Stiger’s eyes narrowed.
“Who is the other mug for?” Stiger asked. He had spent most of the day with his headquarters staff or in meetings. Then had come the sparring session with Therik. All he desired was to enjoy his fire in peace and turn in for the night. It seemed Venthus had other ideas for him.
“Me,” came a female voice through the door.
Stiger’s gaze shifted to the open door and he scowled slightly.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Taha’Leeth said as she stepped into the room. She wore only a brown tunic that reached down to just above her knees, exposing her shapely legs. “We have unfinished business between us.”
Dog opened his eyes and shifted his head to watch her.
“Unfinished?” Stiger wondered what she meant by that. Elves always seemed to go out of their way to make things complicated when they need not be. Why could they never get right to the point? It was almost maddening.
Venthus looked between them briefly before handing the mug to the elf. He turned to Stiger, clasping his hands before him. “If you don’t require anything further, I will withdraw, master.”
“No,” Stiger said. “Thank you, Venthus. See that I am woken an hour before dawn, will you?”
“Very well, master.” Venthus retreated, closing the door behind him.
“You will excuse me if I do not stand,” Stiger said. “My sparring match with Therik became a little spirited.” He gestured at the other chair by the desk. “Would you care to sit and join me by the fire?”
She appeared amused, her gaze flicking to his bruised jaw. Taha’Leeth slid the other chair across the stone floor to the fire. She angled it so that the chair faced the fire but also slightly toward Stiger. She sat down and pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged.
Dog turned his head away and closed his eyes, going back to sleep.
“It is warm in here,” Taha’Leeth said, holding her hands out before her. “Unlike much of the keep.”
“Rank has its privileges,” Stiger said. “It’s why I took this room over the larger ones, even though they, too, had fireplaces. A smaller room gets warmer quicker and tends to stay that way longer. The ceiling is also low, which helps too.” He pointed toward a hole in the wall. “It would not have been an issue if the dwarven heating system was working. None of my boys can figure it out.”
She looked over at him and raised a delicate eyebrow. “Have you asked Braddock to help?”
“There has been no time to ask the thane, as he’s not in the castle, but directly overseeing the work on the roads. I did speak with Tyga. He sent over a team to look at it. They say a repair would take months. We won’t be here that long, so I told them not to bother.”
“I had heard you got him angry,” Taha’Leeth said.
For a moment, Stiger was confused. He had not angered Tyga. Then he realized she was changing the subject.
“You mean Therik?”
She nodded. “I never thought to see an orc as an ally.”
“Me neither,” Stiger said, “let alone call one a friend.”
“Wars occasionally make for strange bedfellows,” Taha’Leeth said. “Like the dwarves and gnomes. Until I saw them working alongside one another here in Vrell, I never thought such a thing possible.”
Stiger gave an absent nod.
“So, you made Therik angry?” Taha’Leeth said.
He looked back over at her and gave another nod. His sparring with the orc always seemed to attract a crowd. He was sure the men even wagered on the outcomes. They made bets on everything and anything. Such things were commonplace in the military. Therefore, it was no surprise to him she had heard about his latest match.
“We both gave as good as we got,” Stiger said. He had gotten in a lucky blow to the stomach that had enraged the orc. In truth, Therik had more than made up for it, punishing Stiger with a shot to the jaw. It had been so powerfully delivered that the blow had laid him on his backside. Stiger had seen stars and been dazed for a few moments.
“It appears as if you got a little more than he did.” Taha’Leeth reached over and ran a finger along his bruised jaw. Stiger winced at the touch, for it was still very sore. Her eyes sparkled with barely contained amusement.
Stiger gave a shrug of his shoulders and took a small sip of his heated wine. He could feel the warmth go right down to his belly. Feeling more than a little sleepy, he stifled a yawn.
Why was she here?
