“If we are unlucky,” Eli interjected with a mischievous smile filled with little needle-like teeth, “your cavalry troop might get some action.”
Stiger frowned at Eli. There was a knock on the doorframe.
“Father Thomas,” Corporal Kennet announced solemnly. Everyone turned in surprise.
A large man wearing brown priestly robes that were cloak-like, with the hood pulled up against the rain, stepped through the door. The man threw his hood back, revealing a shock of red hair and a bushy red beard. His eyes were kindly and seemed to twinkle with a child’s delight.
Father Thomas took in the four officers. He cocked an eyebrow at the sight of an elf this far to the south, well away from the elven ancestral homelands. As he placed his hands on his hips, his robes parted slightly to reveal a heavy chainmail shirt emblazoned with the High Father’s sigil. The hilt of a large sabre emerged, hanging low and to his left side, the tip nearly dragging on the floor.
“I see that I finally found Captain Stiger and the 85th Imperial Foot!” The large man’s voice boomed in the small room. “Do you know how difficult it was to find your camp? In the dark? In the rain? However did you manage to select such an isolated place to camp?”
“Holy Father, it is an honor to be in your presence,” Eli said with reverence, for here before him was the direct representative of one of the gods that his race honored. He offered a respectful bow.
“The High Father’s will drew me here,” Father Thomas responded jovially, smiling at the elf before looking back at Stiger. “You must be Captain Stiger. I understand you are traveling to Vrell, sir. General Mammot was quite kind enough to provide me a pass to accompany you. Do you wish to see it?”
“Oh shit!” Stiger breathed hoarsely, blood draining from his face. His hand suddenly began to tremble and then clenched tightly as he became visibly angry, glaring darkly at Father Thomas.
“What’s wrong?” Lan asked, confused, looking between Father Thomas and Captain Stiger. “He is the High Father’s representative. We should be honored to have been blessed with a warrior priest. Should we not?”
“He is no simple warrior priest,” Stiger growled angrily, pointing an accusatory finger in the direction of Father Thomas, who frowned in reply. “We are in the presence of a great big bloody holy warrior of the High Father.”
There was stunned shock from Ikely and Lan as the words sank in. They both turned to look at Father Thomas in awe. Eli simply stood there, saying nothing and betraying no emotion.
“A paladin?” Ikely asked after a moment, looking between Father Thomas and Captain Stiger. “He is a paladin? Is that what you are saying?”
“Yes,” Stiger snapped in mounting rage, jabbing another accusatory finger in Father Thomas’ direction. “A great big, bloody, red-headed paladin sent to us by the blessed High Father!”
“That’s me,” Father Thomas said with a wink. He was usually greeted in a far more welcoming manner. Regardless, he was determined to remain cheerful.
“Mark my words,” Stiger continued, “where paladins go, there is always trouble, and not the little kind either.”
“I thought paladins were good?” Ikely breathed, shocked at his captain’s harsh words. He never in his life thought he would ever have the honor to meet a real live paladin. They were mostly the stuff of story and legend.
“Well, Lan,” Stiger snapped irately, never taking his angry gaze away from Father Thomas. “You may get your wish after all. It looks as if we are unlucky enough to warrant a paladin on quest. Now gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I am going to go for a piss before bed.” With that, Stiger tipped his head slightly to Father Thomas, stepped around the man and out into the pouring rain, without bothering to grab his cloak.
“That seemed to go so well,” Father Thomas said, watching the captain disappear into the rain-lashed night. “I do so try with first impressions …”
“Pardon him, Father,” Eli said softly stepping near. “I can say that he is the best of men, but …”
“But,” Father Thomas finished, glancing back in the direction of the door, “he has encountered another paladin on quest, I presume?”
“Father Griggs joined us for the campaign in Abath,” Eli answered.
“Poor Griggs.” Father Thomas breathed a heavy sigh. “His loss and sacrifice was a great blow to our order.”
“Are you really a paladin?” Ikely asked, still awed.
“I am a simple warrior in the service of the High Father,” the paladin said, his joviality returning along with his booming voice.
