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

by Marc Edelheit

  “I do,” Stiger said in a firm tone to end the matter.

  Seventh Cohort to their front began moving again. Stiger started walking, tugging on Nomad’s lead to get the horse going. The horse shook his head and pulled on the reins. Stiger gave a firmer tug and, with it, Nomad began clopping forward. Stiger’s mount did not like the underground either. The animal had been skittish since they’d entered. Ruga’s century started moving, and behind them, the lead elements of Eighth Cohort started forward too.

  Fresh air from the exit ahead blew down the tunnel in a frigid breeze. Stiger shivered, as it reminded him of the freezing temperatures that waited aboveground. He drew his bearskin cloak closer about himself. The cloak had been a gift from Braddock’s father, Brogan. Stiger treasured it, for it was quite warm and a princely present.

  The cohort to their front, frustratingly, ground to a halt once again. Stiger resisted expelling a frustrated breath.

  “This is a little maddening, sir,” Ruga said.

  “Hurry up and wait,” Stiger replied. “In the army, it seems you’re always waiting for something or other. The other is usually for someone else to do their job properly, so you can do yours. An old sergeant of mine, a fellow by the name of Tiro, told me once to ‘best get accustomed to it, for it is the natural state of things in the army.’”

  “That’s good advice, sir,” Ruga said. “What do you suppose the holdup is, sir? I don’t much fancy the underground. Too dank and confining. I’d rather be waiting on the surface, sir.”

  “I don’t like it either,” Stiger said and then considered Ruga’s question. “As each cohort leaves the road and marches out to the surface, likely the forest and snow are doing their best to conspire to slow things down.” Stiger blew out a breath that was more sigh than anything else. “But in truth, were we marching under the open sky, along the Vrell road, there would likely still be delays and unexpected halts, just not as many as we’re seeing today.”

  “It’s a wonder the legion can move at all, sir,” Ruga groused.

  Stiger privately agreed with the centurion. The starting and stopping seemed rather excessive. He was beginning to worry that something serious had occurred or gone wrong. He pushed those concerns aside, for worry would only make his frustration worse. Besides, he figured, if it had, a messenger would have been rushed back to him with an update.

  “I understand your niece married Lieutenant Lan,” Stiger said, looking over at the centurion in hopes of passing the time with some idle conversation and keeping his mind from worrying.

  “I am surprised you know about that, sir,” Ruga said.

  “All officers under my command must seek permission to marry,” Stiger said, “not to mention the enlisted.”

  “I see, sir,” Ruga said and then fell silent for several heartbeats before speaking. “The entire legion’s not been together for over three hundred years. It’s only been the two valley cohorts, sir. Until you came along, we didn’t have a legate, sir, only the council for direction, and they didn’t care who married who. So, much of this is new to me, sir.” He dropped his voice in a conspiratorial manner. “Don’t tell my children, but there are some things I do not know, sir.”

  Stiger chuckled.

  “How many children do you have?” Stiger asked.

  “Six, sir,” Ruga said, “two boys and four girls. The oldest is serving in Third Cohort, the youngest is two. It’s another reason why I continue to serve. While there is breath in my lungs, I will do my all to keep the valley safe, sir.”

  Stiger gave a nod to that. He’d heard similar sentiments from the other officers of the valley cohorts. He returned the conversation to its original course. “I spoke with Lan to make sure his mind was set on the matter before giving my permission. There were other things he needed to consider.”

  “You tried to talk him out of it?” Ruga asked curiously.

  “No, I did not,” Stiger said and thought for a moment on how he wanted to explain the complexity of the empire’s nobility. “Centurion, you’ve spent your entire life in the valley. Do I understand that to be correct?”

  “Born and raised in the valley,” Ruga said. “I joined just as soon as I could, to do my part, sir.”

  “You don’t know much about how things work in the empire, do you?”

  “No, sir,” Ruga admitted, “just what I’ve heard and what’s been passed down through the years, sir.”

  “Lan is from a good family,” Stiger said simply, “a family of means, part of the nobility.”

