The Tiger’s Imperium

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “You know me, sir,” Tiro said, suppressing a grin, “always trying to be helpful. I mean, what sergeant wouldn’t want to be?”

  “Right.” Stiger turned back to the city gate ten yards before them. On his immediate left was Therik, who was clearly becoming impatient. The orc had been huffing and puffing. Ruga’s century was formed up into a column of two that stretched out behind them along the road, which was hemmed in by a series of large, ancient tombs. These had been worn down by weather.

  “He does have a point, sir,” Ruga said. The centurion had positioned himself just behind Stiger and next to Tiro. Ruga had his shield up and ready. He was clearly uncomfortable with their proximity to the gate and concerned Stiger might become a target.

  A formation of soldiers from the city stood just before the gate, barring their way into the city. None of those carried bows, but there were several up on the battlements above who did.

  Stiger wasn’t terribly concerned about them. The men with the bows would have to be really good to hit him from this distance, almost ranger good. He doubted any of those armed with bows and manning the walls were particularly skilled. Had they shown any hint of skill, they would have been assigned to an auxiliary cohort and likely be marching with his father’s army.

  “They usually close the gate on us,” Eli said, before glancing back on Tiro. “Don’t they?”

  “They’ve done that a time or two,” Tiro admitted. “Since we’re speaking on gates, what was the name of that fort we found Lieutenant Hollux in? Remember that one, out in the forest? It was just before that shit show at Fort Covenant. The lieutenant didn’t want to open that gate either. I seem to recall you pulling rank on him, sir.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Stiger chuckled at the memory, then almost immediately sobered. He had lost a lot of good men at Fort Covenant, including his first corporal, Varus.

  Soon after that bloody ordeal, Hollux had become his executive officer and developed into a good one at that. Stiger could not have asked for a better second. Hollux had also become a friend, one as good as Captain Lepidus from the Tenth. All three of them, Eli included, had been through a great deal together. Stiger wondered how the lieutenant was doing under his new commanding officer. He hoped well.

  “Perhaps they will let us in?” Tiro said. “Then again, you might have to pull rank, sir.”

  Stiger could only nod in agreement. He turned back to the gate, which towered above them. Men, women, and children by the hundreds lined the tops of the walls, all gazing down at them. Most of those above appeared to be civilians, but some were clearly armed soldiers, either from the city’s garrison or militia. Stiger wasn’t sure which. He scanned the battlements closely, looking between the civilians. A good number had bows, more than he’d initially thought. Maybe even as many as a hundred. With so many, they might not need skill. Still, he was not overly concerned and doubted it would come to that. After all, this was home, and Stiger was now the emperor. He turned his gaze back to the soldiers before the gate.

  The formation to their front numbered over two hundred fifty men, which meant they were an overstrength company. They were formed up into five ranks and were armed with simple chain mail shirts, short swords, and rounded shields.

  Studying them, Stiger figured they were city militia. Mal’Zeel’s militia wasn’t known for its fighting prowess. They were mainly toughs, recruited from the worst slums the city had to offer. They were generally expected to push civilians around during events and knock heads to keep order amongst the mob. Not much more was expected from them than that and any training they received was generally minimal. Along with the garrison and the praetorians, the militia helped to keep a lid on the seething discontent and misery of the urban poor.

  This bunch did not appear highly disciplined, for there was much talking and jawing in the ranks. Were they a legionary company, such behavior would have been an unforgivable breach.

  The formation was also not properly dressed, which gave their ranks a disordered appearance, as their alignment from one rank to the next was off. Had they been part of the standing garrison, he suspected they would have presented better, as the training would have been more intensive and thorough but still substandard when compared to the legion.

  The militia company’s equipment was not well maintained either. Stiger could easily spot rust marks on the chain mail of several of the soldiers. All of that reinforced Stiger’s belief the men guarding the gate were poorly trained.

