The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Your spies have always kept you better informed,” Therik said, after a slight hesitation. “I wish my spies and informers were as good.”

  “No doubt,” Brogan said. “We’ve kept the peace between our peoples, and I desire very much to continue to do so. You asked for us to come, and we have. Let us speak plainly on matters and not beat around the brush.”

  Therik looked over at Karan, who gave a slight nod. With that, Therik returned his attention to the thane.

  “It is as you say. I need your help,” Therik said simply, though it was clear the admission was a grudging one.

  Stiger suspected the king loathed being in the inferior position. Such a statement smacked of weakness.

  “I don’t speak dwarven,” Sabinus whispered, leaning close to Stiger. “What are they saying?”

  “It is probably not a bad idea to begin learning,” Stiger whispered back. “Don’t you think?”

  “I will get right on that, sir,” Sabinus said in the same hushed tone. “Do you think Theo would teach me?”

  “Father Thomas and I will explain everything later,” Stiger said. “As to Theo, I don’t see why he would say no. Ask him tonight at the feast.”

  “That I will, sir,” Sabinus said.

  “What do you want from us?” Brogan said.

  Therik hesitated and looked back over at Karan. They exchanged a few words.

  “Speak up,” Brogan continued in the same brusque tone. “I am hungry. I do not wish to sit here all evening waiting for you to get around to whatever it is you want.”

  Therik worked his jaw a moment, clearly irritated at the thane’s manner. Stiger sensed Therik had expected more courtesy than he was receiving. He noticed the orc king flex his left hand, as if he desired very badly to hit something. Stiger could guess what that something was. Karan leaned near and whispered into the king’s ear. Therik said something back that sounded harsh and jabbed a finger toward Brogan. The advisor gave a nod.

  “We wish you to help us kill the mishkathol,” Karan said, turning to Brogan. He spoke dwarven exceptionally well, in a voice made raspy by his advanced age.

  “And Castor’s High Priest,” Therik added. “That help keep peace.”

  Brogan scowled at that and looked over at Jorthan with a questioning glance.

  Playing idly with his braided beard as he studied Therik and Karan, the thane’s advisor whispered something to Brogan. The thane said something in reply. Jorthan gave a shrug and then shook his head.

  After a few moments of this back-and-forth with the thane, Jorthan responded. “I’m afraid, Karan, we do not know that word. What is a mishkathol?”

  “He means the minion,” Stiger said, having tired of the whispering games. He looked over to Brogan. “He wishes our help in killing Castor’s servant, the creature that came through the Gate before me and Father Thomas.”

  Brogan sucked in a startled breath and turned his gaze back to Therik. Clearly the thane had not expected this request from the orc king.

  “That is my desire,” Therik said, leaning forward. “Should it live, Horde return.”

  “The Horde,” Brogan said in an unhappy tone, sharing a look with Jorthan. “It has been a long time since my people faced the Horde, and never on this world.”

  “When that happens, there no holding people back.” Therik’s tone dropped slightly. “We have war.”

  “A war of a kind not seen since your peoples and ours came to this world,” Karan spoke up, with a glance that traveled from Stiger to Brogan.

  “You would kill the representative of your own god?” Father Thomas asked. “I find that most difficult to believe.”

  “He is no god of mine.” Therik pointed at Stiger. “I told him same, he who has powerful medicine.”

  Brogan turned his head to Stiger, as did Father Thomas and Jorthan. The thane’s expression turned thunderous and his jaw worked for a moment before he spoke.

  “You had talks without me present?” Brogan’s tone was low and menacing. He appeared ready to stand.

  “I was exploring the city,” Stiger explained, before hard words could be said and further accusations made. “It seems King Therik was doing the same.” Stiger slid his gaze over to Therik. “We met by chance and spoke but briefly.”

  The thane’s face became mottled with rage. Stiger could almost read his thoughts. The thane would have expected him to say something. Unfortunately, there had been no time. He had only just returned from his explorations, which was why he had been late. Brogan would not have known that. The thane likely thought Stiger was playing a game of his own.

