“Is it time then?” Braddock asked of the wizard.
“No,” Ogg said. “We still have a few months. The time is not right for the planes to align.”
“Then the World Gate cannot be opened to Tanis yet?” Stiger asked.
“The World Gate cannot yet be opened,” the wizard confirmed with a strained look over at Stiger.
“Ogg, I will not turn the army around and march through those gates like a dog with its tail between its legs,” Braddock said with some heat.
“Give the order, Braddock,” Ogg implored. “The World Gate is all that matters.”
“It’s not that easy. It will have to be a fighting withdrawal, and that will be costly. Not to mention the cost to Legend . . . ”
“What does Legend matter when the fate of our world is at stake?”
Garrack barked something at Ogg in dwarven. It did not sound pleasant.
“Is there no point or hope of holding then?” Stiger growled. “I am getting tired of falling back.”
“We are dwarves,” Garrack said, switching back to his rough common. “Nothing we cannot do.”
Braddock glanced over at Garrack and then back at Stiger, running an idle hand through his tightly braided beard. “If you can put your men into the line, that might give us the depth and strength we need to hold, at least for a time. There would be very few reserves once you are committed. Should the line falter, it could mean disaster.”
“Then we must make sure the line holds,” Stiger said with firmness.
“Ogg.” Braddock turned to the wizard. “Can you do anything to help?”
“No.” The wizard looked uncomfortable and for a moment did not meet his thane’s gaze. “I dare not. I fear before this night is done I will need all of my strength and the power I’ve been holding onto for months.”
“You speak of the Twisted One’s minion, perhaps?” Stiger asked the wizard.
“I do not know,” Ogg admitted hesitantly and then a distant look came over him. “I can feel something building. I . . . I just do not know . . . ”
“That’s not terribly helpful,” Braddock said with a scowl of frustration thrown in Ogg’s direction. He then turned back to Stiger. “Castor’s minion has not been sighted for several hours. We have no idea where it is.”
“The creature is masking its presence,” Ogg said. “Neither I nor the dragons can sense it. We assume it has had some help, magical.”
Stiger ignored Ogg. The missing minion was the least of his concerns. Instead, he looked around at the ground they were defending and then back up toward the gate, thinking furiously. Simply assuming a position in the line was not enough.
“We need to pull back to the trade buildings,” Stiger said suddenly. “Their walls are thick, and high. We defend the spaces in between the buildings.”
Braddock glanced back toward the ancient buildings and his eyes lit up, seeing the possibilities for defense.
“I like it,” Braddock said. “It will allow us to deepen our lines and also create a new reserve.”
“It would,” Stiger agreed, surprised he had not thought of it earlier. The space between the buildings was confined, really just small streets that were large enough for a wagon or cart. It meant that they would not have to hold the entire front, only the streets between the buildings. It would also channel the orcs. “Where do you want us?”
Braddock was silent as he contemplated Stiger’s question. The thane glanced down at the map and said something to Garrack in dwarven and then Tyga, clearly consulting the two. The three spoke some more, and then Braddock looked back up at Stiger.
“I would like to place you in the center of the line,” Braddock said, looking down again at the map and tracing out the new battle line. “That way I can peel my warriors back from the center to both sides and, at the same time, reinforce my wings.”
“I was rather hoping to take one of the wings,” Stiger told him, “and not have to split your army in two.”
“It is my wings that are in trouble, not my center,” Braddock explained. “My best warriors are in the center. By giving up the center, this way I can add steel to each flank rather quickly.”
“Okay,” Stiger agreed, studying the map. “I will bring my boys up. Once we are in position, you can begin falling back.”
Stiger made his way back toward his men, his escort closing up around him. He found his senior officers, including Taha’Leeth and Father Thomas, gathered together. Sergeant Arnold stood behind the paladin. The men were formed up into marching ranks, at ease, but ready to move. Many pairs of eyes from the ranks shifted toward Stiger as he approached his officers.
