“You go,” the dwarf said and pointed toward the farm. “You go, now.”
“And if I refuse?” Stiger asked. He’d grown weary of being treated as a prisoner with no semblance of respect. For a week the dwarves had kept him locked in a cell under their mountain. His only visitor had been Thoggle, who had told him just how screwed up the future had become, and that had been on the first day of his confinement. How Thoggle knew this, Stiger wasn’t certain, but he was sure it had something to do with Delvaris’s untimely death. No one else had spoken to him or visited, other than to deliver bland, tasteless food and to remove his waste. Stiger took a step toward the older dwarf. “What will you do if I refuse, friend?”
“That would be an unfortunate turn of events,” a gravelly voice said with a hint of amusement.
Stiger turned. Thoggle stood just to the front of the wagon. The wizard leaned heavily upon his staff and appeared thoroughly amused. Unlike the other dwarves, Thoggle was clean-shaven. Stiger spared a glance at his guard. They had shifted their gazes to the wizard, regarding him almost as warily as they did Stiger.
Stiger made his way over to the wizard. Thoggle was the last person he had expected to find here. The wizard’s amusement slipped from his face and he said something to the commander, who shot Thoggle a scowl by way of reply. Thoggle waved him away and then turned his back on the guard, facing Stiger directly.
“I apologize for your treatment. Your keepers were given instructions not to talk or interact with you,” Thoggle said. “In fact, the thane made sure to assign dvergr who did not speak your tongue, or at the very least whose ability to do so was limited.”
“Why?”
“We can’t have them knowing who you are or where you came from.” Thoggle gestured at the farm behind them with his free hand. His other hand clutched at the staff. “We are moving you here amongst your own kind. You should find this place more comfortable and—er—pleasant.”
Stiger’s eyes briefly ran over the humble farm.
“I don’t expect you will let me go?” Stiger asked, looking over at Thoggle.
“No,” Thoggle said. “The thane has placed an entire company here for your protection.”
“My protection?” Stiger asked.
“Your protection. You will be watched day and night.”
“Why?”
“Because it is too dangerous to allow you to roam around with Rarokan at your side.” Thoggle pointed toward Stiger’s sword. “It is safer in your possession and you in ours.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” Thoggle asked sarcastically. “Had you not quarreled with the thane and questioned his legend, things would be less difficult for you. Your argument with Brogan nearly became physical. To satisfy his wounded legend, the thane could have challenged you. We are very lucky I was able to successfully intervene before things spun completely out of control, for Brogan has a terrible temper and an unforgiving nature.”
Stiger felt himself scowl, recalling the heated argument with the thane, dwarven warriors pouring into the Gate room with swords drawn, Thoggle stepping between him and the thane. Father Thomas had grabbed his arm and pulled Stiger aside as the dwarven warriors surrounded the two of them. The thane had been spitting mad and so had Stiger.
“You have made it quite problematic, not only for yourself, but for me as well. The thane has become heavy-handed in his treatment of you. Should you ever be granted an audience, it might be best to remember you are in his domain and not your own. You do not dictate to the thane. His word is law.”
“He should have let us chase after the minion,” Stiger said. He still felt angry and bitter.
“There were two noctalum after the creature,” Thoggle said. “I seriously doubt you and a paladin could have done better at chasing it down.”
“You don’t know that,” Stiger said. “Now it’s gone and on the loose. There will be trouble.”
“That may be so,” Thoggle said. “For now, you need no longer concern yourself about it. Castor’s servant has left the valley.”
Stiger wondered how the wizard could be so certain about that.
“Where is Father Thomas?” Stiger asked. He had not heard from or seen the paladin since the Gate room.
“He is where he needs to be,” Thoggle said, “and you are where you need to be.”
Stiger felt the rage bubble up. It took him a moment to get a handle on it. He glanced around the farm once again. If they meant to keep him here, he was sure there were much less pleasant places to be. Being out from under the mountain was a relief. Besides, if he wanted to, he could always sneak off. Eli had taught him how to move stealthily about. Studying the guards’ positions around the farm, Stiger had no doubts he would be able to slip away some dark night.
