The Tiger's Fate (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 3)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  A single lonely drawbridge lay across the chasm. The walls and battlements of the castle looked to be twice as high as those of Castle Vrell. Movement could barely be seen on the walls as sentries walked their rounds. The castle’s keep rose upward, towering above the walls. Stiger did not even want to contemplate how one would begin to try to take such a formidable position. Like Castle Vrell, he reasoned, the best way to do it would be from the inside.

  “The walls of Grata’Jalor,” Braddock announced proudly. “My ancestors labored for centuries on them. Beyond the citadel, on the other side of the great chasm, lies the ancient city of Garand Thoss. You are much honored today, for few outsiders have seen this place.”

  “I thought Castle Vrell would be a tough nut to crack.” Stiger whistled softly and looked over at Eli to see his friend’s reaction. The elf looked drawn and pale. Stiger thought he detected a slight sheen of sweat on his friend’s brow. Though it was slightly warmer inside the mountain, it was still cold.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked Eli quietly, as he noticed that Taha’Leeth and Aver’Mons appeared to be similarly affected.

  Eli shook his head, indicating that he did not want to speak on it.

  “Escort remain here,” Garrack announced, interrupting Stiger before he could ask more of Eli. The dwarf was pointing to a structure that stood off to their right, one he had not noticed. It was a two-story building that looked to have a stable on the first floor and some type of barracks on the second. Yellowed light shown dimly from several windows and a number of chimneys sent smoke lazily skyward toward the great open skylights.

  Stiger could see a number of dwarven ponies tethered to hitching posts out in front. Hay had been thrown down in front of the ponies.

  “Your men be fed and horses cared for,” Garrack said.

  “Lieutenant,” Stiger called, leading Nomad back to Lan. “This is as far as you go. Detail men to take our horses. You will be staying over there.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lan said, clearly disappointed that he would be going no farther. Vargus led his horse up. He had an odd look on his face as he studied the walls and battlements of Grata’Jalor.

  “Remember to keep the men on a tight leash.” Stiger looked back at the thane, who was speaking again with Hrove. “Braddock said we would only be staying the night, so I will see you in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lan said.

  “Send a dispatch back to Lieutenant Ikely,” Stiger ordered. “Inform him of our progress and the location of the mountain entrance should I be needed.”

  “I will see to it, sir.”

  Several of Hrove’s warriors who had been part of their escort stomped over. They began speaking in their own language and gesturing toward the building Garrack had indicated. Stiger handed his reins to Lan and patted Nomad lightly on the side. He untied a saddle bag that contained his pipe and other necessities, including a change of clothes. He slung it over his shoulder.

  Lan shouted orders for several of his men to get the others’ horses. Stiger’s free hand came to rest on his sword, and he felt the familiar and reassuring electric tingle course up and down his arm. At first he had worried about the tingle but now had come to welcome it. The dim light of the cavern seemed to lighten slightly, and Stiger was able to see more. He supposed his eyes were finally adjusting.

  “I have never seen the World Gate,” Vargus said, drawing Stiger’s attention. “I have heard enough that I do not wish to. Dwarves rarely give outsiders a chance to see their holy sites or cities.”

  Stiger considered the centurion before he nodded his understanding. He then turned and made for Braddock, then paused. He sensed a soft humming, perhaps even a vibration. Stiger almost jumped when he realized it was coming from his sword in his scabbard. What was it doing?

  Power, the sword whispered to him, in a hiss that at times Stiger felt was almost menacing. This time though, Stiger thought he detected an eagerness, almost akin to a hungry man anticipating a good meal. Power . . .

  “Legate,” Braddock said, drawing his attention away from the weapon. The thane and everyone else thankfully seemed unaware of the humming, which had abruptly died off.

  “Hrove will be leaving us,” Braddock said as Stiger came up to him. “He has duties to attend to. We will continue on our own.”

  “Really?” Stiger was surprised that the chieftain would not be joining them. After all, weren’t the city and Gate his responsibility? The dwarven thane was visiting and Hrove was not coming? It seemed damn odd.

  “Yes,” Braddock said with a deep, unhappy breath. “There has been an incursion of the lesser races in the lower recesses of the city. Hrove’s warriors are flushing them out and back into the mines. He wishes to personally oversee the process.”

  “Lesser races?” Stiger asked.

  “Orcs, goblins, and some other unsavory creatures,” Braddock explained. “When the city was abandoned, the lesser races moved in and made it their home. They fouled our great city with their presence. Upon our return, my war band drove them back to the depths. In time, we will push them completely out of the mountain.”

  Stiger had never seen a goblin, but as a youth he had once seen an orc at the great games in the capital. The orc, more animal than person, had towered over the six criminals who had been sentenced to fight the beast to the death. It had been an impressive struggle. Unarmed, the orc had managed to kill four before being taken down by the surviving criminals, who had been armed. Upon their victory, the criminals had been granted their freedom. It was an exciting fight, and the city had talked of it for weeks after.

  “There is nothing to worry about,” Braddock assured him confidently. “Grata’Jalor and the World Gate have never been left unguarded. My people have always had a presence here.”

