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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Yes sir,” Ranl said sharply, saluting with fist clenched to chest.

  “Captain,” Stiger gestured toward the farmhouse. “This way, if you please.”

  Both walked quickly toward the farmhouse. The men had constructed a roughhewn table and two chairs. Removing his riding gloves slowly, Handi glanced around the interior of the farmhouse with ill-disguised disgust. Stiger took a chair and offered Handi the other. Tucking his riding gloves into his sash, Handi sat. The table separated the two.

  “A bit rustic,” Handi commented.

  “We are in the field, after all. Though there is no reason we cannot be a bit civilized. Would you care for some refreshment?” Stiger asked, pouring himself a mug of wine from a pitcher on the table. Without waiting for an answer, he poured Handi one as well.

  “Thank you,” Handi replied, accepting the mug and offering a silent toast to his host. “I agree … a little civilization can go a long way.”

  “Poor southern stuff,” Stiger apologized. “I am afraid it is all we have.”

  “I think I might be able to help you there,” Handi said with a false smile. “I will have a small barrel of Orkland sent over. We received a supply a few months back.”

  “Orkland?” Stiger asked with a raised eyebrow. Orkland was from the heart of the empire and a staple for the common nobility.

  “Just because we are on campaign does not mean we have to live like savages,” Handi replied, taking a sip, which elicited a sour look. “You were not kidding about this being poor. Though poor or not, riding builds up thirst.” Handi took another pull.

  “How can I help you, Captain?” Stiger asked pleasantly after several moments of silence.

  The staff captain carefully placed his mug on the table, having drained it. “General Mammot requested that I inform you of a certain situation,” Captain Handi said theatrically, leaning back in his chair, which creaked.

  “Oh?” Stiger asked, without displaying any emotion. General Mammot had likely asked nothing of the staff captain, but had instead given an order. Mammot did not seem the type to ask.

  “General Kromen has taken a turn for the worse,” Captain Handi explained, a look of exaggerated sadness crossing his face. “You know the dear man was like a father to me.”

  “Was?” Stiger asked, wondering if it was wishful thinking on Handi’s part, or perhaps General Kromen was already dead. He poured the man another mug of wine.

  “I misspoke,” Handi admitted hastily, with an annoyed frown. “He has been like a father to me.”

  “I am relieved to hear that the general has not passed from the realm of the living,” Stiger said carefully. “I can only imagine how upsetting this must be for you.”

  “The physicians feel there is a chance he will recover,” Handi said. “I can only pray he does.”

  “I will offer a prayer to the High Father,” Stiger said, playing along, though he was tiring rapidly of this game. He wished Handi would get to the point.

  “I assure you such prayers are more than welcome,” Handi said softly, with an embellished sigh. The staff captain took another long pull of his wine and then set the mug down on the table. He locked eyes with Stiger. With the fighting season nearly upon us, General Mammot felt that keeping General Kromen’s illness from the men was of critical importance.”

  Stiger said nothing, but offered a nod in agreement. He had no idea whether General Kromen was popular with the men or not. If he was, Kromen’s death could seriously affect morale, what little of it was left. General Mammot could simply be exercising prudence by keeping this information confidential.

  “General Mammot has assumed command, then?” Stiger asked simply, though the more he thought about it the more alarmed he became. There was no possible way that Mammot could keep such news from the men. Gossip traveled fast in legionary encampments. There was much more to this visit than was readily apparent.

  “With General Kromen being incapacitated due to illness and unable to maintain his, shall we say, responsibilities,” Handi oozed, “General Mammot felt it the only reasonable course of action.”

  “Of course,” Stiger responded neutrally. Mammot was working to consolidate his powerbase. It was clear now that Captain Handi had come to see if Stiger would follow General Mammot. Stiger had no doubt that if he responded negatively to the news, Captain Handi would likely produce an order relieving him of command. That was the last thing Stiger wanted to happen at the moment.

