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

by Marc Edelheit

  “Naverum”—Taha’Leeth pointed toward the tent flap—“kindly leave. I require private time with him.”

  Stiger felt his heart quicken.

  Dog gave a soft whine, looking from Taha’Leeth to Stiger.

  “Out, old boy,” Stiger said and gestured with his chin toward the exit. “We need some alone time.”

  The animal stood and shook himself vigorously, ears flapping loudly. With one more almost forlorn look to Stiger, he padded out of the tent, leaving the two of them alone.

  Taha’Leeth slowly moved toward his cot, until she stood above him. Eyes sparkling with mischief, she removed her tunic, revealing her naked breasts underneath, along with a firm, muscular body. She tossed the tunic aside, where it landed on a stool. All that remained were her brown leather pants. Like a man dying of thirst, he drank in the sight of her.

  “Is there room on that cot for two?”

  She leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips were soft, intoxicating. Stiger pulled her to him, the cot creaking in protest.

  “I missed you,” Stiger admitted, “badly.”

  Taha’Leeth looked into his eyes for several heartbeats. “Did you?”

  “I did,” Stiger said. “I worry about you, when you’re out in the field.”

  She smiled as her eyes searched his face.

  “I choose you, Bennulius Stiger. You must understand this. With all my heart and soul, I am giving you all that I am. There will be none other than you, ever. On this I swear. Do you understand me in this?”

  He realized that something profound was happening, almost as life changing as when he’d accepted the mantle of Champion. It hit him like one of the High Father’s thunderbolts. Gazing into her eyes, he found them deep, intense, and quite captivating...also at the same time alien. They were not human eyes, and there was an intriguing depth to them. He thought he could lose himself within that mesmerizing gaze. It wasn’t her beauty that called him. There was something else drawing them together and…it felt right, as if it were meant to be.

  “I understand,” Stiger said after a brief hesitation. “I will give myself to you, freely, my heart and everything else that I am…” He suddenly thought of Sarai and a wave of sadness crashed over him. “But I truly cannot bear to lose another.”

  “And I could not bear to lose you,” Taha’Leeth said.

  “Then let’s not do this,” Stiger said.

  Confusion clouded her face and she pulled away.

  “I do not understand. I’m giving myself to you and you to me, freely. We will bond, share ourselves, our lives, and mate for life.”

  “That’s just it,” Stiger said. “If this is for life, then you will see me grow old and die. I have loved and lost. I have left friends I held dear on the battlefield and in the past. You will suffer all over again and in just a few short years, too, when I pass from this world. I cannot ask that of you. It is not fair. I will not have another suffer…as I have. How can I ask that of you?”

  She laughed. And it wasn’t an amused laugh. It was heartfelt. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

  “Why are you laughing? I am serious.”

  “Because you still do not understand,” Taha’Leeth said. “As I have said, you have changed. It is not simply that you are now the High Father’s Champion. You have truly changed.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “You have been given a tremendous gift.” She laid a hand upon his chest and closed her eyes. “I can feel the transformation within you. Your longevity is no longer an issue. Like elvenkind, you will watch others, mortals, age before your eyes. They will pass on from this world, and all that shall remain will be your memory of them. You shall go on, witnessing the world change, while others pass on to the next plane of existence and their remains molder and turn to dust.”

  She opened her eyes, blinking. A tear ran down her cheek. “I am sorry for that, truly. You must now bear our burden, and at times it can be terrible watching those you care for pass from this world.”

  Stiger was stunned.

  “How can this be?”

  “You took something, I suspect,” Taha’Leeth said, “while in the past.”

  “You must be wrong. Menos said I’d changed, but this cannot be.”

  “I am not wrong,” Taha’Leeth said firmly. “Even Eli can sense the change within you. Though he fears what it means and dreads mentioning it.”

  “But while I was stuck in the past, those five years,” Stiger said, “I aged. I can see it when I look in a mirror.”