  There was a clatter from behind and Stiger turned to see his escort being led off. It almost seemed as if Hrove’s warriors were treating his as prisoners. Watching Hrove and his dwarven warriors lead Stiger’s legionaries away caused him to frown. Once he saw the Gate and got back to Castle Vrell, he could return to his duty and focus exclusively on the enemy. He did not care to understand dwarven politics and had no wish to be caught up in them. Imperial politics were enough for him.

  Stiger turned back to Grata’Jalor in time to see a few small figures appear on the drawbridge. They threw something that looked suspiciously like a body into the chasm and watched it fall for a brief moment before disappearing once again out of view.

  “What was that?” Stiger asked.

  “Gnomes disposing of the remains of one of the lesser races,” Braddock said with an uninterested shrug. “We are still cleaning up.”

  “Where is the Gate?” Stiger asked of Braddock. He fairly itched to get this over with.

  “The World Gate lies at the heart of Grata’Jalor.” Braddock pointed across the chasm.

  POWER! the sword roared in his head, and Stiger almost staggered under the force of it. I sense great power . . . at long last our time is coming.

  Four

  Step after step, Stiger followed Braddock downward. Booted feet echoed harshly off the bare walls as they descended the spiral staircase into the bowels of Grata’Jalor. Oil lanterns had been hung every few feet, providing just enough light to see. Stiger found that he needed to be careful, as his hobnailed boots slid slightly on the stone steps, well-worn from centuries of use. More than once he had been forced to steady himself with a hand on the wall.

  Grata’Jalor had a feeling to it of immense age that almost seemed to weigh heavily upon the air itself. Surprisingly, the deeper they went, the warmer it became. Though chilly, the temperature had risen to the point where Stiger was considering removing his cloak and gloves.

  Braddock came to a halt at a landing. Two sentries from the Hammer Fisted clan dropped to a knee at the sight of their thane. They were older dwarves and their beards were quite long, touchi
ng the ground as they kneeled. Both looked to be seasoned warriors. Behind them was a closed steel door, which had been painted a dull black. The door was remarkable, not only for being metal, but also having no visible handle by which to open it.

  The thane exchanged a few words with the sentries before one stood and banged on the door. The other sentry stood and moved aside. He assumed a position of attention against the wall. Stiger noted that the sentry eyed the humans with a hostile look. Where most of Braddock’s army had treated the legionaries with respect and openness, it seemed Hrove’s dwarves were resentful of human intrusion upon their mountain.

  A small recessed panel slid back in the middle of the door, revealing the eyes of a dwarf on the other side. He looked into the room and asked a question, which was immediately answered by the one who had banged on the door. The dwarf hesitated and peered into the room to study them, then withdrew. The panel was slammed back in place. A series of bolts being thrown could be heard on the other side. The heavy door slowly and painfully began to screech its way open.

  When it had swung wide enough, Stiger could see a dwarf throwing his weight into the other side, while six others stood with their weapons out and shields forward, ready for trouble. It was the kind of thing the legions would have done in an encampment at night whenever a gate was opened to admit someone. Stiger approved of their vigilance. At the sight of their thane, they sheathed their weapons and stood respectfully aside.

  The dwarves watched the humans and elves with hostile looks as they walked by, but said nothing. All wore the colors of the Hammer Fisted clan. Stiger felt a sense of foreboding as he glanced back at Eli. His friend still looked strained, almost as if he were suffering from a fever. Stiger had never seen Eli this way and was becoming concerned. Eli noticed his look and offered up a half-hearted grin.

  We will speak on this later, Eli signed in ranger speak, using his hands.

  “Legate,” Braddock said, stopping just ahead, a very solemn look in his eyes. There was an open doorway, and through it Stiger could see a much larger room that was extremely well-lit. “What is beyond this doorway represents the heart of the Compact, the reason our peoples banded together in alliance. As long as the alliance remains strong, we remain strong.”

  “I understand,” Stiger said, returning the thane’s look with a level gaze of his own.

  “No, I am afraid you do not fully understand,” Braddock said. “Though in time you will.”

  The thane stepped aside and motioned for Stiger to go before him. Several of Braddock’s guard had entered and stood waiting. Three remained with the thane. Stiger took a deep breath, broke Braddock’s gaze, and stepped through the doorway.

  A wave of warmth washed over him as he crossed the threshold. He found himself on an oval-shaped balcony that overlooked a large natural cavern. A metal railing ran around the outer edge of the balcony and a staircase led downward to his right. It curved along the outer wall of the cavern as it descended to the floor below.

  Stiger’s eyes were immediately drawn to a large yellowish ball of fire suspended in the air near the ceiling, around which numerous stalactites hung. The ball of fire crackled, hissed, and popped, though surprisingly it generated no smoke. It was this fireball that bathed the cavern in light.

  The hair on Stiger’s arms stood on end as he gazed up at the magically conjured light. He hesitated a half step before continuing up to the railing. Placing both hands upon the banister, he looked down and froze, not quite believing what he was seeing.

