The thought of the upcoming confrontation gnawed at him. How could he beat the creature and still survive?
Watching the fighting drag violently on, Stiger felt like a helpless bystander. Plans had been made and were now being executed. For the time being, as the legate he had nothing to do other than observe. It was frustrating, for he wanted to do something, anything. That was the terrible temptation, to interfere or micromanage. It was only with great effort he managed to refrain from doing so, for that was something that could and had led inexperienced leaders to their ruin. Stiger understood he had to let the officers of the legion do their jobs.
Stiger was reminded of his father telling him this in his lectures about leadership. Stiger had been but a youth and had not fully understood. Now, to his chagrin, he did. The elder Stiger, one of the most successful generals the empire had ever seen, had known what he was talking about.
Stiger pushed thoughts of his father away as Salt climbed up to the platform. When it became clear the enemy was preparing an assault, Stiger had sent the camp prefect to eyeball and tour the entire line. Salt’s expression was hard, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Thoughts?” Stiger asked as Salt stepped up next to him, taking a spot between Therik and Stiger.
“What did you say?” Salt said in a raised voice back and cupped a hand to his ear, just behind the cheek plate on his helmet.
“What are your thoughts?” Stiger had to speak up to be heard over the battle raging just below them.
Stiger looked beyond the fighting. Across the river, enemy formations were stacked up and waiting in line for their turn to cross the bridge. The size of the enemy army made it a frightening scene.
“Not too bad, sir. Not too bad at all,” Salt said loudly back at him. The camp prefect’s face became grim as he leaned forward over the railing and looked directly down into the bowl. He pulled himself back and brought his head near Stiger. “If I was the general across the way, I’d pull back. We’re savaging them something terrible. You are to be commended, sir. Your decision to fight here was spot on. That bridge is a natural chokepoint, and the ridgeline hems the bastards in so that only a few thousand can enter the valley at a time. This is some of the finest slaughter I’ve ever seen.”
Stiger gave a nod. The only time he himself had ever seen a worse slaughter was when an entire enemy army had broken on the field of battle and the might of two legions ran them down in a matter of an hour.
“All that aside,” Salt said, “they can afford to throw away a few thousand to wear us down.”
“Any suggestions?” Stiger asked, doing his very best to keep the unease from his voice, for Salt was dead on.
“If this goes on without letup, we will ultimately have a problem,” Salt said. “We may want to consider swapping out entire cohorts sooner rather than later, as we had planned. That way, we can give our boys a bit of rest. Shorter intervals on the wall, sir, might help us to extend the combat effectiveness of our boys. If we do that and keep murdering them the way we are, they are bound to call off their assault to regroup.”
“See that it is done,” Stiger said, hoping the camp prefect was correct in his assessment on the enemy potentially calling off their assault to regroup. “When the time comes, you choose when and which cohorts need a break.”
“I will, sir,” Salt said.
Stiger’s gaze turned back to the fighting. For a time they were silent, then Stiger looked over at Salt.
“I hate this,” Stiger said. “I really hate it.”
“I would expect nothing less, sir,” Salt said, returning Stiger’s gaze. “Watching others do the fighting and dying is always difficult. If it didn’t bother you, I’d be a little worried for our chances.”
An enemy ball impacted the barricade a few yards to the right. The ball smashed through the topmost log, sending a shower of large splinters out in a deadly spray that took down four legionaries. Thankfully, at that point on the wall there were no scaling ladders. The injured legionaries were dragged off the line to a point where they could be cared for. Men from the second rank moved into the vacant positions, careful to keep their shields up.
“It’s our job to watch for problems that need fixing, sir,” Salt said, having also witnessed what had just occurred. “It’s their job to take what the enemy throws as them.”
Stiger gave a nod, but his attention was drawn to Thoggle. The wizard’s gaze was fixed upon the far bank. He was absently tapping his staff upon the platform. Stiger patted Salt on the shoulder and moved by Theo, stepping over to the wizard, who shot him a questioning look.
