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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Ruga took in the scene before throwing Stiger a sardonic look. “With you in command, sir, I must confess I never once doubted we would make it.”

  Stiger stared back at the centurion for a moment before exploding with laughter. He clapped the older man on the shoulder. Ruga was a man he could like. The centurion laughed with him.

  “After this is over, we will share a jug of wine and drink to those we lost,” Stiger declared.

  Vargus walked up to the two men. The centurion’s eyes ran over the both of them. Stiger was sure they looked a sight.

  “It was a little spirited,” Ruga commented as the harsh blaring of a horn sounded behind them, some distance off in the valley. The centurion glanced backward. “Just a little.”

  “My daughter?” Vargus asked.

  “Alive and well,” Ruga said. Vargus’s shoulders sagged in relief.

  The survivors from Ruga’s century and the freed captives were scrambling up the last few feet of slope to the level ground of the pass. Behind them, Third and Fifth Centuries followed, keeping a watchful eye out for any additional orcs.

  “I expect they will follow soon enough,” Stiger said to Vargus. The centurion looked doubtful.

  “Father!” Vargus turned, and his daughter threw herself into his arms. He hugged her tightly as she broke down in tears. Lan came up behind them, eyeing Vargus a little uncertainly. The lieutenant had had a rough time of it. The side of his face was bruising badly, his lip was split, and his armor was scratched, pitted, and badly dented in places. He was also covered in a lot of dried greenish blood.

  “Thank you for saving my least favorite niece,” Ruga said, offering his hand to the lieutenant.

  Lan took the centurion’s proffered hand and winced with the effort.

  “Least favorite?” Jenna exclaimed with mock indignation, pulling herself away from her father and rounding on her uncle. Her eyes were red with tears, but she could not suppress a smile. “You big liar.”

  She hugged Ruga and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for coming back for me.”

  “He will make a good addition to the family,” Ruga commented after she released him, jerking a thumb in Lan’s direction. “At least after he cleans up a bit and takes a bath. You really do drag home anything, don’t you?”

  Jenna’s eyes snapped to her father, who looked over at Ruga first with a questioning look and then at the battered lieutenant. The centurion’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Stiger glanced curiously between the two. Lan was so battered and tired that he seemed not to care what her father thought.

  “What?” Ruga asked innocently as Jenna turned a fiery look upon him. “You should thank me. It’s out in the open now. Besides, if your daddy objects, well, he and I will just have to have a long talk. Over the years we’ve had a few of those, you know.”

  Vargus threw a scowl at Ruga before turning to his daughter. “We will speak of this later.”

  “I expected nothing less,” Ruga said with a tired nod directed at Vargus. “Don’t you worry none, girl. Your daddy will come around. Trust me on this.”

  “Sir,” Marcus called from down the slope, interrupting them. He scrambled up and saluted Stiger. “A lot of orcs are heading this way. At least several hundred. The lieutenant said to expect an assault.”

  Stiger looked back down toward the darkened valley. The moon had come out again. He was extremely worn out, wet, and cold. He felt miserable and his body ached from the exertion. It had been a long, hard day and was already proving to be a more difficult night. When he had started out from Thane’s Mountain, he had not envisioned his day unfolding in the way it had.

  He took a deep breath, and his hand found the hilt of his sword, seeking its comforting electric tingle. Instead, he received a jolt that flared through his arm and into his body. Time seemed to slow in the middle of the breath he was taking. Vargus blinked, and it appeared to take an eternity for the man to complete the action. Stiger trembled as the power of the sword flared through him and then abruptly was gone. He staggered back a step.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Ruga asked with concern, reaching out a hand to steady the legate.

  Stiger blinked. The weariness and sense of cold were gone. Though he was still completely soaked through, his body no longer ached from his exertions of the last few hours. It wasn’t like before when his aches and pains had faded. This time they were completely gone. He felt rejuvenated, better than if he had woken up from a great night’s sleep. The moonlight shining down on the snow also seemed a little brighter than it had a moment before. Stiger glanced down at his sword and shook his head in disbelief.

