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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  The problem was now the mountain. They were about fifty yards from the sealed entrance. A detail of a hundred dwarven warriors had been brought up in the event the gates unexpectedly opened. They stood around looking bored.

  Stiger was deeply concerned about the valley refugees who had gone to Old City. Were they fighting for their lives against Hrove’s warriors? He was somewhat comforted that he had made the decision to send the bulk of Tilanus’s men to augment their defensive strength. Though he was now wondering if Tilanus had even made it. Those he had sent to help act as a rearguard and hold the gates to the mountain certainly had not.

  “Well,” Stiger said, thinking that if Braddock did not get to the disloyal chieftain first, he would, “we have to get in. How do we do it?”

  “The long way,” Braddock said unhappily and kicked at the snow. “We go through the mines and tunnels.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “At least a half day to get to the nearest entrance,” Braddock said, letting out a deep explosive breath, “and another full day before we can make it to Old City. However, we need to rest the army first.”

  Stiger agreed. Braddock’s army, and his legionaries, were exhausted. They were spent and not going anywhere, at least for several hours.

  “Would those approaches be left unguarded?” Sabinus asked.

  “No,” Braddock answered. “Hrove will move to secure the tunnels and mines.”

  “So we will have to fight our way in,” Sabinus said.

  Stiger sighed. It was not an ideal situation, but what could he do? They could not march until the army was rested. That meant even more time wasted while the civilians of the valley potentially fought for their lives. There was no doubt in Stiger’s mind that Hrove would do his best to do away with them. They represented a threat to the chieftain. The civilians he had sent to safety were most probably fighting in the confused confines of a long-dead city as he and the others stood here calmly studying the gates. Though he could not have foreseen it, Stiger felt terrible just the same.

  “Yes,” Braddock said. “We can start out tomorrow morning.”

  It was as Stiger had suspected. Then a thought occurred to him. “Do you think the dragon might consent to forcibly open the gates?”

  They all turned to look at him with some surprise. Ogg giggled. “Yes, a dragon could easily get through those gates.”

  “He flew off,” Braddock said, with evident frustration directed at the wizard. “How do we get him back?”

  “We don’t,” Ogg said. “Sian Tane will return when he is ready. We can just wait.”

  “How long will that be?” Sabinus wondered, and Ogg shrugged as if to say he had no idea.

  “Why?” Stiger asked the question that had been on his mind. “Why would Hrove betray you?”

  “Hrove has always suffered from ambition, though I never imagined it to be so great,” Braddock said. “Without this army, there would have been little to stop him from proclaiming himself thane and returning to the nations with a tale of our ignominious defeat.”

  “The truth would eventually be learned,” Ogg said.

  “By then it would be too late,” Braddock replied. “Hrove would rule with an iron fist.”

  “Hrove.” Tyga, unable to follow the conversation, had picked up the name. He spat on the ground with evident disgust and then kicked at the snow.

  Stiger saw Father Thomas approaching. The paladin was without Arnold, who he had last seen at the aid station. Stiger glanced down at the sword. It was well past time he had a talk with Father Thomas about it.

  “I had better see to my men,” Stiger said, excusing himself.

  Braddock nodded in a distracted sort of way. His attention was still on the gates, which barred him from entrance to the mountain. Stiger gestured for Sabinus to follow and started off to intercept Father Thomas.

  “It is time to recall the men,” Stiger said to Sabinus as they walked. “Let’s get them fed and rested so that we can move out before sunrise.”

  “Another night sleeping on their arms,” Sabinus said, gazing up at the sky. “It will do them no harm after what they’ve been through.” Sabinus paused, thinking. “Sir, I would like to send back to the castle for additional supplies and tents. We can also bring out the prisoners and put them to work. They can help dispose of the bodies.”

  “See to it,” Stiger said, feeling suddenly weary. He needed rest. “Make sure you get some sleep yourself.”

  “I will, sir,” he said.

