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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Therik held his hands up as if to say he did not know. But then apparently reconsidered. “They below are tired and be slow to follow. But I think they also be careful. You hurt them good. They might think trap. You not have as difficult a time as you think.”

  “Let us hope it is so,” Stiger said.

  A rider galloped up to the platform and Stiger knew the man brought with him his confirmation. The man slid from his horse and didn’t even bother to tether it. He climbed up the ladder. The cavalry trooper offered a salute.

  “Sir,” the auxiliary said. He was breathing heavily and had a slightly wild look to his eyes. “The enemy is crossing in strength downriver. They struck with dragons, sir. Most of the boys there were burned. Those that weren’t, ran. I’ve never seen anything like it, sir. There was nothing we could do. How do you fight a dragon?”

  Stiger closed his eyes. He felt his stomach sink at hearing what the wyrms had done to his defending cohorts. The two that had occupied Sian Tane and Currose had been an intentional distraction. Stiger suspected the noctalum had known of the wyrms proximity and been waiting for them to make their move, hence Currose appearing just above the two wyrms as they began their dive on the line. It had left the crossing unprotected and vulnerable. Stiger felt guilty for sending good men to their deaths. He took a calming breath and opened his eyes. He had to focus on the job at hand. “How many are crossing, do you know?”

  “Thousands, sir,” the trooper said, “and there is nothing to stop them, sir. They are using boats to cross, a lot of boats.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Half an hour,” he said. “I rode hard as I could, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Stiger said. “Report to Nepturus at headquarters. We will use you as a dispatcher until you are able to rejoin your squadron.”

  “Sir.” The trooper swallowed, his throat catching. “I have no squadron. They were all killed. I was the only one to win through, and that was by riding into the forest and . . . and hiding, sir.”

  Stiger gave an unhappy nod as he thought on what was coming for them. He could not blame the man for hiding after enduring a dragon attack. He was grateful he had simply made it through to report.

  “The dragons,” Stiger said, “are they still at the crossing?”

  “No, sir,” the man said. “When I ducked into the forest, they flew off to the south and back over the river. I watched them go, sir.”

  “You’ve done good, son,” Salt said. “Now report to headquarters and make sure you eat something after you do. We will find a place for you. I promise. Dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man saluted and then climbed down the ladder.

  “It’s settled, then. We pull back to the encampment,” Stiger said. “Salt, I think it will take the enemy some time to become organized and begin marching our way. It’s, what, two miles to the crossing?”

  “That sounds about right, sir,” Salt said.

  “Very good,” Stiger said. “I want scouts sent downriver, so we know how far off they are and when they march. I will call a meeting of all senior officers at headquarters. We need to begin preparing to fall back on the encampment, and I want it done in good order. You will personally lead the rearguard.”

  “Yes, sir. I will get right on it.” Salt made his way down and off the platform. “I will see you back at headquarters shortly, sir.”

  “What if wyrms come?” Therik asked.

  “Let’s hope our dragons are not too far away,” Stiger said as he pulled out a dispatch pad and wrote out two notes, one to Sabinus and the other to Brogan. He spent more time with Brogan’s, outlining his thoughts. Then he signed each and added “confirmation requested.”

  He made his way down the ladder and jogged over to headquarters, his armor chinking with each footfall. Therik followed him. The guards snapped to attention as Stiger moved by them. Nepturus shooed a messenger away and stood to attention.

  “Make sure these get out right away,” Stiger said and handed over the messages. “This one to Brogan and this one to Sabinus. It is imperative they get these messages as soon as possible. Understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Nepturus said. He jogged toward the dispatch riders.

  “You,” Stiger said, pointing at one of the other clerks. “I want all senior officers here yesterday. Also, advise the surgeons they will need to move the wounded back to the encampment immediately. We will be giving up the defensive line to the enemy, and soon. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.” The clerk ran out toward the dispatch riders.