  “Sir?” Ruga asked again, stepping closer.

  “I’m fine, just a little tired is all,” Stiger replied, recovering.

  “What do you intend for us to do?” Vargus asked, looking for direction.

  Glancing over at Marcus and then the valley again, Stiger rapidly thought things through before turning back to the makeshift barricade. There was only one option that made any real sense to him.

  “We hold here.”

  “Hold, sir?” Vargus asked. “If they are coming, as you say, then why not march back to Riverton? Then we would have the strength of both cohorts, instead of one. We could give them a real pasting with such strength.”

  Stiger considered the centurion’s words a moment before replying.

  “The ground here lends itself better to defense,” Stiger responded, gesturing at the confines of the pass. “They can only come at us from a narrow front. We will be able to hold them, bleed them, and then push them back into their valley. If we give them a good enough bloody nose, perhaps it will stop further raids, at least until we can hit them back properly.”

  “Will you bring up the Third?” Vargus asked, clearly not happy with Stiger’s answer.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Stiger responded. “If we need to, we will call upon them. However, the 85th should be arriving soon. That, I think, will provide us sufficient reinforcement.”

  “Sir, if I might offer my advice?” Vargus shifted his feet.

  Stiger looked to the centurion and nodded for the man to speak, as if Vargus suddenly needed his permission. The man had never really held back before, and Stiger wondered what was coming.

  “After we stop the orcs, we come back with all three cohorts and the dwarves and clean these animals out good. They must be taught a lesson.”

  The last of Ruga’s weary men stepped by the four officers. The cohorts that had just come to their rescue were beginning to scramble back up to the level ground of the pass.

  “I am afraid we’re going to have to,” Ruga commented with a sour expression, and Stiger agreed with that sentiment. Before he turned his attention back to the Cyphan, the orcs would have to be dealt with, and harshly. Stiger could ill afford to leave an enemy at his back.

  “You two.” Stiger turned to Lan and Ruga. “Make for Riverton. See that the captives we freed get there safely. I want them out of here as soon as possible. Ruga, your century can provide escort.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ruga said.

  “Excellent work, Ruga. You and your men did well.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Ruga said, drawing himself up and offering Stiger a smart salute. Lan did the same, though the effort clearly hurt, as he winced somewhat painfully.

  Stiger watched them go. Jenna was helping to support Lan as the cavalry trooper hobbled off with Ruga. Stiger then turned to Vargus, who was looking at his daughter and the lieutenant with a hooded expression.

  “The lieutenant is a good man,” Stiger told him.

  “If you will excuse me,” Vargus said in reply, his voice harsh, “I will see to my men, sir.”

  Vargus stepped off toward the makeshift barricade. Stiger noticed that Marcus had remained behind. The scout looked tired and weary. He had good reason. “Go get some rest. Yo
u’ve more than earned it.”

  Marcus saluted and left Stiger alone, standing at the mouth of the pass. He looked out over the moonlit valley and took a deep breath. From his vantage point, the small valley seemed peaceful, almost serene. Under the moonlight, the snow both on and amidst the trees gleamed brightly. The view was magnificent. It was also deceptive, for this was a place of evil and death. Somewhere out there were a lot of orcs, his friend, and two other elves.

  Stiger breathed out slowly before he turned his back and walked to the defensive line, prepared to do his duty. He would hold this pass and bleed the orcs. Every orc he dealt with now was one less he would have to contend with later.

  “85th coming up,” a legionary called out, drawing Stiger’s attention almost as soon as he had climbed over the makeshift barricade. He looked toward the other end of the pass and, sure enough, saw a body of men marching through the trees. The distinctive standard of his company draped in a tiger’s pelt was held up proudly at the front.