  “Also, later this evening,” Stiger added, “I would like strength counts.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sabinus said. “Though, if I had to guess, we have lost nearly two-thirds of our strength from what we marched with.”

  “That bad?” Stiger stopped and closed his eyes, feeling miserable. It was a terrible price to pay, and they still had the Cyphan Confederacy to contend with, not to mention the traitorous Hrove. How was he going to manage?

  “It could have been much worse, sir.”

  “It can always be worse,” Stiger replied, feeling somewhat numb at having lost so many good men. “We could have very easily lost everything.”

  “But we didn’t, sir.” Sabinus scratched an itch on his arm. Both of them were grimy and dirty. They badly needed to clean up. “We fought through, sir, and without you, I doubt we would have done as well.”

  Stiger took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He considered Sabinus for a moment before nodding in grudging acceptance of the words meant to lessen the burden for losing so many. It helped, but then again, it did not. He wondered for a moment how generals like Treim came to terms with large-scale losses. One day, perhaps if he survived long enough to see his mentor again, he would ask.

  “Legate,” Father Thomas greeted him. The paladin looked worn and tired. He was just as grimy and dirty as the rest of them. His armor was scratched and in some places pitted, in others splashed with both red and green blood. “I can find no evidence of the minion.”

  “As usual, you are just full of cheerful news,” Stiger said sourly. “I was hoping the dragon would have at least gotten it.”

  “I doubt a dragon could have taken it down,” Father Thomas admitted. “Though I admit I am not quite sure how such an encounter would play out.”

  Stiger’s hand came to rest upon the hilt of his sword, and he felt the comforting electric tingle. Stiger took a deep breath and was suddenly less tired than he had been a moment before. Glancing down at the weapon, he began to wonder again on the full extent of the sword’s power.

  Ask, the sword hissed sullenly in his mind. Our fate is linked . . . it is past time for you to know . . .

  Stiger felt a chill run down his back. His gaze shifted over to Sabinus. “Would you see to the men? I would like to speak with Father Thomas alone for a moment.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sabinus saluted and stepped off.

  Stiger felt uncomfortable and wasn’t at first sure how to start. Stiger glanced down at the sword again. Though he feared what it represented, it had become a part of him, almost as if it were now tied to his soul. If it turned out to be a weapon of evil intent, Stiger was unsure he could manage to give it up. Father Thomas appeared to sense his unease.

  “You wish to speak about Rarokan?”

  “Yes,” Stiger said, relieved that the paladin had broken the ice. “I—”

  The ground trembled beneath Stiger’s boots. He glanced around, wondering what could have caused it. Sabinus, only a few feet away, had stopped and was looking around as well. The ground trembled again, this time lasting for several seconds. Small rocks higher up on the slopes began to shift and crash downward. Then the ground really shook and the mountain seemed to ring like a bell. Stiger looked back toward Braddock. The dwarves were looking up at the mountain and the gates.

  “Come on,” Stiger said to Father Thomas, and th
ey rushed over to Braddock. “What’s going on?”

  “The Gate,” Ogg whispered in horror. “It is being opened.”

  “Let’s get the army up, then,” Stiger said and waved for Sabinus to join them.

  “Not that gate,” Ogg snapped. “The World Gate.”

  “What?” Braddock demanded. “I thought you said it was not time.”

  “It is not.” The wizard looked worried.

  “Then how can it be opened?”

  “The Gate is a conduit to time, and space.” The wizard had a wild look to his beardless face. “Space meaning another world or place, like Tanis. Time meaning the instantaneous travel over a great distance without the passage of a single moment. This is, in all probability, beyond your feeble intellects, but theoretically, it can also manipulate time not simply for travel over long distances, but to either move forward or backward.”

  Braddock looked at the wizard with a frown.

  “You are talking time travel?” Stiger asked, not quite sure he was following Ogg’s meaning, but sensing somehow he was correct. “Going to either the future or past?”

  “Yes,” the wizard said in a whisper, and the ground shook again, this time violently.

  “Who is opening the World Gate?” Braddock demanded.

