“What of them?” Stiger asked.
“They have minimal defenses, and compared to this, the fortifications we’ve constructed are laughable. I would expect the enemy to march up to the river, take one look at the strength of our position, and then begin looking for alternate places to cross. Our scouts have scoured the river and the two most likely places to cross are at those two secondary crossings.”
“If I recall correctly, the bridges at either crossing have been demolished,” Stiger said.
“They have,” Salt said, “just as you ordered, sir. Both were brought down two days ago.”
“Well, orcs don’t swim,” Stiger said simply.
“And if they come with their own bridging equipment,” Salt said, “or perhaps even boats?”
“You do have a point,” Stiger said. “We will need to patrol the river. It would be unfortunate—perhaps even catastrophic—should the enemy make a crossing and we prove ignorant of it. Severus, please make a note of it. When we return to headquarters, remind me to cut orders to that effect. I want several squadrons of cavalry put on it.”
“Yes, sir,” Severus said, writing on his wax tablet with a well-used stylus.
“Excuse me sir,” a legionary said, having come up to them. He gave a salute.
“What is it?” Stiger almost gave an unhappy sigh but refrained. It was inevitable that someone would come looking for him with an urgent issue.
“Your presence is requested back at headquarters, sir,” the legionary said. “A delegation of dwarves has arrived.”
“Very good,” Stiger said, becoming interested. He wondered what news the dwarves brought. “Please advise Nepturus I will be along presently.”
“Yes, sir.” The legionary gave a crisp salute, turned on his heel, and left.
“Sir,” Salt said, “my professional recommendation is to fortify the secondary crossings as well. We need to build up their defenses.” Salt pointed at the river with a hand. “Yes, the bridges have been pulled down. The officers who examined those crossings reported that, even without the bridges, the depth of the river is shallow enough that it is quite possible to wade across. The recent rains raised the river a good bit. I sent a team there to examine if wading is still possible. They reported, with the river up, that wading is out. However, we have to consider a drop in the water level a distinct possibility over the next few days.”
“It’s that shallow?” Stiger asked, surprised. The river looked deeper and wider than it had in the future. It was fed from numerous streams coming out of the mountains. There was a good chance it would continue to remain high for a few days. At least he hoped so.
“Yes, sir,” Salt said. “Once the water level drops, we could have a problem.”
“Another point for you, Salt,” Stiger conceded as he briefly thought it through. “I believe the enemy’s main effort will be here, owing to our leaving the bridge intact. My concern with adding to the defense of the other crossings is that any such effort would tie up significant numbers of our men that I feel will be needed here. It also diminishes our available reserves. If the enemy manages to ford the river at a different location, we could have a problem, along with units that potentially become cut off and isolated. I would much rather place a smaller blocking force at those points and keep our reserves mobile. It would give us the ability to respond in force should the enemy attempt a crossing somewhere else.”
Salt was silent a long moment, clearly considering Stiger’s words some.
“Sir,” Salt finally said. “I agree mobile reserves will be necessary. However, I still strongly recommend we strengthen the defenses at the secondary crossings. They are far enough away that, should the enemy force one of them, they could be across in strength before we could properly respond, mobile reserves or no.”
Stiger turned back to the river, rubbing his jaw. He did not like the idea of dispersing his combat power. He glanced back at the prefect. Maybe Salt was onto something.
“What are your thoughts?” Stiger asked Sabinus.
“I agree with Salt, sir,” Sabinus said without any hesitation.
“All right,” Stiger said, won over. “Salt, you’ve made a compelling argument. We will strengthen the defenses at both crossings. I believe an auxiliary cohort each should be enough to reinforce the legionary cohorts we already have in position. It is enough force that, should the enemy attempt a crossing at either ford, they should be able to hold long enough for reinforcements to arrive. In addition, we can have them expand the fixed defenses at each crossing. Do you think that sufficient?”
“With the cavalry operating on this side of the river being our eyes and ears,” Salt said, “I do, sir.”
