The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Diving the last few feet, Stiger threw himself behind the thickest tree he could find as yet another arrow thunked into its wooden bark on the opposite side. Breathing heavily, he glanced around and saw his sword in its scabbard where he’d left it just three feet away and leaning against a tree. Stiger risked a glance out. He saw movement in the brush on the other side of the pond, but nothing more. He could not see who the attackers were, but it was clear there was more than one, if not many.

  Theo crashed down behind a tree a few feet away, completely soaked and wide-eyed.

  “Who in the great fiery caverns are they?” Theo glanced out from behind the tree. “By my beard, that was a close thing.”

  Stiger glanced over at the dwarf. Theo was uninjured. He looked back toward the far bank of the pond. Dog, standing on the rocks, continued to bark madly. Amongst the trees behind him, the dwarves were calling to each other, readying themselves. There were no more arrows, which meant the attackers had either fled or were coming to attack. Stiger leaned toward the latter.

  A strange, inarticulate battle cry sounded off to his right. Stiger’s head snapped around. Whatever was happening was concealed by the brush and trees. He heard the ringing clash of arms.

  It drove him to action. Stiger made a sprint for his sword, running out into the open, hoping no more arrows came his way. His hand closed on the pommel. It was the first time he had drawn the sword since he had stepped through the World Gate weeks before. The familiar electric tingle ran from his fingers and palm right up his arm and into his being.

  The power of the sword surged and for a moment time seemed to slow. Stiger sucked in a breath and let it out. The action seemed to take an eternity. A falling leaf caught his eye. It floated with an incredible sluggishness toward the forest floor.

  Then, with a near audible snap, the world began moving again at its normal speed. The sound of the fighting had spread out and Stiger remembered he was standing in the open. With a flick of his arm he threw the scabbard off. The exposed blade exploded into brilliant blue fire that roared silently, with tongues of blue flame licking at the air.

  Stiger turned to his left. The fighting there sounded closer. Amongst the greenery, the backs of two of his guards were barely visible, flashes of sunlight reflected from their armor. He moved in their direction and emerged to find the two dwarves locked in combat with five opponents fighting amongst waist-high brush.

  Orcs.

  What were they doing here?

  Stiger at first was shocked to see them. He hesitated a moment, faltering. And then with a sudden clarity he recalled the vision the sword had shown him of the battle fought against an army of orcs, of Delvaris defeating the minion at the cost of his own life. Realization slammed home. The killing of Delvaris had changed nothing in this time, not the events already in motion. The orcs were still coming to take the valley. These must be advance scouts.

  Stiger studied the fight before him. The orcs wore black leather armor with brown pants, and were essentially light infantry. They wielded long, wicked-looking swords that had a slight curve for slashing rather than jabbing. They carried no shields. Bows were slung across their backs, as were light packs. This reinforced his feeling they were in all probability scouts.

  The dwarves, on the other hand, had come armed to the teeth and heavily armored by comparison. Though outnumbered, this difference in kit was not inconsiderable, and they were managing to hold their own—just barely. The body of an orc lay twitching on the ground as the five attackers moved around the two dwarves with the intent of surrounding and overwhelming them. An injured orc was attempting to crawl away from the fight, dragging a long tangle of intestines after him, some of which had caught amongst the brush.

  Stiger’s anger at himself for not realizing that the orcs were still coming for the valley and the surprise of their attack exploded into a thundering rage. The frustration of his failure and everything that had occurred since he had arrived through the World Gate came to the surface. The sword flared brilliantly and throbbed in his hand, its power screaming for release.

  Roaring his rage for all to hear, he charged forward at the nearest orc, which had turned to face him. The creature’s eyes narrowed. The orc took a step back to gain room, and then another, bringing its sword down to strike at him as it did so. Stiger brought his up. When the two blades met there was a terrific flash, followed by an audible crack. The orc’s sword shattered to bits, the pieces hitting Stiger’s chest, stomach, and leg.