  “You sent for their senior officer almost a half hour ago.” Therik shifted his stance and crossed his arms. “Not only is this intolerable, it is an insult. I would be enraged were I you.”

  Stiger eyed the orc for a long moment but decided to say nothing. In the legions, one learned to wait. Usually it was hurry up, get to where you needed to be, and then wait on someone else to do their job, just so you could do yours. Serving the empire, if anything, taught one patience.

  “What do you think the holdup is, sir?” Ruga asked. “Do you think they mean to cause us trouble?”

  “I don’t know,” Stiger said and in truth he did not. He had announced himself and unexpectedly been denied entry by a fresh-faced lieutenant no less. The man had gone away to fetch his senior officer and had yet to return.

  “Well,” Therik said, “that group there won’t stop us should we want in.” Therik gestured at Ruga. “His legionaries will tear them apart.”

  “My boys would eat them for breakfast,” Ruga agreed. There was no hint of pride in his tone. He’d said it only as a statement of fact. “They won’t last a one hundred count in the press of the line. Heck”—he waved at the militia—“I don’t think that bunch could manage to break up a rowdy tavern full of disorderly drunks. There is no doubt in my mind on this, sir. If you want in, just give the word. We’ll shove them aside and send ’em running home to their mommas.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Stiger said. He did not relish the idea of killing their own and would only give such an order if it became necessary. He did not want to begin his reign this way.

  There was a ripple in the ranks of the militia company. Men moved aside as two officers made their way to the front. The first was older, and his rank insignia told Stiger he was a captain, though he wore legionary armor. The armor was well maintained. The second was no more than a youth and his rank marked him as a lieutenant. Stiger had spoken with him before when they had arrived at the gate. He was too junior to have much experience and was essentially a nonentity in what was to come.

  The captain hesitated, eyeing them. Stiger turned his full attention on the militia captain. The man’s face was badly scarred from multiple cuts, likely taken in battle. One of the scars cut through his bottom lip. He was also missing his right eye and walked with a noticeable limp that was little more than a hobble.

  He was clearly a disabled veteran, likely a former sergeant, who had been promoted to the command of a militia company. A noble would never have taken such a lowly position. This was the highest rank the man likely could gain. He may have even purchased his position with whatever retirement funds he’d managed to accumulate before being mustered out. Regardless, there was no question in Stiger’s mind the man had seen hard action and knew the ugly realities of combat.

  In general, Stiger disliked the system of selling commissions to senior military positions, for it frequently saw incompetent men rise to positions of power they had no business holding. Bastards like his first captain, Cethegus, Tribune Declin, or even Generals Lears, Mammot, and Kromen had all purchased their ranks. There had been many more such men he’d encountered over the years who had done the same. Hardly a one had started at a junior level and bothered to learn the ropes, gaining valuable experience before beginning the long climb up the ladder of command.

  Each one of those bastards, and many more like them, had ultimately proven unsuited to leading men in battle or, for that matter, even commanding them. More often than not they had led their own men
to the slaughter.

  Many refused to listen to advice or outright spurned it. Even worse, having read a book or two on military tactics, they thought themselves brilliant tacticians and masters of the battlefield.

  It took more than reading a few books to understand what was happening in the middle of a fight, let alone capitalize on it. It took training, study, and years of hard-earned experience, along with the ability to listen to veterans and get to know and understand the men under your command. And even then, one was not guaranteed to be victorious. Fortuna could be a real bitch when she wanted.

  The militia officer scowled. He clearly understood Ruga’s century were fighting men. There was no doubt in Stiger’s mind about that. The officer glanced back as yet another man made his way through the ranks and joined them.

  This newcomer wore a toga, highlighted on the fringes with imperial purple. It told Stiger, along with everyone else, that he served the emperor directly, or at least worked in the imperial household.

  The newcomer turned what could only be described as hostile eyes upon Stiger and said something to the captain, who gave what appeared to be an irritated nod. Stiger had the suspicion the captain was far from pleased with whatever had passed between them.

