“Happily fed and watered, sir,” Mills said, handing over the reins. The sergeant was holding his own mount as well. “I also made sure to put rations in your mess kit.”
“Thank you, sergeant,” Stiger replied, checking the tightness on Nomad’s saddle straps. They were not loose.
Mills pulled himself up onto his own horse. Stiger saw that the others who had gone with him to see the World Gate had already mounted. Not surprisingly, Marcus was present. The ranger swayed slightly in the saddle and looked far from fit for a long ride.
“When did he get here?” Stiger asked, nodding toward Marcus.
“About ten minutes before you, sir,” Mills replied with a sour look. “A couple of dwarves half carried, half dragged him. Says he and Garrack had a bit of a rough night, sir. Smells like a cheap tavern, he does.”
“With everything he’s done over the past few weeks, I’d say Marcus has earned himself a drink or two.” Stiger patted Nomad affectionately on the neck as his horse nuzzled him in greeting.
“Two?” Mills questioned with a disapproving look. “Smells like he fell into the barrel, sir.”
“He might have needed it. Marcus had a run-in with a dragon.”
“A dragon?” Mills asked, disbelief creeping into his voice. “Are you pulling one over on me, sir?”
“I wish I was,” Stiger breathed and swung himself up and into the saddle.
“Legate,” Garrack called, approaching.
Stiger wheeled his horse about to see the dwarf. Nomad sidestepped as Garrack came closer. Stiger pulled sharply on the reins, stilling the animal.
“You see to valley,” the dwarf told him with a serious look. “We meet you back at Castle Vrell when you return.”
“I will see you then, Garrack.” Stiger flashed an amused smile. “Thank you for returning Marcus, though I rather suspect the ride will be tough on him.”
“Marcus good human,” Garrack added with a matching smile through his beard. “Me fault he is drunk. You humans no hold drink like Dvergr. You not punish?”
Stiger shot a look over at Marcus, who, in the dim light of the massive cavern cast by nearby fire pits and torches, certainly looked to be in a terrible state. He was having difficulty staying in the saddle and was holding on for dear life as a trooper held his reins.
“I will not discipline him. He is a good man,” Stiger affirmed.
“He has good Legend,” Garrack said, with a pleased smile. “I share drink with him again.”
Stiger leaned down from his horse and offered the dwarf a hand. They shook briefly.
“Lieutenant,” Stiger called, seeing the cavalry had formed up into a double column. “Time to go.”
“FOORAAWAARD,” the lieutenant hollered, which echoed distantly off the walls of the great cavern. With a clatter, the column started forward toward the gates that led out of the mountain. The dwarves followed them. Stiger could not tell whether they were escorting him out or making sure that no humans wandered off, save the dispatch rider who was still watering and resting his horse.
The ride to the front gate was a short one. The doors were already open, and Stiger discovered that he had been missing fresh air as a cold winter gust cut through the tunnel. The abandoned dwarven city had smelled of mustiness, dampness, and decay. Though the wind was bitterly cold, the clean air was like a welcome old friend. He tugged his cloak tighter about himself as they rode by the last of the large fire pits and out through the gate into the early morning gloom.
The column came to an abrupt and uncertain halt. Stiger, riding at the rear, kicked his horse forward and around the side, rapidly riding up to the front of the column, where he found Lan and Vargus, eyes fixed forward toward the other end of the valley.
The sight that greeted him was shocking. It appeared as if the entire southern end of the valley were on fire. The horizon was a haze of deep orange from the glowing flames, with several distinct fires and an extremely large one. It had to be a town, Stiger realized.
Back at Castle Vrell, Stiger had studied the map of the valley carefully. If he recalled correctly, the largest town on the southern end of the valley was Riverton. It was the town where Lan had met with the valley council. On the map, a small river ran just north of the town. He had been told that there was a flour mill located there too that ground much of the valley’s wheat.