“Before you consider absconding and making for the hills,” Thoggle said, almost as if he had read Stiger’s thoughts, “I placed a tracking spell upon your person. The thane insisted. Stray more than five miles from this spot and I shall know of it. More importantly, I will know exactly where you are. Trust me, you don’t want me to come looking for you. Since I have personally intervened upon your behalf with the thane, I expect you to behave yourself. Do not make me regret having done so.”
Stiger supposed he had been too transparent. He gave a reluctant nod of understanding.
“Now that we understand each other, I think it time to introduce you to your host.” Thoggle turned and began moving painfully toward the farmhouse. He had a terrible limp and leaned heavily upon his staff with every step.
As Stiger walked with the wizard, he noticed the eyes of the guards positioned around the house upon him. They appeared just as unfriendly as those of the detail who had brought him here.
“The homeowner is a widow,” Thoggle said, “and from what I understand a good and honest person.”
Stiger said nothing as they neared the farmhouse. A deep and terrible sadness took hold. His life and everything he had known was done and over. He stopped. Thoggle stopped also and turned to look back at him, raising an eyebrow in question.
“Are you certain?” Stiger asked. “There is no going back? The future has been irrevocably changed?”
“One can never be certain about anything,” Thoggle said, drumming his fingers on the worn wood of his staff. “You are a man out of his time and, as I’ve already told you, a paradox. I cannot open the World Gate to send you home. I am sorry for that. Truly.”
The wizard turned toward the farmhouse and then hesitated.
“I would ask you not to speak of the future to anyone,” Thoggle said. “Though I suspect much has been altered already, there may yet be the possibility to repair some, if not all, of the damage.”
Stiger’s gaze snapped back to Thoggle at that.
“I need more research to be certain,” Thoggle cautioned. “I promise you I will make every effort to set things right. In fact, your paladin and I will be working on it together.”
The news that Father Thomas would be helping was somewhat encouraging. Though Stiger thought Thoggle did not sound too hopeful.
“Ogg said I was only to speak of such things to you,” Stiger said. “It is why I told you what had occurred prior to our stepping through the Gate.”
“My future apprentice was wise to give you such guidance,” Thoggle said. “By revealing details to anyone else, including the thane, you risk adding to the damage the minion has already wrought.” Thoggle paused and then gave a half scowl. “You may do so only if you feel it is absolutely necessary. And in necessary, I mean life threatening necessary. Then you will tell me after. I will judge whether I must cloud and befuddle their memories. This is very important, especially if I am to even begin to attempt to set things right. Tell me you recognize the importance of such discretion.”
“I understand,” Stiger said, though in truth he could not see how things could get much worse, or what the wizard could do to repair things. Delvaris was dead and there was a minion of Castor out there. Stiger alm
ost shuddered at the thought of such a dread creature on the loose, even if it had left the valley.
Creaking on hinges that were badly in need of an oiling, the door to the farmhouse swung open. Yellowed lamp light spilled out into the yard. A woman in her twenties, in a blue summer dress that had seen better days, stood framed in the doorway. She was a little shorter than Stiger, and somewhat on the skinny side. Her brown hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, opening up her face. She was no beauty, but far from ugly. Plain or just ordinary could be the best way to describe her. Her mouth was turned down in a shallow sort of frown that seemed somehow a permanent feature. Stiger read a deep sadness in her expression, but there was something else there, too. She held herself erect and in a manner that spoke of an inner strength and natural confidence.
“Ah, Sarai,” Thoggle said. “I bid you good evening.”
“Thoggle,” she said in a voice that was firm. Her gaze shifted from the wizard to Stiger. “Is this the man you told me about?”
Stiger found her brown eyes were quite penetrating as she studied him.
“He is indeed. May I introduce Bennulius Stiger.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Stiger said, offering her a slight bow. “Please call me Ben.”