  “I suspect the change within you took time to complete. The aging process has now slowed, perhaps even stopped altogether. Proof of this is your ability to heal, like elves. You should never know another cold, nor disease. Yes, you took something into your being. Your soul spark is more than what it was and has begun to change you in ways I suspect you cannot yet begin to imagine.”

  Stiger did not like the sound of that. He recalled his conversation with Menos back in the keep and found his eyes straying toward the sword in the tent’s corner. Was it like Menos had said? Had Rarokan transferred something to him from the souls it had taken? Perhaps from the minion? Or was it from the dragon he’d killed? Had something passed through the sword to him? Or was it a gift from his god? There was so much that he did not know…but in truth, he knew deep down what she and Menos said was true. He was changed, no longer altogether human. That frightened him.

  Taha’Leeth followed his gaze to the sword and gave a nod. “You mastered it, didn’t you?”

  “I fought the wizard,” Stiger said, “and with Father Thomas’s help, I was able to defeat him. That said, I do not think I ever truly mastered Rarokan. The wizard within the sword has essentially been dead…since I almost crossed over the great river myself. I can no longer sense his presence within.” Stiger paused and turned his gaze back to her.

  “I think,” Taha’Leeth said slowly, “the sword helped make you more than you were, as was always intended.”

  “What am I?” The words came out as barely more than a whisper.

  “Something new.” Taha’Leeth’s eyes flicked toward the bed. “And together we will make a new beginning, you and I. We shall share our lives.”

  “Then why—?”

  She cut him off by placing a finger to his lips.

  “No more whys. You are still you…but now more than you were. You are you, just changed, is all.”

  “You’re not helping,” Stiger said.

  “I can help ease your mind in other ways.” Straddling him, she pushed him back onto the cot, which creaked alarmingly. She looked down, her eyes searching his face, just bare inches from his. There was an animal-like ferocity in her gaze. “Accept me, for I have chosen you.” She leaned down and gave him a light kiss, then whispered, more insistently, “Accept me.”

  Stiger swallowed. All thoughts and concerns for the sword and what he was becoming were suddenly gone. Looking up into Taha’Leeth’s eyes, he understood he wanted her, and badly. It felt right, deep down, more than right. For a long while, he had been missing something. A hole had been ripped from his soul when Sarai died. He suspected that Taha’Leeth had the same feeling, as she’d suffered from the loss of her mate. He had thought he was meant for Sarai, but that was not to be. Looking into her eyes, Stiger suddenly understood, his destiny lay with Taha’Leeth, and for the first time in a long while, the tight fist that had gripped his heart loosened. The hard shell around it cracked and then broke.

  “I choose you.” The words were out of his mouth before his brain even registered what he’d said. Taha’Leeth kissed him hard, smashing her lips against his. Stiger felt that his life had suddenly changed beyond recognition. But he didn’t care. All he wanted, all he needed, was here in this woman. The fact that she was of a different race mattered little. She was his and he was hers. He pulled her closer and kissed her back.

  She was all that mattered.

  THIRTEEN

  “Excuse me, sir,” a voice called from just
outside the tent.

  Stiger’s eyes snapped open. It felt like he’d just gone to sleep. He pulled the thick blanket off and sat up, swinging his feet to the rug. The cot creaked, as if unhappy at being disturbed in the middle of the night. Stiger shivered at the cold bite of the air. It was times like this when he missed the comfort of the fire he’d had back in the castle.

  Taha’Leeth had slipped away. The cot he’d moved into the tent for her was empty. He wondered where she’d gone.

  “May I enter, sir?”

  “Come,” Stiger called.

  Lantern in hand, Tribune Severus pulled aside the tent flap. He held the lantern up, shining light into the tent.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, sir.”

  “That’s quite all right.” Stiger rubbed at his tired eyes. “When did you arrive?”

  “A few hours ago, sir, with the latest supply train.” Severus stepped fully into the tent and let the flap fall back into place. He went to Stiger’s desk, where an oil lamp sat. The tribune took a taper from a holder next to the lamp and used his own lantern to light it. Within moments, he had Stiger’s lamp burning and, with it, the light inside the tent grew.

