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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Sir,” Salt said, turning to Stiger and giving him a meaningful look. “Would the legate kindly enter the fort? That way, the rest of us can get behind those fine-looking walls.”

  He gave a nod and—along with Father Thomas, Therik, and Dog—made his way over the trench and through the gate.

  “All right,” Salt shouted. “Bring it on inside, boys.”

  The legionaries did not need any further encouragement. They jogged into the encampment. The last of them, with Salt overseeing, drew in the planks. The heavy gate was closed shortly after. It banged shut with a deep thud. Several men manhandled the heavy locking bar in place. Stiger watched for a moment as the work at sealing the gate was completed. He then made his way up to the wall, with Father Thomas and Therik following after. The men manning the wall moved aside for them to pass.

  Stiger placed both hands on the top of the barricade and scanned the scene before him. Nothing outside the encampment had changed. The enemy was just beyond missile range. They milled about, either hurling insults at the legionaries or talking amongst themselves. A few spotted Therik and pointed excitedly. Stiger could sense outrage stirring amongst them.

  Therik ignored his own people. He was scanning the mass of enemy as if looking for someone or something.

  “Well, sir,” Salt said, joining them a short time later, “we’re tucked nicely inside, and the barbarians are locked outside.”

  “That we are,” Stiger said, turning to the camp prefect. Salt had proven he was worth his weight in gold and Stiger felt lucky to have him as his second in command. He felt a mutual respect growing between them. “Good job on getting the rearguard inside without incident.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Salt said. “For a moment there, I thought we might have to fight for it.”

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t have to,” Stiger said. “It might have proved a little tricky when it came time to disengage.”

  “That it would, sir. I have no doubt about that.”

  “We will have a senior officers meeting shortly,” Stiger said. “Prior to your making it back, I called for a meeting and sent messengers out to the senior centurions. They are to see their cohorts settled first. I’ve also given orders for the men be fed and watered.”

  Salt looked around. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  A line had formed behind the back of a small cart a few yards behind the gate. Several men were distributing steaming mugs of black liquid poured from large jars.

  “I had the cooks make some coffee as well,” Stiger said as he stifled a yawn. “Figured after the night we just endured, the men could use it.”

  “I could use it,” Salt said. “And by your looks, so can you, sir.”

  Stiger absently nodded as his eyes searched out the approaching dust cloud. “We have a short breather, it seems.”

  “Yes, sir,” Salt said, following Stiger’s gaze. “It certainly appears that way.”

  The first of the enemy’s fresh formations came into view. They marched in an organized column four across. Stiger could see a team of enemy officers who had positioned themselves so that each newly arrived formation had to pass by them. With arm gestures and sometimes an escort, they guided the formations to where they were to be deployed around the encampment. Those enemy who had climbed up the bowl and come over the wall were also organized.

  The sky had brightened, and the sun peeked over the mountains. The overcast clouds had given way to a clear blue sky.

  “My son,” Therik said, placing both large hands on the top of the barricade. Therik’s voice shook with rage. “I kill him for dishonor me.”

  Stiger followed the king’s gaze and saw an overly large orc with a personal guard had stopped to speak with the group of enemy officers. The guard formed a protective ring around Therik’s son.

  “And here I thought I had a complicated relationship with my father,” Stiger said to himself as he glanced back over at Therik.

  “Sir,” a legionary said, having come up, “the officers are ready for you.”

  Stiger looked around and saw that just down the rampart, his senior officers had assembled. He had asked that the meeting be held near the wall and not at headquarters. He wanted to be close to the wall should something happen.

  “I will be back shortly,” Stiger told Father Thomas and Therik.

  Father Thomas gave a nod. Therik’s gaze remained fixed upon his son.

  With Salt following, Stiger made his way down to the officers. They had to step around a line of men. Several lines had formed, as four cook wagons had been rolled up. Precooked rations were being quickly distributed to tired and hungry men.

  As Stiger joined them, he noted the officers’ haggard looks and drawn expressions. The fight through the night had taken its toll upon them. He was also pleased to see grim determination. These men were the toughest of the tough. They would be the first to set the example for their men and last to quit. These officers were not promoted to senior centurion without having seen hard action and repeatedly proving themselves over a lifetime of service.

  Stiger made a show of studying the sky.

  “Gentlemen,” Stiger said, bringing his gaze back down to the men gathered around him in a half circle. A few glanced upward. “I thought perhaps last night when it clouded over we might have some rain. I am pleased to report Fortuna has once again come to our aid. It looks like it will be a real beauty of a day, perfect for a fight. Yes, that fateful goddess has delivered once again with no inclement weather to slow our enemy down.”

  That drew out a few laughs. Stiger sensed a lightening of the mood. They needed to see him in control and confident of the legion’s current circumstance and position. Once a leader lost his head, everything was over. Stiger had seen it happen.

  “I want to congratulate you,” Stiger said, becoming serious. “You fought your men well. I could not have asked for more or been prouder. We killed many of the enemy. Unfortunately, the job’s only half done. We have more to kill.” Stiger paused and sucked in a breath, thinking on what he wanted to say next.