“We are going to move up and take the center of the line,” Stiger informed them. “The dwarves are having a hard time of it. This will allow them to reinforce and add depth along both wings.”
“This is an uncommonly good night for a fight,” Blake said cheerfully. “A tad bit cold, but ‘least it’s not snowing.”
“Now that you’ve put words to such thoughts,” Sabinus growled, “the gods are bound to curse us with adverse weather.”
“Think happy thoughts,” Blake responded. “Happy thoughts, my friend.”
“The First and the Second will take the right, and the 85th and Third the left,” Stiger continued. “Once we are in position and engaged with the enemy, the entire line will begin falling back to the first set of buildings. We will take up defensive positions amongst the buildings. Once there, assume street fighting formations. This will allow us to deepen our own ranks and create a reserve. The narrow confines of the streets will limit the number of enemy that can be sent forward at any one time. Along with our tactics, discipline, and shields, it should combine to make the perfect environment for killing them.”
“What of my boys?” Tilanus asked as a contingent of dwarves, perhaps twenty strong, marched by them.
Stiger recognized Hrove amongst them. The clan chief cast Stiger a disdainful look as he passed. Hrove was not dressed for battle. The chieftain’s look bothered Stiger more than he cared to admit. There was something off about him. Stiger could not say what exactly, but he knew an enemy when he saw one. Hrove was one dwarf who just did not like humans, and probably never would.
“How many men do you have left?” Stiger asked Tilanus.
“Around two hundred and fifty able to march,” Tilanus answered.
Thinking on Hrove got Stiger considering the residents of the valley, who were safely holed up in Old City. What would happen to them if the army failed to hold? What would happen if Grata’Jalor fell?
“How many of the militia are with the refugees from the valley?” Stiger asked of Quintus. “Do you know?”
“Maybe two thousand men in armor and under arms,” the centurion responded. “To be perfectly fair, most are too old to march and put up a good fight. They are a shadow of their former selves.”
“The majority of our people will be armed though,” Vargus countered. “We train everyone to fight, and I mean everyone.”
“I would feel better if they had some additional steel,” Stiger said to Tilanus, concerned that the battle might go badly. “I want you to send two hundred men to protect the civilians, yourself included. Until otherwise ordered, you will be in overall command. Leave fifty men at the gates to the mountain, under a capable centurion. They will act as a rearguard—added insurance, if you will—should things go poorly here.”
“But, sir,” Tilanus protested, and Stiger stopped him with a raised hand.
“This is not a debate,” Stiger told him firmly. “You will do as ordered.”
“Yes, sir,” Tilanus said stiffly, with a concerned look directed to Quintus. The other centurion was stony-faced.
“I concur,” Quintus said after a pregnant pause and addressed himself to Tilanus. “Your men will not make much of a difference here if things go badly
. However, they may make a difference in protecting our families.”
“Can I rely upon you?” Stiger asked of Tilanus. He was grateful for Quintus’s support.
“You can,” Tilanus said, giving in. “What if the dwarves take issue with us placing men at the gates to the mountain? From what I can see, they already have more than two hundred there.”
They all turned to look. Hrove’s warriors stood around the gates, waiting.
“Tell the dwarves that I ordered it and if they have a problem to speak to Braddock,” Stiger told him and then paused, thinking. There was nothing more to say. “With any luck, in a few hours’ time, we will have a fantastic tale to tell our grandchildren.”
There were polite chuckles from the officers. Eli also looked amused, but Stiger noted a grimness to his normally implacable facade. It matched what Stiger was feeling inside.
“Well then,” Stiger said with a clap of his hands, “let’s get our men up and into the line.”
Stiger had his men formed into a line of battle, four deep. They were arrayed behind the center of the dwarven line. Stiger stood with Garrack and the chieftain, Kiello. Sabinus, Vargus, and Quintus had joined them, along with Eli and Blake.
