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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “I had intended to,” the lieutenant replied a little guiltily. “I was escorting Miss Jenna here to her father.”

  Stiger looked to Jenna. She had also cleaned up, though was sporting a nasty bruise to her neck and a black eye.

  “Your father is seeing to his men. I believe you can find him on your own. The lieutenant here has his duty to attend to.”

  “Yes, legate,” she said with a firmness that seemed beyond her years. Taking the hint, she left them. Stiger noticed that Lan’s eyes followed her. Once she was out of earshot, he stepped up close to the lieutenant and lowered his voice.

  “You must focus on your responsibilities. Personal matters come after. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I expect we will not have to speak of this again?”

  “Ah, no, sir.”

  Lan stepped off with a purpose.

  Quintus watched him go and then turned to Stiger. “Before you and your men arrived, that girl was horribly wronged by members of the garrison.”

  “So I have heard,” Stiger replied and recognized surprise in the centurion’s eyes. “The lieutenant reported on the details of his meeting with you and the council. He was very detailed in his description of what occurred. I rather suspect he felt responsible for making it up to her.”

  “He appears to be a good man.”

  “He is young, yet has the makings of a fine officer,” Stiger said, then stopped again and turned to Quintus. “Make sure the rest of those we freed, including Jenna, are moved back to Tedge. They will be one less distraction.”

  “I will see to it after you’re settled.”

  Quintus led Stiger to a small one-room building that had escaped the fire. The room was bare of furniture, with the exception of a camp cot in a corner. Stiger suspected that the cot belonged to Quintus himself. There was a small crackling fire in the fireplace, which was a welcome sight. Stiger added a couple logs and poked it up. He turned back to the centurion.

  There was a knock at the door. Quintus answered it and spoke briefly to a legionary, then closed the door.

  “This just arrived for you,” Quintus said, handing over a dispatch.

  Stiger opened the dispatch. It had been written earlier that morning. Ikely reported that the First would march with their accompanying artillery train and supply wagons. The train and wagons would slow them down, but when they got here, he would have close to two thousand men on hand, with the added bonus of some light artillery. He was cheered by the news.

  “Very good,” Stiger said, taking off his wet cloak and hanging it on a hook by the fire. He removed his sword, still in its scabbard, careful not to touch the hilt, and leaned it against the wall near the cot. He did not desire a surge of unexpected vigor. “Have a dispatch rider sent to me, along with some food and the saddlebags from my horse. I could really use a dry tunic.”

  “Yes, sir,” Quintus said. “I will see that you are not disturbed, unless it is absolutely necessary.”

  “Thank you.”

  Quintus closed the door behind him. With the door closed and the fire building, the room warmed considerably. Stiger sat on the cot and took his boots and socks off. They were soaked through. He placed them by the fire to dry. He removed his armor next and stacked it neatly against a wall. It was a mess. He would have to spend some time later cleaning it.

  Stiger then pulled a dispatch pad from a pocket in his cloak. The pad was damp, but not too terribly wet. He wrote out a quick note to Braddock. This was his second dispatch to the thane. Stiger explained in terse details what had occurred. He told Braddock that he expected to be attacked at Riverton. He requested that Braddock’s army be made ready to march should he need them. He folded and sealed the dispatch, then wrote out another to Ikely. As he finished, there was a knock at the door.

  “Come.”

  The door opened and two legionaries filed in. One held a ration canteen and half a loaf of bread wrapped in a towel. The other had Stiger’s saddlebags. Stiger took the saddlebags and gestured for the legionary to place the food on the cot. He handed over the dispatches, along with instructions, thanked them, and the two legionaries left. Stiger opened one of his saddlebags, removed a fresh tunic, and changed into it. The feeling of wearing dry clothing felt good. He hung the one he had been wearing on a free hook by the fire.

  Sitting on the cot, he looked down at the bag, which contained his pipe, and briefly considered having a smoke, but he was too tired and hungry. He opened the canteen and groaned when he saw salted pork inside.

