The Tiger (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 2)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “They are a subjugated people,” Eli explained sadly and with some hesitation as if carefully picking his words. “The equivalents of slaves, forced to fight for the Cyphan Confederacy. Thinking themselves the last of their people, they had no idea that other elves live free.”

  “How does that change things?” Stiger asked, eying the new elves critically.

  “We would like the honor to fight alongside our brother,” Taha’Leeth said in broken common, nodding in a nonhuman sort of way toward Eli. Stiger found her accent appealing.

  “You are rebelling? Against the Cyphan? Is that it?” Ikely asked, eyebrows raised.

  “Yes,” she replied, her eyes flashing as she gave the lieutenant a sharp glance. “We will no longer fight for the overlords, not while we can live free like our brother.”

  “I see,” Ikely said.

  “Your empire recognizes my brother’s people?” Taha’Leeth asked turning back to Stiger.

  “We do.”

  “My brother’s people live free?” she pressed, eyeing the captain carefully.

  Stiger nodded in confirmation.

  “Won’t your people at home suffer?” Stiger was wondering if this was somehow a trick of the enemy. Eli seemed to believe her and she appeared sincere enough that he understood this was in all actuality no lie, blind or charade.

  “They will bring their people north,” Eli explained, as if it were as simple as that. “I could say no more before now for fear that word would reach the enemy. I hope you understand.”

  Stiger blinked in surprise at the explanation, realizing that Eli had considered this information so vital he could not even trust it with him.

  Then it hit Stiger. Eli was talking about moving an entire people north to elven lands. A move across half of the world! Looking at Taha’Leeth, the captain wondered how numerous her people were and how difficult a task that would be.

  “Can they do it?” Stiger asked, recovering from his astonishment.

  “We are the High Born,” Taha’Leeth said confidently.

  Stiger almost smiled at her. If anyone could accomplish something impossible, it would be an elf.

  “At the moment, her people offer us their assistance in the fight against our enemy. Currently, it is just her and two other rangers,” Eli explained. “The rest have gone home. Once they see to their people, they will send more to join our cause.”

  “I see,” Stiger said, studying Taha’Leeth, wondering about her age. Like every other elven woman he had ever met, she had that ageless look that made her appear no older than her early twenties. Despite her youthful looks, he knew she could be twice Eli’s age.

  Her eyes were captivatingly deep. As if being drawn in, he began to lose himself to her beauty, which tugged heavily at his heart. He found himself irrationally desiring nothing more than to please her, to grant her every wish, to protect her and her people from harm.

  POWER, a voice roared in Stiger’s head and with it came a feeling as if he had been plunged abruptly into an icy bath. The pull and depth of Taha’Leeth’s beauty lessened, then faded enough so that Stiger shook his head in confusion and was able to break eye contact. He felt a slight headache and rubbed at his tired eyes. When he looked back up, he saw what he took for surprise in her eyes. Then it hit him and he shot a glance over at his sword, which was still sheathed in its scabbard! It was resting where he had left it, leaning against the stump he had been sitting on. The sword had spoken again.

  This one has power. Old power…old…power…

  Stiger abruptly grinned, despite the shock that the sword had spoken. He realized that she had tried to put a glamour on him and the sword had somehow broken the charm. When Stiger had lived with the elves, some of the girls had played similar tricks upon him, twisting his heart cruelly for their own amusement. He had been helpless to their torments. They had continued to do so until Eli had discovered their game and put a stop to it.

  “Enough of that nonsense,” he said lightly. Eli had brought them here and had, in a way, vouched for them. “If I accept you and your people, you will not play such games with me and my men. If you do, I will know you for an enemy and I will kill you myself.”

  One of the elves with Taha’Leeth stepped forward, hand going for his sword, until she sent him back to his place with a simple look. She turned back to the captain and considered him for a moment with unfathomable eyes, tilting her head as she did so, reddish hair cascading past her shoulders.

