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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “At least our men will be fed and rested,” Sabinus said brightly. “We can thank the High Father for that.”

  “We will be ready for them,” Stiger agreed. He, too, worried that he had made a mistake by sending Cannol’s men off. He changed the subject. “Any word on the refugees from the valley?”

  “Yes, sir,” Quintus said. “I sent an officer to check on them. He arrived back a short time ago. The dwarves have been very accommodating and set them up in Old City. The conditions are not ideal, but our people have access to fresh water. Centurion Malik—I believe you know him—well, he has taken charge.”

  “I know Malik,” Stiger confirmed with a nod, recalling the scarred tavern keeper from Bridgetown. The man’s tavern was now nothing more than ashes. The entire town had been torched by the enemy, and all along their line of march, the orcs had burned a swath right through the center of the valley. The destruction was such that Stiger suspected it would take years for the valley to recover.

  “Vargus mentioned you had met him. He’s a good man,” Quintus said, scratching at the stubble on his cheek. “They have a good-sized guard, even if it is only old men and those too unfit to march, all of whom are retired legionaries. Malik reports that a good number brought food and livestock with them. He is seeing to it that they share and ration what they have. He says it should be enough to last around two weeks, perhaps a little longer. The dwarves and gnomes are also helping, but,” Quintus spread his hands out, palms up, and shrugged, “well, any assistance our allies are capable of providing is extremely limited in nature.”

  “I see. At least they are secure,” Stiger said. It was some comfort that the civilians were safe and one less immediate thing to worry on. “After this business is finished, we can worry about how to feed them.”

  Stiger was deeply concerned about the coming battle, and he fell silent as his thoughts turned to it. Would he and Braddock be able to hold? Could they fight off this vast orc horde? Braddock seemed confident and optimistic enough, but Stiger was not so sure. He had his doubts. A great deal would be decided on the morrow, perhaps even the fate of the world.

  “If you will excuse me, sir,” Quintus said, having apparently sensed Stiger’s mood. He stood. The centurion stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. “I believe I will check on my men and then turn in myself. I expect tomorrow will be rather busy.”

  Stiger absently nodded, and the centurion stepped away. Sleep sounded like a very good idea. Stiger was so tired and spent that his eyes periodically shed tears, which he occasionally wiped away with a hand. His upper left eyelid twitched a little in an annoying manner. Stiger had endured longer periods without much sleep while serving in the north, during a siege, and knew without a doubt that he had to get some sleep. He well recognized the symptoms of growing exhaustion and was now sure that use of the sword had made them worse. The fatigue he felt was incredible. He intended to turn in himself shortly. Hopefully, he would be able to catch a few hours of rest before he was needed.

  “Taha’Leeth?” Stiger asked, glancing over at Eli.

  “Sleeping,” Eli responded with an open-mouthed grin. The elf’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Aver’Mons and Marcus too. You have kept us all a little busy of late. Even elves need sleep, you know.”

  “That was not up to me,” Stiger growled. “You know that.”

  “I suppose so,” Eli said with a shrug, and the smile disappeared. No one spoke for several minutes as they sat around the campfire, each lost in his own thoughts.

  Sabinus eventually stood and stretched before dumping the remainder of his tea into the fire.

  “Good night, sir,” Sabinus said, turned to go, and then stopped, looking back. “Today’s fighting was some of the most difficult and challenging I have ever seen.” The centurion frowned and seemed to want to say more, but hesitated, clearly uncomfortable.

  “I understand,” Stiger said with a wave of his hand, preempting the man before he could say anything further. “You and your men fought hard today.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Sabinus said, looking down at the snow. With his foot, he moved aside an inch to reveal the wet paving stone below. He took a deep breath and straightened up, an intense look in his eyes. “The Thirteenth could not be commanded by a better man. Legate Delvaris would be pleased to know his legion is in good hands, sir.”