  “I sense trouble in the making,” Therik said, looking over at Stiger. The orc checked to make certain his sword was loose in its scabbard. “At least the boredom is over. I hate being kept waiting.”

  “Don’t we all,” Ruga said, “don’t we all.”

  “That is Sensetta,” Restus wheezed before coughing lightly as he came up to stand with them. The paladin had been sitting on a fallen road marker a few yards away. Stiger looked over at him. The journey had not been kind to Restus. He was pale, with a sickly cast, and had developed a wracking cough. The cold and wind of their journey had clearly gotten the better of him.

  “Are you all right?” Stiger asked. He was becoming concerned for the man’s health. Restus was not a young man.

  “Chilled is all,” Restus said, “nothing a good fire and a hearty stew won’t cure. Trust me, I’ve had worse.”

  Stiger wasn’t so certain about the man’s assurances, but he gave a nod just the same. Right now, he needed information.

  “Who is this Sensetta?”

  “He is from a smaller household, one in patronage to the imperial family,” Restus said, “or really, to be more correct, Tioclesion’s family. The Sensettas have been clients of theirs for dozens of years.” Restus gave a light cough and took a wheezing breath. “He was the emperor’s Keeper of the Palace.”

  “Keeper of the Palace,” Stiger said. “You mean he is responsible for the administrative running of the palace, bossing the slaves, cooks, and such around?”

  Restus gave a nod.

  “What is he doing here, then?”

  “I don’t know.” Restus coughed into his fist. “He was put into place by Tioclesion’s father. His sense of his own importance is greater than those he serves. Be warned, he is a snake and loyal only to self-betterment.”

  “Trouble then.” Therik cracked his knuckles. “And here I was worried we would not find any.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Stiger cautioned and then looked over at Restus. “Do you know this militia captain or his lieutenant?”

  “No.” Restus cleared his throat before continuing. “When I left the city, the militia’s ranks were being increased. Most of the regular garrison went with Tioclesion’s army on campaign. If I recall, a few companies of regulars from the north were left in the capital to help the militia keep order.”

  Stiger recalled Treim telling him that. His old company, the Seventh, was among the regular formations that had been held behind. They were supposedly somewhere in the city, though he well knew they might be with his father’s army by now.

  The militia captain said something brusque to Sensetta, then waited for a reply. After it came, he gave a shrug and came forward, until he stood six paces from Stiger. The lieutenant, appearing nervous, followed. Sensetta advanced too and stopped at the militia captain’s side.

  There was a long moment of silence while each side sized the other up. The captain placed his hands upon his hips. His eyes moved to Eli, then lingered on Therik, before finally coming to rest on Stiger.

  “Identify yourself and your reason for entry into the city,” the captain said. His voice was deep and there was a natural confidence there, one born from years of hard service and leadership. Stiger easily recognized the man’s type.

  “I suspect you know who I am, Captain,” Stiger said, deciding not to play the game, at least initially. “I told your lieutenant when I arrived.”

  “You came by dragon?” the captain said, his eyes looking beyond Stiger and out into the field.

  “We did,” Stiger said. “We flew here from Lorium.”

  “The stories working their way around the city must be true then,” the captain said.

  Sensetta stiffened slightly.

  Stiger felt an immense wave of relief. Word had spread of what had happened in Lorium. That was incredibly good news … exceptional news. It meant the messenger had arrived.

  “They are true,” Stiger said. “I shattered the enemy army that was besieging Lorium.”

  “He lies,” Sensetta said. “It is all one big lie. Do not believe it.”

  The captain spared the man a hard look, then turned his attention back to Stiger.

  “It is all true,” Restus said. “By the High Father, I swear it to be.”

  The militia captain’s good eye narrowed as he studied the paladin. After a long moment, he looked at Stiger.

  “I still have a duty to attend,” the captain said, with an unhappy glance to Sensetta. “Your name, please, and the reason for entering the city. I need to hear it from your own lips.” He jerked his head toward Sensetta. “He is requiring it.”

