The Tiger’s Imperium

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Looking shaken, Spatz was pulling himself to his feet. So too were his men. Those standing farther away seemed not as badly affected. All eyes were on the sphere and the battle raging within.

  “Sir?” Spatz managed, sounding strangled.

  “Give the order to go in,” Stiger snapped as he began to stagger after Handi. “Send word to the others to begin the assault.”

  “Yes, sir,” Spatz said. “Company—fall in.”

  Stiger turned back, looking for Handi, and began moving. It was time to get him. With each step, Stiger’s footing and sense of balance became better, more certain. As he was passing the sphere, he could feel the energy within bleeding outward.

  One of Handi’s escorts, who was staggering backward toward the relative safety of the palace, spied Stiger, checked his progress, and raised his sword to strike. He seemed somewhat dazed still, and Stiger, having gained momentum, did not give him the chance to recover or strike. He lunged and stabbed with Rarokan. The tip took him in the sword arm, just above the elbow. Gasping in pain, the slave soldier disguised as a legionary dropped his sword, and as he did, Stiger shoved him roughly aside and out of the way.

  Handi was just ahead. Another member of the man’s bodyguard attacked Stiger. The man had lost his shield but he came on anyway. Stiger blocked the strike, pushing it forcefully away. The slave soldier took two steps backward to gain room for another attack. He brought his sword back up as Stiger gave a tentative stab. The move was easily blocked.

  The man was trained well and clearly competent, one who knew his sword work. Stiger lunged, launching a flurry of attacks, and immediately the slave soldier found himself on the defense. After blocking three attacks, the soldier missed the fourth, which slipped in and stabbed him in the chest. The sword cut straight through the armor, as if it weren’t there. The life rapidly faded from the man’s eyes as the sword took it. He fell stiffly backward and to the ground.

  Another slave soldier, dressed as a legionary, stepped in his way, blocking his pursuit of Handi. Before Stiger could react, Dog was there. Snarling savagely, the animal took the man down in a single bound. Stiger did not pause. He kept going, moving forward, chasing after Handi. Behind him, Therik attacked and killed the last of the guard. Handi was ahead, full-on running down the walkway now, toward the entrance to the palace. An auxiliary stood there, waving him on.

  Stiger could think of nothing other than catching the traitorous tribune. Behind Stiger, there was an incredible snapping sound, followed by a violent tremble. The ground under Stiger’s feet cracked, then seemed to jump up. He found himself crashing painfully to the ground. Still gripping Rarokan, he picked himself up again and looked back.

  The sphere was gone. Ferdol lay on the ground, his corpse smoking. Sehet wavered on his feet, then toppled over onto his side and lay still. Restus fell to his hands and knees. The paladin looked up and their eyes met.

  “Go!” Restus shouted. “Get him. He cannot escape.”

  Stiger glanced around and spotted Handi. He too had fallen. The tribune picked himself up and started once again toward the auxiliary at the door. Stiger dragged himself to his feet and sprinted after Handi.

  The tribune reached the door and disappeared inside. Stiger pushed for all he was worth. The auxiliary at the door, seeing Stiger, began to close it. Stiger threw his shoulder into the heavy door, just as it was closing the last few inches. He hammered into it, his momentum carrying him forward and throwing the door wide open. The auxiliary was sent sprawling to the floor. Stiger himself barely managed to keep his feet, stumbling several steps before bringing himself to a stop. Having hit the wall, the door banged back closed behind him and the latch clicked as it locked.

  Stiger glanced around and found himself in a small foyer. It was a side entrance from the gardens, the kind primarily used by servants. There were half a dozen armed auxiliaries in the room with him. They seemed startled by his abrupt arrival, frozen into immobility. Stiger glanced at the locked door behind him and suddenly recalled Lepidus warning him to take fewer risks.

  Gritting his teeth, Stiger knew there was nothing else to do but attack. He lunged for the nearest man, slicing downward and opening his thigh to the bone. The auxiliary screamed horribly as he fell back. That shattered the moment of indecision. A man made to attack. However, the door seemed to explode inward with such force that the lock snapped free and flew across the room, hammering into the far wall. The top hinge of the door was ripped off the wall and the door hung at an angle.