  “It will be interesting to see if we survive to next day,” Therik said, as all eyes in the tent fell on him. “I think it will prove test of which god is stronger.”

  “Much comes down to this,” Stiger agreed.

  “Can I have sword now?” Therik held out hand. “You will need it soon.”

  “You,” Stiger said to one of the guards. “There is a sword in my office, leaning against one of the trunks. It has silver inlaid on the hilt. Give it to Therik.”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard said and ducked into the command tent. He returned a moment later, Dog following him out. He handed the sword to Therik.

  Dog padded up to Stiger and sat down by his side. Stiger absently patted the animal on his head.

  “I know this sword,” Therik announced as he tested its weight and balance. “It belonged to one of my chieftains, Toraki.”

  “Is that a problem?” Stiger asked.

  “Not at all,” Therik said. “I never liked him anyway.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Stiger stood just to the side of the encampment’s main gate as the last of the legion’s cohorts marched through. The men were tired and worn but also relieved to be entering the safety of the encampment’s walls. He noticed their eyes on him as they moved past. In them he saw hope and the confidence he would get them through the coming ordeal.

  An officer marching by with his men offered a salute. Stiger gave the centurion a nod and then turned his gaze outward toward the rearguard two hundred yards away. Leading the mixed bag of legionaries from almost every cohort in the legion, Salt stood just behind the formation. These men had been the last to hold the defensive wall. Formed up into two hasty ranks, they fell back in good order.

  Stiger did his best to be patient as he watched Salt maneuver his formation steadily backward, slowly closing the distance to the encampment. Beyond the rearguard, back along the defensive line the legion held and defended throughout the night, the artillery burned. Black, greasy smoke billowed upward into the dawning sky. The towers that had housed the legion’s bolt throwers had also been fired. Stiger had made certain before pulling off the line that all of the artillery was destroyed. He had even detailed an officer and century of men to make sure the job had been done correctly. He did not want to see his own machines turned against him. It was a regrettable loss in equipment, but there’d simply been no choice.

  Glancing upward, Stiger figured the plumes of smoke could be seen across much of the valley. Definitely Brogan and Sabinus would be able to see them. At least, he hoped so. He had staked everything on Brogan and Sabinus.

  Stiger’s eyes slid back to the rearguard. To their front was a growing mass of orcs. Falling back one step at a time, the front rank of the legionaries kept their shields pointed outward toward the enemy. Swords were held at the ready.

  Once the wall had been given up, the enemy tentatively began climbing over the barricade and past the burning towers. Stiger estimated there were now more than a thousand enemy over the defensive wall. Most were simply shadowing the rearguard, but a good number appeared to be poking around the abandoned defensive positions. They were most probably searching for loot. That suited Stiger just fine, for he wanted to get all of the men safely into the encampment.

  So far, the enemy to Salt’s front seemed to have no interest in challenging the rearguard. With no apparent leadership, the enemy that had made it over the barricade so far were completely disor
ganized. Stiger figured this was likely the only reason they had not already attacked. He wondered how long it would take before someone with authority asserted any serious control.

  Father Thomas, with Dog at his side, stepped from the encampment and up to Stiger. It was the first time Stiger had seen the paladin since the fighting had begun. Stiger glanced over and offered a nod. Father Thomas was certainly no longer the middle-aged warrior priest who had accompanied him through the Gate. Stiger was again startled by the paladin’s appearance. He appeared old and extremely weary to Stiger’s eyes, nothing like the man he had known.

  Placing his hands on his hips, Father Thomas took in the scene before him.

  “Out of the fire and into the encampment?” Father Thomas said, in a sort of half jest. When it did not elicit the reaction he had anticipated, the paladin grew serious. “How long before the rest of the enemy army gets here?”

  “Soon enough,” Stiger said.

  “So soon you felt the near immediate need to give up your defensive works and retire to the protection of the encampment,” Father Thomas said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

  “For once,” Stiger said, acutely feeling the frustration of the situation, “I wish things would go our way. Is that honestly too much to ask?”