  “It’s good seeing you, Severus,” Stiger said.

  “You too, sir,” Severus said.

  “I am very pleased with the supply situation. You and Ikely have done a fine job.”

  “Thank you, sir. It hasn’t been easy,” Severus said, “but I seem to recall you telling me, ‘nothing done right is ever easy.’”

  “Did I say that?” Stiger asked, knowing he had.

  “You did, sir,” Severus confirmed.

  Stiger knew that Severus looked upon him as almost a father figure. In a way, the tribune had become like a son to Stiger. He was proud of the man Severus was becoming and his own hand in helping to shape the lad.

  “What time is it?” Stiger asked.

  “A little after three bells, sir,” Severus said.

  “Early then,” Stiger said and rubbed at his eyes again. He’d only managed two hours of sleep.

  “Just a tad early, sir.”

  “Given the hour, I assume this visit,” Stiger said as he stifled a yawn, “is not social in nature?”

  “No, sir,” Severus said, becoming all business. “Camp Prefect Oney asked me to get you. You’re needed at headquarters, sir.”

  “Very well,” Stiger said, wondering what crisis or bad news required his attention at such an early hour. He decided not to press Severus for information. Were it a true emergency, Salt would have begun rousting the legion. There would have been no missing that. “Kindly inform the prefect I will be there shortly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Severus said and left the tent.

  Stiger stood, feeling incredibly stiff and worn out. He was clearly going to pay a price for staying up late with Taha’Leeth. With all his responsibilities, the only private time the two of them had together was when he retired to his tent, usually late at night, and then only when she was in camp and not in the field.

  He slipped his boots on and gave another great yawn before picking up his sword by the hilt from where he’d left it on a table. There was no tingling sensation as he would have felt in the past. Stiger almost missed that feeling…almost, for it had been a sign of the mad wizard locked within.

  Before turning in for the night, he’d cleaned the blade while he and Taha’Leeth had talked. Under the dim light of the lamp, he examined the steel. Satisfied with his work, he slid the sword into its lacquered sheath, then settled the straps comfortably over his shoulder.

  “Gods,” Stiger said quietly, resisting another yawn, “I’m tired.”

  At some point, he knew he’d have to catch up on sleep. When that would be, he simply did not know. He looked around the tent once more. Over the last few weeks it had become home.

  Stiger shivered in the cold air. He retrieved his bearskin cloak from where Venthus had carefully laid it over one of his trunks. Like he did every night, Venthus had cleaned and brushed it. Stiger wrapped the cloak about himself and almost immediately began to feel warmed by it.

  On his desk, Venthus had left him a jar of wine. Stiger grabbed one of the mugs and filled it. He drank it all, swishing the last swallow around his mouth before downing it, to rid himself from the sour taste of sleep.

  Setting the mug back down on the table, he glanced once more around the tent. Dog was nowhere to be seen. He and Taha’Leeth had given the animal the boot from the tent so that they could have some privacy. He’d not returned. If anyone was suffering from their relationship, it was Dog. Stiger regretted that a bit, but not too much.

  As he stepped out into the night, he found the encampment for the most part still, nearly quiet. The two sentries on duty, standing to either side of the tent flap, snapped to attention. Stiger paused and glanced around. There were about a dozen guards in view. These had been placed strategically around the headquarters compound, which included the administrative tents and his office, along with his personal tent and Salt’s. Just out of view, Stiger knew there were more men on duty. Ruga took his job at protecting Stiger seriously.

  A fire had been set a few feet from the sentries and the entrance to his tent. The light from the fire pushed back on the darkness to some degree. He went up to it and held out his hands to warm them.

  In truth, Stiger was bothered by the need to be guarded. He no longer had any semblance of privacy. Someone was always at hand, watching, shadowing him, and undoubtedly listening. He should have become accustomed to it. But he wasn’t.

