“Rubbish,” Vargus said dismissively. “These are orcs we are talking about. We quashed them easily enough years ago.”
“Have you personally faced an orc?” Eli asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No,” Vargus admitted sullenly. “The punitive expedition occurred a year before I joined up. My father, however, did. He said they were no better than bandits and rabble.”
“Eli’s approach makes sense to me,” Stiger said.
“We should take the entire cohort in there, free the captives, and then punish them for their arrogance.”
Stiger studied Vargus for a moment. The man was very emotional, as this was personal for him. Stiger knew there was no way he could take the centurion along to free the captives.
“We are here for the captives,” Stiger said firmly. “Punishment will have to wait ‘til we know more about what we are dealing with.”
“Bah! You are being too cautious.”
“I will take a century with me,” Stiger said, “along with Lan. The rest of the cohort will remain here with you and wait—”
“No.” Vargus pointed a finger at Stiger’s chest. “I am going.”
“Excuse me?” Stiger returned the centurion’s intense look, his anger growing by the moment. Lan and Father Thomas shuffled uncomfortably at the confrontation. Eli simply said nothing.
“I am going,” Vargus said hotly.
“You are staying here and will do as ordered,” Stiger said, keeping his voice calm.
“My daughter is out there! How can you ask that of me?”
“Gentlemen,” Father Thomas interrupted, attempting to calm things down before they got out of hand. Some of the men had begun to notice. “Is this really the time?”
Stiger ignored the paladin. He leaned toward Vargus, doing everything he could to keep his temper in check.
“Am I legate in name only?” Stiger demanded of Vargus. “Are you a centurion or not? We need to establish this now, not later.”
Vargus clenched his jaw. His pointed finger clenched into a fist, which he shook momentarily in Stiger’s direction, then hesitated. The heat abruptly left his eyes and his shoulders slumped.
“You are the legate,” he said in a choked voice. “I will follow your orders, sir.”
“Will you hold this pass?” Stiger asked calmly. “I need to know you will be here no matter what comes at you.”
“I will hold it, sir,” Vargus said. “You just get my daughter back. I will be here . . . waiting.”
“What century would you recommend I take?”
“Fourth Century,” Vargus said without hesitation. “They are the best I have. The centurion in command is Pansa Ruga. You can rely upon him to get the job done.” Vargus turned and called to a nearby centurion. “Ruga, over here.”
A short, trim, muscular centurion jogged over. Ruga was a little older than Vargus and looked hard as a nail. He had a thick scar running down the right side of his face. His hair was cut short, exposing his balding scalp, and he carried his helmet under his right arm.
“Ruga,” Vargus said, “Fourth Century will be going out to rescue our people. The rest of the cohort will remain here to hold the pass for your return. The legate will be personally leading you.”
Ruga’s eyes snapped to Stiger, but he betrayed no hint of emotion. “Yes, sir.”
“We have located the captives at the base of the valley,” Stiger said. “As soon as darkness falls, we will set out.”
“Yes, sir,” Ruga replied and glanced up at the sky. It was still snowing. “I thought I had seen the last of this valley.”
“You have been here before, then?” Stiger asked with interest.
“Yes, sir, twenty years back.” Ruga reached up to touch his scar. “An orc gave me this, sir.”
“How do you feel about being back?” Stiger asked.
“Can’t say that I like it all that much,” Ruga said. “Orcs are not stupid. They can be downright vicious when riled up by their priests.” Ruga paused for a moment, then added, “They would not have raided our valley if they did not think they could challenge us.”
“You think this is a challenge, then?” Stiger asked.
“Orc warriors live to challenge each other,” Ruga replied. “They recognize strength only, which is why they’ve not troubled us for the last twenty years. Yes, this is a challenge to see who is now stronger, us or them.”
“I see,” Stiger said thoughtfully. It seemed that Ruga viewed the orcs a little differently than Vargus.
“Looks like we have about thirty minutes or so, then?” Ruga glanced up at the sky, judging the waning light.
“That’s seems about right.”
“Then, with your permission, sir, I will see that my men are fed and watered before we leave.”
Stiger nodded his permission, pleased with Ruga. Though he wished that the 85th were here and he could take them instead, he suddenly felt much better.
“Mind if I tag along?” Father Thomas asked with a cheerful air. “I think you might have need of me.”
Stiger looked over at the paladin and felt his mood darken. He closed his eyes a moment and then reopened them. “I was afraid you would want to join us.”
Eleven
The men moved as quietly as they could through the darkened trees. The falling snow had the effect of muffling the jingling of armor and the crunching of many feet. Eli led the line, guiding them forward. Each man had a hand on the shoulder of the legionary ahead. As near as Stiger could tell, Eli was leading them up and around the east side of the valley, sticking to the slopes. The going was slow, difficult, and taxing.
Several times they came across well-trodden trails. Stiger eyed these carefully as he passed them by. They were not simple deer tracks, but instead the snow had been crushed down by many large booted feet. The fact that they still looked somewhat fresh despite the falling snow concerned him.
