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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  With a glance thrown to Eli, Stiger mounted up and nudged Nomad forward after the dwarves. As they neared the first of the rundown buildings, Stiger noticed a wide road down the center that led straight up to the colossal gates. It was almost like a main thoroughfare. The road had been shoveled clean, and surprisingly there was no evidence of snow or ice gracing the wet paving stone. As they clattered onto the road, Stiger was sure the temperature was below freezing. He could not understand how the dwarves kept the slick stone from freezing over into a solid sheet of ice. When he turned to ask Eli, he saw that his friend had dismounted and was kneeling down, feeling the stone, having removed a glove to do so. Stiger pulled Nomad to a halt and wheeled around.

  “Cold.” Eli looked up at Stiger with raised eyebrows. “Enough so to freeze.”

  “Gnomes very clever.” Garrack stopped, having seen their reaction. He said something in his language to Braddock, who replied in kind, also pulling up short.

  “Beet juice?” Eli asked in surprise, straightening up. “Beet juice keeps it from freezing?”

  “A type of sugar beet they found,” Braddock explained with a shrug. “The juice is squeezed out and then mixed with saltwater. It melts ice and keeps the water from freezing until it gets too cold, and then everything freezes, no matter what they put on it. We use sand at that point.”

  Braddock wheeled his pony about and continued on, with Garrack at his side.

  Stiger dismounted and moved his feet across the wet stone. It was stained a slight purplish red. Marveling at the ingenuity, he quickly mounted back up.

  “Very clever,” Stiger commented, nudging his horse forward.

  Eli pulled himself into the saddle and they continued on, following the dwarves along the main road as it cut between the buildings. Though the walls were thick, the stone buildings showed signs of succumbing to age and a distinct lack of maintenance. A few had crumbled in upon themselves, leaving only a shell of thick stone walls, but most were still intact. Studying the buildings, Stiger was unsure of their purpose. With no windows and wide door-less spaces in the middle, they did not resemble any type of house or tenement he had ever seen. The walls of each were at least three feet thick, which was one of the reasons why they still stood, despite the years of clear neglect.

  “Storage,” Eli said, as if he had read his friend’s mind. “They constructed these buildings so that foreign traders had no reason to enter their city. Dwarves are an extremely private and secretive people.”

  “More so than elves?” Stiger asked with a sidelong glance at his friend. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Think what you will,” Eli replied, nodding toward the massive gates they were nearing. “Elves don’t lock themselves under mountains.”

  “No, you just confine yourselves to the depths of the forest and kill any unwelcome trespassers,” Stiger said with some seriousness.

  “Try living my years and you might one day understand the appeal of keeping strangers out to achieve a bit of solitude.”

  Though Eli had made the quip as a lighthearted comment, Stiger pursed his lips as he contemplated his friend. Eli had lived many lifetimes and would continue to do so long after Stiger was gone. That bothered him more than he cared to admit, for Stiger would have long joined the shades before his friend even reached his middling years. Contemplating one’s mortality against another’s near immortality was never a satisfying experience.

  “Is that why you hang around me?” Stiger asked with a sudden grin. “For some peace and solitude?”

  “I think we can both agree that you attract far too much trouble for me to ever achieve true peace and solitude,” Eli answered. “Besides, we are in the wrong profession.”

  “It really depends on your perspective,” Stiger countered. “When the legions are finished, there is peace, if enforced at times.”

  “Does that cover the rebellion here in the south?”

  “The job isn’t done yet.”

  “What isn’t done?” Taha’Leeth asked, having come up on Stiger’s right. Behind her was the other elf, Aver’Mons. He was silent and grim as he studied the gates they were approaching.

  “Nothing,” Stiger said, not wishing to include her in their conversation.

  “The captain . . . ” Eli said with a mischievous smile. Stiger knew trouble was coming. “Ah . . . the legate and I were having a debate about peace and solitude.”

  “As a soldier, he will not find much,” Taha’Leeth said seriously.

  “That is almost exactly what I just told him,” Eli grinned, putting on a full showing of his teeth.