  Therik stood framed in the doorway, hulking and menacing. He took a step into the room and roared, baring his teeth at the enemy. The sound of the roar in the small room was utterly deafening. Sword swinging, he surged forward, attacking the nearest man, nearly cleaving his head from his shoulders with a single slash. A heartbeat later, the man’s body slammed to the floor, blood gushing out onto the polished white marble. There was a moment’s hesitation but that was all. The rest of the auxiliaries in the foyer lost heart and fled.

  Stiger punched out and stabbed a man in the leg as he was passing by. He fell to the floor in a tumble of arms and legs. Roaring, Therik pursued after the fleeing auxiliaries. Stiger was about to follow, but Dog burst into the room, saw Stiger, gave an enthusiastic bark, and then dashed after Therik.

  Eli was next to appear in the doorway. The elf seemed relieved to see Stiger. He was followed by Marcus. They looked around at the carnage and the two injured auxiliaries on the ground moaning. One gripped his wounded leg as he rocked on the floor. They turned their attention to Stiger.

  “You don’t have to kill everyone yourself, you know,” the elf said.

  “I should have known,” Marcus said, “you’d not listen to my advice about letting others take the risks.”

  “Where a Stiger goes, death follows,” Stiger said to his father.

  “Don’t give me that horseshit,” Marcus said. “Who do you think made that line up?”

  “I wanted to get Handi,” Stiger said, somewhat sheepishly. “He has much to answer for.”

  In the direction Therik and Dog had gone, screams sounded. Therik roared with what Stiger thought was satisfaction from a kill. Snarling and barking could be heard as it echoed back down the hallway to the foyer.

  “Then,” Marcus said with a heavy breath, hefting his sword, “let’s go find him.”

  Stiger gave his father a nod and followed after Therik and Dog. Behind them, Spatz’s legionaries began pouring into the room. Stiger found himself in a narrow hallway designed for servants. No one could be seen, but he could hear the fight as Therik and Dog pursued the fleeing auxiliaries, somewhere ahead.

  Ten feet in, he found himself stepping over the body of an auxiliary who had been brutally cut down from behind. Blood was all over the floor and walls. A door to the left was open. Stiger peeked in and saw an empty storeroom.

  He continued on. Thirty feet in, he came to a junction with a hallway turning left and another continuing forward. A blood trail led forward and he followed it. He rounded a bend and saw Therik, twenty yards ahead, in the middle of what looked like a larger room. Singlehandedly, the orc was battling two auxiliaries. Picking up the pace, Stiger continued in that direction.

  He emerged into what appeared to be a banquet or hosting hall. Wooden tables had been pushed against the walls, along with stools and benches. These had been stacked upon each other. As Stiger, Eli, and Marcus entered, fifteen more auxiliaries came from another door to the left. Off to the side, Dog had just taken a man down and was standing on his chest as he tore out the man’s throat.

  Therik sliced his sword neatly across the neck of one of his opponents. Blood spurting into the air, the man staggered backward, his free hand going to his ruined neck.

  Stiger moved forward and attacked the new arrivals. Eli was at his side, daggers out. Marcus came too. The fight was brutal, hard. The harsh clash of weapons rang out, echoing almost painfully off the walls. Blood sprayed through the air. Men screamed, called out war
cries, sobbed, moaned, grunted. Therik continually roared through it all, while Dog snarled and barked as he fought.

  Then Spatz’s men spilled into the room and, within moments, overwhelmed the defenders. The last of the auxiliaries turned and fled, with the legionaries hot on their heels.

  Blood ran freely across the floor, making the marble incredibly slick. Stiger almost slipped as he stepped aside to allow a legionary to pass. Men continued to stream by them, following the fight or heading through the two other doors that led off from the room. Stiger felt himself frown as reason returned. He knew not which way Handi had gone.