  “Huh,” Father Thomas grunted.

  “Fortuna always seems to load the dice against me.” Stiger slapped a palm against his thigh. “The enemy caught me with just one boot on. Why didn’t I see it? This is certainly not how we know it went down with Delvaris.”

  “I would think you of all people would know better than to expect everything to go as anticipated.”

  Stiger held the paladin’s gaze a long moment and then gave a slow nod before turning his gaze back to the rearguard. It was a lesson he already knew.

  “In war,” Stiger said, feeling a little chastened, “nothing ever goes as planned.”

  “Exactly,” Father Thomas said and then looked behind them at the encampment. “This is quite a risk you are taking by moving the legion here.”

  “You think we should have pulled back to the mountain?” Stiger asked, surprised but interested to hear the paladin’s opinion. “Or perhaps meet the enemy out in the open?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” Father Thomas said. “War is your battlefield. Mine tends to be more spiritual in nature. Thoggle is not here. Neither are the dragons. An enemy army is on our doorstep, and with them will come priests with will and the minion. I would like our odds better were they with us, for everything is now on the table, as a gambler might say.”

  Stiger keenly felt the paladin’s concern. He had wagered it all with just one throw of the dice, and Stiger did not like gambling. He much preferred to stack the odds in his favor whenever possible. He turned his gaze back to the rearguard, which was now fifty yards away. The enemy had continued to follow and closed the distance to the rearguard, coming within ten yards of Salt’s shield wall. Stiger sensed the enemy were collectively working themselves up to something. Salt must have suspected the same.

  “Halt,” Salt shouted. The formation ground to a stop. “Tighten up. Ready shields . . . shields up!”

  The shields came together with a solid-sounding thunk. The enemy stumbled to an uncertain stop.

  “We’re gonna give them a gentle push with our shields and a poke from our swords,” Salt shouted. “Got that, boys?”

  “HAAAH!” the men shouted in unison.

  “Prepare to advance,” Salt shouted, his head swiveling first to the left and then right. “Advaance!”

  “HAAAH! HAAAH! HAAAH!”

  The formation moved forward toward the enemy at a slow, measured step. One of the legionaries began beating the inside of his shield with his sword. It was a steady, rhythmic thunk. The entire formation picked it up. The steady thunking beat was an intimidating and ominous sound. Almost immediately, the enemy began backpedaling. The legion had already shown them how efficient it was at killing, and none seemed very eager to test the armored slaying machine advancing steadily at them.

  “Halt,” Salt called after twenty paces, when it became clear he would not be bringing the enemy to battle. His demonstration had had an expected result. The enemy backed up another twenty-five paces and then also stopped. The camp prefect held his formation in place for a count of thirty and then gave the order to begin stepping backward again.

  This time, the enemy did not move to pursue.

  “That seems to have gotten their attention,” Father Thomas said.

  “It did,” Stiger said, still thinking on what the paladin had just said about Thoggle and the dragons not being with them. He turned to the paladin. “Yes, I gambled. We’re on our own for a bit and will just have to make do. Brogan and Sabinus are out there. I am sure of it. Thoggle is likely with them too, which I think is why he has not returned. I sent messengers before we quit the line, giving them my intentions and expectations.”

  “Have you received word back yet?” the paladin asked.

  “He has not,” Therik said.

  Stiger glanced over. He had not heard the orc join them.

  “There hasn’t been enough time for word to get to them and back,” Stiger said, though privately he was worried. He had hoped to have received something before giving up the defensive line along the ridge, but time had not been on his side. The scouts reported the van of the enemy column already in march and Stiger had felt compelled to quit his line before he had wanted to.

  “I came down from wall to show you something,” Therik said and pointed.

  In the distance, Stiger could see what appeared to be a dust cloud. He knew without a doubt what it was. There was a dirt road that ran along the water’s edge to the downriver crossing.

