Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Despite this, he had not once reconsidered carrying the assault home. It was natural for a commander to worry. The captain was careful to project a sense of calm and resolve to the men around him, and not betray fear. He had trained and worked his men hard. He felt they were ready for this. The enemy was before him, and he meant to destroy them. It was as simple as that.

  Stiger drew his sword with a soft hiss. The man next to him did the same, and like a spring up and down the line, his men drew their swords one after another. From what he could see in the gloom, the men were grim and determined as well. This was what they had trained for, and they knew the butcher’s bill had come due.

  There was a sudden shout from across the camp, which ripped shockingly across the quiet night, followed by a massed battle cry as Eli’s men pushed forward out of the brush and into the enemy camp.

  “Advance!” Stiger shouted, standing up. Something similar happened from Ikely’s side, which was drowned out as Stiger’s line stood, roaring a battle cry of their own, and began to push through the last layers of brush.

  The camp was far from impressive, Stiger thought as he emerged from the brush. With that last thought, the captain had no more time for additional observation, as the enemy began stumbling out of their tents and ramshackle huts. One suddenly appeared before the captain, half-dressed, unarmed and wide-eyed. Stiger’s sword flashed out, stabbing the man through the gut. The man let out an anguished cry of agony as the sword went home, grating terribly against bone. The captain gave a savage twist of the sword to free it, lest it become stuck. He shoved the man roughly back with a stiff arm, pulling the sword out in the process and spilling the man’s guts on the ground. The body followed shortly. The captain stepped by it, looking for his next opponent. His arm and hand were covered in the man’s blood. The rough cord grip on the hilt of his sword prevented him from losing his grip, despite the slickness of the man’s blood. He gave it no thought as he left the disemboweled man to die. He stepped forward and chopped another who had just emerged from the same tent, catching this one in the side of the neck as he was starting to stand up. The man fell heavily with a massive spray of blood, neck almost completely severed from the vicious strike. A sword fell from limp fingers as the man died.

  Someone crashed violently into Stiger’s right side, pushing the captain roughly to the left. An errant sword scraped along the captain’s armor, making a screeching sound as it went. Stiger turned and saw the man to his right grappling with a rebel, who was naked and unarmed. The rebel had thrown himself on the back of the legionary and was trying to strangle him. It had been the legionary’s sword that had scraped along the captain’s armor. Recovering himself, Stiger stabbed the rebel in the back as the legionary spun around, attempting to dislodge his assailant. Stiger gave the sword a powerful twist, severing the rebel’s spine with an ugly crunch that he felt communicated through the hilt of his sword. Both the legionary and the rebel collapsed to the ground in a heap, the rebel suddenly dead weight. Stiger stabbed the rebel again for good measure and then kicked him off of his fallen man.

  Stiger quickly glanced around as he offered his man a hand up. The legionary was young and had a wide-eyed look as he regained his feet. He stood for a second, looking down at the dead man who had just tried to strangle him. The legionary spat angrily on the corpse and bent down to retrieve his own sword, which he had dropped in the scuffle.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said through the noise, looking back up at the captain.

  “No time for that now. Come on, son,” Stiger said, using his free hand to push him toward the action. “Let’s get back in the fight.”

  Stiger advanced, looking for another rebel. All across the camp, men were shouting wildly, with cries of pain and screams of fear mixed in. Above it all was the metallic clash of swords. Put all together, it was a sound all too familiar to the captain. It was the sound and ring of battle. Stiger’s heart beat rapidly with the excitement of the moment. Turning, he saw a desperate rebel not five feet from him, trading sword strokes with one of his legionaries. Before he could move to assist, another legionary stepped up behind the rebel and stabbed him cleanly in the back, then tossed the stricken man to the ground like a rag doll. Just beyond, another rebel was cut down by three of his legionaries, and yet another went down under a flurry of stabbing swords just feet away.