  Stiger at first said nothing, feeling more than somewhat uncomfortable with the centurion’s sentiment. He was not sure how to answer, nor did he trust himself to. After a moment, he nodded, accepting the compliment for what it was. Despite the mind-numbing exhaustion that he felt, Stiger was greatly moved. He had to clear his throat before he was able to speak. “I appreciate the kind words. Now, see that you get some sleep.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sabinus stepped away.

  “Do you think,” Eli said, with a glance over at Stiger after Sabinus was out of earshot, “he will feel the same way after tomorrow’s battle?”

  Stiger scowled at Eli but chose not to reply, instead returning his gaze to the flames.

  “Sir.” A legionary approached, saluting, and then handed over a dispatch. “A dwarf brought this for you.”

  “Thank you,” Stiger said, dismissing the man. He opened the dispatch and scanned its contents, tilting it toward the fire to better catch the light. “The enemy is crossing in strength at several points along the river,” Stiger reported to Eli. “At the current rate, Braddock estimates that it will take the orcs at least six hours to get the bulk of their army over to our side of the river.” He paused a moment, looking over at Eli. “If that remains true, the men will have the night to sleep.”

  It was good news, but Stiger was still worried about what the new day would bring. He crumpled the dispatch and threw it into the flames, where it immediately caught fire and burned brightly.

  “Castor seems very determined to have the Gate,” Eli said.

  “The Twisted One must have been planning and gathering his forces for years,” Stiger said, shaking his head slightly. He wondered why the High Father had not planned in the same manner. Then again, here he was with a dwarven army and parts of the Vanished, the legendary Thirteenth Legion. Perhaps the High Father had prepared for this after all? The thought was not a comforting one, as the odds still seemed very stacked against him.

  “It seems so,” Eli agreed.

  “I,” Stiger said quietly, “do not much like this burden that has been given over to me.”

  “It is how you humans say,” Eli said, thinking, and then, flashing a closed-mouth grin, “the hand you have been dealt?”

  “Yes.” Stiger glanced at the fire, and then back to Eli. “And it is a terrible hand.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Eli said.

  “Oh?”

  “You have more than a little help.” Eli gestured around at the campfires beyond their own. “And, of course, you have me. What more could you ask for?”

  “I never asked for this,” Stiger said very quietly so that he was not overheard by men sleeping at nearby fires, “nor what is coming . . . ”

  “And yet you are here,” Eli said simply, his voice hardening. “You are meant to be here. Of that, there can be no doubt.”

  “Yes,” Stiger said, taking another pull on his pipe and blowing out a stream of smoke. “I am here.”

  “It is where you need to be, are meant to be,” Eli said firmly, and then his expression clouded into one of sadness. “Tomorrow, many gathered here tonight will see their last sunrise.”

  Stiger rubbed at his tired eyes. What Eli had just said was true. The coming battle would be brutal, ugly, and very hard. Stiger worried about it, as he did everything else. He had his doubts, but that was not what really concerned him.

  “If,” Stiger said, “we pull off a miracle and are victorious tomorrow . . . how then will we confront the Cyphan?”

  Eli did not reply, and s
o Stiger continued.

  “We have already lost so many . . . too many.”

  There was a pregnant moment of silence.

  “I don’t know,” Eli finally said. “But I think you will manage to find a way. You always do.”

  “I don’t know anymore,” Stiger admitted. If it were anyone other than Eli, he would have said nothing, and would have never voiced his doubts openly. “I just don’t know.”

  “Well,” Eli said, flashing Stiger another grin, “you will succeed, and one day, you will fulfill your promise to show me this legionary peace you keep speaking of.”

  Stiger rolled his eyes, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. Eli had always been able to show him the lighter side when things looked especially dark. He regarded his friend for another moment, then nodded as he took one more pull on his pipe. He then tapped it clean against the cut log and stood. It was time to turn in for the night. He had to be fresh and ready for the enemy.

