Stiger looked down the tunnel, beyond the shield wall. It was hard to clearly see, but there had to be more than a thousand of the enemy, all packed tightly together. Those who had not yet seen action were waiting their turn or pushing their way forward to join the fight.
Stiger continued to back up with the line. Then he stepped into the junction. A large magical lantern hung above, brightly illuminating the center of the crossroads. He glanced down the side roads. Both were completely dark, without any light whatsoever. He could not quite remember coming through here but wasn’t sure. Much of the underground looked the same, with many of the minor road junctions they passed appearing just like this one.
Stiger glanced behind to make sure the dwarves had gotten the wounded to the other side of the crossroads. They had and were continuing to help them farther up the tunnel. Brogan had formed twenty of his dwarves in a line just beyond the junction. Theo stood with them.
Brogan joined Stiger, both silently watching the fighting.
Dog was glued to Stiger’s hip. Ever since the fighting had begun, he had stuck close at hand. Stiger spared a quick glance downward. Dog’s attention was on the fighting, reminding him that was where Stiger’s attention should be.
Stiger returned his gaze to the action and watched silently. Sabinus unexpectedly swapped ranks, breaking the routine Pixus had developed. Instead of calling a halt, he did the rotation on the move. The maneuver was pulled off flawlessly and seemed to catch the enemy by surprise. A moment later the third rank, which had just been the first, turned and jogged up the road, through the junction and past Stiger. Mectillius ran with them. The men looked haggard and tired. Even in the chill underground air, they were drenched with sweat. A number bled from minor cuts and wounds.
The enemy, realizing something was up, gave a massed shout and pushed at the legionary line, which was now only two ranks deep. At this moment, Sabinus gave the order to attack and the legionaries shoved forward, the second rank helping to push the first. They gave it all that they could. Shields hammered violently at the orcs. The deadly short swords punched out. Those in the second rank who still had javelins stabbed over the first rank at the enemy. Orcs screamed and attempted to strike back. It was an unequal contest. The legionaries had the better equipment, and the legionary shield was superior to anything the orcs carried. The legionary shield wasn’t just a defensive tool, but a deadly weapon that could do fearsome damage in the right hands.
“Push!” roared Sabinus. “Push them!”
The noise in the tunnel increased in volume. Shouting, the men of Fifth Century pushed and then pushed again, attempting to give the enemy a shove backwards. It was incredible to watch, an inferior force attempting to bully a larger one. The enemy at first did not give. Then there was a little movement. That tiny bit of movement grew into a full step forward by the shield wall and then another.
As Stiger had hoped, the pressure along the line eased with every step. Sabinus kept the pressure up, screaming to the men to push. The legionaries advanced perhaps five yards, leaving a swath of enemy bodies behind them. Then the enemy gave fully and began backing up faster than the line could steadily advance. The noise in the tunnel quieted dramatically as the enemy disengaged.
Stiger found their backpedaling an encouraging sign, for it meant the enemy were also nearing their breaking point.
“Halt!” Sabinus brought his formation to a stop. He looked first left and then right, clearly making sure the line had stopped. “First and second ranks . . . about face.” He paused, waiting for the movement to be completed. “On the double, march!”
Stiger turned to look back on the third rank, only ten yards away. They had reformed the line under Mectillius’s direction and were waiting just ahead of the dwarven reserve.
Armor jingling and chinking, Sabinus and the men rapidly passed Brogan, Stiger, and Dog by. Sabinus jogged by as well. The orcs gave a howl of outrage but did not advance.
“Time to go, I think,” Stiger said.
“Agreed,” Brogan said, eyeing the enemy, who were just watching them.
They jogged to the safety of the new line. The men stepped aside to admit them, and Stiger made his way through the press to the rear. He turned back to watch.
A large orc, Stiger suspected the same he had seen earlier, stepped to the front of the enemy. He began shouting in what Stiger took to be the orc tongue and pointed a large sword at the new line. The orcs and humans amongst them roared like animals and charged.
“Shields up,” Mectillius shouted.