  “And Jenna is not,” Ruga said in a flat tone.

  “Good or not, she’s doesn’t hail from a noble household,” Stiger said. “Undoubtedly, Lan’s family sent him off to gain military experience. In the empire, such experience helps one secure a governmental position, say as a magistrate. It is the first step on the road to building a successful career in politics and strengthening the family’s powerbase, essentially increasing prestige, even for a second and third son.”

  “I see, sir,” Ruga said.

  “I don’t think so,” Stiger said. “Lan’s family will also be searching for a suitable match in a wife, someone to help increase his social and political standing, along with the family’s. Though many such marriages are loveless, they serve to create and foster alliances between powerful houses or strengthen the weaker ones. Such alliances are critically important to gaining more prestige for the family, more power. It is how the empire works and has worked for centuries.”

  Ruga was silent for a long moment.

  “Why, then, did you not deny him permission to marry?” Ruga asked, with a hard look. “Why allow him to go through with it, sir?”

  Stiger thought about his answer for a moment, then decided to turn it around on Ruga.

  “Why did Vargus approve of the union?”

  “He didn’t want to,” Ruga said. “He asked them both to wait, to be sure…but in the end relented and gave his blessing.”

  “What changed his mind?”

  “Let’s just say Vargus took some convincing, sir,” Ruga said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

  The Seventh began moving again. Stiger gave Nomad a tug and they continued for another ten feet, before the cohort once again came to a halt.

  “You approve, then?” Stiger asked, looking over at Ruga. “Of the marriage?”

  “I didn’t say that, sir,” Ruga said. “She’s my favorite niece and well, sir…she’s been through a rough time of it. No one deserves what was done to her. So, I thought, with everything that’s going on, you and the Thirteenth returning…who am I to begrudge her a little happiness? Get my meaning, sir?”

  “Perfectly,” Stiger said. “That was my reasoning as well, Centurion. In all this madness, there deserves to be some happiness.”

  Ruga eyed Stiger for a long moment and then gave a nod. The two of them fell silent. Seventh Cohort began once again to move. This time the cohort did not immediately stop. They went several yards before Ruga gave a low chuckle. Stiger glanced over at the centurion, wondering what he thought funny.

  “If he survives,” Ruga said, looking back at Stiger, “I bet his family’s gonna be downright pissed.” Ruga gave a bark of a laugh. “Those, I think, are the best kinds of marriages, sir. The ones you don’t expect, sir.”

  “Ruga,” Stiger said, “you may be on to something.”

  Ruga glanced over at Stiger. “Sir, may I ask a personal question?”

  “Sure,” Stiger said.

  “You are from a powerful family, are you not?”

  “I am,” Stiger said, suddenly on guard.

  “Then why, sir, are you not married?”

  Stiger looked back front, staring into space for several steps. He looked back over at Ruga.

  “My family is in disgrace,” Stiger said, feeling sour. “None of the powerful families would ever consider tying theirs to mine, not now.”

  “I’d heard such, sir,” Ruga said. “You get no choice on y
our family, sir. That’s how the gods intended it. You do the best you can in this life. I think that is all any man can ask of you.”

  “It is what it is,” Stiger said, after considering the centurion’s words. They had likely been meant to help, but Stiger still felt sour at the mention of his family. His father’s actions bothered him.

  Ruga did not reply and the silence grew heavy between them as they continued following Seventh Cohort. A half hour later saw them reach the exit and emerge from the tunnel, out into the forest.

  Blinking under the harsh light of the sun, which was almost directly overhead, Stiger watched his breath steam heavily in the air. It was much colder than the underground. Even with the sun he could feel no warmth. Still, he found it a relief to be back outside.

  The road let out into a bowl-shaped depression. Snow covered the ground in a thick carpet around them, the top of which was a frozen crust and easily gave way, crunching underfoot. Where the legion had been marching, the snow had already been trampled down. But off to the sides, there was at least a foot of snow on the ground. The branches of the nearest trees above were bowed by the heavy snow.

