“Why not?”
“Knowledge is power,” Father Thomas said. “As a son of a great house, you above all people should recognize that. It is no different in my profession; sometimes a little information can make all the difference.”
Stiger thought on what Father Thomas had just told him, kicking at a small tuft of grass. The paladin, having picked up a stick, used it to part some of the brush that grew over the mound that had once been the back wall.
“The statue may still be under this.” Father Thomas sounded hopeful as he probed with his stick. “Though I imagine it is in a thousand pieces by now.”
“You order has recorded events from when this city was populated?” Stiger said.
“We have a few accounts from that time, mostly fragmentary at best.” Father Thomas looked over and then returned to surveying the mound, covered in a mass of entangled greenery. An oak tree grew out of the very top of the pile. “My order did not arise until after the founding of the empire.”
Stiger had suspected as much. He glanced around and then turned his attention back to the paladin.
“I do not agree with the church’s practice of withholding information,” Stiger said. “Most histories of the empire’s founding were written hundreds of years after the events had occurred. Essentially, the historians were recording spoken tales that had been passed down through families or referencing older works that no longer exist. My tutors pointed this out. They taught me to question everything as a way to determine fact from fiction and to better make an informed opinion. As such, it makes the veracity of those histories hard to verify. We don’t know what actually is true. Think of everything your order’s accounts could teach from this time and those of the early empire.”
“My son,” Father Thomas said, straightening up and turning to face Stiger. “Though I find your argument is cogent and I fully sympathize, some things were deemed best forgotten, lest they lead to trouble.”
And there it was. Someone had made the decision. Stiger wondered who it had been. The church? One of the emperors? A wizard?
“I recall what Ogg had said,” Stiger said. “Specifically, steps were taken so that our people intentionally forgot the past or really our coming to this world. Is that part of it?”
“Yes.”
“That, too,” Stiger said, “in my opinion, was a mistake. Had we known, think how better prepared we could have been.”
“The same goes for our enemies, as well,” Father Thomas said, and then heaved a great sigh. “Would you have better armed them with information?” Father Thomas paused, giving Stiger a long look. “Well, there is nothing to be done about it now. Those decisions were made centuries before you and I were born. We have to work with what we have been given.”
“I suppose,” Stiger said, still unhappy. There was so much that he did not know.
The paladin returned to his explorations of the temple. Stiger, hot from their hike to the temple, simply watched. He could hear his escort farther back, obscured by the brush, talking amongst themselves. It sounded as if they were playing a game of dice.
Like a young boy, Father Thomas in his excitement scrambled up the mound where the altar would have been. He worked his way through the plants and brush until he reached the tree at the top, a young oak. The mound was only six or seven feet high. Holding onto the trunk, he looked in all directions. Stiger down below had his view obscured by the brush and ruins and could not see anything beyond a few feet.
“Do you realize,” Father Thomas said, “that this city was once a place where our people lived with the dwarves, in unity and harmony?”
“Not until we came here,” Stiger said. “Heck, until we came to Vrell I had no idea that dwarves were real or, for that matter, that Rome was anything but myth and legend, a fabled city lost to the ravages of time. Again, that knowledge should never have been suppressed.”
Father Thomas seemed to deflate a little at that. “Only a select few were permitted to know the truth. It was for the best, or perhaps really it was meant with the finest of intentions.”
Father Thomas climbed down and stepped up to Stiger. He cast a glance toward the legionaries, who were half hidden by brush, and lowered his voice.
“Our kind, humans,” Father Thomas said, “as you are aware, have been known to serve more than one god, including the dark ones. I know you know this for a fact, because of your experiences with Father Griggs in the North.” Father Thomas took a breath, clearly considering what he wanted to say next. “It was thought at the time by those in power that it might be best to forget certain things,” Father Thomas said and held his arms out to indicate the temple and, by extension, the city, “so that when it mattered, and the time came for such things to be remembered, those who held the knowledge would have the advantage.”
“It certainly doesn’t feel like we have the upper hand,” Stiger said. “It seems to me when it mattered most, Castor’s minions have always been one step ahead of us. I would point to the death of Delvaris as an example of this.”
“It certainly appears that way, but you must have faith, my son. Castor has expended great power attempting to take the advantage away from us, to hinder our ability to fulfill what must come.” Father Thomas laid a hand upon Stiger’s shoulder. “With each defeat, he becomes weaker on this world and our side grows in strength. Look at the allies we have gained.”
Stiger gave a reluctant nod.
“You must also consider,” Father Thomas said, almost as an afterthought, “that there are other alignments that are working against both us and Castor, such as Valoor.”
“The Cyphan,” Stiger said, as he thought on what Father Thomas had just said. He snapped his fingers. “And the Rivan?”
“They and their gods have an interest in what we pursue as well,” Father Thomas said. “You should also know we are not the only ones working to make sure that things succeed in favor of the High Father and our alignment.”
“What?” Stiger’s head came up. “Who?”
Father Thomas withdrew his hand and studied Stiger a long moment. “My son, I don’t know everything, but prior to us stepping through the World Gate, there was another paladin, Father Orsin, who was dispatched to assist them. Please don’t ask me more on this, for, in truth, that is all I was permitted to know.”
