Stiger turned his gaze around, looking over all four walls. The scene was the same. Legionaries fought using their shields and the barricade for cover. They jabbed and poked with their swords at orcs who made it to the top of the barricade, even as they struggled to throw the ladders back off the wall.
A cry from a dragon caught Stiger’s attention. His heart dropped at the sound of it. The fighting everywhere paused. All eyes turned skyward.
A wyrm dove toward the ground less than a quarter mile away, its wings tucked back and flying at great speed. It was heading south and away from the battle. Close behind it were the two noctalum. They were gaining on the smaller dragon. It was a very satisfying sight. Stiger hoped they caught the dread creature, for he did not want to face any more wyrms.
Stiger made for the south wall and climbed to the top, near the ruined gate. He had to step over several bodies. The stench of burned flesh was nauseating. At the top, he found there were no scaling ladders within ten yards. He glanced over the side, looking down at the enemy. They had bridged the trench in several places and thrown up ladders against the walls. Additional ladders were being worked across the trench. Stiger studied the walls for a long moment. The legion was holding.
A solid-sounding thud from one of the other gates told Stiger the enemy had begun to use their battering rams. His gaze went back to the breached gate. An entire cohort stood firm before it, shields to the front. The enemy pressed against the shield wall, beating away with swords and hammers. Short swords regularly darted out at them, taking a terrible toll.
Stiger’s gaze went to the enemy beyond the walls. Most were still in the formations they had arrived in. They stood in well-organized ranks and watched the assault unfolding before them. With the breach in the walls and the enemy’s great numbers, Stiger understood the defense of the encampment was ultimately doomed. The question was, how long could they hold? And how long ‘til Brogan and Sabinus arrived? If they arrived.
Stiger heard something. It was a low humming sound that grew to a loud crescendo, almost drowning out the sound of the fight. He had never heard anything like it. He moved along the wall behind the defenders toward where he thought the sound was coming from. Therik followed and together they worked their way farther along the wall, just behind those fighting to keep the enemy from climbing over.
Stiger came to the corner of the wall and looked over toward the forest. The sound of the humming had intensified. It seemed to vibrate the air and made the hair on his arms stand on end.
What magic was this?
“What’s making that racket?” Salt asked. The camp prefect had come to investigate himself.
“I don’t know.” Stiger studied the enemy along the wall at this spot. A hundred yards of open ground lay between them and the edge of the forest. Stumps from hundreds of trees bore mute evidence of the forest being cut back by the legion. These unfortunate trees had been used in the construction of the encampment. Entire formations with hundreds of orcs were waiting their turn for the ladders amongst the sea of stumps.
Stiger’s eyes fell upon the nearest. The orcs seemed unsettled by the humming and it showed with their assault along this wall. The intensity of the attack died off. The formation incredibly disintegrated before his eyes as the orcs broke ranks, at least five hundred of them. They began moving hurriedly away from the forest side of the encampment.
“Gnomes,” Therik breathed.
Stiger glanced over at Therik and saw his eyes wide with the horror.
The humming sound increased.
Stiger saw movement amongst the trees. The first few gnomes emerged. Hundreds came into view and then thousands. Dozens of gnomes rode on the backs of large dogs and moved in concert, much like a cavalry squadron. Stiger realized after a moment that they weren’t riding dogs, but wolves. They carried spears the size of a javelin.
The gnomes continued to hum as even more of their kind stepped from the cover of the trees. One gnome walked forward and out into the field of tree stumps that had moments before been occupied by orcs. The gnome climbed up on an unusually large stump. He wore a chest plate that was painted black.
Now that Stiger noticed it, he saw many of the gnomes wore similar armor. The gnomes had painted their armor in many different colors. Blue, green, yellow, red, and orange were just some of the colors. The army of thousands of diminutive figures in their brightly painted armor under a bright sun was a rainbow of color. But there was only one in black. Stiger suspected it was Cragg.