  The orc stared stupidly at the stump of the sword. Before it could react and recover from the shock, Stiger jabbed forward and into his opponent’s chest. There was an awful sizzling sound as the sword slipped in with ease, as if Stiger were cutting butter with a hot knife. The hilt of his sword warmed in his hand as the orc’s eyes immediately glazed over and a final breath escaped from its lips.

  Stiger shoved his opponent roughly back and off his sword as another orc turned to face him. The sword came away bloody, but that changed as the greenish blood bubbled and boiled away into a black smoke. Stiger faced the new threat and dropped into a combat stance.

  His opponent’s eyes went from Stiger’s face to the sword and back. Stiger saw a grim determination steal over in the other’s look. Without understanding how, he knew instinctually that this was no mere scouting party. They had come specifically for him. The orc advanced. It bared its tusks at him and tossed its sword from hand to hand as it closed the distance. It was an attempt to confuse Stiger as to which side the first strike would come from.

  I hunger for its soul, the sword hissed. Take it and we become stronger, more powerful, unstoppable.

  Encouraged, Stiger took a step forward to meet his enemy, an unaccustomed eagerness driving him to the killing. He felt his scar along his cheek pull tight as a grin formed on his face. He took another step, hungry for the orc’s death, its promised soul.

  There was a sudden flash of gray as something large shot by Stiger’s face, literally flying through the air. The surprise of it stopped him in his tracks and he blinked. Dog, jaws open, slammed into the orc, knocking him backwards and into a big bush. Down in a tumble they went, Dog growling like a wild animal, powerful jaws snapping, teeth ripping. The tumble ended with the orc on his back and Dog on top. The orc screamed in fear.

  Shocked, Stiger’s anger fled in a flash. He watched in horrified fascination as Dog, with one snap of his jaws, tore the orc’s throat clean open, exposing spinal bone and abruptly cutting off the scream. Blood sprayed across Dog’s fur and into the air in a sickening arc before rapidly ceasing. The orc went limp.

  To Stiger’s immediate right, one of the dwarves wielding a battle axe buried it deeply in the chest of an orc he was facing. The orc roared in pain and it snapped Stiger back into the fight and away from Dog. He turned as the other dwarf went down, bodily knocked over by a large orc. The orc, standing over the struggling dwarf, raised his sword for a finishing strike.

  Stiger stepped forward and used his sword to block the killing blow. Their swords met with a powerful clang. The enemy’s sword did not shatter. Stiger’s sword still glowed, but it had lost the blazing blue fire it had at the beginning of the fight.

  He felt the blow communicated to his hand, which tingled a bit. He gripped the hilt tighter and jabbed forward. The orc jumped back to avoid the strike and swung his long sword in a slashing attack aimed for Stiger’s neck. Stiger danced to the side and brought his sword back up and neatly blocked the strike. The orc kicked out with a booted foot. It connected painfully with Stiger’s side, sending him reeling several steps back.

  With a savage roar, the orc pushed forward to continue his attack. Stiger managed to block another strike, his hand aching painfully from the repeated blows. Dog leapt onto the orc’s back, taking it to the ground, jaws snapping closed on the left shoulder, teeth sinking deeply. The orc screamed in maddened pain and attempted to shake the animal off. Dog held on and shook his head, tearing skin and shredding muscle.

&nb
sp; Stiger took the opportunity and drove his sword into the creature’s back. The sword sizzled once again and Stiger felt the hilt grow warm in his hand. The warmth seemed to flow up his arm. The creature collapsed to the ground, twitched once, and died.

  The immediate action around them ended as the dwarf still on his feet dispatched the last opponent. Stiger could still hear fighting off to the right. It was concealed by the trees and brush. Stiger looked down at Dog. The animal appeared very different than the sad-looking thing that had been hanging about the farm, following him around like a lost soul in search of a friend.

  The dog, though the same size, seemed somehow larger, fiercer. There was a ferocious look in its eyes as it gazed up at him. Orcish blood stained the fur around its mouth and chest. Perhaps, he was just seeing Dog with new eyes. Maybe it had always been a killer.

