The Tiger’s Imperium

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  In the coming days, Thetas would be a busy man. Everyone and their brother would want to order from the emperor’s baker. That was, if Stiger was still alive and actually sitting on the curule chair. It was only a matter of time before Lears came for him. And Stiger did not intend to give the man the chance. If he had anything to say about it, the initiative would remain firmly with him.

  Stiger turned away toward Therik.

  “We can undoubtedly find some beef at my family’s house,” Stiger said. “And if we can’t find enough, I will send for more.”

  “That is acceptable,” Therik said, then looked at Thetas. “I look forward to trying your bread, baker.”

  Thetas inclined his head.

  “If we’re lucky,” Stiger said to Therik, “there will be some stew that we can use the bread for sopping … butter too.”

  Therik perked up at that. “Now that, I like.”

  Stiger gave an amused grunt and stepped back onto the street. He resumed his trek up the hill, Ruga’s protective bubble moving with him. The crowd had pushed closer around his guards but did not seem to want to push past them. There was just something about Ruga’s men that kept them at bay, a certain grimness that was a warning in and of itself.

  Stiger glanced around, spotted Tiro, and then motioned for the sergeant to join him. It was time to make the next move in the deadly game he was playing. And with any luck, it would keep the initiative firmly on his side.

  “Sir,” Tiro said, coming up.

  “You know what to do?” Stiger asked. The centurion was only wearing his service tunic.

  “I do, sir,” Tiro said.

  “No questions?”

  “None, sir,” Tiro said. “Ruga’s already arranged for two men to join me. They fell out and have been following along with the crowd. Have no worries, sir. I’ll find them if they’re in the city. I will get it done, just as you want.”

  “I know you will,” Stiger said. “Good luck.”

  Tiro fell back and Stiger resisted the urge to turn to watch. With any fortune, the sergeant would be able to slip away unnoticed into the crowd. He prayed Tiro’s mission was successful and silently wished him well. For if Stiger’s old sergeant failed, things would become difficult … perhaps even impossible.

  Then again, Tiro had never failed him. Stiger took comfort in that. In the distance, he saw the outer wall of his ancestral home. It looked just as he’d left it … only there were guards posted about it … and if he was not mistaken, they were praetorians.

  Chapter Eight

  “Oh, now that’s just bloody great,” Stiger said as he came to a halt. He let out a frustrated breath and slapped his side. They were just twenty yards away from the entrance to his home. He placed his hands upon his hips as he gazed upon the praetorians.

  “Halt,” Ruga ordered and the guard came to a stop.

  “I don’t believe it,” Eli said. “Tell me that’s not Corus?”

  The elf was eying the officer who stood before the entrance to Stiger’s home with a line of twenty praetorians just behind him. Each carried a shield and javelin, not to mention the short sword. Corus was in the armor and kit of a praetorian captain. There was no question in Stiger’s mind who the man served. He had always been Lears’s creature.

  “And Lieutenant Yanulus too.” Stiger felt the keen sting of anger mix with a sense of terrible frustration. Years had passed since he had seen either man, and now they stood before him, barring his path. “As the High Father wills it …”

  “Who are they, sir?” Ruga asked, coming up.

  Stiger did not respond. Instead, he studied Corus’s men. Each man’s armor and purple cape looked brand-new. There was no lived-in or used look to their kit, like one might see with a regular legionary after a few months of regular use. It was as if they had just received their kit, which, he considered, was quite likely. To his knowledge, all of the praetorians had gone with Tioclesion. Stiger had disbanded the survivors. Upon becoming emperor, Lears must have elevated and made new praetorians, specifically Corus and his company from Third Legion. This was yet another complication Stiger had not anticipated. How many more were there? How many men would he have to go through to get to Lears?

  Behind the praetorians, the house itself was two stories in height and just as Stiger remembered it. The compound took up the entire block, which ran around three hundred yards in length. There were no windows on the ground floor, but several on the second. All had been shuttered, most likely against the cold.

