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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  It was a flimsy excuse, and Eli saw right through it. He studied Stiger for a moment and then firmly shook his head in the negative. “I am crossing with you.”

  “As am I,” Taha’Leeth informed him. She placed a gentle hand on his forearm, which was grimy and dirty. It was a tender gesture and one Stiger had not expected. “Our place is with you, as is our path.”

  CRACK! A bolt thrower fired.

  Stiger let out a breath of frustration. He was trying to spare his friend and Taha’Leeth what was coming. He seriously doubted that he could lose Eli again and he had no wish to see Taha’Leeth come to harm. Neither of the elves wore armor, and he feared for their safety in the potential crush of melee that waited just yards away, but he could see the determined look in Eli’s eyes. There was no mistaking it. Eli’Far, elven ranger and lieutenant in the imperial legions, would be at his side for this fight. Taha’Leeth looked just as firm.

  CRACK!

  “Very well then,” Stiger gave in, as the 85th began marching up to the water’s edge. Stiger turned and moved forward with them, his eyes on the Third, which had just reached the other side and was forming a line of battle on the far bank. So far the orcs were watching the humans, incredibly making no move to interfere. Stiger had expected the enemy to vigorously contest the crossing. Why they did not make a move to do so puzzled him.

  Then, a priest pushed his way out of the crowd of uncertain orcs and began shouting, working them up. One orc stepped forward several paces, holding aloft a large sword and roaring. A second orc joined him, and suddenly the mass of them charged the legionary line.

  CRACK!

  Stiger had no more time for watching, as Blake gave the order to advance. He had moved himself to just behind the front rank and took a step into the frigid water. The cold immediately cut to the bone. It was a shock to be sure, but Stiger kept on going, easing himself around a ruined support beam. The depth of the water rapidly went from his thighs to his chest. It was so cold his fingers ached with an intense agony, and he shivered. The pressure of the water rushing past made it a challenge to keep his footing. Several times he was forced to grab for a handhold on the ruins of the bridge, lest he be swept away. Stiger glanced behind him and saw Eli and Taha’Leeth just feet away, following.

  There was a loud crash just ahead as the orcs slammed into the legionary shield line. The sound of fighting, complete with screams of rage, pain, and animal-like roars, drifted over the water toward them. Stiger looked up to get a view of what was happening. He was gratified to see Quintus’s men advancing, shields locked together, moving one half-step at a time, creating additional room on the bank for the men who were still crossing. To the right of Quintus’s positon, the ground rose up into a small hill. It was bare of the enemy.

  “When we come out of the water,” Stiger said to Blake, pointing to where he wanted the 85th, “I want you to take Quintus’s extreme right. Make a double line from that point there.”

  “Yes, sir,” Blake said as they continued to struggle through the rushing water.

  “Once formed up,” Stiger continued, “we will swing forward up toward the hill, extending our line as we do so. Think of the meeting point of the Third and the 85th as a well-oiled hinge on a door. When you are in position, the 85th will be the door slamming closed down upon the enemy flank. Got me?”

  Blake nodded his understanding. Moments later, the 85th began emerging from the water.

  “Corporal Beni, form up there next to the Third, smartly now.” Blake gestured, showing Beni where he wanted his file.

  Soaked through, Stiger emerged onto dry ground and moved over to Quintus, who was right behind his double line of men. Stiger got his first real look at the orcs taking on the Third. There were several hundred of them in a great big unorganized mass. For a fleeting moment, Stiger wondered what the orc army would be like if they fought as a trained and cohesive unit. How much more effective and dangerous would they be? He forced the thought aside, as he did not really want to find out.

  Beyond the orcs to his front, there was a growing gap between this bunch and the rest of the enemy army, which seemed to be moving away, as if they had somewhere else to be. Stiger was surprised that they were ignoring the fight that was playing out here at the river’s edge. Had the dwarves finally arrived? The bulk of the enemy army was marching away from where First Cohort was reported to be, so it clearly wasn’t Sabinus that had their attention. It had to be the dwarves.

