“I was ordered to stay away from you, sir,” Tiro said. “Well, really the jail. The tribune gave orders for all of us from the Seventh. He even put extra guards on this building and on our barracks.”
“So, the tribune lifted the orders then?” Stiger asked.
“No, sir,” Tiro said and shifted about uncomfortably.
“Sergeant, you’re willfully violating orders?” Hollux said with a deep frown.
“No, sir,” Tiro said, suddenly looking very offended. “I would never violate orders, sir. Without the lieutenant here, my boys have been idle too long. I am looking for busy work that needs doing, is all. It occurred to me that the jailhouse may need to be swept, the waste buckets emptied. That sort of thing, sir.”
Hollux’s frown deepened, if that was possible.
Stiger swallowed, as Tiro’s gaze returned. The old sergeant had violated his orders to check on his officer. Stiger found that he was touched by Tiro’s concern.
“Sergeant,” Stiger said, “though I welcome your visit, I would not want you to fall under a charge. You need to go.”
“Aye, sir,” Tiro said, with a glance behind him. “In good time, I will.”
“I meant it,” Stiger said. “You need to go, now.”
“I was let in by the sergeant of the guard, sir,” Tiro said. “He will warn me when it is time.”
“Why’d he violate orders?” Stiger raised an eyebrow.
“It’s a sergeant thing,” Tiro said, shifting his stance.
“Tiro,” Stiger said. “What’s the real reason?”
“The auxiliary sergeants are getting a tad concerned, sir,” Tiro said. “We talked and they believe without a doubt the Rivan are headed this way.”
“I see,” Stiger said, eyes narrowing. There was more to the story than Tiro was telling.
The sergeant gave in with a heavy sigh. “Prefect Merritt, he leads the Twenty-Fifth Toldean Cohort that’s stationed here,” Tiro explained. “He’s a good sort, sir. A bit old like me, but he fought in the Wilds and knows which end of a sword is the correct one to jab an enemy with.” Tiro took a deep breath. “It seems he believes the enemy is coming, especially after he and I spoke, sir. He asked me a lot about you, and I answered honestly, sir. Among other things, I told him you was one of the best officers I’ve ever served with and that what you’d told the tribune was the gods honest truth. I told him about Cora’Tol, the farm, and what Crief said about the army that’s comin’. Well, that got his attention. He’s put his men and ours to work on the defenses, sir.” Tiro paused for another breath. “When the tribune asked what they were doing, Prefect Merritt explained the need to get his idle boys to work . . . like we do with the legions, sir. Busy boys means less trouble, sir.” Tiro paused. “To be honest, it might’ve been my suggestion, but you’d never get me to admit that. Well, he sort of sent me to see the sergeant of the guard, sir.”
Stiger was amused with the long, rambling explanation on what had been going on while he had been confined. It was good to know that there were defensive preparations underway.
“What of the cohort that marched?” Stiger asked. “Has there been any word from Lears?”
“Nothing, sir,” Tiro said. “It’s one of the reasons I came. They marched to Ida and were supposed to send a messenger back. When none came, the tribune dispatched a rider. He didn’t come back either, sir. So the tribune sent another rider.” Tiro shook his head at that. “We know what’s coming, sir.”
Stiger closed his eyes, feeling helpless behind the bars. He was stuck here doing nothing, when he should be out there helping to strengthen the defenses of the fort.
“Once the enemy arrives,” Tiro said, “the tribune should let you out. Then there will be plenty to do.”
“Thank you for your visit, Sergeant,” Stiger said. “It is much appreciated. Now, I would ask that you leave. I don’t want to see you placed on a charge.”
“Aye, sir,” Tiro said and turned toward the door when a commotion outside caused him to freeze.
A man wearing a richly cut brown cloak stepped through the doorway. The hood was pulled up. The dim light of the jailhouse served to conceal his features. Though he had never met one before, and despite the man not wearing the uniform, Stiger realized this was the imperial ranger. Stiger could not help shake the feeling that he had seen this man before.
