General Kromen’s orders had anticipated around four weeks’ travel-time to Vrell. If possible, the captain intended to arrive at Vrell within two weeks. The gods only knew what he would find on the way or delays he might encounter. Worse … he had no idea what he might find at Vrell itself. One way or another, he was sure he would find out.
Stiger had elected to initially remain with the escort as the main body pushed ahead. The escort was some forty strong. Lieutenant Lan’s mounted troop would bring the total strength of the escort to seventy men total, thirty of them mounted. This force would guard the supply train and the four company wagons.
The captain’s purpose in remaining with the escort was to meet the sergeant in charge of the supply train. Though the man was essentially the lead teamster, he would also be a legionary. Therefore, the sergeant would be subject to Stiger’s orders, whether he agreed with them or not. Having this man’s cooperation, or at the very least obedience, was critical.
The escort had been carefully selected with consideration of those who had experience in handling wagons. With the main bulk of the company ranging far ahead, the supply train would need to cover more ground on a daily basis than the teamsters were likely accustomed to. When the teamsters tired, Stiger intended for his men to take over. He expected some level of friction with this last point.
The rendezvous was a crossroads, with one fork leading to Vrell. There were no signs, just the two roads intersecting amidst abandoned fields separated by stone walls. A scattering of trees grew close to the edges of the roads.
The empire’s initial interest in the South had been the vast hardwood forests. Many of the trees were old and tall, perfect for ship masts. Prior to the rebellion, there had once been a massive logging operation in this area. As the forest was cleared, one acre at a time, settlers moved in to work the land. The result had seen the roads heavy with traffic and the surrounding fields well-tended. The people who had lived and worked here had long since either fled, or worse, taken up arms against the empire.
Having arrived at the rendezvous point, Stiger and the escort began their wait for the train to arrive. Though fall was fast approaching, the day was rapidly turning hot and humid. Perspiring under the sun, the men had fallen out and sought cover in the shade amongst the trees along the roadside. Some napped, while others played cards or threw dice.
Waiting seemed to be a requirement for the legionary. It was the same old tale of hurry up and wait. The last several weeks of whipping his company into shape had not only been physically demanding, but exhausting for the captain. When the opportunity presented itself, Stiger had learned to take sleep where he could find it. Moving to the shade of a large oak, the captain sat down with his back against the hard trunk. He shut his eyes and almost immediately fell asleep.
The men traded amused looks at this. Captain Stiger was an incredibly active and intense man. Napping was the last thing they expected him to do. Perhaps order additional training, but take a nap? No.
The captain was a troubling mystery. The men were torn. They respected the captain—some even liked him—but they all feared him. No one believed the story that he and Bennet had been sparring on that fateful morning. Though he had not uttered a word on the subject, it was clear Bennet had made an attempt on the captain’s life. Any other officer would have strung the large legionary up. Not their captain, though. He had given Bennet a second chance, while at the same time sending a subtle warning to everyone else.
Bennet’s life aside, he was still one of those bloody Stigers and nothing he had done or said could change that simple fact. The captain’s family name ran deep with the legions. It was said that wherever a Stiger went, hard fighting was sure to follow, which is what made them more than a little uncomfortable. They were afraid of what the captain’s posting truly meant for them.
To complicate matters further, the men now knew where they were headed, the rebel-infested Vrell road. Lieutenant Lan’s men had freely passed around the nightmare they had experienced on the last supply run. They had told tale of screaming rebel madmen striking suddenly, viciously and without warning, and the unexpected terror that lurked behind each tree.
A few weeks prior to setting out, the men of the company would have been in mortal fear of marching to Vrell. Yet something had changed in these last few weeks. Their job was fighting, and a fight was what they now craved.
The captain, the men noted, seemed untroubled by their mission to Vrell. In fact, Captain Stiger was as confident as ever, so much so that many concluded that the stories told by the troopers had been exaggerated. Perhaps, they considered, the rebels were not so tough after all?
There had been the shocking ease with which the scouts and Lieutenant Eli’Far had taken down the rebels watching the main encampment. Such actions spoke of a competence and ruthless efficiency they were proud to be a part of.
Despite their unease at being under the command of a Stiger, they were beginning to believe that they were different or had somehow changed. Yes, they had begun to believe in their captain and themselves. As they shot each other amused looks over their captain, who napped quietly under an old oak, they were quite convinced that the tables would be turned on the rebels. It was the rebels themselves who would learn to fear the legionaries, who now saw themselves as vengeance incarnate coming to collect on past debts. The 85th Imperial Foot would make them pay the bill.
As the men waited, lounging about and talking, gaming or sleeping, the sun climbed higher in the sky. The air grew warmer, humid and more uncomfortable. Insects buzzed about. The sergeants and all of the other corporals had gone with the main body. Only Corporal Beni had remained, though he would have preferred not to. He was new to his rank and responsibilities. Beni was more than a little nervous to be under the direct supervision of the captain, without a sergeant in sight to run cover.
To make matters worse, the paladin, Father Thomas, had also decided to join the escort. He was praying in the shade a few feet away from the captain. The two had spoken little. Beni had the feeling the captain disliked the paladin.