  “It’s just grand being outside again, sir, just grand,” Ruga said, sucking in a huge breath of fresh air. He set the bottom of his yoke on the ground and looked around. “Open sky and the sun, even in this bitter cold, is all that an old soldier could ask for.”

  Stiger found he could not disagree. Though he liked the dwarves and respected what they’d accomplished, he could never see himself spending most of his life living underground, like a mole.

  As Eighth Cohort emerged behind them, Stiger led Nomad off to the side and out of the way. Ruga snapped an order and his century moved as well. A few moments later, Eighth Cohort ground to a halt as Seventh Cohort, which had started climbing out of the bowl-shaped depression ahead of them, stopped.

  The snow beneath the men’s feet had been ground down by the cohorts before them, then trampled into a slurry of mud, snow, and ice. Stiger blew out an unhappy breath, which steamed heavily in the wintery air. Now that they were out of the underground, he had no intention of following the cohorts as they struggled through the mud and inched their way forward toward the defensive position.

  He looked back on the Tol’Tabor. The road’s exit, a large stone door, stood wide open. It was almost impossibly thick, at least seven feet from front to back. It was also twelve feet high. The backside was reinforced steel. Where the dwarves had recently oiled them, massive black hinges glistened in the sunlight.

  The door had been set into the side of a hill, with a steep cliff face that formed the back side of the bowl-shaped depression. The door had been made in such a way that, when sealed, it must have looked like a natural feature, a large slab of rock, where the vegetation and dirt had washed away from the hillside. Only a closer examination would have revealed the seams.

  During his travels with the dwarves, Stiger had seen such things before. Not only were the dwarves skilled when it came to construction, but they were also very clever at being able to hide the entrances to their underground world, and in plain sight too. Even if you found one of the hidden doors, it was damn hard, if not impossible, to open. Some of the tunnels were even rigged with traps, where if the door was opened improperly, the tunnel beyond would collapse.

  “Impressive,” Ruga breathed, almost in awe.

  Stiger turned and looked in the direction Ruga was gazing. He was watching Seventh Cohort as it started forward once again, marching up a small rise on a road that had been freshly cut through the forest. Somewhere out of view, the crack of axes could be heard in the distance as work continued. It never ceased to amaze Stiger on what could be accomplished in just a few short hours.

  The felled trees had been stripped of their branches, dragged aside, and stacked neatly in piles. The stumps had been uprooted and manhandled out of the way, likely using teams of horses that had been sent ahead with the lead cohorts.

  Along the sides of the road, teams of men labored at laying the beginnings of a corduroy road. They were placing one felled tree trunk after another on the ground, creating a makeshift wooden road for the artillery and supply train. Without such measures, the wagons and artillery would quickly become bogged down in the muddy mix.

  “Damn impressive,” Ruga said.

  Stiger glanced over at the centurion again. His century was lined up behind them in a column of two. The men had set their yokes down on the snow and stood by, patiently waiting, while enjoying the unexpected break. Ruga still carried his on his shoulder.

  “This is but one example of why the legions are so successful,” Stiger said, with a wave toward the newly made road and the two cohorts. “Discipline and teamwork: you put those two together and it makes us strong. With common purpose, we can easily accomplish what others would consider the impossible or improbable.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ruga said. “I am beginning to see that.”

  “Show the average legionary the improbable getting done on a regular basis and soon he begins to believe the legion can accomplish anything…expect the impossible to be overcome,” Stiger said. “That’s when the real miracles get done, stuff the historians chronicle.”

  “Like battles, sir?” Ruga asked.

  “Like in battle,” Stiger confirmed with a firm nod. “Life as a legionary is not easy. It is filled with unending toil, brutal training, discomfort, harsh discipline, terrible monotony, and moments of sheer terror. Yet despite all that, the men are intensely proud of who they are and what they are part of, the legion. We make the toughest, most resilient professional soldiers around, and for a reason, Centurion.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ruga said, “to defend the empire, sir.”