“He says he peel off the last ranks and allow your men to move forward,” Garrack translated what Kiello had just said. “He leave only first rank. Says you must hurry when happens.”
“We will move forward as soon as it is done,” Stiger said and then turned to his officers. He had to yell to be heard over the fighting. The dwarves had been steadily pulling back. “Got that?”
There were grim nods all around.
“Good luck, gentlemen.”
Stiger watched as each centurion went his way. Once again Stiger felt like a helpless spectator. It was something he knew he would have to become accustomed to. Stiger moved back through the ranks with Blake and Eli. Behind the 85th stood Father Thomas, with Sergeant Arnold at his side. Both looked calm and collected, which was something Stiger did not feel but as usual worked hard to keep from those around him. Prior to a fight it was always the same for Stiger. The enemy badly outnumbered them, and Stiger was deeply concerned. The battle was not going as well as would be hoped. Studying the two men, he wondered if they were also presenting a false façade, concealing their worries. Or were they just naturally confident? Stiger wondered if they thought the same of him. Were they all frauds? It was an interesting thought.
“Legate,” Father Thomas greeted him.
“I had thought you might be at the aid station,” said Stiger, as Sabinus, to the right, shouted the order to move up. First and Second Cohorts began to move forward.
Quintus barked the order to advance. The Third began moving up. A second later, Blake, just a few feet away, ordered the 85th to advance. In steady step, Stiger’s entire line moved forward, right up to within five feet of the last dwarven rank.
“Not this time,” Father Thomas said. “I feel the call to be here.”
“Oh great,” Stiger replied, though he was honest enough to admit to himself that he did not begrudge the paladin’s presence. Tonight Father Thomas was welcome and, Stiger suspected, would be badly needed.
“Draw swords,” Blake ordered, and the company’s blades came out. An order that Stiger did not hear was snapped by dwarven officers, and the dwarves to the legionaries’ front began streaming backward through his ranks toward the rear. The retiring dwarves were battered and bloodied, most of it green. The dwarves were so wide that the legionaries had to step aside to let them pass. Some kind words were exchanged, and more than one legionary was clapped in a friendly manner on the shoulder. Stiger found it heartening to see.
“I feel the call as well,” Sergeant Arnold announced quietly, as if he were almost afraid to admit it aloud.
Stiger looked sharply at the sergeant. The man was far from the beaten shell of a person he had been just weeks ago. Arnold stood straight, tall, and, surprisingly, with a dignified air. His uniform was well-maintained, armor highly polished. Arnold was also clean-shaven. The sergeant then looked over at Father Thomas in surprise at the admission he had just made and received a nod of approval and confirmation.
“Two paladins?” Stiger asked.
“No,” Father Thomas replied. “Arnold has his own personal trials to endure and overcome before he can be considered one of the High Father’s holy warriors. I was blessed and honored to be his mentor and the conduit of the High Father’s will. In short, I was his guide. His path lies on a different road than mine. Though, the High Father willing, I think he will one day make a fine paladin.”
Arnold looked surprised at that, but said nothing further.
“I guess I should count myself lucky then,” Stiger said, and found that he meant it.
“Lock shields,” Blake shouted, which was followed by a loud thunk as the company’s shields came solidly together. “Steady there, boys.”
“As you should, my son.” Father Thomas drew his saber and looked over at Stiger with a solemn expression. It was the first time Stiger had ever seen him draw it. The saber was an incredibly beautiful weapon that seemed to have been polished so well, the blade’s surface was perfectly mirrored, catching the moonlight in striking flashes. Stiger, appreciative of fine weapons, could not guess at the saber’s value. The weapon must have been made by a master smith of unparalleled ability.
“Upon ascension to service, the High Father presents each of us with a personal gift,” Father Thomas said, having caught Stiger’s look. “This was mine. Each paladin receives something . . . unique.”