From past experience, Stiger knew that it probably looked far worse than it was. Though he could not be sure, it was likely several bands of men burning whatever they could. In the dark of night, the fires could have been set by just a handful. Once the people of the towns and villages had gone to sleep, the enemy could have snuck in, set several fires, and then hoofed it. Without facts, Stiger realized this was all speculation. It might actually be the result of a substantial raid, in which case he would have a much more serious problem on his hands.
Stiger ground his teeth in frustration. This was his fault. A good commander knew his ground. He should never have agreed to join Braddock until he had ridden through the valley himself, assessing the slopes and possible ways to get across the mountains. Clearly the patrols he had dispatched had not proven sufficient. Stiger realized belatedly he needed a better understanding of the ground, a visual one. Now he was going to pay for it.
Though the damage was likely minimal and only affecting the civilians of the valley, the enemy had just dealt him a blow he would have some difficulty correcting. They had just proven that they could easily strike inside the valley. Not only would the raid cast some doubt on his competence, but it would ultimately require him to spread his forces out across the entirety of the valley. The slopes would have to be more heavily patrolled, as the enemy could not be permitted a repeat raid. This would limit the time available for training and preparation for a spring campaign. It would also eat up a lot of his personal time. The castle would have fewer defenders on hand, though with the dwarven army, holding Castle Vrell should not prove to be a problem.
Damn them! Stiger smacked his hand down upon his thigh in frustration, causing Nomad to sidestep nervously.
Gazing on the fires at the southern end of the valley, Stiger knew he must appear decisive and in control. He had to capture or kill as many of the raiders as possible. Stiger preferred to capture at least a few. That way they would be able to determine how and where the enemy had made it over the mountains. If they could not get a prisoner, then it would be up to the elves and his scouts to determine where the enemy had crossed over.
Damn them!
“That’s Riverton,” Vargus breathed in stunned disbelief.
“The southernmost town, right?” Stiger asked, understanding the significance for the centurion and feeling sympathetic to the man.
“My home.”
Stiger pulled out his dispatch pad and charcoal pencil from a pocket in his cloak. Using what little light there was, he scratched out orders for Ikely. This raid also presented an opportunity, one he intended not to waste.
“Legate,” Vargus said, snapping out of his shock. “We must get moving.”
Stiger ignored him as he continued to write to Ikely. He explained he was riding toward the southern end of the valley to take direct command. He ordered Ikely to deploy the entirety of Lieutenant Cannol’s cavalry. Cannol was to report to him at or near Riverton. He also ordered the Third Cohort to begin marching after Second Cohort. He hesitated a moment and ordered the 85th to march as soon as practical.
Stiger knew the 85th. They were his company. He had trained them, and after weeks of difficult fighting, they were all hardened veterans. They were men he could trust and rely upon. He did not yet know the true worth of Second or Third Cohorts. These were valley-trained men. He had assurances from Vargus and the other valley officers that they were good, but their effectiveness was still a question in Stiger’s mind. Could they be trusted in a fight? Would they hold or run? Those were questions th
at he did not know the answers to. This was the perfect opportunity to begin testing them and their capabilities. Though Stiger knew the real test would only come in a standup fight or battle. Chasing a handful of raiders around the valley would not tell him all he needed to know, but it would be a start.
“Sir!” Vargus said in an angry tone. “My family is there.”
Stiger had just ordered an additional eight hundred men out, not counting Second Cohort. When added to the total, Stiger would have a little over twelve hundred men in the field.
He continued to write. Ikely was to remain at the castle, with Brent. At no point was he to leave it, even if Stiger called for the First Cohort. The remnants of the garrison were to remain in possession of Castle Vrell. Stiger reminded Ikely that the raid on the valley could be a diversion. The enemy might be preparing a direct assault on the castle itself. He was to remain vigilant. If needed, he was to request assistance from the dwarven army commander until Braddock returned, which he expected to be this evening.
