The Tiger’s Imperium

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “I am sorry, sir,” Harex said. “I cannot permit you entrance into the city.”

  “And when did this happen?” Stiger asked in a deadly tone that was almost a whisper. If words could cut, his would. “The new emperor, I mean.”

  “The emperor was crowned last evening, sir,” Harex said.

  “Who is this emperor?” Stiger struggled to keep his tone calm. “Who has decided to steal my legitimate claim to the curule chair and crown of wreaths?”

  “How dare you, sir?” Sensetta’s face had gone red. “Your claim is no longer legitimate. The senate has spoken.”

  “Captain Harex,” Stiger said, ignoring Sensetta, “who did the senate make emperor?”

  Looking uncomfortable at the position he was in, Harex took a deep breath, and when he released it, he spoke.

  “Emperor Lears, sir.”

  Stiger stiffened, not quite believing his ears. Lears? He blinked, thoroughly astonished. It was as if he’d been punched in the gut. His back began itching, almost painfully so. In fact, all these years later, Stiger could still feel the searing sting of the lash. Sometimes it even woke him up in the dead of night. He turned his gaze to Eli and they shared a meaningful look. Stiger could read the dreadful sorrow in his friend’s eyes.

  “Seven Levels,” Tiro said in a strangled voice. “It had to be Lears. Fortuna just hates us. I swear, sir, there are days she bloody hates us.”

  “He was anointed by the High Priest before the senate,” Sensetta added, almost gleefully. The man seemed to be enjoying Stiger’s reaction. “I saw it happen myself, just before I willingly swore the new emperor my undying allegiance. It cannot be undone now. He is the emperor and you are not.”

  “The High Priest anointed him?” Restus asked in clear disbelief. The paladin began to cough uncontrollably. “He—the High—Priest …”

  “Lehr Pompentius Lears?” Stiger spoke in a strangled whisper. He still could not believe what he had heard. No, not Lears. “He was made emperor?”

  “Yes,” Sensetta confirmed.

  Stiger felt sick to his stomach. He sucked in a ragged breath and let it out slowly. As he exhaled, the shock of the news passed, almost abruptly. A wave of wintry calm descended over him.

  “So be it,” Stiger growled. In a way, the senate’s selection made what he knew he had to do easier, more palatable. “They made their choice. So be it.”

  “And what does that mean?” Sensetta demanded.

  In a flash, Stiger’s anger kindled to a low burn, for the man that was now emperor was most assuredly his enemy and had been for years. Before his removal as commander of Third Legion, Lears had inflicted terrific pain and suffering upon Stiger personally. At his hands, Stiger had come close to death.

  Without Eli, there was no doubt he would not be standing here this day. The elf had saved Stiger and nursed him back to health. Despite having saved Eli’s life more than once, no matter how many years he lived, that was one debt Stiger knew he would never be able to fully pay. For all he had done, Stiger would be in Eli’s debt ‘til the day he died. There was nothing Stiger would not do for him, should he ever ask. And Eli had never asked for anything, other than friendship.

  But Lears was a different matter. The man had even condemned two innocent men to death for crimes they had not committed. Stiger had been able to save one, but not the other. That death stung. The man’s name had been Barbus, and it still haunted him to this day. At the time, Stiger had been unable to defend … to save him. All he could do was promise a future reckoning. Well … it seemed the time of reckoning had finally come.

  “You will swear loyalty to Emperor Lears,” Sensetta said, breaking in upon Stiger’s thoughts.

  “Not gonna happen,” Stiger said, eyeing Sensetta with disgust. The man was nothing but Lears’s creature. “And you are wrong. It can be undone. I made a promise long ago and I intend on fulfilling it. I will kill Lears and send him into the next life. That is a promise you can take back to your master for me.”

  Sensetta stared at him for a long moment in utter astonishment. He had clearly not expected the response he’d gotten. Stiger could almost read the cold calculation in the other man’s eyes as astonishment passed rather quickly. Sensetta smiled. It was slow in forming, but the smile reminded Stiger of a cat who had caught a mouse and intended to play with it before dinner. Only, Sensetta did not understand Stiger was no mouse. He was a predator. He was the tiger and Sensetta was the mouse. So too was Lears and the senate.