  “It figures.”

  “Sir?”

  Stiger’s eyes snapped open. There was a hard knocking at the door. It was dark in the room. The embers in the fireplace provided the only light, and that was not much. Stiger sat up on the cot. He realized with alarm he must have slept through the day. Why had they not woken him?

  “Sir?” The knocking resumed again, determined.

  “Come.” Stiger swung his legs over to the floor.

  The door opened and in washed a blast of cold air. Quintus stepped in, followed closely by Vargus. Quintus carried a lamp, which immediately lit the room. Taha’Leeth stepped through the door and closed it after her. Her beauty alone brightened the dreary room.

  Stiger rubbed at his eyes and stood stiffly. His body ached terribly. From their grim expressions, he knew it must be bad news. He moved to the fire, grabbed one of the last remaining logs, and tossed it in. He turned back toward them and prepared himself for the worst.

  “Well?”

  “The orcs took a while, but they are coming and in greater numbers than before,” Taha’Leeth informed him. “The equivalent of an army.”

  “An army, you say?” Stiger asked in disbelief, thinking suddenly on the World Gate. “An army?”

  “That is not all,” she told him. “The minion marches with them, along with many priests.”

  “Any idea as to numbers?”

  Taha’Leeth shook her head. “They are still emerging from the pass, many thousands at the least. Eli and Aver’Mons remained behind with Marcus.”

  “How long until they get here?” Stiger asked, running a hand through his hair.

  “Two hours, maybe a little longer?” she replied with a shrug. “They do not seem much concerned with speed.”

  Stiger’s thoughts turned inward. He had learned from Vargus on the march out to the pass that the orcs lived across the southern end of the mountain range. They had to have been gathering this army for some time, he realized. Had the raid on the valley been planned? Or had it been a few restless and ill-disciplined orcs prematurely tipping their hand?

  Stiger’s raid to rescue the captives and the ensuing fight in the pass might have caught the orcs off guard. He might have forced a fight that the enemy was not prepared to engage in. The more he thought on it, the more he became certain this was what had occurred.

  What would have happened if there had been no warning? Stiger went cold at that thought, for he knew the orc army would have spilled into the valley before he or anyone else would have known there was even a danger. The orc raid on the valley had been a blessing in disguise. Now what to do?

  There was a knock at the door, which Vargus opened. Father Thomas and Lieutenant Cannol entered.

  “You have heard?” Stiger asked of them, and they nodded grimly.

  “I sent Cannol to find Father Thomas,” Quintus admitted.

  “We are facing a dire threat,” Father Thomas said quietly. “I can feel it.”

  Stiger rubbed at his jaw. The unshaven stubble felt rough under his hand. Everyone in the room was looking to him. He took a deep breath and thought about what he needed to do. It was obvious he could not hold here, even with the First. His eyes narrowed.

  “Where is Sabinus?” Stiger asked, wondering why the man was not present.

  “They were
delayed by a band of orcs,” Quintus informed him. “They should be here in about an hour and a half.”

  Stiger thought furiously. He could not fall back on Castle Vrell. There was not enough room in the castle for all of his legionaries and the dwarves. He had no concerns about the castle being able to hold. The fortifications were just as strong on this side of the valley as the other facing the Cyphan encamped in the Sentinel Forest. Besides, he thought, the enemy would not likely go for it. Their objective had to be the World Gate, and as Stiger saw it, the only option that came to mind was to fall back in the direction of Thane’s Mountain. If the dwarven army joined up with him at some point, then he could turn and, perhaps, with Braddock, offer battle.

  “We are going to abandon Riverton,” Stiger announced. “We cannot hold against such a force, even were First Cohort here.”

  “What do we do then?” Quintus asked. “And what of the people of the valley? What of our families?”

  “We spread the word for everyone to make for Old City,” Stiger announced. He would have to send a dispatch to Braddock asking for the civilians of the valley to be permitted to shelter within his city. He would also send his casualties to the city. There was no doubt in Stiger’s mind that the thane would agree. “We evacuate the valley.”