  It made him especially uncomfortable now that he spent nights with Taha’Leeth. He understood there was no helping it. He had been the target of assassinations before and had no doubt the enemy, should they get the chance, would strike directly at him. The stakes of the game he was playing were just too high. He needed the protection and it was as simple as that. So, he put up with his guard, but he resented it no less.

  The sky above was crystal clear and quite beautiful. The stars twinkled brightly in their infinite multitude. The moon, a half crescent, hung low on the horizon, just above the tree line, and provided very little light.

  Ten feet away, he spotted Dog. Sitting on his haunches, the animal wagged his tail in the dirt enthusiastically as he stared in Stiger’s direction.

  “Has he been there long?” Stiger asked one of the sentries and nodded toward Dog.

  “No, sir,” the sentry replied. “He showed up just before you came out.”

  Stiger resisted a scowl at that. He glanced in the direction of the administrative tent just a few yards away, wondering what was so important that Salt had seen fit to wake him. The sides of the tent had been lowered against the cold. The tent was illuminated from the inside by lantern light, which shone through the canvas sides. That Dog had showed up at this moment was telling and, Stiger thought, a little worrying.

  “Dog, come,” Stiger said, as he started for the tent.

  Dog dutifully followed him. As he approached, the guards snapped to attention and one of the two standing by the entrance held the flap aside for him.

  Stiger ducked his way inside and found the interior of the tent was brightly lit. There were several lanterns hanging from support poles overhead. The tent was also warmer, likely due to iron braziers that smoked in the corners. Three clerks were busily at work, drafting orders for the coming day, when the legion would resume its march. Two messengers were waiting. One of the messengers was dusty, looked weary, and appeared to have recently arrived.

  Nepturus looked a little disheveled, as if he, too, had been just awoken. He moved around the table he’d been sitting at and approached.

  “They’re in your office, sir,” the senior clerk said and gestured toward the tent flap that led to Stiger’s office.

  “They?” Stiger asked. He had only been expecting Salt. “Who exactly are they?”

  “Eli’Far, Taha’Leeth, the camp prefect, Tribune Severus, and two other elves,” Nepturus said. “I am afraid I do not k
now the newcomers. They arrived a short while ago and in Eli’s company. I sent for the camp prefect, who thought it prudent to have you woken, sir.”

  “Other elves?” Stiger glanced toward his office.

  “Yes, sir,” Nepturus said. “And they aren’t dressed like any ranger I’ve ever seen. They’re wearing armor, sir, like heavy infantry.”

  “Armor?” Stiger asked, surprised. “Elves wearing armor?”

  “Yes, sir,” Nepturus said, “more ceremonial in nature…like something the emperor’s Praetorian Guard might wear on parade to impress civilians.”

  Stiger considered the tent flap to his office for a long moment. Were these new elves the first of Taha’Leeth’s people to arrive? Dog gave a low, almost menacing growl. Both he and the clerk glanced down at the animal. It was then Stiger realized Dog had not rushed up to Nepturus in search of a treat. Stiger found that an ominous sign.

  “Thank you,” Stiger said. “Return to your duty.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stiger moved forward and, holding aside the flap, entered his office. Those inside had been in discussion. They turned to face him. Stiger stopped cold and allowed the flap to fall back into place after Dog padded through.

  Two elves wearing elegant armor that looked more for show than practicality stood with Eli, Taha’Leeth, and Salt. Severus was off to the side and appeared to have been simply observing. Stiger knew that though the highly polished chainmail armor seemed ceremonial, it was anything but. These two elves were clearly warriors and, knowing elvenkind, they were likely more than good at soldiering.

  One of the elves stepped forward toward him. His sandy brown hair fell down his back, as if freshly brushed. Under his arm he held a helmet with a red crest. At his side, he carried a long sword with a well-worn grip. He had the bearing of one long accustomed to command.

  Stiger blinked, not quite sure he believed his eyes. This elf was the spitting image of Eli, and Stiger realized that he knew him. He was sure of it, though he did not know the second elf, whose grim face was disfigured by a patchwork of rough scars.