  “Captain,” Sensetta said, almost triumphantly, “you may arrest him now.”

  There was a long moment where Harex did not move. He just stared at Sensetta as if he’d not understood the order.

  “That is an order, Captain,” Sensetta said. “He has refused to swear loyalty and promised violence against the emperor. That makes him a traitor, like his father was. He will be executed for it.”

  Harex did not respond.

  Sensetta looked over at the captain. “You outnumber his men, even if yours are only half-trained. Do as I say, or I will find someone else to carry out my orders. Understand me?”

  Harex looked at Stiger and then back at his men, who were still talking amongst themselves excitedly. He shared a looked with his lieutenant, who, despite his clear nervousness, gave a slow and deliberate nod.

  “Form a line,” Ruga barked in a voice well-accustomed to command. “I want two ranks, now. It’s time to crack some skulls, boys. We’re gonna show those militia over there how real men fight.”

  Ruga’s overstrength century snapped to it, rapidly moving from a marching column to a battle formation. The militia company, which still had been talking amongst themselves excitedly, fell silent. They’d heard Ruga and suddenly appeared unsure, brittle. They seemed confused by what the legionaries were doing, but a battle line was a battle line. There was no mistaking that. A few in the rear even broke ranks to move several steps back through the gate in preparation to run for it.

  “I think there must be some mistake,” Restus said in a raspy tone. He coughed again. The paladin stepped forward, holding his hand up. It was almost a stagger. “Lears cannot be the emperor. The High Priest would never have anointed him.”

  “There is no mistake, old man,” Sensetta said and turned his gaze from the paladin to Stiger. “A Stiger will never be emperor … never. The senate has decreed it and the church has seen to that by putting their holy stamp upon it.” Sensetta pointed a finger at Stiger. “Tioclesion should have wiped out your entire family when he had the chance. It was a mistake not to. Now, we have a real emperor, one who is not afraid to do what must be done.”

  Stiger was on the verge of reaching out to teach the man manners.

  “The church …” Restus seemed rocked by that statement. He coughed again.

  “The church backs Emperor Lears, old man, not your pet Stiger. The High Priest himself presided over the ceremony. He gave it his holy blessing. As I said, it is done.” Sensetta waved a hand at Stiger. “His claim means nothing now. The might of the empire backs the new emperor.”

  Restus looked to Stiger. The paladin had written directly to the High Priest. Stiger understood the other’s thoughts, almost as if they were his own. There was clearly something rotten within the church, especially if the High Priest had acted after he had received Restus’s letter. With the speed the senate had made Lears emperor, they must have known he was coming, gotten prior word. But how?

  The paladin went into a terrible coughing fit. His legs suddenly failed him. Restus would have fallen had Ruga not stepped forward and gripped the man’s arm, holding him upright. Ruga motioned to two of his men to take the paladin from him.

  Stiger had heard enough. He looked at Ruga’s men, who had formed two ranks right behind him. The men were grim-faced, hard, and ready for action. So too were Therik and Eli. The orc’s hand had come to rest upon the pommel of his sword. Eli had unslung his bow and nocked an arrow, though he wasn’t aiming it. They were all a coiled spring, waiting
for the tension to be released. All Stiger need do now was give the word and violence would be unleashed.

  He had not wanted to be emperor, or the High Father’s Champion, but he had come to terms with it. He had not wanted to leave Taha’Leeth’s side, but he had. And he had not wanted to spill blood in claiming the curule chair, but the senate had made sure he would.

  A cheer abruptly rang out from the battlements above. Stiger looked up. It started as a few, then all of those lining the wall were heartily cheering. From above, they could not sense the tension below. It was just like in Lorium. Navaro, along with Treim and Aetius’s agents, had clearly done their job well.

  Even though he had not been made emperor, the people were cheered by his presence. He knew it, felt it to be true, and as the realization came, Stiger understood all was not as bad as it could be.

  He turned his gaze back to Harex. The captain’s gaze had also gone to the wall. Stiger could see the captain understood too, only too well.

