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

by Marc Edelheit

  Stiger glanced around at the detritus left by the enemy. They’d left a lot behind, including wagons, a scattering of tents, and some makeshift wooden buildings they’d constructed. There was trash and discarded equipment everywhere. They’d clearly moved with some haste when the decision had been made to march against the legion.

  Turning his gaze to the city, Stiger took in the damage and suddenly felt exhausted. Though the walls still stood, barring a couple of breaches, much of the city was in ruins. That much had been apparent from the air when they’d approached. The dragons had been unwilling to go closer and so they’d set down some distance away.

  Stiger rubbed at tired eyes. The battle had taken place the day before. He was still worn out and had yet to have a full night’s sleep. The remains of the enemy army had scattered, including a large chunk that had never made it to the battlefield. Without the wyrms for protection, the dragons had harried them onward.

  Three hours after the battle had finished, the dwarves arrived in force. To say Braddock was pissed he’d missed it all was an understatement. But Stiger had not really cared. They had won. In the end, that was all that mattered.

  After the battle Stiger had wanted to remain at Taha’Leeth’s side. She hadn’t awoken yet and that worried him terribly. Still, he felt he had to go personally to Lorium, especially if the emperor was here, and report as soon as possible. Salt had agreed and so Stiger had climbed up onto one of the dragons that had come with the Vass and off they’d gone.

  Cold and wet, Stiger shivered.

  The dragon, named Inex, blew fire upon an abandoned wagon the enemy had left behind. It burst into flames. The heat washed over him and felt more than welcome. He moved closer to it, warming himself. Eli joined him.

  “Thank you,” Stiger said to Inex.

  You are welcome, human.

  The dragon spoke in his mind.

  “This feels good,” Eli said, joining him, “very good.”

  The elf was just as wet as Stiger and looked quite miserable. Ruga and his men joined them too, all warming themselves. The flight had taken a little over an hour, but the wind had been brutally cold and cut to the bone. The rain had made matters worse than miserable.

  “I thought I was going to catch my death,” Ruga said and shivered.

  A horn call sounded from the city. It was a recall, likely for those legionaries on the other side of the city who had not seen the dragons arrive. Clearly, those in Lorium thought they were the enemy.

  “How many wyrms did you catch?” Stiger asked, thinking on the enemy’s dragons.

  Three, Inex said, sounding disappointed. The rest fled.

  “And losses?”

  None.

  “Good,” Stiger said.

  Another recall sounded from the city.

  “I think we’ve scared them a tad,” Ruga said, eyeing Lorium. “I’m guessing they’re changing their togas about now.”

  “Right,” Stiger said. “I think it’s time we got going. No sense in continuing to frighten them.”

  Hating to leave the fire, Stiger started for the city, with Eli at his side. Ruga’s men formed a protective bubble around them. They made their way through the remains of the enemy’s camp toward the city’s main gate, which surprisingly remained open.

  An entire company stood just inside the open gate as they neared. The legionary company was formed up and ready for battle. Their shields were held at the ready and swords had been drawn. Stiger noted the walls were manned as well, and not by a handful either, but by hundreds of men. Archers had bows nocked and were aiming downward at them. Bolt throwers were also visible.

  “Halt and declare yourself,” a captain, standing to the side of the company, shouted. Beside him stood a lieutenant. Both men appeared nervous.

  Stiger came to a stop.

  “We seem to keep having this problem,” Eli said, looking over at Stiger. “Whether it’s a fort, castle, whatever…they never want to let us in.”

  “Think they will arrest me?” Stiger asked, somewhat amused by his friend’s comment, “like they did at Fort Covenant?”

  “Well,” Eli said, “if they do, I won’t be able to help you this time. But I do know an entire legion that would tear this city apart to rescue you, including a couple of very large noctalum. In truth, they’d be stupid to try to detain you.”

  Stiger gave a grunt.

  “I said,” the captain repeated in a tone that was becoming irritated, “declare yourself.”

  “Impatient,” Eli said, “isn’t he?”