  Perhaps Kromen had indeed taken a true turn for the worse, and Mammot was simply filling in, as was proper for a second-in-command. However, the presence of Captain Handi seemed to indicate something far more sinister was at play. It was possible General Mammot had decided to advance himself to commander of the army.

  When Kromen passed beyond the realm of the living, Mammot would undoubtedly be terribly saddened at the general’s demise. His duty and honor would require him to assume command, which he hoped would be confirmed by the senate and emperor. Such things were nothing new to imperial politics. Though he could use more time training his men, Stiger itched to be on the road and well away from these political games.

  “General Mammot felt it important that a personal envoy accompany such news,” Captain Handi said, flashing a smile, which rapidly slid from his face as he waited to hear what Captain Stiger had to say.

  “I stand to serve the empire,” Stiger said simply, repeating part of the legionary motto. “What does General Mammot require of me?”

  Captain Handi smiled so thinly, it was almost a frown. Stiger realized that the bastard had been hoping to relieve him. Having recently arrived, Stiger had no personal loyalty to either General Kromen or General Mammot.

  “As is to be expected,” Captain Handi responded, recovering from his disappointment quickly. “General Mammot expects only that you continue to follow your orders, as issued by General Kromen.”

  “Of course,” Stiger responded gravely. Something was afoot. Stiger rapidly thought it through. On one hand, had he been removed from command, he could have been shipped home, where he would spend several months traveling, effectively out of the way while Mammot consolidated his hold and bought loyalties in the senate to secure his confirmation. On the other hand, sending Stiger to Vrell achieved nearly the same result. It was more likely that the path Mammot wished him to follow was the one that led to Vrell. Though Stiger was no spy, marching into hostile territory would keep a potential spy for the senate isolated, unable to communicate with his masters. The plan had been to isolate him from the moment he arrived. Stiger suppressed a sigh of resignation. “I will follow General Mammot’s orders as if they were General Kromen’s.”

  “The general expects nothing less from one of your, ah … venerated lineage,” Captain Handi said.

  Stiger could not decide if he meant this as a calculated insult. After a moment, he decided it had been intended as one. The urge to reach over the table and throttle the pampered fool before him was nearly overpowering. With great effort, he restrained himself, vowing that one day he would make the man pay for such ungentlemanly insults. On that day, Handi would know with whom he was toying.

  “Duty,” Stiger said by way of reply, forcing a smile, which the scar on his cheek turned into sneer. “Duty to the empire is our responsibility.”

  “I could not agree more with such honest sentiments,” Captain Handi breathed rather dramatically. He pulled an envelope out of his coat jacket and handed it over to Stiger. “Confirmation of your orders … from General Mammot.”

  Stiger took several minutes to read through his orders while Captain Handi waited patiently. The staff captain pulled out a pipe and filled it with tobacco, then went to the fireplace to light it.

  Stiger found the orders nearly identical to the set he had previously been given. It was very clear Mammot wanted him on his way to Vrell. He set the orders down on the table after he had read them twice over. Captain Handi, seeing that the infantry captain had finished, returned to the table and sat,
taking a deep puff of his pipe as he did so.

  “Do you have any questions concerning your orders?” the staff captain asked.

  “None,” Stiger responded firmly.

  “Excellent,” Handi replied. “General Mammot will be pleased to hear that.”

  “Has there been an update on the supply train?” Stiger asked. He had heard nothing for several days on its progress. He had been using the extra time to push his men hard.

  “As a matter of fact, there has been news,” Captain Handi said. “The supply convoy from Aeda will arrive within the next five days.”

  “That is encouraging news,” Stiger responded, thinking that the sooner it arrived, the quicker he would be away. Mammot might be the type to use assassins to cement his control. It was quite possible that it would be healthier for Stiger to be on the road and away until the dust settled.

  “Yes it is, isn’t it,” Captain Handi said, standing with his pipe tightly clamped between his teeth. He gave Stiger an odd look before he pulled on his riding gloves. “It will be good to reopen communications with Castle Vrell.”

