The Tiger's Time (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 4)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Stiger took the shovel in hand and mucked out the cow’s stall before moving on and cleaning out the horse’s too. Both animals were out in the farm’s back pasture. It was small but now completely fenced in. There was little chance of them escaping, as he had repaired the fencing.

  Stiger climbed a ladder up into the loft and dropped a fresh bundle of hay down to the floor, along with one of straw. It landed with a heavy thud and a small cloud of dust. He made his way back down, dragged the straw over, and untied the coarse burlap strips that held it in place. He threw some fresh straw down on the dirt floor of each stall before placing the shovel in the bed of the cart. He made sure to set the burlap strips aside for future use. Stiger surveyed his work before wheeling the cart outside and back into the morning light.

  The dog had not moved.

  “What?” Stiger asked it as he wheeled the cart over to the garden compost pile. The dog’s gaze followed him. “What do you want from me?”

  The dog tilted its head, long tongue hanging out of the side of its mouth as he continued to watch him with an unblinking, watery gaze.

  “This isn’t your home,” Stiger said to it. “There are plenty of other places in this valley. It’s time you went on your way.”

  The dog said nothing.

  “That dog likes you.”

  Stiger turned to see Sarai striding from the house. Her long brown hair was tied back in a tight bun. She flashed him a smile. Stiger loved that she wore her feelings plainly. It was something that he, growing up amongst the aristocracy, had never known. Honesty and openness were things to be treasured.

  Sarai wore a simple gray wool dress that had been patched over in numerous spots. It was her work dress, an old thing that she preferred to wear while gardening or doing work outside.

  “I think the dog would like anyone who fed him,” Stiger said, following her with his eyes as she went into the barn to retrieve the two buckets. He raised his voice a little. “Perhaps if you stop feeding him he will find a new home and leave us to ourselves. It’s just a thought.”

  “He’s a lot like you,” she said, reemerging and holding the two buckets. “When I found you, all you needed was a little love.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I’m fond of you both,” she said as she made her way toward the house. “He stays as long as he likes. Best make friends with him then, eh?” She stopped in the doorway and looked back at Stiger with a firm look. “I take it you understand me?”

  “I do,” Stiger said, somewhat sullenly. “That I do.”

  “Good,” she said. “Now give him a name.”

  Sarai offered him a wink, before disappearing inside.

  Stiger looked over at the mangy dog, who returned his gaze with one of sad equanimity.

  “The lady says we should be friends.” The dog simply continued to look at him. “Before you accept, you should know my other friend is an elf.”

  Chuckling to himself, Stiger took hold of the shovel and began scooping the manure out of the cart and onto the compost pile. The compost not only stank, it steamed. Stiger made quick work of it, carefully using the shovel to scrape the last of the manure out. He returned the cart and shovel to the barn.

  When he emerged again, the dog was still there. It had a small stick in its mouth. He thought the animal looked hopeful as he walked up. It dropped the stick on the ground and gave a soft whine.

  “The lady says I should name you?” Stiger gazed down at the animal. Sitting on its haunches, its head came up above his waist. It was very large for a canine. “Well? Any suggestions? No? OK . . . you are now Dog. Got that?”

  The dog lowered his head to the stick and whined.

  Stiger bent down and picked it up. He threw it, expecting the dog to chase after it. Instead, the animal just sat there watching him.

  Stiger let out a long breath. “Aren’t you going to go get it?”

  The dog just looked at him with those sad, watery eyes that seemed uncommonly deep with both emotion and intelligence.

  “Have it your way then, Dog,” Stiger said and walked over to the pigpen. Four large pigs were still clustered around the pile of slops, hungrily feasting. He had fed them earlier, along with the sheep. Stiger eyed them a moment before continuing on to the woodpile on the other side of the barn. Dog got up and padded after him.

  The old axe, head sharp but rusted, was embedded in the tree stump where he had left it the day before. Next to the stump lay a serious pile of wood ripe for splitting. The pile was almost as tall as he was. Stiger had chopped down several dead trees and then, using the horse, had dragged them over. He had sawed them into manageable sizes, steadily growing his woodpile. The saw work had been the hardest part, one that had left his back, legs, and arms aching for days. The axe work was the easiest part.

