“I suppose they will eventually tire themselves out,” Stiger replied.
“Tyga feels we should pull back into the mountain and close the gates,” Braddock told him bluntly. “It would give us a chance to recover and rest before taking the fight back to them.”
Tyga looked up as his name was spoken by his thane, though it was clear the chieftain could not follow the discourse, which was in the common tongue.
“They not get through gates easy,” Garrack said, struggling over the words. “We rest and then attack out through tunnels.”
“It sounds reasonable,” Stiger said as he thought it over. Though their lines were holding, he was becoming more concerned by the minute. He could not put his finger on it, but something just was not right. It was almost as if he were sensing some impending doom. Stiger pushed the dark thoughts away. He could not allow his imagination to run wild on him. A military leader who let that happen was inviting disaster. Stiger had learned a long time ago to think things through reasonably before making decisions.
Stiger’s attention was drawn to Ogg. The wizard seemed preoccupied. He was pacing back and forth, ignoring them. Stiger was about to say more when he saw Braddock turn with a look of surprise in his eyes. Ogg’s head snapped around too. Menos, the caretaker, was approaching.
“Menos,” Braddock greeted, inclining his head. Those dwarves around the thane bowed deeply.
The caretaker ignored them all and instead walked a few feet farther before stopping. His gaze was upon the fighting. The dwarves around Braddock all had their eyes upon the caretaker, even Braddock’s bodyguards.
“What’s wrong?” Stiger asked of Braddock.
“The caretaker has never been known to leave the Gate room,” the thane explained tersely. “I do not understand why he has come.”
“I asked for help from dragons,” Garrack said in barely a whisper. “Why caretaker is here himself I not know.”
“Can he help?” Stiger asked.
“I am not sure,” Braddock admitted, and then glanced up at the dark sky, searching. “If he brought one of the dragons, it could prove decisive.”
Stiger looked up at the sky and saw nothing.
“A dragon or two,” he said, “might just come in handy. Don’t you agree?”
Menos began to pace, first walking ten feet to the left and then back to the right, his robes barely moving, giving him the impression that he was gliding across the trampled snow. Menos began to speak in a language Stiger had never heard before. It was smooth and beautiful-sounding, but also at the same time angry in tone. Stiger shot Braddock a questioning look, not sure what was happening. The thane appeared just as perplexed.
Stiger was about to ask a question when movement to his left caught his attention. A small double column of ten dwarves was marching up to them. They had clearly come from the direction that Menos just had, which was undoubtedly from the gates to the mountain itself. In the moonlight, Stiger saw that they were from Braddock’s clan, all wearing the thane’s purple cloaks. Perhaps they were the caretaker’s escort?
Putting them from his mind, he turned back toward Braddock and then stopped himself. The dwarven formation was making a beeline right for the thane, not Menos, who had paced off to the right a ways. They were almost to the protective ring of Braddock’s personal guard and were not slowing. Stiger frowned and was about to question Braddock when they drew steel.
Distracted by the caretaker, Naggock’s guard were caught by surprise and unprepared as their attackers charged into them. Three of the guard were cut down before they knew they were under attack. Two of the attackers charged right for the thane. Stiger was between them and Braddock. He shoved Braddock aside as he drew his sword. Stiger brought his blade up, blocking a sword as it came down on where Braddock had been a half second before. The two swords came together in a crash. In the bitter night air, the impact jarred Stiger’s arm and left his hand stinging. He spun around to the attacker’s side, pulling out his dagger and drove it into the dwarf’s neck before the traitor could recover. Releasing the dagger, Stiger turned to face the second dwarf, but before he could bring his sword back up, they crashed violently together and went down in a heap. Stiger’s helmet smacked the ground hard, and for a moment he was dazed. The felt padding inside had done little to absorb the impact. The wet and cold snow on the back of his neck was a shock and Stiger came to his senses quickly. He struggled to untangle himself.