Stiger glanced up at the ceiling, judging its height, and then he looked over the formation. There were around twenty who still had missile weapons.
“Javelins,” Stiger shouted as loud as he could. “Watch the ceiling! Make your toss count. Release at will!”
Moments later, the javelins began to fly. The first landed short, skittering harmlessly across the road. The next took a human full on in the chest. He fell and was immediately trampled by the charging mass. Most of the rest hit home, causing another dozen or more casualties. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
The orcs slammed into the shield wall. The men of the new first rank threw their shoulders into it as the orcs pushed and battered at the shields. Those in the second rank helped to hold the first in place. A few were forced back a step, but they redoubled their efforts and bashed back at the enemy. Swords jabbed out, seeking flesh and finding it. A hammer reached over a legionary’s shield and connected with his helmet. The man went down. Without missing a beat, the legionary behind him took his place on the line.
The momentum of the charge forced those of the enemy at the front to be crushed against the shield wall. So tight was the press of bodies that most were unable to use their weapons and were helpless as the vicious legionary short swords repeatedly darted out, stabbing away remorselessly.
“That was a neat bit of work,” Brogan shouted at Stiger.
Stiger glanced over at the thane to reply and was startled to find someone unexpected between him and Brogan. Stiger’s hand went for his sword, as did Brogan’s. Then Stiger relaxed a moment as he realized it was a gnome. He wore only a simple black tunic, but was armed with a small sword, a little shorter than a gladius. Stiger noticed Brogan relax as well.
But what was he doing here?
The little creature looked between the thane and Stiger, black, emotionless eyes inscrutable. Then, slowly, a cruel smile formed on its face. The gnome showed its tiny needle-sharp teeth. It said something that Stiger could not hear.
“What did you say?” Stiger asked in dwarven.
“Watch,” the gnome shouted, in a squeaky voice that was hard to hear over the noise of the fight. Its smile grew wider. “Nasty orcs in trouble. Tunnel go boom.”
Stiger’s eyes snapped forward. He made a move for Sabinus to warn him, but a fraction of a moment later there was a tremendous earth-shaking roar that nearly tossed him from his feet. The shockwave of air followed a heartbeat later, then a wall of dust propelled by a hot gust of wind blew over them.
Stiger clapped his hands to his ears as they rang painfully. He was dazed and couldn’t see. The dust cloud completely obscured the light of the tunnel. It was as if the blackest of nights had suddenly descended down upon them. He staggered backwards, wondering what the gnomes had done. Then it hit him and he recalled the exploding clay jars they had fired from their catapult. It was clear using their blasting powder that they had collapsed the tunnel somewhere ahead of his formation. There was a secondary crash that rumbled the road violently under his feet. More of the tunnel must have come down. The rumbling died off.
After several moments, the ringing in his ears began to subside as well. Stiger’s ears popped. He was able to hear cries of alarm and shouts of pain. He coughed on the choking dust, as did many others. Then, mercifully, the dust cloud began to thin just a little. The light from the magical lanterns returned. Stiger was able to see the light from the junction ahead. It was as if he were in
a thick early morning fog of dust. It caused the lungs to burn and eyes to tear. Half of the legionaries had fallen. Dazed, some were in the process of picking themselves up. Just ahead, several hundred of the enemy were doing the same thing.
“Gods no.” Stiger’s stomach did a backflip.
The gnomes had collapsed the tunnel behind the orcs, not on them, not over the junction itself. Though they had gotten some of the enemy, they’d not gotten them all.
“Shields!” Stiger shouted as loud as he could. Coughing, he rushed forward. “On your feet. Shields up!”
Only a handful of legionaries responded. Stiger knew time was not on his side. They were still terribly outnumbered.
“Reform, reform, hurry,” Stiger shouted in between hacking from the dust. He shook several legionaries to get their attention. “Shields up, bring the line back together. Quickly now!”
“Get in a line,” Sabinus shouted, joining him.
From head to toe, everyone was covered in a layer of white dust. The legionaries looked like ghosts as the line slowly began to reform. Not only were the legionaries of Fifth Century exhausted, but many were also thoroughly dazed and confused by what had just happened.