“He is a holy warrior called by the High Father to serve,” Eli confirmed for the lieutenant. “He is, indeed, what you humans would name a paladin.”
“It is an honor to meet you, sir.” Ikely bowed reverently. “Will you honor our company with a morning service?”
“I think a simple service can be arranged,” Father Thomas said. “As long as it does not upset our good captain too much.”
“Thank you, Father,” Ikely said. “The men will be greatly encouraged by your presence on our march to Castle Vrell.”
“Is it true, then?” Lieutenant Lan asked, eying the paladin carefully. He was deeply troubled by the captain’s reaction to Father Thomas. Unlike Ikely, he had seen combat, and it had been far uglier than he had expected. The dreams of glory and youthful adventure had quickly given way to reality.
“Is what true?” Father Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow at the cavalry lieutenant.
“Is what the captain says true?” Lan asked plainly. “Does your presence represent trouble on our way to Vrell?”
“The High Father called me here,” Father Thomas said with a simple shrug, never losing his smile. “The call could be in service to something related or unrelated. I will not know until I recognize it.”
“I see,” Lan said thoughtfully. “So it could be as bad as the captain suggests?”
“It is possible,” Father Thomas conceded with a slight frown. “There could be great danger for all, and that could be the High Father’s purpose in calling me here. My assistance in defeating it may be necessary.”
“What of this Father Griggs?” Lan asked of Eli. “Was the danger grave?”
“It was,” Eli admitted.
“A priestess of Avaya, if I understand correctly,” Father Thomas said. “The High Father called Griggs to deal with her.”
“Great Gods!” Lan breathed, aghast. “I pray we never come across such evil!”
“My son, I pray that be so as well,” Father Thomas agreed, making the holy sign of the High Father.
“Lieutenant Ikely,” Eli said. “Father Thomas will need a place to stay and dry off.”
“It will be my honor to arrange it,” Ikely said reverently. “Father, have you eaten?”
“Why, I thought you would never ask!” Father Thomas’ stomach rumbled for all to hear, at which he laughed deeply.
“I think we can find you something,” Ikely said, grabbing his cloak from by the fire. The lieutenant led Father Thomas out into the rain. Eli followed a moment later, leaving Lan alone in the room. Lan looked down upon the map, wondering just what was waiting for them on their journey to Castle Vrell. He had a growing feeling that whatever it was, he would not like it.
Nine
Sometime during the early morning hours, the rain had passed. Shortly after sunrise, Eli and a couple of his scouts marched in with a battered, but very live prisoner. The rebel was a small, wiry man. His clothing was threadbare and tattered. He looked very unimpressive, especially to the men of the company, who had gathered round for a look. Most had never seen a live rebel. It was an eye-opening experience. Seeing the stares, Stiger decided to take advantage of the situation.
He pushed through the throng and approached the prisoner. The man was wet, cold and shivering, though probably more from fright than cold. His hands were tied securely behind his back. The rebel collapsed to his knees at the captain’s feet, babbling in what passed for one of the many gut
tural southern languages, which Stiger did not know. The captain looked down at the groveling man for a moment, feeling nothing but disgust. The prisoner, no matter his reasoning, had rebelled against his empire. There was no excuse. His life was forfeit.
“This is your enemy,” Stiger said flatly, gesturing at the blubbering prisoner. “At the moment, he looks pathetic, weak and frightened. Why shouldn’t he? This wretch is our helpless prisoner.
“Make no mistake, when armed and in his element, he can kill. He will end your life if you give him the chance. If you let your guard down, he will happily stick a knife or sword between your ribs in a heartbeat.”
Stiger paused to allow that to sink in. The men were all ears, hanging onto his words. “This one was caught observing the main legionary encampment. The rebels have been watching it for a long time. Lieutenant Eli’Far even witnessed a rebel sneaking around our camp.”