  “Legate Bennulius Stiger,” Ruga shouted, before Stiger could say anything. “Commander of the Thirteenth Legion and your bloody liberator. Show some manners.”

  Stiger glanced over at the centurion, amused.

  “I did not like his tone, sir,” Ruga said.

  “That makes two of us, Centurion,” Eli said.

  The captain turned to the lieutenant and the two began an animated conversation amongst themselves that sounded quite heated.

  “Who did you say?” a voice called down from the wall over the gate. Stiger thought he knew that voice.

  “Legate Stiger,” Ruga hollered back.

  “Ben, is that you?” the voice asked.

  Stiger searched the wall and recognized the man who went with the voice from amongst the legionaries lining the walls.

  “General Treim,” Stiger called back and held out his arms, “it’s me, in the flesh.”

  “Let them in,” General Treim called down from above, and a moment later, the general disappeared from the wall.

  “Stand aside,” the captain ordered to his company.

  “Let’s go,” Stiger said and led his escort to the gate. The captain offered a salute, which Stiger made sure to return. All eyes were on him and Eli as they passed through the massive wooden gates and entered the city.

  Inside, they found most of the buildings in view were missing roofs. The city smelled strongly of smoke. Some of the buildings had completely collapsed. The debris had been moved aside to clear the streets for passage. Still, it was a shock to see the destruction up close.

  Men and women lined the streets, whispering amongst themselves, for word had begun to spread. General Treim appeared, along with Colonel Aetius. They pushed people aside and approached. Both looked haggard and half starved. Clearly the ordeal of holding the city had been a difficult one. Treim looked to have aged ten years since Stiger had last seen him, before riding south with Eli to join the Southern legions.

  The general walked up to Stiger and eyed him for a long moment, then stepped forward and embraced him, like he was a long-lost son. He laughed as he did it. The move completely surprised Stiger and he suddenly felt embarrassed by the overt display of emotion.

  “We received your letter,” Treim said.

  Stiger was about to ask what letter, then remembered Salt pressuring him to write one, alerting Lorium of their presence. He had done so and with the excitement had forgotten about it. The messenger had clearly gotten through.

  “You know,” Treim said, “there were days I cursed myself for sending you to the South, but I had my orders from the emperor.”

  Stiger had not known the emperor had intervened. He’d thought Treim had done it as a favor to Kromen.

  “Only you would go south with just an elf and come back with an entire legion and allies to boot.” Treim turned his attention to Eli. “And you…is he still getting you into trouble?”

  “Most assuredly,” Eli said. “So much so, we almost were not able to dig ourselves out of it yesterday.”

  “The army that besieged us?” Treim asked. “That’s the trouble you speak of?”

  “Routed and scattered to the winds,” Stiger said. “Trouble no more. My legion is a day’s march from here, along with the rest of the army.”

  Those standing nearby had been eagerly listening for news. They began whispering amongst themselves. A few cheered. Stiger could almost sense the excitement as it raced from person to pers
on, along with the relief.

  “You defeated them?” Aetius asked.

  “I did,” Stiger said. “We have about ten thousand prisoners too, though that’s just an estimate at this point. I don’t think anyone’s bothered to do a proper count yet. We also bagged a few of their dragons. That’s fewer we will have to deal with in the future.”

  “I see you have some of your own,” Treim said and nodded through the gate at the three dragons waiting out in the field.

  “Allies,” Stiger said. “I will be happy to introduce you to them, once I’ve reported to the emperor. I understand he’s here. He is, isn’t he?”

  Treim’s face fell at that. He gave a slow nod.

  “What’s wrong?” Stiger asked.

  “I know you two were friends and played together as children. I am sorry”—Treim paused—“to give you bad news. The emperor is dying.”

  “He was injured in battle,” Aetius explained, “by a priest of Valoor. At great cost, the Praetorian Guard managed to rescue him, but by the time they got to him, the damage was done.”

  “He does not have much time,” Treim said. “At least we can give him some good news before he crosses over. We can speak more after we see him. Come, let me take you to him. This way.”

