Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “I am ordered to report to General Kromen and that is what I intend to do,” Stiger responded neutrally, casually pulling his arm away from Eli’s restraining hand. The elf, sensing the signs of brewing trouble, sighed softly. “Unless, of course, the general is not present. In that event I shall simply wait for his return.”

  “Oh, I believe the general is in,” the captain said with a sneer. “However, you do not get to see him without my personal permission.” Several of the other officers snickered at this, with some openly chuckling.

  “Perhaps you should say … please?” one of the other officers suggested with a high-pitched voice. The others openly laughed at this.

  Stiger’s anger flared, though he kept the irritation from his face. The captain was likely an aid to the general, a player of camp politics, working to control access and thereby strengthening his powerbase. He was the kind of man who was rarely challenged openly. He was also someone who would most definitely hold a grudge if he was ever slighted or offended. In short, he was another arrogant fool, and Stiger loathed such men.

  Suffer the fool’s game or not? Stiger considered. He was new to the camp and the last thing he wanted was get off on the wrong foot. Still, the captain’s manner irritated him deeply. The man should have behaved as a gentleman, and yet he had blatantly offended Stiger almost to the point of insult. Should he continue, Stiger would be justified in issuing a challenge to satisfy honor. Somehow, Stiger doubted General Kromen would approve of him killing or at the best maiming one of his staff officers on his first day in camp.

  “Stop me,” Stiger growled. He opened the door and stepped through. The staff captain scrambled out of his chair and gave chase, protesting loudly.

  Inside, Stiger was greeted by a nearly bare room. The interior was intentionally darkened, the windows shuttered. Several lanterns provided moderately adequate lighting. A fireplace, set along the back wall, crackled. The chimney, poorly constructed, leaked too much smoke into the building. A table with a large map spread out on it dominated the center of the room. Three men stood around the table, while another, a grossly obese man, sat in a chair with his elbows resting heavily on the tabletop. He had the look of someone who was seriously ill. His face was pale and covered in a sheet of fever sweat. They all looked up at the sudden intrusion, irritated. Two were generals, including the one who was seated, and the two others held the rank of colonel.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” the general who was standing demanded. He had a tough, no-nonsense look about him.

  “I am sorry, sir,” the bootlicking staff captain apologized, pushing roughly past Stiger and Eli. “I tried to stop them.”

  “Well?” the general demanded again of Stiger.

  Unfazed by the rank of the men in the room, Stiger pulled his orders from a side pocket in his cloak and stepped forward. “I am ordered to report to General Kromen for duty.”

  “I am General Kromen,” the large, seated man wheezed, before being consumed by a racking cough. After a few moments he recovered. “Who in the nine levels might you be?”

  “Captain Stiger reporting for duty, sir.” Stiger assumed a position of attention and saluted.

  “A Stiger?” the staff captain whispered, taking a step back in surprise and shock.

  The standing general barked out a sudden laugh, while General Kromen went into another coughing fit that wracked his fat body terribly.

  “Captain Handi,” General Kromen wheezed upon recovering, waving a hand dismissively. His other hand held a handkerchief to his mouth. “It would seem,” cough, “we have important matters to discuss. You may go.”

  The captain hesitated a moment, looking between the standing, no-nonsense general and the seated one, before saluting smartly. He left the room without saying another word, though he managed to shoot a hate-filled look at Stiger as he passed, before closing the door carefully behind him.

  “A Stiger!” Kromen exclaimed in irritation, once the door was closed. “Who is your companion?”

  Eli reached up and pulled back his hood, showing his face for the first time.

  “Hah!” Kromen huffed tiredly. “An elf. I swear, I never thought I’d see one of your kind again, at least in this life.”

  “Sadly, we are few in these lands, General,” Eli responded neutrally, with a slight bow.

  “An elf, as well as imperial officer? I thought you fellows had given up on the empire,” the other general stated.

  “The emperor granted a special dispensation to serve the one known here as Ben Stiger,” Eli answered, nodding in the direction of the captain. The nod had an odd tilt to it that reminded everyone present he was not quite human. Human necks just did not bend like that. “The rank conferred was to help me better serve.”

  “You serve a human?” the standing general asked with some surprise before turning back to Stiger. “What did you do to earn that dubious honor, Stiger?”

  “I, ah …” Stiger began after a slight hesitation. “Would prefer not to discuss it, sir.”

  “The emperor,” Kromen breathed with a heavy sigh, steering the conversation away from a direction that Stiger was clearly uncomfortable speaking on. “The emperor and the gods have forsaken us in this wicked and vile land.”

  Kromen was an old and wily politician. He would not press the captain, but would instead write back to his family in the capitol to get an answer. Perhaps once he knew more, it could be something he could use to his advantage. Information was often more important than the might of an entire legion. More importantly, he wanted to know why a Stiger, a member of one of the most powerful families in the empire, was here in the South, and that required moving the conversation along.

  “Perhaps not … you asked for combat-experienced officers and men of quality. Well … here stands a Stiger,” the other general said after a moment’s reflection, taking General Kromen’s subtle nudge to change the subject. Stepping over, he took Stiger’s orders. “Were you in the North?”