  The praetorians were posted around the house. From what he could see down the street, two stood below wherever there was a window. The captain, with twenty of his men, and his lieutenant had positioned themselves just before the double-doored entrance to his home. Both doors were open and led to a small, tiled courtyard. A timid slave, likely a footman, was peering nervously from around one of the open doors.

  “It doesn’t look like they were expecting us,” Stiger said to Eli. “Otherwise his men would be with him, all of them, and they’d be formed up into a line of battle several ranks deep. Corus doesn’t have a full-strength company present, at least from what we can see. There are likely a few more on the back side of the house, but I’d hazard only a handful.”

  “Who is he, sir?” Ruga asked again, pointing toward the praetorian captain.

  “I would like to know that too,” Therik said.

  “He is a bastard from my past,” Stiger said, looking between the two of them. “When I left for the south, he was the commander of Fourth Company, of Third Legion.”

  “Corus was and likely still is in Lears’s pocket,” Eli added. “Those are undoubtedly his men from the Fourth. In point of fact, I believe I recognize some of them.”

  “Me too,” Stiger said. “They must be Lears’s praetorians now, a reward for loyal service. And if they are his men from the Fourth, they’re good fighters, some of the best Third Legion has to offer.”

  “Do you think it will come to blood, sir?” Ruga asked, studying the two praetorian officers and the twenty men of the scratch line Corus had created. “We do have superior numbers. It would be suicide for them to try to stand in our way.”

  “It will come to blood,” Stiger said unhappily. He understood Corus would not go down without a fight. He would follow the orders he’d been given by Lears, even if it meant his own death. That was the type of soldier Corus was, loyal and determined. “And in truth, this meeting between us has been a long time coming.”

  “I will see that my men are ready for action, sir,” Ruga said and stepped off to speak to his optio in low tones.

  Stiger rubbed his jaw, feeling intense frustration mingle with his anger. “I’d been hoping to avoid any fighting until we went for Lears. Now, that seems unlikely.”

  “Oh,” Therik said, looking over at him. “Did you really think claiming your throne would be that easy?”

  “No,” Stiger said. “I did not.”

  “They are standing watch over your father,” Eli said. “Maybe even Max, too. Your father and elder brother might be inside.”

  Stiger had concluded the same. He’d not seen his elder brother since he’d left for the legions. They had once been close, but like everything else, the civil war had ended that. Max had gone off to serve and represent the family as a senator, while Stiger had been set to training for a military life. Over the years they had corresponded some, but not much more had passed between them than that. He understood Max had a wife and child. He looked over at the elf. “Do you mean guarding or keeping them as prisoners?”

  “The latter,” Eli said. “Lears might not be in a position to directly kill him. After all, the senate placed your father in command of the army protecting Mal’Zeel.”

  “Only now that army is marching away to the east,” Stiger said. “And if what you say is correct, Lears must have put someone else in command, someone he feels he can trust.”

  “True,” Eli said, “but with all that is going on, executing your father may play
badly with the people—your mob. We saw how they acted in Lorium. The change in command might not be public knowledge yet. Lears might have even suppressed it.”

  Mention of the mob caused Stiger to glance about them. The people were still there, surrounding them, but much of the cheering had died off. They clearly understood a confrontation was likely. An eager mood, a sense of anticipation, was in the air. The mob loved games and contests of violence. This was just one more such game. Only it was a deadly one.

  “You do have a point.” Stiger grimaced, turning his gaze back to Corus and his praetorians. “I don’t want to kill his men. No matter how detestable Corus is to me personally, they were … are our comrades.”

  “I told you to be ruthless,” Therik said firmly. “You cannot think that way. Kill your enemies where they stand, murder them in the dead of night if you have to. Lay them low and do it as ruthlessly as possible. Only then will your enemies truly fear you. With that fear comes respect, respect of what you are capable of doing, and makes those standing on the sidelines think twice before pitting themselves against you.”