  “What do you mean, Castor is not your god?” Father Thomas returned his attention to the orc king. The paladin cocked his head to the side. “If you would, kindly explain that to me.”

  “Castor brings suffering,” Therik said, becoming passionate. “My people know peace because of me. We build cities. We do great things. Castor wants Horde and sends his mishkathol with powerful medicine. All I have done, all my people have done . . . be blown away like leaves on the wind.”

  Brogan placed both hands in his lap. He considered the orc king. Jorthan leaned in close and whispered again to Brogan, who showed no reaction to his advisor.

  “When you say medicine,” Jorthan said, “you mean magic?”

  “Magic, power, medicine,” Karan rasped. “It is all the same.”

  Brogan was silent a moment. “Should we be the ones to kill the minion, war will still come. Your people will see us as the ones responsible. Surely they will want blood.”

  “My thane is correct. It will be the same result,” Jorthan said, “and may even prove uglier, since this is all tied to your religion.”

  “We orcs respect strength above all else.” Therik flexed a powerful arm, showing his bicep muscle. “This brute strength.” He touched a finger to the side of his head. “This thinking strength.” Therik brought his palm to his chest. “Strength of heart.”

  “How does that change things?” Jorthan asked.

  “Without minion, and high priest, people return to me,” Therik said, touching his chest again, but this time with a fist. “By killing it, you show strength and medicine of your two peoples. Chieftains have no choice but to come crawling back. I only one with strength left. They beg my mercy. Understand me?”

  “I do,” Father Thomas said. “However, I am inclined to agree with the thane. Killing the minion will leave hard feelings, especially if it is seen as an assassination.”

  “Some remain angry and want blood,” Therik said with a slight shrug of his impressive shoulders. “So?”

  “Most will accept it as your strength.” Karan sucked in a tired breath, as if the effort to breathe had suddenly become difficult. “They will not admit it, but privately they will be relieved. No one but the most devout wants the Horde.”

  Therik swung his gaze to around. “If we don’t try, war come anyway. We work together, yes? This is a threat to all our peoples.”

  “Caused by your people.” Brogan, a hostile look in his eyes, pointed a stubby finger at Therik. “Not ours.”

  “By Castor,” Therik said.

  Brogan picked up his mug and took a sip before returning it to his side.

  “How do you propose we do this?” Brogan asked in a tone that was almost insolent. “Already your tribes have begun assembling for war. The priests have called, and your people, for the most part, have willingly answered. I am told your army is thirty thousand strong and gathering around Castor’s main temple at Berke’Tah just forty miles west of Vrell. The minion is there, as is Castor’s high priest. Both are well-protected. So, tell me, Therik, how do you propose we do this?”

  Therik leaned back, eyeing the thane. “You knew of gathering and still you come?”

  “I came,” Brogan said, placing both hands upon his hips. “Yes, I came knowing ten tribes is all you have left. The rest have gone over to the priests. Your power has been severely eroded. How long will those tribes remain loyal? I fear it
is only a matter of time until you lose all of your support.”

  “Therik,” Jorthan said, “you will shortly have a choice to make if you are to hold onto your kingdom. The priests have seen to that.”

  “I have made my choice,” Therik insisted, his tone outraged, and pounded the ground before him with a fist. “I come here. I come to work with you.”

  “You have a plan?” Stiger asked Therik. He did not like Brogan’s approach, or his tone. It almost seemed as if the Brogan and Jorthan were intentionally goading the orc king into a rage. He wondered what they were up to. “If so, I wish to hear of it.”

  Therik looked over at Stiger, almost with an expression of relief. A tongue snaked out around one of his tusks and remained there a moment. “Of course I have a plan. But I still need help and your medicine.”

  “Go on,” Brogan said with a quick glance over at Stiger. The thane’s eyes narrowed. After a moment, the thane returned his gaze to Therik. “We are listening. Tell us of this plan.”

  “First, I tell you your numbers are wrong,” Therik said. “Forty thousand have joined gathering at Berke’Tah. With each day, more warriors come in from mountains. Soon there be sixty thousand gathered.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Stiger said in a hushed voice to Father Thomas.

