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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “That will give up the advantage of the defensive line,” Vargus protested, not looking terribly excited by the prospect of the action Stiger had laid out.

  “The orcs have the initiative,” Stiger said, hammering a fist into his open palm. “If we do not take it back, the pressure along our front will tell.”

  “Should this move fail,” Vargus added, “we will see the same result.”

  Stiger could detect no heat or resentment in the man’s voice. He was simply expressing his opinion and not challenging Stiger directly. It was what a good officer should do, and Stiger decided to take it as such. He wanted his officers to speak their minds.

  “Those are my orders, gentlemen,” Stiger informed them, ending debate. “Any further questions?”

  “Sir, I have a suggestion.”

  Stiger looked at Blake and nodded for him to continue.

  “If we take the last rank from the Second and divide them boys up evenly along the flanks, it would add greater weight to our push.”

  Stiger looked to Vargus. “If we do as he suggests, can you hold with two ranks?”

  “I can hold,” Vargus said with a grim look.

  “Very good.” Stiger did not desire to waste any more time. “Let’s get to it.”

  The officers split up, and within minutes, the 85th was on the move. A short while later, part of the Second Cohort was moving toward either flank. Stiger had placed himself just behind the line, in the center, literally within spitting distance of the struggle and enemy. The standard bearers followed him. It was good that the men saw him near the front.

  Taking a step back, he looked to his left and then right. The men were forming up into assault lines. It was painful to watch, as they seemed to move slowly, but Stiger understood that movements like this took time to prepare and execute. He calmed himself and waited, all while the fighting to his front continued with unabated ferocity.

  Eli’s side pushed forward first, driving up and over the barricade, the men giving a “HAAAH!” as they drove forward. At the same time, the force up along the slope pushed forward and down. Stiger looked to the left and saw a similar scene. Within a few seconds, both assault prongs were out of sight, hidden by the fighting to his direct front. He had known this would happen, but his anxiety increased regardless. Stiger had no idea how the assaults along his flanks were faring. He struggled to detect any change to those orcs attacking the defensive barricade directly in front of him. It seemed as if the cacophony of the fight increased somewhat in intensity, but Stiger considered that it was likely just his imagination. He reminded himself to be patient and wait.

  He returned to what he could see and deal with. Vargus was pacing up and down a portion of the line, shouting out encouragement and, when needed, orders. The other centurions were either doing the same or had placed themselves in the thick of the fighting, as an example to their men. Stiger moved toward Vargus, with the standard bearers dutifully following him.

  “Nothing yet,” Vargus said as Stiger came up.

  Something should have happened, Stiger told himself. It had been almost five minutes and he was beginning to wonder if too much time had passed. Perhaps both flanks had run into trouble as they pushed forward.

  “What about a push now?” Stiger asked, having to holler above the noise of the fighting.

  “I don’t think we could effectively push up and over the barricade without some lessening of the pressure,” Vargus informed him. “We are just too thin. If we failed, the line might collapse.”

  Stiger nodded in understanding. The orcs were throwing themselves at the legionaries. It was incredible to witness and worrying. The creatures fought as individuals with no regard for themselves and no coordination with their fellows. Each seemed to have the exclusive goal of getting at the human legionaries and killing one.

  “Sir.” One of the standard bearers drew his attention to the far right. Where moments before the pressure had been intense at that spot, the orcs there had taken a step back. That part of the barricade was no longer under direct assault. The orcs there had shifted their attention away from the legionaries to their front along the barricade, to their rear.

  “It’s working,” Stiger breathed to himself. He immediately knew what had to be done, before the orcs to his front could adjust to the assault from the sides. “Send Second Cohort forward.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for more of a reaction?” Vargus asked him. “The line—”

  “There may not be time for that,” Stiger said. “We need to push them from all sides and do it at the same time.”

  “But, sir—”

  “It must be now,” Stiger insisted, feeling more than ever it was the right move as he watched more orcs shift their attention. To create the panic he wanted to generate amongst the enemy, he needed to apply intense pressure on all three sides at the same time. “Before it is too late!”

  “Second Cohort, prepare to advance,” Vargus bellowed, drawing his sword and stepping up to the line. Centurions up and down the line repeated the order. Vargus waited another moment to give the men time to prepare. “Forward!”

  A great shout went up from the legionaries of the Second, and they pressed forward, pushing back against the orcs. Shields to the front, with short swords darting out, they hammered against the enemy. Stiger drew his sword with the intention of joining them.

  Kill them all!

  A pure, white-hot rage flowed into him from the sword. Stiger felt the anger in his breast explode with an astonishing intensity toward the orcs. It threatened to overwhelm his ability to reason. He felt an almost unreasonable urge to spill as much blood as possible. He wanted nothing more than to kill all of the orcs before him. Stiger took a halting step forward and almost threw himself into the ranks, but managed to just barely control himself. The sword was glowing a brilliant blue, so bright it was almost blinding in the dark of the night. It was hard to think, to reason.

  What was happening to him?

  Kill them all!