The dwarf had lost his sword but continued to fight, punching Stiger repeatedly. Having held onto his weapon, Stiger hammered the hilt of the sword down on the attacker’s helmet. It rang with a dull metal clank and did no injury. A hand grasped his neck. Stiger tried to force it away, but the dwarf was too strong. A second hand reached for his throat and Stiger found himself unable to breathe as the dwarf began to choke the life out of him. Stiger kicked and tried to roll the attacker off of him, but the dwarf was too heavy. His lungs began to burn and his vision swam. Then there was a sickening crunch, and the dwarf went rigid. The hands strangling him relaxed, and went slack. Stiger gulped sweet cold air and it felt wonderful.
The body of the dwarf was rolled off of him. Blinking, Stiger looked up and saw Naggock standing above him, holding a bloodied sword. The expression on the dwarf’s face was one of hot anger. Naggock stepped away. The clash of swords, grunts, and dwarven curses was close at hand. Stiger got to his feet. Most of the traitors were down. So were a number of the thane’s personal guard. He saw Ogg backing up and away from the fight, intent on staying clear. Braddock had his sword out and was trading blows with one of the attackers. Tyga, several feet to Stiger’s right, swung a sword in a level arc and neatly cut through the throat of his opponent, blood flying in the wake of the sword. Without missing a beat, the chieftain took a step to his left and slammed a mailed fist into the face of a dwarf fighting with one of the thane’s guard. The dwarf crumpled.
Stiger took a step toward Braddock with the intention of helping the thane, but it was unnecessary. Braddock deflected a blow, took a step inside his opponent’s reach, grabbed the other’s sword arm—preventing it from being brought back around—and slammed his sword into his attacker’s belly, sword point punching right through the armor. The mortally wounded dwarf groaned, dropped his sword, and collapsed to his knees.
Placing a hand on his attacker’s chest, Braddock pushed back and withdrew his sword, then threw his opponent down to the ground with a look of disgust. The thane turned his back on the traitor and left him to die. The fighting was over.
Braddock looked toward Stiger and gave him a nod of thanks before his eyes spied a body lying on the ground. It was Garrack, sightless eyes staring up at the darkened sky. The thane stepped over to him and knelt down. Ogg moved up behind his thane, staring down at Garrack in a look Stiger would have described as complete dismay. The wizard’s shoulders had slumped and he took a shuddering breath.
Braddock said some anguish-laden words in his own language before reaching forward to close Garrack’s eyes. Tyga stepped forward and rested a hand upon the thane’s armored shoulder and then oddly moved it from Braddock to Ogg. The wizard looked over at the chieftain, and Stiger was surprised to see tears in his eyes.
Tyga did not say anything, but just stood there, clearly sharing their moment of grief. Braddock took a deep breath and then stood. There was anguish in his eyes, but also a look of hardness and resolve.
The thane turned and saw Ogg. His face twisted with loathing and he snapped something at the wizard, who shrank back. Tyga’s face hardened, and he spoke to both of them in dwarven. Braddock stepped toward Stiger, his eyes hard and full of anger.
“He won’t even use his magic to save his own father,” Braddock told Stiger, switching back to common, fury lacing his tone. “He allowed the one who gave him life to be butchered . . . ”
“Garrack is Ogg’s father?” Stiger asked with some surprise.
&
nbsp; “What I do,” Ogg said, grief clouding his voice, “I do for the good of our people, and this world. I dare not waste my power . . . even to save . . . my father.”
A loud groaning behind them drew their attention. The massive gates to the mountain started closing. In the torchlight, a struggle could be seen. The dwarven guard, Hrove’s warriors, were attacking the legionaries that Stiger had posted there as a rearguard. The fight was furious, but clearly one-sided, as the dwarves outnumbered and overwhelmed his surprised men.
“NAA!” Tyga shouted, drew his sword, and charged the gate. The gates were closing too quickly, swinging shut with a speed Stiger would have thought impossible due to their size. There was no way Tyga would make it before the mountain was sealed. After running ten feet, Tyga seemed to come to the same realization. He stopped and simply watched.