The gnome stood for several heartbeats and looked upon the orcs streaming away from his army. He slowly pulled forth his sword, looked back upon his people, and then pointed it at the enemy. The gnomes exploded forward, rushing toward the retreating orcs.
Stiger shook his head. He had expected Brogan and Sabinus to relieve them, but certainly not the gnomes. There were tens of thousands of the tiny creatures. They swarmed out of the forest, charging forward and after the retreating orcs. Upon reaching the enemy, the gnomes tore into the orcs. Entire formations that had not yet broken now fell apart. Others, showing more discipline, turned to face the unexpected assault and attempted to withstand the tide of diminutive rage.
Still the gnomes came, emerging from the forest in a great wave. They screamed their high-pitched voices hoarse, while at the same time many hummed their unsettling war cry. Stiger found it hard to look away. The violence of the assault was incredible—astonishing, even.
A series of horns rang out from the east. Stiger turned his head to look. He had to move back to the south wall to see what was going on. When he got there, he saw Brogan’s army lined up in battle formation, company upon company stacked up in neat, organized blocks. Standards fluttered in the early afternoon air as the dwarven army advanced.
Stiger could just hear their heavy footfalls as thousands of dwarves marched forward in perfect step. With them, Stiger saw the standard of First Century. To the side of Brogan’s battle line, Hux’s cavalry maneuvered. Their wicked-looking lance tips glittered in the sunlight. The cavalry had formed a double line and were wheeling about for a charge at the enemy’s flank.
The relief Stiger felt was intense. He closed his eyes and offered up a prayer of thanks to the High Father for their deliverance, for the enemy was now caught between two armies, one gnomish and the other dwarven and human.
There was a deep boom, as if a lightning bolt had struck close by. Stiger’s eyes snapped open. Another boom followed, more ominous than the first.
The minion, along with Cetrite the priest and Hommand, stood with half a dozen orc priests just before the gate. The defensive line blocking the way into the encampment had fallen back, leaving several dead in their wake.
Stiger had difficulty focusing on the minion’s features, as it was terribly twisted. But it was more than just that. What he was sure had once been human was now bent and misshapen, warped by an evil that was almost beyond comprehension. A shadow surrounded it, as if even the sunlight shied away.
The minion wore a black robe, which was in tatters. The skin that was visible had turned a purplish black and appeared to be rotting off the bone. With each shambling and shuffling step it took, the ground smoked.
This was his enemy.
The minion, facing complete defeat, had become desperate enough to gamble all on a final battle. Stiger knew they had both gambled all. He understood the time had come for the confrontation he had been dreading—Delvaris’s fate.
“This is my time,” Stiger said to himself, vividly recalling what Thoggle had once told him.
Up until this moment, he had thought it Delvaris’s time, but that wasn’t right. He was the High Father’s champion, and this moment was why he was here. He had been so concerned about the future, he’d lost sight of the here and now. The time period did not matter one bit. All that did was the task ahead of him.
“Where are you going?” Therik asked.
“Sir?” Salt said, concern plain in his voice.
Stiger ignored
them. He made his way rapidly down from the wall. As the minion advanced into the fort, the legionaries backed away from the hideous monstrosity. Cetrite sent forth a bolt of black lightning, which crackled with energy and struck several legionaries, felling them instantly.
Stiger pushed his way through the men.
“Sir,” Centurion Nantus called. “You can’t go out there!”
Stiger ignored him too. He pushed past more men and through the defensive shields, until he stood between the men and minion. His rage had returned at the sight of Castor’s servant and the orc priest casually killing his legionaries. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Rarokan fed him anger, rage, and hate. With it all flowed power. It coursed through his veins. He willingly accepted and embraced all of it.
Stiger drew Rarokan. The blade flamed with brilliance. Dog padded up to his side, head lowered, teeth bared and growling deeply. Father Thomas made his way through the line as well. Therik joined him a moment later. Together they faced Therik’s son, Castor’s monstrosity, and the priests.
A bubble formed around the two sides. The legionaries behind had drawn back. Those enemy just outside the gate who could see what was happening had also stopped to watch.