  “Only a wizard of sufficient power can manipulate the World Gate,” Ogg replied.

  “What about a minion of Castor?” Stiger asked, beginning to get a very bad feeling about what was coming. Delvaris had confronted a minion. Was it planning on going back in time? Or forward to the day when the Gate could be opened to Tanis? “We never found it.”

  “I suspect that a direct representative of a god could manipulate the Gate,” Ogg replied with a sharp look at Stiger. “Though I believe a wizard would still be needed.”

  “It must have gone through the mines and tunnels,” Braddock postulated, glancing back on the battlefield, and its many dead. With the shaking of the mountain, the carrion birds had taken panicked flight. “This was all an elaborate distraction, a ruse. We were meant to see only the orc army, not the real threat to the World Gate.”

  “Unless Hrove let it in?” Stiger suggested, thinking on the chieftain’s betrayal.

  “Even he would not be so foolish,” Braddock said with a sharp look.

  “I am not so sure,” Ogg replied with a distant look, scratching at his beardless chin.

  “How do we get to the Gate?” Stiger asked. Before anyone could reply, the mountain shook violently. It was as if a struggle were taking place under their feet. An ear-splitting roar of rage sounded from the air behind them. A massive black shape streaked down from the heavens. The dragon opened its mouth, and a silver lightning bolt shot forth, impacting the gates that barred access to the mountain a split second before the dragon slammed into them, claws extended like a great bird of prey. Stiger was thrown from his feet by the collision, as was everyone else. Smoke and dust exploded into the air, followed by an incredible cracking and rending sound. Large rocks and boulders began to rain down around them. One of Naggock’s dwarves screamed, and then went silent as a piece of tumbling stone crushed him. Then it ended. The dragon screamed again, and this time it sounded different, as if the dragon were calling from a distance or from inside a well.

  Stiger dragged himself to his knees. The dust and smoke began to clear. The gates had been battered inward and shattered. There was no sign of the dragon, though he could hear it inside the mountain. It sounded like the dragon was doing battle. The dwarven detail before the gates, which moments before had been standing around bored, recovered first and went charging into the mountain. Their movement spurred Stiger to action. Standing, Stiger turned to Sabinus, who looked just as stunned as everyone else.

  “First Cohort is the closest?” Stiger knew the dwarven army was dispersed across the battlefield, as were the Second and Third Cohorts. The 85th was also in the field. Only the First was organized where they had made their stand the night before.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied.

  “Bring them immediately,” Stiger ordered. “Send word to the other cohorts. We have to take the mountain back.”

  Sabinus jogged off in the direction of the First.

  “We need to get to the World Gate,” Ogg said, regaining his feet. There looked to be fear in the wizard’s eyes. “Currose is fighting a losing battle. She is fighting the minion. I can feel it. Braddock, we must get there now, you and the legate.”

  “What?” Braddock asked, gazing on the ruined entrance to the mountain.

  “I will take us there,” Ogg insisted. “Step closer to me. Quickly now.”

  “I am coming too,” Father Thomas said. Ogg looked as if he wanted to argue, but then nodded his acceptance.

  “Why?” Braddock asked.

  “The Oracle’s Prophecy,” Ogg replied. “We must stop Castor.”

  Braddock paled at the wizard’s words. Naggock said something to Ogg, who replied in the negative.

  “Braddock, tell him to guide Sabinus and First Cohort to the World Gate,” Stiger said hurriedly, realizing that Ogg had told the bodyguard he could not come with them. “Can he be their guide under the mountain?”

  Braddock spoke rapidly. Naggock seemed to want to argue, but then curtly nodded his acceptance.

  The mountain shook again, this time more violently. Larger boulders and parts of the intricately carved cliff face crashed down, and then suddenly everything was still.

  “We must hurry!” Ogg fairly screamed. “The World Gate is opening. Stand close to me.”

  Stiger, Braddock, and Father Thomas stepped closer to the wizard.