  The two officers left the farmhouse, Stiger following slightly behind Captain Handi. They found the cavalry escort sitting on the ground, with their backs against the entrenchment walls near the entrance. They were downing a fresh bowl of stew. The men looked to be enjoying themselves. Captain Handi gave them a sour look and called for his horse.

  Lieutenant Lan jumped up, setting his bowl aside. He called his men to their feet. Their mounts were easily at hand, having been tethered along the inside of the barricade. They stood, while at the same time shoveling the rest of the stew into their mouths as fast as they could. Cook, with an assistant, took the wooden bowls from the cavalrymen. Stiger was pleased to see the lieutenant’s men thank Cook before turning to their horses. It wasn’t every day a cook received thanks from a group of young noblemen, even if they were only unimportant second and third sons.

  “A pleasure seeing you once again, Captain,” Lieutenant Handi said, not bothering to offer Stiger a handshake. It was another calculated insult. Stiger felt dirty enough from the man’s visit and was far from disappointed at not having to take the man’s hand.

  Sergeant Ranl led Captain Handi’s horse forward and Handi mounted up.

  “Likewise,” Stiger responded, struggling to keep the distaste from his voice. “Please inform General Mammot I am at his convenience.”

  “I will,” Captain Handi said, wheeling his mount around and kicking it forward out through the gate. His cavalry escort scrambled to mount and catch up.

  “Captain,” Lieutenant Lan said as he pulled himself up onto his horse. His charge was rapidly getting away. The cavalry lieutenant remained a moment to offer a salute, with a lopsided, youthful grin. “Thank you for your hospitality and the quick meal. I am confident I speak for my men that it is greatly appreciated.”

  “You are more than welcome to visit for a longer stay,” Stiger responded with a return salute, “and break bread with us once again.”

  “I believe I might take you up on your offer, sir,” Lieutenant Lan said. “We are scheduled for perimeter patrol tomorrow. Would it be convenient if we called toward the end of our circuit?”

  “It would,” Stiger agreed. “I will speak with Cook and make sure we have something fresh.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Lan said with a genuine smile. He wheeled his horse around and kicked her forward out of the camp. Once beyond the gate, he sent his horse into a gallop to catch up with his men and charge.

  Stiger watched for a moment, thinking about Mammot, Kromen and Vrell. He wondered where Colonel Karol stood with the change of command and power struggle that appeared to be well under way. The colonel had seemed like an honorable man. Stiger found it interesting that Captain Handi had not mentioned the colonel.

  “Seems like a right good officer, that cavalryman,” Sergeant Ranl commented. Stiger nodded in agreement, hoping the Sergeant’s instincts were right, for though in general he disliked the cavalry, he felt the same way.

  Eight

  “Begin again,” Stiger barked harshly. The rain, driven by a goodly wind, was coming down in near sheets.

  “Lock shields right!” Sergeant Ranl thundered, standing behind one file, which was facing another in the downpour.

  “Lock shield left!” Sergeant Blake roared. He was standing behind the opposite file of men.

  Shields snapped and thunked solidly together as the two files of men prepared to clash with each other yet again.

  “Push!” Sergeant Blake roared.

  “Push ‘em, boys!” Sergeant Ranl thundered. The two files slammed together with a resounding crash. The sergeants shouted orders as each file attempted to break the other’s line by using their shields and brute strength. It was an old, time-tested drill that was good practice, and fun, despite the driving rain. Not only did such contests boost morale, it prepared the men for the real thing. The competition made a tremendous clamor as practice shields hammered violently and repeatedly against each other. The ground on the practice field outside the main gate had been churned up. The mud was ankle deep, making the contest that much more difficult. Stiger believed in training his men under all types of weather conditions, for sometimes battles were fought when conditions were far from ideal.

  The captain watched closely as each file fought the other for dominance. The contest was rough, brutal and aggressive. That evening, there would be plenty of nursing lumps and bruises.