  Stiger started to step toward another rebel, who had emerged from a hut twenty feet away, and then forced himself to stop to take stock of the situation. There were plenty of his men about. It was easy to lose oneself in the moment and chaos of the fight. Yet he understood that battles frequently needed direction.

  “Deal with that man!” Stiger shouted, pointing at the rebel. Six legionaries turned and began advancing. Satisfied, Stiger took a studied moment to look around the camp to see what else needed doing. In the dim morning light, he could see his men everywhere, and only a few rebels resisting.

  Stiger rubbed sweat and blood off of his face with his free forearm. Realization hit home, and along with it came a deep sense of satisfaction. He had achieved what he had wanted most: not just surprise, but complete surprise. So much so that the assault had become a slaughter. In mere seconds, as he watched, before he could give any further orders, the fighting abruptly petered out. The surviving rebels began throwing down their weapons. Two rebels attempting to surrender were cut down by legionaries. Sergeants and officers began shouting orders at the men to take prisoners. It wasn’t an act of compassion; there was little place for mercy in the emperor’s legions. Stiger had a great need for intelligence. He had given specific orders that, if at all possible, prisoners were to be taken.

  Tents and huts were checked and several additional rebels who had been hiding were roughly dragged out or forced out by sword point. None were handled gently. They were herded to the center of the camp, where they were forced to sit by the fire. Stiger looked around to find Eli and Ikely directing the securing of the camp. With the sergeants and corporals also working so efficiently, there was not much for the captain to do at the moment. Everything seemed well in hand.

  Stiger was tempted to interfere, but in the end, he let them work. He began walking through the camp, taking it all in. In the growing light, it was becoming clearer that the camp was in a truly deplorable state. He could not believe that these were the men who had harassed the last supply train so effectively. The more Stiger looked over the camp, the more disgusted he became. Were these the rebels that had so frightened General Kromen? He asked himself.

  Sergeant Ranl came up with a big grin. The large sergeant drew himself up and saluted his captain, first to chest. “Sir, congratulations.”

  “How many wounded?” Stiger asked, fearing the answer. They had won the fight, but he was now thinking about the cost. How expensive was the butcher’s bill? “How many dead do we have?”

  “A couple of minor cuts sir,” Ranl answered, the grin spreading further across his face. “Nothing more.”

  “No one killed?” Stiger asked with an incredulous look. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes sir,” Ranl affirmed, teeth flashing in the dim light. “A brilliant victory, sir.”

  Stiger shook his head in disbelief, astounded. He had never been in a fight this size where a man had not been lost or grievously wounded. “How many prisoners have we taken?”

  “Twelve, with twenty-seven killed.”

  “I want the twelve interrogated,” Stiger ordered. “Find out what they know.”

  “Yes sir.” Sergeant Ranl saluted again and turned to leave. Stiger stopped him, catching the sergeant’s arm.

  “Are you absolutely certain none of our men were seriously injured or lost?” Stiger asked once more.

  “The High Father found our cause righteous this day,” Sergeant Ranl answered. “It is a rare thing to lead men into battle, sir. It is even rarer to have them all come out mostly whole. I declare we were blessed this day.”

  Stiger nodded in agreement. He would offer his heartfel
t thanks to the High Father later.

  “Have the camp searched,” the captain ordered. “I want anything we can possibly use.”

  “Yes sir,” the sergeant said, and started off.

  “A fine victory for a fine morning,” Father Thomas said cheerfully. Stiger turned, astonished to find the paladin standing behind him. Father Thomas had been with the wagon train yesterday. The man must have ridden hard to catch up. He was also not bloodied, the captain noted, which meant that he had not participated in the fighting. It was not unexpected, so Stiger did not hold it against the man. Paladins chose when and where to fight. No one gave them orders.

  “A lucky victory,” Stiger breathed, looking back around at the camp. A number of enemy bodies lay about haphazardly where they had fallen. “We simply caught them by surprise.”

  “Perhaps.” Father Thomas shrugged. “Perhaps not … we both know some men are blessed more than others.”