  Feeling frustrated and breathing heavily from his exertions, he glanced around. He realized he knew this place … well, this banquet hall specifically. He remembered it as a child. He had played hide-and-seek here with Tioclesion.

  There was a window to the left that was shuttered. It led out into a small courtyard with a garden. Stiger recalled it had been an herb garden for one of the kitchens. He moved over to it and opened the shutter, looking out. There was no one out there. The courtyard and garden were filled with fresh snow. There weren’t even footprints. He had a sudden idea and looked back at the others.

  “If we cut across the courtyard,” Stiger said, “there is a shortcut through the back hallways of the palace. It leads directly to the throne room. We might be able to surprise Lears.”

  “I like it,” Therik said.

  Stiger looked to his father. Marcus seemed to hesitate a moment, then gave a reluctant nod.

  “It sounds exciting,” Eli said.

  Stiger glanced around. Dog had gone after the defenders. There was no telling where in the palace he was now, though he could be heard barking off in the distance.

  Stiger climbed through the window and dropped down into the garden below, his feet sinking into the fresh snow. Across the way was another shuttered window. If he recalled correctly, that led to a kitchen, and from there they could follow servants’ passages directly to the throne room. They might even be able to avoid the defenders, as the passages he was thinking of traveled through the interior of the palace and were sort of out of the way.

  Eli dropped down after him and then Therik followed. Marcus came next.

  “I am getting too old for this sort of thing,” Marcus said.

  Stiger glanced back at his father, amused. Marcus’s sword was splattered with blood, as was his sword arm, armor, and face.

  “I’ve had that feeling a time or two myself,” Stiger said, then turned and made his way swiftly across the courtyard to the window. He tried the shutters. They were locked from the inside. Fighting could be heard from every direction now, as his men seemed to be storming the palace. He decided that the assault might work in their favor, as the defenders would rush to throw the attackers back.

  Stiger pulled on the shutters with no luck. He was about to use his sword to pry them open when Therik, growling with irritation, shoved him roughly aside. The orc full-on punched one side of the shutters, driving his large green fist right through wooden frame. The orc took hold of the inside of the shutter and ripped it open.

  “I guess that’s one way to open a shutter,” Eli said.

  “It is the quick way,” Therik said as he looked inside. He gave a satisfied grunt. A moment later, he climbed through the window, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded. The window was on the smaller side and the orc wasn’t. Therik had to squirm a bit to get through.

  “You may want to try eating a salad or two,” Eli quipped to the orc as Therik looked back at them from inside the kitchen. “You are getting a little pudgy around the center.”

  Therik grinned at the elf, for his stomach was all muscle.

  “I am still waiting for that meal that was promised,” Therik growled and then turned away.

  Stiger climbed through the window after the orc and found himself in a large kitchen. Eli followed a moment later and then gave a hand to Marcus to help him up and through.

  The kitchen was warm, hot even. The smell of burning bread was strong on the air. It was clear the cooks had fled and left the loaves to burn. Therik was at the door, which was open. He looked out and then turned back.

  “The hallway is empty,” Therik said. “Which way do we go?”

  “Left leads in the direction of the throne room,” Stiger said.

  “Are you sure?” Therik asked. “You told me you were last here when you were a child. I am thinking a lot of time has passed since then.”

  “I am not that old,” Stiger said. “And I have an excellent memory. We’re going left.”

  “Do you really think we will find Lears there?” Eli asked.

  “I hope so,” Stiger said. “Handi said he was in the throne room. I don’t think he was lying about that. At least I hope not.”

  Therik stepped out into the hallway, which was very narrow, and turned to the left. Stiger followed him out. The hallway was almost too small for the orc and had been made specifically for servants to use. Doors lined the hallway on both sides ahead.

  “This is the servants’ section of the palace,” Stiger said.

  “You mean slaves,” Eli said as he stepped out into the hall.

  “That’s right,” Stiger said, glancing back. “Though not everyone who is a servant in the palace is a slave. Many are freedmen and women. This is where they live. That kitchen we passed through is for them.”