The men looked startled at that revelation. Eli’s scouts, under orders, had not breathed a word to the men. He was confident the rebels had spies and sympathizers in the main encampment, most likely either slaves or camp attendants. The captain had kept the knowledge from his men for fear that a loose word to a dispatch rider or some other visitor from the main encampment would alert the rebels.
Stiger specifically sought out legionary Teg from the crowd and intentionally locked eyes with the man, sending a silent message. Teg held the captain’s gaze for a moment, before bowing his head slightly and nodding, as if to say that he would not fail at his duty again.
“This is your enemy.” Stiger’s voice rose in tone. “In the forests of Abath, I have seen a wretch like him take down a veteran of twenty years. They will move about in the darkness or under the cover of the brush, looking for an opportunity to get close … to catch you with your guard down. Do not fear this wretch. Instead, respect what he is capable of doing. Properly respected, the rebel is less dangerous. They are not to be feared, but respected. Trust in me to lead you. Trust in me to respect our enemy … for when properly respected and dealt with, they are nothing but rabble.”
Stiger paused again, allowing his words sink in. “We march soon. Keep a watchful eye. Stay vigilant. Do not let your guard down, for if you do, it could cost you your life and that of your fellows. Trust in me, and we will teach these curs to fear us!” The men gave a hearty cheer at that.
“Sergeant Blake.” Stiger turned to his sergeant. “Have the prisoner secured. The men may view him, but they are not in any way to molest him. He is to be delivered to General Mammot for questioning.”
“Yes sir,” Blake snapped, then turned to two of the armed sentries who had just come off watch. “Boatman and Feld, you two guard the prisoner. Make sure no harm comes to him.”
Both saluted and then stepped up to the prisoner, relieving the scouts. Stiger spared one more look at the prisoner, made a motion for Eli to follow, and they walked off toward the farmhouse. The men parted to let them pass. Stiger hoped his speech had made an impression. Perhaps it would save lives in the coming days.
“Did you get anything from him or the others?” Stiger asked once they were inside. The fire had died down. He threw on another log to drive away the damp, chill morning air.
“Yes,” Eli answered, removing his cloak and hanging it by the fire. “There is a rebel force to the south, somewhere around the city of Teml. It seems to be no more than forty miles away, which is rather close, don’t you think? I could not get an exact number, but it appears to be a significant force of many thousands.”
“What about toward Vrell?” Stiger asked. “Did he know anything important to us?”
“Nothing. He came from one of the rebel lands to the far south,” Eli stated. “He seemed exclusively concerned with the main encampment. I don’t think he knows anything of Vrell, which seems rather odd if the rebels have a force operating along the road.”
Stiger agreed with his friend. It seemed damned odd that those sent to observe would know nothing of rebel activity along the road from the encampment to Vrell. Though it was certainly possible they had been kept in the dark. It did not make sense. There should have been some level of contact among rebel forces operating in the area.
“Were you able to recover any documents?” Stiger asked.
“No,” Eli said, “The one we captured is illiterate, along with the others I interrogated. It appears someone personally comes around to collect verbal reports on what they have seen. If we had more time, we could lay a trap for this person?”
“No time for that,” Stiger sighed regretfully. “General Mammot will have to arrange for it. I will write up a report for the general to make him aware of this enemy force and the intelligence you gathered. I will also forward the prisoner on to him for further questioning.”
“I would prefer you be more respectful of Father Thomas,” Eli said, abruptly changing the subject. Though they respected the other gods, the elves worshiped the High Father almost exclusively. A direct representative of the High Father was to be treated with honor and utter respect.
“When are you planning on departing?” Stiger asked, not wishing to engage in such a discussion. Stiger had prayed never to see another paladin again. Where paladins went, death usually traveled as a close companion.
“When we are finished here,” Eli said with a heavy sighed, understanding his friend’s thinking. “I have most of my scouts on the road already.”
“Eli,” Stiger said, hesitating. “I do not like this mission we have been given. With a paladin showing up … well, it bodes ill. I want you to …”
“Ben,” Eli said, a look of sadness passing across his face. “Consider that we have been blessed by the High Father. Whatever evil lurks ahead …”
“The last one he sent us did not work out too well,” Stiger interrupted. “Or have you forgotten?”