“Sir, are you listening to me?” Vargus demanded. “My cohort is marching south. We need to meet up with them.”
Stiger finished writing, having added a request for confirmation of receipt at the end. Stiger spared the centurion a short look. He well understood the man’s concern for his home and family. His loved ones could be dead or injured.
“Lieutenant.” Stiger turned to Lan. He sealed the orders and, leaning over, handed them to Lan. “Select two of your best men. They are to deliver these orders to Lieutenant Ikely.”
Lan immediately called for two men, passed them the orders, and told them to make for the castle at best possible speed. They set off, thundering over the stone toward the path down to the valley.
“I’ve ordered the cavalry out,” Stiger explained to both Lan and Vargus. “We will need their eyes if we are to catch the bastards who did this. Third Cohort and the 85th will march as well. First will remain in reserve at the castle ‘til we know more.”
“Can we get moving now?” Vargus demanded with a thunderous expression.
Stiger bristled at the man’s tone. It was insubordinate. Stiger swallowed a harsh reply. He had need of the man. Vargus was concerned for his family, but that did not excuse the disrespect. Alienating the man now would hardly serve his purpose of gaining the full assistance and respect from those of the valley, not to mention the most from Second Cohort.
“We are going to set a good pace,” Stiger informed them. “We will ride two miles and then walk our horses one mile and repeat.”
“What? Sir, I—”
“It will do us no good if our horses are blown by noon,” Stiger growled, locking gazes with the centurion. “We have a lot of ground to cover. We will get there quicker if the horses do not go lame.”
Vargus looked as if he wanted to say more, but bit off whatever he was going to say.
“Yes, sir,” the centurion replied and averted his gaze.
“Lan, get the men moving.”
“FOORAAWAARD!”
Eight
“This is the village of Tedge,” Vargus informed Stiger. The two were riding side by side to the front of Lan and his troop. The sun had been up for several hours. Large pillars of smoke continued to rise into the sky in the direction they were riding. The elves, Father Thomas, and Sergeant Arnold were at the other end of the column. Eli had been avoiding him, keeping company of his own kind. Stiger was in a terrible mood, and it suited him just fine as he rode with Vargus.
The dirt road, somewhat muddy from the last snow and subsequent melting, showed evidence of recent passage by a large body of men. Stiger surmised that Second Cohort had passed through ahead of them. Imprints of hobnailed sandals gave it away.
“And those men?” Stiger asked as they neared the outskirts of the village. Around thirty armed men stood on lookout.
“Retired members of Second and Third Cohorts,” Vargus explained with a wave of his hand. “Men like Malik, who are too old to serve or have given up their place to a youngster. They act more as a reserve militia should the worst come to pass.”
Stiger absorbed that as he studied the village of Tedge, which had been built in a circular manner. He had seen similar villages in the heart of the empire, where the houses were grouped together in the center. The fields and animal pens spread outward like the spokes of a great wagon wheel. There were no defensive walls. The road cut right through the village.
“Much of the male population of the valley served at one time or another,” Vargus added. “It is considered a badge of honor.”
“If need be, how many can report under arms?” Stiger looked over at the centurion, eyebrows raised. “How many can still march effectively?”
Vargus took a deep breath before answering, thinking it over. He blew it out slowly. “Perhaps as many as five hundred, maybe a few less.”
“And of those who can’t march, but could still pick up a sword and serve?”
“I would expect another two thousand,” Vargus answered, looking back over at Stiger. “What are you thinking?”
“Once we go over to the offensive against the Cyphan, it would be good to know that Castle Vrell is in capable hands.”
“You would leave the castle in the hands of old men then?”
“It would allow us to deploy our maximum strength,” Stiger explained. “The Cyphan are a determined enemy. I have a feeling we will need every sword.”
“Vargus!” a man greeted as they rode up to the first of the buildings. Several others came over to watch as the cavalry troop rode into town. Like the other villages they had passed through, there were no cheers. The civilians were grim. “Your cohort came through here no less than two hours ago.”
