The Tiger’s Imperium

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Stiger felt his anger flash hot. He opened the door to the prison and allowed a measure of Rarokan’s power to flow into him. He welcomed it. Time seemed to slow. The room grew brighter as the power infused his being, coursing through him in a flood.

  With an abrupt surge, time snapped back to normal speed, and as it did, Stiger moved forward and attacked. He brought with him death as he stepped past the dazed legionary and jabbed his weapon at the nearest praetorian, who hastily threw up his sword to block the attack. It was a slow, clumsy, and poorly executed attempt to check him.

  Dropping his sword by just a hair, Stiger allowed his opponent’s blade to sail over his and easily avoided the block. His opponent’s blade only found empty air. The guardsman had overextended himself, and recognition of that fact registered in his eyes as Stiger lunged forward and stabbed hard. The tip of his blade punched into the chest armor of his opponent, sliding easily through. The hilt grew warm in his hand as Rarokan took the man’s life force. The praetorian’s eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped limply to the floorboards. The steel of Stiger’s blade as it emerged from his chest hissed almost savagely. The man’s blood, like so many others had, boiled away on the air.

  A breath later, Eli was by his side. Movements graceful, elegant even, Eli’s daggers were a veritable blur as he attacked a praetorian. With ease, he countered a strike with one dagger, then spun completely around and with the angled blade reached out over the shield and neatly slit the throat of his opponent, cutting in one motion straight through to the spine. The man, gushing blood into the air, was dead before he even hit the floor. Eli had already moved on and was engaging the next praetorian.

  A spray of blood splattered Stiger’s right cheek as Ruga took down a praetorian. He ignored it and instead focused on advancing toward the door, where two more praetorians had entered and were about to join the fight. If they could retake that chokepoint, they could hold off the enemy. That was all that mattered.

  One of the newcomers moved to meet him, while the other hesitated, his eyes upon the burning sword. The first lunged, jabbing out. Stiger dodged to the side, while blocking and shoving the sword roughly away and to the side. At the same time, he took another rapid step forward, surprising his opponent, and hammered a fist square into the praetorian’s face. The blow was powerfully delivered. Stiger felt the man’s teeth give way. At the same time, pain exploded in his hand, for the praetorian’s jaw was solid. Despite the pain, the punch had the desired effect. The man’s head snapped back, and he crashed backward to the floor, landing atop the body of another.

  Only too aware that momentum was the key to regaining the initiative, Stiger continued forward, attacking the man who had hesitated. The praetorian threw up his sword and blocked Stiger’s first strike. Their swords met, sparks flying through the air and the steel ringing loudly with the contact. Lightning fast, Stiger shifted the momentum of his attack and, using the end of the hilt as a weapon, hammered it into the side of the man’s helmet.

  The praetorian staggered under the unexpected blow, hitting the wall with the other side of his head, which Stiger knew had hurt. Understanding that his opponent was dazed and not wanting to give him even a moment to recover, Stiger leapt forward and brought his blade around and drove the tip of his burning sword up under the man’s chin. With little resistance, the point went in deep and drove up into the brain, killing him instantly. Hot blood cascaded down Stiger’s arm and across his face and chest.

  With his free hand, he threw the body of the man aside and turned to confront the next attacker. Instead, he found himself at the doorway. There were no more opponents in the room itself and none to his front. Ruga and one of his legionaries were suddenly to either side. Eli was just behind him. Stiger peeked out into the hallway. He saw two praetorians coming down it from the entrance. A body lay by the door and was, by the red cape, one of Ruga’s men. The sight of one of his legionaries dead only served to fuel Stiger’s anger.

  Beyond, he could see more of the Guard out on the street as they moved to enter the building, along with Nouma and Handi. The two were clearly directing the show.

  Stiger’s rage increased. He nearly took a step out into the hallway, then reason returned in a rush and the terrible anger that he had almost allowed to consume him dimmed. To go outside where the enemy had numerical superiority was stupid and foolish. He ducked back inside. The fighting was still raging on the other side of the building.