  Despite the pressure against the line, the Third was steadily pushing forward a half-step at a time and forcing the orcs back, inflicting heavy casualties as they did so.

  “The 85th is forming up on your right,” Stiger said to Quintus. “As soon as we are in position, they will swing forward, hinging on you, and push into this bunch’s flank.”

  “Do you want me to bring my boys to a stop before they swing forward?” Quintus asked him.

  Stiger considered the idea for a moment and then discarded it. “If you stop, the enemy may spread out, making it more difficult for the 85th to swing into them.”

  Quintus frowned as he thought it through and then gave a curt nod. Stiger stepped back toward the right. Almost all of the 85th was out of the frigid water. Blake was slotting each file into line as they came up. It took time, but it was well done. The enemy was focused on the Third and had as of yet not reacted to the 85th’s presence as it extended the legionary line. Stiger looked behind him. The Second was just starting across. After a moment’s consideration, he made for Taha’Leeth, who was just behind the 85th’s growing line.

  “When Vargus comes across, tell him to follow the 85th up. I want them right behind my company.”

  Taha’Leeth nodded her understanding.

  Stiger then turned to Eli and pointed at a tall hill to their right. “Get on top of that hill and see if you can locate the First.”

  Eli turned and set off.

  “All set, sir,” Blake announced, and Stiger turned back to see that the 85th was in line and ready.

  “Give the order.” Stiger drew his sword and felt the electric tingle. He had not thought to grab a free shield prior to crossing. He was sure one would be made available soon enough should he need it.

  Blake gave the order to draw swords and then to advance. The company formed up into a double line and began to swing forward slowly toward the orcs, bending around as they did so. At first, the enemy was wholly focused on the Third, but then several noticed the advancing legionaries and began to shout a warning. Heads turned to face the swinging door as it formed a near-perfect angle on Third Cohort. Stiger studied the enemy before him and realized he had to hit them hard, before they became organized against his swinging door.

  “Give the order to charge,” Stiger said to Blake.

  “Charge!” Blake roared at his men, who, after a moment’s hesitation, exploded into a run, shields held forward, swords at the ready. The 85th slammed into the orcs with a loud crash, screaming as they came. For several seconds, it was mass confusion as the impetus of the charge carried the legionaries forward in amongst the orcs, who reeled backward. Many of the enemy fell to the short swords, which jabbed out from behind the protection of the shields. Then the fighting became more difficult as the enemy’s will stiffened, and the orcs turned and fought with a ferocity that was surprising.

  Corporals began calling their files to form up into shield lines. Stiger and Blake shouted orders and encouragement as the line came back together. Shields thunked into place. Stiger gave the order to push. The legionaries shoved forward as one, slamming their shields into the enemy and then unlocking them to jab outward for a quick stab before locking them back into place. Under incredible pressure, the orcs held. They looked as if they would hold firm. Then, slowly at first, they began to give ground. In moments, both the Third and the 85th were driving the enemy steadily back, the pace increasing with each step.

  S
tiger looked up and around for the rest of the orc army. He spotted them and felt a great sense of relief. Unexpectedly, they were still moving away from him, completely ignoring Stiger and his men.

  “Where do you want me?” Vargus said, having come up. Stiger turned and saw Second Cohort was marching up behind the 85th.

  “Double time it to my right,” Stiger pointed with his sword. “Extend your line and use mine as a hinge to slam into the back side of this bunch, like the 85th just did, hinging on the Third. If done quickly enough, we will have them penned in on three sides and it should be a bloody massacre.”

  Vargus understood in an instant what Stiger wanted. He turned back to his cohort, calling orders to his men. Armor jingling, the Second began to trot by in good order, moving into position where Stiger wanted them.

