“These days, I am almost always angry, bitter really… I think I have cause. Now, why would he go there? To this world of the dead?”
“I don’t know,” Ogg said. “These places are called Gray Fields. To my knowledge there are several on every world. Traveling to one would be incredibly dangerous, even for a noctalum. Once he entered the field, he would not be able to survive very long.”
“What is the other possibility?” Stiger asked.
“When you are with Taha’Leeth,” Ogg said, “do you still feel angered?”
“No,” Stiger said. “I feel happy, content, mostly.”
“Good,” Ogg said, “you have access to vast power…you need a calming influence.”
“Power?”
“Of course, the power of your god. Still, I am concerned about the anger, the rage. You have to control it, master it. What about with Dog?” Ogg asked, before Stiger could say anything. He seemed very intent and interested. “Do you feel your anger increase when he is around?”
Stiger was at a loss for words for a moment. “I do not know. I’ve not given it any thought.”
“Do so,” Ogg said. “You need to discover if the anger grows while he is around. It may be important.”
“I will. Now, let’s get back to Menos,” Stiger said. “What is another possibility for his disappearance?”
“He might have traveled farther than I can reach out with my senses,” Ogg said, “which would have to have been very far…perhaps halfway around the world. I do not know why he would do that.”
That did not make sense to Stiger either. Menos knew just what was at stake. He would not have left them. Stiger had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He glanced down at the rug that covered the ground in his tent, thinking.
“Could you hop back to Currose?” Stiger asked hopefully, looking back up. “Perhaps she knows what happened? Or where he went?”
“Hop?” Ogg asked in an almost incredulous tone. “Is that what you think I do?”
“What would you call it?” Stiger asked. “You brought Braddock and Garrack to my camp in the forest and then transported me and Braddock to the Gate room. It seems like you just hop magically around whenever you want to.”
“Hop?” Ogg’s tone became disgusted. “Let me try to explain this for your feeble mind. When I move, it is through what you might call space and is a sophisticated version of teleportation, a warping of reality. There is no hopping around to it. Have I ever told you you are an ignorant savage? I can’t imagine what the High Father sees in you.”
“Whatever you call it,” Stiger said, “why don’t you check with Currose? She might have the answers you seek.”
“No doubt she might,” Ogg said. “But…I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“After what occurred at the World Gate,” Ogg said, “my reserves are low. I cannot afford to waste what power I have left and have managed to accumulate. Besides…with the noctalum gone, it would be foolish for me to leave the army. I am nearly the only protection you have against the enemy’s wyrms. And believe me, I won’t be much help. You need to begin thinking of ways to protect yourself from those dragons.”
Stiger did not like the sound of that.
“How do we do that?”
“Large bolt throwers have been used in the past,” Ogg said. “The gnomes have them. They…” Ogg fell silent. He sat up straight, as if something had just occurred to him.
“What?” Stiger asked.
“There is another possibility,” Ogg said. “You know there were once two Gates on this world?”
Stiger gave a nod. “Now there is only one.”
“Your girlfriend’s people destroyed the second Gate, while it was open,” Ogg said, “which should not have been possible. It has long troubled me on how exactly they managed to do it, for the release of so much energy would have surely wiped out all life on this world. Somehow they managed to contain the blast, and without a wizard too.”
“Which means…?” Stiger pressed, not quite sure where Ogg was going.
“Well…the remains of the Gate are below the Narrow Sea.” The wizard paused, as if thinking. “Though the elves thought they were successful, they might not have actually destroyed the World Gate. It may still be functioning fully or in some reduced manner.”
Stiger once again leaned back on his stool. “You mean the World Gate could be open, just under a lot of water?”
“That is exactly what I am saying.”
“Being underneath an ocean still achieves the same effect, right?” Stiger said. “No one can come through it?”
“Maybe,” Ogg said.
Stiger did not like that answer. “Would the elves know their attempt to destroy the Gate failed?”
“I don’t know…but I think it unlikely. Once it was moved to the bottom of the ocean, there would be no way for them to verify.”
Stiger thought for a moment. “And the noctalum might know the Gate was not destroyed? Is that what you are saying?”
“Yes,” Ogg said.
“And Currose would likely know, too?”
“If I were able to travel back to Old City, I feel certain Currose would surely know the truth of the matter…though there is the strong possibility she might lie to me rather than reveal that truth, whatever it is. There would be no way for me to prove whatever she decides to tell me.”
“Why would she lie?” Stiger asked.
“Why indeed?” Ogg said. “But she might.”
“If it is below the Narrow Sea,” Stiger said, “how can anyone reach it?”
“The noctalum would have the ability to get to it. They are shape-changers beyond compare.”
Stiger had not thought of that.
“The World Gate to Tanis,” Stiger said after a moment, “was moved, right? It wasn’t always in the Gate room under the keep?”
Ogg gave a nod.
“Who moved it?” Stiger asked.
“The noctalum,” Ogg said. “Ah…I see where your thoughts are going. Was the other World Gate moved too? That is an interesting line of thinking.”
“Even if the Gate was still functioning and they moved it, the question remains…why would Menos leave this world?” Stiger asked. “Why would he leave his mate behind, who’s been gravely injured?”