  “That’s right,” Stiger said. “Even though you’ve never been to the empire, or the capital, you and your men, both of the valley cohorts, the entire Thirteenth, are the empire.” Stiger placed a gloved hand upon his chest armor and patted it. “As long as our hearts beat, we all are the empire, no matter where we are or what we are doing. Understand my meaning?”

  “Aye, sir,” Ruga said. “It’s why my ancestors gave up what they gave up, so me and my boys could defend what they loved, the empire.”

  Stiger gave a nod, pleased that Ruga understood, and then saw movement to his right. Centurion Mectillius was striding over. The centurion stopped before him and saluted. Stiger returned the salute.

  “Centurion Sabinus sent me to guide you to headquarters, sir,” Mectillius said.

  “Detached you from your century, did he?” Stiger asked.

  “My century is guarding headquarters, sir,” Mectillius said. “I was at hand, was all, so the duty fell to me, rather than one of the messengers.”

  “Very well,” Stiger said as both the Seventh and Eighth Cohorts began moving again, slogging through the muddy snow. He decided that Sabinus had chosen Mectillius on purpose, likely because he and Mectillius had history. “Lead on, Centurion.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mectillius said, turning. “It’s not far. If you would follow me, sir.”

  Stiger considered riding, but then disregarded the idea. He needed some exercise. He gave Nomad’s reins a tug and started after Mectillius.

  “Want me to have one of my boys take Nomad, sir?” Ruga asked.

  “No,” Stiger said, glancing back on his horse as he walked through the snow. Stuck in the past for the last five years, he’d missed his trusty mount. “I prefer to walk him, at least until we get to headquarters.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ruga said, and fell back to his men.

  Snow crunching under their feet, Mectillius led Stiger alongside the marching cohorts. Ruga and his century followed a few steps behind. The snow along the road had been packed down by the working details, who were laboring to lay the corduroy road. Thankfully, it wasn’t muddy.

  “Have we had any contact with the enemy yet?” Stiger asked.

  “None that I know of, sir,” Mectillius said. “The last few hours have been rather bus
y, sir, so I am afraid I don’t know all that is going on. Centurion Sabinus should be able to fill you in, sir.”

  Stiger gave a nod of understanding.

  “How are your boys?” Stiger asked.

  “My century is good, sir. My boys are all doing well and eager for the coming fight, sir. I try to do as good a job as I can with them, sir, just as Pixus would have done.”

  Stiger felt a pang of loss at the centurion’s name. Pixus had fallen in battle in the dwarven underground during a desperate fight against orcs. Stiger had promoted Mectillius to replace him.

  “I am certain you are doing just fine,” Stiger said, “otherwise I would have heard about it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mectillius said.

  Stiger glanced over to his right, at the men slogging through the muddy mix. He knew from personal experience it was miserable, but at the same time it was something the men could handle and would endure. They were legionaries and accustomed to suffering through the worst conditions.

  They passed several details laying the new wooden road. One of the details gave a cheer at the sight of Stiger. Then to their right, as if in response, Seventh Cohort gave up a massed cheer. Stiger raised a hand, and the men cheered more enthusiastically.

  “Are the enemy up ahead, sir?” one of the legionaries in the Seventh called to Stiger when the cheering died down.

  “They will be,” Stiger called back, and held a fist up in the air, “and we’re gonna show them why the legions are so feared.”

  The men roared in reply. He was heartened by their cheering, for it meant, despite the miserable conditions, morale was high. That boded well for what was to come.

  It did not take long before Seventh Cohort gave over to the Sixth. Several officers alongside the road were conferring with Centurion Kiel, who commanded that formation. The officers stopped their conference, turned, and, as one, saluted. Stiger returned their salute.

  “How’s it going, Kiel?” Stiger asked, not stopping as he continued to follow Mectillius through the snow.

  “Bloody muddy, sir,” Kiel responded. The centurion’s legs were slathered in mud. “Just bloody muddy and cold too, but what doesn’t kill ya makes you stronger, sir.”