  Stiger turned back to the fight. It seemed to him, though he could not tell exactly what made him feel this way, that the orcs were beginning to get edgy. He could see no officers, sergeants, or corporals amongst them, only the occasional priest or what he took to be a tribal chief, who seemed better outfitted. The orcs fought as individuals. They were deadly and motivated, to be sure, and they outnumbered Stiger’s men, but the orcs were up against a highly trained and organized force. Stiger had the initiative here.

  There was a deafening shout to his right. The Second swung around, closing the door perfectly, as if they had practiced the maneuver regularly. The orcs were now boxed in on three sides and the killing began in earnest. Under such pressure, the orcs lasted less than a minute, long enough for the priest he had seen earlier to be cut brutally down by several jabbing short swords. The orcs gave a great groan at this and ran for it, with the legionaries pursuing. The slaughter was terrible to see, with the legionaries taking their revenge upon the creatures for daring to come into the valley. No mercy was shown. The legionaries expected none in return.

  Stiger’s shoulders sagged in relief. The crossing had been easier than he had expected it to be. Looking, he could see the bulk of the enemy army still moving south and away. They were actually angling slightly southwest. He spotted something to his right and saw Eli jogging toward him.

  “First Cohort is a quarter mile that way.” Eli pointed back toward the hill. “It looks as if they have overcome a small enemy blocking force. The cavalry is with them. To the south I can see the entire dwarven army. They have positioned themselves to prevent the orcs from retreating. Braddock is already heavily engaged. If I had to guess, I would say the orcs are trying to break out.”

  “We have them,” Stiger said with sudden excitement.

  “It would seem so,” Eli replied.

  “Can you make it to First Cohort and tell them to hold off from advancing? I want us all together when we hit the enemy’s backside.”

  “I can,” Eli said and started off at a run, with Taha’Leeth following him.

  “We have them,” Stiger said to himself, hammering fist to palm. He turned away, calling for Vargus, Quintus, and Blake. It was time to get the men reformed.

  Eighteen

  Braddock looked over the battlefield and felt a great sense of satisfaction. It was littered with thousands of corpses. Between him and the humans, it had been a great slaughter, a battle worthy of some serious drinking and song. There were both dwarves and humans moving among the bodies, looking for those still alive and injured. Whenever any were found, they were helped to the aid stations. Orcs found alive were dispatched.

  The work of dealing with the bodies had also begun. Thankfully it was winter and not the middle of summer. They would be spared the unbearable stench of rotting flesh. Legionary and dwarven dead were being moved aside for proper care of the remains. The dwarves would be sent back to Garand Thoss, where kin from their clans would inter them in the tombs beneath the city. Of the legionaries, Braddock understood that their dead would be burned. The orcs would likely be buried in mass graves. No funeral rites would be given to them, as they worshiped and served the dark gods.

  Braddock walked toward the river, surveying this side of the battlefield. His bodyguard, not wishing to interrupt the thane’s contemplations, followed at a respectful distance. Garrack was also a step behind him. This portion of the field was where the legionaries had fought. Braddock climbed a small hill and was able to get a vantage that overlooked the river and the remains of the bridge. The number of orc bodies on the other side of the river, beneath the legionary fortifications, was astonishing. He had never seen so many corpses in such a confined area.

  “Though human,” Garrack said, “they are tenacious fighters.”

  “Yes,” Braddock agreed. “They are worthy allies. Especially the legate. He I can respect.”

  “Stiger is the one the Oracle prophesized,” Garrack said. “Did you seriously doubt he would be worthy of respect?”

  Braddock looked over to Garrack, a scowl on his face, which softened after a moment. “No, I had no doubts, but after this,” Braddock held his arms out, “my esteem for the legate has increased.”

  Atop the hill, Braddock turned in a circle, surveying everything. He could see his army less than a quarter of a mile away. They had reformed and gone into a temporary encampment. The legionaries had moved back to their original position along the fortified heights across the river, where their supply wagons were located. He could see their sentries posted at the river crossing and along the low ridgeline. Several riders appeared and made their way down from the defensive works, splashed into the water next to the ruined bridge, and carefully crossed.