“Like Father Griggs’s horse?” Stiger snapped his fingers in sudden realization of his time in the north. He well remembered the magnificent stallion Father Griggs had owned. Stiger had never before seen a better-looking animal. Not only was the paladin’s horse pure white as untouched mountain snow, but it had also been incredibly intelligent, almost frighteningly so. When Father Griggs had passed from this world, the general in command of Stiger’s legion had attempted to claim the horse as his own, but the animal had disappeared from the legion’s stables. The general had thought the horse stolen and a search had been mounted, which proved fruitless. To Stiger’s knowledge, it had never been found. Had the High Father taken it back?
“Yes,” Father Thomas said with an understanding smile. “That was a wondrous gift and a worthy companion for Father Griggs.”
“Steady now,” Blake shouted. “Get ready to let the last of the dwarves through.”
A light drew Stiger’s attention to his left, where Arnold was standing. The sergeant was holding forth his hand, a surprised expression upon his wrinkled and weather-beaten face, as a ball of light began to coalesce in the air. The hand was held palm up and the ball of light was growing rapidly in size.
“Now,” Blake roared, unaware of what was happening behind him with Arnold. “Brace yourselves.”
The light continued to grow in brilliance until Stiger was forced to look away, shielding his face with his hand. The light grew brighter than the sun, lighting up all around him. It was so bright, Stiger could see the outline of the bones in his palm. Then there was a hiss and a pop, and the light source exploded skyward, where it blazed like the morning sun, lighting up the entire battlefield. There was a moan and Sergeant Arnold collapsed, Father Thomas catching the man and lowering him to the ground. Like an old dishrag, Arnold looked spent.
The last of the dwarves that had been holding the line in the center streamed back through the ranks. Once through, the legionaries immediately brought their shields up, expecting an attack, but the light shining down from above had stunned the orcs into immobility.
“Advance!” Stiger shouted, recognizing an opportunity when he saw one. “Advance!”
The legionaries jumped, not expecting the order. After their hesitation, they moved steadily forward, taking up the position the dwarves had vacated, and then pu
shed into the orcs. Shields to the fore, they slammed them into the stunned enemy, swords darting out, jabbing and thrusting with deadly effect.
“Rip into them, boys!” Stiger shouted in encouragement. He looked toward the Third and was gratified to see that cohort moving forward as well. The First and Second were also advancing. In fact, from what he could see all up and down the line, the dwarves were pushing forward, tearing into the stunned orcs. Stiger did not know what Arnold had done, but it was nothing short of miraculous, and for that he was grateful.
The orcs just stared upward, completely stupefied, not even moving to defend themselves as the legionary swords stabbed and punched into them. The legionaries doggedly cut their way forward through the unresisting masses of orcs. Hundreds fell, and then the light slowly began to fade and, with it, the paralysis of the enemy. The orcs shook themselves, as if becoming aware of their surroundings once again. Then, they attacked with a viciousness that was shocking.
“Halt!” Stiger shouted, and the advance of the 85th ground to a stop, with the legionaries bringing their shields together. “Straighten that line there!”
To his left and right in the moonlight he saw that Vargus, Quintus, and Sabinus had stopped their cohorts and were carefully aligning on the 85th.
“I am going to check on the Third and Second,” Stiger informed Blake after he was sure the line before him was going to hold. He then turned to Eli. “Stay with Blake and lend him your assistance.”
“I will do as you ask,” Eli told him, and it was clear from his tone that he felt his place was at Stiger’s side. Stiger would have brought him along, but Blake was new to fighting the company. Stiger needed the 85th to hold, and Eli would help him do that.
Stiger moved over to Vargus’s side of the line first. He had given up his escort to strengthen the ranks for the 85th. He estimated that, since marching from the castle, he had lost close to half of his combat power. The thought was painful, and Stiger quickly pushed it away. He had to focus on the here and now. Vargus had just blown hard on a wooden whistle, switching out the first rank, which, Stiger was pleased to note, was nicely done.
The Tiger's Fate (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 3) Page 31