“It’s decided then,” Stiger said. “I am leaning toward sending the Sixth Gaemelian, since they are already out and can move straight to one of the crossings.” Stiger paused. “Sabinus, when we return to headquarters, I want to review strength totals for the auxiliaries and decide which other cohort to dispatch. Might as well get both cohorts in position and at work as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” Sabinus responded.
“Speaking of forcing a crossing.” Stiger turned back to Sabinus. “How is construction of our own bridging equipment coming? When the time comes, I want to have the option of forcing my own crossing.”
“We now have pontoons for two bridges, sir,” Sabinus said. “The work’s been completed ahead of schedule.”
“Excellent.” Stiger was very pleased. Then a thought occurred to him. “I would appreciate your thoughts. Do either of you think it will be problematic bridging the river at its current height?”
Salt turned to regard the water, as did Sabinus.
“It could prove a little tricky,” Salt said, “but in a pinch I think we could do it, unless, of course, we get additional rain and the river swells more.”
“It’s not the water level that presents the difficulty, sir,” Sabinus said, “but the debris in the river. If there is a lot of it, like there is now, we could have problems. Teams would need to be in place to guide the debris around the pontoons and downriver.”
“I see,” Stiger said. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your assessment.”
Stiger turned toward headquarters. He knew they likely had more to discuss, but the dwarves were waiting.
“Make sure those pontoons are hidden and out of sight from the other side of the river,” Stiger said. “I don’t want our enemy to see them.”
“We have them loaded onto our wagons,” Sabinus said, “and they are out of view. Once you decide you wish to cross, sir, they will be ready to move. Obviously, setting up a bridge will take several hours.”
“I understand,” Stiger said. “Let’s go see this delegation from Brogan.”
They made their way along the defensive line, heading in the direction of headquarters. They were forced to weave their way around and through work parties busy packing down the dirt of the rampart or setting the last few stakes of the barricade.
Like the encampment, headquarters was a series of large tents, the sides of which had been rolled up to allow in light and fresh air. Stiger had placed headquarters just behind the center mark of the defensive works. It was the beating heart of their defensive preparations.
Since they were in the field and expecting hostile action, the guard had been doubled. Amidst the sea of activity that rushed around the tents, the guard stood like a series of rocks, standing firm against the waves. They made sure to funnel those coming and going through a central entry point, delineated by a rope fence that stretched clear around the tents.
Couriers could be seen coming and going from the administrative tent. A horse park, which consisted of several lines of orderly stakes, had been set up to tether the dispatch riders’ horses. There were more than a dozen horses picketed in the park. The dispatch riders would be waiting in the headquarters compound.
Working their way down the rampart, Stiger saw one of the guards leading three dwarven ponies to the park
, with the clear intention to secure them. A few feet beyond him, a dispatch rider finished untying his own horse and mounted up. The messenger touched his heels to his horse and trotted off toward the east.
As he came nearer, Stiger’s gaze fell upon his senior engineers, who were gathered around a table under a tent that had been set aside for their use. They were looking down at a map. Setinnunus, chief of his engineers, was pointing something out to the others. Setinnunus was a small man, filled with seemingly boundless energy for his job. All of the engineers had proven quite skilled. Stiger was extremely pleased with their efforts and professionalism.
The sentries snapped to attention as Stiger and his two senior officers arrived. A dispatch rider who was leaving the administrative tent stepped aside and drew himself to attention. With Salt and Sabinus following, Stiger stepped by them and into headquarters.
Ahead, Stiger saw three dwarves waiting for him. They wore armor and were clearly warriors, sporting the green cloaks he recognized as associated with the Rock Breakers Clan. The leader’s cloak was made from better material than the other two, who appeared to be much younger. Their beards were shorter and they had a youthful vigor about them.
All of the legionaries in the tent ceased what they were doing and stood to attention at Stiger’s approach. Holding a green-dyed horsehair-crested helmet under an arm, the leader turned. From his bearing, Stiger got the impression he had been waiting impatiently for Stiger’s arrival.