“What do you think the minion and priests are waiting for?” Stiger asked, raising his voice over the noise.
“I don’t know,” the wizard admitted. “They are just across the river. I find their inaction troubling.”
It is waiting for you to become vulnerable, Rarokan hissed. Tell Thoggle that. He will understand.
Stiger felt a chill run down his spine. Rarokan had not spoken for some time. He had thought that odd, especially with the prospect of fighting close at hand.
Tell him, Rarokan insisted. He will understand.
“Rarokan believes the minion is waiting for me,” Stiger said, and then added, “to become vulnerable.”
Thoggle became very still. He ceased the tapping of his staff.
“Why let all this play out?” Stiger asked, pressing. “It could have come for me anytime when I was at the farm. Why go to all this effort and trouble?”
“At the farm, you were not as vulnerable as you think,” Thoggle said. “I would have known immediately, should a priest with the ability to use will or the minion itself have entered the valley. The same goes for Sian Tane and Currose. Our enemy knows it would have had to go through us to get to you.”
Stiger had not known that, but something still bugged him about Thoggle’s answer. “They got to Sarai and slaughtered all of Aleric’s boys.”
“That was different,” Thoggle said.
“How so?”
“I am sorry to tell you this, but had you been there at the farm when the raid occurred, it is very likely things would have turned out different.”
“What are you saying?” Stiger asked. An image flashed across Stiger’s mind of Sarai’s wrapped body lying in the freshly dug grave. The hurt returned.
“Rarokan would have done anything to keep you alive. You are the one destined to wield him. Without you, his ambitions and plans would crumble to dust and ash. He would have thrown his considerable will into keeping you alive. Yes, things would have been very different.”
The hurt at losing Sarai was strong, and Thoggle had just admitted he was to blame. He had not even apologized for it. It was Thoggle who had set him on the path to the summit. It was this wizard standing before him who had sent him away from the farm. Stiger felt the rage stir within his breast.
He could sense the hate, anger, and loathing kindling. Rarokan did nothing to fan the flames. It was almost as if the ancient wizard was sitting back and watching with amusement. Stiger’s hand almost went for his sword.
Then Stiger drew a breath, knowing he needed to calm down. There must be some sort of an explanation, and he wanted to hear it. With effort, he clamped down on the rage before it could become more. He blew out the breath.
“Good,” Thoggle said, eyeing him with a pleased expression. “Very good. Gaining control of your emotions is the key to success. Keep that always in mind and there will be hope for you as you struggle against Rarokan.”
Stiger almost snapped back at the wizard, then realized Thoggle was right. He had always prided himself by remaining in control, no matter how difficult the circumstances.
“Why send me to the summit? We almost died, all of us, including your thane.”
“But you didn’t,” Thoggle said, then heaved a heavy sigh. “There were no indications our enemy planned anything untoward. Garand Kos was far enough away that we thought it relatively safe. Had Jorthan not died, I would have known imm
ediately of the danger and come.”
The wizard fell silent for a heartbeat and took a step closer.
“I am not infallible. I am truly sorry for your loss.”
Stiger read sincerity in his eyes.
“No one is infallible,” Stiger said. “Look what I did to Forkham Valley.”
Thoggle said nothing but gave a nod.
“The summit turned out to be a complete waste of time, energy, and lives,” Stiger said, glancing back out on the battle raging below the platform. “This is all that came of it.”
“Are you so certain?”
Stiger looked over at the wizard in question. Thoggle glanced over at Therik meaningfully. The orc’s entire attention was focused on the battle. He was so absorbed, he did not move a muscle.
“Look what we gained by sending you to that summit,” Thoggle said.
“We got one orc.”
“Yes,” Thoggle said and turned back to him. “But what an orc you got, and who is to say what will come of it? I believe the High Father chose to accept and save him. Is that not correct?”
Stiger glanced over at Therik and then returned his gaze to Thoggle, giving a nod.