“I never forget,” the elf said softly, but with steel in his voice, “Father Griggs failed us not. We fought great evil in the name of what is good. It would have been worse for us had the High Father not sent us his warrior cleric.”
Stiger grunted, turning to the fire. Eli sighed softly. He retrieved his cloak and turned to leave, then stopped.
“I will leave signs and messages,” Eli said, one hand on the doorframe, looking back. Eli would also have his scouts guide the company to suitable campsites along the march.
“Take care, my friend,” Stiger said, turning back from the fire. He would not see Eli for several days. Eli gave a simple nod in reply and then left.
Stiger sat down at the table. He remained silent for a while, thinking about the ghosts of the past that visited him whenever he was alone. After a bit, he shook himself free, sending the ghosts on their way. He pulled out his dispatch pad and charcoal pencil. He wrote out a report to General Mammot, concerning the prisoner and the elimination of the observation posts. Once complete, he sealed the dispatch and sent for Sergeant Ranl.
It would be interesting to see how General Mammot took the news. Would Stiger be praised for initiative or reprimanded for not sharing the information sooner? Since the visit from Captain Handi, Stiger had heard nothing about General Kromen’s condition or the power struggle undoubtedly underway. He had also heard nothing in reply to his dispatches to Colonel Karol, which did not bode well. The captain fairly itched to be on the road and away from what was transpiring in the main encampment.
“Have this dispatch delivered to General Mammot with my compliments, along with the prisoner,” Stiger ordered when Ranl arrived, handing over the dispatch. “Provide sufficient escort and make sure he arrives alive and in good condition. General Mammot may wish to have him questioned.”
“Yes sir,” Sergeant Ranl acknowledged, taking the dispatch. “I will have one of the corporals lead the escort.”
Stiger stood and walked to the front door as the sergeant left. He discovered Father Thomas sitting on the front porch, gazing at the prisoner across the camp. The paladin looked up at Stiger briefly before returning his gaze to the
prisoner. The captain wondered how long the paladin had been there. Had he overheard Stiger’s and Eli’s conversation some minutes ago? In the end, Stiger decided, he didn’t care if the man had heard or not.
The paladin got to his feet, gaze still on the prisoner. A number of legionaries were studying the wretch. “An ugly business,” was all the paladin said before walking off.
Stiger watched, as the escort detail was organized. Within minutes, the prisoner was led away and out of the camp. Stiger came to the conclusion that he could not disagree with the paladin’s statement. War and rebellion … all of it was an ugly business.
***
The escort detailed for the supply train marched out of the camp to the rendezvous point that Eli had selected. The march had begun a little over an hour after sunrise. It was rapid and well-executed. There were none of the sullen looks and foot dragging that had been in evidence when the company had first marched from the main encampment. The practice marches had paid off handsomely. They looked like a completely different company than when Stiger had first taken command. The men were fit, conditioned and ready.
The main body of the company, around one hundred and sixty men, under the command of Lieutenant Ikely, had marched out a couple of hours prior to daybreak. They were already on the road to Vrell and marching hard. A normal movement, under full kit, consisted of thirty minutes of marching followed by a fifteen-minute break, to be repeated continuously. The captain had instructed the main body to spend forty-five minutes of every hour on the move, followed by a fifteen-minute break.
Speed and surprise were the keys to success. In the event the rebels managed to get word of the train’s movement, they would assume the pace would be a slow one. Such assumptions created an opportunity for surprise, which the captain intended to fully capitalize on. He was also relying heavily on Eli and his newly trained scouts to give him a further edge. In this respect, Stiger had complete confidence in his friend, a trained ranger. There was no one better at this kind of work than Eli.
It was all rather simple, really … at least in theory. Once the enemy camps were identified and located, Stiger intended to fall on them before they even knew they were in mortal danger. In this way, he hoped to clear the road of the enemy. The captain hoped theory would translate into reality, though he knew from experience the unexpected frequently threw the best plans awry.
Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1) Page 12