  “We need to hold,” Stiger said to Ruga. “We need to hold this room.”

  “You two,” Ruga said to the two legionaries. The one who had been knocked down was back on his feet. His lip was split and he was bleeding profusely down his chest, but he looked as if he had his wits about him. He also appeared ready to fight. “Bloody hold the door this time or you’ll be on a charge.”

  “Yes, sir,” the bleeding man said as he spat a glob of blood onto the floor. “We’ll hold them.”

  Satisfied, Stiger took a step back. As he did, the two legionaries resumed their place blocking the doorway, shields held to their front, swords at the ready. Stiger was concerned about how the fighting in the rest of the building was going. He could hear Treim calling out orders and encouragements, men cursing and shouting at one another, sword ringing against sword.

  He looked around and saw the paladin. Restus had stood back from the action. He had not even pulled his sword out, which was a common legionary short sword by the looks of it. Restus was so old, Stiger very much doubted he could wield it effectively. But he knew that when it came to paladins, looks could be deceiving.

  “Can you find out how they’re holding?” Stiger asked Restus and jutted his chin toward the stairs.

  “I can,” the paladin said and started up the back stairs, moving surprisingly quickly for his age.

  “Get them,” a praetorian shouted from the hallway.

  The shout snapped Stiger’s head back around. Two more guardsmen had appeared. Shields held out before them, they met the two waiting legionaries. Stiger watched as the praetorians struggled against his determined legionaries and was pleased by what he saw.

  “They’re holding the back stairs just fine,” Restus shouted back down the stairs. “Nothing to worry about at the moment.”

  “Well that is something at least,” Ruga said, then looked back on Stiger. “Do you think help is coming, sir? From the general’s boys?”

  “Eventually someone will notice something’s not right,” Stiger said, doing his best to sound convincing, for he knew Ruga’s men could hear every word. He needed them to believe that relief would come. And yet, he honestly had no idea how long that would take, if it happened at all. “My old sergeant, Tiro, is at headquarters. He will see that help is sent. We just need to hold long enough for that to happen.”

  “Then that’s what we will do, sir,” Ruga said. “You heard him, boys. We hold.”

  “Ahhhh!” one of the praetorians yelled, his sword clattering to the floor. The man’s arm had been opened with a viciously deep cut. He fell back from the doorway, holding his shield before him defensively. Both of Ruga’s men shoved forward with their shields, hammering at the guardsman’s shield and knocking him and his companion backward through the doorway. They jabbed out with their swords but were unable to score either a disabling or killing strike.

  “Hold,” a voice shouted out in the hallway. Stiger recognized it as Nouma’s. “I said hold. Stop fighting. I said stop fighting!”

  The sounds of battle on the other side of the building petered off. The injured man in the doorway, along with his comrade, backed away. They rapidly moved down the hallway and out of view.

  “Let him go,” Ruga snapped. “Do not follow. Maintain your position.”

  “Stiger?” Nouma shouted down the hallway. “Can you hear me?”

  Stiger shared a look with Eli.

  “What do you believe he wants?” Eli asked with a sudden grin.

  “I don’t think he’s gonna invite us to have tea,”
Stiger said, “if that’s what you are thinking.”

  Eli’s grin grew wider.

  One of the praetorians on the floor moaned and stirred. It was the one Stiger had punched in the face. He started to pull himself to all fours. Ruga stepped over and, without hesitation, kicked the injured man in the face. The praetorian’s head snapped back with a crack and he once again went limp. Outside, cries of alarm and a few angry, outraged shouts could be heard from the crowd. Stiger could only imagine how confused they were about what was happening.

  “Stiger,” Nouma shouted again, “can you hear me?”

  Ruga moved by his men and carefully peeked around the doorway. He looked back. “He’s just inside the building, sir,” Ruga said. “Along with that slimy tribune. There are three men between us and them. I can see additional guardsmen behind and out on the street. More than initially came with them.” Ruga heaved a heavy sigh. “I don’t believe we can easily get to him and murder the bastard. If we try, he’ll just step out on the street where all his boys are. It wouldn’t end good for us, that’s for certain.”