  Removing the axe, Stiger picked up a piece of wood and placed it on the stump.

  Crack!

  The rusty axe neatly snapped the piece in two.

  Wielding the axe was good, clean work.

  Crack!

  Fall was almost upon them. The leaves had just begun to change. All it would take was a serious cold snap and that would be it. Stiger was looking forward to that. Fall was his favorite season, generally not too hot and not too cold.

  Over the last few weeks, he had split at least five cords of wood. He hoped to have at least two additional cords split before the weather really turned cold. Stiger paused and took a moment to glance up at the forbidding mountains that surrounded the valley. The tops were already coated in a thick carpet of white.

  He had learned from Sarai that winter in Vrell could be tough. Stiger had spent more than a few cold winters in the field. Much of that had been with his old company, the Seventh. As the snow piled up, he well knew the value of having a good fire. He glanced back at the house. A fire and a good woman to keep a man warm was all he needed these days. A slight smile sneaked its way onto his face as he thought on her.

  Stiger returned to his work, but not before his gaze flicked to Castle Vrell, or as the dwarves preferred to call it, Grata’Kor. His thoughts darkened for a moment and the smile slipped away as he took in the distant gray speck of the fortress. Letting out a heavy breath, he returned to his work.

  Crack!

  He split several more pieces, quickly working up a sweat. Stiger reached for another piece of wood. A growl stopped him halfway to it. He looked at Dog, who was staring off to his right. Stiger followed the animal’s gaze.

  “Theo.” Stiger straightened as the dwarf, one of his many guards, approached. He liked this dwarf. The others not so much, as they were stiffly formal or refused to communicate with him. Theo had a sense of humor and a relaxed attitude. Out of habit, Stiger glanced around. No more than thirty paces away in any direction stood one of his minders. They wore their heavy armor and were armed with an assortment of battle axes and swords. Theo only wore his tunic.

  “My name is Theogdin,” the dwarf said in harshly accented common. “I’ve told you before, only my wife called me Theo. Why do you insist on calling me that?”

  “It’s easier than Theogdin,” Stiger replied in the dwarven tongue.

  “You speak better with each passing day,” the dwarf said in his own language, though his tone was still a bit grumpy. “You sound better than most humans who simply manage to mangle our tongue. Perhaps with time you will increase your legend by speaking it even better?”

  “These daily visits help,” Stiger said and picked up the piece of wood he had been reaching for. “I find them and your instruction quite diverting.”

  Crack!

  “That dog is still here,” Theo said, stroking his long brown beard. Like most of his kind, it was tightly braided. “I thought you were going to get rid of him?”

  The dog gave out a low, menacing growl aimed at Theo. The sad eyes were now intense and fixated on the dwarf. Theo turned to regard the dog.

  “Sarai said he stays.” Stiger looked over at the dog, who continued to growl. It
was as if he were following their conversation. “Dog, stop that.”

  Almost instantly, the dog ceased its growling and lay down, placing its head between his paws. Stiger noted how the animal’s eyes never left the dwarf.

  “He listens to you,” Theo said.

  Stiger returned to his work.

  Crack!

  “Why?” Theo asked. “Why does she want to keep him?”

  The dog growled again, but only briefly.

  Stiger shot Theo a look before rolling his eyes and picking up another piece of wood.

  “A woman gets what she wants, is that it?” the dwarf grunted as Stiger gave a nod of affirmation. “You don’t like dogs?”

  Crack!

  Stiger straightened and looked over at the dwarf before glancing at the dog. “For hunting, yes. As a pet, no.”

  “Hunting?” Theo’s gaze traveled over to the dog. “He does not look like a hunter, but a scrounger.”

  “No, he doesn’t have the look of a scrounger,” Stiger said. “He’s more beggar than anything else.”

