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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Very well, I will put him in charge then.” Stiger lowered his voice and leaned nearer to the centurion. “What is the name of my lead clerk?”

  “Nepturus,” Sabinus said quietly. “He’s a good man, was injured and disabled years ago. The previous legate before Delvaris kept him on because he can read, write, and do numbers exceptionally well. Most of your clerks were injured at one time or another and should have been mustered out.”

  “Nepturus,” Stiger called out loudly.

  “Sir?” The clerk, limping slightly, stepped through the flap and into the tent. Dog looked up and his tail gave a wag.

  “Kindly send for the camp prefect and the chief of my engineers.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nepturus said and left.

  Dog, looking disappointed, lowered his head back to the rug.

  A moment later the tent flap opened again and a tall older man wearing a slave’s tunic came in. Dog looked up again, tail wagging. The slave was carrying a fresh tunic, belt, and a pair of boots. Stiger looked longingly at the boots. He had been wearing sandals for months now.

  “Welcome back, master,” the man said with a voice made raspy by age.

  “Venthus,” Sabinus said, “I believe the legate requested food as well?”

  Stiger was grateful Sabinus had just given him the slave’s name.

  “I am sorry, master,” Venthus said to Stiger, bowing his head. “The cooks are preparing a hot meal now. It should be here shortly.”

  “Excellent,” Sabinus said and turned back to Stiger. “Sir, now that we have returned, I expect you will want me to take up my post as senior centurion of First Cohort?”

  Stiger gave a nod.

  “If you will excuse me then, sir,” Sabinus said, “I need to prepare them for the march.”

  Stiger nodded again. Sabinus gave a smart salute, turned on his heel, and left.

  “Do you have wine?” Theo asked hopefully, once the flap had fallen back into place.

  “Of course,” Venthus said. “I will bring some shortly.”

  “That would be most welcome,” Theo replied with a broad grin. “If you keep the wine flowing, you and I will become good friends.”

  Venthus’s lips pressed into a thin line at that.

  “Leave those on the table,” Stiger said.

  “You do not wish me to dress you, master?” Venthus seemed mildly surprised by that.

  “No,” Stiger said, glancing meaningfully at Father Thomas and Theo. He had never been comfortable with others dressing him, and his two companions provided a ready excuse. “I will manage on my own today.”

  “Very well, master,” Venthus said with a bow of his head. Then he looked Stiger up and down. “That rag of a tunic you are wearing, do you wish me to dispose of it?”

  Stiger glanced down at the tunic under his dusty and ash-stained armor. It had belonged to Sarai’s late husband. It was clearly out of place, and something a man such as Delvaris would never be caught wearing on his worst day. He felt a stab of pain at the thought of Sarai.

  “Yes,” Stiger said, deciding to make no excuse for his attire and how he had come by it. “And dispose of the sandals too. It will be good to get back into quality clothing.”

  “Yes, master,” Venthus said. “Do you require anything else?”

  “No, not at this time,” Stiger said. “You may go.”

  “Very well, master,” Venthus said and turned away.

  “Oh, Venthus,” Stiger called. “The legion will be relocating tomorrow at some point. I thought you would care to know.”

  “Thank you for the warning, master,” the slave said. “I will begin packing your possessions immediately.”

  Venthus bowed and stepped out of tent, leaving Stiger with Theo and Father Thomas.

  Stiger took a ragged breath, feeling thoroughly drained, and glanced down at the map on the table. The clothing the slave had brought partially blocked some of the map. Stiger placed both hands on the table. He hoped that his plan worked, for if it did and Therik responded as he wished, he would stand to slaughter many orcs. A trace of a grin slipped onto his face at that pleasant thought.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Stiger strolled slowly through the town, Dog at his side. He was taking his time as he poked about. Occasionally, he peered into a building through an open door or window. The town was unnervingly similar to ones that he had known throughout the empire, with buildings that were wood-framed, plastered-over walls with arched tile or grass-thatched roofs.