  Feeling his frustration mount, Stiger rubbed his jaw. He eyed the orc for several heartbeats. Ruling by fear was not how he envisioned things going. Then again, the orc frequently made a lot of sense. Therik knew what he was talking about. It was something he needed to consider, for fear was just another tool and one he should not disregard out of hand.

  “What would you suggest I do?” Stiger asked Therik. “Send Ruga’s men forward? We certainly outnumber them.”

  “That is one option,” Therik said, then studied Corus briefly. He turned back to Stiger. “You two have history. It’s bad, right?”

  “Their history doesn’t get any worse,” Eli confirmed.

  “I think I have made that plain,” Stiger said.

  “You people have honor fights, no?” Therik asked. “When there is bad blood, is there no way to satisfy that by personal combat?”

  “You mean duels?” Stiger asked, turning his gaze back to Corus, suddenly seeing things in a new light. “Yes, we have duels, and that bastard has wanted a piece of me for as long as I can remember.”

  Corus, for his part, was gesturing at him and Eli, giving some sort of instruction to Yanulus. The lieutenant gave a vigorous nod, turned, and snapped an order. A heartbeat later, one of the captain’s men went running off and away from them. He was clearly on his way to summon reinforcement.

  Was the rest of Corus’s company billeted in the nearby buildings? Stiger glanced again at Therik. Whatever he decided, Stiger understood he needed to do it quickly before the entirety of Corus’s company arrived. Then, it would be they who were outnumbered.

  “Challenge him to a duel,” Therik said. “Play upon his honor if you have to, and just kill him. You chop the head off the snake and the body’s not much of a problem after that.”

  “Corus is good,” Stiger said. “He’s an expert fighter and knows what he’s doing with a sword. It will not be so easy as you think.”

  “Yes,” Eli said, “Corus was always a superb fighter. It was his personality that was lacking.”

  “I can’t disagree with that,” Stiger said. “He’s a bastard on the best of days. It’s just in his nature.”

  “Challenge him,” Therik urged.

  The elf turned his gaze to Therik. “I thought you wanted to be the one to kill Ben?”

  “After all of our sparring?” Therik said, ignoring Eli while sounding exasperated with Stiger. “Are you so blind? I doubt there is another who can beat you in one-on-one combat. You have become faster and more deadly than you were when we first began. If I had to wager money on a human in single combat, I would back you with my own coin.”

  “You have no money,” Eli said.

  “Exactly why I am not going to place a bet on the outcome of such a fight,” Therik said. “Besides, even if I had some coin, no one here will bet on Corus. They’ve all seen Stiger fight.”

  Blowing out a breath, Stiger eyed Therik for a long moment. He turned his gaze back to Corus. The man was watching him, studying him. Their eyes locked. After all these years, Stiger still felt a gnawing dislike for the man, a hatred even. He knew it was mutual, for Stiger’s father had killed Corus’s father in personal combat back during the civil war. There was that and a lot more history between them. And all of it boiled down to a good deal of bad blood.

  No matter what Therik said, Corus was very good with a short sword. He always had been. Like Stiger, Corus was a killer. Should they duel, there would be no mercy given, nor any asked for. It would be to the death.

  “Some things,” Stiger said after a moment, “you just need to do for yourself.”

  “Now,” Therik said to Eli, “we get a little excitement.”

  “There is excitement,” Eli said, “and then there is excitement. I thought you knew that?”

  Therik shot the elf a frown.

  Stiger started moving again. While they had been talking, Ruga had reformed his men into a small line just ahead of Stiger. It matched that of the praetorians. As Stiger moved, the centurion snapped an order to advance.

  “Halt,” Ruga called when Stiger came to a stop ten feet from Corus and his line. “Spread out. Push those civilians back. They are too close. I want our line extended, sharply now. Optio, give me two more lines, there and there.”

  “Too afraid to come out from behind your men and talk with me, Stiger?” Corus called. “Hiding behind your men—I should have expected as much, coming from you.”