He glanced over at Taha’Leeth as the wind rattled the shutters again. Stiger was tired and weary. He had been looking forward to relaxing before turning in for the night. Now it did not seem like that would happen, at least until she got around to whatever she wished to discuss. What business was it that was unfinished between them? For the life of him, he could not think what it was.
She took a sip of her own wine and pulled her gaze away from his to the fire. Stiger continued to eye her for a long moment. Taha’Leeth appeared no older than her mid-twenties. She was truly a beautiful woman, made more so by her fiery red hair, which she had tied into a single braid down her back. A few strands had escaped and fallen around her face. He’d never known an elf who had red hair.
Taha’Leeth pulled the braid over her right shoulder and across her chest. Holding it with one hand, she slowly stroked the braid with the other as she gazed into the fire’s depths. It seemed like an absent habit, something she’d long done. After a few moments, she glanced over at him, their eyes met briefly, and he realized he’d been staring.
A log in the fire popped loudly. Stiger gave a mental shrug and turned his own gaze back to the fire. He allowed the silence in the room to grow. It was broken only by the crackle of flames and the occasional rattling of the shutters as the wind gusted. He knew she would speak when she was ready, and Stiger was in no hurry.
On such a night, he could have had worse company or none at all to share the fire with, other than Dog. That was usually the worst part, because he was left to his memories and regrets. His annoyance at the interruption slipped away. He took another sip of his wine and settled in to wait. It did not take too long.
“My people are coming.”
“I know,” Stiger said, without looking over at her. “How long will it take them to get here?”
“Several months, at least, for most,” Taha’Leeth said. “However, we should start seeing some of them sooner, perhaps within a few weeks.”
“A few weeks?” Stiger was surprised to hear that. “How’s that possible?”
“They were brought across the Narrow Sea, just like I was, when the Cyphan decided to challenge the empire. I sent word not only to my people back home but to those serving throughout the confederacy’s armies. Word will spread. They will come.”
“I see.”
“They should bring with them intelligence as to what is going on outside Vrell. I know you seek to gain such information.”
Stiger brightened at that prospect.
“How many of your people do you think we will see sooner rather than later?”
She was silent for several heartbeats. “Maybe two, possibly three hundred. It all depends on who feels the need to return home to help their families flee and who believes they can come without worry. I left it up to the individual.”
“Three hundred?” Stiger exclaimed, sitting up, weariness gone. “All rangers?”
“Most.” Taha’Leeth gave a nod. “Some are not rangers. They have other skills the confederacy deemed valuable.”
Stiger had never seen that many elves together in one place, even when he’d lived in Eli’s homeland. In the end, how many of her people would come? Thousands? Tens of thousands?
“I shall welcome your people,” Stiger said and meant it.
“I thank you for that,” Taha’Leeth said. “This is important for us, for me.”
They fell into a silence. Stiger once again leaned back in the chair, which creaked, and returned his feet to the stool. He took another sip of his wine and considered that,
between the dwarves, the legion, and now the elves, he was amassing a truly fearsome army.
Scratching at an itch on his arm, he shifted his feet slightly. The bottom of the stool scraped against the stone floor. Stiger knew he was moving toward his destiny, his fate. Where that was leading, he did not know. It could easily mean his death, for nothing in this world was certain. There was a time when such thoughts would have made him deeply uncomfortable. Now…he had come to accept who and what he was, the High Father’s Champion, an instrument of a god.
“Tell me about the Cyphan,” Stiger asked, breaking the silence.
“What would you like to know?”
“I’ve read about the confederacy,” Stiger said, “but I’ve never traveled there. What I know is limited.”
Taha’Leeth gave an absent nod and sipped at her wine, saying nothing.
“I have heard some claim the armies of the confederacy are almost as tough as the legions. I’ve fought against them. I know that part is true. They can be tough.” Stiger took a pull on his wine and then slightly waved the half-empty mug at Taha’Leeth. “What I want to know is what kind of people are they? Who am I fighting? Would you tell me about them as a people?”