The ranger glanced around before his gaze settled upon Tiro. Using both hands, he pulled the hood back. Stiger sucked in an astonished breath.
“Eli!” Tiro exclaimed with excitement. “By the all the gods and the High Father’s beard, is it really you?”
“You’ve become old,” came the reply in a pleasantly soft, singsong kind of voice. It sounded almost human, but was tinged with something alien at the same time.
Stiger blinked, not quite believing his eyes. Before him stood an elf. And not just any elf, but a friend of Tiro.
Eli was tall, standing several inches above Stiger. He was whipcord thin. His face was that of a young man, barely out of his teens, with blue, almond-shaped eyes and sharp, pointed ears that poked out from his sand-colored hair. Eli’s face, framed by his long hair, was almost too perfect. Carved by a master of unparalleled skill and flawless to a fault, it was like one of the numerous marble busts that adorned the palace back in the capital.
Tiro and Eli embraced, the sergeant patting the elf heavily on the back. After a moment, Tiro stepped back, holding Eli by the arms.
“I’ve become old,” Tiro said, “but you’ve not aged a day.”
“It is but a curse of my race,” Eli said.
The sergeant turned and Stiger was surprised to see tears in the old veteran’s eyes.
“Eli,” Tiro said, wiping them away. He gestured toward the cage. “I would like to introduce you to my commanding officer, Lieutenant Stiger.”
Eli stepped past Tiro and up to within a foot of the cage. Stiger felt as if he were being studied. He did not like the feeling.
“I’ve come a long way to find you, lieutenant,” Eli said softly. “General Treim sends you his greetings.”
Eli reached into his cloak and withdrew a dispatch, which he passed through the bars. Stiger opened the dispatch, tilted it toward the light from the door, and scanned the contents. He looked up at Tiro and over to Hollux, then back to the dispatch.
“Our boys got through,” Stiger said excitedly to Tiro. “The Third is on her way.”
“The legion should be here in two days,” Eli said. “General Treim thinks you cause . . . ” Eli paused, clearly contemplating his words. “No, that is not the right word. He thinks trouble finds you.”
“It seems the general might be on to something, sir,” Tiro said with a chuckle.
“But the tribune sent a messenger to turn the Third back,” Stiger said.
“I was with the general. He became . . . ” Eli paused and looked at Tiro. “Mad or angry? Which is the better word?”
“I bet he became angry,” Tiro said, with a satisfied look thrown to Stiger.
“Yes,” Eli said, “the general became angry. The legion is still coming. I offered my services to ride ahead with the advance party and act as a representative.”
A cavalry officer strode into the jail, the heels of his riding boots conking off the wooden floorboards. The sergeant of the guard who delivered the meals followed closely on his heels.
“Carbo,” Stiger exclaimed in surprise at the sight of the cavalry officer who had become his friend over the past few weeks.
Carbo’s expression turned thunderous and he rounded on the sergeant. “Get them out of there. Now!”
“But, sir,” the sergeant sputtered, “I have orders from the tribune holding these two prisoners for trial.”
“Sergeant,” Carbo lowered his voice, “your tribune has been relieved of his command. If you don’t get them out of there this instant, I promise you that I shall see you broken back to the ranks. Furthermore, I shall personally see to it that you spend the rest of your day
s in service to our emperor mucking out the latrines with your tongue.”
The sergeant didn’t even bother to reply. He fumbled with the keys on his belt, untied the loop, and then hastily unlocked the door to Hollux’s cage before turning to Stiger’s.
Once the door was swung open, Stiger stepped out. Carbo offered his hand, which Stiger took in a firm, friendly grip.
“Carbo,” Stiger said, “I would like to introduce you to Lieutenant Hollux. I consider him a friend.”
“Any friend of Stiger is a friend of mine.” Carbo shook Hollux’s hand. “It is a real pleasure to meet you, sir, and an honor.”
Hollux seemed taken aback slightly, but handled it well. “It is my pleasure, sir, especially since you got us out of these damned cages.”
Carbo suddenly stepped back, holding his nose, looking between Stiger and Hollux.
“You both need a bath,” Carbo said, “and badly.”