  Stiger found he was easily able to recognize some of the shops he passed. There was a blacksmith, tailor, brick maker, mason, and a woodworker, just to name a few. The town even had a tavern.

  Don’t let the town fool you, Rarokan said.

  Stiger came to a stop at a cross street. His escort, trailing a few yards behind, also came to a halt. He peered down one street and then another. Groups of legionaries were busy searching buildings down the street to his left. This could easily have been a human settlement, Stiger thought. It’s just too similar.

  This is an orc town, Rarokan said.

  The community that resided here had all of the appearances of being a peaceful one. There had been no defenses, no wall or berm. From Sabinus’s latest dispatch, Stiger had learned the lead elements of the Thirteenth had climbed up to the pass and then swept through it, completely unopposed. They had descended upon the town, catching the inhabitants in their beds. There had been very little resistance.

  There were legionaries everywhere he looked as he moved through the town. Somewhere ahead by the temple, Sabinus waited for him. Stiger continued on his way, slowly moving toward the center of town. He knew he was going in the correct direction, for the temple towered over all other buildings and it grew in size with every step closer. Stiger turned a final corner and came to a large paved public square. The temple occupied the far side of the square.

  The temple was similar to the ones he had known in Mal’Zeel. Like most of the grand temples in the capital that honored specific gods, this one was very imposing. It was nearly five stories high and made of polished white-and-black marble. Massive columns ran completely around all four sides of the building. They had been engineered to hold up the stone-tiled roof. Each of these marble columns was brilliantly white. In the darkness, under the moonlight, they seemed to shine with an otherworldly light.

  Surrounded by the small town, the temple seemed out of place in this valley. It was the kind of structure that belonged in a major city. As his eyes roved over the structure, Stiger decided Castor’s temple had an ancient feel to it. It reminded him a little of Delvaris’s tomb.

  Why build it here?

  It doesn’t matter, Rarokan said. All that does is that we will bring it down.

  Stiger’s eyes ran up the several hundred marble steps that led to a great wooden door, the entrance to the temple. The door had been thrown wide open. A centurion stood before the entrance, Father Thomas at his side. Below them on the steps in a long double line was a century of men waiting to enter the lair of evil. Robes in a tangle, an orc priest lay sprawled on the steps just to the left of the centurion. A small stream of blood ran down the steps. The sight of the priest brought out a brief moment of pleasure in Stiger.

  The paladin looked to be speaking with the centurion. Stiger figured Father Thomas was giving instructions about touching nothing for fear of being contaminated by evil. That was good, for Stiger remembered what had happened to Captain Aveeno, who had become corrupted and turned into a minion.

  The temple was awe-inspiring, and for a moment, standing at its base, he could not help but feel impressed by the grandeur. Then his mood darkened. This was a temple to evil, a place Castor’s spirit resided. Here the dark god was honored by his own.

  The thought of it disgusted Stiger. He well remembered the sacrificial rites he had witnessed in this very valley three hundred years in the future. He could not for the life of him understand why anyone would want to worship a god that not only expe
cted but demanded such things.

  Stiger saw Sabinus waiting for him. He was speaking with another officer. The centurion spotted Stiger and walked over to join him.

  “Impressive, isn’t it, sir?” Sabinus asked, half turning to look back on the grand edifice.

  “Not for much longer,” Stiger said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stiger tore his gaze from the temple and put his focus on the centurion. Sabinus looked troubled.

  “What is it?”

  “I find it strange, sir,” Sabinus said. “The people of this town had no idea we were coming. Very few put up any resistance, whatsoever. The priest there was pretty much the only one who had any fight in him and he was an elderly fellow, barely able to hobble along. Father Thomas dealt with him. Of the populace, most simply surrendered. I did receive reports of a good number escaping up the slopes. That was expected, but after what happened to Vrell, I would have expected more fight out of them. Honestly, the prisoners seem stunned we are here at all. It’s almost like they are living an isolated life, with no idea what happened in Vrell.”