  “It was a mistake to try to win you over in such a way,” she said quietly, looking down to the ground. Stiger recognized it as a rare apology from an elf to one who was considered an inferior being. It was all he was likely to get. “We will attempt no such guile with you or your men. I swear that upon my house.”

  Stiger was silent a moment. He knew that swearing against one’s house was rarely done. He glanced over at Eli, who had an inscrutable look. Stiger realized that Eli was obviously wondering how he had broken the glamour. Stiger shrugged as if to say guess how. It was about time he dealt Eli a surprise or two.

  “I would recommend accepting their offer,” Eli said after a moment. “You could do worse for allies. That is, if you wish my opinion on the matter.”

  “Seetha’sha da sotha lo,” Stiger said, in what he knew was poor elven… I would be honored to have your people at my side.

  Taha’Leeth’s flat countenance gave way to a dazzling closed-mouthed smile and Stiger realized she had feared he would reject her offer. So genuine was her smile that he could not help grinning back.

  “Sir!” A legionary approached at a trot, armor jingling. He stopped cold when he saw the three strange elves. The legionary’s hand went for his blade and then he saw Eli and hesitated.

  “It’s all right,” Stiger reassured the man. “They are friends.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, relieved, then remembered himself, braced to attention and offered a salute. “Sir, Lieutenant Brent requests your immediate presence.”

  “Please advise the lieutenant I will be there shortly,” Stiger said.

  “Sir.” The legionary hesitated nervously. “He said to bring you straight away, sir. Urgent, sir.”

  “All right,” Stiger said, a sinking feeling in his stomach. It could only mean one thing. The enemy was closer than he thought. He grabbed his sword and once again felt that strange tingle that came and went so fast he was not sure it had occurred. He glanced down at the sword and considered it for a fraction of a second before he secured it in place. As Braddock had said, it was a powerful artifact.

  What else is it capable of?

  He turned to the others. “I will be back shortly. Ikely, please remain here so that no one else is unduly alarmed by the presence of our new allies. Eli, with me.”

  Stiger then followed the legionary across the camp to the fortified line, on which several sentries patrolled. He found Brent near the road directly to the center of the fortification, where the gate was located, allowing access to the road away from Vrell. The reserve file had been called out. Several members held torches, which guttered under a cold breeze. They were standing guard around three figures.

  “We have visitors,” Brent announced, striding over to them. “One of them is that dwarf Garrack.” The lieutenant recognized Eli and broke out into a large smile. “Eli! You are alive!”

  “It would seem so,” Eli grinned back. Stiger suspected his friend was enjoying the experience of miraculously returning from the dead.

  “What about them?” Stiger asked with a nod, drawing Brent’s attention back to the group.

  “Ah, yes, sir,” Brent said, grinning momentarily at Eli before becoming serious again. “The other two are human, wearing old style legionary officers’ kit. They asked to speak to the Legate, sir. Ah, specifically you, sir…well…” Brent’s words trailed off.

  “Well what?” Stiger asked. He had already had far too many surprises for one evening and was in no mood for any more.

  “One of them is speaking the ol
d tongue, sir,” Brent said.

  Stiger looked at the lieutenant. For the masses, the old tongue was rarely spoken, as it had mostly died out in favor of common. Only the nobles, clinging to tradition, still bothered with the old tongue. The language was primarily spoken while the senate was in session and exclusively at court. Beyond that, it was rarely, if ever, used or taught to anyone of lower birth.

  “Sir, he is speaking Lingua Romano,” Brent said, keeping his voice down. They were several feet away.

  “The Roman tongue?” Stiger asked in surprise. There were several variations of the old tongue, Lingua Romano being the oldest and most pure. It dated back to a time of legend, before even the founding of the empire.

  “He claims he is Titus Pontius Sabinus, Primus Pilus, First Cohort of the 13th Legion! The other says he is Severus Ash Vargus, Centurion, Second Cohort of the 13th and Councilman of the Valley.”