“That I do,” Stiger admitted. “It’s been far too long since I properly bathed.”
“Well, let’s get you cleaned up and into a fresh tunic,” Carbo said. “I am afraid there is a lot to be done, and not much time.”
Chapter Fifteen
Stiger strode out of the officers’ quarters and into the bright morning sunlight. The temperature was much cooler than the day before—it could almost be described as crisp. It was possibly a sign that the unseasonably hot weather was finally giving itself over to fall. Stiger certainly hoped so, for he was more than tired of the oppressive heat.
He was wearing a freshly laundered tunic, drawn from the fort’s quartermaster. The coarse wool itched only a little. The tunic was the kind reserved for a ranker, but it was clean and for that he was grateful. Slightly larger than he would have liked, it also wasn’t quite his size. If he kept the tunic, it would have to be tailored for a better fit. The military typically held a jaded view of the enlisted man’s tunic and took the one-size-for-all approach. Officers, men generally of some means, had their tunics custom-made from better-quality wool.
Stiger had also taken the opportunity to bathe. Being clean for the first time in weeks felt wonderful. To be free of the dust, dirt, and grime was a small mercy in itself. He had even managed a shave, using hot water, not the usual frigid river or pond water he had made do with over the past few weeks. Combined with the sleep he had caught up on while being confined, he felt like a new man.
“Better watch it, old boy,” Stiger said to himself with a slight chuckle. “If you keep this up, you may just spoil yourself.”
Stiger surveyed his surroundings. The officers’ quarters opened onto the parade ground, which was situated behind the main gate. Fort Covenant was a large one, as rear echelon garrisons went. Built to hold two cohorts by necessity, there were more than a dozen single-story structures. The buildings of the fort spread out to his left and right. They included several barracks, a warehouse, cold cellar, stable, barn, smithy, mess hall, and centralized keep that housed the headquarters and the tribune’s personal quarters. Three stories tall, the fortified keep towered over the other buildings. It backed up to the parade ground and was built upon a raised mound. The keep reached higher than the outer walls, and from the top he presumed one would have a clear view in all directions.
The buildings were made of timber, using whole logs from the nearby forest. Stacked one atop another and interlocked at right angles, the logs formed solid walls that had been plastered over for insulation. The outer defensive walls of the fort were also constructed of these logs, each of which was at least three feet in circumference. These had clearly been selected not only for their thickness, but also their height.
Starting from the edge of the parade ground and traveling around the entire fort, an earthen rampart backed up to the outer wall. The rampart was thick with trimmed grass. The top of the rampart served as a platform for the defenders to walk upon, with the defensive wall rising another three feet above it, forming a protective barricade.
Stiger found the fort itself neat and orderly. Nothing seemed out of place. It spoke of either a fanatical devotion to order or a disciplined garrison. He wondered which one applied to Tribune Declin.
“Excuse me, sir.” An auxiliary had come up, interrupting Stiger’s musings, and gave a smart salute.
“Yes?” Stiger returned the man’s salute.
“Prefect Merritt requests your presence on the wall above the gatehouse.” The auxiliary pointed. “He’s right there, sir, with the other officers.”
“Thank you,” Stiger said and started off.
There were few men about as he made his way across the parade ground. The grass in the center had a distressed look to it, a sign that it potentially saw frequent use for drill. Stiger wondered where everyone had gone, for the interior of the fort was mostly deserted. There was only a handful of men on the walls.
The near absence of the garrison made Carbo’s troopers stand out. Horses saddled, and with reins in their hands, the troopers waited near the gate. Stiger wondered where they were off to as he strode over to the gatehouse and up the back side of the rampart.
“Ah, Stiger,” Merritt said, turning at his arrival.
Carbo, Hollux, Tride, and Eli were there, but the tribune was absent. Since Declin had been relieved, Stiger found his absence hardly surprising.
Hollux gave Stiger a welcoming nod. He also wore a fresh tunic and had washed.
“Good of you to join us,” Merritt said. “I assume you feel much improved at having been given the opportunity to clean up.”
