That was the good news so far, Stiger thought. It meant the raiding party, or parties, were likely small. If they were few in number, the situation was manageable. Though with everything he had just learned about the World Gate, Stiger could not help feeling that much more was afoot. Father Thomas’s comment had not helped either. He would have to be watchful.
Stiger looked up at the sky, which appeared to be clouding up. The sun was nearly directly overhead, though it was providing very little warmth, as the temperature was dropping. He judged it to be around noon. The men needed to be fed and the horses watered before continuing. A brief stop at this village before they pushed on was not a bad idea. Stiger hoped it would not snow again, though it looked likely.
“Is there somewhere we can water our horses?” Stiger asked of Tilanus.
“Yes, sir, in our village square we have a water trough.” The retired centurion leaned to the left to get a better look at the troop of cavalry. “Though with these numbers, some of your men may have to work the well a bit.”
“We need to continue on to Riverton,” Vargus insisted, turning to look at Stiger. “We can’t stop now.”
“The horses need watering and a break,” Stiger said with an edge. He hated having to explain himself. He softened his tone slightly, as he understood Vargus’s motivations for haste. “The men need to eat also, and your cohort is already ahead of us.”
“Yes, sir,” Vargus said, clearly unhappy.
Regardless of the man’s desires to get to Riverton as fast as possible, Stiger was beginning to become concerned with his attitude. He looked back down the road in the direction they had just come. A fork in the road a mile back led to Castle Vrell. He hoped the 85th and his cavalry were not far behind, because Stiger wanted them with him. Should Vargus refuse his orders at some point in the near future, things might get sticky.
“Lieutenant,” Stiger said, directing himself to Lan, “we will water the horses. Make sure the men eat their rations. I plan on stopping here no longer than thirty minutes.”
“Very good, sir,” Lan replied, his eyes flicking over to Vargus before returning to Stiger. “The horses could use a rest and water.”
“Centurion,” Stiger ordered to Tilanus, “lead on.”
They found Riverton in ruins. From a distance, Second Cohort could be seen moving about the town. Stiger realized they must have helped the survivors extinguish the last of the flames, which had torn savagely through the town. Very few buildings had been left standing. Most were charred ruins. Those that had survived the maelstrom of fire looked oddly out of place, in a lonely sort of way. The stench of smoke and scorched wood was pungent, bitter, and nearly overwhelming. It also mixed with another stench. Stiger had encountered it before: the sweet, sickening smell of burnt flesh.
Second Cohort had brought their supply wagons with them. They found these covered wagons parked just outside of town, a precaution against a stray ember. A century of men had been left to guard the wagons. The centurion in charge saluted Stiger as he rode past. The look on the man’s face was grim, hard. For all Stiger knew, like Vargus, Riverton was the man’s home. Stiger returned the salute and continued without stopping.
On the outskirts of town, Stiger saw the first body. It was not human. He pulled up when he was alongside the remains. The body was that of an orc. He had never seen one up close and estimated the creature must have stood over six feet in height. The skin was pasty greenish in color. Intricate tattoos worked their way across its animal-like face, neck, and arms, disappearing beneath a solid but rough-looking steel breastplate.
From what he could see, the orc was heavily muscled, with hair that was dyed white and had been limed back. The canine-like jaw with thick, yellowed tusks was open in a silent death scream or perhaps a roar of rage. Stiger could not decide which one. A javelin was sticking out of the creature’s belly, just under where the breastplate ended. The throat had also been slit, and thick greenish blood had dried around the wound, leaching down to the dirt, where it had congealed.
“They will pay for this.” Vargus spat on the corpse and kicked his horse forward, trotting the rest of the way into the town, leaving Stiger behind.
Stiger glanced over at Lan, who had also stopped to study the body. The lieutenant appeared a little shaken. Their eyes met, and Lan looked uncertainly back down on the body.
“These creatures can be killed,” Stiger assured him. “The evidence is there before you.”
Lan swallowed and nodded. “You are right, of course.”
Stiger spared the dead orc another look before he nudged Nomad forward into a slow walk. He continued into the town with the troop following. The troopers gave the dead orc a good look as they passed it by.
Stiger found Vargus in the town center on the common. Vargus was with two other legionaries and a sobbing woman, who was being comforted by the centurion. They were sitting on a charred support beam that had collapsed, along with the building it had once held up.
Stiger dismounted, holding the reins in his hands. He rubbed at his tired eyes. The ruins around him represented the life’s work of the people of this town. Stiger had seen such sights before, usually enemy towns and villages, some of which had even been burned by his own hand. A life in the legions exposed one to the ugly side of the world, the one few people from the heart of the empire truly ever witnessed. For the uninitiated, it was harsh and brutal. For Stiger, the sight was all too common. As he stood looking around, he knew without a doubt that the people of the valley would look to him to right this wrong. The Cyphan would have to wait until this was resolved. The orcs would have to be punished.
Stiger’s gaze was drawn back to the centurion and the woman. Vargus looked up at him, tears in his eyes. His face was a mask of anguish. The woman had her head buried in his shoulder, her sobs convulsing her body. Vargus struggled a moment to compose himself and blinked away his tears.