  “Emperor’s 3rd Legion,” Stiger replied in a raspy voice.

  “The 3rd gets all of the shit assignments,” the general said, handing the orders over to General Kromen, who opened them and began reviewing the contents. Silence filled the room, and all that could be heard was the pop of the logs in the fireplace and the rustle of parchment as General Kromen read.

  “An introduction letter from my good friend General Treim,” Kromen breathed hoarsely as he read. General Treim spoke very highly of the captain before him. Kromen knew Treim well, and his fellow general and senator was a very difficult person to please. Mikel Treim was also not the kind of man to unload unfit officers upon another. Treim suffered from a sense of duty and honor that General Kromen did not.

  According to the letter, the emperor had directed Treim to send a few of his best and most promising officers to the South, and that was what Treim seemed to have done. Still, Kromen found it hard to imagine that Treim would release one of his truly outstanding officers. The politician in Kromen felt that there was more here than met the eye, and that made him more than a little uncomfortable. Perhaps this whelp of a Stiger was actually a spy for his enemies in the senate looking to gain some advantage? Though the Kromen and Stiger families were not actually enemies, they were not allies either.

  “Interesting,” Kromen said after a few silent minutes, and then turned to the other general. “General Mammot, it seems that our good friend General Treim has dispatched this officer at our request. The letter indicates more such officers of quality are on the way. Interesting, don’t you think?”

  “Very,” General Mammot replied dryly. “How long did it take you to travel down here, Stiger?”

  “Three and a half months, sir.”

  General Kromen was consumed by another fit of coughing. He held a handkerchief to his mouth, hacking into it.

  “Impressive time,” General Mammot admitted with a raised eyebrow and turned to Kromen. “Do you think he can fight?”

  “General Treim,” c
ough, “seems to think so.” Kromen handed over the letter of introduction, which General Mammot began reading. After a moment, he stopped and looked up, a strange expression crossing his face.

  “You volunteered and led not one, but two forlorn hopes?” Mammot asked in an incredulous tone. “Do you have a death wish, son?” Stiger elected not to respond and remained silent. Mammot continued to read.

  “Seems General Treim sent us a fighter, and the elf comes as a bonus,” Kromen breathed, taking a deep and labored breath, having somewhat recovered from his latest coughing fit. He made a decision. If it had been an average officer from a minor house, Kromen would have accepted and welcomed the additional help. The problem was that the officer before him was a Stiger, and that caused potential complications. Kromen did not like complications.

  He looked over meaningfully at General Mammot, who paused in his reading and caught his look. “We were discussing a pressing issue …”

  “We were,” Mammot agreed.

  “Well then … since we are now saddled with a … Stiger, perhaps he might prove of some assistance in resolving this irritating matter with Vrell? Don’t you agree?”

  General Mammot frowned slightly and considered Stiger for a moment before nodding in agreement. He waved both Stiger and Eli over to the table with the map.

  “Stiger,” Mammot said. “Allow me to introduce Colonels Karol and Edin. They are brigade commanders from the 29th.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Stiger,” Colonel Karol said, warmly offering his hand. “I fought with your father when I was a junior officer. How is the old boy?”

  “Well, sir,” Stiger replied. His father was a touchy subject with most other officers. He found it was best to be vague in his answers to their questions. “His forced retirement wears on him.”

  “I can understand that,” Colonel Karol said. “Perhaps one day he may be permitted to once again take the field.”

  “I am not sure he ever will,” Stiger replied carefully. Many would feel threatened by such sentiments.

  Colonel Edin simply shook hands and refrained from saying anything. Stiger could read the disapproval in the man’s eyes. It was something the captain had grown accustomed to from his fellow officers.

  “Now that we are all acquainted,” General Mammot began, directing everyone’s attention to the map on the table. “We have an outpost four weeks’ march from here, located at Vrell, an isolated valley to the east with a substantial population.” Mammot traced a line along a road from the encampment to the outpost for Stiger to follow. “Specifically, the outpost garrisons one of the few castles in the south. We call it Castle Vrell. The locals call it something different.”

  “We have not heard from them for several weeks,” Kromen rasped plainly. “We have dispatched messengers, but none have returned. It is all very irritating.”

  “The castle is a highly fortified position,” Mammot continued. “There are over 900 legionaries defending it and the valley. Vrell is an out-of-the-way place, surrounded by mountains and a nearly impenetrable forest. We think the castle unlikely to have fallen to enemy forces.” With his hand, Mammot traced a new line on the map, well south of Vrell. “The rebels control everything south of this line here … There are no roads traveling to rebel territory from Vrell. Beyond the mountains, it is all thick forest for about 100 miles to rebel territory. The only road to Vrell moves from the encampment here, eastward, through the Sentinel Forest and terminates at the valley. It is our opinion the enemy has simply cut our communications with a handful of irregulars.”

  “The garrison commandant, Captain Aveeno, has been complaining for months of rebels harassing his patrols and stirring up trouble,” Colonel Karol spoke up. “Then suddenly, nothing … no word.”