  Stiger agreed. It was a bit of a puzzle to be sure, but at the same time the legion had achieved complete surprise. Being shocked was only a natural response. He was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “What have you done with the prisoners?”

  “We have them under guard on the other side of the town.” Sabinus gestured vaguely toward the east. “Males, females, and children. A lot more of the latter, sir.”

  “How many would you say we bagged?” Stiger asked, perking up at the thought of prisoners.

  “They’ve not been counted yet, but at least two hundred,” Sabinus said and rubbed at his chin. “This is uncharted territory. I can’t ever recall seeing an orc slave. Gods, I don’t even know if they make good slaves.”

  “When I was younger, I once saw an orc fight in the gladiatorial games,” Stiger said.

  Kill them, kill them all, Rarokan whispered to him. Allow me to take their souls and together we become stronger. We can complete the bond.

  Stiger felt a thrill of expectation. Like Rarokan, he wanted them to suffer.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” Stiger said, thinking back to his youth. “If I recall, the creature fought a bunch of criminals. It was the talk of the city for weeks afterwards.”

  “I’m afraid those we captured won’t do for the fighting pits or games,” Sabinus said. “I looked them over and they’re certainly not warriors. I’m not even sure they would be good for the plantations or mines.”

  Once the Thirteenth had marched south, it had been lost to the mists of history. There would be no going home for the men. Sabinus did not know this, of course, and Stiger saw no reason to tell him. Thinking it through, he came to the conclusion there was no point in taking prisoners. They could not be sold as slaves back in the empire since the Thirteenth would be remaining in Vrell. He could do with the prisoners as he pleased.

  “I think,” Stiger said, glancing back up at the temple. It was a monument to pure evil. The sight of it made him ill. “We shall put the prisoners to death. Yes, that is what we will do.”

  “Even the women and children?” Sabinus asked, a look of distaste washing over his face.

  “Squeamish?” Stiger asked, feeling his hatred for the orcs burn white hot again.

  “Such measures are never enjoyable, sir.”

  “Centurion,” Stiger said. “The latest dispatch I received from our cavalry back in Vrell reported the loss of life is steeper than Salt initially supposed. The bastards slaughtered entire families, including defenseless women and children. They wiped out the entire town of Venera. Three hundred dwarves and humans lived there. Don’t you think they deserve what we are going to visit upon them? Don’t you feel they’ve earned it?”

  Sabinus was silent for several long moments.

  “This may sound strange, sir. But I don’t believe these people had anything to do with what happened in the valley.”

  “How can you say that?” Stiger demanded. “They are orcs, are they not? There before you stands a monument to a dark, vile, and twisted god. These barbarians, these heathens come here to worship and honor him. Do you know what kinds of rituals are performed just up those steps, at Castor’s altar?”

  Sabinus shook his head.

  “I’ve seen their religious rites,” Stiger said. “Trust me, you don’t ever want to witness such despicable acts.”

  Sabinus swallowed. “I will take your word on that, sir.”

  “We shall put them all to death,” Stiger said, swinging his gaze back onto the temple. “They deserve what is coming to them. It is that simple.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sabinus said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to be comfortable with it.”

  “No, it does not,” Stiger said and then returned his full attention from the temple to Sabinus. “Unless, of course, you mean to challenge my authority.”

  “No, sir,” Sabinus said, stiffly. “I still think you are our best bet. Nothing we do here jeopardizes the legion or the empire. I will continue to honor my word.”

  Stiger could tell the centurion was angry, though he hid it extremely well. Good, Stiger thought. He should be angry.

  Stiger glanced around at his small escort. They had formed a protective cordon around him and stood at a respectful distance, looking outward for threats. Dog was wandering around sniffing the ground that led up to the temple. He seemed very curious about whatever he was smelling. Stiger looked back at Sabinus. In truth, he really didn’t care whether Sabinus was angry or not. He just wanted the man to carry out his orders. Stiger had brought the legion here to destroy, and that was what he intended to do. Sabinus would lead that effort for him.