“Now, Della,” Vargus said soothingly as he pushed the woman back. “I must talk to the legate. We will get Jenna back. That I promise.”
“Vargus,” she pleaded, between sobs, “you must get our daughter back. You know what she has been through. She deserves better. Please, for the High Father’s sake, bring her home!”
“I will,” he said with a heated look in Stiger’s direction. “Have I ever promised something I’ve not delivered on?”
“No,” she said and immediately began crying once again. “I don’t want you to start now.”
Vargus stood and handed his wife off to one of the legionaries, who led the crying woman away. Vargus cleared his throat and approached Stiger.
Eli had dismounted next to Stiger and was studying their surroundings. His face was grim, and he said nothing as Vargus stepped nearer. Stiger understood that, to an elf, every death was tragic, even the lives he took himself.
Father Thomas rode up and dismounted. He was followed by Sergeant Arnold, who remained on his horse with a sad look. Stiger suspected that Arnold had seen his own horrors.
“Sir,” Vargus reported, “the orc raiding party struck without warning just after sunset. It was not a large party. It seems they set fire to the western end of the town as a diversion so they could snatch some captives. The militia, when they understood what was happening, were able to drive them off.”
“What do they want with captives?” Stiger asked, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Ransom?”
“No,” Vargus chuckled bitterly. “Orcs care nothing for ransom. The only value captives have is to their priests, who practice ritual killings. It is how they honor their gods.”
“Sacrifice?” Stiger asked. “They practice the rite of sacrifice?”
“Yes, sir,” Vargus answered grimly. “We must go after them and retrieve our people.”
“How many did they take?” Stiger asked.
“We think around ten, including my daughter, Jenna.”
Stiger had suspected as much from what he had already overheard. He had to tread carefully here. He needed Vargus on his side, and that would require some effort. If he could sway Vargus, who appeared to command much respect in the valley, the rest would likely come with him. They had to see him as more than just some mythical hero who had been reborn, but a leader whom they could implicitly trust in battle.
“Do you know where they took them?”
“Forkham’s Valley,” Vargus replied. “It’s a small dead-end valley a few miles from here. There is a pass that leads to it. It is orc territory and likely where they will take them.”
“I don’t recall seeing it on any of the maps.”
“I would be surprised if it was listed. No one in their right mind would want to go there. The orcs consider the valley a holy site. All that is there are the remains of an orc temple that General Delvaris destroyed.”
Stiger was surprised to hear that. He wanted to find out more about his ancestor, but now was not the time.
“A temple, you say?” Stiger growled, thinking on Castor.
“Yes, the ruins of one anyway,” Vargus said. “They worshiped the Twisted One there. It was the reason why Delvaris tore it down.”
“Are you sure that is where they went?” Stiger asked, taking in a deep, unhappy breath. He suspected that the orcs still practiced their religion at that site.
“The orcs were spotted heading off in that direction, sir,” Vargus explained. “They also had one of their priests with them.”
Stiger glanced to the south. A few miles beyond this town, the slope climbed steeply up into the mountains. The clouds, dark and brooding, hid the tops of the snowcapped mountains. Stiger thought it was increasingly looking like there would be more snow. He turned to Eli, who had been listening. Taha’Leeth had also joined them, though he had not heard her come up.
“Find their trail,” Stiger ordered to the two of them. “Follow them to this valley. I want to know where they went and where they are holding the captives.”
“Are you sure you trust me?” Eli asked Stiger, switching to elven. Taha’Leeth shifted uncomfortably, a concerned look passing across her face as her eyes shifted from Eli to Stiger. He thought he detected a pleading look in her eyes.
Stiger’s anger blazed hot as he rounded on Eli, whom he found with a smug look plastered across his face. The elf’s eyes twinkled with amusement and mischief. The heat and anger left Stiger in a rush. He had difficulty staying angry with his friend. For that was what Eli was, his one and only true friend. He would put his anger aside for the sake of their friendship. They would work this out later, when time permitted.
“Is Marcus up for this?” Stiger asked in common, declining to take Eli’s bait, but softening his tone.
“After spending much of the day miserable in the saddle, he is much recovered,” Eli said with a grin. “The aftereffects of the drink have mostly left him. It will not slow him down.”
“Good. I want the four of you, Aver’Mons included, on their trail.”
“We will leave the horses here,” Taha’Leeth said. Her bow, like Eli’s, was slung over her back.
“Do you need supplies?” Stiger asked them. “Food, water?”
“No,” Eli said. “We have enough rations and we filled our canteens in Tedge.”
“I expect that I will be following shortly with Second Cohort.”
“We must be after them now!” Vargus protested.
“No,” Stiger growled, turning to look back at Vargus. He had had enough of the centurion’s attitude, but he still restrained himself. “We are going to do this right. I will not rush headlong into a possible ambush. We don’t know what’s out there. For all we know, they launched these raids to get us to chase after them.”
“I had heard you were a man of action,” Vargus countered hotly.
“Centurion,” Stiger barked, outraged at the man’s implication. “Have you seen those other fires? The ones beyond this town? There were other orc raiding parties out last night. We do not know their size or location. Can you tell me where they are?”