“Hrove,” Braddock whispered. The gates closed a few seconds later with a resounding boom that momentarily drowned out the sound of the two armies fighting. The thane’s shoulders slumped with what Stiger read as defeat. With a sickening feeling, Stiger knew that they were in deep trouble.
Tyga turned and slowly walked back to them, looking more than dejected. He looked utterly dismayed, beaten even. Tears ran down the dwarf’s cheeks and into his braided beard.
Braddock took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and said something in dwarven to Tyga, which elicited an unhappy bark of grim laughter, followed by a curt shake of the chieftain’s head.
“What did you say to him?” Stiger asked.
“He and Hrove have a long-running dispute over the ownership of a mine that borders both of their territories. I told him that if we survive this, the silver mine is his.”
Hearing the black humor, Stiger’s heart sank even further. With the mountain sealed, they were trapped.
“We no longer have any choice. Hrove saw to that,” Braddock said, anger trembling his voice. “We either defeat them or fight to the last. Between us, I am thinking it will be the latter.”
“There is no other way into the mountain?” Stiger asked, unwilling to accept that they were doomed, for he could not see a way to defeat the orc army. It was simply too large.
“We are trapped,” Braddock said, seeming resigned to fate. “The orcs are to our front, and the mountain behind us. There is nowhere for us to go.”
Tyga said something in dwarven to Braddock.
“Yes,” Braddock said with a nod at Tyga, “We will make the orcs pay dearly for each life they take tonight.”
Stiger could not believe what he was hearing. There had to be a way out. There must be something he could do. There always was. He glanced around, thinking furiously. Never before had he felt so helpless. He would not fail his men this way. He could not.
The caretaker said something. Stiger turned toward Menos, having forgotten about him. The caretaker’s voice rose in tone, and a moment later, he was screaming and spitting with rage. Menos seemed oblivious to their situation, to being shut out of the mountain, the hopelessness of their position. The caretaker’s rage was directed at the orc army assaulting their lines. He screamed his hatred at the enemy. Stiger did not know why the caretaker’s rage captured his attention, but it did. Absently, he rested his hand upon his sword hilt and felt the familiar tingle.
“—dare come here!” Menos raged, and Stiger jumped in surprise as he suddenly could understand what the caretaker was saying. “Vile, evil, unclean orcs, followers of the dark gods . . . after all these long years, you dare to test me? You dare to return? You forget the wrath of my people. For that I will make you pay.”
“I . . . think it might be prudent that we should take a step or two back,” Ogg suggested, and Stiger did not need to be told twice, as something in the air began to happen around Menos.
The caretaker’s form shimmered, blurred, and grew rapidly in size. Braddock and the others stumbled backwards. Stiger backpedaled quickly, not daring to take his eyes off of the changing form of the caretaker, who no longer held any recognizable shape, and then in an instant, it coalesced. Stiger blinked.
An indescribable earsplitting roar of rage drowned out the fighting across the entirety of the battlefield. The power of the roar drove Stiger to his knees. He and everyone else trembled with instinctive fear.
Where Menos had stood moments before, a massive black dragon had taken the caretaker’s place. It was nearly twice as large as Currose. The dragon snaked its head back and roared up into the night air. A massive gout of flame shot upward. Stiger held his hands clapped over his ears as the dragon roared its rage to the world. A feeling of indescribable, utter fear spread through Stiger, and from what he could see, everyone else was similarly affected. Stiger had never known what it was like to be a coward, but now he wanted to do nothing more than run and hide, only his legs would not work.
The dragon spread its wings and took to the air with a massive flap. The backwash of wind pushed Stiger down and onto his side. He rolled onto his back and watched in awe mingled with fear as the black dragon climbed up into the dark sky and was briefly silhouetted against the moon before disappearing into the night.
A stillness settled over the battlefield as both armies looked skyward. The dragon could not be seen, but its powerful wings could be heard. After a few seconds, there was silence as the wings stopped pumping the air. Then, on the far side of the field, a long blast of flame swept downward onto the orc army as the dragon swooped low. The blast of flame exploded across a hundred yards of the enemy line. Instead of climbing back up into the sky for another attack, the dragon landed amongst the orc horde. Claws ripped and tore, jaws snapped, and its long tail lashed about, crushing orcs into the ground or throwing them bodily into the air.