There was only stiff formality in the prefect’s tone. It was suffused with neither malice nor friendliness, but instead a controlled professionalism. In his late forties, Merritt had short-cropped hair that had thinned and long since grayed. He had a large reddish scar that ran down the left side of his neck and disappeared into his tunic.
The prefect was in excellent shape and seemed a no-nonsense kind of man. There was a hardness in his manner and a distant look to his eyes that Stiger had come to associate with veterans who had seen hard times. He instantly liked the older officer.
“Yes, sir,” Stiger said. “After so long in the field, it was a welcome change.”
“I can well imagine, having been there myself upon occasion.” Merritt sucked in a deep breath. “Let’s begin, shall we?” The prefect paused a moment, as if he were gathering his thoughts. “There is undoubtedly an enemy army coming our way. In addition to Lieutenant Stiger’s report, General Treim has only recently confirmed that through intelligence from other sources. He has charged me with the defense of this fort. Furthermore, he has asked that we,” Merritt said with emphasis, “hold until the Third arrives. It is the general’s intention to bring the enemy to battle, preferably here in this valley. He does not want them to break out into open country. With any luck, the Third is expected to be here sometime tomorrow evening, perhaps a little later.” Merritt paused briefly. “Now for the bad news. Upon my request, Lieutenant Carbo sent scouts up the road in search of the enemy. They encountered advanced elements less than two miles from the edge of the forest.”
“Infantry or cavalry, sir?” Stiger asked.
Carbo stepped in. “Cavalry. A strong column too, followed closely by infantry.”
“Yes,” Merritt said. “We have to assume that the infantry represents the beginnings of the enemy’s main body.” Merritt turned to Carbo. “That means you must depart shortly, before the fort is surrounded.”
“You are leaving?” Stiger was surprised by this.
“Yes,” Carbo said in an unhappy tone. “I was instructed to deliver the general’s orders, see that the change of command was carried out, assess the situation, and report back.”
“What of the tribune?” Stiger asked, curious as to Declin’s fate. “Is he going with Carbo?”
“No,” Merritt answered with a slight frown. “Though he has been relieved, the tribune has elected to remain a few days before returning to the capital. He has not said so, but I believe he i
ntends to hold the line with us. I believe him to be an honorable man.”
Stiger understood Merritt’s meaning. The tribune was in disgrace and would likely face a trial when he returned to the capital. Fighting alongside the defenders might be a way for him to partially redeem himself.
“If you would not mind, Prefect,” Eli spoke up, drawing their attention, “I would prefer to remain also.”
“Eli,” Carbo said with a look of concern, “the general expects you to return with me.”
“I shall, in good time,” Eli said, then added a slight shrug. “But not now. Prefect, I request the honor . . . ‘honor’ is the correct word, right?” Merritt gave a nod. “Yes, I request the honor of fighting alongside you and your fine men.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of serving alongside elves.” Merritt’s stern expression cracked a little and he let slip a smile. “I welcome the services of a ranger. However, with what’s coming, I urge you to consider going with Carbo. I cannot guarantee I can hold this fort.”
“I feel I can be of better use here,” Eli said. “I will stay if you will have me.”
“Very well, then,” Merritt said. “I am honored to have one of the High Born with us. Thank you.”
“It pleases me much to fight alongside such gallant men.” Eli gave a slight bow of his head.
“Well,” Merritt said and bounced on his heels, “that’s settled. Let’s review our defenses and the challenge ahead of us.”
The prefect stepped up to the barricade. The other officers followed. Stiger placed his hands upon the top of the wall and looked over. Beneath him, at least a hundred men worked in the two trenches that stretched clear around the fort. They were busily cleaning out debris and replacing old stakes with fresh ones.
Beyond the outer trench, several men moved with large canvas bags, tossing bits of metal into the long grass. It looked as if these men were sowing caltrops. Simple yet vicious, caltrops were incredibly hard to spot. When tossed, one side of the four-headed, spiked weapon always managed to point upward. Should an unwary person step on one, it was certain to cripple.
Fort Covenant_Tales of the Seventh Page 14