  Stiger could not help but feel a sense of relief. These were his men, whom he had personally trained. They had been tested in the fires of combat and proven themselves again and again. If asked, they would walk through the seven levels of hell and do it with pride. They were good men. They were his men.

  “What kept you?” Stiger asked of Blake when the sergeant came up and saluted. The sergeant’s eyes flicked over Stiger’s bedraggled and battered appearance and he raised a curious eyebrow.

  “You know how it is, sir, always waiting on someone else to do their bloody job,” the sergeant said in a lighthearted manner. “That is the way of the legions.”

  “I see,” Stiger said, suppressing a smile. It was good to have the old veteran sergeant back at his side. “Where’s Ranl?”

  “Lieutenant Ikely kept him at the castle,” Blake said. “You will just have to put up with me instead.”

  “I guess I will have to,” Stiger said, flashing a smile at the sergeant. “What was Third Cohort up to when you passed through Riverton?”

  “Digging in, sir,” Blake replied, looking beyond Stiger toward the makeshift barricade. “Expecting some trouble, are we?”

  “You could say that,” Stiger replied, following the sergeant’s gaze. “Orcs, and a lot of them.”

  “Had a run-in with a band of them buggers when I first joined the legions,” Blake said, which actually surprised Stiger. “At the time, they scared the hell out of me, but like anything else that walks or crawls the land, they can be killed just the same.”

  “Make sure the men know that,” Stiger told him as a shout of alarm sounded behind him. Stiger glanced over to see Vargus hurrying toward the center of the line.

  “Where do you want me and the boys?” Blake asked him.

  “The 85th will act as a reserve. Break the company up into files and position them at intervals just behind the line.”

  “Yes, sir,” Blake said and then eyed Second Cohort. “They look good, sir, but how are they? How are they really? Ranl and I have been wondering.”

  Stiger was silent a moment as he considered his answer before speaking.

  “A century of them just fought like veterans to rescue a handful of captives,” Stiger said. He paused a moment as Ruga and the survivors of the Fourth marched by with the civilians and Lan. The centurion saluted Stiger. Blake eyed them neutrally as he took in their battered appearance. All of them looked as if they had gone through the grinder. Then they were gone, swallowed up by the gloom of the night. “If the rest of the cohort fights as they did, then I expect they will handle themselves well.”

  “That is mighty good to hear, sir.” Blake looked back at the 85th, which had halted and stood waiting for orders. “With your permission, I will get the men into position.”

  “Very well.” Stiger watched as Blake turned and began shouting orders. The men of the 85th rapidly began separating into files, and as each file moved by him, they gave Stiger a cheer. He smiled and nodded back at them as they passed.

  An orc horn blared harshly. It seemed uncomfortably close. Stiger knew that the enemy would be coming shortly. He thought on his decision to hold the pass, considered the possibility of pulling back, and then immediately dismissed the idea. He was in command of a powerful defensive position. This was good ground, damn good. Glancing up at the steep, craggy slopes that hemmed in the pass, Stiger knew there was no easy way to flank his position. Under the circumstances, it was the very best he could ask for.

  If he pulled back to Riverton, there was no guarantee the orcs would attack his fortified position there. They could simply ignore him and bypass the defenders, spilling out into the valley itself. Stiger would then have to chase them down. Such a possibility did not appeal to him. With the 85th on hand, he had a little over six hundred men defending an extremely narrow front, with steep slopes to either side.

  Yes, he thought. Holding was the correct decision. Let them come.

  Stiger joined Vargus. The centurion was in the center of his line, studying the trees to the front of the barricade. He gave the appearance of being calm and unconcerned, but vigilant. It was what was expected of a legionary officer.

  “A couple of orcs showed themselves a few moments ago, sir,” Vargus informed him, pointing to the drop-off. “They have since disappeared.”

  Stiger nodded, but said nothing.

  “Thank you,” Vargus said, without looking over at Stiger. He was clearly uncomfortable, and Stiger suspected that it took a lot for the man to make such an admission. “Thank you for bringing my daughter back.”