Taha’Leeth took a deep breath. She seemed almost to shudder as it came out. “The Cyphan are a cruel and depraved people, driven by a hard, unforgiving religion centered around Valoor.”
“Valoor,” Stiger said. He had never thought of that god as a cruel and dark deity, like Castor. There was even a temple honoring him in the capital. That said, he did not know much about him.
“Yes, Valoor, the so-called god of life and death and the in-between.” Taha’Leeth took a pull on her wine. “Everything is built upon the backs of others and power is wielded by the few. As you know, for my actions…the destruction of the other World Gate…my people have suffered terribly at the Cyphan’s hands. But we had a use and so they allowed us to prosper in a fashion, to live a little better than others so that we could serve.”
She fell silent for several heartbeats as her gaze returned to the fire. She took another deep breath and let it out before continuing. “The confederacy is made up of individual states tied together through alliance, trade, and common interests. The ruling families of these states strengthen their ties through marriage. The priesthood also wields considerable influence and has a say in major decisions.”
She took a sip of her wine.
“There is very little opportunity for anyone to advance within society, as everyone is born into their place. The ruling families hold most of the power and money. Think of them as simply the owners of everything, the masters.”
“Is there a plebian class?” Stiger asked. “Equites?”
She scowled at him slightly, clearly not understanding what he was asking.
“In the empire we have the nobility,” Stiger said. “The equites are called the equestrians, kind of like the middle class, then there are the masses, what we call the plebeians and the freed. After that, there are the slaves.”
“You are of the nobility?” Taha’Leeth asked.
“I am,” Stiger said. “Is there anything like the equites, plebeians, or the freed in the confederacy?”
“There is a middle class of sorts. They are the merchants, tradesmen, and skilled workers. They have it slightly better than the rest, but for the most part, the confederacy is filled with those who have very little. Suffering and misery abound. There are more slaves than citizens. Poverty is widespread. Most live like animals.”
She paused, taking a pull from her mug and draining the last of the wine. Taha’Leeth stood and walked over to the table, where Venthus had left the wine jar. Refilling her mug, she returned to the chair. “Nearly all of the confederacy’s professional soldiers are slaves. The rest are conscripts. There are a few professional military companies, what you would call mercenaries for hire.”
Was she was telling him that power was controlled by a select few?
“Those soldiers fighting on behalf of the Cyphan are enslaved into the confederacy’s armies? And the rest are forced to serve and fight when needed?”
“More correctly, they are born into it.” She raised a finger and wagged it in the air as if to emphasize her point. “The confederacy’s slave soldiers are raised and trained from birth to fight. Do not make the mistake of assuming they are not properly motivated. Yes, they are treated little better than animals. They have no say in whether they fight and die on behalf of their masters, but they do so willingly. It’s all they know. So too with the conscripts.”
It was Stiger’s turn to scowl. Though the empire did not use slave soldiers, there had been more than a few slave revolts. What made the empire different from the Cyphan? Surely the slaves from the confederacy dreamed of freedom, a better life?
“I very much doubt you could ever get them to turn upon their masters,” Taha’Leeth said.
“You switched sides,” Stiger pointed out.
“We are different,” Taha’Leeth said.
“How so?”
“The confederacy has a rigid caste system,” Taha’Leeth said. “It is based on birth. As one would expect, they, like all slaves, dream of freedom. However, slaves cannot be granted, nor purchase, their freedom. So, they go about obtaining that which they greatly desire in a different manner, through dedicated service or by death on the battlefield, if their lot in life is to be a soldier.”
“I don’t understand,” Stiger said as the fire popped loud enough to stir Dog slightly from his slumber. The big shaggy animal raised his head and looked toward the fire, yawned mightily, then laid his head upon his paws and promptly went back to sleep.
