The Tiger’s Wrath (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 5)

by Marc Edelheit

  “Is that right, sir?” Ikely asked, with an amused laugh as Dog raised his head and began licking at his face. “I’ve always loved dogs.”

  The dog’s long tail began wagging quite vigorously, to the point where it shook his entire body.

  “I think he can tell,” Stiger said with some amusement.

  “He’s a killer,” Therik said in Common, having dismounted. The orc scowled at his horse, which had taken several steps from him and was trying to pull the reins from Therik’s grasp. The orc gave a mighty tug and the horse gave up the attempt.

  “A killer?” Ikely said skeptically, his attention focused on Dog. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe,” Therik said and gestured at Dog. “That animal is a vicious killer.”

  Dog looked back at the orc, tail becoming still. The animal gave Therik a sad whine, as if protesting the comment. It was moments like these that had Stiger convinced Dog understood every spoken word. The animal was special. That much he knew. Dog was a naverum, one of the mystical guardians of Olimbus, the place in which the gods supposedly resided. Stiger did not know which of the gods sent him, but whichever one it was, he was grateful. He could no longer imagine life without him, for he was not just a companion, but also had become a friend.

  Dog jumped up on Ikely, placing both his paws on the lieutenant’s shoulders. With no little amount of effort, Ikely forced Dog back down, then rubbed at the animal’s thick neck with both hands. Dog’s back right leg began to kick. “A killer? This sad thing? I seriously doubt that.”

  “You are a fool, then,” Therik said in a hard tone. “He has heart of warrior. If you can’t see it, you are blind.”

  The lieutenant turned his gaze for the first time to Therik. He stiffened in surprise as he realized he was speaking to an orc. The lieutenant glanced to Stiger, then back to Therik with a mixture of horror and curiosity.

  “Lieutenant Ikely,” Stiger said hastily. He did not want Ikely to get off on the wrong foot with Therik, for the orc tended to hold grudges with people he took a disliking to. “I would like to introduce you to my friend”—Stiger stressed the word—“King Therik.”

  “Your friend?” Ikely asked, dubious, as Dog continued to sniff at the lieutenant’s hand. Ikely began absently patting Dog’s head.

  “My friend,” Stiger affirmed. “I trust him with my life.”

  Ikely’s eyes narrowed slightly but he gave the orc a respectful nod. “A friend of yours is a friend of mine, sir. Well met, King Therik.”

  “This is Ikely?” Therik gave an unimpressed grunt and turned his attention back to the lieutenant. “I thought you would be taller.”

  Ikely’s gaze flicked to Stiger and then to Therik before returning to Stiger in question.

  “Right, everyone is now acquainted,” Stiger said, clapping both hands together. He was feeling stiff and cold from the ride. He stretched out his back and felt a sudden stitch of pain in his side. It caused him to wince. The old wound, inflicted upon him by the minion, occasionally troubled him, especially when it rained or snowed. It had never quite healed right.

  “One day…” Therik, not one to let another have the last word, bared his tusks at the lieutenant in another amused grin. The orc pointed at Stiger with a thick finger. “I will kill him.”

  Ikely frowned.

  “Same old game.” Salt gave an amused chuckle. “It’s good to see you, Therik.”

  “You too, old Salt,” Therik said and stepped forward. The two shook hands warmly.

  Salt glanced over at the waiting legionaries. They had been standing off to the side. “What are you waiting for? Get their horses.”

  The legionaries rushed forward. Eli and Taha’Leeth, having dismounted, handed over their reins. Therik readily gave up the reins to the dwarven mountain pony and then spat on the ground in front of the horse.

  Stiger hesitated as one of the legionaries stepped up with the clear intention of taking Nomad. He preferred to see to the care of his own mount. Then, he reconsidered and gave the legionary the reins. There was work to be done.

  “See that he’s brushed down and fed,” Stiger said.

  “I will take good care of your horse, sir,” the legionary assured him.

  “Do you think you can find him an apple?” Stiger asked. “Maybe a carrot, if you don’t have one.”