  Treim led him into the city, through a tangle of dirty and debris-strewn streets. Most of the buildings had burned and were now only shells. The stench of fire was mixed strongly with that of death. People lined the street to watch, both legionaries and civilians. They whispered and pointed. All had the gaunt appearance of the famished. Their eyes were hard and deadened.

  “It looks like it’s been tough here,” Stiger said to Treim.

  “It was bad,” Treim said. “After the defeat, we fell back here and were able to hold, just barely. They gave us a difficult time until we killed two of the enemy’s dragons and wounded a third with bolt throwers. That’s when they settled in for a siege.”

  “In truth, we would not have lasted much longer,” Aetius said. “We’re almost out of food. We have enough for a week, at best. All the dogs, cats, rats, and pigeons are gone. There isn’t much left. Some have begun eating the dead.”

  Stiger gave a slow nod. Having lived through a siege, he’d experienced similar conditions. A protracted siege was not a simple stroll across the road. They tended to be hard and testing.

  “Well, that’s no longer a problem,” Stiger said. “Last evening, my cavalry captured the enemy’s supply train. It is a very large haul. How many are here?”

  “Just over seven thousand men left from three different legions. Most are from Third Legion,” Treim said. “We have about three hundred of the Praetorian Guard. There are also at least ten thousand civilians.”

  Stiger stopped. He had hoped for more. “That’s all? That’s all the fighting men you have?”

  “We lost a lot of good boys,” Aetius said. “The enemy’s dragons tore us apart. We had no idea they had them. We barely made it to the shelter of this city ourselves.”

  “Well,” Stiger said, “courtesy of the confederacy we have plenty of food for you all. As soon as I return, I will order the enemy’s supply train brought to the city.”

  “I appreciate that,” Treim said and they began walking again. The general led them to a large square before the ruins of a temple to the High Father. Much of the temple had collapsed, but some of the debris had been moved aside to clear a path. The general brought them to a pair of stairs that led down into an underground complex. He started down. As Stiger climbed down after him, it became apparent there was a catacomb system under the city. He was forced to cover his nose and breathe through his mouth as the stench of sickness and death hit him hard. At the bottom of the stairs, there were injured everywhere he looked. They had been laid out on the floor, wherever there was space.

  “With the dragons,” Aetius explained, “we’ve been living underground like animals. They’ve taken to flying up high, well above the range of our bolt throwers, and dropping large rocks on our heads, that and bundles of lit hay soaked with oil. It’s burned more than half of the city. This is one of the sick houses for those about to pass on. It is one of the better accommodations. Some are living in the sewers.”

  Stiger gave an unhappy nod. He’d seen such places before, where those with mortal wounds could die in peace, usually with little to no care. Still, it bothered him that the leader of the empire was down here, spending his last hours living like a rat.

  “This way,” Treim said and led them down a hallway lit dimly by oil lamps to a room in the back. A man in officer’s armor stood just outside the room, along with two of the praetorian guard. Stiger stopped as he recognized him.

  “Captain Handi?” Stiger asked. “You were on General Kromen’s staff.”

  “Tribune Handi,” the man corrected. He appeared somewhat dazed, likely due to lack of food. Then his gaze focused on Stiger’s face and a look of distaste came over him. “Captain Stiger.”

  “Legate Stiger,” he corrected and deciding to waste no more time on the fool, stepped around him and into the room, following after Treim.

  When they entered, Stiger saw it was a crypt of some kind. Between two sarcophaguses was a small cot with a little space on each side. On the cot lay a man with a stomach wound. He had been propped up on pillows. Bandages had been wrapped tightly about the stomach, but even so, blood had seeped through to stain the bandage a dark red.

  Though he’d not seen him in over ten years, Stiger recognized his friend in the dim light. The emperor, Tioclesion, was covered in a sheen of sweat and was clearly in great pain, for his expression was not an easy one but twisted by agony and torment. Stomach wounds were the worst. Stiger had known men to linger for weeks before succumbing.