  “Dear gods,” Stiger groaned dramatically. “Now I have to contend with two instead of one.”

  “Do you find working alongside elves that much of a burden?” she asked him, a serious look upon her beautiful face.

  “Only one elf tries my patience,” Stiger replied. “He is a very difficult person to be around and obviously not as pleasant as I find your company, my lady, apart from our initial introduction, of course.”

  She cocked her head at him, then glanced over at Eli, who shrugged. She looked back to Stiger, eyes narrowing.

  “You jest with me,” she accused him. “You jest?”

  “It means he likes you,” Eli said, drawing a sharp look from Stiger. “You had best watch yourself, my lady. He may name you a friend one day, as I do him.”

  Stiger’s head snapped up as the dwarves ahead abruptly stopped. A double line of dwarven warriors, some thirty strong, marched out from one of the numerous side streets in between the trade buildings. These warriors wore yellow and brown. Stiger had not seen that particular pattern with the dwarven army. Their capes and horse-haired helmet crests were bright yellow, and their rounded shields, held to the side, were painted a dark brown.

  Braddock’s guard moved forward to interpose themselves between these warriors and their thane. For a moment, Stiger thought this might mean trouble, but the formation halted their movement, left-faced, and came to a position of attention. The officer in command of the formation stepped forward, approaching Braddock. He was allowed through the ring of the thane’s personal guard. The officer dropped to a knee before his thane and spoke something in the dwarven language.

  Stiger attempted to move himself closer, but was not permitted by the tense guards. One held out his hand and with a shake of his head communicated to Stiger that he must stop. Garrack saw and snapped something at Naggock, who turned and barked what sounded like a harsh order. With an unhappy expression, the guard allowed Stiger through. Garrack wheeled his pony around and rode back to Stiger.

  “These our escorts into city,” Garrack said, pulling his pony to a stop. “From Hammer Fisted Clan. They hold Old City while we campaign.”

  “I see,” Stiger said, continuing to observe the exchange between Braddock and the dwarven officer a few feet away. “What are they discussing?”

  “Good wishes from Clan Chief Hrove and news,” Garrack answered, seeming to be completely unconcerned. However, Stiger was not wholly convinced. Something about the abrupt appearance of this formation worried him. It was almost as if they had intentionally meant to surprise the thane’s party.

  “I see,” Stiger said. “Why do we need an escort?”

  Garrack looked at him, clearly shocked by the question. “Is required! Is Legend!”

  “Legend?”

  Garrack frowned, apparently trying to think of the right word. “You call honor.”

  “You mean the escort is an honor, an honorable thing that is expected?”

  “Yes,” Garrack said with a firm nod and pleased look. “Is honorable.”

  The dwarven officer stood, stomped back to his men, and barked out what Stiger took to be a string of orders. The formation of dwarven warriors shifted position, with the clear intent to march before the thane’s party. Braddock’s guard closed in about their
thane, with Naggock riding just ahead of Braddock. He sat stiffly in his saddle, purple cape fluttering with the wind. The dwarven officer in charge of the escort shouted an order and the column began to move again. Braddock turned in his saddle and gestured for Stiger to ride beside him.

  “Hrove, Chief of the Hammer Fisted Clan, will undoubtedly greet us before we pass through the gates,” Braddock informed him. “It will be good for you to meet one of my most valued advisors.”

  Stiger nodded but said nothing as they continued onward to the gates. More dwarven warriors appeared on either side of the road in groups and small formations. As if on a silent cue, they dropped to a knee as Braddock made his way past. There was no cheering as before, just silence.

  “Since my warriors have marched with the army, the Hammer Fisted Clan has taken up the responsibility for Old City and the World Gate,” Braddock explained. “Hrove is no serious warrior. However, thankfully he has officers who are more than competent. He is business-oriented and good at making his clan wealthy, which is not a problem for my people. We strive to be successful in any undertaking. Hrove is just better at it than others. His clan is very wealthy.” The Thane paused and scratched at an itch in his beard. “He is also good at irritating some of the other chieftains. In fact, you might say he excels at it.”