  “Perhaps some men make their own luck, Father,” Stiger took a seat on a tree stump, setting his sword down point-first into the ground, leaning the hilt against his thigh. The captain suddenly found himself bone-weary. The excitement of the fight had begun to drain away. He had not slept at all, which made the exhaustion worse.

  “I suppose that is true also,” Father Thomas replied, looking down on the weary captain with some amusement. “Though I rather suspect you agree with me to some degree.”

  “I do plan to thank the High Father properly,” Stiger added after a slight hesitation.

  Father Thomas nodded, but said nothing more.

  The men had performed well. There were smiles all around. His men had been bloodied under his command and more importantly, they had won. Granted, it had been an easy victory and very one-sided, yet he and the men had needed the victory badly. Weeks ago, Stiger had started the process, and this battle had sealed it. They once again saw themselves as true legionaries, the most professional group of trained killers the world had ever known.

  When his company finally returned to the main legionary encampment, his men would see the stark difference between themselves and their fellows. At that moment, they would truly appreciate just how far he had brought them.

  “What do you suppose lies up the road?” Father Thomas asked, breaking in on the captain’s thoughts.

  “I figured you would know better than I,” Stiger responded mildly, which was followed up by an involuntary yawn. Having been up all night planning the assault, the captain was dead tired. He wanted nothing more than a nap.

  “The High Father may call me to some place, but he does not tell me what evil I must confront.”

  “Would that evil be with my legionaries?” Stiger asked, looking directly up at the paladin.

  Father Thomas returned the look. After a moment, he closed his eyes, appearing to be looking within himself.

  “No,” Father Thomas replied after a pregnant pause. He gave a very heavy sigh. “The evil is not within your company. The High Father’s call is pulling me toward Vrell.”

  “Vrell?” Stiger growled, as Father Thomas’ eyes opened and refocused on the world around him, blinking as he did so. “That is what I was afraid of.”

  “Captain,” Father Thomas said gently, looking off in the direction of the road to Vrell. “There is something ahead, on both our paths … perhaps on the path of the company as well … all of us. I can feel it. I fear you will need my services before long.”

  “You are just full of good news and cheer,” Stiger replied sourly.

  “Ben,” Eli said, interrupting both of them as he approached. Eli bowed politely to the paladin. “Father … It is good to see both of you well.”

  “You too, my friend,” Stiger said with a tired smile, which his scar turned slightly sneerish.

  “I do not believe any of the rebels escaped,” Eli reported. “I posted several of my scouts to prevent such an occurrence. They will check for fresh tracks, though I do not expect to find any. I have also dispatched two scouts in the direction of Vrell.”

  “Good job,” Stiger said.

  “Thank you,” Eli replied.

  “Marcus seems to be a good scout,” Stiger said, changing the subject.

  “He shows promise,” Eli replied with a casual shrug.

  “High praise,” Father Thomas commented, “coming from a ranger.”

  Eli glanced at Father Thomas without saying anything, only blinking his perfectly formed almond-shaped eyes once, as if to say, I have no idea what you are talking about.

  “I assume you will be heading out immediately, then,” Stiger said.

  “I do not intend to leave as of yet,” Eli answered, and hesitated before continuing. “I have found something … well, something interesting that I believe you need to see personally.”

  “Found something?” Stiger asked, perking up. “I heard that you had. What, exactly?”

  “It is better you see it for yourself,” Eli answered with a slight frown. “I feel it would be better explained that way.”

  “Where is it?” Stiger asked, starting to stand.

  “Half a day from here,” Eli said, pointing into the woods away from the road. Stiger sat back down heavily, looking up at his friend in surprise. Eli wanted him to leave the company to look at some unknown thing. It wasn’t the first time his friend had made such a request. Elves could be incredibly difficult.

  “It isn’t a flower this time, is it?” Stiger asked wryly. The captain had spent an entire year with Eli learning about the different plants that grew in the forest. Eli had gone out of his way to show him some extremely rare flowers, which had, in some cases, taken days to find.