Stiger was following Eli, with Father Thomas behind him. Ruga, along with Lan, was bringing up the rear of the line to ensure there were no stragglers. Anyone who became separated from the group at this point would end up on his own. That would not be a good thing, Stiger thought as they crossed yet another well-trodden and packed-down trail.
Marcus emerged from the gloom ahead of them. Eli stopped, and one by one the line came to a halt as well. Marcus slowly made his way to them, keeping low as he moved. The trees in this part of the valley were older and taller. There was very little undergrowth. Stiger felt exposed, particularly now, as the falling snow was beginning to let up.
Ruga and Lan came up from the rear to find out why the column had stopped.
“Sir, there has been no activity on this side of the hill for several hours. We observed a large number of orcs making their way down to the base of the valley. Since then, no others have come. The captives were removed from the pen they were being held in, but are still in the same general area. Aver’Mons and Taha’Leeth are keeping a close watch on them. We also saw what appeared to be two orc priests. It looks like they are preparing for some sort of a religious service.”
Marcus paused for a moment, looked off to his right, and pointed down the slope. “If we move forward another hundred yards, we should be even to the ruins downslope. At that point, there is a thick line of brush between us and them as you near the floor of the valley. It should provide plenty of cover to advance, concealing us right up until the last moment.”
“I suggest we move forward and line the century up for assault,” Eli said.
“I would prefer to see the ground before we go in.” Stiger had long since learned that it was better to know the ground you were going to fight on. “Ruga, move the men forward and get into position. Eli will give you a hand. Marcus, I want to see the captives and the ground.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the column began to move forward, Mar
cus led Stiger away and down the slope. To Stiger’s slight annoyance, Father Thomas came along. The paladin had left Arnold with the main body of the cohort. The three kept low and slowly worked their way down the slope. Within a handful of minutes, the tall, older trees gave way to younger ones and then thick brush. Every few feet, Marcus paused and listened. No one spoke. In a short time, Stiger was able to smell wood smoke, and through the trees and gloom, he could see the dim glow of firelight.
“Through this stand of brush here, sir,” Marcus whispered quietly, motioning to a tight grouping of brush just ahead. Where the brush grew, the trees had been cut down, leaving a number of snow-covered stumps haphazardly about. “You should be able to see the captives.”
Stiger used the sign language Eli had taught him to acknowledge Marcus, who seemed genuinely surprised by the finger talk. After a moment, he grinned in obvious understanding of how the legate had learned the language of the rangers.
Stiger carefully started forward, working himself slowly through the brush. Marcus moved up on Stiger’s right and Father Thomas on his left. The brush was thick and heavy with snow. They had to be careful to not disturb it too much, lest the falling snow be a dead giveaway. The farther they moved into the brush, the more firelight Stiger could see on the other side. Voices could also be heard, and it sounded a bit like chanting.
Reaching the edge of the brush line, Stiger was provided with a near-unobstructed view right down to the base of the valley below, perhaps twenty yards away. The snow-covered ruins were the most prominent feature in view. Judging from the debris field, the building must have once been quite large. The outline of the stone foundation gave Stiger an indication of the true size of the structure, which would have rivaled some of the more impressive temples in Mal’Zeel.
There were a handful of broken columns that had remained standing, but like a set of bad teeth, these varied in height. Stone blocks, walls, and pillars lay where they had been pulled down. Stiger realized he was looking on his ancestor’s work, for the building had clearly been razed. It chilled him to know that Delvaris had pulled the building down.
Six large bonfires had been built on the foundation. The fires lit up the scene in an eerie and almost frightening light. A few hundred orcs were gathered. They were kneeling in loose rows before what appeared to be a makeshift stone altar. Two orcs, looking outlandish in dress, stood by the altar. These two wore fur robes that had been painted with what appeared to be multi-colored designs that Stiger supposed were meant to help make them look impressive and mystical. They also had on elaborate animal headdresses, topped with antlers from a large buck. Stiger guessed these were the priests. He had to admit they looked a little frightening.
There, Marcus signed, pointing. Stiger looked. The captives were being held together in a group. They had been forced to kneel, and their hands were bound behind their backs. Two large orc warriors were standing menacingly over them. As Stiger watched, one of the captives was hauled to his feet and dragged forward toward the two priests by one of the orc warriors. A priest picked up a club and brained the captive, rendering him unconscious. As the man collapsed in a heap, the other priest stepped forward and dragged him bodily over to the altar, where he was laid roughly across. The priest produced a knife and, in a swift motion, sliced open the man’s chest.
Stiger mentally recoiled as the orc priest ripped out the heart and held it up high for those assembled to see. Blood and gore dripped down, staining the snow, as the priest shook his prize at his audience. The worshippers broke out into a rough song of joy. The priest turned his back on them and tossed the lifeless heart into a burning brazier next to the altar. The remaining captives wailed and cried out in horror at what they had just witnessed. Without a doubt, they understood they were next.
Stiger began to slowly back out of the bushes, his anger raging. He checked his movement, forced himself to calm down, and then studied the ground more carefully, committing it to memory. Having done so, he slipped backward with the others.