  “Nor do I, my son.”

  “In a week’s time,” Therik continued, “there be strong raid on your valley.”

  Stiger sat up straighter, eyes narrowing, as his thoughts immediately went to Sarai.

  “Is meant to provoke you into war,” Therik continued. “Cetrite, high priest, means to unite tribes in a holy battle upon both of your peoples. Raid draws your”—Therik pointed to Brogan—“army out onto the surface, where it be exposed. There it be destroyed. After, everything is for taking. Cetrite has promised clans your rich valley, but also your city, and both castles.”

  “How do you know my army is even assembling?” Brogan asked.

  “Please,” Therik said, waving a hand of dismissal. “You are not only one who hears things. You know we gather our army. So, you gather your army. We have informers and spies, too, Brogan. Your army is on march. I know this as true and so does Cetrite. Do not bring shame and deny it.”

  Stiger shot a glance over to the thane. Brogan appeared none too happy with Therik’s revelation.

  “You are forgetting the legion,” Stiger said.

  “No, I am not.” Therik turned his gaze upon Stiger. “During raid, legion be attacked with many warriors. No hope for you humans. This way, Cetrite keeps your army from coming together with Brogan’s army.”

  Stiger didn’t like the sound of that either. He leaned back, thinking. They had to get warning back to the valley before it was too late. He glanced over at Brogan and caught Jorthan’s eye. Clearly the advisor was thinking the same thing. Messengers would have to be sent as soon as possible.

  “I still do not hear of this plan,” Brogan said. The thane’s tone was heavily laced with irritation. “Tell me of it or stop wasting my time.”

  Stiger felt himself frown slightly, the scar on his cheek pulling tight. Why was Brogan being so belligerent?

  Therik’s fist clenched again, clearly angered. “Forkham Valley.”

  “What of it?” Stiger asked, a chill coming over him as he recalled the desperate rescue he had led, battling Castor’s priests, their magic, and the dark temple dedicated to Castor. He had seen good people sacrificed to Castor. It had left him sickened, a sight he knew he would carry to his grave.

  “Cetrite be visiting temple there,” Therik said. “It is to be same time as raid on valley. Where Cetrite goes, minion follows. They never part. They go to place honor on temple to Castor and offer blood sacrifices for war.”

  “Go on,” Brogan said.

  “During big raid on valley, there is opportunity to strike.” Therik paused to suck in a breath and turned his gaze fully on the thane. “Brogan, my allies are few. I”—Therik tapped his chest—“can guide a small group into valley through secret tunnels to minion at temple. I have warriors I trust to do this, but not many. With your warriors and mine, we stand a chance of success.” Therik pointed at Stiger. “He must go, too.”

  “Why him?” Brogan asked, eyes narrowing as he shot Stiger a look of suspicion.

  “Him strong with medicine,” Therik said simply.

  Brogan frowned as he glanced over at Stiger.

  “To have survived a mishkathol,” Karan said, “he would have great medicine at hand. There is no other way.”

  “Castor fears him,” Therik continued. “There be bounty upon his ears and head. It worth much, very much.”

  “He,” Karan added, “fought a mishkathol, and survived. That is why he is feared. That is why he is wanted dead.”

  Brogan and Jorthan looked over at Stiger in apparent shock. Stiger’s eyes went from Karan to Therik. The last bit had not surprised him. He knew Castor wanted him dead. However, he was alarmed by what Therik was asking of him.

  He felt the sword’s interest in the conversation grow. Pangs of its terrible hunger began to stir at the prospect of facing the minion and Castor’s priests.

  “How do I know this is not a trap?” Stiger said.

  He was fairly certain it wasn’t but wanted to hear the answer anyway. Stiger felt Therik was being open and honest, but he still had some lingering doubt. After all, the king was an orc, and therefore the enemy. It was possible Therik had been intentionally sent here to lure him out and into Castor’s lair. Perhaps by doing so, the orc king was proving his loyalty to Castor. Stiger studied Therik for a long moment. If he was being set up, then the orc king was a fine actor.