  “And then what?” Vargus asked.

  Stiger began to pace in the small room, thinking on what he knew of the valley. He abruptly stopped and turned to Vargus. “Remember that river we crossed with the wooden bridge? The one on the way to Thane’s Mountain?”

  “The Sai’ko River?” Vargus asked.

  “Is that its name?”

  Vargus nodded.

  “Are there any crossings or places to ford other than the bridge?”

  “No,” Vargus said, thinking it over. “Not for over two or more miles in either direction, at any rate. The river is rather deep.”

  Stiger thought for a moment more before speaking. “The terrain on the northern side of the bridge is perfect for defense. We will take that small ridgeline and fortify it. I will ask Braddock to join us, and together, I believe it will be extremely difficult for the orcs to dislodge us.”

  “You realize that is where Delvaris fought a battle,” Quintus said quietly, and the room stilled. Stiger did not miss the significance of that.

  “Yes, I know,” Stiger replied, thinking on what Braddock had told him.

  “Will there be time to fortify the ridge?” Quintus asked.

  “Wait . . . you mean to allow them to cross the bridge?” Vargus had a look of astonishment on his face.

  “Yes,” Stiger explained. “We will fortify that low ridgeline just beyond the bridge. The area to the front of the ridgeline is a confined space, allowing only a couple thousand across at a time. If we can get those heights fortified, then they can throw themselves against us all day long in limited numbers. We will bleed them dry.”

  “What if they attempt to flank us?” Quintus asked. “Orcs are not stupid. They could explore out along the river and locate the crossings to the north and south. We could find ourselves outflanked.”

  “We have the cavalry to watch the crossings,” Stiger countered, looking over to Cannol. “If they make such an attempt, we will either contest it or fall back on Thane’s Mountain. If the worst happens, then we can help the dwarves hold the fortress of Grata’Jalor.”

  Stiger paused for a moment. He had begun pacing again and then stopped, looking at those assembled in the room. “This move can only be a bid for the World Gate.”

  “I agree,” Father Thomas spoke up. “We cannot allow Castor to possess the World Gate.”

  “We will stop them,” Taha’Leeth said fiercely, drawing their attention.

  “I will entertain any other ideas if you have them,” Stiger said, looking at his officers.

  “Over three hundred years ago, this position worked well enough for Delvaris and the original Thirteenth,” Quintus said after a pregnant moment. “Perhaps it will work just as well for us.”

  “Form the men up,” Stiger ordered. “We need to march as soon as possible. If we have to leave supplies here, so be it. Burn them, but make sure we take all of the shovels and pickaxes. We are going to need them.” Stiger turned to Cannol. “Send me a dispatch rider. I will have orders for Sabinus to change the direction of his march.” Stiger stopped. He had just had an interesting idea. He smiled tightly as the idea blossomed further. “I will also have a message for Braddock. I want a full troop as escort, to make sure the dispatches arrive.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cannol said.

  “Cannol, detach two troops to begin spreading the word for people to evacuate the valley to Thane’s Mountain. Make it clear to all that the legion will be falling back to the river at Bridgetown. We will be unable to protect them should they elect to stay.”

  The lieutenant nodded his understanding. “My men will see to it.”

  “Good.” Stiger glanced around at those assembled. The looks were grim. “We will meet this test and overcome it,” he said firmly. “Dismissed.”

  The officers began to file out of the room.

  Stiger stopped Vargus, catching the centurion’s arm, and asked him to stay a moment.

  Taha’Leeth hesitated as if she wanted to say something, but then saw that he wanted to have a word with Vargus. She shrugged, offered Stiger a mischievous smile, and followed the others out. Stiger wondered what she meant by that. He pushed the thought aside and turned to Vargus.

  “How many men did you lose?”

  “Eighty-four.” The centurion had a sad look about him. These were people he had lived alongside, worked with, and known since they were born. Stiger reflected that it would be much different losing such people than in a typical legionary unit, where its members came from across the empire. Vargus would have to face their families and loved ones, a few of whom might even place blame upon the centurion for their loss. “Does it get any easier?”