“Those are priests of Castor,” Father Thomas whispered once they were clear of the brush. “We need to kill them, and quickly. I have seen this religious rite before. With each life they take, the priest gains in strength. It is the victim’s soul that feeds their unholy power. If they manage to take all of the hostages tonight, I may not have the strength to overcome them.”
“What happens when we kill a priest?” Marcus asked with concern, fingering his bow. “Does it free the soul?”
“Killing a priest will release the soul,” Father Thomas confirmed, “which will then be free to cross over the river and into the afterlife.”
Stiger was horrified by this new information, and his anger swelled even further. He directed Marcus to lead them back. Behind, the orcs sang in religious celebration, a harsh sound that, had Stiger’s rage not been up, would have left him unsettled.
“The buggers have started killing the captives,” Stiger announced quietly, once they had rejoined the century. The officers and Father Thomas had gathered around him. “We are going to attack immediately. Eli, take Marcus and go find Taha’Leeth and Aver’Mons. Once we launch the assault, you are to eliminate those guarding the captives. Kill anything that makes a move to threaten them. You have five minutes to get into position before we go in.”
Eli and Marcus did not wait for further encouragement. They immediately started down the slope, the darkness swallowing them up within moments. Stiger paused and glanced up at the sky through the leafless canopy. The snow had stopped falling for the most part and was now just spitting the occasional snowflake. He could now see the faint glow of the moon behind the clouds as they thinned. It was possible the clouds would soon give way and there would be some additional light. Stiger hoped that would not happen, at least until after the assault went in. With the number of the orcs gathered below, he was badly outnumbered. The only thing he had on his side was surprise, and Stiger did not want to waste it.
“We will advance down the slope as quickly as we can,” Stiger informed them, outlining his plan. “We will be outnumbered. However, they will not be expecting us. I am counting on shock and surprise to carry the day. Lan, you have the responsibility to free the captives. Ruga, assign men to help him.”
“Yes, sir,” Lan replied grimly. “I will see that they are freed.”
“There are two priests,” Stiger said, intentionally neglecting to mention that they were priests of Castor. “They must not escape. We have to kill them. Is that understood?”
Ruga and Lan nodded somberly.
“Once the prisoners are free and the priests are dead, we reform the men and move as quickly as we can toward the pass and safety. Ruga, make sure the men understand this.”
“I will, sir,” Ruga said with a curt nod. “This valley is cursed. I have no desire to remain any longer than required.”
“Very good. Any questions?”
There were none.
Stiger glanced back down the slope in the direction Eli and Marcus had disappeared. He had the uncomfortable feeling that this would be a difficult fight. His hand involuntarily found the hilt of his sword. The comforting electric tingle once again became a surge. It warmed him to the coming action. His aches and pains from the long climb up the steep slope to the pass faded and the night seemed to lighten a little. He glanced down at the sword and felt somewhat grateful he had the weapon.
“Form the men for battle,” Stiger ordered, his voice harsh but low. He was still angered by what he had seen. With effort, he forced himself to calm down, closing his eyes to help relax. They were about to go into battle. He had to keep his head. The men were counting on him.
Ruga moved back to his men. Quiet words were spoken and passed up and down the line of battle. Stiger bowed his head to pray, as was his custom prior to going into battle. He offered a brief prayer to the High Father, asking for success and a personal request to spare as many men as
possible. He then made sure to commend his spirit into the keeping of the High Father’s hands. Prayer complete, he stood from a crouch. His legs felt stiff in the cold. Lan stood up with him, as did the men. Stiger tightened the straps on his helmet before drawing his sword and turning to the century.
“Let’s get our people back,” Stiger said quietly, but loud enough so for the entire line to hear him clearly. “Draw swords.”
With a hiss, the swords of the century came out. They had left their shields behind with the cohort to avoid entanglement with the brush and making too much noise. He did not like going into battle without them, but felt it was necessary. Once the captives were freed, they would need to move as quickly as possible back to the safety of the cohort. The men would move quicker without their shields. Stiger looked over at Father Thomas, who had not drawn his sword.
“Remember the priests,” the paladin reminded him. “They must not escape.”
“We will visit justice upon them,” Stiger growled, struggling to contain his anger, which had bubbled up again. Grim-faced and determined to do his duty, he then gave the order to advance.
The men moved down the slope toward the base of the valley, carefully stepping around trees, large rocks, and brush. They struggled to stay in line. The pace was not too fast, nor too slow. Stiger felt pressure to rush because the orcs had begun sacrificing the captives, but he resisted that impulse. He wanted the men to arrive together and as one group. So far, the orcs had no idea they were coming and Stiger aimed to keep it that way. When the legionaries arrived, the orcs would have precious little time to respond.
They came upon the stand of brush Stiger had peered through just minutes before. He turned and carefully scanned the line of battle. Everything appeared to be in order. This was it. He was committed now. Looking forward, he pushed his way through the brush, the men following in a double line of battle behind him. The base of the valley was immediately visible. The orcs were still singing away, oblivious. Their priests were performing some sort of ritual, butchering the body of the man they had just killed. Stiger saw with relief that they had not killed any more of the captives.
The Tiger's Fate (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 3) Page 16