“Why indeed?” Ogg said. “Figuring out how noctalum think is difficult in the best of times. But I believe you are right… He would not leave, especially with Currose here. Besides, there would be nothing of value on the other side of the Gate…only an old enemy of the noctalum. One…which I doubt Menos would want to see again.”
None of the possibilities Ogg described made any sense.
“He’s my friend,” Stiger said. “He would not abandon us. Something must have happened to him.”
“You need to understand,” Ogg said and his gaze became intense as he leaned forward on his stool, “noctalum have no friends.”
The wizard pulled himself slowly to his feet, as if to go. He picked up his staff, which he’d leaned against the support pole.
“Ogg,” Stiger said, “what do you think happened to Menos?”
Ogg was silent for several heartbeats as he looked down at the ground. Then he just shook his head sadly. “I just don’t know.” Ogg turned for the entrance flap. “I really don’t and I fear we need him now more than ever.”
“What about the sertalum?” Stiger asked, turning back.
“What about her?”
“Can you still sense her?”
“Yes,” Ogg said.
“Where is she?”
“Somewhere in the mountains to the west,” Ogg said and gestured. “And before you ask, no…I have no idea what she is up to. Nor do I wish to know. All I want is for her to leave us be…to stay out of things.”
“Do you think that likely?”
Ogg did not answer, but instead walked to the tent flap. “I must speak with Braddock before it gets too late. He will need to help you prepare to fig
ht the enemy’s wyrms, and that means getting the gnomes’ help. I bid you a good night.”
With that, the wizard stepped out of the tent, leaving Stiger alone.
“Things are never easy.”
He sat there for a time, wondering what had happened to Menos. To say he was worried was an understatement.
“Excuse me, sir.” One of the guards pulled aside the tent flap and ducked in. “Sergeant Arnold to see you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
Arnold entered. He was wearing his service tunic and looked slightly different. There was a growing confidence within. Stiger could feel it, just as he could sense the budding power.
“Sir,” Arnold said, “I am sorry to bother you. Your guards said you were still up. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Stiger said. “How can I help you?”
Arnold suddenly looked uncomfortable, glancing at his feet and then back up at Stiger. “When we spoke back at the castle, in Vrell, sir, I…ah…”
Stiger immediately knew where this was going.
“You feel the call to leave, don’t you?”
“I do, sir,” Arnold said. “The tug is quite strong. The High Father is calling me away…”
Stiger gave an absent nod. Though he hated to see Arnold go…there were other considerations. He had foreseen that, and it felt like the right thing to do, to let him go.
“Though I wish you would stay, I suspected the call would come. You are in the service of the High Father now. You go where he wills.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Stiger thought Arnold still looked uncomfortable and unsure of exactly what he wanted to say.
“Do you know where you are off to?” Stiger asked.
“No, sir. Just that I need to go.” Arnold paused. “I feel like I am abandoning you.”
“Don’t,” Stiger said. “The High Father has a job for you. Do it well, and with any luck, we will see each other again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Whatever you require, Nepturus will see you are well provisioned.” Stiger stood and offered his hand, which Arnold took. “He will also see that you get a pass for travel out of the camp.”
“Thank you, sir,” Arnold said and then stepped toward the exit. He looked back. “Good luck, sir.”
“You too,” Stiger said.
Arnold stepped out of the tent and was gone.
Stiger moved over to his table, where his pipe lay. Next to it was a small bag of tobacco Venthus had found for him. He filled the pipe and then, using a taper, lit it from the lamp’s flame. He took several puffs to get up a good burn before returning to the stool.
He smoked for a time, feeling extremely wretched about Menos. He suspected his friend was dead. It was really the only thing that made sense. Menos would not have abandoned them. And no matter what Ogg said, Menos was a friend.
Stiger blew out a long stream of smoke. The noctalum’s shade would be yet one more to haunt his nights.
“Excuse me, sir,” the guard said, poking his head back into the tent. “Camp Prefect Oney is here to see you.”
“Send him in,” Stiger said.
“Sir,” Salt said, coming in.
“Salt,” Stiger said and motioned to a table with a pitcher and mugs. “Wine?”
“Ah…no thank you, sir. There was too much of that during Braddock’s feast. If I have any more, it will put me to sleep and I have a few hours of work ahead of me yet.”
“Business then.” Stiger knew Salt would not have stopped by had he not had something important to bring to Stiger’s attention.
“Yes, sir,” Salt said. “I understand the need for haste in getting to Lorium, but the legion is worn down. We’ve marched hard since leaving Vrell, with only a minimum of breaks. The men need a day or more to recover before we begin this new march.”
Stiger took a pull from his pipe and then blew a stream of smoke up into the air. He watched the smoke swirl and begin to climb for the canvas ceiling. Salt was right, of course. The men needed rest before another long march. Heck, Stiger himself needed rest. Still, morale was still high. The men could give him more and they would.
“Braddock and I are meeting again in the morning,” Stiger said, “to finalize our plans for the days ahead. You will be joining us, of course. That will mean a day’s rest before the army moves. I wish it were more…but speed, once again, is our friend.”