  “What?” Stiger asked sharply. The 13th existed in name only. Not only that, the old cohort system had been abolished over two hundred years prior during Emperor Midiuses’s reforms of the legions. “Are you serious?”

  “They are, at any rate,” Brent breathed, glancing back toward Sabinus, Vargus and Garrack, who were still surrounded by the watchful eye of the reserve file.

  “Best speak with them then,” the captain said after a moment. He stepped around Brent and approached. Sergeant Ranl was there too. He gave the captain a wary look as the men stepped aside for their captain.

  Sabinus and Vargus both had the bearing of hard-bitten, battle-scarred veterans. Though their kit was archaic, like General Delvaris’s, the two wore their outfits like a second skin. Stiger had no doubt the men before him, no matter how fantastical their claim, were somehow genuine.

  Sabinus and Vargus snapped to attention and offered a crisp salute. The eyes of the two centurions ran over him. It felt like he was being evaluated and measured. Stiger met their querying expressions with a countenance of steel.

  “What do you want?”

  “Legate Stiger,” Sabinus said stiffly and formally in the old tongue. “Centurion Titus Pontius Sabinus and Severus Ash Vargus reporting for duty.”

  Stiger glanced with a questioning look over at the dwarf.

  “Legate,” Garrack greeted gruffly in heavily accented common and handed Stiger two scrolls he had been holding. “I have a letter from your emperor, well, a previous emperor and another from your blood relation, Legate Delvaris.”

  Stiger looked down at the two scrolls, at a loss for words. Both were sealed, one with the Delvaris family crest and the other with the imperial seal. The scrolls had the feeling of great age to them.

  “I have dun me duty and unsealed vault of the 13th as foretold by Oracle and pledged by my family,” Garrack said solemnly in his broken common. “I expect ‘dem scrolls should answer many of your questions.”

  Stiger carefully broke open the seal on the imperial scroll first and tilted it toward the torchlight. He could not see clearly enough, so he jerked his head at one of the legionaries with a torch. The man quickly stepped forward and offered his light. Stiger began to read. As he read, he eyes grew wide at the contents and his hands began to shake slightly. He glanced over at Garrack, Sabinus and Vargus briefly with a questioning look that rapidly grew to one of shock and awe as he read further.

  “I apologize for our late arrival sir,” Sabinus said. “We got here just as soon as we could. Unfortunately, Third Cohort is still forming, but they should be ready in a week.”

  “You knew of this?” Stiger, looking from Sabinus over to Garrack, handed the scroll to Eli, who began reading. The captain’s voice was a near whisper. He was almost afraid to open the second scroll. The surprise at finding Eli alive and well was nothing compared to the contents of the scroll he had just read.

  If it was to be believed, he had been appointed to command the 13th Legion. The scroll, signed and sealed by Emperor Atticus, stated the conditions required for such an appointment. The man destined to command the 13th had to be a serving legionary officer, and the descendent of Delvaris who freed the 13th’s Eagle. Only that nameless individual could be appointed commander of the 13th. Stiger had met those conditions, which meant the late Emperor Atticus’s decree made over three hundred years ago promoted him to Legate, a position which no longer existed amongst the modern legions. Surely the current emperor would countermand such an appointment, yet the scroll added that the current emperor would be aware of the pending appointment and would be bound to honor it until such a time came that the prophecy was fulfilled.

  How could this be? What prophecy? Stiger asked himself in dismay, struggling to maintain a stony-faced exterior. He looked over at Garrack with a questioning look. He had so many questions but did not know where to start.

  “Yes…is true…you now Legate,” Garrack affirmed, a broad smile blossoming on his brutish features. He pointed a finger at Stiger and wagged it. “With small force, you fight like tiger. Just wait. Together we kill many enemies. We grow our legend. Cyphan Confederacy no more when we done.”

  Stiger glanced at Eli, who had finished reading the scroll. The elf, whom nothing ever appeared to surprise, looked astonished.