  “I am Bennulius Stiger.” He spoke in a loud tone so the ranks of militia behind the captain could hear his words plainly and hopefully those up on the wall also. “And I have come to claim what is rightfully mine. I have returned home to save the empire from the Cyphan Confederacy.”

  Sensetta’s expression became ugly, twisted. The militia in the ranks behind the two erupted into a riot of talking. Those up on the wall did as well. The captain looked back on his company with a seriously irate expression, one that promised punishment. None in the ranks seemed to notice the look or, for that matter, care.

  “Let me guess,” Stiger said, “this is a new command?”

  “It is,” the captain confirmed. His look was one born of frustration. Stiger knew that feeling too well. “They’ve not had time for discipline to be beaten into them, not like regulars in the legions. With the shortages of manpower in the city, we were posted right to duty on this gate, just days after forming. They’ve had little training. Give me a couple of weeks to get them into proper shape. Then they might begin to look like real soldiers.”

  “He doesn’t need to know that,” Sensetta hissed with acid. “Use your head, man.”

  The captain’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing in reply.

  “Well,” Stiger said, “you know who I am and why I’ve come. Kindly stand aside and grant us entry.”

  “You are not permitted into the city,” Sensetta said. “Like all legionaries under arms, you are to remain outside.”

  “Captain,” Stiger said, deciding to ignore the functionary from the palace, “this is my personal guard. Shall we talk this through before things get, shall we say, heated?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Sensetta snapped and then looked to the militia captain. “You have your orders, Captain. I suggest you follow them.”

  The captain looked between Sensetta and Stiger, clearly uncertain, torn even.

  “What is your name, Captain?” Stiger asked.

  The captain hesitated a moment before answering.

  “Harex, and this is my lieutenant, Aranam.”

  “Captain Harex,” Stiger
said, ignoring the lieutenant and Sensetta. “Do you doubt why I am here? Or, for that matter, who I am?”

  “I do not, sir,” Harex said. “I can see the dragons. I have no doubts.”

  Stiger noted Harex’s use of the honorific for the first time. The two dragons were still out in the field where they had left them, a half mile away and quite visible. Both had their heads up and were watching what was going on. Should there prove to be trouble, Stiger knew they would come to his aid.

  “Then you will let me and my guard enter the city,” Stiger said. “It is your duty to do so.”

  Sensetta leaned toward Harex and said something that was no more than a hissing whisper. The captain turned and looked upon Sensetta for a prolonged moment. Stiger thought he detected disgust in the other man’s expression.

  Harex turned back to Stiger and said stiffly, almost formally, “I am afraid I cannot do that, sir.”

  “And why not?” Stiger asked, knowing that bad news would shortly follow.

  Therik cracked his knuckles and growled deeply. Harex’s eyes flicked to the orc a moment before returning to Stiger. The man had not shown any fear or worry. Stiger’s respect for Harex increased. Sensetta and the lieutenant shifted nervously.

  “I have my orders, sir,” Harex said. “I am sure you can appreciate following one’s orders.”

  Stiger did not like the answer. No one’s orders should supersede his, unless they came directly from the senate. And for that to happen, it would have required extensive debate, followed by a vote. In the hour since he’d landed, Stiger deemed that unlikely. Something else was afoot, and that bothered him.

  “Who gave these orders?” Stiger asked.

  “The orders came directly from the emperor,” Sensetta said, answering for Harex.

  Stiger’s heart plummeted at the revelation. It was as he had feared. They were intentionally denying him the curule chair and crown of wreaths.

  Why?

  He already knew the answer. After the civil war, most of his family’s allies had been purged from the senate and city. It meant there were few friends, let alone allies, left in the senate, no one willing to speak up. They had made their move, preempting his return. Now, blood would be shed. That was a certainty. In fact, he had known before he’d even traveled home it would need to be.