  Stiger gave a nod. He had figured as much.

  “Well?” Nouma called.

  “I can hear you,” Stiger hollered back from where he was.

  “You should have taken me up on my offer,” Nouma said. “There was no need for such unpleasantness. We could have worked things out between us like men, come to a mutually beneficial solution.”

  “We can still make a deal,” Handi called. “You just need to be reasonable, is all.”

  “Reasonable … like that’s going to happen,” Eli said in a low tone of voice. When Stiger looked over at the elf in question, Eli added. “The reasonable part, I mean. You can be … I think the word is obstinate, when you want.”

  Stiger just shook his head.

  “Why would I want to do that, Nouma?” Stiger yelled back. “You can’t get in. Eventually help will arrive. There are over seven thousand legionaries in the city. Many more than your praetorians.”

  “That may be true,” Nouma said, “but they won’t get here before the rest of my praetorians get to you.”

  “Do you really think the legion will let you kill me and just walk away?” Stiger asked. The thought of it was so preposterous, he almost laughed.

  “We’re not gonna kill you,” Handi said, “just everyone else with you. No, when this is all said and done, you will be our charge … just like it should have been from the beginning.”

  “You mean your hostage,” Stiger said.

  “Call it what you will,” Handi said, “it does not matter. We will own you, like we did Tioclesion. That will be the end of it.”

  “Our story will be that the general and colonel had taken you hostage,” Nouma said. “We gallantly rescued you and in doing so had to storm the building. When we have you … well, let’s just say you will see things our way and sing our tune. I think you will want to at that point.”

  “It’s as good a plan as any,” Eli said to Stiger. “It may just work.”

  “You will fail,” Stiger called.

  “Maybe,” Handi said, “maybe not. We’ll see. I’d surrender were I you. It will be harder on you if you don’t.”

  “It’s not gonna happen,” Stiger called back, feeling his rage spike. “I will see you both dead first.”

  “All right,” Handi said with an overdramatic sigh an actor would have been proud of. “We will do this the hard way, then.”

  “He’s right,” Eli said, sounding amused, “you like doing things the hard way.”

  “That’s not helpful,” Stiger said, though he could not help but grin slightly at the stupid humor.

  Ruga looked back toward the stairs. “Sir, while it’s quiet, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go check my boys and eyeball how things are over on the other side of the building.”

  “Go ahead. I’ve got this,” Stiger said.

  “I’ll be back shortly.” Ruga moved off, climbing the stairs.

  There were indistinct shouts from Nouma outside that sounded like orders. Stiger could hear praetorians moving into the building again, preparing for the next assault.

  “Stand ready,” Stiger said to the two men by the door. With grim expressions, they raised their shields up into the air and held their swords ready.

  “Wait a moment,” Eli said, his grin abruptly returning. He chuckled softly. “I think I’ve had an absolutely fabulous idea.”

  “What?” Stiger looked over. “What do you mean?”

  Sheathing both daggers, Eli ignored him and went over to one of the tiny windows. He looked out for a moment, seeming to hesitate. Then he cupped his lips with his hands.

  “They’re trying to kill Emperor Stiger,” Eli shouted out through the window. “The praetorians want to kill the man who saved you from the confederacy. They want to kill the High Father’s Champion. He needs your help. Your emperor needs you. He’s calling you. Will you stand idly by and let such a foul deed be done? Or will you step up to defend him and the empire?”

  Silence followed. Stiger glanced over at Eli, surprised. He wondered if the elf’s effort to stir up the mob might work. The silence seemed to stretch for several heartbeats.

  “Foul deed?” Stiger asked Eli.

  “What would you call it?” Eli asked, looking back on Stiger. “Do you think they’re doing us a good deed?”

  “Fair point,” Stiger said.