Stiger was intrigued to hear this, but as the future had already been altered, he was unsure what effect, if any, this would have on their current circumstance and plight.
“Now,” Father Thomas said, “shall we pray, for we came not just to sightsee, but also to pay our respects.”
The paladin bowed his head in silent prayer.
Stiger eyed him a moment and took his cue. He also bowed his head.
High Father, Stiger prayed silently, thank you for allowing me to see your temple, and this city where Karus and Amarra lived. I thank you for your favor and ask that it continues. If at all possible, please help these talks show some fruit. In my absence, please look after Sarai and help me make a speedy return to her.
He was about to add to his prayer when a shout drew his attention back the way they had come. Father Thomas looked over as well, a scowl upon his face.
“Where is the legate?” a voice hollered insistently.
“Over there,” one of his escort answered.
Stiger spared a glance with Father Thomas and then made his way in the direction of the person looking for him. He pushed through brush and came face to face with a legionary coming the other way. The man was out of breath and sweaty, his cheeks heavily flushed. He had clearly run here.
The legionary snapped to attention and offered a salute. Stiger waved it away.
“Speak,” Stiger ordered, wondering with no little amount of trepidation what bad news the man carried.
“Centurion Pixus ordered me to report the orcs are arriving, sir,” the man said. “He asked me to bring you right away, sir. The thane would like you present before they arrive. He told me to emphasize that point.”
Stiger, feeling some relief at there being no bad news, looked back at Father Thomas, who had followed him. “It seems our explorations and respects are to be cut short.”
“I have fulfilled one of my lifelong desires,” Father Thomas said, no hint of disappointment in his tone. “I should very much like to return to this hallowed place. Perhaps there shall be time later?”
“Maybe,” Stiger said. “If you do manage it, kindly say a prayer for me and Sarai.”
“That I will gladly do, my son,” Father Thomas said and flashed Stiger a cheerful smile.
“Dog,” Stiger called, not seeing the animal. “Come.”
There was a loud rustling of brush and Dog emerged, a good-sized hare in his jaws. He padded happily up to Stiger and dropped the dead animal at his feet, almost as if it were an offering. Dog wagged his tail with seeming satisfaction.
“Good catch,” Stiger said and bent down to pick up the hare. He tossed it to one of the men of the file, who caught it. He knew the men would appreciate the break in their rations. “When you cook it tonight, see that Dog here gets some.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said. “Thank you, sir.”
“That suit you?” Stiger asked Dog, for he had just given away the animal’s kill.
Dog gave a clipped bark, tail still wagging.
“Lead on,” Stiger said to the legionary. His escort, having picked up their shields, closed up around them.
“Yes, sir,” the legionary said. “I will show you the way, sir.”
They worked their way out of the ruins of the temple and onto the remains of an overgrown street. It had once been paved, but tall grass and brush now choked it. The remaining paving stones were few, and only a handful even remained visible. The collapsed buildings lining the road were now mostly covered mounds, with a few walls poking up out of the ground. The mounds looked uncomfortably like overly large graves. They were everywhere one looked.
The legionary led Stiger, Father Thomas, and the escort through the city on an unerring course. After about a half mile, they came to what Stiger thought could have been the remains of a central, open forum that was mostly free of the choking brush. But in truth, it could have simply been a crossroads. Time had been hard on the city.
It was here they found the dwarves.
Captain Taithun had formed his warriors up into a line four deep. Standards for both the thane and clan fluttered under a slight breeze. These had been set into the ground just to the front of the formation. The sight of the dwarven escort was striking, especially after the sun poked out from behind a cloud. Sunlight reflected off the dwarves’ armor like little blinding flashes of lightning. Fifth Century was notably absent. Only Pixus and Sabinus were present.
Brogan, Jorthan, and Taithun were standing with the two centurions, casually talking. As he walked up, Stiger wondered where the remainder of the men were.
“Legate and Father Thomas, so good of you both to join us,” Brogan said, turning. “I trust you were able to find the High Father’s temple?”
“We did,” Father Thomas said. “It was a true blessing to spend a few minutes there.”
“Very good,” the thane said and then turned to the business at hand. “My pioneers have informed me Therik’s party has entered the outer city and should be joining us shortly. It seems that the orc king has remained true to his word. We have been unable to detect anyone attempting either to enter the city or, for that matter, skulking about. They assure me we will have sufficient warning to return to the safety of the tunnels should Therik attempt to cross us.”
“That certainly is good news,” Stiger said. He again wondered how competent Hogan and his pioneers were. Had they missed something? He certainly hoped not. Stiger excused himself and stepped aside to speak with the two centurions as Father Thomas engaged Jorthan and the thane in conversation on what they knew concerning the abandonment of the city.
“Where are the men?” Stiger asked.
“Setting up a fortified encampment,” Sabinus said, “as you ordered, sir.”