  Next to the emperor was an elderly priest sitting upon a stool. The priest was holding the emperor’s hand. He looked up as they entered.

  “You came,” the emperor said in a weak voice, clearly recognizing Stiger. “I knew you would.”

  Stiger removed his helmet and handed it to Ruga. He stepped over to the emperor and knelt by his side, feeling terrible sorrow, not only for his old friend, but also for his suffering. If only a paladin was nearby, the emperor could be healed.

  Tioclesion removed his hand from the priest and held it out for Stiger to take. The hand was ice-cold. Stiger realized the emperor was fading, and fast. He would likely not last the day.

  “I have been given my last rites,” the emperor said, nodding to the priest. “Can you believe that, Ben? Me? Given last rights?”

  “No,” Stiger said, remembering the times the two of them had spent playing together as children in the palace, exploring all the nooks and crannies, and driving the servants mad with worry. Those had been happy days, when things had seemed simple...before the rebellion. “I don’t want to believe it.”

  The emperor coughed and it was a weak, pathetic sound. Blood bubbled up to his lips. The priest reached forward with a stained cloth and gently wiped it away. Stiger took a deep breath through his nose and instantly regretted it. The air was quite foul.

  He considered the emperor for a long moment… Perhaps, he thought, there was something he could do. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, prepared to ask the High Father’s blessing for a healing. It had not worked on Taha’Leeth, but perhaps it might with the emperor, since he was a follower of the High Father and not Tanithe. He saw no harm in asking.

  “I am beyond prayers, Ben,” the emperor wheezed, misunderstanding Stiger’s intent.

  “He is beyond your abilities, Champion,” the priest said.

  Stiger looked over sharply at the priest.

  “I’ve already done what I can,” the priest said. “The wound is mortal and is cursed by Valoor’s poison. I assure you a healing is quite impossible.”

  “You’re a paladin,” Stiger asked, though it came out more as a statement than a question.

  “Father Restus,” the emperor said weakly, struggling to get the words out. They were b
adly slurred. “Head of his order. If anyone could heal me, it would have been him.” The emperor laughed. “I am beyond help. Remember…Ben…my father used to tell me that…he used to say I was beyond help. Well, now I really am. I guess…soon I will see him. Though I have no wish to ever see that bastard again.”

  “I am sorry,” Stiger said to the emperor, and truly he was.

  “Legate Stiger has defeated the enemy army that was besieging Lorium,” Treim said.

  “That pleases me,” the emperor said and then laughed again. He almost immediately regretted it, as it caused him great pain. He gritted his teeth and moaned until the pain had passed, then calmed himself and took a few labored breaths before attempting speech again. “You have been busy.”

  “A little busy,” Stiger admitted. “You should rest. We can talk more later, when you have the strength.”

  “We talk…now. Soon enough, I will have plenty of time for rest,” the emperor wheezed. “Treim, Restus, can you hear me? I can’t see you. It’s gotten so dark in here.”

  Both were close at hand. Treim was standing just behind Stiger. The level of light had not changed since Stiger had entered the crypt.

  “Yes,” Treim answered for the both of them, “we can.”

  “That is good,” the emperor said and took a deep breath. “Now…for my last command, for I feel myself slipping over to the shade. The ferryman is calling, beckoning me to pay his fee and cross the great river.”

  The emperor’s gaze shifted to Stiger and he could read the fear of an impending death in his old friend’s fading gaze. The hand tightened ever so slightly.

  “Restus tells me you are the High Father’s Champion, as was prophesized.”

  “I would dearly love to see that prophesy,” Stiger said, looking over at the paladin. “Everyone, it seems, has seen it but me.”

  “You are descended from Karus himself,” the emperor said, “an honor even my family cannot claim.” The emperor coughed again, attempting to clear his lungs. It was a pathetic sound. “As prophesized, you have come to save the empire. Long ago, I was shown…shown…a vision… I did not want to believe… It was why when I came to the curule chair…I spared you and your family. The vision was his work.”