Superstitious, but not particularly a religious man himself, Beni had always felt uncomfortable around holy men. At least Father Thomas did not seem to be the kind to ask for money along with faith. The paladin was a powerful cleric with a strange mystical power that was to be feared. Corporal Beni had accordingly steered clear of him at every opportunity.
The corporal turned his thoughts to the orders Sergeant Blake had given him. He was to keep his men disciplined, under control, and make sure that they maintained their kit and provided an effective watch during camp. He was to check on the guard regularly as the train moved toward Vrell. In addition, as ordered, the corporal had also reinforced in stark terms to the men not to eat the extra rations they had been issued. He had been afraid that while the men waited, idly passing the time, they would become bored and pick through their rations. To prevent such an occurrence, he had threatened to thrash any man who violated this order. A thrashing by the corporal, one of the largest and strongest men in the company, was a serious threat. It also helped that Beni excelled in unarmed fighting. When the sergeants had begun instruction, a natural brawler, he had taken to it like a fish to water. As he stood along the road, waiting impatiently, the corporal smiled at the thought of what he could now do with his hands.
Beni glanced in the direction the supply train would come. The road was deserted. Lieutenant Lan and his troop had ridden before sunrise to meet and escort the supply train to the rendezvous. That had been hours ago. After weeks of constant activity and training, it felt odd to be doing nothing other than waiting alongside an abandoned crossroads. He wondered for the thousandth time about the holdup.
In irritation, the corporal kicked a stone. The stone rolled several feet before coming to a rest in the grass to the side of the dirt road. The bulk of the company was by now miles ahead, while the escort stood waiting and wasting time.
Beni glanced over at the captain, who w
as snoozing quietly against the tree. The corporal chuckled softly at his stupidity, as it suddenly occurred to him that if the captain was unconcerned, perhaps he should be as well. He had been with the legions long enough to know that waiting for someone else to do their job was perfectly normal.
It was his new rank and responsibilities that were getting to him. He had never thought to make corporal. He was profoundly grateful to the sergeants for recommending him and the captain for approving the promotion, which also meant an increased retirement pension. Corporal Beni was determined to live up to their expectations and exceed them.
Taking the captain’s example to heart, the corporal selected a tree, sat down and leaned back. He doubted he could sleep, though he could at least make it look like he was unconcerned, like the captain, if only for the men to see. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax.
The corporal awoke with a start. He blinked several times and glanced up through the leaves. The sun was well up in the sky, meaning it was sometime around noon. He was surprised to have actually fallen asleep.
Frowning, he was not sure what had woken him. Looking around, he realized it was the sound of hooves approaching. A rider was galloping up. He stood to see better, stretching as he did so. It was one of Lieutenant Lan’s troopers. BeniHeBeniBB approached as the rider pulled his mount to a stop. Half the company also stood up in anticipation. The corporal glanced over at the captain, who had not moved. He was still sleeping.
“The supply train is about ten minutes out,” the trooper reported to the corporal.
“I will inform the captain,” Beni responded. The trooper nodded and dismounted to wait, leading his horse over to the grass and shade.
The corporal approached his commanding officer. “Captain,” he said tentatively.
“Yeah?” the captain asked, cracking an eye and squinting at the corporal.
“The wagon train is ten minutes out, sir.” Corporal Beni struggled to keep his voice under control. Beni had seen serious action during the first few years of the rebellion, though not much in the last few. Very little frightened him, but he was man enough to admit to himself that the captain unnerved him plenty.
“Is it now?” Stiger said tiredly. “They sure took their sweet time. In twenty minutes, have the men fall in then.”
“Yes sir,” Corporal Beni said, as the captain leaned his head back against the tree and promptly went back to sleep. Beni breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he stepped away.
It took fifteen minutes for the lead wagons to arrive. The train, comprising fifty heavy covered wagons, was strung out in a line that stretched out for more than a half mile. The lead teamster, Arnold, was a grizzled old legionary sergeant from supply. With difficulty, he climbed down from the lead wagon. The sergeant hobbled over to the captain, limping very badly. He had been wounded at some point in his career. Unable to march, he had been transferred to supply rather than being discharged as a disabled man. Either he had performed some impressive feat, or an officer had taken pity on him by securing him the position.
The sergeant frowned at the sharp look of the legionaries drawn up alongside the road. They did not have the typical look of legionaries here in the South. They were much too clean and competent-looking for that. Idly, he wondered if this was a newly arrived company. Give them time, he thought sourly, and they will look and act like all the rest of the fools in this sad tragedy. Hobbling up to the captain, he saluted sloppily and introduced himself as Sergeant Arnold. A large and dangerous-looking corporal stood slightly behind the captain. The corporal did not look friendly. Arnold would have to keep his eye on him.
Without introducing himself, Stiger briefly outlined his expectations for Arnold.
“My men only travel six hours per day, sir!” Sergeant Arnold protested in a wheezy voice that cracked with irritation. “You can’t ask more than that.”