“It all comes down to this,” the minion hissed at Stiger in common, black spittle dripping to the ground, where it smoked in the dirt. Despite the warmth of the day, Stiger felt a chill emanating from the creature. Beyond them he could hear the sounds of fighting. The dwarven horns sounded again.
“I’m surprised you finally found the courage to face me,” Stiger said. “You’ve lost here. Your army is crumbling around you. It’s over.”
“You might think that,” the minion said. “We both know you’ve seen what is to come.”
“I have,” Stiger said and then gave a slow smile. “We also both know time can be altered. Things can be changed. The outcome you seek is far from certain.”
Stiger thought he detected a hint of uncertainty in the creature’s eyes.
“All I need to do is kill you and my lord wins,” the minion hissed.
“Sometimes it’s easier to say you’re gonna do something than actually do it,” Stiger said.
The minion held out a horribly twisted and disfigured hand. A black obsidian sword materialized from thin air into the hand. The blade appeared to absorb light. Black fire licked along the edges of the midnight sword.
“You should never have followed me back,” the minion said. “You should have remained in your own time, on your own plane.”
“That is where you are wrong,” Stiger said to it. So deformed was the creature’s face, he was having difficulty keeping his focus on its features. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to look away. He resisted the urge. “This is my time, not yours.”
The minion, though a horribly twisted and unnatural thing, moved with lightning quickness. It rushed at Stiger, lunging forward. Stiger brought his sword up just in time and blocked the strike. The two swords rang with the impact, blue and black sparks cascading through the air.
The minion took a shuffling step back.
Crack!
Thoggle was suddenly there, several feet to Stiger’s left. The crystal at the top of the wizard’s staff flared with light. He held it forth and Stiger felt a surge of energy from Thoggle.
The earth lifted up in big, solid chunks behind Cetrite. The wizard pointed his staff at one of the orc priests and the chunks flew right at the orc. Having no chance to react, the priest was hammered down into the ground with a sickening crunch.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Cetrite struck at Father Thomas. The paladin responded. Black lightning met white in a fearsome exchange that caused the air to hiss and pop with intensity. Two of the orc priests threw out their hands and green bolts of light shot at Thoggle. The wizard raised his staff in warding and the bolts were deflected away, one shooting past Stiger. He heard it impact the men behind him with a pop that was followed by a scream of pure agony.
Out of the corner of his eye, Stiger had a flash of Therik advancing. Sword drawn, he went for his son. Dog exploded forward, jumping on a priest, taking him to the ground.
Then the minion attacked. Stiger barely managed to block the next blow. He lost track of what was happening around him, focusing solely upon the creature of evil.
Rarokan fed him energy. He felt powerfully strong and impossibly quick. Stiger punched his sword forward. The strike was fast. The minion barely managed to avoid the blade. It skittered back a couple of steps, then lunged, striking out toward Stiger’s midriff. He swung downward to block. Their two swords connected in a shower of sparks. Rarokan’s energy waned a little. Grunting, Stiger drove the tip of the minion’s blade into the ground, where it hissed and smoked. The minion swung a fist toward Stiger’s face. He ducked, taking a step backwards and out of the way.
They stared at each other a heartbeat. Then the minion thrust a hand out and tendrils of inky blackness shot forth through the air toward him. Stiger felt a massive upwelling of power from Rarokan as the wizard attacked. The sword flashed so brightly, Stiger was forced to look away. A concussive blast followed as the minion’s magic met Rarokan’s.
Stiger looked back as soon as the flash faded. The minion had retreated several steps. There was a smoking gash in its chest, at least three inches long. No blood issued forth, as the skin appeared cauterized. The creature’s eyes narrowed as its free hand gingerly touched the wound.
“So be it, champion,” the minion hissed, malice and hate dripping over every word. “Sword against sword it is.”
It shuffled forward.