  “Even the mob is against you,” Sensetta said.

  The man had misjudged, and badly.

  “As I see it, Captain,” Stiger said, drawing Harex’s attention and ignoring Sensetta, “you can stand aside and allow me to pass, or”—Stiger held out his hands to either side—“we will go through you. The choice is yours to make.”

  Grim-faced, Harex eyed Ruga’s men. Stiger could read the hesitation in the man. He did not want to fight, not today, not here, not against Ruga’s battle-hardened men. He knew what he faced. The outcome of such a contest was already a foregone conclusion. The legionaries would tear through his militia. Stiger could see it all in the man’s scarred face, almost as if he could read Harex’s thoughts.

  “I said,” Sensetta hissed, clearly becoming vexed, “arrest him. You outnumber him. Grow some balls, man.”

  Harex did not bother to look over at the palace functionary. His gaze had fixed upon Stiger. His jaw flexed again.

  “No,” Harex finally said in a strangled tone.

  “What did you say?” Sensetta asked.

  Harex drew himself up to a position of attention and saluted Stiger. His tone became firm, hard. “I will not arrest the rightful emperor.”

  Stiger felt a wave or relief wash over him. He would not have to kill Harex’s men.

  “You will be executed for this,” Sensetta said, fairly seething with rage. “Lieutenant, relieve the captain.”

  The lieutenant did not move. Next to his captain, he too stood at attention and facing Stiger.

  Sensetta looked to Ruga, still apparently not comprehending his situation. “Will you not support your emperor?”

  “I know who my emperor is,” Ruga said, “and it’s not some asshole named Lears.”

  “I promise you,” Sensetta said, malice dripping from his tongue, “you all will be executed for this—”

  “Enough.” Therik lunged forward, almost impossibly fast, and grabbed Sensetta by his neck. He lifted the man up into the air with one hand. Choking and gagging, Sensetta kicked wildly. He flailed about, batting at the orc’s arms. Therik growled like an animal and drew Sensetta close until they were eye to eye.

  “Stiger is the emperor, not Lears,” Therik roared. “Before long, that shall be clear to all.”

  The orc shook Sensetta violently before throwing him, as if he were a mere child’s doll, discarded in a momentary fit of anger. Sensetta landed hard, six feet from the orc. The back of his head impacted with the paving stones. There was a sickening thud. Sensetta did not get up. He did not even move, just lay, tangled up in his toga. Blood began pooling around his head and back on the paving stones. It stained the white of the man’s cloth an ugly burgundy that looked garish against the imperial purple.

  Silence reigned. Everyone had gone still, even the militia company. Those on the walls had stopped cheering. All were staring at Therik.

  “He was beginning to bore me,” Therik said to Stiger, looking over. “And you know I hate being bored and lectured too.”

  “Kind of ironic, coming from you,” Ruga said. “You love lecturing everyone.”

  Therik gave a grunt.

  Stiger turned to Harex. “Captain, order your men to stand aside. We do not want to have to go through you, but we will—if you force me.”

  “Yes, Imperator,” Harex said, then shouted to his men. “Stand aside for the rightful emperor. Stand aside for Emperor Stiger.”

  Harex’s men moved hastily aside, clearing a path into the city. Beyond them and through the open gate, thousands of civilians had gathered. Word had spread of his arrival. They had come out to see the victorious Stiger who had destroyed an army of the confederacy and been made Tioclesion’s heir.

  “Get your men back into a column,” Stiger told Ruga. “I want to get moving.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ruga turned to his men. “Reform into column and prepare to march.”

  Stiger turned to the paladin. The man had recovered a semblance of his strength and was standing on his own again. The two legionaries assigned to him stood within arm’s reach.

  “Are you able to travel?” Stiger asked.

  “I am feeling sickly,” Restus said, “but I can make it to your house. Still, my pride is not such that I am unafraid to admit I might need some help. After all, the High Father teaches that pride is a sin.”

  “Assist him if he needs it,” Stiger told the two men. “I don’t want him left behind, understand? If you have to carry him, do so.”