  Eli gazed back out the window.

  “You know,” the elf said, “you keep concerning yourself with the mob. I wanted to see if this mob had any real power.” He breathed out a heavy breath. “They are not doing anything, and I mean anything. They’re just standing there and watching like before. I must say I am truly disappointed. I wanted to see your mob in action. Well … shit … I guess it was worth a try.” He turned back toward the door, drew his daggers, and spun both around in his hands. “Now we must really do it the Stiger way … the hard way.”

  It had been a worthy attempt on Eli’s part and good thinking too. However, he’d be surprised if the civilians, half-starved and having just endured a brutal siege, had the strength left to put up any type of resistance. They likely could not be motivated to do much beyond what they had been doing at the priests’ behest … singing religious hymns and waiting for their emperor to show himself.

  “All right,” Stiger said to the two legionaries. “When they come again, let’s murder the pretty-looking bastards. We’ll show them how real legionaries fight.”

  “Yes, sir,” both men said in unison.

  Stiger turned back to the doorway, knowing the praetorians would soon begin their attack, likely a final assault that would continue until they thoroughly broke the defenders. If they had enough men, he understood, they would be able to do it. But … he’d see they paid with blood for their effort. As sure as the sun would rise in the morning and set in the evening, that was a certainty.

  From outside, there came an abrupt, muffled shout that sounded intensely outraged. This was followed by what could only be described as a massed growl of deep-seated anger. Then followed much enraged shouting that was more a communal roar than anything else. It was so loud that the building itself seemed to vibrate and dust drifted down from the ceiling. Incredibly, it had clearly come from the gathered crowd outside. It sounded like they were working themselves up to action.

  Eli returned to the window and glanced out before looking back at Stiger. There was a strange look on the elf’s face.

  “Well?” Stiger asked.

  “It worked.” The elf seemed genuinely surprised, almost as if he did not believe his own eyes. “The crowd is rushing the Guard and the building.”

  Out in the hallway, Stiger could hear shouts of alarm and panic from amongst the praetorians, who moments before had been preparing to attack. Outside, the screaming began.

  Moving over to a window, Stiger looked out. What he saw was incredible, awesome to behold. Like a wave of pure rage, the crowd of civilians had pushed forward and
was rolling over the praetorians. They used their hands, rocks, daggers, the occasional sword, or whatever weapon they could find easily at hand. The guardsmen were literally torn apart. Even the women were part of the action. He saw several gathered around a praetorian, beating him senseless with large stones and bricks.

  When the killing was done, the dismembering and mutilation continued. It was horrific. He had never seen anything like it and knew he would carry this scene in his memory to the end of his days.

  Stiger understood that Eli’s call to action had been like a damn bursting. The floodgates had broken and the pent-up frustration and rage built up by the siege had been given release, explosively. The civilians of the city were venting everything upon the hated praetorians.

  Within mere moments, the only thing in view was the mass of the crowd. The guardsmen had disappeared, as if they had never been there to begin with. An institution that the first emperor, Karus, had begun near two thousand years before had ended. It had been destroyed, broken and shattered. And Stiger knew he had no desire to rebuild the Guard, for they had become corrupt, a cancer within the heart of the empire itself.

  The building was stormed next by the crowd. More screams followed. Ruga rushed down the stairs and up behind his two men.

  “Gods,” Ruga said, “they’ve gone mad.”

  Three civilians appeared in the doorway. They saw the red-caped, grim-faced legionaries, shields locked, swords held at the ready. All three hesitated, as if unsure what to do next.

  “Hold,” Ruga shouted, stepping up next to his men. “We’re legionaries. We’re not guardsmen. We’re protecting the emperor.”

  First one and then the other backed away, going back the way they had come. A struggle could be heard coming from inside the building. The howls of the crowd as they dragged the last praetorians screaming and pleading for mercy from the building were awful to behold. It continued for a time as the mob took out the anger and rage upon those unfortunates. Then, oddly, everything went silent.