  Nineteen

  “They are pushing the dwarves back,” Quintus said grimly to Stiger. The centurion was calm and collected, though Stiger thought he detected concern in the man’s tone. The sun had set several hours ago, and a full moon illuminated the snow-covered battlefield in an eerie, almost ethereal light.

  “I know,” Stiger growled, not liking what he was seeing. Both he and Quintus were atop one of the thick stone trading buildings that were located before the massive gates of Thane’s Mountain. Solidly built, the buildings were slowly surrendering to the ravages of time and lack of maintenance. Several of the buildings had collapsed in upon themselves, with only the walls remaining. The one upon which they were observing the battle was surprisingly intact. It was so tall, perhaps twenty feet in height, that a ladder had been required to ascend to the roof.

  Braddock’s army was arrayed just beyond the woods, nearly twenty thousand strong. They were organized in ranks, five deep. The thane’s battle line bulged outward at the center, with his flanks bending leisurely back toward the mountain itself. The dwarves were heavily armored, more so than a legionary. They carried large oval shields that, if rested upon the ground, reached nearly to their bearded chins. Each was armed as they individually preferred with a variety of weapons, which included axes, hammers, and swords. Dwarven armor covered nearly their entire bodies. They were like some of the armored horse warriors that Stiger had encountered in the north. Though they fought in ranks, they were not as coordinated or well-drilled in formation fighting as the legions.

  The heavy armor and shields meant the dwarves were incredibly difficult to take down, but from what Stiger had seen, they were also slow to react and maneuver as a body. In comparison, Stiger’s legionaries were lightly armored and much more maneuverable, meaning his men could react quicker to the changing conditions on a battlefield. Stiger supposed it all came down to what worked best for the dwarves, not the empire.

  The thane had insisted upon having his dwarves meet the first waves of the enemy assault, which had begun with the full moon high above. Stiger, recognizing that his men needed additional rest, had listened to Braddock’s impassioned appeal that this was hallowed ground for the dwarves, and Legend required that they meet the orcs in battle first, and before the humans. Stiger had graciously given in. He had used the time to further rest and feed his men. Massive bonfires roared toward the rear of the dwarven lines, where in the frigid cold his men waited, ready to be called upon to form up. From the pressure upon the dwarven lines, Stiger understood that time was fast approaching.

  There were three gnome catapults that were firing away. Only one used the clay jars that exploded upon contact. Stiger suspected the nasty little creatures only had a limited supply of the blasting powder. Braddock had explained that the stuff was incredibly hard to make. Stiger also had his six bolt throwers in action. These had been mounted atop of the trading buildings and were firing over the heads of the dwarves, cracking away to deadly effect.

  Stiger was drawn to a sound behind him. He turned and looked to see a formation of gnomes marching out through the gates to the mountain. They wore highly polished armor that caught and reflected the moonlight brilliantly. Unlike a legionary unit, the gnomes had no standard. There seemed no end to the formation as it continued to march through the gates. He estimated that there were at least several thousand of them, and they marched out with a precision that would have made a legion proud.

  “Will you look at that,” Quintus breathed, marveling.

  One gnome marched at the head of the formation with two others, who were out in front, clearly officers. The gnome stepped aside when it spotted Stiger and removed its helmet to look up at him. They all looked the same to Stiger, but he suspected that he knew this one.

  “Cragg?” Stiger called down in question.

  The gnome nodded vigorously and said something back in his own language, which Stiger could not understand. When it became evident that he was not making himself understood, Cragg pulled out his sword, which was only a little shorter than a gladius, and pointed it at Stiger and then in the direction of the enemy. The message was clear enough.

  “Quite right,” Stiger said, knowing that even though Braddock had not yet called for his men, it was time. The dwarves had more than satisfied their Legend. They now needed help, and Stiger would provide it.