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

  Stiger turned back to Harex, who was now staring beyond them, out into the field. Behind them, there was a deep roar. It seemed to shake the paving stones under their feet. Stiger turned to look as another deep roar sounded.

  Both dragons had taken to the air. Their massive wings gracefully carried them in a spiral up into the sky. Illuminated fully by the sun, they were magnificent, awesome in their majesty, and terribly fearsome all at the same time. The dragons roared again.

  The people of Mal’Zeel had never seen a dragon, let alone two. Dragons had been mythical creatures, only inhabiting tales told in the epics. No one had seriously believed they actually existed, until today. Just as he had, the people of Mal’Zeel had learned the truth. Dragons were far from mythical creatures, and they had brought the true emperor home to the city.

  As every eye watched, both creatures climbed high into the sky and flew directly over the city. Then they were gone from view, as the city wall blocked them from sight. A heartbeat later, there was another roar from the dragons, this one distant-sounding. A long moment of silence followed their passage. Harex recovered rapidly.

  “Let me be the first to welcome you to Mal’Zeel, Imperator,” the militia captain said.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Stiger said. “I can’t tell you how good it is to be home.” Stiger paused a moment, studying those ahead, before turning his gaze back to the captain. “Good luck with the new company. When next we meet, I expect they will be better disciplined and trained.”

  “They will be, Imperator,” Harex said. “You have my word on that.”

  With that assurance, Stiger strode past the man and started through the city gate. Therik and Eli followed right behind him. Ruga’s men came next.

  “Look smart, boys,” Ruga hollered to his men.

  “A cheer for the emperor, boys,” Harex shouted, and the militia responded heartily. “Long live Emperor Stiger!”

  His men echoed his words in a massed shout. That seemed to break the paralysis of the civilians on the wall and in the street beyond the gate. They picked up the cheer too.

  As Stiger passed through the gate, he was greeted enthusiastically by the thousands that waited. He continued forward and onto the main street that led deeper into the city from the gate. This, he thought as he gazed upon the multitudes that had turned out, was a homecoming.

  The capital was the hub of trade for the empire and had been for years beyond counting. Riches almost beyond imagining flowed through its gat
es. Warehouses, leather makers, tanners, smithies, glass makers, woodworkers, clothing shops, home decorations stores … the list of businesses that crowded the main street beyond the gate went on and on.

  Signs either hanging before the businesses or painted on the building walls proclaimed what they offered. Goods spilled out from the shops and onto the streets themselves as business owners attempted to capture the interest of passersby. Dozens of wagons, carts, and peddler stalls lined the streets.

  None of the buildings had windows on the first floor. That was to discourage theft. Crime in Mal’Zeel was a problem. Many an emperor had tried to crack down on it without much success.

  Stiger kept moving forward, down the street. The crowd drew back and away from him to allow him passage. He was afraid if he stopped and engaged those to either side, they would close in and movement would become difficult, if not impossible.

  The real reason they drew away was not from his magnificence or stern countenance, but that Stiger walked boldly forward with a hulking orc with a nasty disposition on one side and an elven ranger carrying a nocked bow on the other. That and the entire century of heavily armed legionaries who followed close behind.

  Before he had moved thirty yards down the street, six of Ruga’s men went jogging past Stiger, three on each side. They fell into position just ahead of him, shields held to the front, eyes watching the crowd to either side. Another ten moved into position to either side. Ruga was creating a bubble of protection around him, Therik, and Eli.

  He glanced back at Ruga. The centurion’s attention was to either side, his head swiveling this way and that, scanning the cheering crowd as he moved. His men were doing the same. So focused was he on those around them that Ruga did not notice Stiger looking his way. The centurion was only performing his duty, as he should.

  Stiger’s thoughts shifted to his destination, his family’s ancestral home. There he could regroup, send word to Senator Navaro and Aetius’s people to get some additional armed men sent his way. Once that was done, he could begin planning with Navaro, Restus, Eli, and Therik. Whatever they decided between them, Stiger understood he could not wait long, for having gained entry to the city, he now had the initiative. And as in war, the initiative was something you did not want to give up.