  “We don’t have any fresh apples, sir,” the legionary said, “but we do have some that are pickled.”

  “He’s not fussy,” Stiger said.

  “I will see that he gets one and some carrots too, sir,” the legionary said, patting Nomad’s neck.

  “Thank you,” Stiger said.

  Nomad was led away toward the stables.

  Large puffy flakes began drifting downward into the courtyard. Stiger glanced up at the gray overcast sky. The clouds were almost close enough that they reached the tops of the castle walls. He could see a few of the sentries high above.

  It had snowed the day before, coating the entire valley in a thick carpet of white. The base of the valley had seen four inches of snow. At higher elevations, like the castle, the snow had fallen heavier. Stiger glanced around the courtyard. The snow had been shoveled to the sides and piled high against the interior walls. Near the barred east gate, which led to the Vrell road and the other side of the pass, a detail was busy filling the bed of a wagon hitched to a team of draft horses. It was clear their intention was to haul the snow out of the castle.

  Stiger took a deep breath through his nose. The air smelled strongly of another storm. The first flakes of snow were a sure sign one was on the way. Winter had finally come to the mountains and it was proving to be quite harsh. And yet, he knew that a few hundred miles to the east, at lower elevation, the weather would be much milder, drier. The rainy season would have ended and the ground become firm.

  Stiger felt a sudden urgency for action. He was ignorant of what was happening outside the valley. That bothered him to no end. But one thing he did know was that the fighting season had begun.

  He glanced around the courtyard once more. His eyes caught upon Taha’Leeth. She was speaking quietly with Eli off to the side. With a hand, she threw back her hood. Her fiery red hair was a shock of color set in contrast to the drabness of the day. She captured his gaze and held it for a long moment, then smirked slightly in a manner Stiger felt was almost seductive. His heartbeat quickened. She returned her attention to Eli and said something more. Eli replied with a nod. She stepped away, heading for the keep. A legionary was standing guard before the door. He opened it for her. She stepped through and was gone a heartbeat later as the legionary closed the door. With her departure, it seemed the day darkened just a tad.

  Stiger blew out a breath, his gaze on the door to the keep. He wanted to warm up next to a good fire and have a hot meal before addressing the dispatches and reports that surely were waiting for him. They always were. But first, he had something to do.

  “I want to see them,” Stiger announced and began moving for the stone steps that led up to the battlements several hundred feet up. The wide stairs had been shoveled. Dirt had been thrown onto the steps for added traction, as there were the remnants of snow and ice on the steps. The others followed him up.

  The climb was steep. Stiger made sure to use the iron handrail, for he did not want to slip and fall into the courtyard. With every step climbed, it became a more dangerous drop. At first, it felt good to exercise his legs, especially after such a long ride. But step after step steadily began to take its toll. Before long, his thighs burned, and despite the wickedly cold air, he began to perspire. Climbing the stairs in armor was not all it was cracked up to be.

  Reaching the top was a relief. Stiger found his breathing coming hard and fast. Still, the exercise had felt good. He paused and glanced around. Out of the shelter of the courtyard walls, the mountain winds were intense, bitingly cold, and strong. They howled through the gaps in the battlements, sounding very much like a banshee screaming her rage at the world. Then, the w
ind would subside, and it would become nearly deathly quiet.

  The sentries manning the walls, both legionaries and dwarven warriors, were wrapped tightly in their cloaks and furs. Their faces were completely covered over in scarves or blankets. Only their eyes were visible.

  The gusts, when they came, whipped over and around the battlements. They were cold enough to burn exposed flesh. A few of the sentries glanced over in Stiger’s direction and then, as was proper, shifted their gazes back outward or continued their rounds. Stiger understood it was miserable duty, but necessary.

  He walked up to the east wall and found a free spot between the battlements. The vastness of the Sentinel Forest stretched outward, for as far as the eye could see. The trees were coated in white and Stiger thought it a spectacular view.

  Therik chose a spot farther down the wall to look out, as did Eli. Stiger turned his gaze downward to the large encampment that had cut its way into the edge of the forest.