  “He can be trusted then?” Stiger asked, eyeing the silent warriors of the Hammer Fisted Clan with some concern.

  “I would not have left him to hold Old City and the World Gate if he had not proven himself worthy of my trust,” Braddock said with a frown. Stiger studied Braddock a moment. He could not help feeling that there was more to it than that. The thane had already concealed the existence of secret tunnels from him. What else was he not sharing?

  With an impossibly loud groan, the gates to the mountain began to open outward, revealing a large tunnel. The gates looked to be very thick. It seemed impossible that they were made completely of stone. As the gates slowly swung open, large internal steel support arms became visible. Watching the process, Stiger began to wonder if the dwarves ever did anything on a small scale.

  Even before the gates had ceased their movement as they opened, a delegation of three dwarves marched through and out to greet their thane. Two were competent-looking warriors. The third wore no armor, but instead a fine brown tunic and yellow cloak. He led the other two as they made their way forward. The escort moved aside and the officer in charge bowed deeply as the delegation passed him by, making for the thane.

  Braddock waited patiently, Garrack having returned to his side. The three dwarves went to a knee before Braddock, who spoke briefly to them. They stood as if they had been granted permission to do so. The one in the lead, whom Stiger took to be Hrove, said something, and there followed a sharp, heated reply from Braddock. Hrove’s gaze flicked in Stiger’s direction. The dwarven language sounded very guttural to Stiger, as if the speaker were perpetually angered. More words were exchanged and Braddock replied almost harshly this time. There was a brief silence before the clan chief bowed his head in apparent acceptance and stepped aside.

  Braddock dismounted, as did his bodyguard.

  “We dismount here,” Garrack announced with an unhappy look. “Horses and your escort will be put up at gatehouse just inside and after entrance tunnel. They wait there for our return.”

  Stiger dismounted and moved several feet from Braddock, then beckoned Lan. Eli slid off his horse.

  “Sir?” Lan asked. Vargus was with him. The two dismounted. Father Thomas and Sergeant Arnold rode up behind them.

  “It seems we will walk our horses into the mountain,” Stiger said. “You and your escort will be put up at a gatehouse just inside. Vargus, you will stay with the lieutenant and act as a liaison with the dwarves if needed.”

  “Sir,” Lan protested, “you should really have a personal escort.”

  “The elves, Father Thomas, and . . . ” Stiger hesitated with a glance over at the paladin, “and Sergeant Arnold will be accompanying me. That should prove a sufficient escort, I would think.”

  “Ah, yes, sir,” Lan replied, clearly unhappy that more men were not going with the legate.

  Stiger was about to say more, but decided against it. If he was not safe with a paladin and three elven rangers, a few more men would not matter. He glanced over at Braddock, who was conferring with Hrove, and scratched his jaw idly, feeling somewhat uneasy. He could not shake the feeling that something was not right. Perhaps he was just being paranoid as a result of the recent fighting and the pressure he had been under over the past few weeks.

  “Centurion.” Stiger turned to Vargus. “Do you know this Hrove and his clan?”

  “No, sir,” Vargus replied. “Our dealings with the dwarves have only been through our emissary or the rare visit by Garrack. Their nearest settlements belong to the Stone Breakers and are over seventy miles through the mountains. It is a difficult journey in the best of weather, and though the dwarves have easier routes to take, we do not know of them.”

  “I see.” Stiger considered his next words carefully. “I want both of you to keep your eyes open for trouble. Make sure you post a watch and keep the men under control. We can afford no incidents with our new allies. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Lan said.

  “There will be no trouble, sir,” Vargus assured him. “We will see that the men behave.”

  Stiger nodded and was about to turn away when Vargus shifted slightly, as if he wanted to say more.

  “If you have something to say, then do so.”

  “Sir,” Vargus said. “I served as the valley emissary for two years. That involved traveling to the nearest dwarven settlement to confer. I got to know them well. I can tell you that dwarves are a warm and honorable people. You have nothing to fear from them.”

  “I hope you are right.” Stiger turned and began leading his horse forward toward Braddock, with Eli following. Behind him, Lan ordered his men to dismount.