“I can and am,” Stiger said firmly, irritation growing. “Your wagons will roll from sunup till sundown.”
“The mules won’t last,” Sergeant Arnold protested again.
“They will be fine,” Stiger said, glancing at the team pulling the sergeant’s own wagon. He judged them as well-fed and capable, though on the heavyset side. They appeared more accustomed to a sedate lifestyle than pulling a wagon. Had they been on a near-starvation diet, it might have been a different matter. In this case, he concluded, the extra exercise would not harm them. “You can take a twenty-minute break every three hours.”
“Twenty min—” the sergeant sputtered.
“Lieutenant Lan,” Stiger called, cutting off the sergeant.
The cavalry officer cantered up and saluted. Stiger noticed he looked rather put-out and irritated. The captain guessed the source of the irritation was Sergeant Arnold and his slow-moving train.
“Sir?” the lieutenant asked calmly, carefully keeping the irritation from his voice.
“I have informed Sergeant Arnold I expect the wagons to roll from sunup to sundown, with a twenty minute break every three hours. If his men tire, we have men in the escort who have experience handling wagons.”
“Yes sir,” the lieutenant responded as Stiger called for his horse. The sergeant made to protest, which Stiger pointedly ignored.
“Keep in touch and send a rider forward with any issues you may encounter,” Stiger ordered as Legionary Teg led over his horse.
“A few files of men and his troop for the trip to Vrell!” Sergeant Arnold exploded, turning red. “I was told we would have a full company! Where are the rest of your men? We will be cut to ribbons!”
“I am leaving you forty capable men and your troop,” Stiger continued, addressing Lan, though the statement was really for Arnold’s benefit. “You are in direct command of the train. See that you make good time.”
“Forty men?” the sergeant asked again, simply aghast. “You are condemning all of us to death!”
“I will deal with the rebels,” Stiger growled menacingly as he grabbed the reigns of his horse and mounted up in a smooth, practiced motion. He ignored the sergeant’s insubordination and disrespect. “I am taking the bulk of the company well ahead. We will strike at the rebels and take them apart before you even get close to their camps.”
Stiger kicked his horse forward, leaving the sputtering old sergeant behind. He motioned for Lan to join him as he guided his horse onto the road to Vrell.
The irritated sergeant looked over at the corporal, who smiled thinly at him. Then they both turned to watch the captain and lieutenant ride up the road a ways before coming to a stop.
“Who is that officer?” the irate sergeant asked the big corporal.
“That,” corporal Beni responded with a wider smile, “is Captain Stiger.”
The sergeant looked sharply at the corporal. Beni nodded in silent reply.
“A Stiger in the South?” Sergeant Arnold spat on the ground. “May the gods help us.”
Further up the road, having stopped his horse, Stiger turned to look back at the train of large, heavily-laden covered wagons. They stretched out as far as the eye could see. The captain felt the full weight of responsibility, as if it had suddenly landed heavily upon his shoulders. His orders were to resupply the garrison at Vrell. Not only were his own men relying upon him, so were the teamsters and though they didn’t know it, the entire garrison at Vrell. Should he fail, he wondered, how many would suffer? I will not fail, he swore silently.
“If the sergeant causes trouble, relieve him,” Stiger ordered after a few moments. “Send word immediately and I will dispatch additional men to help manage the wagons, especially if the teamsters protest.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” the lieutenant said confidently. “I believe I can handle Sergeant Arnold without having to relieve him or his men. I should think the threat of losing their pensions should prove a sufficient motivation. We may be a little slower than you are expecting, but I will get the train to Vrell.”
“Your orders.” Stiger pulled a sealed
envelope from a pocket and handed it over. “Nothing we have not previously discussed.”
“Yes sir,” Lieutenant Lan said, pocketing the orders. He would make a point of studying his orders later that evening, after they had set up camp for the night.
“Very good, Lieutenant.” Stiger leaned over and offered his hand, which Lan took. “I will see you at Castle Vrell in a few days.”
“You can rely on me, sir,” Lieutenant Lan replied confidently. “Have no doubt.”
“I know I can,” Stiger said, and with that he kicked his horse forward into a fast trot, leaving the supply train behind. It was time to catch up to the main body.
Ten
“Are the men ill?” Stiger asked Sergeant Blake as a man broke ranks, darting into the dense, man-high brush that lined both sides of the road. The captain was walking his horse at the end of the column. The sergeant was walking alongside him. Dusk was fast approaching and with it, the heat of the day was thankfully beginning to abate. The company had not yet entered the Sentinel forest. The road to Vrell cut straight through its heart.
The company was marching past abandoned farmland as it approached the forest. The countryside on both sides of the road was littered with burned-out farmsteads. The once cultivated lands had grown wild with grass and brush. The region at one time had been rich and prosperous; a breadbasket, shipping grains back to the empire. Now devoid of inhabitants, it was an abandoned wasteland.
The captain watched as another man, further ahead than the last, darted off the road to disappear into the brush. Bad food? He wondered. The men had been eating well the past few weeks, but perhaps something in their game-rich diet was causing stomach disorder.
Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1) Page 13