Her expression cracked a little and the frown lines around her mouth loosened a tad. Her eyes lingered upon his face. For some reason he could not fathom, Stiger suddenly felt self-conscious and almost reached up to the scar on his cheek. He had no doubt he was intruding upon her home, and him a rough and tumble soldier. It could not be a comfortable prospect for her to have him under her roof.
“I welcome you to my home,” Sarai said.
“Since I will be imposing upon you,” Stiger said, making a sudden decision, “I will work to earn my keep while I stay with you.”
“That will be most welcome,” Sarai said. “There is always work that’s in need of doing on a farm.”
“I am no stranger to hard work.” Stiger thought she sounded far from convinced. He knew actions spoke louder than words and he would just have to show her.
“Well,” Thoggle said, “I think you two should get on just fine. With that, I believe I will take my leave.”
“I’ve put on a stew. It should be done shortly. Thoggle, would you care to join us for dinner?”
Stiger had not noticed before, but now that she had mentioned it, he could smell the delicious aroma of the stew on the air. The dwarven fare had been bland and overcooked. He felt the rumblings and stirrings of hunger at the prospect of a decent meal.
“As tempting as your kind offer is, unfortunately, my time is most limited,” Thoggle said. “I have responsibilities elsewhere tonight.”
“Another time, then,” she said, sounding disappointed.
Thoggle gave her a half nod.
“Oh, one more thing,” Thoggle said to Stiger. “Captain Aleric, in command of the company protecting you, will be by tomorrow to introduce himself. He was called away to consult with the thane. You can trust him. He is a good and fair officer.”
Stiger gave a nod.
Sarai stepped aside and gestured for Stiger to enter. “Would you care to come in?”
He started forward but was arrested as the wizard reached out a hand.
“Remember what we spoke of.” Thoggle looked at him meaningfully. “Discretion is best.”
“I will remember,” Stiger said and stepped into the house.
Stiger sat up and shook off his sleep. He cracked his neck and looked around, stretching as he did so. He had slept on the kitchen floor by the fire with a couple of blankets and an old pillow. It wasn’t the worst place he had ever slept, but it was better than being under an open sky with nothing other than your arms for a pillow, or being in the barn with the animals. He had done that on occasion and it was never a pleasant experience.
The room was dark with early morning gloom. It was also quite cold. The fire had long since gone out. The stones still radiated heat, but not enough to make any real difference. Stiger looked around. The door to Sarai’s room was closed. Before he had fallen asleep, he had thought he’d her heard her weeping softly. But in truth, he wasn’t quite sure.
He stood and made his way over to one of the shutters and opened it. The hinges squeaked loudly. Stiger almost cringed, for he did not wish to wake Sarai. The sky was lightening with the first rays of dawn. He shivered as the cold outdoor air flooded in. He closed the shutter part way.
With a little bit of light, he cast his gaze around the kitchen. The first order of business was to restart the fire. He laid on several fresh pieces of wood and spent some time rekindling the fire. He was rewarded for his efforts a little while later with a good blaze that snapped and popped in a satisfying manner. The fire rapidly spread its warmth throughout the small kitchen, beating back against the cold.
Stiger picked up the blankets she had given him, folded them neatly, and placed both on the table. He pulled a stool out from under the table and sat down. Stiger stared into the flames, thinking on all he had lost and left behind in the future. There would be no going back. That was certain. More than that, he was bothered by his failure to save Delvaris. It ate at him something terrible. There had been absolutely nothing he could have done to stop the minion from killing the legate of the Thirteenth Legion and yet, even knowing that, it troubled him. Ogg sending him back to this time had been a pointless effort.
The door to the bedroom opened and Sarai peered out.
“Good morning,” Stiger said, standing. “I hope I did not wake you.”
“I am an early riser,” she said. “I’ve always been. Did you sleep well?”