  He felt his anger stir at the sight of his enemy, the Cyphan. He rested a hand upon his sword hilt. The enemy’s camp looked like an ugly scar upon what was otherwise unspoiled land. One hundred yards from the wall, he could see where part of it had been abandoned and the bulk of the encampment moved back to the foot of the pass, the edge of which was more than a half mile distant. Smoke from uncounted campfires rose lazily up into the sky, until the mountain winds dispersed and carried it away. Below, thousands of the enemy moved about, looking for all the world like ants.

  Closer to the walls of the castle, a series of defensive trenches designed to hem the castle in had been dug. Behind the trenches was a large earthen rampart, with artillery emplacements for bombardment.

  The defenses appeared formidable. Their purpose was clearly to keep Stiger and the garrison from breaking out. He wondered why they had bothered. They had to know by now that he had an inferior force. Heck, they’d chased him all the way back to the castle. Unless they somehow knew the truth, that he had brought back the Thirteenth Legion and assembled an army of dwarves and gnomes.

  He did not see how they could, though he did concede that they knew there were dwarves in league with him. The parley with Braddock and Lord General Kryven on the Vrell road had made that blatantly apparent to the enemy. That parley had not gone as expected. It had ended with Braddock killing the lord general and swearing to end the Cyphan.

  Stiger’s eyes moved away from the defenses sealing the valley in, to the main part of the enemy’s camp. Though quite a ways off, he could see hundreds of tents, along with dozens of smaller buildings… likely cabins… most of which looked to have been built out of rough-cut logs, harvested from the nearby forest. More were in partial states of construction.

  When the wind subsided between gusts, Stiger could hear distant hammering. The enemy was clearly hard at work constructing winter quarters for their men.

  They were settling in. It was what Stiger wanted to see. For it likely meant that, with the snow, they had become complacent, thinking fighting was finished ‘til spring. Stiger’s gaze tracked to the enemy’s siege line. He counted thirty stone throwers. Another five of the large artillery pieces were in various states of assembly. The presence of artillery told him the enemy had trained engineers.

  He felt his anger go from a simmer to a slow boil. Despite the bitter cold and the brutal wind that howled and whistled through the battlements, it warmed him. He placed his hands upon the wall, feeling the cold touch of the stone through his leather gloves. They had no idea an army of humans, dwarves, and gnomes waited, hidden on the other side of the pass. Those people down there were his enemy and they had absolutely no concept of what he had planned for them. Stiger was going to bring his wrath down upon them and everyone else who stood in his way.

  Ikely came up next to Stiger. “Once the weather improves, the gnomes intend on bringing up specialized machines, sir. They think they can hit the artillery along the siege line, but not much beyond that.”

  Stiger gave a nod, studying the distance from the siege line to the castle walls. It was a long way off. Gnomes were born engineers. If they thought they could do it, then they probably could. Still, if what Stiger and Braddock had planned worked, the gnomes would not have the chance to test their machines. They would have to settle for a little disappointment.

  Eli stepped nearer and looked at Ikely. “What do you think?”

  “I think it certainly doesn’t hurt to try,” Ikely said. “Before the weather soured, the enemy clearly planned on starting serious work at reducing the walls. They even took a few ranging shots when the first machines were completed. The walls are strong. Their shot simply bounced off or shattered upon impact.” Ikely blew out a steaming breath. “So, they turned their attention to constructing additional machines. Then the weather turned on them. We got our first real snow a week ago, and since then, they’ve stopped. Their focus has shifted almost exclusively over to building winter quarters. The gnomes seem to think the enemy artillery is susceptible to cold weather.”

  “They’re right,” Salt said. “In temperatures like this, there’s a good chance a rope would snap or a support fail. Such a thing could see the machine destroyed, the crew killed or injured. They won’t want to risk losing highly trained men and engineers, not when we’re nicely bottled up and they have all the time in the world to get to us. No, the gnomes are right. The enemy will wait until the weather improves and the temperature climbs. Until then, they will sit tight and settle for keeping us from escaping.”