  “Good boy,” Stiger said, breathing heavily from the exertion of the fight. He hesitated, then reached down a careful hand, patting the animal’s head. “Good boy.”

  The intense gaze softened and the tail gave an enthusiastic wag.

  There was an agonized cry through the trees where the fighting was still going on. The dog’s head snapped around and it bounded off, quickly lost from sight. Stiger glanced over at the dwarf who was still standing. The warrior gave him a nod and bent down to help up his comrade, who had been having trouble getting to his feet due to the weight of his armor. Stiger returned the nod and headed toward the fighting.

  He pushed his way through the brush. The fight ahead sounded quite spirited. The forest was filled with dwarven oaths and cries of alarm and rage. Stiger heard the orc tongue mixed in with the sound of weapon on weapon. Then Dog was amongst them, barking and growling viciously.

  A few heartbeats later, Stiger pushed through a thick bush and emerged into a scene of chaos. There were orcs all around, too many to count. Five dwarves struggled mightily to fend them off. There were several bodies already down on the ground, all enemy. As Stiger cleared the brush, he saw Dog take another to the ground, jaws snapping and working as the animal tore flesh and muscle from an arm.

  Theo was a few feet to his left, tightly engaged by two orcs. Unlike the others, Theo had come in only his tunic. He had not been on duty, but had still carried a sword. The dwarf fought with no less intensity than the others. Stiger rushed to his aid, attacking one of the orcs pressing Theo. He stabbed deeply into the back of the creature’s thigh. The sword punched clean through the muscle, the tip emerging from the other side. He must’ve hit an artery, for a gush of greenish blood poured out, down the leg, and onto the ground as he drew his blade back. The sword came away coated in blood and bits of skin. As it fell to the ground, mortally wounded, the orc dropped its weapon and gripped its leg. To be sure, Stiger followed up with a strike to the unguarded belly. The orc grunted as the blade went in and roared in pain before choking as blood poured from its mouth.

  There was no time to wonder why the sword had not sizzled or killed the orc outright. The intensity of its glow had faded, now barely perceptible.

  An orc came crashing through the brush, rushing him. Stiger brought his sword up to block the slashing blow swinging down toward his head and at the last moment dodged to the right and into the orc’s path, at the same time bringing his sword around, point up. The orc’s sword whistled through empty space a half heartbeat before the two of them crashed violently together. Stiger’s sword plunged deeply into the other’s belly, easily penetrating the hardened leather armor. The orc grunted. Hot blood poured over Stiger’s hand and arm.

  The force of the impact drove Stiger to the ground, the weight of his enemy hammering his shoulder painfully into the forest floor. The creature’s momentum carried the orc forward, over and beyond him. Its head smacked against the trunk of a tree with a deep, hollow-sounding thunk.

  A little dazed, Stiger rolled painfully onto all fours. He looked for his opponent.

  The orc was unmoving.

  Stiger had lost his sword. He stood, a little wobbly at first, then looked around for his weapon. He did not see it and figured it was likely under the orc he had just taken down. The desperate fight was still raging unabated. There was no time to roll the creature over or hunt for the sword. To do so might expose him to attack. He bent down and picked up a thick stick, really a branch, at least three inches around and four feet long. Theo was closely engaged just a few feet away. The orc had its back to him. Stiger moved forward, stepping around a thick prickly bush and taking aim, slammed the stick into the back of the creature’s head. The blow was so powerful that the stick broke upon impact. The orc went down without a sound.

  “Thank you,” Theo said between breaths and glanced down at the unmoving orc, “for that.”

  The two dwarves that Stiger and Dog had helped emerged from the brush and joined the fight. Shouting battle cries in their own tongue, they came on. One lowered his head and charged, striking the back of an orc with his helmet. The creature gave an umff and fell forward to the ground, the breath having gone from its lungs. The dwarf calmly raised his battle axe and swung downward at the neck, almost taking the head off with the strike.

  Stiger glanced around, looking for an opponent. Where moments before there had been lots of the enemy, now there were only a handful. There was a shout from one of the orcs. The call was repeated and with that, they turned as one and fled into the trees.