  Braddock had no difficulty recognizing the legate as he, his elf, and a guard detail worked their way up the hill. The thane assumed that one of the human sentries had spotted him and sent word to Stiger. Though they had exchanged numerous messages, the two had not met since leaving Old City.

  “Well met, Thane Braddock,” Stiger greeted as he rode up and dismounted.

  “A fine victory, this,” Braddock said and offered his hand, which was accepted. “Together we work to fulfill the terms of the Compact.”

  “This is a good victory,” Stiger agreed, “though I fear one not without cost.”

  Braddock knew the humans had taken the brunt of the fighting and suffered heavily. The legate had suggested the strategy, which Braddock had endorsed. Both had known that by Braddock staying his hand and waiting for the orcs to pass him by, the legionaries would pay a heavy price. Yet because of it, the orcs had suffered terribly. Perhaps as many as a thousand of the vile creatures had managed to escape from the trap. Even now, the human cavalry was running them down and chasing them back to their own territory to the south.

  “All victories come with a cost,” Braddock said, attempting to ease the legate’s burden. Though Stiger looked pleased at what they had accomplished, the thane thought he detected a sadness in the human’s eyes.

  “That they do,” Stiger said, barely above a whisper.

  “A punitive expedition need to be mounted,” Garrack said. “Orcs need to be dug out of caves and mines and pushed farther back into mountains.”

  “I should think that two war bands and a contingent of gnomes will be sufficient,” Braddock said, looking over at Garrack for confirmation of his assessment.

  “I take it that my legionaries will be included in such a venture?”

  Braddock narrowed his eyes at that. “If you think it necessary.”

  “I do.” Stiger’s tone suggested that he would brook no disagreement on this point. “We will do this together or not at all.”

  Braddock took a deep, calming breath. He had to remember that this was an alliance of equal powers. The legate, far from trying to be offensive, was simply reminding him of that reality. Braddock had never been part of an alliance before, and it was proving to be a learning experience. He reminded himself once again that he had to think of the alliance as a whole.

  “We will do this together,” Braddock affirme
d. “Human, dwarf, and gnome.”

  “That sounds more like it,” Stiger said. “We each pull our own weight.”

  “Is strange,” Garrack said, changing the subject.

  “What is?” Braddock asked.

  “Orcs fighting aboveground during day.”

  “How do they normally fight then?” Stiger asked, eyes narrowing.

  “Orcs are creatures of the earth,” Braddock answered. “We class them as one of the lesser races because they almost exclusively shun the sun and prefer the dark depths. Though they have their own lands, we occasionally find them on the fringes of our territories. Most encounters occur in mines and caves. When they come to the surface, they do not normally fight or raid during the daylight hours, as their vision in the sun is quite poor. Orcs prefer the shadows and night.”

  “Battle should have happened under our feet,” Garrack added.

  “What do you mean?” Stiger asked, eying Garrack intently. “How can the battle have taken place in the earth?”

  “I would think that obvious,” Braddock said. “My people long occupied this land, and even though much of it cannot be seen, their legacy is all around us. This entire valley and the surrounding mountains are honeycombed with mines and caves.”

  Braddock saw Stiger pale.

  “Then there could be orcs beneath our feet?” Stiger asked, glancing down at the ground, as if he might be able to see them through the earth. “Could this have been a diversion to get at the World Gate?”

  “This was no diversion,” Braddock said. “The orcs sent too many.”

  “We have warriors patrolling caverns and mines,” Garrack said. “They warn us if such a thing happens.”

  “Good,” Stiger replied, seeming somewhat relieved.

  “Still, it is strange that the orcs chose to fight out of their element, during the day,” Braddock said.

  “What of the minion of Castor?” Stiger asked. “Has it been spotted?”