little on ceremony.”

  “Instead our cup overflows with passion,” Garrack snorted, with no little amount of amusement.

  “Very true,” Braddock chuckled. He leaned toward Stiger. “My people have much passion when it comes to personal Legend. Honor, if you will. Sometimes we can be a very prickly bunch.”

  “What happens when honor is seriously affronted amongst individuals?” Stiger asked, suspecting the answer.

  “An honor duel is usual result,” Garrack answered in his rough common.

  “To the death?” Stiger asked and received a nod in reply. “And when honor amongst clans is affronted?”

  “A blood feud,” Braddock replied unhappily, his mood souring. “Such can lead to war between the clans. I admit, it is a failing amongst my people . . . one that I strive to correct. Even so, I have forbidden such disputes and unpleasantness. All injuries to Legend have been put aside upon my direct edict. We focus on the Compact and destroying the Cyphan.” Braddock was silent a moment before waving a hand. “I find such talk tiresome. We have a long ride ahead of us. Shall we proceed?”

  Stiger nodded and glanced quickly around the courtyard. Everyone had mounted up. They were looking toward Stiger and Braddock expectantly. It was time.

  “Open the gates!” Stiger called to the sentries standing by the internal gates that led to the valley. The sentries stepped forward and struggled for a moment before they were able to release and swing the heavy wooden gates outward.

  Watching the gates open into the tunnel that led under the walls and to the valley, Stiger was reminded of all that had occurred over the past few weeks. When he considered everything he had been through, it seemed so surreal. It had begun with Castor’s minion, right here in this very castle. Thoughts of the Twisted One and the minion he and Father Thomas had defeated freeing the valley darkened his mood somewhat. Stiger had had more than his fair share of encounters with servants and minions of the dark gods. He prayed that there would be no more.

  A legionary horn blared from the battlements, calling to the legionary and dwarven military encampments on the other side of the walls. The muffled sound of a horn replied. This would be the first time Stiger had gone down into the valley proper. He felt a sudden sense of eager anticipation, and with it, his mood lightened considerably. For the next few days, he might even be able to relax, something he had been unable to do for some time.

  Lieutenant Lan gave the order to start forward. He led his troop, which rode into the tunnel in a double column. Braddock’s personal guard went next, with two of their number remaining to follow closely behind the thane and Stiger. Naggock shot Stiger a sour look before starting down the tunnel. Stiger nudged his horse forward. He, Braddock, and Garrack entered the tunnel together. The rest of the oversized party came after them. The noise inside the confined space of the tunnel was deafening as the metal-shod hooves of the horses clattered and occasionally sparked off of the worn paving stone.

  Within seconds they emerged out onto the road, which had been cleared of fresh snow by the prisoners Stiger had taken during his campaign against the Cyphan. Castle Vrell sat directly on the summit of the pass, and the view before them could be described as breathtaking. Stiger could see clear across to the other side of the snow-coated valley, where the tops of the mountains disappeared, swallowed up by the clouds.

  For a moment, both he and Braddock slowed their horses to admire the view. The road before them meandered right down into the heart of the valley, where small towns and villages could be seen several thousand feet below. With farms on either side, a small river snaked its course across the northern end of the valley.

  “You should see the view from my palace at Garand Kalgore,” Braddock said. “It is very far from here, but the city is so high that on a clear day you can see the tops of these very mountains. It is magnificent. One day you will come and see for yourself, yes?”

  “I would like that,” Stiger said as they continued forward.

  Before them, along both sides of the road, a military encampment spread outward from the walls of the castle. A thundering cheer greeted Braddock and Stiger. Dwarves in the thousands lined the road, formed up by unit, cheering themselves hoarse as they took in the sight of their thane, the leader responsible for restoring the Compact. With the high walls of the pass, smoothed and shaped by ancient dwarven hands, the cheering seemed much louder than it otherwise would have been.

  “BRADDOCK . . . BRADDOCK!” the dwarves shouted in unison. “BRADDOCK . . . BRADDOCK!”

  “Striking,” Braddock commented to Stiger with obvious pride, “are they not?”

  Stiger had to agree. The dwarves were turned out and neatly assembled in ranks, brilliantly colored clan banners and standards flapping boldly in the cold wind. Officers and clan chiefs stood to the front of their respective commands, each waiting their turn to respectfully greet their thane. They saluted as the party slowly rode by, with Braddock occasionally stopping to introduce a chief or an important officer. All the while, the dwarves in their neatly ordered ranks cheered and chanted madly.