  “How do you use a dog to hunt?” Theo asked. “In the mountain, we keep small dogs only to find rat colonies to be dug out.”

  Stiger allowed the axe head to rest on the ground as he turned fully around to face Theo.

  “Well,” Stiger said. “It’s not just one dog, mind you, but many. Unlike this one here, there are several breeds trained to chase and corner game.”

  “Why chase?” Theo seemed confused by the concept. “Why not bait and trap? Chasing seems much more difficult and a waste of one’s time.”

  “Sport,” Stiger said. “It is the chase that is fun. We use horses and beaters and follow the dogs until the animals are cornered.”

  “It does not seem very sporting,” Theo said. “Now, noseball is a sport. That is worth watching.”

  “Yes,” Stiger said, picking the axe back up. “I’ve seen your noseball. I don’t know if I would call it a sport. It is more of a beating than anything else.”

  “You’ve seen noseball?” Theo appeared surprised by that. “When? Where?”

  Suddenly mindful he had said too much, Stiger turned back to the task of splitting wood.

  Crack!

  Theo moved around the stump so that he faced Stiger.

  Crack!

  “Tell me,” Theo said, stepping up to him and placing a thick six-fingered hand on Stiger’s shoulder before he could reach for another piece of wood.

  “I do not wish to speak of it,” Stiger answered and then let out a heavy breath of frustration. “I mean it.”

  “There is a lot you do not speak about.” With a disgusted look, Theo released Stiger’s shoulder. He stomped over to a large uncut log and sat down on it.

  “Thoggle asked me not to speak of it,” Stiger said, though he knew Theo was already aware of this. “To be fully truthful, Thoggle insisted I say nothing.”

  “Thoggle is without legend,” Theo said, a displeased look coming over his face. “He does not follow the Way and meddles too much with the thane. There are many who do not like it.”

  “As a wizard, he must be learned and wise,” Stiger said. “Surely your thane sees value in his counsel.”

  Theo said nothing to that. After a few moments, Stiger resumed his splitting and allowed the silence to grow. He worked his way through several more pieces before the dwarf broke the silence.

  “You are a warrior, no?”

  Stiger lowered the axe again and glanced over sourly at the dwarf. Theo was short, even for a dwarf. That said, he was broad-shouldered. He had an expression that spoke of a mischievous nature and also, perhaps, an inner sadness. It was really the eyes that conveyed the latter.

  “Don’t bother denying it. I saw your armor,” Theo said, “and that magic sword that burned Geligg.”

  “I am sorry about that,” Stiger said, and he meant it. “I did not wish to see him injured.”

  Theo shrugged. “Thoggle told him not to touch it. He needs to listen better, even if it is to one without legend.”

  “How is he?” Stiger asked. He had not known the sword would injure another so by simply picking it up.

  “He is good as new. The paladin healed his hand.” Theo laughed. “My captain has him on latrine duty. I think he hopes that Geligg will listen better in the future.”

  “That is good to hear.”

  “That he has been healed or is on latrine duty?”

  Stiger barked out a laugh.

  “Ah, so you can laugh now.” Theo pointed a finger at him. “When I met you, you were less fun than one of my people on blood feud.”

  Stiger gave a slight nod to that as he considered the dwarf’s words. It was true. After everything that had happened, his mood had finally lightened somewhat. He glanced around the farm. He felt more relaxed than he had for a very long time.

  “So,” Theo said, breaking in on Stiger’s thoughts, “you are a warrior, then?”

  Stiger hesitated and glanced toward the house before returning his eyes to Theo. He was certain the dwarf knew this already. He wondered where Theo was going with this line of questioning. “I was but am no more. I gave that life up.”

  “Bah.” Theo waved a hand. “Once a warrior, always a warrior. The paladin says you are a great fighter and leader of men. He claims you have accumulated much legend.”

  “Father Thomas speaks too much.” Stiger returned to splitting his wood. “He should keep his mouth shut.”

  “Maktalon.”

  Stiger looked back over at Theo and sucked in a breath. “I don’t know that word.”