  Stiger agreed, then looked at Ikely. “How many men do you think they have?”

  “I’ve done some counting and more than a little estimation, sir,” Ikely said with a glance back down toward the enemy encampment. “I figure the enemy’s strength is at least thirty thousand strong. It’s possible that they have more, sir, concealed by the trees, but I doubt it.”

  Stiger gave a nod of agreement. That information matched the intelligence Braddock’s pioneers had collected. Judging from the size of the enemy’s encampment, he decided the estimate likely correct. Stiger continued to scan the enemy’s camp, critically studying what he saw, analyzing it and doing his best to commit it to memory. He wondered if the defenses extended into the trees on the far side of their encampment. He could not quite tell.

  If it had been a legionary camp, the planned defense not only would have hemmed in the castle, but would have extended walls and trenches completely around the legion’s camp. However, he was wholly unfamiliar with the standards of the Cyphan.

  Stiger felt himself frown, the scar on his cheek pulling the skin taut. He could not see any defenses facing or moving out into the forest. He realized any such defensive works could be hidden by the trees and snow. He glanced over at Eli and decided he would soon have a job for the elves, though only when the legion was ready and not before.

  The wind gusted strongly again, the cold burning his cheeks and causing his eyes to water. Stiger turned his attention back to the enemy’s camp. It seemed more of a jumbled mess, hastily thrown together, than an organized army encampment. The tents had been erected haphazardly instead of in orderly rows, as one would expect from a professional army. On the wind, he could smell the stench of poor sanitation too. He wondered on their discipline, suspecting it was not the best. How many of the enemy were Cyphan? How many were the rabble that were the Southern rebels? He just did not know.

  “No matter how strong the walls,” Ikely said, “once they get all of their artillery hammering away, I’d imagine they might do some damage.”

  “I don’t intend to give them that much time,” Stiger growled, stepping back from the wall and out of the wind. He had seen enough. “We’re going to deal with them, sooner rather than later.”

  “You mean to attack?” Ikely asked, with not a little surprise. He waved toward the defenses below. “Is that why you and Braddock brought the army up and camped them on the road in such poor weather? Sir, I’m quite sure you know, but assaulting that defensive line will prove cos
tly, sir, no matter our numbers.”

  Stiger turned and made for the stairs. It was time to find a warm fire, a jar of heated wine, and some food. He stopped on the first step and looked back at Ikely.

  “Lieutenant, I have no intention of attacking that defensive line,” Stiger said. “Braddock and I have something a little more elegant planned.”

  With that, Stiger started down the stairs.

  TWO

  It had been four hours since he’d arrived at the castle. Leaning forward, Stiger placed both palms on the stout table. It was made of oak planking nailed together. The tabletop was scarred, pitted, and stained from heavy use. Stiger supposed it had been used for communal meals or perhaps even to prepare food.

  Several wax tablets lay neatly stacked on the table. Upon his request, the legion’s clerks had prepared these reports. An old oil lamp, hanging from the ceiling by an iron chain, lit the medium-sized room, as did a fat tallow candle that had been set on the table.

  Severus had selected the space as a working office for him. Stiger was well pleased with the choice, for the room came with its own fireplace. After the long, cold ride up from the valley, the warmth was more than welcome. The fire crackled and popped loudly in the hearth. A clerk had recently fed it. Dog lay stretched out on his side, stomach toward the fire, sleeping.

  Another smaller table that served as a desk faced the wall to the right. A half-eaten bowl of beef stew and an empty wine mug rested on the desk, along with a pile of maps that Braddock had provided and a stack of dispatches. Stiger had spent the last two hours reviewing and responding to them.

  In the next room over, Stiger could hear his headquarters staff at work, the scuff of feet on stone as messengers came and went, the drone of many voices, an occasional cough or sneeze.

  Salt, Severus, Ikely, Eli, and Taha’Leeth were standing around the table. At his request, they had joined him. Stiger and Salt had just reviewed and outlined the plans that they, along with Braddock, had developed for the coming campaign. They had fielded several questions before moving on to other business.