“We found the remains of a large building. It was possibly a warehouse, but you can’t tell for sure,” Pixus said and pointed behind them. Through the brush and trees, Stiger could see nothing. “It is about two hundred yards that way. I hope you don’t mind, sir. I selected it as our campsite. The walls only come up to your lower chest.” Pixus used his hand to demonstrate the height. “But they run almost all the way around. More importantly, they are in relatively good shape and solid. As we speak, my boys are cleaning out the interior and digging a trench around the outside. Tents will be last, after we have our defenses in place.”
“Excellent work,” Stiger said. He was pleased to learn Pixus was using what was available to them to make the encampment that much better fortified. He glanced up at the sky. Dusk was only a couple of hours off. He wondered how secure the camp would be by nightfall. “I am certain the site you picked is more than acceptable.”
“It should take us three to four hours, sir,” Pixus said, as if he had read Stiger’s thoughts. “Our camp should be in good shape by then.”
“Taithun seemed a little put out,” Sabinus said, with a glance over at the captain.
“About what?” Stiger asked.
“I think the dwarves are not too pleased with us digging in, sir,” Pixus said. “He gave me a little grief about it. Seems to think it might give Therik’s bunch the wrong idea.”
“Taithun also seemed to take it as an insult to their pioneers’ skill, sir,” Sabinus said. “At least until I explained to him that what Fifth Century was doing was only standard procedure. He still did not like it.”
“I see,” Stiger said, and glanced over at the dwarves. “Well, I would not worry too much about what Taithun thinks. Should the thane complain, I will handle it. Better to be safe than sorry. Understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Pixus said.
They come.
Like an out-of-control wagon on a steep hill, Rarokan’s presence returned. The rage, hunger, and yearning for blood flowed as a torrent of emotion into Stiger’s being. So strong was the tide of emotion that his knees went weak and he almost fell. Stiger felt his hand, of its own accord, reach for the hilt. He struggled to stop it. With not a little effort, he managed to pull his hand away.
Give them what they deserve—death.
Stop that, Stiger shouted silently at the sword and pushed back, trying to plug the flood of emotion with his willpower alone. Instantly, the rage and eagerness for bloodshed withdrew, or perhaps he had somehow forced it back. Stiger was not sure. However, the presence of Rarokan remained, hovering on the edge of his awareness.
As you wish.
“Are you all right, sir?” Sabinus asked.
“Yes, yes I am.” Glancing at the hand that had gone for the sword, Stiger knew he was not fine. Rarokan had sought to gain control. It had almost succeeded.
“You’ve gone very pale, sir,” Sabinus said, his concern plain. “And for a moment there, I thought you might collapse. Are you certain you are fine? Have you drunk enough water today?”
“I have a headache,” Stiger said, hoping it was a sufficient enough excuse. “It’s being out in the sun, after days spent underground in dim lighting. That’s all.”
In the hopes they would let the matter drop, he took several steps away from the two officers. He felt their worried eyes upon him and did his best to act as if nothing had happened. Father Thomas broke off his conversation and stepped over to him, a similar look of concern written on his face.
“I felt that,” Father Thomas said without preamble. The paladin shot a wary glance down at the sword. “I felt the upwelling of power. What happened?”
“Rarokan,” Stiger said quietly to the paladin. “He senses the orcs approach. He wants blood, and very badly, too.”
“I see.” The look of concern in Father Thomas’s expression only deepened. “I fear he desires much more than that.”
“The sword’s hatred caug
ht me by surprise, is all,” Stiger said. Honesty was the best policy, particularly if he wanted to keep his mind. “I tell you, it was difficult to withstand. He sought to control me.”
“You must resist him,” Father Thomas said, “fight against him with all of your being and deny Rarokan the control he seeks.”
“Easier said than done,” Stiger said.
“Use your heart.” Father Thomas laid a hand upon Stiger’s chest armor, next to the torc he had taken in battle.
“My heart?”
“Your love for the High Father, for Sarai, for your empire, whatever works,” the paladin said. “Think of that first. There is power in love. Use it as a weapon. When it becomes difficult to withstand, as it just was, you can always seek out help, and ask for it. Our god will listen and lend you strength.”
Stiger felt himself frown at the paladin. Father Thomas wanted him to pray when the sword assaulted his mind? It sounded absurd. Stiger regarded the paladin for several heartbeats, understanding the paladin was deadly serious in his advice.
“I shall keep it in mind.”
“Do so,” the paladin said. “Much counts on you wielding the sword, not the other way around.”
A shout rang out. Their heads turned. Therik’s party had come into view, moving around a ruin barely thirty yards distant and entering the forum.
“Thoggle warned me this may happen,” Father Thomas said. “I am here for you and will do what I can to help. Do not hesitate to call upon me. There are certain things I can do to render you assistance. Do you understand me?”
Stiger gave a grateful nod and then turned to study the approaching orcs. There were around twenty of them. They didn’t march in formation, but walked in an unorganized group. They looked nothing like the warriors that Stiger had fought. These did not have the wild, outlandish dress or appearance he had come to expect. Instead they were dressed as civilized beings, wearing an assortment of tunics, pants, and shirts. Only a handful wore armor. The orcs were still alien-looking, but it was a shock not to see them dressed in a crazed manner or maddened by battle rage, with hair limed back and eager to throw themselves upon the shield wall.
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