  Stiger felt an incredible push, urging him forward and into the fight. He was stunned by the power of it and staggered slightly. Instinctively, he knew it was wrong. He had to remain in control of his faculties to direct the fight. He struggled forcefully against the push. Sweat beaded his brow and his hand holding the sword shook violently. The struggle was intense, with Stiger fighting back. It was almost as if the sword were trying to take control of his body.

  “I rule here, not you,” Stiger growled, forcing his will into the thought and fighting down the rage. There was a moment of resistance, then the pressure relented and the sword dimmed. Reason returned. His anger and hate diminished in intensity.

  “Sir?” one of the standard bearers asked, looking at him with concern written across his face, eyes warily on the glowing sword.

  “I am fine,” Stiger said, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. “I am fine.”

  Blinking, Stiger glanced at the sword in his hand with more than a little worry. The weapon clearly had a will of its own, despite what it claimed.

  I rule here, Stiger thought at the sword, reinforcing his will over it. Not you.

  For now . . .

  Stiger felt chilled by its words. Then, abruptly, the line before him surged forward as the pressure against the legionaries crumbled. Stiger had no more time to spare on the sword. Second Cohort was advancing as the orcs fell back. Putting the sword and its chilling words from his mind, he followed, climbing the barricade after the legionaries. It was tricky work, as Stiger found that he had to climb over a pile of orc bodies. The standard bearers followed him.

  Reaching the top, Stiger could see the entirety of the fighting. He stopped to get his bearings. Both assault prongs had pushed through and into the flanks of the throng of orcs. The attention of those on the sides was firmly fixed upon both Eli’s and Blake’s commands. The assault prongs w
ere still pushing steadily forward, using solid shield-work as they cut their way ahead. Watching them, Stiger felt incredible pride in the 85th.

  Second Cohort continued the push forward as well. They were cutting a bloody swath straight down the center, leaving numerous bodies in their wake. The orcs were having difficulty coping with the legionary shield wall and the deadly short swords that jabbed out. Stiger’s eye was drawn to the end of the pass, where the drop-off began. He could see fresh orc warriors climbing up to the pass. These stood uncertainly, taking in the growing disaster. He wondered how many were behind them and decided that he did not care to find out.

  Stiger looked for Vargus and saw him. The centurion was with his men, directing the fighting. Stiger climbed down off of the barricade, careful where he put his feet so that he did not trip. There were bodies and discarded weapons lying all around. It would not do to trip and find oneself accidently impaled. Stiger jogged over to the centurion.

  “You were right, sir,” Vargus said in excitement, a huge grin on his face. “Look at my boys! By the High Father, we have them now.”

  “Spread the word. We push them right up to the end of the pass, but no farther,” Stiger ordered. “We have no idea how many of the enemy are down in the valley.”

  “You think there could be more?” Vargus asked, showing surprise, some of the excitement fading from his face.

  “Your people know the orcs better than I do.” Stiger raised his voice. “The numbers we have seen today, do they represent more than one tribe of warriors?”

  Vargus glanced around, eyes going wide. “Yes . . . yes, they do, and the tribes would rather fight each other than work together.”

  “So,” Stiger said, though he had already surmised this, “we have something to worry about then.”

  “This is a concentration of the mountain tribes,” Vargus breathed as it dawned upon him. “The last time that happened was against Delvaris.”

  Vargus turned and bellowed out some orders to his centurions, instructing them to not advance beyond the end of the pass. These orders were quickly passed to several runners, who went in search of the cohort’s centurions, as well as Eli and Blake, who were beyond sight or hearing.

  “We will stop our advance at the end of the pass, sir,” Vargus assured him and then stepped back to the fighting of his cohort.

  Within minutes, both flanking assault prongs linked up with the main body of the Second. The drive continued, pushing the orcs right up to the end of the pass. There the legionaries stopped as the last of the orcs finally broke and ran down into the woods below, disappearing from view.

  Stiger looked up at the sky and saw the first tinges of dawn, and with it, he suddenly felt extremely tired. There were hundreds of bodies in the pass, mostly orc, though he knew a fair number would be his legionaries.

  A horn sounded from the trees down in Forkham’s Valley. This one was joined by another. Stiger knew with sickening certainty that the orcs were reforming. They would be back and likely would come at him again, this time with greater numbers. After what he had just witnessed, he knew he could not hold them, not here in the pass. Second Cohort and the 85th were tired. There was also the matter with the abomination of Castor. Where was it?

  Stiger called for his senior officers, which included Vargus, Blake, and Eli.

  “I fear there are more coming,” Stiger announced. “I do not think we can hold, not without more men. It would take Third Cohort at least two hours to reach the pass, perhaps too long a time. Does anyone disagree with me?”

  No one did.

  “Then we will withdraw as soon as practicable. Our wounded go down first. We will hold the center of the pass, just long enough for them to get a head start.”

  “What of the dead, sir?” Vargus asked with an unhappy look.

  “They stay where they fell,” Stiger responded, knowing his answer would not be a popular one. “We will come back for them when we can.”

  Vargus looked as if he wanted to argue, but then nodded in acceptance. It was the right decision. Stiger could read it in the man’s eyes.