  “Prepare yourselves,” the wizard snapped and brought his staff down hard on the snow-covered stone. The oddly shaped crystal flashed brightly, momentarily blinding them. There was an earsplitting crack, as if the world had been torn asunder. An unearthly fog enveloped them, and then they were somewhere else. Disoriented, Stiger staggered slightly. He found himself in the Gate room, where he had first seen Currose. This time, though, a scene of chaos, destruction, and disorder greeted him.

  Twenty-One

  The setting Stiger found himself in was almost indescribable. Smoke was thick in the air, making visibility poor. An orange glow off to the right told him something burned, for he could feel the intense heat. Rock from the ceiling littered the once-smooth stone floor, which was cracked like the surface of a frozen lake during the spring thaw. The floor was littered with bodies, all orcs, with lots of green blood and large splashes of a dark reddish blood that was neither human nor dwarf in origin.

  Stiger drew his sword, and immediately it began to glow a soft, pale blue. He quickly glanced around to get his bearings. Braddock, framed by the orange glow from the fire, was to his right. The thane had pulled out his sword. Ogg was slightly behind the two of them, and Father Thomas was to Stiger’s left. A dark, inert shape lay directly ahead.

  Stiger approached it cautiously and discovered an enormous, lifeless dragon tail. Obscured by the dense smoke, he could barely make out the shape of the rest of the dragon. Stiger guessed it was Currose.

  “This way,” Ogg whispered, pointing ahead past the dragon tail. Stiger could see the others stifling the urge to cough. Ogg held part of his robe up to his face and breathed through that to help filter out the smoke.

  Stiger climbed over the tail of the dragon. Ahead through the smoke, he could hear something shuffling, moving amongst the debris, and beyond that a chanting in a language he did not know. The acrid stench of smoke burned his lungs, and he struggled against the urge to cough, but failed and began to hack. Stiger cursed himself as someone ahead shouted a warning. Footsteps pounded in their direction, and from the smoke emerged four large orcs.

  The mountain suddenly shook, and in the distance a dragon roared. It was all Stiger could do to keep his feet as rock rained down from above. One of the orcs tripped
and went crashing to the floor. The shaking stopped, and Stiger braced himself as one of those still standing attacked him, swinging a massive hammer for Stiger’s head. He dodged back at the last moment, and the hammer sailed by, with just inches to spare. Stiger stepped forward, jabbing with his sword before the orc could recover. Aiming his strike carefully, the blade point dug into its hip, just below where the plate armor ended. He felt the blade strike bone and continue forward with more resistance.

  The orc bellowed in pain and fell backward, a hand going to the wound. Stiger gritted his teeth and pressed his attack. The orc swung the hammer back around, and Stiger ducked the wild swing, coming up and jabbing again, this time into the groin. The orc screamed in agony and fell to the ground, where another jab silenced it permanently.

  Stiger glanced around. The other two orcs were also down. Father Thomas was just pulling his saber back, having neatly severed the head of his opponent. Braddock had killed the one he faced and was now pressing on to the orc who had fallen. It had regained its feet and was looking at the four of them warily, eyes narrowed, and longsword held before it.

  Something flew past Braddock and struck the orc hard in the chest with a pop, flinging it backward to where it crashed down in a heap. Ogg dropped his hand, which had been held forth.

  “We’re wasting time,” Ogg snapped and gestured through the smoke. The message was clear, and they continued forward. They came to the edge of the ring of stone pillars, which glowed in a vibrant, pulsing purple light. With each pulse, the ground seemed to throb. Stiger could feel the vibration through his boots. The smoke had thickened. The acrid stench burned Stiger’s lungs. All of them were hacking, struggling to breathe. Stiger could barely see two feet in front of his face.

  “Don’t touch the pillars,” Ogg warned.

  Stiger had been about to and snatched his hand away. He could still hear the chanting just ahead. It had risen in pitch. The mountain shook once again. A dragon roared off in the distance. Stiger knew it was Sian Tane. It sounded as if the dragon were fighting its way to them. With each roar, it seemed to be getting closer.