“As you were,” Stiger called. He did not want to stop the legion’s work. There was still much to be done.
“I am Thigra, Chieftain of the Rock Breakers,” the dwarf said in good common before Stiger could say anything. The dwarf’s manner was brusque, almost to the point of rudeness, which only reinforced Stiger’s impression. “You are Delvaris.”
It had not been a question.
“I am,” Stiger said.
Thigra appeared to be in his middling years. He had long blond hair that had been tied back into a ponytail. The dwarf’s hair was just beginning to gray, and his beard, like many of the other dwarves Stiger had seen, was tightly braided. It reached down his chest to his navel. His face appeared to be chiseled from rough stone and spoke of a difficult life. His eyes were blue, hard, and piercing as he gazed upon Stiger. Thigra held himself erect like one accustomed to a position of unquestioned authority. He struck Stiger as a dwarf not to be trifled with.
“Thane Brogan sent me on ahead,” Thigra said. Stiger thought he detected a hint of distaste in his manner.
“May I introduce my senior officers?” Stiger turned slightly. “Camp Prefect Oney and Centurion Sabinus.”
Thigra inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment but said nothing of greeting himself. Instead, he turned to the two other dwarves with him.
“This is my firstborn son, Holdgren, and my second born, Bereg,” Thigra said. His gaze lingered on his sons with obvious pride before turning back to face Stiger. His expression hardened once again. “They are young, but there is no better place to prove oneself than on the battlefield.”
“We are honored to have you join us,” Stiger said.
“We, too, are honored to fight”—Thigra paused a heartbeat and then added carefully—“alongside our human allies. Together we shall earn much legend.”
Holdgren snorted, which elicited an unhappy look from his father.
Stiger suppressed his irritation. He needed the dwarves, and the last thing he wanted was to get off on the wrong foot. It was clear they did not appreciate having to associate with humans.
“I thought I would ride ahead and prepare for my warband’s arrival,” Thigra said.
Stiger perked up at that news.
“When do you expect they will march in?” Stiger asked.
“They are likely four hours behind us. We would have been here yesterday but were delayed.” Thigra clenched a fist briefly and then opened it. He let out a heavy breath. “On my thane’s request, I stopped to gather up much of the garrison from Old City and Grata’Jalor. It took more time than expected. With them, I have more than two thousand warriors.”
“That is the best news I’ve heard all day,” Stiger said, feeling a vast relief wash over him that the first of the dwarves would soon arrive.
“I thought perhaps you might be pleased,” Thigra said simply.
“You humans dig trenches and build up walls to hide behind,” Holdgren said, with a clear look of disdain thrown to Stiger. “There is not much legend in fighting behind walls. You must meet the enemy shield to shield to know your true worth.”
Surprised, Stiger turned his gaze upon Holdgren. He was about to respond when Sabinus beat him to the punch.
“Is that why you dwarves built Grata’Kor and Grata’Jalor?”
The dwarves stiffened.
“I knew another dwarf who thought as you do,” Sabinus continued, his disdain dripping with acid as he spoke. “It cost Taithun not only his life, but many others, dwarves and humans alike.” Sabinus pointed a finger at Holdgren. “Let me set you straight, son. There is no glory in war, only duty, your comrades, and death. When you grow older, if you survive that long, you will know the truth behind my words. It is kill or be killed and that’s it.”
Holdgren’s eyes went wide in shock and he glanced over to his father. The tent was suddenly quiet.
“That’s enough, Sabinus,” Stiger said, though he very much approved of the centurion’s words.
Thigra’s eyes had snapped to the centurion. After a moment’s hesitation, he glanced over at his son and then back to Stiger. He barked out a forced laugh. “The ignorance of youth, eh?”
“What other news do you bring?” Stiger asked, eager to steer the conversation away from rocky ground. Thigra seemed grateful for the opportunity to speak about something else, for he jumped on it, even as he shot a glare back at his son.