Crouched and ready, Stiger advanced to meet it. The minion attacked again. They traded a series of strikes and counterstrikes, the minion moving faster and faster with every lunge and jab. Stiger began having difficulty blocking the blows. He found himself on the defensive and giving ground. There was no chance to consider attacking. Sweat beaded his brow as he worked desperately to keep the minion’s blade out of reach, which kept coming closer and closer with every attack and lunge.
Stiger stumbled on a body of a legionary, and as he did, his defense faltered. One strike slipped through, and with it he felt an intense pain in his side. The tip of the midnight sword cut right through his armor like it was parchment.
Stiger cried out as the minion took a step backward. What remained of its tortured face split into a wide, hideous grin.
No, no, noooo! Rarokan screamed in what sounded like mounting panic. Stiger felt a resurgence of strength from the wizard, even as he staggered back a step, hand going for his side where the midnight blade had pierced his armor. Stiger blinked rapidly, his vision swimming.
Rarokan fed him even more strength. Stiger sensed desperation from the wizard and understood from it the wound was mortal. He could feel Castor sucking his life force from him with each passing breath.
Stiger’s blood flowed thickly through his fingers and splashed out onto the ground. Each breath was an agony. The blue fire that had licked from his sword had gone out. It no longer even glowed. The minion, grinning at him, took a shuffling step backward.
“I win,” the minion hissed. “My master wins.”
The rage within Stiger swelled.
“Rarokan,” Stiger said aloud, struggling to get the words out despite the terrible pain he felt. Each breath was becoming a painful struggle. “I give you permission to take not only this creature’s life force, but its soul as well.”
Agreed.
The twisted smile slipped from the minion’s face. Stiger got the impression the minion had heard Rarokan speak. He brought his sword up, which exploded once again into a brilliant blue flame. At the same time, Stiger felt his strength waning. It was becoming difficult to hold his sword up. He needed to end this now.
The minion, with grim determination, began to close the distance between them once again, clearly intent upon finishing him.
Stiger advanced to meet it, but his strength gave out in a rush and he collapsed
to a knee. Stiger struck the tip of his sword into the ground just to keep himself upright. The minion laughed, a terrible hacking sound, as it raised its sword for the final blow. The creature held the sword high but hesitated, savoring the moment of its triumph over the High Father’s champion.
Coming out of nowhere, Dog jumped on the minion’s back, snarling madly. The animal ripped and tore at the minion with its teeth. Knocked off balance by the large animal, the minion staggered several steps. It hissed angrily as Dog continued to bite and tear.
The creature reached an arm back and bent it around at an unnatural angle. It gripped Dog’s neck. There was a flash of green light and Dog was tossed several feet before crashing to the ground and tumbling limply until stopped by the dragon’s tail.
Dog did not get up.
Stiger’s heart almost stopped at the sight of Dog lying there lifeless. He felt a resurgence of rage and hate as his gaze returned to the minion. This creature was responsible for the death of Sarai, and now his dog. It had caused untold suffering in Vrell. There would be more suffering and death were it not stopped, here and now.
With the last vestiges of his strength, Stiger stood. The minion was distracted, and still looking at Dog. Black blood ran down its back and to the dirt, where it steamed and hissed. Stiger got the feeling Dog had hurt it badly.
Never one to pass up an opportunity, Stiger attacked. He swung his sword, hammering the minion’s midnight blade away in a powerful blow. Rarokan flashed brilliantly and the minion’s sword shattered into smoke. The creature looked around, shock and astonishment in its eyes. Screaming his rage born out of loss and suffering, Stiger brought his sword up and jabbed, the blade sliding into the minion’s twisted breast.
Their eyes met and Stiger saw fear reflected back at him. It lasted but a moment. The minion opened its mouth and what came out sounded like thousands of tormented souls crying out from the great beyond. The cold sensation intensified. The minion took a shuffling step backward and off the sword. Then, with a thunderclap, it collapsed in on itself. It was gone, as if it had never existed. Rarokan had taken both its life force and soul.
The Tiger's Time (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 4) Page 68