Vargus pulled his horse up to a stop, as did Stiger. A few of the locals had joined the five armed men who greeted them. All were older. The man who had hailed Vargus was in officer’s kit. Stiger figured he was in his fifties.
“Legate,” Vargus said formally, “may I introduce you to the mayor of Tedge, Centurion Severus Tilanus?”
“Retired,” Tilanus added, and then what Vargus had said hit home. His eyes widened. “This is the legate?”
“Legate Stiger,” Vargus said in a flat tone. “Child of the Delvaris line, as the Oracle prophesized, our bloody Tiger.”
Tilanus snapped to attention, which looked a little odd, as the man’s armor no longer fit very well. Stiger frowned at both what Vargus had said and Tilanus. The centurion-turned-mayor saluted him.
Stiger returned the salute and leaned forward in the saddle, stretching out his back. “Do you know what happened up ahead?”
“Yes, sir,” the retired centurion answered with a grimace. Tilanus had several broken and rotted teeth. “Orc raid.”
“Orcs?” Vargus exclaimed. “They’ve not come out of the mountains on a raid for over twenty years or more.”
“Something stirred them up,” Tilanus said. “Swept out of their valley and right down into ours.”
“Orcs? Are you sure?” Stiger asked, sitting up straight in the saddle. He had thought this a raid by the Cyphan. Lan and Eli rode up, along with Father Thomas. The lieutenant had stopped his troop.
“We’ve had people come here for shelter. A few of ‘em were from Riverton. They said they saw orcs.”
“Has my family come through?” Vargus asked, clearly hopeful.
“Sorry, no,” Tilanus said and then brightened. “Though the Riverton militia apparently turned out and fought off the raid. At least that is what we’ve heard. Many who came here lost their homes to the fire and were seeking shelter.”
“Never thought to see them orcs come back out of their mountains to raid,” one of the retired legionaries standing with Tilanus said. “They can be right trouble.”
“A trading party came through just last week,” Tilanus added with a frown. “It was that old fellow,
Othag. You know the one. Peaceful as can be. There was no hint of any trouble, even said he would be back in a month.”
“You trade with these creatures?” Stiger looked askance at Vargus.
“Yes,” Vargus admitted with an unhappy look. “Relations with the local tribes have been pretty peaceful. Occasionally they will send a trading party into the valley. They have ore and uncut gems to trade for food and ale. They can’t get enough of our ale and call it fire water.”
“We have an arrangement with local tribes,” Tilanus explained. “They don’t bother us and we don’t bother with them. It’s been a good arrangement, at least up until now.”
“As long as a priest is not around to stir things up, orcs are pretty docile. It has been near twenty years since we’ve had to mount a punitive expedition,” Vargus explained to Stiger. “Since then, there has been no trouble.”
“And you trade with them?” Stiger asked again, not quite believing what they had just told him. “Aren’t they just little more than animals?”
Vargus shrugged. “Usually they don’t venture out of their caves, unless they want to trade. They fight enough amongst their fellow tribes that they don’t need trouble from us.”
“They did not enjoy our last punitive expedition,” Tilanus said, with a trace of pride in his tone. “I was there and we pasted them real good. Thought they would never come back in my lifetime. Guess I was wrong.”
Stiger looked over at Eli, who returned his look. They both seemed to be thinking the same thing. This could be no coincidence. The timing was just too suspicious. It had to be part of something larger.
“Orcs tend to follow the dark gods, like Castor,” Father Thomas said, drawing Stiger’s attention. “You can expect more trouble.”
Several of the men around Tilanus shuffled uncomfortably, with one making the sign of the High Father. Stiger glanced unhappily over at Father Thomas before turning back to Tilanus.
“Do you know their numbers?”
“No, sir,” Tilanus replied. “Only that the Riverton militia managed to drive the raid there off.”
The Tiger's Fate (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 3) Page 13