The dust cloud was rapidly settling down. Stiger’s eyes swept over the enemy. They seemed in a similar state. Stiger heard an orc roaring what seemed like orders in his own tongue. He quickly spotted the creature. Stiger went cold. He wasn’t certain, but covered in white dust the orc looked like Therik. He was busy dragging dazed and cowering orcs to their feet.
“Reform!” Stiger shouted, voice cracking from the shouting and dust. He hacked for a moment. “Hurry—”
A massed screeching shout stopped him in his tracks. Out of the darkness from both sides of the connecting road at the junction came thousands of gnomes charging madly forward. Like a tidal wave, they swept over the dazed and confused orcs. Stiger and the legionaries simply watched in numb exhaustion and shock. Bearing swords slightly shorter than a gladius, the gnomes took apart the orcs with a ferocity and intensity that was absolutely stunning. Stiger had never seen anything quite like it and had difficulty tearing his eyes away from the spectacle, which was over in a shockingly short time.
“It was big boom.” Unnoticed, the gnome had come to stand next to him. Stiger glanced down. The gnome was looking on his brethren with what Stiger took to be more than a little satisfaction. “Surprise orcs, surprise humans”—it shot a glance at Brogan—“and surprise dvergr.” The gnome snickered wickedly.
“It was a good,” Stiger said in dwarven, suddenly finding himself grinning at the bloodthirsty little creature. “I think an unwelcome surprise to the orcs.”
“Yes, yes,” the gnome said, laughing in a high-pitched, squeaky kind of way. “Orcs very surprised. It was good joke on them. Ha, ha.”
“I’m not sure they saw the joke,” Stiger said.
“No,” the gnome said and heaved a sigh, seeming to deflate a little. “They no have humor.”
Brogan joined them. Hands on his hips, he looked over the carnage. The gnomes had killed every one of the enemy and were now busy either looting the bodies or dismembering and mutilating them.
Brogan turned his gaze onto the gnome, scowling. Though they had been delivered, and saved, Stiger thought the thane did not seem very pleased by the unexpected turn of events.
Dog padded up and started licking at the gnome’s face, removing the white dust with each swipe from his tongue. The little creature gave a surprised laugh and patted the animal affectionately on the head.
“Good dog,” the gnome said and glanced up at Stiger. “We like dogs.”
“Dog, down,” Stiger said. Dog ceased his licking of the gnome and sat down on his haunches.
The gnome reached out a small hand and patted the animal’s side. Sitting or standing, Dog was taller than the gnome.
“I wish to thank you for your timely arrival,” Stiger said. “I would know your name?”
The gnome looked up at him in what Stiger took to be surprise. A moment later, the gnome grinned and glanced over to Brogan.
“That,” Brogan said, before the gnome could respond, “is Cragg. He is an outcast, even amongst his own kind. He styles himself a leader, but on most days, he is nothing more than a bandit.”
“Bandit?” Cragg squeaked and pointed at his fellows. “I am leader.”
Stiger’s eyes went wide at the name. Could it be this was the same gnome he had known in the future? Were they that long-lived?
“A bandit,” Brogan repeated.
“I good bandit,” Cragg said indignantly, pointing a finger at himself. He then shook it at Brogan. “Bandit, no more. I save thane’s life. You reward, no?”
Brogan looked thoroughly dissatisfied and unhappy. Gnome and thane stared at each other for several long moments.
“If I pardon you and your followers,” Brogan said in a tired tone, “your people will object. There will be trouble for years to come.”
“My people are sheep,” Cragg said, seeming to push for his opportunity while the event was still fresh in the thane’s mind. “They do nothing. I am rightful kluge. You reward me, now. I keep the people in order. You no worry. No worry.”
Brogan worked his jaw a moment, glanced over at Stiger and then back to the gnome.
“I’d say he certainly earned a reward,” Stiger said. “We were in serious trouble until his lot arrived.”
“Oh, very well,” Brogan said. “As you say, you are kluge.”