  Braddock glanced back as Stiger approached, his expression indecipherable. Garrack stood to the thane’s side and looked just as implacable. Hrove, on the other hand, appeared furious. The dwarf cast a superior and judgmental look upon Stiger.

  “Legate Stiger, I have the honor to introduce you to the Chief of the Hammer Fisted Clan, Hrove Uth’Al’Maggo, Large Councilor, and my personal adviser. You may simply call him Hrove.”

  Hrove looked to Garrack as the dwarf translated the words, and then his eyes went to Stiger. There was no warmth there. The dwarf bowed very slightly. The look of fury dimmed somewhat as Braddock spoke in his own language to Hrove.

  “Thane just introduced you,” Garrack translated, “as Legate of Thirteenth, heir to Delvaris, restorer of Compact, and noble lord of empire.”

  Stiger bowed just as slightly to Hrove in reply.

  “Would you please convey my deep honor at meeting the noble and honorable chieftain of the Hammer Fisted Clan?” Stiger was tempted to add to the compliment, speaking on Hrove’s business dealings, but decided against it. He did not know enough about dwarves to understand fully how that would be received. So he left it at that.

  Braddock translated. Hrove nodded and replied.

  “Hrove says is honor to meet you, legate,” Garrack said.

  Hrove waited for the translation to be completed and then barked out what seemed to be an order to his men.

  “Very good then.” Braddock turned to Stiger. “It is time for you to see what dwarves can do when we put our minds to it.”

  Hrove, with his warriors before him, led them through the massive gates and into the mountain. Stiger was impressed as they entered the large tunnel behind the gates. A double row of support columns on either side of the tunnel rose to the ceiling, at least sixty feet in height. The stone floor was worn smooth from years of use. Large stone fire pits, set several feet apart, provided ample lighting. It was enough to see th
at the walls were carved from floor to ceiling with intricate dwarven reliefs. Several gnomes moved about, keeping the fires well fed. They stopped what they were doing to stare as the party passed them by.

  Stiger assumed that the reliefs depicted dwarven history, but he could not be sure. He noticed small dark holes periodically set into the walls at varying heights. When looking up, he could also barely make out what appeared to be trap doors above and several large metal portcullises suspended by heavy chains, ready to be lowered if needed. He saw large dark holes set right above the fire pits and he realized they were vents to channel the smoke out of the tunnel.

  “Impressive defenses,” Stiger commented, recognizing the murder holes set strategically about. He was confident there were some defenses he could not see due to the dim light.

  “We are now in what could be considered an extension of Grata’Jalor,” Braddock explained. “This is part of an ancient citadel designed to protect both the city and World Gate. It has never fallen to an enemy. Should one make it through the gates, they will have a very difficult time of it.”

  “Another castle then?” Stiger asked, recognizing the similar dwarven naming convention to Castle Vrell.

  “One of last resort,” Braddock explained. “As such, it is most powerful in defense. Grata’Jalor would be much more difficult to overcome than Grata’Kor.”

  After about a five-minute walk, they came to another large set of granite gates, just as large and impressive as the first set. These stood open, and beyond them, Stiger could see why Grata’Jalor made such a formidable defensive structure.

  Passing through the last set of gates, they entered an unbelievably giant cavern. Stiger and everyone else came to a complete stop at the sight that greeted them. Hundreds of rounded support columns, each the size of a house, climbed upward toward the ceiling, disappearing in the darkness above. Though Stiger could not see the darkened ceiling, which was perhaps more than a thousand feet high, large beams of light flooded downward, illuminating much of the interior of the cavern. He held a hand up against the light, squinting for the source, and realized that he could see clouds and sky. The dwarves had carved a set of massive, open skylights that bathed the cavern in muted but natural light. It was an incredibly impressive achievement, but what proved even more exceptional was the castle that sat in the middle of the cavern, less than a quarter of a mile away. It was ringed by a wide, dark chasm, much like an aboveground castle might have a moat. From this distance, he could see no water and had a sneaking suspicion that there was none, just a very long drop-off.