“One day?” Salt almost seemed pained by the prospect of so short a rest for the men.
“One day is all I feel comfortable giving,” Stiger said, “all I can afford to give.”
“It will have to do, sir,” Salt said.
Stiger did not reply, but instead took another pull on the pipe.
“I was informed Hux just arrived,” Salt said. “He is seeing to his horse. He should be here shortly.”
Stiger looked up at that and gave a nod. “Make sure the men have a free day tomorrow. No training, no work, and an extra ration of drink. They’ve more than earned it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good,” Stiger said. “Send Hux along when he’s ready. I will meet with him alone.”
“Yes, sir,” Salt said and left the tent.
Stiger rubbed at his tired eyes. There was always so much that needed doing, so many decisions that had to be made. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to share a campfire by himself, with only the worries of a single company upon his mind.
Now, he had not only the legion but the empire and the world to worry about. He was in a battle with evil, and if he wasn’t careful, the enemy would win. Stiger keenly felt the sands of time running out.
Ogg was right: His anger was building. He could feel it. Stiger had long since accepted his fate, his role in this, that he was gods blessed. But that didn’t mean he had to like it or enjoy it. The fact that it all fell upon his shoulders and weighed him down…made him angry, at times terribly wrathful. But was that so bad? It was fueling his drive to end this madness on his terms and not the enemy’s.
Or was it something else? The sword wasn’t feeding it. Of that he was certain. Was it Dog? As he’d promised Ogg, it bore thinking on.
“Excuse me, sir,” the guard said. “Prefect Hux here to see you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
Hux entered. The cavalry prefect was dusty and dirty from a long ride. Despite that, he looked to be in good spirits. Hux offered a salute, which Stiger waved away and then gestured toward the wine jar. “Would you care for some refreshment, Prefect? You look like you could use a drink.”
“I do need one, sir,” Hux said. “We ran out of wine ten days ago and I’m parched from the ride.”
“Help yourself, then,” Stiger said.
“Thank you, sir.” Hux filled himself a mug of wine and drank deeply.
“That’s right fine wine, sir,” Hux said.
“Take a seat,” Stiger said and gestured toward the stool Ogg had used.
“If you wouldn’t mind, sir,” Hux said, “I’d rather stand. I’ve been in the saddle all day. Stretching my legs a little feels good.”
“Very well,” Stiger said. “I’ve read your reports, which have been quite thorough. Fine work. You’ve done the legion great service.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hux said. “My boys have done most of the work, sir.”
“Under your direction,” Stiger said and then paused as he gathered his thoughts. “I’d like to hear your overall impressions from what you’ve seen over the last few weeks. I imagine you’ve covered some serious ground.”
“I have, sir,” Hux said. “I believe the enemy knows we’re here, sir.”
Stiger had not expected that direct response. “Have you taken any prisoners that have confirmed that?”
“Prisoners?” Hux said. “No, sir.”
“Then how can you be sure?”
“They’ve destroyed all of the bridges they can find within seventy miles of their line of march, sir,” Hux said. “They wouldn’t have done
that unless they had good cause and a fear of being pursued. And the confederacy has left very few garrisons with their own men. Those troops they did leave behind were second- or third-rate conscripts. The only garrisons in the South with any significant numbers are the rebels. They have just enough men to give them a little backbone.” Hux stopped as if expecting Stiger to say something.
“Go on.”
“Sir, they are headed for the coast with a single-minded purpose…but have destroyed whatever they can’t take with them. So, sir, if I had make a guess…they know we are coming after them. How, I don’t know, but I’d bet my next payday on it.”
Stiger took a pull from his pipe and blew the smoke out. He suspected the same as well, and hearing it from one of his trusted lieutenants only reinforced that suspicion.
“I read your report on Aeda,” Stiger said.
“It wasn’t pretty, sir.”
“Tell me about it,” Stiger said. “I want to hear it in your own words.”
“They took the city without a fight, sir,” Hux said. “A few of the prisoners we grabbed confirmed this. The city surrendered with the understanding that all would be spared.”
Hux fell silent and his gaze grew unfocused, as if reliving a terrible nightmare.
“And?”
“Well…the enemy can’t be trusted. All of the bodies were outside the city, herded together. There were virtually no young men amongst the dead. If I had to guess, they were marched off as slaves. The old, infirm, and children…babies too were butchered. It was very organized and systematic. The dead were bound and lined up. Their throats were slit. There were too many bodies to bury, so we left them.” Hux paused. “I’ve seen some pretty awful stuff in my time, but nothing like this.”
“Is that all?” Stiger asked.
“No, sir,” Hux said. “Many of the women were raped. There were also signs of torture before being put to death.”
Stiger gave an unhappy grunt.
“They also crucified who we think were the imperial citizens. The surrounding towns and villages saw similar treatment. It’s almost like they’re intentionally emptying the land of its population. They take everything that is useful—food, animals, equipment. Whatever else that’s left and they can’t bring along is destroyed. As I said, I don’t expect them to come back this way.”
The Tiger’s Wrath (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 5) Page 31