The gnome gave a little jump for joy and then skittered away, dodging around legionaries and out amongst his own kind. The gnomes were still happily looting the dead. The legionaries looked on in numb shock, not quite believing they had been delivered.
The dust wasn’t as thick, but it was still settling. Stiger could now see the road that had just come down. Around ten yards from the junction, it had been completely collapsed. Stiger wondered how many orcs had been crushed as the tunnel fell on them.
Cragg climbed onto the body of an orc that had fallen atop another, standing proudly upon its chest. It was a good perch for all of the gnomes to see him. He shouted something in what Stiger thought might be gnomish. The gnomes stopped what they were doing. All turned to look upon him. Once he had their attention, Cragg let out a long string of speech that lasted for a bit. He concluded by pumping a fist up into the air.
Silence followed but lasted only for a heartbeat. The gnomes began shouting wildly, jumping about in celebration. They punched their little swords and fists up into the air excitedly. The shouting solidified into a name.
“Cragg! Cragg! Cragg!” they shouted in unison, over and over again.
“I fear,” Brogan said, “I may live to regret this.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fifteen hours had passed since the gnome ambush. Stiger tied off the saddlebag, using a double knot to fasten it securely to his saddle. Misty stomped a hoof repeatedly. With all of the activity in the tunnel and the familiar weight of the saddle, she knew they were close to setting out and was more than eager to be off.
“Easy, girl,” he soothed as he looked over the horse, making certain everything was where it needed to be.
Misty pawed at the ground and then looked around at him, clearly wondering what the holdup was.
“We will be on the move soon enough,” Stiger said, patting her neck affectionately. “Your old, comfortable barn is waiting. There will be plenty of hay and oats. On that I promise.”
He gave the saddle a hard tug and sure enough found it loose. Misty had been holding her breath once again.
“Trying to pull one over on me, are you?” Stiger asked the horse. The old leather of the saddle creaked slightly as he tightened the saddle straps. The horse whinnied, as if laughing at the joke at his expense.
Stiger next checked the animal’s hooves for rocks or debris. Thankfully, they were clean and no picking was required. Satisfied all was in order, Stiger glanced around.
Sabinus was finishing up w
ith his horse as well. Just behind the centurion, the survivors of Fifth Century prepared themselves for march. A series of gnome carts and wagons pulled by ponies had arrived an hour before. These were for the wounded. Blankets had been laid down in the beds to help make the ride a little more comfortable. Under the supervision of Father Thomas, the wounded were being carefully loaded.
The dwarves themselves were also preparing to depart. Now that the danger was past, both groups would be going their separate ways. Stiger had mixed feelings about that but understood why it was necessary. There was much to do and little time.
He cracked his neck, attempting to work out a crick. Sleeping on the hard stone of the road had taken its toll. Despite having rested at least twelve hours, he was still tired. Stiger glanced down the road, toward the junction where the gnomes had slaughtered the orcs, perhaps two hundred yards away.
The bodies of the dead lay where they had fallen. A handful of gnomes were combing through the bodies, poking about. At this point, the bodies had been thoroughly looted—what the gnomes were looking for, Stiger had no idea. He himself had searched through the dead, looking intently for Therik. He hadn’t found the king’s body. Stiger had reluctantly come to the conclusion the orc he had seen had not been the king. Was Therik buried under tons of rock? Or, more likely, was he still out there and on the loose?
Stiger turned his gaze back to the legionaries. Of Fifth Century, only twenty-two men were fit for service. Another twenty-one had been injured, with wounds ranging from light to serious. A good number of those who had held the line had been wounded in one way or another. Twelve of those could no longer move under their own power. After consulting with Brogan, Stiger had made the decision that all of the wounded would be brought back to Old City by the gnomes. This included any walking wounded. Thirty-seven men had not made it. The underground would forevermore be their tomb.
Stiger rubbed at his stubbled jaw. He badly needed not only a shave, but a proper toilet. He had given his armor a light cleaning, but, like him, it needed more attention. It would be good to properly clean up.
The Tiger's Time (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 4) Page 41