Sarai moved into the kitchen and up to the fire, where she warmed herself. She wore the same dress from the night before. The original blue dye had faded considerably and the fabric appeared a bit threadbare. Despite that, Stiger thought it looked good on her.
“Yes, thank you,” Stiger said and then hesitated. “I regret the necessity for imposing upon you.”
“Think nothing of it,” Sarai said. She waved a hand at him. “Truth be told, my life’s been a little quiet of late. So this is a nice change. It will be good to have another pair of hands around to help manage the farm.” She paused. “Would you care for breakfast? I am going to make some oatmeal.”
“Yes, please,” Stiger said. “Can I help?”
“You’ve already started the fire,” Sarai said and placed a bucket on the table. “Would you mind drawing some fresh water from the well?”
Stiger crossed over to the door and grabbed his boots. He sat back down on the stool as he slipped them on.
“Those are in a sad state,” Sarai said as he laced them up. “I’m good at mending things, but not boots.”
Stiger glanced down and had to agree that his boots appeared quite sad-looking. They were badly scraped and scuffed up. Part of the leather was missing along the side of his left boot, and his foot could be seen underneath. The soles had also worn through in a number of spots. The useful life of his boots was rapidly coming to an end. They had been with Stiger so long that saying goodbye to them would be like losing an old friend.
“I used them hard,” Stiger said. “They saw a lot of marching.”
“You’re a soldier?” She pointed at the sword in the corner. “Thoggle told me not to go near that. He said it was a dangerous relic from another age and only you should be the one to touch it.”
Stiger must have scowled, for she suddenly looked away.
“I should not have pried,” Sarai said. “Thoggle said not to.”
Stiger became irritated with the wizard and decided to throw caution to the wind. She seemed honest enough. He would return that favor with candor of his own.
“Yes,” Stiger said. “I am an officer in the emperor’s service. Or at least I was.”
“Mal’Zeel?” She said. “Until your legion arrived, Mal’Zeel was just a distant place that people spoke of occasionally.”
“The Thirteenth is here?
” Stiger asked, suddenly interested. “In the Vrell Valley?”
She nodded. “Their encampment is just a few miles away. I’ve even seen your legionaries at the market in Venera.”
Stiger sat back on the stool as he considered what she said. After a moment, he decided it did not much matter. It wasn’t his legion, but Delvaris’s. Stiger’s time as a soldier was over. He stood and grabbed the bucket and stepped outside. A dwarf standing guard near the door looked over and their eyes met. Stiger saw no warmth there, just wary caution.
Ignoring the guard, he started across the farm yard to the well. This was the first time he had seen the farm by the light of day. The barn had boards that were rotting away and the clay-shingled roof needed some serious attention. Everywhere he looked, from the pigpen to the chicken coop, the farm had a rundown look to it. He could readily see the rough patchwork Sarai had done. He glanced back to the house. It needed work as well. Stiger had learned it took a lot of labor to maintain a farm. Managing it by herself, it appeared as if Sarai was just barely holding on.
Stiger turned his attention back to the task at hand. A bucket was attached to a rope and sat on the ground next to the well. Using the rope, Stiger gently lowered the bucket down to the bottom, where he jerked it to get some water inside and then hauled it up. He repeated the process several times until the bucket Sarai had given him was full. He gazed around the farm once again. The planted fields were neat and well kept. Beyond that, weeds were nearly everywhere, with ivy even growing up the side of the barn. Ivy could be destructive.
He might be a prisoner, but at least he could make himself useful here.
Stiger walked back to the house and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Sarai took the bucket and poured the water into a copper pot and then carefully hung it over the fire from one of the chains. She turned and looked back at him for a long silent moment. Oddly, Stiger felt somewhat uncomfortable and shifted his feet. He was suddenly reminded of his mother looking down her nose at him when he was a child. Stiger’s mother had been a strong, stern woman, almost as unforgiving as his father. But she had given him one thing, and that had been her unconditional love. For that, Stiger would be eternally grateful to her, for he had not gotten any from his father.
The Tiger's Time (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 4) Page 3