“Well then,” Thoggle said, “who is to say the summit was a waste of time and effort?”
Stiger felt himself scowl, the skin on his scarred cheek pulling tight as he glanced from the wizard to Therik. He decided to change the subject to one that was more pressing.
“Why is Sian Tane just sitting there, doing nothing?” Stiger asked.
Thoggle turned slightly to look at the dragon. “Sian Tane is waiting, as am I. Your legion is dealing quite well with the mundane forces of Castor. Father Thomas, Sian Tane, and I are waiting for those with will to act. Well, Sian Tane and his mate are really holding off until the wyrms make their move. When they do, both dragons will need all of their strength, knowledge, and will to defeat them. No matter how the noctalum look down upon their cousins and despise them, wyrms are very dangerous.”
“They’re out there?” Stiger asked, looking off into the darkness beyond the river. “The wyrms?”
“Oh yes,” Thoggle said. “Four of the vile beasts, and somewhere close. I am able to feel their presence, as I am sure Sian Tane and Currose can. Such a conflict between dragons has not been seen since they first came to Istros from Tannis. Of the noctalum, Sian Tane and Currose are the last of their kind on this world. You might call the noctalum remnants from the Age of the Gods, powerful relics themselves. The lesser dragons, such as the wyrms, came after.”
With fresh understanding, Stiger’s gaze flicked back to the dragon.
“The minion has assembled this Horde and put all of Castor’s assets in play, gambling everything”—Thoggle gestured out into the bowl and beyond using his staff—“to occupy and possibly eliminate those who protect you from powers you have only begun to comprehend. When you are isolated and at your most vulnerable, then and only then will the minion dare to make its move. Do you understand why I am telling you this?”
“I do,” Stiger said. “I had suspected as much. I must face the minion, Castor’s champion.”
“You will face it. Don’t doubt that,” Thoggle said. “Sian Tane, Currose, Father Thomas, and I will fight, even at the cost of our lives, to give you the best opportunity for success at striking the creature down. Unlike the minion you faced in Grata’Kor, this one has had time to develop. It has grown much more powerful. Do not underestimate it.”
Stiger did not like the sound of that.
“So,” Stiger said, “it all comes down to that.”
“It does. At this time, killing the minion is all that matters.” Thoggle paused and tapped Stiger’s chest with the crystal of his staff. It flared slightly with the touch. “Though you might not believe it, this is your time.”
“My time,” Stiger said, considering the wizard’s words. A thought occurred to him. “If the minion seeks to kill me, why go to all the trouble to repeat much of what it knows happened in Delvaris’s time? Why even bother striking here, at the bridge? Why not somewhere else? Why not change the dynamic, as it seeks to change future events?”
“That is a very good question,” Thoggle said with a slow nod. “Changing the dynamic, as you say, would potentially be very dangerous for it.”
“How so?”
“We think it seeks to change your history in small ways,” Thoggle said. “If it changed major events that had already occurred, it might eliminate itself from the time stream, thereby harming Castor’s chances at success.”
“But it already changed things in a big way,” Stiger said, “by killing Delvaris.”
“Did it?”
“What do you mean?”
“With you here,” Thoggle said, “assuming Delvaris’s place, time travels and flows much as it did. Should the creature kill you in this time period, as it initially killed Delvaris”—Thoggle held up a finger and wagged it—“not in the way it did at the World Gate, but on the battlefield as Rarokan showed you, it gets what it wants: victory. Should such an event occur, there will be no champion for the High Father in the future. This would in turn leave the followers of the High Father’s alignment fragmented and leaderless. The alignment Castor serves quite possibly wins at that point, though another would surely challenge him.”
Stiger brought a hand up to his chin as he considered the wizard’s words.
“But how could it know I would take Delvaris’s place?” Stiger said. “It seems killing Delvaris right off could have potentially done what you said and caused itself to be eliminated from the time stream.”