  Whenever another dwarf came near, Braddock’s personal guard slowed their horses, reining in to pull alongside and closer to their thane. Naggock always remained within spitting distance of the thane, and his eyes more often than not were on Stiger.

  Braddock raised his right hand, the one not holding the reins, and waved as they passed by the cheering multitudes. It seemed to Stiger that the thane was in his element, as if such displays were commonplace. He had seen the emperor have a similar effect on the people in Mal’Zeel. Stiger doubted that he could ever be as comfortable with such adulation. He was just a soldier, doing his duty to the empire.

  A powerful-looking dwarf, wearing engraved plate armor completed with a richly cut dark green cloak and a greenish dyed horsehair-crested helmet, stomped directly into the road, blocking their path. Naggock snapped a harsh order and two of Braddock’s guards used their horses to check the dwarf’s path. The thane pulled on his reins, stopping his pony. With a wave, he ordered his personal guard aside.

  The dwarf with the green cloak stepped forward and went to a knee before his thane. Braddock said something in his own language and the dwarf returned to his feet. The thane then turned to Stiger and introduced Tyga, Chief of the Rock Breakers.

  “I am honored to meet the Legate of the Thirteenth,” Tyga said in his own language, which was translated by Braddock. “Your coming has been foretold by the Oracle and long awaited.”

  “It is my honor to greet you, Tyga, Chief of the Rock Breakers,” Stiger replied formally. Tyga, like the other dwarves he had met, looked short, stocky, heavily-muscled, and wider than a man had a right to be. Tyga’s long blond beard was neatly and tightly braided with small black bands. His forearms, where they emerged from his armor, were heavily marked. Stiger took this as evidence of years of arms drill. The chief’s eyes were a deep, piercing blue that seemed to miss nothing. He moved like a confident warrior, and Stiger instinctively understood that Tyga was one dwarf to be respected.

  “I believe I chart my own course and destiny,” Stiger added after a brief delay.

  Tyga shot Braddock a look upon the thane’s translation and then seemed to ask a question of the thane. Braddock chuckled and replied briefly. Eyes narrowing, Tyga cracked a grin at Stiger as he stepped back and out of the road. Braddock nudged his horse forward and they continued on their way.

  “What did he say?” Stiger asked, looking curiously on Tyga and his dwarves as they rode by.

  “Tyga asked if all humans were so sure of themselves.”

 
; “What did you tell him?”

  “That you had a right to be,” Braddock replied.

  A formation of gnomes waited, drawn up in ranks, at the end of the dwarven encampment. None wore armor, but all were armed with small swords that appeared to be a few inches shorter than a legionary’s gladius. The gnomes were half the size of a dwarf and twice as skinny. They looked even more similar to one another than the dwarves did, with short, cropped black hair and small, beady, black eyes. Most disturbing to Stiger was that gnomes had no pupils. They all wore simple gray tunics that were belted at the middle. They stood silently and watched as the party passed them by. Braddock made no effort to introduce their leaders. Stiger estimated that there were at least two thousand of the strange, mean little creatures.

  A few days before, Stiger had met one of their leaders, Alagg. Although the gnome had been irascible and seemingly incapable of sitting still for longer than a moment, Stiger had done his best to greet him cordially. Alagg’s reply had left Stiger simmering with anger. Braddock had then taken pains to explain that gnomes were incapable of niceties and the proper decorum expected of civilized beings.

  “It is best simply to ignore them,” Braddock had advised. “Killing them does no good, trust me.”

  Near as Stiger could tell, the gnomes acted as engineers for the dwarves, though he suspected they were more than that. The little creatures had built several impressive catapults on the castle walls, which had been put to immediate use against the Cyphan.

  Within a matter of minutes of the bombardment starting, the enemy host had wrongly thought that they were safe from missile fire, had abandoned their camp and pulled back farther into the trees. They had since relocated their entire camp, which had amused the gnomes greatly.

  Only the enemy’s sentries, standing watch at the edge of the forest, could now be seen. Accordingly, the gnomes were now hard at work erecting machines they claimed would have even greater range. Stiger had decided that their enthusiasm to wreak destruction upon the enemy made up for their disagreeable dispositions.