  “It is . . .” Theo thought a moment and switched back to common. “Another word for what you call the World Gate. You came through it. You are a Maktalon traveler. There has not been one for a good long time.”

  “I came through it, as did Father Thomas,” Stiger said. “So what?”

  “My grandfather, a great warrior by the name of Shoega, fought with the humans to close and seal the Gate,” Theo said. “Perhaps you have heard of him?”

  Stiger shook his head. “I do not know the name.”

  “It matters little.” Theo shrugged. “I never knew him myself. He died years before I was born. My father told me of my grandfather’s tales of the world Tannis and of fighting the Horde. He gained much legend for himself, our family and clan. He was a great warrior.”

  Stiger knew that dwarves were long-lived, but here was a dwarf whose grandfather had walked another world. It was crazy just thinking about it. Perhaps Shoega had even seen Rome. Such a thought would have once seemed absurd, but no more.

  “Did you come from Tannis?”

  “No, I did not.”

  Theo gave another shrug of his wide shoulders. “My grandfather fought alongside a great leader of men. Perhaps you heard of him? His name was Karus. He helped to form the Compact. He too was a Maktalon traveler.”

  Stiger studied the dwarf for several moments. Theo had named someone Stiger knew of and was even reputedly distantly related.

  “No one has come through the Maktalon for a long time. With the Gate sealed, I understand what you did to be impossible, and yet you and the paladin came through anyway. Where, I wonder, did you come from?”

  Stiger did not answer but split another piece of wood.

  “Your arrival has created a lot of excitement amongst my people.” Theo paused a moment and pointed a stubby finger at Stiger. An intense look came to the dwarf’s eyes. “I think you have come to restore the Compact.”

  “You think too much,” Stiger said, growing cold at the Theo’s perceptiveness.

  “Perhaps,” Theo said.

  The dog growled again, drawing their attention. Theo let out a quiet groan and stood, stiffening his back as his captain approached.

  Stiger offered a nod to Captain Aleric. The dwarf captain wore his heavy armor but had not donned a helmet. Like others of his race, the armor was painted in his clan’s color pattern: green, yellow, and brown. Theo’s colors, oddly enough, were pu
rple, the thane’s own.

  “How are you today?” the dwarven officer asked in near perfect common.

  “Well,” Stiger answered in dwarven, to which the captain gave a pleased nod. “I am well. You can’t ask for more than that, now, can you?”

  “Theogdin has been a good instructor of our tongue,” Aleric said with a glance at Theo. “He does his legend good.”

  “If I had wanted to be a teacher, I would have become one,” Theo replied.

  Aleric scowled at Theo.

  “Thank you for loaning him out to me,” Stiger said, before Aleric could reply. “It has been an honor to learn from him.”

  The captain sucked in a deep breath. “It keeps him out of trouble and complaining about missing his son.” The dwarven officer turned to Theo. “What was your boy’s name again?”

  “Garrack,” Theo said, drawing a sharp look of surprise from Stiger that neither dwarf appeared to notice. “My boy’s name is Garrack, and I will raise him to be a warrior fit to fight alongside the thane.”

  “I have no doubt you will,” Aleric said and then turned to face Stiger. “I come to inform you I have received word that in a month we will be relieved. You will have a fresh company to watch over you.”

  “I wish I could say I was sorry to see you go,” Stiger said. “I do not like being a prisoner. My word of honor . . . my legend should be sufficient for you and your thane. Should it not?”

  The captain shifted his feet uncomfortably, before he cast his eyes around the farm. “This isn’t a prison. There are no bars locking you up.”

  “Am I free, then?” Stiger pressed. “Can I leave the valley?”

  “No,” Aleric said. “I cannot allow you to go, at least until the thane says so.”

  “Then I am your prisoner,” Stiger said, with some frustration. They had had similar talks before. “As much as if you had locked me in a cell.”

  “You are the guest of our thane,” Aleric responded stiffly. “Instead of keeping you under the mountain, we have placed you with your own kind . . . as a comfort.”