  “As you are no doubt aware, we will shortly be surrounded. We can’t change that, and I won’t to lie to you. You deserve the truth. The enemy surprised us with their crossing of the river. Worse, our turning movement is now badly out of position.” Several of the officers shared concerned looks. “That said, this is where we want to be. Our allies, the dwarves, have come with an army. They are out there, along with the flanking expedition dispatched last night. I recalled them both before we gave up the defensive line.”

  Stiger paused to allow that to sink in before continuing.

  “So, the short of it is we have a force of over twenty-five thousand, including all of our cavalry outside the walls,” Stiger said. “I believe the enemy to be ignorant of their presence. Once we are attacked—and make no mistake, we will be—the enemy’s attention will become wholly fixed upon us. That is when our boys will strike.” Stiger noticed several nods. “Their appearance should come as a rude surprise. The hard part will be holding the walls long enough for the dwarves and our boys to get into position to strike. So, that is what we must do. We hold and bleed the enemy something good for their troubles. Are there any questions so far?”

  “Yes, sir,” a centurion said. “Will the dragons be coming back to help?”

  Stiger knew that word had likely gotten around about what had happened to the cohorts at the crossing. The man was really asking what happened if the enemy’s dragons came back.

  “For those who have not heard,” Stiger said, deciding complete honesty was in order on this subject, “wyrms—those are smaller dragons. Well, two of them attacked the defensive cohorts at the crossing downriver. I understand it wasn’t pretty. Both cohorts, for all intents and purposes, have ceased to exist as cohesive fighting formations.” That got everyone’s attention, with men stiffening or straightening up. “As of now, we don’t know how many survived. I suspect very few made it.” The officers shifted uncomfortably at t
hat bit of news. “I don’t know where our two dragons are, but they are undoubtedly in the area. They came to stop the wyrms from attacking us and did so last night. You saw what they can do. I am certain they are out there hunting the enemy’s dragons. I tell you this so that you and your men will not to worry about the wyrms. We can’t afford to. Focus on your job, which is holding the walls. Now, are there any other questions?”

  “Sir,” said Prefect Tennelus. He was in command of the auxiliary cohort of archers. “My archers are out of arrows and the slingers have expended their supply of lead shot. We’re down to just plain stones now.”

  “Your men did good work. We shall use your archers in reserve,” Stiger said. The archers were issued with short swords and shields as part of their standard issue, but also only light leather armor. They would be a last-resort reserve.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Salt spoke up. “How would you like the legion’s cohorts distributed on the walls, sir?”

  Stiger gave it a moment’s thought.

  “Second Cohort will hold the north wall.” He pointed. “Fourth the east wall. Sixth on the south wall, and Eighth will hold the west. The rest and our auxiliaries will act as our reserves. Salt will see to the dispositions of the reserves. Any questions on that?”

  There were none.

  “Very good,” Stiger said. “Soon as we break, make sure you move your cohorts to the appropriate position. I would like a head count from every cohort.”

  Stiger made a point of meeting the gazes of each officer. “There are some difficult hours ahead for us. The enemy has priests with occult powers. You can’t begin to imagine what they are capable of doing. We have a paladin of the High Father to help counter that threat. No matter how bad things get, no matter how strange, we must hold the walls. If at any point our defense cracks, we will all be doomed. Make sure your men understand that. From this point on, there is no escape, but of our own making. We must hold. We have relief on the way, and once they hit the enemy, we, too, will attack. When it comes, make sure you are ready for that order. I expect you to do your duty and will tolerate nothing short of that.”

  Stiger paused briefly.

  “Get your cohorts in position. After I’ve seen your strength totals, we will have another meeting in about an hour to further review dispositions to see if any changes need to be made,” Stiger said. “That is all. Dismissed.”

  The officers broke up, heading for their respective cohorts.

  “That was a little cheery,” Salt said.

  “It was necessary,” Stiger said. “Salt, when the time comes and the enemy attacks, I will handle the east and south wall. You take the north and west.”

  “Got it,” Salt said.

  “Good,” Stiger said and yawned. “After you position the reserves, how about we get some coffee and then take a stroll around the encampment? I think it would be good to be seen by the men.”

  “Coffee sounds lovely, sir. A morning walk would be nice, too,” Salt said enthusiastically. “Very kind of you to ask.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The enemy was working their way through a series of what seemed to be organized chants. Stiger could not understand what was said, as it was in orcish, but he had to admit the chanting was unnerving. It reminded him of the massed chants the crowds made during gladiatorial games.

  The sun was up, high overhead. It was just past noon and the air was becoming unseasonably warm. A gentle breeze occasionally blew down from the mountains and helped to relieve the growing heat of the day. Wearing armor and standing under the sun, men began to cook as they waited for the enemy to begin their assault.

  Stiger stood with Therik on the corner of the south wall. He felt uncomfortably hot in his armor. His helmet had become loose. He adjusted it, untying the straps and then refastening it. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes. He wiped it away.