“Their devotion and motivation is tied directly to their faith. Valoor teaches servitude is the path to salvation. As such, you will find the confederacy’s soldiers highly motivated. Simply, they believe in divine favor and reward for loyal service. They do not look for such in the mundane world. To serve or die well in battle is something they willingly seek.”
Stiger was silent as he considered her troublesome words. He wondered what such a divine reward looked like.
“Those who are born malformed or deemed unable to serve due to age or disability are put to death. The Cyphan are truly a wretched people.” Taha’Leeth paused, her gaze seeming to turn inward. She shuddered slightly. “Every year, there is the Sacred Culling. It is a day of festivity, celebration, games, but also murder. Those deemed worthless to society are ritually put to death, publicly...very publicly. You see, this way they are given a second chance.”
“A second chance?”
“Yes,” Taha’Leeth said. “They have the opportunity to be reborn and contribute.”
“But you do not believe as they do.” Stiger said this as a statement and not a question.
“No, I do not worship at Valoor’s altar,” Taha’Leeth said. “Tanithe is the god I honor, followed by the High Father.”
“What about the rest of your people?”
“You do not have to worry about them. They will come and serve alongside the dwarves, your humans, and the gnomes. I promised. My people will fight with you and for the High Father’s alignment. Tanithe is honored to sit on the High Father’s left side.”
Stiger gave a nod, recalling the small temple to Tanithe in the capital. His mother had taken him there as a child to offer devotion, like she had with many of the other gods. Tanithe was the god of cunning and mischief, amongst other things. He had always seemed a little mysterious to Stiger, but as he was part of the old order, he was honored. And so, the Stiger family had offered the god regular devotion.
“Do you know of the teachings of Valoor?” Taha’Leeth asked.
Stiger shook his head. Valoor was not part of the order and High Father’s alignment. He’d never considered the god opposed to his until recently.
“Much of the confederacy follows the teachings of Valoor,” Taha’Leeth said. “It is believed that service to one’s god, no matter how menial, including enforced servi
tude, is a blessing. If you serve and work well, when you are reborn, your station in life will improve. The greater your service in life, the greater chance you have of being reborn to the middle class, as a priest, or even a higher station, as part of the nobility. Serve poorly and your station will decrease to that of a slave or…worse, say a beast of burden or maybe a rock, from which there is no return. I am simplifying a bit, but you get my point, yes?”
“Rebirth,” Stiger said softly, suddenly feeling deeply unhappy. In the fight to come, he would truly be struggling against faith. Not that he had not faced that before, with Castor. But this meant the fight ahead would be quite difficult. “Rebirth in an improved station is what the soldiers of the confederacy seek as their reward?”
“It is all they yearn for and rightly expect,” Taha’Leeth said, “and why they are such fearsome foes.”
“What about the rebels?” Stiger asked. “Do they follow Valoor?”
“No,” she replied. “They follow the High Father.”
He rubbed his jaw and winced, as he had forgotten the soreness. In a few days’ time, he would be fighting and killing followers of his own god. Stiger gave a slight scowl at that. It was not a satisfactory turn of events. But then again, he had a higher duty to consider.
“They made their choice,” Stiger said, feeling his anger stir at what he would be required to do. “They are now the enemy and will be treated as such.”
She said nothing to that, and once again they fell back into silence, both watching the fire. Dog slept on.
Taha’Leeth shifted in her chair abruptly and looked over at him. Their eyes met. She tilted her head slightly to the side while stroking her braid.
“You have changed, Ben Stiger. As I knew you would…as Tanithe revealed to me.”
“Everyone changes,” Stiger replied, becoming uncomfortable, though he was not quite sure why. For some strange reason, he felt like he could not look away. With the firelight flickering over her face, she appeared more alluring than ever. He knew she was not using a glamour on him. Menos, the noctalum, otherwise known as the dragon Sian Tane, had taught him how to block such simple tricks and guard his mind from intrusion. “Everyone changes.”
The Tiger’s Wrath (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 5) Page 6