  “Part of the 13th still serves?” Eli asked of Stiger. “With two additional cohorts maintained by the valley. How is that possible?”

  Stiger shook his head and then took the scroll back. He reread it once again to be certain he had not misunderstood its contents. He looked up at Sabinus. He was not even sure what to say. He was about to break the seal on the second scroll when his attention was drawn away.

  “We,” Sabinus said and jerked his thumb behind him into the darkness and beyond the fortification, “await your orders, Legate.”

  Stiger looked and saw nothing. Then, gradually he began to hear it, at first softly and then louder. The sound grew as it neared. Stiger had heard it many times before. It was the steady tread of many sandaled feet.

  “I believe the term is ‘gods blessed,’” Eli said with a grin directed at Stiger. “The gods have plans for you. There is no denying it now.”

  As the sound of marching drew nearer, a legionary horn blared, shattering the night and then Stiger’s eyes went wide at the sight of what emerged from out of the darkness.

  Epilogue

  GENERAL TREIM STEPPED out onto the grand balcony of the king’s palace. The balcony provided an impressive view. He could easily see the greatest city in the North laid out before him. It had been burning for three days, ever since its fall. His eyes watered from the smoke as he moved to the marble railing and looked down. The stench of smoke and death caused him to wrinkle his nose, but he did not shy away. The view represented suffering, anguish and despair beyond measure. But it also represented victory and triumph. Victory or despair and suffering, it all depended upon your viewpoint.

  The palace was perched on a large hill, affording the general an excellent view of his recent and final conquest. The looting, rape and pillaging had been stopped after the first twelve hours and still the city burned. Lines of newly-made slaves could be seen snaking their way out of the city and into a life of captivity and servitude. Most of the males would be sent to the mines, with a handful selected for gladiator school. The more educated ones would be sold as tutors, accountants and into other such skilled professions. The women would end up in service-oriented work or the pleasure houses. Children would be separated from their parents and taught a trade. All would spend the remainder of their lives toiling in one manner or another for the glory and greater good of the empire.

  The general’s aides had estimated that they had taken nearly two hundred thousand slaves. Though he was already wealthy, his cut of the spoils would make him one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the empire. The thought did not elate or excite him. To Treim, it was only a fact, nothing more. He had done his duty and as such, it was his due.

  It had taken six legions and an allied army more than ten years of heavy fighting, but it had finally b
een done. The Rivan were no more. The former kingdom was now destined to become an imperial province. The land would be parceled out by the emperor to deserving nobles, who in turn would sell it to settlers, speculators and investors. A portion would also be set aside for legionary retirement colonies. In short, the fall of the Kingdom of the Rivan would enrich the empire greatly, both in plunder and land.

  The general placed his hands upon his hips. He was satisfied. His time commanding armies was finally at an end. He had served the empire well and now looked forward to a long, quiet retirement. He would be able to afford to spend his time alternating between the senate and his peaceful estate on the outskirts of Mal’Zeel. He had already written to the emperor expressing his desire to retire.

  General Treim expected he would enjoy looking after his lands while occasionally helping to shape future imperial policy in the senate. More than anything, he looked forward to spending the days with his wife and three children, all of whom he had not seen in more than two years. He was also looking forward to the Ovation that was now his due.

  “Sir.” Colonel Aetius hurried out onto the balcony. The colonel’s face was covered in ash and he appeared distraught. He had been placed in charge of extinguishing the fires and had been hard at it. All available hands, save for the newly-minted slaves, had been put to the task. This was not being done to preserve the city, but to save the loot that would be taken back to the empire. It included any and all precious metals, jewels and jewelry, art, furniture, tools…anything and everything that could be sold or had a value. Only after everything was salvaged would the final destruction of the city begin. The emperor had decreed that nothing would be permitted to stand, not a building or a wall. Everything was to be razed. A sad ending to a city that had rivaled Mal’Zeel in wealth and power for more than a thousand years.