  “No,” Stiger breathed, realizing that the centurion had likely never lost a man before. “It most certainly does not.”

  “You have lost many men?” Vargus asked, looking up.

  “Yes,” Stiger admitted. “Far too many.”

  “How do you man...?” The centurion’s shoulders sagged briefly as he trailed off.

  “We do the best we can and try not to make too many mistakes that cost additional lives.”

  “You have made mistakes then?” Vargus gave Stiger a look, as if he very much doubted such a thing.

  “Yes,” Stiger admitted. “You will make mistakes too. You must learn from them, so that others may live. Vargus, we are not perfect in what we do. Our profession is amongst the hardest there is, for there is only a very fine line between life and death. As officers, we do everything we can to load the dice for our side, and yet the enemy does not always play by our rules, even when we cheat. No matter how well you plan or train your men, there will always be a cost. We work to limit that cost, while at the same time discharging our duty to the best of our ability.”

  “What if discharging our duty costs more lives?”

  “Then we do what is necessary.” Stiger paused a moment, looked the centurion firmly in the eye. “Never forget those you lost along the road of service. That is how you honor them.”

  “I see, sir,” Vargus said, thinking for a moment. He frowned. “Thank you.”

  “Good, now go get your men ready to march.”

  Vargus turned away and then stopped, looking back at Stiger. “What if this is a mistake?”

  “Falling back on the Sai’ko?”

  “Yes, that,” the centurion confirmed.

  “Then a lot of good men will die,” Stiger growled, “and I will have to live with that.”

  Vargus nodded in understanding and left without uttering another word.

  Fifteen

  Stiger surveye
d the defensive works before him. He had marched his men hard through the night to get to the ground he had chosen for his stand. The men had been at it for a little over three hours and had achieved a great deal in that time. They toiled with shovels and pickaxes, digging away. At first, they had difficulty breaking through the top soil, which had frozen, but after that hard crust had been penetrated, the ground had yielded up earth quickly enough. Thankfully, winter had just begun and the ground had not frozen deeply.

  A trench had been excavated along the top of the small ridgeline on the north side of the river. The dirt from the excavation was piled up and packed down to create a serviceable rampart. Exposed to the cold air, the moist, unearthed dirt had rapidly frozen solid.

  Stiger would have loved to have had defensive works that included sharpened stakes and caltrops, but none had been brought when his men had marched from the castle. There had been no time to assemble such supplies. So, there was no wooden barricade, and it was not a very impressive defensive wall. However, when combined with the trench, which was around five feet deep, it made his position strong and would be difficult to overcome.

  Fishhook-like in shape, the ridgeline bent outward from the bridge at the middle and gradually ran back on the flanks, almost to the water in either direction. The defensive works followed the top of the ridge, all the way to the river’s edge. He had taken great care to make sure the ends of his line were more heavily fortified and anchored, as he could not allow the enemy to overcome him there and roll up his line. The bowl in the center of the hook helped to create the perfect killing ground, as it was not a very large area. To complicate things for the enemy, the bridge and river would act as a chokepoint. So basically, no matter how large the enemy host, the orcs would only be able to assault his positions with a near-equal number of warriors to those defending. Stiger’s men behind the defensive works would have a decisive advantage in such a struggle.

  Stiger had not destroyed the bridge, because he meant to allow the orcs to cross to assault his line. The ridgeline was good ground and the terrain lent itself naturally to defense, which allowed him to position his forces in such a way that the enemy could only assault him along the narrow front of the bowl. Only around the bridge, where the silt had built up by the wooden pilings, could one easily ford the river. He considered himself lucky that it was not yet cold enough for the river to have frozen over. A few feet beyond the bridge, either up or downstream, the water deepened significantly. Stiger knew this, because he had personally checked. Unless the enemy had brought their own bridging equipment, they would be in for a rough time.