  “Quintus.” Stiger turned back to the centurion. “Get the men formed up. I am going to find Braddock.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stiger climbed down the ladder. His feet crunched into the snow as he stepped off the last rung. Once Stiger was clear, Quintus started down the ladder himself. Blake had assigned Corporal Durggen’s file to act as Stiger’s personal escort, and they were waiting for their legate. Stiger found Cragg also waiting. The gnome smiled sadistically at him before giving Stiger a mocking legionary salute, followed by a snicker, and then rejoined his fellows, who were still marching past.

  “Cragg,” Stiger called. The gnome turned. “Give it to them hard.”

  The gnome got the general meaning and nodded vigorously before turning away. Stiger watched the little creatures march by. One gnome began to sing, and within moments, the entire formation broke out into a song. Stiger could not understand the words, but it was a rousing melody that was meant to lift spirits. At least he hoped so. Knowing the gnomes, whatever they were singing was in all probability not fit for polite society.

  Stiger started toward the dwarven lines, with his escort following close at hand. The sound of the fighting intensified the nearer he got, but Stiger found he could not see the actual fighting, as the lines were too deep. Stiger passed the last of the abandoned trade buildings and stepped out onto the snow-covered meadow. He reminded himself it was actually not a meadow. There was paving stone underneath the snow.

  “Where can I find Braddock?” Stiger asked a passing dwarven officer, who pointed off to the left in a vague manner.

  Stiger stepped off in that direction and eventually found the thane. Braddock was surrounded by his officers and aides. A camp table was before them, with a map spread out on top. Messengers came and went with surprising swiftness. The thane’s bodyguard created a ring about them. Naggock spotted Stiger and waved him through without even a passing hesitation.

  “Well, that’s progress,” Stiger said to himself and indicated that his escort remain behind after Naggock shook his head at them.

  Braddock was having an intense discussion with Garrack and a clan chief Stiger recognized as Tyga. He had been introduced to the dwarf when they had left Castle Vrell. Stiger was surprised to find Ogg was present as well.

  “Legate,” Braddock greeted with a grim expression, looking up from the map on the camp table. “I was just about to send for you.”

  “My men are forming up as we speak,” Stiger told the thane. “What is the situation?”

  “It is not good,” Braddock admitted. “Though we are taking a terrible toll on th
e orcs, I fear it is only a matter of time before they force us back to the gates of the mountain. The enemy has several trained formations that are fighting with a surprising amount of coordination.”

  “Really?” This was something that Stiger had not wanted to hear.

  “Yes,” Braddock confirmed. “Thankfully, those formations are few in number, and the vast majority of the enemy are fighting as individuals. Lucky for us, orcs, for the most part, have difficulty thinking beyond themselves.”

  Stiger looked down on the table to see several wooden blocks set strategically on the map, which was a rough-drawn depiction of the ground before the gates to Old City. Braddock noticed Stiger’s gaze and pointed at the blocks.

  “I have had to give ground and extend my line out to here and here. Thankfully, beyond the ends of our line, the terrain is completely impassible. Extending my lines, though, has created a new problem.”

  “You have thinned your depth.” Stiger nodded, understanding the problem. Braddock’s warriors would have less time to recover when the ranks were rotated. It also meant that a breakthrough at any one point would be more difficult to contain. “How are your reserves?” Stiger asked the thane.

  “Dwindling.”

  “If I bring up my entire command, we can assume a portion of the front. That way you can add depth back to your lines.”

  “Yes, that is what I was thinking.” The thane ran a hand through his beard and paused a moment before continuing. “I do not think it will be enough, though.”

  “It will not,” Ogg said. The wizard was leaning heavily upon his staff and looked to be in a disagreeable mood.

  Garrack said something harsh in dwarven to Ogg, who cast Garrack a withering look, but said nothing.

  “What would you have us do?” Braddock demanded of Ogg.

  The wizard shifted his gaze to Braddock.

  “Pull the army back into Old City and Grata’Jalor,” Ogg said, which was followed almost immediately by a mad giggle. “They are here for the World Gate. That is all.”