  He looked out at the scene before him. It was not one to build confidence. The encampment was thoroughly surrounded. From his current position, Stiger could see a good portion of the enemy host. Hundreds of enemy companies were to his front, formed up and chanting away. Stiger had started counting standards but had given up. There were simply too many. A short while before, he had made a point to walk completely around the walls of the encampment to see the enemy’s host in its entirety. The size of the enemy’s army was overwhelming.

  “So, this is the Horde,” Stiger said.

  “It is,” Therik said.

  The working estimate of the enemy’s strength had been woefully inadequate. He figured there were at least seventy thousand fresh warriors now deployed around the encampment. These had not yet seen action. More concerning to Stiger were the enemy formations that were still arriving and marching onto the field. Stiger had spotted half a dozen orc priests moving amongst them, busy conducting what appeared to be religious services and offering blessings.

  For several hours, enemy axe parties had been heard in the forest. The fire had mostly gone out. Thin wisps of smoke rose from amongst the trees, a reminder of the battle fought between dragons. The axe parties had since fallen silent.

  The enemy had been busy making battering rams for the gates and additional ladders to scale the walls. The rams had been placed out in the open for the defenders to see. Large bundles of sticks had also been stacked to the front of the formations. These, Stiger understood, would be used to fill the trenches so the enemy could cross to assault the walls. Oddly, there were battering rams positioned at only three of the encampment’s four gates. There was no ram at the encampment’s main gate. Stiger wondered why. Surely, with the enemy’s numbers, they would assault all of the walls and gates simultaneously?

  Stiger placed a hand upon the barricade. The wood was rough and had not been smoothed. He picked free a large splinter and then tossed it over the edge. He was still plagued with doubts about his decision to hole up in the encampment. Having seen the true size of the enemy’s host, those concerns had only become magnified. Even having a force outside the walls numbering around twenty-five thousand, Stiger was beginning to doubt whether Brogan and Sabinus could successfully surprise and roll up the enemy. The move into the encampment was looking more like a last stand.

  Should he have withdrawn to the mountain?

  No, came the reply from Rarokan. You belong here. The minion is here. I sense it close by, waiting for its opportunity to strike.

  Stiger stilled, as a sudden fear came over him.

  Are you going to try to take control again? Stiger asked. During the fight that’s coming?

  Perhaps, one day, Rarokan said, but not now. Too much is at stake. When the time comes I shall lend you my will. I shall seek to take nothing more in return.

  Stiger sensed Rarokan was being truthful. Still, he was not sure he could trust the wizard. But he knew he had no choice.

  You don’t have a choice, Rarokan said, for our enemy is getting ready to strike.

  Stiger thought on that for a minute. He and Rarokan needed an understanding if they were going to work together, for that was what Stiger desired. He needed the wizard’s help if he was to succeed.

  You will take no more souls, Stiger said. You can keep the life force spark, but not the soul spark. I will not be a party to that.

  I do what I wish, Rarokan said, sounding amused. I will take what I want.

  You will not, Stiger said.

  What can you do to stop me?

  Stiger thought about that for a long moment and then almost grinned.

  How deep do you think the water is at Bowman’s pond? Stiger asked Rarokan.

  There was no reply.

  I went swimming there once. You may recall, for I brought you with me.

  Again, there was no reply.

  Really, I trekked up there to bathe after working at repairing the fencing of the pasture. It was an exceptionally hot day. Sarai thought I smelled just plain awful. She wouldn’t let me in the house. She gave me some soap and sent me off.

&
nbsp; Stiger paused, thinking back on Sarai and that day. That night when he had returned was the first time they had made love. He pushed the memory aside and continued with Rarokan.

  It was quite refreshing, but I was surprised that as I got toward the middle of the pond, the water became deep. My feet couldn’t even touch the bottom. So, I think it’s really simple. Unless you agree to my terms, after this fight I will take a hike back up to the pond and drop you in. With any luck you might never be found.

  You wouldn’t dare. You need me.

  Stiger thought he sensed doubt.

  Do I? Stiger asked. I am the High Father’s champion. Do I really need you after we get rid of the minion?

  Rarokan did not immediately reply.

  There was a rippling of the enemy’s ranks to the front of the fort. A priest holding a wooden staff stepped through the press. With him was a tall, powerful orc Stiger recognized as Therik’s son.

  The king sucked in his breath.

  Stiger studied Therik’s son. He was tall, and very muscular. He had donned a purple cloak that hung over the back of his plate armor. He moved with a natural confidence and authority, much like Therik had when Stiger had first met him at Garand Kos.

  “What’s your son’s name?” Stiger asked.

  “Hommand,” Therik said. “That is Cetrite, High Priest of Castor. He was a nobody before the minion arrived.”

  Stiger shifted his gaze to the High Priest. Cetrite wore a long black robe that was covered in arcane symbols. The priest’s robe was hooded and he had drawn it up so that his heavily tattooed face could barely be seen. A powerful hand gripped the wooden staff.

  Hommand spotted his father standing amongst the legionaries on the wall and simply pointed at him. Therik did not move.

  Cetrite said something to Hommand. The two of them were standing before a formation of five hundred orcs, who were drawn up in neat, orderly ranks. They both turned to look at the formation. Hommand said something to the warriors.