Black lightning reached out from half a dozen orc priests and struck at the dragon. The lightning seemed to have no effect on it. The dragon turned its head, opened its mouth, and spat silver lightning at one of the priests, who was struck down in an explosion of light and sound.
Stiger staggered to his feet. The crushing wave of fear was gone. From his current position, he could see the dragon’s fire continuing to burn furiously where it had been sprayed. The magnificent creature was expending its rage upon a portion of the orc army, which seemed transfixed by the spectacle before them. It was incredible to behold. Stiger watched the dragon for a few moment and then abruptly knew what he had to do. He rushed over to Braddock, who was picking himself up.
“We need to attack, now.” Stiger shook the thane, who looked at him blankly for a moment. “We could not ask for a better distraction.”
“Yes,” Braddock said, recovering his wits, “you are quite correct.”
Stiger turned and ran for his men. He found Vargus first. The centurion, like the rest of the army, was watching the dragon rip into the enemy. There was a blast of flame from the creature, and orcs died by the hundreds. It let out a tremendous roar that seemed filled with satisfaction.
“Send the men forward,” Stiger ordered. Vargus looked at him blankly for a moment before the centurion’s eyes narrowed.
“What about the dragon?” Vargus asked him. “What if it goes after our men too?”
“Centurion Vargus, now is our chance,” Stiger said, feeling the urgency of the moment. Sending the men forward with the dragon in a complete rage was a risk, but Stiger felt it was one worth taking. “We must attack. Send the men forward.”
“Ah, yes, sir.” Vargus glanced around. Everyone on the field of battle was watching the dragon or, in the enemy’s case, cowering and drawing away from the frightful beast. Stiger left the centurion to look for Sabinus. Behind him he could hear Vargus calling his men forward.
“Sabinus,” Stiger shouted, when he found the centurion. “Send the men forward!”
“Forward!” Sabinus roared to his men, snapping many out of their shock. This was why the legions trained and drilled so hard, for the men instinctually r
esponded to obey orders. “Centurions, forward. We are attacking.”
And then, Stiger’s entire line moved and went forward with a great shout. Stiger drew his sword and went with them. The dwarves to either side of the legionaries surged ahead, along with the gnomes, and slammed into the enemy. It took only moments, but the orc army broke, running for the tree line, hotly pursued. The dragon snaked its head, following the flight of the enemy, and then unfurled its wings. Roaring with rage at the fleeing orcs, it took to the air.
Twenty
Stiger stood next to Braddock, Tyga, Ogg, and Sabinus. Braddock’s bodyguards were around them in a protective screen, much more vigilant than before. Naggock had taken the attempted assassination of his thane very personally and, Stiger suspected, hard. It had almost succeeded, but for Stiger’s intervention in shoving the thane aside.
They were studying the sealed gates of the mountain, and had been for the last thirty minutes. The sun had risen, though they were still in the shade of the mountain. With the night giving way to day, the temperatures had begun to climb, but a chill wind reminded everyone that winter was just beginning.
Behind, elements of both armies combed the battlefield, carefully looking for wounded to save and living enemies to dispatch. Stiger had sent the elves and Marcus to find his cavalry, with orders to drive any enemy survivors that made it down into the valley to the other side and back from whence they had come.
The dragon was occupied scouring the forest beyond the meadow, hunting for orcs that were in hiding. Every now and then, a terrible roar of exultation could be heard when the dragon found a fugitive.
Menos, it turned out, had always been the second dragon, Sian Tane. According to Ogg, a Noctalum’s true from was that of a dragon. It had been a secret that only the wizard had known and kept to himself. Stiger reflected that Currose’s terrible anger back in the gate room might have arisen from the ranger nearly discovering the secret little game the two dragons had apparently played for centuries with none other than the wizard the wiser.
The Tiger's Fate (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 3) Page 33