“Chovhog,” Thigra said, “chieftain of the Forge Clan, should arrive in a day or two with another thousand warriors. He brings with him his finest company, the Black Hammers. We are lucky they will be with us, for they are an experienced and professional company. After that, we are on our own until my thane arrives with the army.”
“Do you have any idea on when that might be?”
“Last word I heard this morning as we rode through Old City was that Brogan is three or four days away,” Thigra said with a shrug. “He could be closer. He is coming with warbands from the Steel Hands, Stouthearts, Stonebreakers, Hammer Fisted, and the Bloody Axe. Due to supply, he too was delayed. This region is quite distant for many of the clans. As such, supply has proven a difficult foe to conquer. But with any luck, there will be no more delays, and rest of the clans should be with us soon after Brogan.”
Stiger felt a chill. The Hammer Fisted Clan was coming. They had betrayed Brogan’s son, Braddock. Hrove, their chieftain, had attempted to kill Braddock and, in a way, was partly to blame for Stiger’s current predicament. He took a breath and reminded himself that the betrayal had happened three hundred years into the future. Hrove might not yet have even been born.
“Let us hope the orcs wait until your entire army gets here,” Salt said, speaking up when Stiger said nothing.
“That is unlikely,” Thigra said. “Our sources inform us, despite having only assembled two-thirds of the tribes, Therik has managed to put together a considerable host and is now on the move. Like us, food is his problem. Unlike us, the orcs have no supply system set up. They only have enough to feed themselves for a week, perhaps more. Hence the raid on the valley. Therik seeks to extend their supplies as much as possible before he strikes.”
Stiger knew that wasn’t the complete reason for the raid. It had been to provoke him to follow through on destroying the temple. But he remained silent on that point and also on the orc king, who was even now in their encampment. He needed to explain Therik to both Brogan and Thigra in a way that would smooth things over. He wasn’t yet sure how to do that. He was hoping Father Thomas, when he awoke, could h
elp him, for Stiger had pledged revenge with Brogan against Therik for something the orc king had not done.
“Any idea on their numbers?” Salt asked.
“We believe somewhere around fifty thousand,” Thigra said. “Our informers and spies are not quite sure, but that seems to be the common number they agree on.”
“Fifty thousand?” Salt said, aghast. The camp prefect looked over at Stiger, his concern plain. “Sir, with all we have on hand, it is unlikely we will be able to hold against such numbers, even with the strength of this position.”
“We will hold as long as we are able,” Stiger said. “Reinforcements are on their way.”
“We’re still gonna be outnumbered,” Salt said.
Whenever was he not? Stiger thought to himself.
“That is why we have been busy constructing the best possible defensive position,” Stiger said. “There is a lot of killing that needs to be done, and we are the ones to do it.”
“Yes, sir,” Salt said. It was clear he was far from convinced, but he picked up on Stiger’s hint and fell silent.
“As planned, if needed we will fall back to the mountain.” Stiger gestured at the dwarves with a hand. “They have a fortress more formidable than Castle Vrell. It will allow us to hold for some time.” Stiger looked over at Thigra. “Isn’t that correct?”
“It is,” Thigra said. “My thane instructed that in such an eventuality, the mountain is to be opened to you and your people. By the grace of Thulla, we shall not need to do so.”
“Thulla?” Sabinus asked.
“The god most of our people worship,” Holdgren said with a distasteful look thrown toward the centurion, as if the man were an ignorant barbarian. “He is of the High Father’s alignment. I would have thought you would have known that.”
Stiger flashed a warning look to Sabinus, who gave a curt nod of understanding to stand down. Clearly this alliance with the dwarves was going to prove difficult.
“Severus,” Stiger said, turning toward the tribune. “Would you kindly check with the clerks and find a suitable location for Thigra’s warband to camp, preferably next to our fortified encampment?”
The Tiger's Time (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 4) Page 54