  The base of the cavern floor had been leveled and smoothed. A circular ring of dull-gray stone pillars, perhaps a hundred feet in diameter, were planted in the floor. These stone pillars rose to a height of at least ten feet and were each around five feet apart. In the exact center of the ring were two enormous rounded pillars of the same height, though twice as thick and set fifteen feet apart. They looked to be made of some sort of a crystal and throbbed with a dull blue light that Stiger found uncomfortably similar to how his sword at times glowed. The pillars were emitting a low hum that filled the cavern with a steady background noise. Yet it was not the pillars that captured Stiger’s attention, but a massive creature.

  He knew instinctively what it was, but had trouble believing it. Impossibly, a dragon, curled up around the two glowing pillars, was sleeping just below him on the cavern floor. Like a bird, the dragon’s head was tucked under a wing and was only partially visible. The heavy breathing of the magnificent creature rose and fell above the background hum of the two central pillars.

  Stiger was afraid to breathe, lest he awaken the dragon. Gazing down, he felt that it was one of the most beautiful and deadly things he had ever seen, black on the top and gray underneath. He had difficulty determining the exact length, though he figured it was likely far larger than some of the sailing ships that graced the oceans. The claws alone were the size of a full grown man.

  “Currose,” Braddock breathed as he came up behind Stiger.

  “What?” Stiger asked in a near whisper, not daring to take his eyes off of the sleeping dragon, which flexed a powerful claw.

  “Her name is Currose,” Braddock explained.

  The rest of the group moved onto the balcony. Eli came up beside Stiger.

  “Have you ever seen the like?” Stiger asked of him.

  “It cannot be,” Eli exclaimed quietly and switched to elven, addressing Taha’Leeth and Aver’Mons. Stiger followed what was said.

  “That is a Greater Drak, correct?”

  Taha’Leeth came to the railing and sucked in a startled breath at the sight of the massive dragon below them. “Impossible as it seems, it is a Greater Drak. I have seen others of her kind, but not for some long years.”

  “Bless me,” Father Thomas exclaimed, coming to the railing.

  “Holy sh—” Sergeant Arnold caught himself mid-curse and then made the sign of the High Father. He planted both hands firmly upon the metal banister. “When I joined, the recruiter swore up and down I would see everything there was to see in the world. I am starting to think he was right.”

  “Whoa.” Marcus took an involuntary step back from the railing. Stiger looked over at his scout corporal and his eyes narrowed. He had not given Marcus permission to come along to see the Gate and had expected him to remain behind with Lan and Vargus. Eli had likely instructed him to follow along and stay out of the way. For some reason, the elves were keeping Marcus close. Ever since they had retired to Castle Vrell, at no time had the scout-turned-ranger been left alone. It was another thing to speak to Eli about.

  “Currose is one of a pair,” a voice to their right said in fluent common. “Two of the last of their kind.”

  All eyes turned upon an extremely tall, thin, and pale man who was making his way up the steps. He was fair looking, with near perfect features, and wore a long, gray robe that was richly cut. The robe thoroughly concealed his feet, giving the impression that he glided up the steps. His pupils were silver, along with his beard and hair, which fell down his back and around his shoulders. The man’s hair had certainly not turned silver from age. He had the appearance of being in his prime. The tips of pointed ears emerged from his hair, and at the top of his head sat a delicate black and gray crown.

  Stiger looked over at Eli to ask why an elf was in a dwarven fortress, when he saw his friend twitch with astonishment before bowing deeply. Taha’Leeth bowed also, and a fraction of a second later, Aver’Mons did the same. Stiger had never seen Eli offer such respect to anyone, even his own father.

  “What is another elf doing here?” Stiger asked, putting to word his thoughts.

  “I am no elf,” the man snapped with some irritation mixed with amusement.

  “Ben, this is a First One,” Eli said in a low voice, still bowed and waiting for acknowledgement.

  “Yes,” the newcomer said, his voice a near hiss. “I am of the Noctalum, the First Race.”


  Stiger noticed that all of the dwarves bowed as well, with the exception of Braddock. He simply inclined his head slightly, and in return got a wave of acknowledgement. The elves and dwarves straightened back up.

  “These know their betters,” he said. “You humans apparently do not.”

  “Legate,” Braddock said in a hard tone. “This is Menos, caretaker of the World Gate. Long has he resided in this holy place.”

  “It is an honor to greet you, Menos,” Stiger said carefully. He did not like the caretaker’s tone and was not sure whether to be irritated at the condescension directed toward him.

  “I should think it is,” Menos answered, tilting his head in much the same way that Eli did. He made a show of sniffing the air. “Long has it been since a human walked here. Long has it been since I tasted one of your . . . and yet your scent . . . it is—”

  “My scent?”

  “Yes, your stench, you wretched creature,” snapped Menos, now with clear irritation, stepping closer to him. “There was a time your people feared mine.”

  “Menos,” Braddock interjected. “We—”

  “Braddock, I was under the impression that humans are short-lived.” Menos leaned closer to Stiger and continued to sniff. Stiger could not ever recall being sniffed by anything other than one of his family’s hounds. The experience was unsettling.

  “They are,” Braddock answered slowly. The thane was clearly puzzled and looked to Garrack in question. Garrack gave a half shrug.