  An injured orc tried to flee with the others but could only manage a slow hobble, painfully dragging its wounded left leg. A dwarf with a battle hammer stepped up behind him and swung, smashing the creature to the ground with a powerful blow. The orc lay still, its back half caved in where the blow had landed. The dwarf spit on his dead enemy for good measure.

  “Cowards!” Theo yelled at them. “Come back and let’s finish this!”

  A severed forearm in his mouth, Dog looked up at the fleeing orcs, who were disappearing into the trees and brush. He dropped the arm and bounded after them, barking madly, and was quickly lost from view as he plunged through the brush. A moment later there was an agonized cry, and a deep thud as a body crashed to the ground somewhere off in the trees, followed by growling and the terrified screams of Dog’s latest quarry.

  “I must admit it, I like that dog,” Theo said to Stiger, gulping air and struggling to catch his breath. “No matter what you say, he is a hunter, that one. I think Sarai is right. You should keep him.”

  Stiger gave an absent nod. The dog’s sudden ferocity had certainly been surprising. A moment later, he thought of the combatants and glanced around at the dwarves. A dwarf to his left finished off a wounded orc with a quick stab to the throat. The orc choked for several moments as green blood fountained up into the air. Then the creature went limp and the flow of blood ceased.

  “Is anyone hurt?” Stiger asked them in dwarven.

  The dwarves checked themselves over. A number shook their heads or replied no.

  “I am,” Theo remarked, with some surprise. He was glancing down at his leg where there was a shallow cut around four inches long.

  “That will need to be cleaned out.” Stiger bent down to examine the wound. “And, I am afraid, stitched up.”

  “You should have worn your armor,” one of the dwarves said to Theo.

  “That’s just like Theogdin,” another dwarf said, with a deep chuckle, “always doing things the hard way.”

  “It was more fun without it,” Theo said, and pounded his chest with a fist. “I gain much legend from this!”

  Stiger looked in the direction of the pond, wondering if the archers were still there. He and the dwarves were concealed by the brush and trees, but that did not mean they were safe. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind. The orcs had come for him. With that thought, the anger returned.

  Yes, the sword hissed in his mind, feel the anger mount . . . grow . . . feel it, embrace it.

  Stiger almost jumped. He looked around for the weapon with more than a little concern. A scream rang out from amongst the tre
es, followed by shouts. Stiger’s head came up. Dog had clearly taken down another.

  The realization that the orcs had come to assassinate him rekindled his fury. All he wanted was to be left alone, but they had come for him. How dare they? Worse, he knew they were coming for the valley, and that not only threatened Sarai but his planned future with her.

  Stiger found his weapon under the body of the orc he had killed. It took some effort to roll the creature off it. Taking it in hand, the sword began to glow softly again.

  “Once a killer,” Stiger said to himself unhappily, his eyes on the glowing blade, “always a killer.”

  “What was that?” Theo asked, looking over at him.

  “Nothing,” Stiger said, taking a step toward where Dog had disappeared. “We need to clear the area around the pond to make sure they are truly fleeing and not regrouping.”

  “No,” one of the dwarves said. Stiger could not recall his name but knew he was the equivalent of a corporal and currently in charge of the guard detail. “My orders are to keep you safe. We return to the farm.”

  Stiger looked at the dwarf for a moment and considered refusing. Would they actually try to stop him? Could they? Once in the trees, he could easily disappear. Eli had trained him to conceal himself when needed and move through the forest like a ghost. Once free of them, he could hunt the enemy as Dog was doing now.

  “I too would like to track them down,” Theo said, before Stiger could reply, “but our duty is clear. The attack has been stopped and legend satisfied. We must get you back to the farm where we can better protect you and Sarai.” Theo gazed at him meaningfully.

  Stiger looked beyond Theo and into the trees where the orcs had fled. A long, hungry howl from Dog sent shivers up his spine. From the looks of the others, Stiger understood they felt the same. Though he longed to join the chase, and the anger coursing through him almost demanded it, reason won out . . . as did his concern for Sarai. He swallowed, forcing the rage back down.