  “No thanks are necessary,” Stiger replied. “A lot of good men gave their lives for the captives.”

  “Yes, they did,” Vargus agreed, turning to Stiger, sudden passion in his tone. “Those men died willingly. They died for their families. They died for our home. The Compact is much more than just an alliance. It is our way of life, a sacred trust. Yes, our forefathers came here to protect and guard the World Gate, yet today we defend our home.”

  Stiger remained silent as he returned Vargus’s gaze. He did not feel the need to respond, as it was clear Vargus believed fully what he had just said and Stiger likely suspected that it was true. The men fought now to protect their home, the valley.

  “Sir, look!” a legionary shouted, pointing. Three shadows emerged from the darkness at a dead run for the defensive barricade. Stiger immediately recognized the elves.

  “Let them through,” he shouted, so there could be no mistake. “They are friends.”

  Eli, Taha’Leeth, and Aver’Mons scrambled up and over the improvised barricade. All three were out of breath. Stiger and Vargus hurried over to them.

  “They are coming,” Eli said, catching his breath. “A lot of them.”

  “How many?” Vargus demanded.

  Stiger glanced off in the direction the three elves had just come. Though he could see nothing, the elves would not have been running unless the threat had been dire. From the improvised barricade to the point where the pass dropped toward the valley was perhaps forty feet. Vargus’s men had cut down many of the trees to the front of the barricade, which provided additional visibility. Under the moonlight, which reflected brightly off of the snow, Stiger could see right to the edge of the drop-off.

  “Hundreds . . . at least,” Eli said, struggling to catch his breath.

  “Perhaps a thousand or more,” Taha’Leeth added in elven. Her hands on her knees, she was bent over, breathing heavily.

  “An abomination too,” Aver’Mons added in elven, which brought Stiger’s head around to the elf, as he could speak their language quite well. “I caught sight of it, though it was not moving toward the pass with the orcs.”

  “What did they say?” Vargus asked of Eli and Taha’Leeth.

  “He said there is a minion of Castor out there,” Stiger explained gruffly. It seemed Castor was not done with the valle
y. Stiger had known this from the moment Father Thomas had told him the orc priests were of the Twisted One’s ilk.

  “A minion is evil incarnate,” Father Thomas said. The paladin had come up. “It represents the direct will of the dark god Castor.”

  “Like you?” Vargus asked. “But for a dark god, a dark paladin?”

  Father Thomas nodded slightly. “You could think of it that way, if you like.”

  Stiger had heard enough. The orcs were coming, and it was as simple as that. He would deal with whatever came his way when it arrived. Besides, he had Father Thomas with him, and together they had already defeated one of Castor’s minions. If need be, they would do it again.

  “Prepare to receive assault,” Stiger said to Vargus, cutting off further discussion. “We must hold.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vargus acknowledged and turned to another centurion who was standing nearby. “All centuries to the line.”

  Orders were quickly passed. The men took their shields and moved up to the line, falling into neat, orderly ranks. The legionaries in the front rank carried a single javelin. Those behind carried two or more. They had been unable to take the wagons up to the pass, which meant that their supply of javelins was limited. Vargus had apparently sent men back for more, which meant that they had enough for perhaps an extra toss or two. Behind them, the 85th was moving into position at spaced intervals behind Second Cohort.

  “Here they come!”

  What looked like a wave of darkness rose up to their front as a mass of orcs climbed up over the lip of the pass. The orcs shuffled forward several steps and then stopped. They stood silent and unmoving, simply gazing at the legionaries. Unlike many of the orcs they had faced down in Forkham’s Valley, these had come prepared, with plate armor and helmets. Weapon drawn, they were ready for a fight. Stiger had to admit even to himself the orcs presented an unnerving sight. It was then he noticed his legionaries. He could sense their uncertainty and unease.