  “I am thinking we put some of them to death by sword,” Stiger said. “The rest will help us set an example.”

  “An example, sir?’ Sabinus asked. “What kind of an example?”

  “They will be crucified,” Stiger said.

  “Crucifixion?” Sabinus sounded shocked. He recovered quickly. “That, sir, will take a lot of time. We will have to cut down trees and shape them first. Nails will need to be scavenged from the town.”

  Stiger clenched his fists, his gaze boring into Sabinus.

  “I am sorry, sir,” Sabinus continued, unfazed. “I thought you wanted to come here, do our business as rapidly as possible, and then depart. The longer we remain in this valley, the riskier it gets.” Sabinus glanced up toward the slopes that led to the mountains, which towered above. “The cohorts scouring the slopes have found it replete with tunnels and caves. They’ve spotted orcs hiding within them. My recommendation would be to conclude our business here just as quick as we can and return to Vrell. The objective, as I understand it, is to destroy, pull back, and draw the enemy out after us.”

  Calming himself, Stiger glanced up at the forested slopes of the small valley. In the darkness and under the moonlight, he could see fairly clearly. At the same time, he understood the sword was helping with that. It had been feeding him with a small, steady stream of power.

  My power stores are low, Rarokan warned him. You must use me soon.

  “So, there are eyes up there watching us?”

  “Most assuredly.”

  “Perfect.” Stiger felt the scar on his cheek pull tight as he smiled.

  “Sir?”

  “I want them to see what we do,” Stiger said and then let out a frustrated breath. “However, you may be correct on crucifixion taking too long.”

  Stiger fell silent and swung his gaze away from the slopes to the temple again. After several heartbeats, he turned around in a complete circle, looking on the buildings that bordered the large square. Just as the orcs had destroyed the peacefulness of the valley, and the way of life that had existed for untold years, so too would he.

  “We brought ropes and hooks,” Stiger said, turning back to the temple. Anger and rage shook his voice. “I want that temple pulled down. I want it
razed to the foundation. Not a brick or block is to remain standing. The town is to be demolished as well. The fields we passed coming in are to be burned.” Stiger turned his gaze back up to the slopes. “Start with the town first. Leave the temple for last.”

  Stiger intended to enjoy every moment of the destruction of the town and temple.

  “And the prisoners?” Sabinus asked. “When do you want the executions to begin?”

  Stiger thought on that for several heartbeats.

  “They are to be saved until after the temple has been razed.” He swung an arm up toward the slopes. “Pull the men back down to the base of the valley.”

  “We’re giving up the high ground?”

  “There is little they can do to interfere with us,” Stiger said. “By the time they get organized, we will be gone. So, pull our men back. I want the orcs in the hills to see what we are doing. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly, sir,” Sabinus said.

  “Excellent,” Stiger said, “then kindly get on it, centurion.”

  Back ramrod straight, Sabinus snapped off a salute and stepped away.

  Looking once again on Castor’s temple, Stiger smiled. This was considered one of the orcs’ holiest sites. Stiger had been told Castor’s main temple, deep in the mountains, was at Berke’Tah. He would pay that valley a visit, too.

  “One step at a time,” Stiger said to himself.

  Agreed, Rarokan said.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  Stiger turned to find a legionary standing just behind him.

  “Yes?” Stiger asked, irritated by the interruption. “What is it?”

  “Centurion Nantus sends his compliments, sir,” the legionary said. “He reports Second Cohort is in position covering the pass into the valley. There has been no sign of the enemy.”

  “Thank you for your report,” Stiger said. “Dismissed.”

  The legionary saluted and left, returning back the way he had come. Stiger watched him for a moment, then looked around. Freshly arrived and still in their marching columns, two cohorts were twenty yards away. From their standards, Stiger saw they were the Eighth and Sixth, totaling nearly a thousand men. The centurions of both cohorts were gathering around Sabinus.