Vargus’s jaw worked. He clearly wanted to say more, but saw that Stiger was right.
“We will wait for the cavalry to arrive. Once Cannol’s command gets here, we march. The cavalry will scour this end of the valley. They will provide a screen to warn us, so that when we do go up into the mountains and after the bastards, we don’t get trapped in that dead-end valley. Understand me?”
“I must see to my wife,” Vargus said stiffly. He saluted, his body full of tension, and stalked angrily off.
“Watch out for that one,” Eli said quietly. “He is overwhelmed with emotion, and when it comes to making decisions, that can be a bad thing.”
“I will see you in a few hours,” Stiger said. “Be careful. We do not know what we are dealing with.”
“I am the absolute soul of caution,” Eli said with a grin. “You should know this by now.”
“If I recall correctly,” Stiger said with a grin of his own, “you were almost brained to death recently. That was you, right?”
Eli glanced over at Taha’Leeth. “I was a little distracted and did not see the blow coming.”
“An interesting flower again?” Stiger asked. He turned to Taha’Leeth. “Make sure he stays focused. I would hate to lose him . . . again.”
“I will endeavor to do so,” Taha’Leeth said with a wink. “However, he is young and impetuous. It may prove somewhat difficult.”
Eli looked scandalized by this. “I never mentioned your advanced age, did I? Think you can keep up with this youngster?”
“See what I mean?” Taha’Leeth said to Stiger as she turned to leave, leading her horse off.
Eli watched Taha’Leeth for a moment and then shot Stiger an amused look.
“Try not to have too much fun,” Stiger said. Eli only looked more amused as he turned away and led his horse off after Taha’Leeth.
Shaking his head slightly, Stiger watched the two head off. Eli loved nothing more than a challenge. His friend was now presented with one, tracking a new enemy over unknown ground. Between the three elves and Marcus, there was no doubt in his mind that they would find the orcs and the captives.
He turned away and studied the devastation around him. Stiger breathed in deeply through his nose and immediately regretted it. The stench of the burned town was overpowering. He sneezed a moment later. The Cyphan were waiting. How long would it take to put down the orcs? He did not know, but it was one more obstacle to overcome on the road to reestablishing contact with the empire.
Did he not have enough on his plate already?
A detail of legionaries off to his left drew his attention. They were carrying something into the common. Stiger turned. They carried a body. Several bodies, at least a dozen or so, were lined up. Some were badly burned. Others had not a mark on them. Stiger sucked in an angry breath. A couple of the bodies were small, clearly children. The anger began to grow as he walked over to examine the them. One of the children, perhaps five years of age, had been cut down by a blade. The anger gave way to rage and his hand went to the sword hilt. The accustomed, comforting tingle was a roar of energy. Stiger’s head snapped up. Where a moment ago he had felt tired and worn from the long journey, he was now wide awake and alert.
Forged for a purpose, forged for a reason, forged for a will. Your will is my will and mine is yours,
the sword hissed malevolently in his mind. Together we will make them suffer . . .
Nine
“Sir, Lieutenant Cannol’s company arriving.”
Stiger turned at the legionary’s call. He was gesturing toward the road back to Tedge. Stiger had finished walking through the town, examining the damage. The more he had seen, the greater his anger grew. He wanted very badly to punish the vermin who had done this. His only consolation was tha
t the Cyphan had not broken into the valley.
Stiger walked toward the road, his hand occasionally touching the hilt of his sword, enjoying the feeling of the electric tingle. From the earlier rush of power, he still felt wide awake and alert. The sword had somehow sensed his tiredness and washed it away. Stiger felt as if he had gotten a full night’s rest. He glanced down at the sword and wondered on its power. What else was it capable of doing?
Before he had gone more than ten steps, Cannol’s cavalry company in a double column trotted into the town common. Bundles of tightly bound hay, along with feedbags, had been strapped to the backs of the horses. They also carried extra saddlebags, which likely contained precooked rations for their riders. The men were prepared for an extended campaign.
Cannol rode at the head of his company, and beside him rode Centurion Quintus from Third Cohort, which was a pleasant surprise. Stiger had expected the centurion to arrive with his cohort. Prior to leaving for Old City, Stiger had spent several hours with Quintus. He liked the man’s forthright manner and practical way of looking at things. Quintus, like Vargus, was also a councilor of the valley.
“Good day, sir,” Cannol greeted, snapping off a salute as the first of his two hundred troopers began riding onto the common. The lieutenant glanced around. “A right terrible mess, this is.”
“Quintus, where is your cohort?”
“About two hours behind, sir. I thought to ride ahead in the event you wished to consult.”
“Good thinking,” Stiger said. Such initiative was what Stiger expected from competent officers. “We have our work cut out for us.”
“Tilanus said orcs.” Cannol jerked a thumb behind him. “And we saw that big fellow as we rode in. I must admit that is not what I was expecting.”
“When did the 85th march?” Stiger asked, curious to hear about his company.
“They were forming up as we rode out, sir,” Cannol said.
“What’s taking so long?” Stiger asked.
The Tiger's Fate (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 3) Page 14