  Sergeant Blake’s file abruptly and without warning broke into two parts as a man slipped and fell into the churned-up mud. The winners let loose a terrific cheer, followed closely by the rest of the company that had been watching the contest.

  These two files had bested all of the others, and the winners were champions for the day. There was no prize. They were simply the best, and in that they took pride. There were good-natured back slaps and ribbing from both sides.

  “Lieutenant,” Stiger called over the rain, after the cheering and celebration had died down. Dusk was fast approaching and with the help of the rain clouds, the day was darkening rapidly. “Dismiss the men for the evening.”

  “Yes sir,” the drenched lieutenant said.

  Stiger turned and walked back through the camp’s gate, as Ikely dismissed the company. The sentry on duty snapped to attention and saluted as he passed. Returning the salute with a nod, Stiger walked rapidly to the farmhouse. The rain was chilly and cold. Stiger wanted nothing more than to dry off and warm up.

  The warmth of the house washed over him as he entered. He had left a fire blazing in the fireplace. It had burned low, but was still crackling happily at the remains of two logs. The fireplace provided the only light in the dusk-darkened house, made blacker by the rain. The captain threw on another two logs, which caused the fire to spit and flare in a shower of sparks. Stiger removed his boots and placed them by the fireplace to dry, then stripped off his drenched tunic and pants. Unlike his men, he had not been wearing his armor. He pulled on a dry pair before dragging a chair over to the fireplace to hang his wet clothing. He lit two fat candles, which he placed on the table with an oil lamp hanging above. The room brightened considerably.

  On the table, a map was stretched out, corners held down by a couple of small river rocks. The map was old. It had not been a quick reproduction made by some camp scribe. Reproductions could be unreliable, as camp scribes were few in number and overworked. They were usually rushed, and known to omit details. Having an original map depicting an accurate lay of the land was a rare treasure.

  The map had arrived by courier that morning, courtesy of General Mammot. Stiger leaned over the table and traced the road to Castle Vrell with his finger. Someone had penciled in the location of the legionary encampment. There were a couple of villages marked along the road to Vrell. Based upon his meeting with Generals Kromen and Mammot, Stiger doubted he would find any villagers. It was likely both villages had been thoroughly sacked. Ashes and shallow
graves were all that likely remained. Coming south, Stiger had passed a number of small villages and towns, pillaged and burned, devoid of life. The empire punished rebellion harshly.

  Stiger sighed and took a seat, studying the map. The silence from Castle Vrell was telling. Either the rebels were besieging the castle, which would mean they had a substantial force operating in the area, or they had simply cut the road. The latter was the more likely scenario. According to the map, there were no roads leading from Castle Vrell further south into rebel territory.

  Stiger returned his gaze to the castle, which seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, built astride a mountain pass leading into the valley. He supposed, prior to the empire swallowing up much of the south, a local lord had built the castle for his own protection. The castle then would be old, likely very old. If the walls were poorly maintained, he considered the possibility that a small rebel force might have stormed and overcome the garrison. Having seen the legionaries of the main encampment, the captain could only imagine what condition the garrison was in.

  The Vrell valley boasted a few towns and villages. Oakheart, the largest town, was notated on the map. A few other settlements were named, but the only other feature that caught Stiger’s eye was not in the valley itself, but on one of the mountains on the north end of the valley: Thanedom Mountain. It was an odd name. After considering it for a bit, the captain supposed one of the long-dead lords of the valley had named the mountain as his own or some such nonsense.

  The captain sighed deeply and took a seat. His chair creaked alarmingly as he leaned back. Could the rebels have taken the castle? Was it simply that the road had been cut? The questions were maddening.

  In the North, Stiger had relied heavily on Eli’s detailed knowledge of the ground. But in all of the elf’s long years, his friend had never been this far south. Eli knew nothing about the ground. Stiger had asked for someone who was familiar with the ground and Vrell. General Mammot had provided the map, but had not yet produced anyone who had been to Vrell, which was troubling. Was he setting Stiger up for failure? It certainly felt that way.