  “We can travel there and meet back up with the company on the march,” Eli said, refusing to take the bait. “I think it important I show you personally.”

  Stiger just looked at his friend for a moment. He wanted to argue and order his friend to tell him what he had found. Then he saw it, that stubborn elven look hidden under the placid youthful countenance. Stiger had known Eli long enough to know the elf had found something important. There would be no budging him. If Eli wanted Stiger to see something for himself, then there was a very important reason behind it. Even though he was irritated at not knowing what it was, Stiger knew he would go with his friend, no questions asked.

  “Very well,” Stiger conceded. “We will do it your way.”

  “Thank you,” Eli replied. He nodded politely to the paladin and turned to leave.

  “I think it will prove interesting to see what he has discovered,” Father Thomas said softly, watching Eli walk off. Stiger glanced over sharply at the paladin with a sinking feeling. Father Thomas would be coming. Did he feel the call to go? Stiger was almost tempted to ask, then decided against it. He would rather not know.

  “A good one, that elf,” Father Thomas stated firmly. “A little frustrating … but a good soul.”

  “The best,” Stiger agreed tiredly. He decided that he needed a little nap. Putting thoughts of the paladin and Eli aside, the captain shifted to sit on the ground with his back against the stump, laying his sword down next to him within easy reach. Streaked with dried blood, he would need to clean it before he returned it to the sheath. At least there was a nearby stream to help. He spared one last look around and determined that Lieutenant Ikely and his sergeants had everything well in order. He closed his eyes and in seconds was asleep.

  Father Thomas, who had been watching Eli round up his remaining scouts, turned at hearing the quiet snores from the captain. A smile briefly lit his face and he shook his head in wonder. Less than thirty minutes had passed since the assault on the rebel camp had ended, and the captain was already taking a nap.

  “You too are a very interesting and blessed man,” the paladin whispered to himself as he walked off, shaking his head in amusement.

  Twelve

  “Three passable tents, parts of six others not considered serviceable and will be cut up for bandages, twelve blankets that, surprisingly enough, can be used
; the rest are worthless. Ten flints of fair quality, four quarter barrels of flour, two quarter barrels of oats.” Sergeant Ranl was reading the list of captured items off a pad to the captain. He had been reading for several minutes. They were sitting before a fire in what had been the enemy camp. Lieutenant Ikely had joined the captain and was listening to the report. It was now late evening and the company had brought up their supplies and mules. The camp had been cleaned and organized. The bodies had been removed and buried.

  Ranl was using the firelight to read from, which required him to tilt the pad in the direction of the fire, squinting as he did so. “Fifty-two swords, most of which are useless to us, though there are nine legionary short swords and three cavalry sabers, seven knives and daggers, six mules, one horse …”

  “Those weapons are legionary make?” Stiger interrupted, looking up. He had been reclining against a stump in front of the fire, quietly smoking his pipe while listening to the sergeant.

  “Yes sir.” Sergeant Ranl looked up from his pad, a serious look in his eyes. “The horse and mules are also branded with the legionary mark.”

  “Do we know how they got them?” Stiger asked, suspecting that they had captured them. However, it was not unknown for corrupt supply officers to sell equipment, animals and supplies to the other side. From the looks of the camp and the prisoners, Stiger seriously doubted these people were behind the attack on the last supply train.

  “We are still questioning the prisoners,” Sergeant Ranl replied evenly, which was punctuated by a scream of agony from the other side of the camp. The sergeant, like everyone else around the fire, did not even flinch at the agonized scream. “At this point, if I had to guess, it looks like they ambushed imperial messengers and patrols.”

  “I see,” Stiger said with a sigh. “Please continue.”

  “The horse appears to be a cavalry mount,” Sergeant Ranl reported. “She is a bit underfed, but I expect that Lieutenant Lan will be pleased to have a spare mount for his troop.”