  The main body of the enemy army was approaching, and they were kicking up an awful lot of dust.

  The last of the scouts had come in a short while before and reported the main body was a little over a mile away. Enemy skirmishers were closer. The dust only confirmed those reports. Stiger’s unease increased tenfold.

  Had he made the wrong decision by bringing the legion to the encampment?

  He could have brought them to the mountain and held there like he had done in his own time. Stiger shook his head. He was convinced that would have been the wrong decision. They would have been terribly outnumbered, with the only option being to retreat into the mountain and close the gate behind them. Brogan and Sabinus would be left to fend for themselves against a force more than double their number. With Stiger’s way, his small army was still in the field, and there was the chance that Brogan and Sabinus could achieve surprise. At least, he hoped so.

  He glanced around, looking up at the fortifications of the encampment. The gate and dirt rampart rose some twenty feet above them. Stiger ran his eyes along the walls of the fort. They appeared solid. He, Father Thomas, and Therik were standing just beyond the outer trench, which was some ten feet deep. The walls of the trench were very steep with sharpened stakes at the bottom. A series of wood planks bridged the trench. It was all fairly standard for an encampment, but at the moment Stiger suddenly wished he had thought to add further to the defenses. A second trench would have been nice.

  On this side of the fort, facing southward, was open ground that looked toward the ridge. On the opposite side of the fort and out of view lay thick green forest, part of which continued to burn. Though flames could no longer be seen, smoke from a sullen, steady burn drifted up and out of the trees.

  Stiger hoped that the walls were enough to hold back the enemy, at least long enough for Brogan and Sabinus to arrive. The lack of a messenger returning worried him something fierce. He truly had no idea where the flanking expedition was or if they were even on their way yet. It was even possible Brogan and Sabinus had run into trouble themselves.

  By his side, as if sensing his thoughts, Dog growled.

  “Easy boy.” Stiger laid a hand on the animal’s head and absently patted him.

  Stiger turned h
is gaze back to Salt. The rearguard was almost to them. As he approached to within ten feet of the trench, the camp prefect ordered a halt and dressed his lines. The orcs facing them had not advanced any farther.

  One rank at a time, Salt sent his legionaries back and into the fort. Like the others who had passed earlier, these men were clearly weary and tired. They were also relieved to have made it to the safety of the encampment walls. He could see it in their eyes and manner.

  “Nicely done, boys,” Salt’s voice boomed out. “Nicely done.”

  Stiger rubbed at his eyes, which were dry and scratchy from lack of sleep. He badly needed sleep, but knew none would be forthcoming. Such was the way when in the field and facing the enemy. Sleep was always a commodity in short supply.

  Salt came up to Stiger. Above them, manning the walls, were more than one hundred legionaries, armed with the last of the javelins. They stood ready for a toss, a fact that the enemy seemed to be aware of. The enemy made no move to venture closer but simply watched, standing just out of range.

  “Are the last of the scouts in?” Salt asked.

  Stiger had his eyes on the enemy. He did not like what he saw. Though they came no closer, it was plain to him they had not lost their will to fight. They shouted taunts in their own language at the retreating legionaries and made rude gestures. Once someone came along and got them organized, those words and gestures would all be translated into physical violence.

  “Sir?” Salt asked.

  “What did you say?” Stiger looked over.

  “Before we seal the gate, I want to be sure the last of the scouts are in. I don’t want to leave anyone out with this lot.”

  “They’re in,” Stiger confirmed. “We’ve also had some of the survivors from the cohorts positioned at the crossing downriver come in as well. From what they reported, I am guessing near forty thousand will be here soon, not counting those right before us.”

  The last of the rearguard made their way past. Only a century of picked men Salt had held back remained. They formed a double-ranked line just before the officers and the wood-planked bridge. The centurion in command of the century glanced over at Salt with a questioning look, clearly wondering what the holdup was.