  Even just the sound of Corus’s voice irritated Stiger. With his time in the past, it had been years since he’d set eyes upon the man, and still his tone of voice and how he formed his words grated on Stiger’s nerves. Stiger felt the patchwork of scars that stitched their way across his back begin to itch, almost painfully.

  Here before him was one of his oldest enemies, a man he had long wanted to kill. And yet, Stiger had been specifically prohibited, ordered in fact, from taking his revenge. Now, nothing stood in his way but Corus himself.

  Stiger felt the rage stir within his breast. It took effort, and force of will, to remain calm amidst the storm of emotion that assailed him. All of the history between them, the vitriol and animosity, was coming down to this very moment.

  “Are you going to continue to hide behind your men?” Corus asked, disdain dripping from his tone. “Just like you hid all those years behind Treim and Aetius’s skirts?”

  “I like him already,” Therik said with a sick chuckle. “He may be an enemy, but outnumbered, he has balls.”

  Pushing his way through the line, Stiger stepped out before his men. Yanulus was at his captain’s side. Stiger could read the hatred in both their gazes.

  Behind the two officers, Corus’s men looked grim-faced and determined. Even outnumbered as they were, they would not run or break easily. These were well-trained and disciplined boys. Corus had always been a supreme asshole, but he had trained and run a first-rate company of fighters.

  Eli stepped up to his side, as did Therik. Ruga, holding his shield, pushed his way past his men and stood off to the side a bit. Ready to draw steel, the centurion had his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Ruga had also sent men down the side streets. These had formed a line in each direction, sealing them in, box-like, before the open double doors of Stiger’s family home. The rest of his men had fallen into a second rank behind the first.

  Corus’s eyes flicked to Therik and then Eli before returning to Stiger.

  “From the rumors flying about the city, I had heard Tioclesion named you his successor.” Corus spat on the ground before Stiger. “I honestly don’t know what he was thinking. A Stiger as emperor? Really? What madness is that? Your own father fought against Tioclesion’s claim to the curule chair.”

  “What are you doing here?” Stiger asked, refusing to be baited. He was already angry and saw no need to lose his head to the madness of rage. In fact, that was the last thing he desired, for it was clearly what
Corus wanted. To beat this man, Stiger understood he needed to remain calm, cool, and in control of his emotions. He had to be a ruthless killer. With Corus, that was the only way to win.

  “Serving my emperor,” Corus said, “the rightful emperor.” He glanced back toward the house. “And … keeping your father safe as a babe in her mother’s arms.”

  “I don’t suppose you will agree to let him go?” Stiger asked.

  “Why pretend to care about your father?” Yanulus said. “Everyone in the Third knew you two did not get along.”

  “He is family,” Stiger said simply. “I am sure even someone like you can understand that.”

  “He will be killed,” Corus said, “if you try to go through me. I have two good men with him, and they have their orders. Even a Stiger should be able to understand that.”

  “We don’t have to do this,” Stiger said. “There is no need for bloodshed. You’re outnumbered. You could just walk away.”

  “You are right,” Corus said. “I could. So too could you. I suggest you do just that, because I am not moving.”

  “Go”—Yanulus waved a hand dismissively—“while you can.”

  “I think we know I won’t be doing that,” Stiger said.

  “I figured not,” Corus said. “Then what do you propose?”

  “We have unfinished business between us,” Stiger said, “especially after your actions in the north.”

  “What actions?” Corus said.

  “You know of what I speak,” Stiger said. “Do not play games with me.”

  Corus gave a shrug of his shoulders.

  “If I am to be honest,” Corus said, after a slight hesitation, “lashing you was one of the true pleasures of my life. It was a blessed day when Lears handed me that whip. I think on it often. I really do, and each time it brings on a smile of satisfaction, a job well done.”

  Stiger stilled. He kept his anger at a slow boil and reminded himself to remain in control, no matter how much rage and bile he wanted to direct at the man. What had been done was done. It was history now, and yet, it was his personal history, part of his own story.