“That is another good question,” Thoggle said. “Unfortunately, I do not know the answer. It could be killing Delvaris was unintentional. The legate could simply have gotten in the way when the minion came through the Gate and sought escape. It might not even have known who he was. There were others present who survived the experience.” Thoggle shifted his staff from one hand to another. “Who’s to say whether it was intentional or not? Yet it does bring up some troubling questions. Delvaris had the sword and Rarokan certainly did nothing to save him or, for that matter, even try. Why?”
Stiger did not have an answer. Had Rarokan known he, Stiger, was coming? He had not thought of it before, but there were now two swords in this time period. Were there two versions of Rarokan here in this time as well? Did the minion have the other? Could it wield it?
It could, Rarokan said, which would be a disaster.
“What happened to Delvaris’s sword?” Stiger asked. “I’ve got mine, which I came through the Gate with, but where is the other? The one Delvaris himself wielded.”
“I have it hidden,” Thoggle said, “somewhere safe. It is in a place the minion shall never find.”
Stiger felt vast relief at that.
“What I’ve told you is only a supposition of how we think time works,” Thoggle said with a sudden shrug of his shoulders. “There is a countervailing theory of something we call the multi-verse. It is rather complicated. I shall keep it incredibly simple. Even if you succeed and put things in this time on their rightful path, the future could possibly be a different reality than the one you knew. By traveling into our time, you might have stepped into another reality, one of many. If this theory is true, everything can be changed, the future completely rewritten.”
“What?” Stiger asked, incredibly alarmed at such a prospect. “How can that be?”
“I only said it was possibility, a theory,” Thoggle said. “Truly, it is one possibility among many. The truth is we don’t know and neither does the minion. That is why it is doing its best to keep events close to how it knows or understands they played out.”
“Rarokan,” Stiger said, thinking things through.
Thoggle raised an eyebrow in question, clearly not quite sure where he was going.
“As a High Master, as a disciple of his god,” Stiger said, recalling his conversation with Menos and what he had learned about the wizard imprisoned within the sword
, “he traveled through time and space. Of anyone, he would surely know the answer to this question of how time will be affected.”
“That is very likely,” Thoggle said. “We had considered having you ask him. However, we suspected he would refuse to answer or, worse, if he did, what you would get would not be the truth. Working toward a goal based upon such a falsehood or twisted fiction could potentially have given him another opportunity to manipulate not only you, but events in the time stream. We were unwilling to take that risk.”
Thoggle speaks truth, Rarokan said, sounding sullen. I would have likely used you to my advantage.
So, you know how the time stream will play out?
I do, Rarokan said. When I was free, I walked not only the worlds but the flows of time as well. I shall not tell what you wish to know.
Whyever not?
It is dangerous knowledge, Rarokan said. And, sadly, I am prohibited by the gods from revealing what I know concerning the flows. It is one of the commandments the High Masters cannot break, even if we wished.
How many commandments are there? Stiger asked.
Just four.
And attempting to become a god is not one of the four commandments? Stiger asked.
Surprisingly, no, Rarokan said and gave a laugh. If I had succeeded, I would not have been the first.
“What does he say?” Thoggle asked.
Stiger blinked, snapping back to the present.
“He claims he cannot tell me,” Stiger said. “That it is one of four commandments the gods placed upon the High Masters.”
“It is as I thought,” Thoggle said and then offered a grim smile. “There is one thing you will know that others will not.”
“What’s that?”
“If you beat the minion and are able to return you to the future,” Thoggle said, “you will have an inkling on how time actually flows, multi-verse or not.”
Tell Thoggle something for me, Rarokan said. Tell my old apprentice, in this supposition he is correct.
Stiger’s eyes narrowed as he looked on Thoggle. Had Thoggle really been Rarokan’s apprentice?
One of many, Rarokan said. Before my imprisonment, I was the head of my order, the master of all that walked the Blue Path.
The Tiger's Time (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 4) Page 60