  “The garrison is due for resupply,” Kromen added, taking another labored breath. “Normally we would send a simple cavalry escort. However, with the road apparently infested with rebel irregulars, a foot company appears to be the more sensible approach.”

  “The 3rd has been heavily involved up north in the forests of Abath,” General Mammot stated bluntly. “We would appreciate your expertise on the matter.”

  “Sounds like a difficult assignment,” Stiger said noncommittally. “How are the rebels equipped in this area?”

  “Poorly.” Colonel Edin spoke for the first time. “This terrain presents a very difficult obstacle for the rebels to overcome. We have only ever encountered light units, mostly conscripted farmers … the equivalent of bandits.”

  “What is the condition of the road?” Stiger leaned forward to study the map more closely. Eli stepped closer as well. The map was a simple camp scribe copy.

  “Poor, but passable for wagons,” Karol admitted. “Imperial maintenance crews repaired it just three years ago, so there should be no significant problems for the supply train.”

  “I don’t see any towns and villages,” Stiger stated, not seeing any listed on the map, which he found odd for such a long road.

  “There are—or were—a handful of what you might call ‘farming communities’,” Edin admitted, “really the remnants. I personally would be surprised if you discovered anyone left.”

  “Reprisals?” Stiger asked, looking up at Edin. He already knew the answer.

  “That was my predecessor’s work,” General Kromen answered carefully. “A nasty business, though he did a good job in clearing the bastards out. There should be no one left to support the rebels, at least we think, until you get to Vrell. The valley’s population is not with the rebels. For some strange reason, they seem to think of themselves as imperials, or at least descended from imperial stock. That said, they are not exactly friendly, at least according to Captain Aveeno’s last reports.”

  “Captain Aveeno could have sent a force to break through, could he not?” Stiger asked.

  “Not very likely,” Mammot answered with a heavy breath. “Captain Aveeno, the garrison commandant, is a bit cautious. He likely would have put everyone on short rations and kept them in defense of the castle and valley, rather than take the risk of losing additional men.”

  “Aveeno comes from a good family,” General Kromen wheezed, speaking up in defense of the man. “However, he is a timid sort, which is why he is commanding a garrison instead of leading a line company.”

  Stiger nodded, understanding what had not been said. General Kromen was likely Aveeno’s patron, hence his defense. “A good company should be able to get through, then,” Stiger said, looking down at the map once again. “Should the rebel forces operating in the area prove superior, a company will likely be able to get word out or at least fight its way back.”

  “Excellent,” Kromen said, looking from Eli to Stiger. “How would you like the job? I have an absolutely terrible company that just became available. With your experience, you are perfect for working it into shape!”

  Stiger was surprised he was being given a mission that would take him away so soon after arriving. Though marching with unfamiliar men into territory overrun by rebels was not a terribly appealing idea to the captain, his initial impressions of the legionary encampment led him to believe that such a march would be preferable to risking an untimely death by lingering sickness. He knew that the command he was being offered was most probably, as the general said, a truly terrible assignment. The men, if they had been idle for months, as he suspected them to have been, likely would be sick, poorly equipped and out of shape, and discipline would be lacking. So it all came down to risking potential death from slow lingering sickness and disease or possible death by sword … Stiger intentionally drew out the silence, as if he was mulling it over. Surely there were other, more effective companies that could be more readily chosen. The two generals, he knew, were also making light of the assignment, so that it seemed too easy … too good. That bothered Stiger, and he wanted to know why, but could not come right out and ask.

  “I will need to outfit the company for a hard march into the wilderness,” Stiger said.

  �
�You can draw anything you might require from supply,” Kromen responded almost a little too quickly, which surprised Stiger. What wasn’t he being told here? He had known that his arrival might be viewed as a headache for General Kromen. Stiger’s family had influence. His presence here might be viewed as someone’s attempt to place a spy within the southern legions, a spy who was possibly reporting directly to the emperor and/or Kromen’s enemies in the senate.

  “We need to open communications with Vrell,” Mammot added. “We can issue your company fresh arms and equipment. I will also assign some of our most experienced sergeants to help you work them into fighting trim.”

  “Can I meet and approve of the sergeants first?” Stiger asked. He had known some pretty terrible sergeants, from ass kissers to sadistic bastards. Instead of being dismissed from the service such men were frequently transferred from one unit to another.

  “Of course,” Kromen said.

  “How long until the supply train is ready?” Stiger asked, thinking about the training of his men. He needed time to become acquainted with them and work them into shape. All legionaries received the same basic training. It was a matter of restoring discipline and finding out how rusty they had become.

  “Two weeks,” Mammot said. “At least, we hope the train will arrive within two weeks, but certainly no more than four. It is due to leave from Aeda any day.”

  “Good, that gives me some time,” Stiger said. He looked at General Kromen, thinking hard. “I want to train the men my way, with no outside interference.”

  “Acceptable,” General Kromen said with a deep frown. The general did not like being dictated to, especially by a young, impudent captain, even if he was a Stiger. Still … Kromen wanted Stiger away and was willing to put up with it.