  “Make sure there is no looting of bodies,” Stiger added, looking at Vargus and Blake. “We know a minion of Castor is involved. I do not want the men picking up some item that is contaminated. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” they replied almost in unison.

  “Eli, as we withdraw, I would like you to observe the enemy. I need to know what comes after us.”

  “It will be done,” Eli said. “Taha’Leeth and Aver’Mons will join me, as well as Marcus.”

  “Good.” Stiger turned back to Vargus. “Get a runner ready. I intend to send a dispatch back to Riverton with details on what has happened here. I will order the cavalry concentrated and to alert Quintus to expect possible trouble on our heels.”

  “Yes, sir.” Vargus looked suddenly weary. “What of the First?”

  “I will order them to march as well.” Stiger met the centurion’s eyes. “I will also alert Braddock that we may require his assistance.”

  Vargus untied his helmet and removed it. The centurion cracked his neck, stretching it out, before running a hand through his matted hair.

  “Your men did well,” Stiger told him. “Extremely well.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Vargus said wearily.

  Another horn blew in the distance, drawing their attention.

  Stiger took a deep breath of cold mountain air and let it out slowly. He had no idea how long the orcs would give him before coming again. He would not waste the time he had just purchased with the blood of his men.

  “Let’s get to it then.”

  Fourteen

  The sun had been up for several hours. It provided little warmth. The tired, wet, and weary column arrived at Riverton to find a fresh trench and five-foot rampart surrounding the town. Legionaries from Third Cohort were hard at work expanding the defenses. The men stopped working to watch as the Second and 85th marched into town. One of those watching began to clap, which was taken up by all of those nearby. The clapping became a cheer, which brought a few tired heads up. Though they had fallen back on the town, the men of the Second had taken the measure of orcs beyond their number and won a hard-fought fight.

  “Hold your heads up proudly now, boys,” Vargus called out to those of his men. “Second Cohort arriving!”

  Stiger was pleased at the reception the men were receiving. They deserved it. Stiger was wet and tired. The effect of the sword had worn off, leaving him, he suspected, more drained than he should be. Rubbing at his eyes, he stifled a yawn. Quintus stood waiting just inside the town, on the common.

  “Had a hard time of it?” Quintus asked, taking in Stiger and the men as they marched in.

  “That is an understatement,” Stiger said.

  Vargus joined them and shook hands with Quintus. He then turned to Stiger, drew himself up, and saluted smartly.

  “Thank you, sir,” Vargus said with a firmness that Stiger had not expected, “again, for rescuing my daughter.”

  “You would have done the same, were she my daughter.”

  “I will follow your orders, sir,” Vargus added, after recovering. “I swear it.”

  “As long as you continue to give me your thoughts, I would welcome them,” Stiger replied, recognizing that he had earned the man’s respect. He had hoped to win Vargus over. Stiger had seen him in action, and though he was difficult, the man was a good leader.

  “You can count on that,” Vargus assured him. “I will not let you down.”

  “I expect nothing less,” Stiger replied. “Get your men fed and rested. It is likely we will need them fresh soon enough.”

  Vargus nodded and stepped off.

  “Has the cavalry reported in?” Stiger asked Quintus.

  “They are still arriving in troops. I’ve put those who have come in to work on the
fortifications,” Quintus answered. “They don’t take to manual labor.”

  “They wouldn’t,” Stiger growled unhappily. “Most are spoiled second and third sons of the lesser nobility.”

  “Lieutenant Cannol has yet to report in,” Quintus added. “He took a troop to a village a good distance east of here.”

  “I expect he will turn up before long.” Stiger stifled another yawn.

  “I did detach two troops to patrol in the direction of the pass,” Quintus said.

  “Yes, we encountered them. I borrowed one to send a dispatch to the castle.” Stiger glanced around at the snow-covered ruins of the town. It no longer smoked, but still stank badly. “I need a place to sleep, at least for a few hours.” He needed some rest to be fresh when the orcs came again.

  “I have a room for you,” Quintus said, gesturing for Stiger to follow. “It is quiet and dry, with a fire.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Stiger followed the centurion through the ruins. They passed several intact buildings where wounded from the Second were being tended to. Stiger made a mental note to check on his losses.

  “I ordered First Cohort to march,” Stiger said. “I would expect them to arrive sometime today.”

  Arm in arm Lan rounded a corner with Jenna, heading in the direction Stiger and Quintus had been moving. The lieutenant had cleaned up since Stiger had last seen him. His face was still badly damaged with a split lip and bruised cheek, but he was moving much less gingerly than before.

  “Lieutenant, where is your troop?” Stiger demanded. Though the lieutenant had had a rough time of it, Stiger suspected the man was neglecting his duties in favor of spending time with Vargus’s daughter. It was time to remind Lan of his responsibilities.

  “They just came in, sir,” Lan reported, straightening up into a position of attention and offering a salute.

  “Have they been assigned to work on the fortifications?”

  “Ah, no, sir, not yet.”

  “Shouldn’t you be seeing to that?”