  “You don’t,” Therik answered Stiger, then directed his gaze at Brogan. “You know me. We have treated fairly with each other for many years.” Therik clasped both hands together. “We have built trust. Refuse me and I be forced to go over to Castor. I no more than puppet king. Trust in me.”

  “Our kingdom will be lost,” Karan said, voice so raspy with age it cracked slightly, “and yours will be in peril and next to the chopping block.”

  Brogan leaned back, stroking his beard as he contemplated Therik across the fire, which cracked and popped. A slight breeze stirred the flames and swirled the smoke. The arrogance that he had displayed was gone. He shared another look with Jorthan, whispering something to his advisor. Jorthan said something back, to which Brogan gave a shallow nod.

  “We will discuss your proposal,” Brogan said. “In the morning we will give you our answer.”

  “I expect nothing less,” Therik said and stood. He offered a hand to Karan and helped the old orc to his feet. Everyone else got up as well.

  “When you say yes,” Therik said, “we discuss plan serious-like.”

  “If we say yes,” Brogan said.

  “You will. We meet back here in two hours to feast under moon,” Therik continued. “Make sure you bring the spirits and discuss this not with those I brought. I trust them less with each day. One of them may try to sell me to priests.”

  “We will keep this amongst ourselves,” Jorthan said.

  With that, the king of the orcs turned his back and left, stalking off the way he had come. Karan gave a slight bow of his head to Jorthan before following after his king. The elderly orc walked stiffly and slowly off.

  “What do you think?” Brogan asked Jorthan as Stiger, Father Thomas, and Sabinus stepped over to the thane. “Do you think he speaks truth? Is it possible he is willing to turn on his god?”

  “It has to be a trap,” Jorthan said with a disappointed look at Karan’s back. “Their plan is reckless, and risky, My Thane. I am almost certain Therik has been put up to this by the priesthood. I would advise against any consideration of accepting his proposal. We should continue as we had planned.”

  Stoking his beard, Brogan looked over to the paladin, clearly seeking his input.

  Father Thomas hesitated. “Therik strikes me as desperate.”

  “That he
is,” Jorthan said.

  “His plan may be reckless,” Father Thomas said, “but I suspect his motives are honest. He stands to lose all and will do anything to keep what he has. I believe he speaks truth.”

  “My thoughts as well,” Brogan said, then turned to Stiger. “And you? What are your thoughts?”

  “I don’t like the thought of going into a dark temple on this raid of his,” Stiger said, “but for it to be successful, both Father Thomas and I will need to go . . .”

  “You can’t tell me you are considering his mad plan?” Jorthan said angrily, looking between Stiger and Brogan. “Even if they are being truthful, one way or another it is a suicide mission. Whoever we send will stand little chance of returning, even if you do manage to kill the minion and Castor’s high priest.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sabinus asked Stiger, having not been able to follow the conversation.

  Stiger explained, quickly bringing Sabinus up to date.

  Brogan switched to common so Sabinus could understand. “We send a small force with Therik. Risk a few. Should it prove successful, we will save many.” Brogan paused and addressed himself to Jorthan. “It may be worth it to see what happens.”

  “You are not the one risking your skin, though, are you?” Sabinus jerked a thumb at Stiger and Father Thomas. “They will be.”

  “You dare question my legend?” Brogan’s tone increased in volume and he took a half step toward the centurion, who held his ground. “I will stick your head on a pike for your insolence, human dog. How dare you speak to me like that? I am thane!”

  Stiger was about to intercede when Jorthan spoke.

  “He does have a point, My Thane,” Jorthan said, with an overly loud chuckle. “Those going will be at significant peril.”

  Brogan shot Jorthan a hostile look, as if his advisor was interfering where he ought not.

  Jorthan ignored it and continued. “They must journey into hostile lands and sneak into a dark temple. Once they accomplish that feat, they will confront not only a high priest who wields magic—or, as Therik says, medicine—but also a powerful servant of Castor, the minion.”