  Therik began moving down the hallway. He opened each door they passed and looked in. The fighting throughout the palace had become quite loud. Stiger found it almost surreal that they were moving through the very heart of the palace without bumping into active opposition. And fighting seemed to be raging all around them.

  Therik opened yet another door ahead and several screams issued forth. The orc paused a moment, bared his tusks at whoever was inside, and continued on. Stiger looked in and saw three middle-aged women, all slaves, huddled in the corner. They screamed again, this time at the sight of him. Stiger realized for the first time that he was covered in blood and gore, much of it dried, from the earlier fight in the palace grounds. He held his finger up to his lips and the women quieted. Stiger continued on.

  Ahead, they were coming to the end of the hallway. It opened to a broad corridor with polished marble floors. Several legionaries went charging by to the left. Each held a javelin. Stiger wondered if they were real legionaries or the confederacy’s slave soldiers in disguise.

  “Those are the enemy,” Stiger whispered to Therik.

  “How can you tell?” Therik looked back at him. He had been about to lean out when the men had gone by. Thankfully, they had not been seen coming down the side passage.

  “The javelins,” Stiger said. “Our men don’t have them.”

  Therik grunted.

  “The throne room should be to the right a few yards,” Stiger said.

  “It is,” Marcus agreed. “I know this place.”

  Therik peeked out into the corridor, looking left and then right. He pulled his head back rapidly.

  “Six men to the right,” Therik said. “Standing before a big door that’s closed. Thirty yards away.”

  “Let’s go,” Stiger said, “before more show up and we find ourselves at a disadvantage.”

  Therik stepped out into the hallway. Stiger and Eli joined him. The men at the door to the throne room were standing in a circle and talking. A shout of alarm sounded a heartbeat later as Stiger and his party were spotted.

  “Javelins,” a sergeant ordered. They leveled their javelins. None had shields.

  Stiger began moving down the corridor, with Eli and Therik by his side. Stiger’s father brought up the rear. As he drew close, Stiger came to a halt.

  “Lay down your arms and you can go,” Stiger said. He did not see any slave collars, which meant they were likely from the light company. “My quarrel is not with you. It’s with Lears.”

  “Piss off,” a sergeant said. “You are outnumbered.”

  “I am Bennulius Stiger, the rightful
emperor. You know what follows me.”

  “Death,” one of the men gasped. His hand holding the javelin began to tremble.

  “That’s right,” Stiger said, taking several steps forward. His sword was still glowing. The men were looking between it and Therik, even Eli. He could see their will begin to waver. Stiger did not want to kill them. There had already been too much of that, and from the sounds of things, the battle still raging throughout the palace, there would be much more death before things were settled.

  There was a deep, guttural growling that almost caused Stiger to jump. Dog had joined them. The animal took several steps forward, moving between Therik and Eli, stopping before Stiger. His hair along his back was standing on end and his teeth were bared. Bloodied drool dripped to the marble flooring. Dog’s fur was covered in blood, as if he had bathed in it. The men with the sergeant stared in what was clearly horror at the large dog.

  “Hold fast,” the sergeant ordered, though his voice wavered slightly. “Don’t listen to him.”

  “I’ve spent my life in the legion,” Stiger said. “I don’t want to kill you. Don’t make me. I’ve done enough of that already today to last me a lifetime.”

  “Boys,” Marcus said, “it’s time to go, while you still can.”

  One of the men threw down his javelin. It clattered loudly against the marble floor. He drew his sword and dropped it as well. Another man dropped his javelin.

  “I ain’t fighting for the bastard hiding in that throne room,” one of the men said.

  “I said hold fast,” the sergeant barked. “That’s an order, damn you.”

  “Sergeant,” Stiger said, softening his tone as he drew another step closer. “Let it go. Walk away. This is no longer your fight, not anymore. It’s mine.”

  The rest of the men dropped their weapons. The sergeant looked disgusted with his men, but at the same time also with himself. Stiger could read it in his eyes. He wanted to leave too. He did not want to fight for Lears or, more likely, what now appeared to be a losing cause. After another moment, he dropped his javelin and held his hands up.